Defcon One (1989)

by Joe Weber

Then we ease under the fence and remain still until the choppers are gone.

  Dimitri nodded, then crawled forward on the cold, moist ground. The stench, overpowering, swept both men with revulsion.

  The sheep, alarmed by the sound of the approaching helicopters, gave little attention to the two figures lying next to the herd.

  The two Soviet gunships, searchlights ablaze, slowly tracked over the collective farm. Both helicopters continually S-turned as they remained on their base course toward Novgorod.

  Wickham and Dimitri watched, not moving, not breathing, as the closest Russian helicopter flew directly over the two animal pens. The glare of the spotlight blinded the agents as it slowly crossed the sheep enclosure.

  THE WHITE HOUSE

  The president stepped off the air-stair door of Marine One, smartly saluted the Marine sentry, and walked briskly into the White House. The president's military aide, hurrying to catch the commander-in-chief, struggled with an oversized attache case and two umbrellas.

  Grant Wilkinson and Herb Kohlhammer, followed by a second aide, stepped out of the Marine helicopter and hurried across the lawn.

  The weather was cold and dismal. Ice pellets and snow granules fell sporadically, mixed with fog and low clouds. The skies threatened a major winter storm at any moment.

  Susan Blaylocke and Cliff Howard greeted the president as he entered the Situation Room.

  Have we heard from the Soviet Ambassador? the president asked, removing his topcoat and scarf.

  Yes, Mister President. He is on his way here, along with the deputy foreign minister, Blaylocke responded. They should be here in the next five to ten minutes.

  Good, the president replied, then looked at Howard.

  Cliff, explain to me, in detail, what happened to our shuttle.

  The secretary of defense waited until the president and the arriving staff members were seated.

  Doctor Hays at NASA has informed me, approximately thirty minutes ago, that Columbia was the target of Soviet laser weapons. He ' How do they know. Cliff? What ...How can they substantiate their conclusions? the president asked, then waited for Howard to compose his thoughts.

  Well, sir, the measuring devices the data NASA receives from the orbiter indicates the strikes were highly charged beams. Doctor Hays explained, in layman's terms, the possibilities.

  Howard reached for his reading glasses and opened his notes.

  There are, according to Doctor Hays and his associates, only three ways to damage the shuttle in such a fashion. First, and least likely, is a killer satellite, in the same orbit, that destroys its victims with barrages of pellets. Shrapnel lasers, if you will.

  The president frowned, cleaning his glasses.

  Second, Howard continued, is the remote chance that Russia has

  developed a ground-based laser powerful and accurate enough to pinpoint

  the orbiter. Doctor Hays has projected a random profile of

  Excuse me. Cliff, Grant Wilkinson interjected, but the Soviets do have a laser base at Sary Shagan capable of damaging or destroying our satellites, especially the delicate sensors and solar power cells.

  They have already damaged a Lacrosse satellite, and knocked out one of the Magnum birds.

  Howard looked directly at Wilkinson. That's true. Grant, but the ground-based laser, powerful as it may be, doesn't have the destructive capability to blast sections ... actually disintegrate major structural components of the orbiter. Besides, the Soviet lasers, ground-based and space-based, have a difficult time tracking and aiming. They take a high number of shots for every hit they achieve.

  We've been monitoring their efforts-it's documented.

  Alright, Cliff, the president interrupted, what is Doctor Hays's hypothesis?

  Well, sir, he doesn't consider his conclusions hypothetical beca

  I understand, the president interjected. What evidence is Doctor Hays using to support his findings?

  That is the next point, sir.

  Howard readjusted his glasses, looking over the top of the frames at his

  audience. Third, and most plausible of the scenarios, is a space-based

  laser. We have evidence that the Soviets have been pouring over a

  billion dollars a year into a fast-paced program to develop space

  weaponry. Doctor Hays stated

  If what you're saying is true, the president interrupted, then all our satellites, not to mention the shuttles, are now vulnerable to Soviet laser weapons. Right?

  Not entirely, sir. As you know, we've lost another SDI satellite, presumably to the same weapon that damaged the shuttle.

  Howard made a note on his pad. The Soviets might be able to damage a number of our satellites, but it would take a prolonged period of time, much longer than they could afford.

  Our missiles would be striking Moscow before their lasers would make any major difference.

  Howard waited a couple of seconds before continuing. Another important factor in this finding one we can't overlook-is the crew.

  Their observations corroborate the technical information received at Houston when the laser initially struck Columbia.

  What, exactly, did the crew experience, Cliff? the president asked.

  They were in shock, obviously. But they reported brilliant flashes of light, not unlike lightning, that temporarily blinded them. The destructive force was simply devastating. Sir, this was no chance meeting with meteorites.

  Howard took a deep breath, then continued. The Soviets are going to press us to the edge of the abyss, I'm afraid, if we don't respond in a forceful manner.

  The room remained quiet until the president spoke.

  ' How is the crew. Cliff? What are their chances of surviving the reentry? Doctor Hays said the crew is fine at the moment. They did lose the payload specialist, as I'm sure you are aware.

  Yes, the president replied. I've sent my condolences to Doctor Tran's widow.

  No one knows the odds for survival of the crew, Howard continued.

  Doctor Hays was pessimistic, actually. He indicated NASA was preparing for the worst. They are flying the families to Houston as soon as possible. Susan, the president asked, what about the recovery effort going on in Russia? Our two fleeing CIA operatives?

  Sir, we haven't been informed of any changes. The only conclusive information is over an hour old. The agents sent the extraction signal and the rescue effort is under way.

  The president lighted his familiar cigar and addressed his staff.

  ' Lajes was a disaster, to put it succinctly. Grant and I believe Zhilinkhov is not mentally sound, the president looked around the table, and that scares us.

  Blaylocke was surprised. How do you mean, sir?

  Susan, the president hesitated, forming his thoughts, the general secretary vacillates from one extreme to the other, then rants and raves, followed by comic smiles and low guttural accusations. He is clearly schizophrenic, in my estimation.

  What do you believe is his primary motive for pushing us to the brink of war? Blaylocke asked, feeling a resurgence in her stamina.

  We're stymied, Susan. The president looked over to Wilkinson.

  Grant, why don't you explain your theory about Zhilinkhov.

  Wilkinson placed his pen on his desk pad.

  At first, it appeared as if Zhilinkhov wanted to pressure us into compromising the SDI program. Then, after the confrontation in Lajes, we were perplexed. Nothing computed. Nothing in the realm of logic, that is.

  When we were informed of the attack on the shuttle, along with the loss of another SDI satellite, the warning lights started glowing.

  The president spoke. Grant believes we should plan for the worst even a preemptive strike.

  Loud murmurs filled the room.

  The president gestured to Wilkinson. Will you run through your event sequence for us?

  Yes, sir, Wilkinson responded, opening his glasses. The previous general secretary, a man of basic equanimity, died in a mysterious plane crash. Zhili
nkhov, from the bowels of obscurity, was in power within hours. The Soviet economy is in complete shambles. The Russians have been deeply embarrassed, twice, by being caught violating the INF Treaty. The United States is about to jump at least a half decade ahead in space-based missile defense technology.

  Wilkinson waited while everyone grasped his reasoning before continuing.

  Pressure. Real Soviet hard-line pressure from the ruling class.

  Pressure brought on by the West. The United States, more to the point.

  Wilkinson looked at Chambers. Evidence indicates there has been a strong shift, or fragmentation, within the Politburo.

  The political direction of the Soviet Union has made a complete reversal during the past four weeks.

  Everyone, including Admiral Chambers, listened intently.

  My supposition, Wilkinson continued, is that Zhilinkhov, the majority or all of the Politburo, and handpicked senior military officers, are behind this effort.

  The chief of staff looked at the president, who expressed his approval.

  Go ahead. Grant.

  The ruling hierarchy has no time left to dispatch officials to plead their case on Capitol Hill. No time for a renewed disinformation campaign. No time for exploiting pacifist sentiment among the religious sector. No time left, gentlemen.

  Wilkinson could see a few heads, including Susan Blaylocke's, nod in approval. He looked directly at Admiral Chambers before speaking.

  The Soviet system is falling apart, and further behind, even though they have an ambitious and sophisticated space colonization and exploration program. This past holiday season was terribly bleak for the Soviets, purported to have been the worst in over seventy years.

  TASS and Izvestia reported stores and shelves were virtually empty, provoking an unprecedented public outcry. The Soviet press ignored senior party officials and bitterly criticized perestroika's failure.

  They published hundreds of reader complaints.

  Wilkinson looked around the table. The continuing decline of the Communist party, in my thinking, is why we have seen the drastic changes in the Kremlin. The Party has both feet in the coffin, and they are afraid paranoid, if you will that we are going to close the lid.

  Wilkinson paused, then added the bottom line. We have a resurrected hard-line fanatic, under tremendous pressure to save the Communist system, holding the match closer and closer to the fuse.

  ' Zhilinkhov wants to see if we'll flinch and use our extinguishers to put out the flame. If he gets it next to the fuse, as he has now, and we don't do anything, he is home free. Sure, Russia will take some hits, but they'll survive, and we'll be blasted into oblivion.

  Zhilinkhov will become the Soviet hero of the century, and the Communist party will finally rule the globe.

  Wilkinson cleared his throat. Zhilinkhov will blow out the match, laugh, watch us put away the extinguishers, then strike the fuse before we can react, he concluded, sitting back, ready to field the questions.

  Blaylocke spoke first. Grant, I'm not the greatest military strategist, but if you are correct, it means we can't downgrade from our current posture and readiness.

  Precisely, Wilkinson replied. Zhilinkhov holds the match. If he backs away, he knows we'll have to back away, eventually. Zhilinkhov knows we can't tell the American people, and our military personnel, that we'll have to remain in DEFCON-Two indefinitely.

  Admiral Grabow, chief of Naval Operations, quiet to this point, interrupted. I'm not sure that is categorically true. Mister Wilkinson.

  Zhilinkhov realizes, clearly, Wilkinson paused, directing his words to Grabow, that we can't convince our citizens that he is going to blow us to kingdom come. Zhilinkhov knows that we, this administration, would be the ones to appear insane.' Wilkinson waited a moment, giving Grabow an opportunity to speak. The admiral remained quiet, though not convinced.

  The chief of staff addressed the group. I may be off the mark. Then again, there may be more to this than any of us can imagine. I'm only planning for the worst, as I see the picture.

  The president interrupted, a look of frustration on his face.

  Are those goddamn Russians here yet?

  Yes, sir, Herb Kohlhammer responded, rising from his chair. They're outside. I'll get them.

  I'm open for recommendations, the president said, not pleased with his predicament. I agree with Susan. We're going to have to respond in a firm manner. We will retaliate militarily to any future Soviet transgressions.

  Chapter Fourteen.

  THE EMISSARIES The gunships continued on their search path, alternately turning forty-five degrees left and right of their base course.

  The two Soviet Mi-28s were almost a kilometer away before the American spoke. Come on. Easy, don't startle the sheep.

  We've got to get near the pickup point and dig in.

  Dimitri responded with a grunt, wiping his coat off as he got to his feet.

  Hang on and stay close, Wickham ordered as they started across the field.

  The cold was becoming sharper as the last shades of light disappeared.

  Light snow continued to fall in the black void of night, chilling the two agents to the marrow.

  Wickham and Dimitri, after stumbling in the dark for an hour and a half, finally reached the edge of the partially frozen river. They were as close to Novgorod as they dared venture.

  Exhausted, the men collapsed on the bank, cold, frightened, and hungry.

  The American suffered excruciating pain whenever he bumped his right shoulder, but the penetrating cold had partially numbed all sensations.

  Wickham collected his thoughts and spoke to Dimitri in whispered tones.

  As soon as you get your breath, we've got to move about a half kilometer upriver and conceal ourselves.

  Dimitri, listening intently to Wickham, heard the approaching trucks

  first. Shh-I hear some

  Shut up, the American snarled, yanking Dimitri flat on the ground next to him.

  Both agents, lying on their stomachs, crawled up the embankment to peer down the road through the underbrush. They could see a multitude of lights, twinkling in the dark, reflecting off the falling snowflakes.

  Keep your face down and smear it with din, the CIA agent ordered, spreading the moist, cold semi-mud over his forehead, cheeks, ears, and neck.

  We've got problems... Wickham said, scooting back down the muddy embankment.

  What d--? Dimitri's eyes bulged.

  We're close, almost home, but we've got problems, the American whispered.

  Dimitri nodded in the dark, swallowing continuously. He sensed the CIA agent's agitation.

  Dimitri, that has to be the GRU. They've got some very elite troops, the kind they turn loose to locate Kremlin spies.

  You read me?

  Y-yes. What are--?

  I'm sure they've got dogs with them. You hear them howling?

  Wickham was listening with his hand cupped to his left ear. That's the same way we came. They're right on our trail.

  Shit!

  Dimitri remained silent, aware of the sounds of the Russian GRU troops growing closer.

  Wickham leaned closer to Dimitri. We're going to cross the road, make a large circle, then cross back to this same position.

  Dimitri looked at Wickham as if he were seeing a ghost.

  The dogs will track across the road and become confused by the circle.

  We'll retrace our steps, then cross the river, make the other side upstream, and head for the rendezvous point.

  Wickham listened a moment, then again spoke to Dimitri.

  We're going to freeze our asses, but it'll throw the dogs off our trail for awhile.

  The American paused, observing no reaction from Dimitri.

  Better than a goddamn firing squad. Let's move out!

  The two men scrambled up the bank, darted across the paved road, ran forty meters into the sparse trees, and completed a large circle. Both agents, stopping momentarily at the edge of the pavement, ran b
ack to their original position, then slid into the ice-cold water as quietly as possible. The numbing cold literally took their breath from them.

  The respiratory shock was almost overwhelming to the exhausted agents.

  O-kay, Dimitri ... just dog paddle. S-stay with me...

  USS DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER

  Lt. Commander Doug Frogman Karns snapped a salute and braced his helmet. Here we go.

  Shhhiiittt ... Rick Bonicelli replied, barely able to talk during the catapult stroke.

  Karns felt the powerful G-forces pressing him harder and harder into the seat back as the F-14 raced off the end of the giant carrier.

  Karns popped the gear lever up, trimmed the nose down, and watched the airspeed indicator. Accelerating through 220 knots, Gunfighter One selected flaps and slats up, then waited for the wings to sweep back.

  Okay, baby, Karns said to himself passing three hundred knots indicated airspeed, here we go.

  The Tomcat smoothly rotated skyward, climbing vertically in afterburner as Karns looked back over his shoulder. Gun Two was just beginning to raise the nose of his fighter.

  Back on the gauges as the accelerating F-14 penetrated dense clouds.

  You with me. Two? Karns asked his usual flying mate, Steve Hershberger.

  Yeah, but I lost you in the clouds, Hershberger radioed.

  I'll ease off a bit and catch you when we're on top.

  Okay, Hersh, Karns replied as his Tomcat shot through the top of the cloud layer. You'll be out in a couple seconds.

  Switch to button seven.

  Karns turned on his scrambler, then tuned to the E2C Hawkeye's frequency. Stingray, Gun One up, flight of two, standard ordnance, squawking. What have you got?

  Turn right, heading two-three-zero, and climb to angels three-one, the Hawkeye controller ordered. Two Air Force F-15s tangled with a division of Mig-29s due east of the Iceland MADIZ (Military Air Defense Identification Zone). Four Migs jumped 'em, just outside of the zone, and the Fifteens dropped one of the Migs. The Eagles had to disengage because of low fuel, so we're vectoring you for an intercept.

  Roger, Karns radioed, as he slowly lowered the nose, pulled the throttles out of afterburner, and turned to the southwest heading. He looked over his right shoulder in time to see Hershberger slide smoothly into a nice, loose parade position.