by Larry Bond
It wasn’t much, and after a moment’s consideration, Perry added, “This does not answer the question of the weapon’s vulnerability when fired from a shore installation. We will continue to search for this, as well as details of possible improvements being made to the Status-6 design.”
13 July 2021
1730 Eastern Daylight Time
CNO’s Intel Staff Office, The Pentagon
Arlington, VA
* * *
Commander Russ Chatham shook his head and laid the draft back on his boss’s desk. “Why do we have to decide what the Navy will say? Isn’t this Public Affairs’s territory?” he complained.
“Public Affairs will say whatever CNO tells them to say,” RADM Mike Sanders replied. “Our intel shop knows the most of anyone in the Navy about this issue. And we have to determine what’s best to say in any case. It’s simpler if we draft the release. I don’t want to brief a bunch of PAO types into a compartment just so they can screw up the story.”
Sanders continued, “Besides, my recommendation is ‘Nothing.’ As far as the rest of the world, and most of the Navy, is concerned, we’re still looking for Toledo.”
“But that keeps the families waiting.”
“And that’s on me,” Sanders admitted sadly. “I’ll take the karmic hit. Hopefully it won’t be for very long, just until we figure out what the Russians are up to.” He shook his head. “Nope. We can’t say anything, because as soon as the Navy announces Toledo’s been found, we’ll have to tell them how and where. No half measures.”
Sanders held up one finger. “First, we’d have to announce that Toledo’s loss was caused by an external event, otherwise we would be required to investigate a material fault or personnel error that doesn’t exist. That would be a major waste of time and effort, and disrespectful to the crew.” Another finger went up. “Second, the only external cause that anyone will accept is a weapon of some type hitting her. There are no sea monsters or other navigational hazards in that area.”
As he put up the third finger, he continued, “And we can’t tell an obvious falsehood and say the weapon was somehow left over from World War II, because it will take about five minutes for someone to check the records and announce there were never any mines laid up there during the war.
“And that’s just the ‘how,’” Sanders explained. “The ‘where’ will really put the wind up the Russians’ skirts. They’ll flood the area with patrols, maybe even more minefields, and we’ll never get a good look at that Russian whatchamacallit.”
Chatham grimaced at Sanders’s last point; he’d been worried about that particular issue. “Admiral, I’m not certain the Russians don’t feel a breeze up their rears already. Carter’s arrival at Groton has to have been noticed.”
“I know, Russ, I’ve been thinking about that too. We’ll have to come up with a convincing story to explain her presence, but just saying she’s here to help look for Toledo is pretty damn flimsy. We’ll have to be more convincing.”
13 July 2021
1830 Eastern Daylight Time
Oval Office, The White House
Washington, D.C.
* * *
“Is this the best the intelligence community can come up with?” President Hardy demanded. “‘It’s larger, and may have a different payload’ is not good enough.”
“He’s still digging, Mr. President,” Raymond Peakes replied. A thin man, with equally thin hair combed straight back, the director of national intelligence sounded defensive, and he added, “Dr. Perry is very good at this. He’s methodical, but even more, he’s good at filling in the gaps.”
“But is he quick?” the president asked. “The Russians are building something and we don’t know what it is, or when it will be finished. The public and the families are waiting for us to release more information about Toledo’s loss. Time is passing, Ray, and the problem is, I won’t know when it’s too late.”
Joanna Patterson, sitting next to Hardy, asked, “Do we know anything about the Russians’ timeline, Lowell?”
Peakes was still getting used to the first lady being present at Oval Office briefings. Anybody who knew Dr. Patterson knew she wasn’t going to settle for just tea parties and civic causes, but the Tensor material was more than sensitive. Still, she was here, she had retained her clearances, and it was a good question.
Hardy nodded to Peakes, who answered, “They’ll have to stop work by the end of September. After that, the weather gets a lot worse and the ice starts closing in again.”
Evangeline McDowell, Hardy’s secretary, knocked and opened the door. “Mr. President, everyone, Director Jacobson and Dr. Perry are on their way over right now. They say they have ‘new information.’ They should be here in about thirty minutes.”
“Thank you, Evangeline,” replied Hardy with a look of encouragement. “Maybe now we can get to the bottom of this mess.”
* * *
Half an hour later, McDowell led Perry and Jacobson, the director of central intelligence, into the Oval Office. The two walked quickly over to the assembly, recently joined by National Security Advisor Hyland and White House Chief of Staff Sellers. Dressed sharply, Jacobson was calm and collected; his long slow gait rapidly chewed up the distance.
Perry, by contrast, was his complete opposite. Almost at a jog to keep up because of his short stature, he was clearly excited and looked more like a stereotypical hermit scholar. He entered clutching a locked briefcase and his sport coat with both hands. Customary dress at the White House was, at the very least, coat and tie. And while Perry remembered to bring his sport coat, he hadn’t remembered to put it on. It was obvious his mind was elsewhere.
“Good evening, George, Dr. Perry,” Hardy welcomed. “What do you have for us?”
“And to you, Mr. President,” replied Jacobson as he nodded to the other attendees. “My apologies for this brash entrance, but after Dr. Perry burst into my office an hour ago with his latest findings, I figured time was of greater concern than protocol. Dr. Perry, please explain.”
The analyst faced the group, but looking directly at Hardy, Perry announced, “It is a different payload, Mr. President. Very different.”
Peakes looked at him quietly for a moment before ordering him calmly, “All right, James. Please sit down and tell us what you’ve found.”
Perry realized he was still holding his sport coat, and slipped it on before sitting down on a small couch next to Peakes. Hardy, Patterson, and Secretary Richfield sat on the opposite couch, with a small table between them. Hyland and Sellers stood behind them.
“I asked myself, ‘How do you improve the Status-6?’ It’s virtually invulnerable once it’s launched. It’s got more range than it needs, and to make it faster, you’d be fighting the cube law. If anything, it should be smaller. I did some rough calculations, and the new version’s larger size actually isn’t big enough to hold a nuclear power plant with enough moxie to give an appreciable increase in speed. At the very best, we’re talking about a three-knot increase.”
Perry paused for just a moment, but nobody interrupted him. “That left the warhead, but an even bigger nuclear warhead doesn’t give you much either. The cube law again.”
He opened his briefcase and passed out sheets of paper to the president, SecDef, and the DNI. He’d only brought three, and Joanna looked on with Hardy. The others hovered over Peakes.
The single page showed a drawing of a needle-like missile, with a similar shape, much smaller, circled in a satellite photo. Provisional statistics were listed below.
“This is the Tsitrin missile. It means ‘citrine’ in Russian. They’ve been naming their missiles after minerals,” he added. “We’ve seen tests at the Nyonoska Test Range on the Kola Peninsula for some time. It’s a hypersonic weapon. We’ve watched it fly at Mach six, and it’s big enough to carry a one-hundred-and-fifty-kiloton nuclear device with an estimated range of over four hundred miles.”
Hardy nodded. “I remember being briefed on it. Scary. But
what makes you think this is the new warhead—I mean, payload—for the torpedo?”
“The Tsitrin missile is very large—too large for either a submarine torpedo tube or the UKSK vertical launcher on Russian warships and submarines. The accepted wisdom was that the Russians were going to develop a new launch platform for it, probably a submarine, but the scramjet propulsion system is risky technology. We judged they wouldn’t start the design until the missile’s hypersonic engine had been thoroughly tested.
“Well, it’s pretty late in the missile’s test program, which it is passing, and we’re not seeing anything being fitted out as a test bed. Typically, you take an existing platform, ship, plane, or sub, and modify it so you can proceed to launch trials. This time? Nothing.”
“And this fits in the new torpedo?” Richfield asked.
“Yes, sir, rather neatly,” Perry confirmed smugly. “We know how much of the Status-6 was taken up by the nuclear warhead. Add four meters to that and make the torpedo a little fatter and it matches the dimensions of the Tsitrin missile, nine meters, plus its launch canister. And the available space doesn’t match the dimensions of any other missile in the Russian inventory, or under development.”
Hardy sat back on the sofa with a whoosh as he exhaled. “So this improved torpedo will be able to approach the coast, and then launch a very, very fast missile that can reach over four hundred miles inland…”
Richfield, punching a calculator, reported, “At Mach six, it could reach maximum range in about six minutes. A more typical flight time might be four or five minutes.” He shrugged helplessly. “Even if we knew exactly where it would be launched, we don’t have anything that could stop it. We could build a radar able to track it, but we’d also need a new missile system that could hit it, and we’d have to line both coasts with radars and launchers.”
“But it’s still a second-strike weapon,” Patterson insisted. She took the paper from Hardy and put it on the table in front of her, as if rejecting the idea. “It wouldn’t be used until after a nuclear exchange between us and Russia. This makes a big expensive weapon even bigger and more expensive. Why go to so much trouble?”
Perry responded, “Exactly, ma’am. And it still doesn’t explain how they expect to keep the Prima base from being destroyed immediately, in the first exchange. This weapon isn’t like a missile; it takes some time to start up the nuclear reactor and bring it to max power before you launch it. Unless the launch facility was very well hardened, which would be another added expense, and a considerable one, it would never get a chance to leave its tube. And the more dangerous they make this thing, the more missiles we’ll devote to giving it a quick and violent end.”
Patterson shuddered. “So we know more, but we don’t know enough to do anything.”
Peakes turned to face the analyst. “This is good work, James. But we need you to be good again, and figure out why the Russians think the Prima station won’t get nuked right away.”
Hardy nodded agreement. “Yes, well done. There’s a lot riding on this, Dr. Perry. And it would really help if you found the answer quickly.”
14 July 2021
1030 Eastern Daylight Time
CIA, Office of Intelligence and Analysis
Langley, Virginia
* * *
With the “Big Skipper” interested in a fast answer, Dr. Perry’s shop had been authorized to use any resource within the government, and their requests had top priority. While Perry couldn’t call on an infinite number of monkeys, he hoped there were enough for at least one act from Shakespeare. In fact, he’d be grateful for a sonnet.
The U.S. wasn’t the only military fascinated by shiny new stuff. The Russians seemed to also like dealing from the advanced-technology deck, so Perry spent the morning requesting a search of Russian scientific literature going back five years, which was about when he judged the idea of an improved Status-6 might have formed in the Russian leadership.
He also ordered a survey of all known weapon test sites, especially those connected with strategic or nuclear weapons, and finally, all possible submarine design houses for new programs or work to modify the Khabarovsk-class. One possible scenario that Perry had thought of was that the Russians were just in a tremendous hurry to deploy the new weapon. They might even make a demonstration launch to prove the credibility of the improved weapon as a deterrent. It actually was going to be sea-based, but the first submarine fitted with them was at least a decade away from sailing.
Perry was trying to think of more searches when someone said, “Excuse me,” from the open door to his office. An older gentleman with a lined face and snow-white hair stood at the door. “Dr. Perry, I’m George Ryskov, from the Office of Science and Technology. I don’t think we’ve ever spoken.”
Perry almost leapt out of his seat to shake Ryskov’s hand and offer him a chair. Dr. George Ryskov wasn’t just from the Office of Science and Technology. He was the office’s chief scientist, and almost legendary throughout the agency. He had actually been considered for a Nobel Prize in physics some time back. He also had a gift for languages, and spoke several Slavic languages fluently. He knew more about Russian scientific research than anyone on this side of the Atlantic. Stunned, Perry could only wonder what the chief scientist wanted.
Ryskov sat down carefully and said amiably, “Several of my people are afflicted with flaming hair, evidently ignited by high-priority requests from you.”
“I’m afraid so, Doctor,” Perry admitted. “It’s straight from the top, and…”
“I saw the requirement, and I’m willing to do whatever my office can to help. But the smoke is a distraction. I may have a more efficient search method.”
Surprised, all Perry could do was agree. “By all means, sir. What do you suggest?”
The scientist smiled. “Let’s talk for a little while about this new weapon. I’ve seen your analysis of the new payload, and it’s quite insightful. Adding a missile is an impressive increase in the Status-6’s capability. But apparently you believe that the Russians have made other changes to the weapon as well?”
Nodding, Perry replied, “We have to find out why the Russians would build a launch site on the ocean floor for a weapon that really needs to be fired from a submarine.”
“A very secret launch site,” Ryskov added darkly. “They could have chosen many places that are far less remote and where the weather is much more favorable for underwater construction. Construction that would have undoubtedly proceeded much more quickly, and the launch site could very well have been finished by now.”
He paused for a moment, then continued, “That is what first struck me when I heard about this entire business. The remote location. The minefield. The Russians do not want anyone to know what they are doing. They had every reason to believe that they could complete the launch site and deploy this weapon before we were aware of its existence. They may still believe that. Without a certain ‘special resource,’ we would have been caught completely by surprise. This improved torpedo is a ‘secret weapon,’ in the classic sense,” he concluded.
“Well, it won’t be secret once it’s launched,” Perry countered. “Any scenario where these things are actually used becomes surreal very quickly, but the seabed sensors we have in the GIUK gap would easily hear these things the minute they started running. It might be hard to actually destroy the base before it could fire a lot of torpedoes, but the Status-6 or this new weapon would take literally days, even at a hundred knots, to reach a target here in the continental USA.”
Ryskov nodded. “I cannot imagine a scenario where Russia telegraphs a strategic nuclear attack days in advance. This also highlights the question of their remote location, which with its increased distance actually increases our warning time. The Russians don’t appear to be concerned with how long it takes to reach its destination, or how much warning we may get.”
Perry’s expression changed from puzzlement to realization. “Because the new weapon won’t provide any warning. You do
n’t think we’re going to hear them,” Perry stated flatly.
“One possibility—maybe the most likely one, given their choice of location, is that the improved torpedo is quieter than the original Status-6. We won’t hear them coming because they have found a way to radically reduce their acoustic signature.”
“New silencing technology?” Perry asked. “That makes sense. Silencing technology takes up space, hence the larger size. But wouldn’t the Russians use it on their submarines first?”
“Actually, it would be easier to implement on a smaller vehicle than a larger one, and I would submit that a strategic nuclear system has an even higher priority than general-purpose submarines. If such technology exists, we might eventually see it on strategic-missile submarines now beginning construction, but it will likely be fielded first on these torpedoes by the end of the summer.”
“That could narrow our search considerably,” Perry observed.
“Yes, it does,” Ryskov replied, smiling. “Assuming my hypothesis is correct. Since you haven’t uncovered any flaws in my logic, I should tell you that after extinguishing several small fires on my staff, I’ve directed everyone in my section to concentrate their search on quieting technologies: acoustics, materials, hydrodynamics. For example, what if you could design a nuclear reactor of that size and power output that didn’t need pumps or other supporting machinery? Or what if they’ve discovered a way to simply heat water with the reactor and expel it out the back? I know we’ve investigated those concepts ourselves in the past, but discarded them as unworkable.”
Perry grabbed a notepad. “I’ll restructure the searches I’ve already ordered. There’s always the risk we will find nothing, but it’s a good place to start.”
“And hopefully whatever you find will corroborate whatever we find.”
