“As before, Rodin’s views continue to dominate.
Our position will be seriously weakened at the end of this month when Yuri Polnocny retires. The General Secretary will be free to appoint another one of his cronies, and the majority will be clearly his.”
“Can the remaining old-timers still be relied upon to support our cause when the time comes?” Belchenko asked.
Zavenyagin did not hesitate to say, “There is no question of their loyalty. Comrade. As long as they remain in office, the better interests of the Mother land will guide their actions. Like ourselves, they too fear the moderate’s ways. Unfortunately, their advanced ages make individual dissent difficult.”
Belchenko smiled.
“Then we’ll just have to make the first moves for them. Is the summit still on as planned?”
This time it was the admiral who answered.
“As of this morning, things remain on schedule. The meeting in Los Angeles will begin two weeks from tomorrow. I have taken it upon myself to personally be in Petropavlovsk to wish our beloved leader bon voyage as he takes off for America.”
“Excellent,” Belchenko said.
“And what of the submarine? ” Sorokin answered while getting to his feet to pour another shot of vodka.
“So tar, there have been few obstacles. The Cheka and the Vulkan are presently undergoing joint maneuvers in the North Pacific.
This will allow the captains of the two vessels to become more comfortable with each other. Incidentally, we experienced little difficulty in getting our man assigned to the Delta-class boat. His report will tell us just who we can rely on when the going gets tough.
Now, Konstantin, what is the nature of this exciting news you are so anxious to share with us?”
Belchenko beamed expectantly.
“I’m certain that both of you will be excited to know that, as of yesterday afternoon, one of my most trusted agents successfully infiltrated the Premier’s codification staff. In effect, this means the top-secret mechanism needed to unlock the Motherland’s nuclear arsenal is now in our hands.”
“Then we’ve done it!” exclaimed a relieved Zavenyagin.
“I’m afraid there’s still much more to be accomplished,” Belchenko warned.
“Yet, knowledge of the daily release code was the obstacle most feared.”
“I concur,” Sorokin added.
“Without the proper signal our job would have been more difficult than it already is. I commend you on your efficiency, Konstantin. Other than the few logistical difficulties we still have to face, I believe it’s time to address the problem of actual targeting.”
Belchenko nodded and rose stiffly. Making his way to the right side of the fireplace, he pulled down a large, laminated topographical map of North America.
The area shown included a large portion of the Pacific Ocean. Utilizing a pointer, he began talking animatedly.
“Comrades, as we discussed earlier, this is to be a Counterforce attack, intended primarily to take out the imperialists’ communications relay stations and military command posts. If all goes as planned, the Americans will be unable to answer with a retaliatory strike. At long last the capitalists will be completely at our mercy. Of course, all this will take place with a minimum of civilian casualties. Stanislav, why don’t you begin by explaining just what hardware we have at our disposal.”
The admiral finished off his vodka and spoke out clearly.
“The primary launch vehicle for the attack will be the Vulkan, ova latest Delta Illclass missile-carrying submarine. This vessel will be loaded with sixteen SS-N-18 Mod 3 missiles. Each rocket will be topped with seven MIRVD warheads capable of eliminating targets over 6,000 miles distant. This will allow us to destroy 112 separate locations.”
“By using only a single submarine, won’t we be opening ourselves to a needless amount of risk?”
interrupted Zavenyagin.
“I still feel we should be thinking about sending some ground-based ICBMS to insure the enemy’s defeat.”
“Your concern is noted. Comrade,” the admiral said.
“But 112 SS-N-18 warheads will be more than enough to strike the Yankees a crippling blow. Besides being a most effective weapons system, the use of this single submarine will guarantee our anonymity.
I can just imagine the logistical problems we would encounter attempting to insure the release of an ICBM.
Those characters in the Strategic Rocket Corps have a loyalty all their own.”
“Stanislav is correct,” Belchenko added.
“I thought we agreed on this point weeks ago. Only by keeping our scenario as simple as possible can we hope to succeed. Have you already forgotten our initial agreement, Pavel?”
Zavenyagin blushed and sat back in his chair.
“Of course not. Comrade. It’s just that I still find it hard to believe that the warheads from one submarine can render the imperialists helpless.”
“Don’t worry yourself so, Pavel,” Belchenko advised.
“I, too, had trouble accepting this amazing fact. Yet the crux of the matter is the amount of targets we’ll ultimately need to eliminate. I’m certain you’ll see by the conclusion of this meeting that the locations that need to be taken out will indeed be destroyed. We’ll have more than enough warheads to do the job, without the need for a back-up.
Stanislav, why don’t you start us off with a list of our primary targets.
Standing up to pour himself another vodka, the whitehaired admiral took several seconds before responding.
“To guarantee penetration, our first salvo will take out the PAVE PAWS Phased Array Warning System site at Beale Air Force Base, California.
With this station eliminated, the United States will be unable to accurately monitor the release of subsequent submarine-launched missiles from the North Pacific basin.
“I’ve taken the liberty of drafting a document outlining the attack format. For security reasons, I’d prefer that the list not leave this room.”
Accepting the consenting nods of his colleagues, Sorokin reached into his breast pocket, removed two single sheets of heavy bond paper and handed one to each one of his cohorts.
“This list will give you a rough idea of the targets we’ll need to cover. By allocating at least a pair of warheads to each location, we can pretty well guarantee a kill. To eliminate any ‘hard targets’ such as command posts, which have been buried to protect them from surface blast, ground-burrowing warheads will be utilized.”
The room lapsed into silence as Belchenko and Zavenyagin studied the papers just handed them.
Both men found their pulses fluttering as their eyes took in the neatly typed columns.
FOR YOUR EYES ONLY
COUNTERFORCE TARGETS
1.) PAVE PAWS radar site; Beale Air Force Base, California
2.) Cobra Dane radar site; Shemya Island, Alaska
3.) Casino downlink satellite station; Nurnuiger, Australia
4.) Satellite control facility; Sunnyvale, California
5.) AT&T switching stations: Lyons, Nebraska; Fairview, Kansas; Hillsboro, Missouri; Lamar, Colorado
6.) NORAD’s Cheyenne Mountain Command Post; Colorado Springs, Colorado
7.) SAC headquarters, Omaha, Nebraska
8.) SAC alternate headquarters, Barksdale Air Force Base, Louisiana and March Air Force Base, California
9.) Headquarters, Atlantic Fleet; Norfolk, Virginia
10.) Headquarters, Pacific Fleet; Pearl Harbor, Hawaii
11.) The White House; Washington, D.C.
12.) The Pentagon; Washington, D.C.
13.) Alternative National Military Command Center, Fort Ritchie, Maryland
14.) Controlled Conflict Operational Post, Mt. Weather, Virginia
15.) Alternative Military Command Center, Raven Rock Mtn.” Pennsylvania
16.) Satellite downlink station, Buckley Air National Guard Base, Colorado
17.) VLF radio transmitters: Cutler, Maine; Jim Creek,
Washington; Northwest Cape, Australia
18.) Enchanced Perimeter Acquasition Radar site; Concrete, North Dakota
19.) Various army, air force and naval bases located throughout the continental United States and the Pacific Basin (detailed list to follow)
20.) Pindown strike detonated above all ICBM bases
21.) Los Angeles
Konstantin Belchenko completed reading the document first. He looked up and caught the sharp stare of the admiral. The silent exchange was interrupted by Zavenyagin’s strained voice.
“This list is most complete, Admiral. One entry disturbs me, though. Why has Los Angeles been included? I thought we had agreed to spare civilian lives whenever possible.”
Sorokin eyed the bureaucrat shrewdly.
“Your observation is most astute. Comrade. But I’m afraid this is one instance when the loss of innocents can’t be helped. For our Counterforce attack to be successful, we must knock out America’s command structure completely. We must place them in a situation where there will be no one left alive to order a counter strike In America, the President is the key figure in the chain of command. As commander-in-chief of their armed forces, his say-so alone is required to release the missiles. Thus, it is to our benefit to eliminate him as soon as hostilities are initiated.”
“Kill the brain and the arms can’t be utilized effectively,” Belchenko interceded boldly.
“Precisely, Comrade,” returned the admiral.
“I think a fitting way to begin our little operation would be to explode a warhead directly above the Los Angeles airport, just as the President steps forward to welcome our esteemed General Secretary to his country.”
“Brilliant idea!” Belchenko shouted.
“In that way we kill two birds with one stone.”
“I thought you’d particularly enjoy that little twist,” Sorokin said.
“Now, Pavel, is that explanation sufficient?”
Zavenyagin shrugged his shoulders and offered no additional comment.
Taking this as a cue to move on, Belchenko turned to face the admiral.
“Have you determined a launch position as yet, Stanislav?”
“Good question. In order to be within range of our intended targets, an optimum release site would be somewhere in the North Pacific.” He walked to the wall map and pointed to an area northwest of Hawaii.
“I’d say the waters north of Midway Island would offer us an excellent location. That’s close enough to our home base in Petropavlovsk, and there’s plenty of deep water to offer our sub shelter. As the fates would have it, that sector is precisely where the Vulkan and the Cheka are currently on patrol. Those captains know the area better than their lovers’ own curves.”
“When are they due back?” Zavenyagin questioned carefully.
The admiral continued to study the map while responding.
“They’re due back in base by the end of the week. That should give us plenty of time to make the final preparations.”
“Comrades, I think that a toast is in order!”
Belchenko’s words served to distract Sorokin from his intense inspection of the Pacific. The admiral turned in time to see the first deputy walk to the serving cart and pour three full glasses of vodka.
After handing one to each of his fellow conspirators, he raised his own glass and offered a toast: “To the success of Operation Counterforce, and to the glory of the Motherland!”
With a swift twist of his wrist, Belchenko joined his guests by emptying his glass. The chilled vodka was still stinging his throat when Sorokin again filled the glasses and offered his own toast. “To one unified socialist world free from the greedy spell of imperialist domination! Long live the Rodina!”
Again the glasses were emptied. This time it was Pavel Zavenyagin who shakily stood. Clearly affected by the vodka, he clumsily refilled his comrades’ glasses. Raising his own cup before him, he added, “To the workers of the world! Have faith, fellow Comrades, your salvation is imminent!”
Belchenko drained his glass and watched his guests do likewise. Flushed by the powerful liquor, he watched Zavenyagin stumble back into his chair and the admiral turn back to study the wall map. Focusing his own attention on the fireplace, the first deputy centered his thoughts on the blazing birch logs. So intense was their conversation that he had completely neglected to tend the fire. It would need fresh fuel soon before it burned itself out. Aware of the intense orange heat reflected by the burning embers, Belchenko found his thoughts drifting.
In the blink of an eye, he soared far away from the somber affairs of state. Even with the fate of the planet in his hands, his concerns centered on a subject far removed from nuclear throw-weights and megaton age Instead of being cooped up in his library, he wished only to be deep in the birch forest on the trail of Pasha the bear.
That morning, if only for fleeting seconds, he had tasted the fruits of true happiness. Alone in the woods, intoxicated by the crisp fall air, Konstantin Belchenko had discovered a contentment he hadn’t experienced since childhood. Far removed from the intrigues of world power, the bear with the white patch on its rump taught him a lesson of a completely different nature. Innocent and unaware, the black bear only knew to feed, to build up its layer of body fat for the long winter that was inevitably coming. It needed nothing more from life than satisfying this basic, instinctual longing.
That was the way to live — in simplicity and innocence.
Why must man always strive for that which he can never totally possess?
Was this quality innate in all human beings, or was the rage for power a sickness to which he and his type had become addicted?
The fire hissed and crackled, and Belchenko knew that he was too far committed to turn back now.
Suddenly conscious of a painful tingling in his lungs, he knew that his next hike would not take place until the new world order had dawned.
Chapter Two
Three hundred and twenty-five miles to the northeast of Midway Island, the Los Angeles-class attack sub USS Triton silently drifted one hundred and fifty feet beneath the water’s surface. Longer than a football field, and staffed by a complement of one hundred and twenty-seven highly trained officers and enlisted men, the Triton was one of the most sophisticated underwater vessels ever put to sea.
Packed within its hull was the latest in high-tech machinery.
This included a dual set of supersensitive sonar arrays, a powerful nuclear propulsion plant and a wide variety of offensive and defensive weaponry. Primarily designed to hunt down and destroy other submarines and to protect the boomers (missile-carrying subs), the Triton was also quite capable of striking targets well inland. Such diverse capabilities made it an extremely potent fighting machine.
For two months now, the Triton had been on patrol.
This extensive tour of duty brought its crew to no exotic ports. In fact, not once during the voyage did the sub even break the surface.
Stealth and secrecy were two major elements that guaranteed the vessel’s continued existence. The crew were most aware of this fact and accepted their isolation without negative comment.
Captain Michael Cooksey, commanding officer of the Triton, was well satisfied with the superb operational capabilities of the equipment and the unequalled competency of his present crew. If all continued smoothly, surely their second battle-efficiency award in a row would be waiting for them at Pearl Harbor. They would be arriving there in less than a week’s time.
As usual when a cruise was winding down, Cooksey experienced a touch of depression. After all, these patrols were what he lived for. Having no wife or children anxiously waiting for him in port set him apart from the majority of his crew. Now that he was about to begin his twentieth year of naval service, he knew that the inevitable transfer orders would soon be coming his way. At best, he could hope for command of a destroyer, or even a fleet supply ship. Orders directing him to permanent shore duty would be as good as a commendation to death.
Sprawled out on his narrow bunk, with his hands locked behind his head and his eyes scanning the Spartan contents of his cramped quarters, the captain forced himself to focus on their present mission. The unusual degree of quiet merely emphasized their current situation. Absent was the constant, muted drone of the ship’s turbines. In its place, only the hiss of the Triton’s ventilation system produced evidence that the vessel was operational.
For twelve hours now they had been drifting, rigged in a state of ultra-quiet. During that time all unnecessary activity was eliminated. Water evaporators were shut down, the garbage disposal system was deactivated, and even the soft-drink machines had been shut off. All men not on duty were sent to their cots as the Triton attempted to float noiselessly.
This exercise had a dual purpose. Since anti-submarine-warfare platforms depended largely upon hydrophone listening devices to pick up the sound signature of an approaching vessel, their present state helped to insure their non detection As a formidable ASW platform in their own right, the condition of ultra-quiet allowed their own hydrophone operators to receive an uncluttered signal from any advancing naval units.
Using this tactic, Cooksey hoped to pick up the sounds of the American carrier unit he was assigned to intercept. In effect, they were in the midst of a war game, with the Triton taking the role of the enemy. If possible, they were to record proof of their interception without the surface fleet knowing the Triton was even present. An accomplishment of this difficult task would signal the end of their present patrol.
Since the men were anxious to return to port, they were really putting their hearts into the exercise. The quicker they “tagged” the task force, the sooner they’d be reunited with their long-absent loved ones.
The captain hoped that his decision to remain stationary was correct.
Although this severely limited the territory they could cover effectively, he had a gut feeling that the surface units would eventually be passing through this area.
Their present position was 32 degrees north latitude, 173 degrees west longitude. To the layman, these coordinates seemed unimportant.
Cooksey knew otherwise. No U.S. flagship commander cruising these waters would dare pass up the chance to direct his units over the legendary position know as “Point Luck.”
Counterforce Page 2
