Defcon One (1989) (10 page)

The general secretary smiled unexpectedly, then continued in an upbeat manner. Now, we will see what the American reaction will be when we sink their ship Virginia.

The group glanced at each other in concern.

Actually, my friends, Zhilinkhov said, ignoring the questioning looks, the loss of the Akhromeyev gives us the opportunity to press the Americans even closer. If we can confirm a fourteen-to sixteen-minute delay in the American decision and reaction time to our missiles, in their alert-two status, we have positive proof, comrades, that our first-strike initiative will work.

Zhilinkhov waited for a response. The Politburo members and the defense minister remained silent, contemplating the picture being drawn for them.

Zhilinkhov continued, sipping his vodka. If the Americans allow our forces to get any closer, especially in their alert-two status, we won't even need sixteen minutes before the United States reacts to our strike.

The general secretary wiped his mouth, then discarded the cloth napkin.

Our biological and chemical attacks will follow hours after the nuclear strike. We have targeted all major American military installations, including large overseas bases.

Zhilinkhov turned slightly to face the defense minister. Trofim Goryainovich, explain the projected results of our preemptive strike.

Porfir'yev's eyes narrowed as he slid forward in his chair to speak.

Comrade Doctor Svyatoslav Cheskiy, chief of the Soviet Academy of Sciences, estimates, conservatively, that we can expect to achieve a minimum of sixty-five to seventy-five percent neutralization of the Americans.

The defense minister paused, squinting even harder. That is, comrades, if their Star Wars system is malfunctioning, or incomplete.

It is imperative, Zhilinkhov said slowly and forcefully, that we execute our first-strike plan soon if we are to dominate the Americans.

We must take each step carefully, and follow our design precisely.

Snow fell lightly outside the massive double-paned windows as the six men digested the visionary goal. The fireplace emitted a comforting warmth as logs crackled and the embers glowed red and orange.

Trofim Filippovich, Dichenkovko addressed the defense minister, what did Doctor Cheskiy project our casualties to be? In the final analysis?

Porfir'yev paused while Dimitri entered the room and placed the six individual servings of piroshki on the low table next to the fireplace.

The young man turned toward Zhilinkhov, standing almost at attention.

Comrade General Secretary, you wish me to place more logs on the fire?

Dimitri waited, the ever-attentive domestic.

That will not be necessary, Zhilinkhov said gruffly. I will see to the fire this evening.

The senior kitchen servant exited as Porfir'yev prepared to answer the question of casualties.

Doctor Cheskiy has been consulting with Doctor Beryagin Lysinko, chief of the Kyrchatov Atomic Energy Institute. They estimate, at worst, we would receive a twenty-five to thirty percent destruction level.

Mainly the cities and military installations.

They believe the effects of radiation fallout will dissipate after eight to twelve months.

What about the consequences of nuclear winter? Zhilinkhov asked, chewing a fresh bite of piroshki.

Porfir'yev set his glass on the table and wiped his hands.

The doctors are convinced the effects of nuclear winter will disappear in forty-five to sixty days. They are confident the upper winds will dissipate the effects of nuclear winter faster than most scientists predict.

What is your estimate in regard to Soviet casualties? Dichenkovko asked.

My staff expects, at the outside, a thirty-five percent personal casualty loss, Porfir'yev replied uncomfortably. Approximately ninety million people.

Zhilinkhov paused, leaning over for a cigar and striking a match to it.

Inhaling deeply, the Soviet leader spoke in a strong, persuasive manner.

Comrades, listen to me clearly. The Soviet Union will never have a better opportunity than the present. The American technological advances have offset our numerical advantage.

Our empire, along with our satellite countries, will disintegrate unless we strike the United States very soon. No peredyshka, no breathing space. Our options are rapidly being depleted.

Zhilinkhov's cold eyes sought contact with each member of the inner circle. If we don't strike the Americans now, our Motherland will slowly strangle. Russia will die a lingering, agonizing death.

Zhilinkhov knew the Politburo members, even his detractors, professed fidelity to the revolutionary tradition of world dominance.

However, the Kremlin leaders tended to be conservative.

They were uncomfortable with uncertainty and unpredictability.

The current division in the Politburo had resulted from ambivalence in party planning.

The previous Soviet leader could not resolve the question of how to constrain the American Strategic Defense Initiative.

SDI was then, as it had been for several years, the most contentious issue in Soviet-American relations.

Comrades, the general secretary said, a first strike would enable us to dominate America, Europe, the entire world, overnight.

Literally overnight, without incurring unacceptable casualties or massive destruction.

Besides, our military assets will be dispersed at sea and in the air, except for the ground forces. We will retain sixty to seventy percent of our prestrike military capability. More than enough to handle any combination of adversaries. NATO forces will not present a problem once the Americans are neutralized.

And, Saudi oil will flow when we turn the valve.

Zhilinkhov carefully ashed his thick Cuban cigar, tapping gently on the crystal receptacle.

We can expect retaliation from the American submarines for a period of ... The general secretary sipped his drink, then noisily cleared his throat. Well, Marshal Bogdonoff and his staff are fully convinced the air defense and navy forces can deal with the residual effects of random retaliatory strikes.

The senior Politburo member, Aleksandr IF. Pulaev, quiet to this point, interjected a question.

' Viktor Pavlovich, how accurate can we expect the American retaliatory strikes to be?

Zhilinkhov inhaled deeply, looking up at the ceiling, then slowly released the blue smoke.

Our new commander of the Strategic Rocket Forces, General Bortnovska, is certain the Americans will only achieve ten to twenty percent accuracy with their missiles, after our massive strike.

Because of the satellite destruction? the senior Politburo member asked, clearly not convinced.

Absolutely, Zhilinkhov answered, puffing slowly on his cigar. When we launch our first strike, our ground-and space-based lasers should be able to destroy the American communications and navigation satellites.

We don't have to hit all the navigation satellites to make their targeting systems unreliable.

Zhilinkhov swirled the vodka in his glass. Just enough to make their guidance systems unstable.

The elder friend had another question worrying him, a very important political question. Viktor Pavlovich, does anyone-does Doctor Cheskiy, General Bortnovska, anyone besides the six of us, and Marshal Bogdonoff, know anything about this initiative? ' No, of course not, Zhilinkhov said in an impatient manner.

This information is the result of theoretical studies compiled by our most brilliant strategists and tacticians. The first-strike scenario is played every day in our Ministry of Defense. The military commanders believe these actions I have ordered are in response to escalating aggression by the Americans.

The room remained silent.

Initiative? Zhilinkhov said with a question in his eyes as he refilled his glass. This is not an initiative. This is an all-out, massive nuclear strike on the United States.

The fire snapped, reminding the general secretary that he needed to resupply the grate. He unobtrusively stepped in front of his five friends and gingerly placed two logs on the glowing embers, showering sparks over his freshly shined shoes. Returning to his chair, Zhilinkhov proposed a toast.

Comrades, we are joined on the eve of the most important event in the history of our Motherland. Our countrymen will hail us for generations.We will provide our people an opportunity for productive and peaceful lives. A nuclear war can be won if we strike first. We will survive to rule the entire globe. World supremacy at last.

Comrades. We will be revered for all of history as the fathers of a modern Russia. A Russia without boundaries!

Zhilinkhov raised his glass in a salute to his five friends.

To the Motherland, my friends.

The general secretary beamed broadly. The Politburo quartet, accompanied by the defense minister, responded in kind, glancing cautiously at each other.

To a supreme Russia, comrades.

The resounding clink of crystal, as well as the entire conversation, had been clearly audible to the quiet figure standing in the hallway.

Rex Hays, alternately jotting notes and doodling, listened intently to the president's chief of staff. He had been surprised when Wilkinson called to brief him personally on the Russian situation.

Hays reflected on the contrast between Dave Miller and Wilkinson.

There was an intellectual chasm between the indefatigable Grant Wilkinson and the slovenly Miller.

Hays waited for an opening to ask his first question. Mister Wilkinson ' Grant, please.' The chief of staff did not care for ceremony or pomposity.

Grant it is. What do you think about moving the launch time up a day or two, along with an unpublished schedule?

Hays was thinking about an obvious Russian attempt to prevent the SDI satellites from reaching orbit.

We don't believe it makes any difference at this point, Wilkinson cleared his throat and continued. They know we're in DEFCON-Three and loaded for bear. The intelligence people believe Zhilinkhov is testing our defensive perimeters. Their scrambled message traffic has increased forty percent in the past forty-eight hours.

What's the climate between the president and the general secretary, if it isn't classified? Hays asked, wondering if he was overstepping his bounds.

It is classified, but that doesn't make much difference.

The walls are porous around here. The Post receives information faster than I do, Wilkinson chuckled before continuing his brief. The president proposed a meeting, face to face, one on one, at the convenience of the general secretary. That was late last night.

Zhilinkhov agreed this morning and suggested a meeting in twenty-four hours in the Azores, at Lajes.

I assume the president accepted. Hays was very curious about the possibility of a meeting between the two superpower leaders. The Soviet leader was still a mystery to most people.

Oh yes, and he was unusually conciliatory. He liked the location.

Great security and isolated, too. Air Force One is being prepared now and we expect to leave in... Wilkinson looked at his wall clock, noting the time, an hour and a half.

Seventeen hundred eastern.

How long do you anticipate being there? Hays asked, thinking the president might be out of the country when they launched Columbia.

Three, possibly four days. Perhaps longer if we make any progress.

The president has some ideas to present. I'm obviously not at liberty to discuss those topics, but you'll be kept apprised.

Hays doodled continuously, not wanting to interrupt Wilkinson. He was fascinated by the intrigue.

Better let you off the phone. This place is a madhouse and I've got a plane to catch. Good luck with your launch, Rex. Wilkinson concluded the conversation as he packed files in his leather attache case.

Thanks, Grant, and best of luck in the Azores.

We'll need it. So long.

Hays placed the receiver down, reaching for his coat, as he pictured the meeting in Lajes. He headed directly for the cafeteria, having missed his late lunch waiting for the preplanned call from the White House.

Talking with the president's chief of staff was unusual. Hays thought, but the present circumstances were unusual, too.

The nuclear-powered heavy cruiser, steaming at full speed, pitched and rolled violently in the towering swells. Waves of ice-cold seawater smashed into the base of the bridge as the missile cruiser staggered from trough to trough.

A North Atlantic winter storm was developing and the Virginia was dogged tight for heavy seas. Another 240 nautical miles nine hours and she would rendezvous with the Eisenhower battle group. The mission was to augment her sister ship, the Mississippi, until the DEFCON alert was cancelled. The Mississippi would then return to Norfolk for repairs to her damaged rudders.

Cmdr. Fred Simpson, skipper of the Virginia, automatically swayed back and forth in front of his mirror, compensating for the rolling motion of the ship.