MOSCOW
Large snowflakes, mixed with freezing rain, floated gently down and enshrouded the street lamps in ice-fog as darkness settled over the city.
The new party general secretary had called a plenary session of the Central Committee to establish his authority and set priorities. At least the colloquy, on the outside, would appear to accomplish those objectives.
Soviet society, from the ruling hierarchy to the impoverished peasants in remote regions, had suffered years of economic, political and social deprivation.
The general secretary, along with the eleven members of the Politicheskoye Buro, desperately wanted to regain the favor of the Central Committee and the eighteen million members of the Communist party. The new ruler and his Politburo needed the support of their depressed society. The hierarchy needed the support of the masses and the general secretary was ready to placate the Russian people in any way possible. He needed time for his scheme to come to fruition.
The new leader, and a few select Politburo members, had arranged a grazing party for 302 leading representatives of the Central Committee. A few elderly members were unable to attend the festivities because of poor health—the only plausible excuse for not attending a plenum called by the general secretary.
The idea of the grazing party, a Russian cultural tradition, was to soothe feelings, loosen talk, and foster an atmosphere of comradeship between the men of the Central Committee. Many relationships had been strained over the past four years and an opportunity to have fun, relax, and enjoy an evening of frivolity would help renew old friendships and heal damaged pride. Tomorrow would be soon enough to discuss serious matters. This was a night of revelry for the communist leaders.
The main dining room and adjoining bar in the Great Building were cavernous and could easily accommodate the Politburo and Central Committee contingent.
An ornate interior, nineteenth century furnishings, and a warm fireplace at each end of the massive dining room, promoted a convivial feeling in contrast to the snow piled high outside and the temperature registering minus eighteen degrees centigrade.
Zakuska was spread on the vast tables. The array consisted of sliced beef vinaigrette, piroshki, button mushrooms in spicy marinade, pelmeni, smoked fish, stuffed cabbage, pickled herring, dark bread, caviar, and Stolichnaya vodka.
The bar was crowded as the Central Committee members congregated to talk about old times and the promise of the Party’s future. The evening was progressing very smoothly.
Three members of the Politburo, greeting old acquaintances at the bar, discreetly caught the eye of the new general secretary. The four men exchanged a brief smile.
They had every reason for celebration. The new leader, ousted from the Politburo in 1988 for being combative and unyielding, had returned to power with a flourish.
WASHINGTON, D.C.
The former chief of naval operations, Adm. Edward Robinson Chambers, set the Washington Post on the edge of his seat and reached for his leather briefcase. The navy blue limousine braked evenly and slowed to a smooth stop at the entrance to the JCS headquarters in the imposing Pentagon Building.
Admiral Chambers, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, was of medium height and weight with a trace of a limp. The limp resulted from injuries sustained in a crash landing aboard the carrier Midway after a tough sortie over Vietnam.
Chambers kept his light gray hair trimmed short and wore distinguished tortoiseshell-frame glasses to correct the near vision in his hazel eyes.
“Good morning, Admiral,” Capt. Mike Trenton, the admiral’s aide, greeted Chambers.
“What the devil do you make of all this, Mike?” the admiral asked as the captain took the briefcase in hand, thinking it unusual for the genial admiral not to respond to a greeting.
“Sir, the information we have, as of thirty minutes ago, indicates a full-court press by the Soviets,” Trenton replied. “Sorry to awaken you so early, Admiral, but CINCLANT was absolutely insistent.”
“No problem, Mike. Are the other members on their way?”
“Yes, sir,” Trenton paused, “with the exception of General Hollingsworth. He is on an inspection tour of Camp Pendleton and should be here in approximately three hours.”
“How is General Seecroft?” Chambers asked, referring to the assistant chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Army General “Mick” Seecroft.
“He is mending rapidly, Admiral,” Trenton responded, switching the briefcase to his other hand. “I talked with the general yesterday, and he assured me that his career as an equestrian is over. Something spooked the horse and it tossed the general onto a tree stump.”
Chambers chuckled. “Bet I know where we could pick up a good Appaloosa for a song.”
“No doubt.”
Trenton, a tall, thin, red-haired submariner, had been an aide to the admiral for seven months. This assignment, though unexciting to the former sub skipper, was necessary to his career development. He genuinely liked the friendly chairman and had grown used to his quirks.
“Has the president been notified?” Chambers asked as he passed through the door being held open by Trenton.
“He is aware of some unusual events, but not the particulars, sir. The chief of staff has requested, on behalf of the president, a full briefing as soon as the Joint Chiefs convene.”
“Okay, Mike,” the admiral responded, thinking about the simplicity of life twenty-four hours ago. Chambers and his wife, Mariam, had entertained old friends from the Naval Academy with a champagne brunch.
THE KREMLIN
“Good morning, comrades,” General Secretary Viktor Pavlovich Zhilinkhov addressed the Central Committee members.
“It is a pleasure to be with you again. I trust everyone enjoyed the activities of last evening,” the general secretary continued, a warm smile spreading across his craggy face.
A murmur spread throughout the vast meeting hall. Smiles and soft laughter rose from the contingent of party members as everyone thought about the previous boisterous evening. Formulating a thought, for some red-eyed attendees, was a difficult task at this early hour.
The Central Committee, joined by the Politburo members, had been served a sumptuous breakfast of eggs, beef, pork, dark bread, gravy, and steaming coffee, strong and rich in flavor.
Now it was time to grapple with the multitude of problems facing the Motherland and her leaders. It was time, as Zhilinkhov had stated so vociferously the previous evening, for a return to hard-line Marxist-Leninist orientation. The Gorbachev Doctrine had not strengthened the Soviet economy or restructured Russian society.
The Reagan Doctrine, providing support for anticommunist guerrillas in the far-reaching Soviet empire, had pressured the former general secretary into capitulation on many fronts. The Soviet Union, during the late eighties and early nineties, had been forced to retreat from Afghanistan, Cambodia, Angola, and Nicaragua.
The present American administration, to Soviet consternation, had kept the pressure concentrated on Russian outposts of communism. The ensuing political confrontations in the Politburo had led to the demise of the previous general secretary. Zhilinkhov had been one of the chief conspirators who had planned the transfer of power.
“We have much to accomplish, my fellow countrymen,” Zhilinkhov smiled again. “I have important news for you. News that will change our country for the better. News that will revolutionize our Motherland.”
THE PENTAGON
The Joint Chiefs, with the exception of Marine General Hollingsworth, sat down and opened the hastily prepared briefing folders.
Soft light fell on the conference table from overhead fixtures. The room was totally void of noise or movement as the service chiefs reviewed the situation briefs.
Admiral Chambers spoke first. “Gentlemen, it would appear the new Russian boss is an expediter. Why, with all their internal troubles, would Zhilinkhov choose to antagonize the U.S.?”
The chairman paused, waiting for a possible explanation from the other chiefs. No offers were extended.
“It is inexplicable, at least to me,” he continued, “why they would push us so soon. Zhilinkhov has been in power for less than four weeks. One would think, logically, gentlemen, that he needs all the help he can muster, especially from us.”
The chairman slowly shook his head, “It just doesn’t track, at least not in my mind.”
Silence surrounded the massive oak table and gleaming furnishings.
Gen. Forrest Milton Ridenour III, United States Air Force chief of staff, always a listener, broke the silence.
“I believe the good comrade is trying to muscle us into a position of capitulation through confrontation. The Soviets are totally perplexed, in regard to SDI, and now our Stealth bomber is coming on line. Zhilinkhov needs to make his mark soon. His country is progressively decaying.”
Ridenour allowed his words to have an impact and continued. “Think about this: Why would they bring back an aging Politburo member, considered too aggressive under the previous regime, to reform the Party?”
The chiefs digested this scenario as the Air Force chief of staff sipped his water and continued.
“The man is in ragged health. Zhilinkhov knows he doesn’t have a lot of time. He has to perform. What has he got to lose?
“His reputation and the future of his country, his ideology, is on the line. He must demonstrate to his supporters that he can bring the Americans to the bargaining table, that he can make us, through a thinly veiled threat of war, bow and acquiesce.”
The Air Force general looked around, leaned back in his chair, and continued.
“I believe Zhilinkhov is being manipulated. The Politburo ruling class, the conservative elite, are becoming dinosaurs in a crumbling society. They are becoming desperate. These recent incidents are reminiscent of old-style Soviet tactics.”
Admiral Chambers interrupted in a quiet manner. “Milt, what do you see as the bottom line?”
Ridenour, looking relaxed, responded. “I really—it would be pure conjecture to project an absolute.”
The general paused to form his reply. “I don’t know if they, and I emphasize ‘they,’ are desperate or deranged. How far would Zhilinkhov push? We don’t have any way to gauge.”
Ridenour, seeing Chambers didn’t have a question, continued. “The incidents could continue to escalate to the point where no rationale remains. Desperate people do desperate deeds, as we’ve seen many times.
“Zhilinkhov has proved to be overly aggressive and reactionary in the past. He openly celebrated the death of President Zia in eighty-eight. Zhilinkhov’s display deeply embarrassed the Kremlin.
“That incident and his record of opposing Gorbachev were the fundamental reasons for his removal from the Politburo during the shake-up. Shortly afterward, as I’m sure all of you will recall, Zhilinkhov publicly criticized Gorbachev for allowing Andrei Sakharov to travel to the United States. So, we can anticipate the worst from the general secretary, in my opinion,” General Ridenour concluded.
“Let me pose a question,” the Army chief of staff, Gen. Warren Kinlaw Vandermeer, said as he leaned over the table. “Does anyone believe the former general secretary died in a purely accidental crash?”
Vandermeer handed a picture and biography of Zhilinkhov to General Ridenour.
“No,” replied Adm. Martin Grabow, chief of Naval Operations. “The circumstances are very suspect, what with the short mourning period and the new players in the starting blocks.”
“In addition,” the admiral continued, “there is every indication, according to our operatives, that a ground-launched missile hit the airplane as it lifted off the runway at Sheremetyevo.”
General Ridenour passed Zhilinkhov’s biography to Chambers. “We have a real problem on our hands.”
“I’m afraid you’re right, Milt,” Chambers concluded, studying the somber, puffy face of the Soviet president and general secretary.
USS CARL VINSON
The Third Fleet carrier and its battle group, recently conducting operations in the Bering Sea north of the Aleutian Islands, had received orders to steam at flank speed toward the Sea of Okhotsk.
The 93,000-ton Vinson and her escort ships would join the Seventh Fleet battle group, spearheaded by the carrier USS Constellation, to prowl the waters adjacent to Kamchatka Peninsula. The USS Ranger and her carrier task force, enjoying a port call to Anchorage, Alaska, were being hurriedly dispatched to replace the Vinson in the Bering Sea.
The past thirty-six hours had been marked by significant increases in Soviet air and naval activity near Alaska and the Aleutian Islands, along with an unusual number of Russian submarine deployments from the port of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatski on the Kamchatka Peninsula. The Russian submarine base was the only Soviet seaport with direct, year-round access to the open ocean.
Aboard the Vinson, Rear Adm. Thomas R. Brinkman was meeting with his Flag Staff to coordinate the combined efforts of the two battle groups.
“We have seen an alarming and growing threat from the Russian sector in the past four days.” The admiral paused while a color slide of recent Soviet movements was projected on a screen to his left.
“Our intelligence community hasn’t come to grips with the actual purpose of this sudden activity; however, we can assume it has to do with the political swing brought about by the untimely death of the former general secretary.”
The portly task force commander glanced at his staff intelligence officer, Capt. Jack Sinclair.
“I believe Jack can give us a better picture of the current situation, at least what we know to be factual at the moment. Jack?”
“The Russians are mobilizing their ground forces in these areas of Eastern bloc countries,” Sinclair paused, pointing to different sections on the slide, “and they have been moving their fighter air wings to forward operating bases west of the Urals.”
Sinclair placed a different graphic on the projector.
“Also, the carrier Kiev has left port in the past sixteen hours, presumably to dog the Eisenhower. It has a complement of twenty-three Yak-36 ‘Forgers’ on board and three escort ships, two Sovremenny-class missile destroyers, and a guided missile cruiser, the Slava. The Brezhnev is preparing to get underway from Nikolayev shipyard with a full load of various aircraft.”
Sinclair reached for another slide and continued. “Every operable sub has left the bases at Polyarnyy and Petropavlovsk-Kamchatski. The waters we are currently traversing are crawling with Russian subs. Intelligence estimates at least twelve Soviet submarines in a three-hundred-mile radius of the Kuril Islands. Satellite reconnaissance confirms seven Russian submarines have ducked under the ice cap from the Beaufort Sea to the Laptev Sea, big boomers.
“This is where we stand at the moment.” Sinclair waited until the other staff officers perused the slide depicting American and NATO movements. It was clear that a major Soviet military buildup was underway.
“What we don’t know is the why,” Sinclair continued. “The general consensus is this: The new regime is sending a strong signal to indicate they want to realign the Soviet and American power base. The Russians apparently believe they can achieve this result through intimidation and military pressure. As you are well aware, the new Soviet government has a basketful of problems, and they haven’t had much success at the bargaining table the past few years. The SDI issue had them frothing at the mouth in ninety, and they are aware that our final link to the basic space defense system is about to be launched aboard Columbia. Another big rub is the pending deployment of the Stealth bombers. They’re already mad as hell about our ‘no-see-um’ fighters.”
The intelligence officer set his papers down, removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and continued.
“Pressure, gentlemen. The Soviets are under tremendous pressure. The only leverage they have is the strength of their military and, apparently, the newly formed powers believe it is their last recourse. So it’s back to MAD, the mutual assured destruction doctrine, before we place them in a position of impotence with the SDI technology,” Sinclair concluded, waiting for questions.
Admiral Brinkman spoke first. “Jack, do you have any indication the Soviets will actually start, not provoke, but start a skirmish?”
“No, sir. We really don’t anticipate that, unless it happens by accident. We’re in a holding pattern at the present time, Admiral,” the intelligence officer replied, wishing he had a better answer.
There wasn’t any way to predict what the Russians would do, given the desultory circumstances and the character of the new Soviet fugleman and his Politburo. These were ideologically driven people in a very precarious position. The situation could, conceivably, be out of control before anyone could intervene.
CAPE CANAVERAL, FLORIDA
The space shuttle Columbia, sitting on Launch Pad 39B, was in the final process of being readied for flight to place the three SDI (Space Defense Initiative) satellites into orbit.
Previous SDI satellites had been deployed in polar orbit from Vandenburg Air Force Base, linking the defensive network in a multilayered lattice. NASA would be in charge of the launch and Space Command would take responsibility once the satellites were operational.
The day and precise time of the scheduled launch were classified Top Secret, as was the sensitive cargo in the three sealed containers aboard the shuttle.
Security was tight at the cape on this cold, blustery day in January.
Rex Hays, Ph.D., was standing at his office window, impeccably tailored, casual in manner, gazing out at the sparkling white space shuttle framed by the aqua blue Atlantic Ocean. He never ceased to be amazed by the grandeur of the space machine built by man.
As the new chief of NASA, Hays, fifty-six, a grandfather and amateur boat builder, exuded confidence and was well-respected by his staff. The astrophysicist was slowly adjusting to his new position at the Kennedy Space Center.
“Dr. Hays, you have an urgent call on line two,” the female voice sounded from his phone speaker.
The NASA boss punched line two. “Dr. Hays.”
“Rex, Dave Miller.”
“Morning, Dave,” Hays responded, a flash thought crossing his mind as to the reason David Miller, in the White House Situation Room, would be calling him directly.
“What can I do for you?” Hays was cautious.
“Rex, I’m sure you’ve been following this Russian pushan’-shove match the past couple of days.” Miller slowed to breathe. He lived under constant stress and was a heavy smoker with the beginning stages of emphysema.
“Yes I have,” Hays answered, an uneasy feeling in his stomach.
“Well, we believe the primary thrust of all this crap is the ‘Star Wars’ dilemma they’re facing.” Miller paused again.
“And?” Hays scratched on his desk pad, contemplating a myriad of possibilities for disaster.
“The powers-that-be think the Russians may try to take it out before we—”
“Take what out?” Hays interrupted, thinking about the disdain he had for the unkempt bureaucrat.
“The goddamn shuttle, that’s what!” Miller responded with his usual harshness.
“Would you care to elaborate?” Hays asked in a controlled and businesslike manner.
“Intelligence has confirmed three subs, three Russian subs, lyin’ off the coast in a direct line with the shuttle trajectory.”
Miller continued when he received no response. “The closest one is fourteen miles off shore,” Miller coughed twice. “Our ASW boys are goin’ absolutely ape-shit down there.”
Hays queried the excitable White House aide. “You’re telling me the intelligence people believe the Russians may attempt to destroy Columbia on the ground, or after the launch?”
“You got it. Even a possibility of covert troops, commandos, from a sub coming ashore and destroying the shuttle and surrounding facilities.” Miller wheezed and continued his scenario. “Hell, they could be all over the place right now. Could have been picked up by a yacht, everyone in tourist civies, and roaming ’round the cape this very minute.”
“Okay, Dave. What do you propose?” Hays asked as he glanced through his window at Columbia and thought about security measures for Discovery, Endeavor, and Atlantis.
“Not much for your folks, Rex. Just be aware, and alert everyone to the possibility of sabotage.” Miller coughed, then continued. “The Army is going to surround the complex and beef up security at the gates. The Marines are securing the beach, and,” Miller paused, lighting another unfiltered cigarette, “they will have six Cobra gunships there in—” Miller checked his watch “—’bout forty-five minutes.”
“What about overflights by civilian airplanes?” Hays asked.
“The FAA has been notified. They’re issuing a Notice to Airmen immediately. It’ll be effective from now until further notice and designates the airspace for twenty miles ’round the launch complex, from the ground to infinity, as a prohibited area.”
“What is the penalty for violating the airspace?” Hays thought about a threat from a passive-looking civilian airplane.
“The message clearly states that any unidentified aircraft, civilian or military, traversing the prohibited airspace will be destroyed.”
“Destroyed by what?”
“I ’magine marine gunships or ground-launched missiles,” Miller responded.
“Sounds as if the president is serious,” Hays remarked, probing the possibility of moving the launch time up a day or two.
“Damn right he is! The Navy is sitting all over the subs and the Saratoga is in a hum to leave Norfolk. Should be underway in two or three hours.”
Miller paused, then continued. “Air Force is sending F-16s from Shaw and Homestead. They’ll patrol around the clock and operate out of Patrick and the shuttle emergency runway. Navy F-14s from Jacksonville will rendezvous with the Saratoga and provide air cover further out to sea. The Navy boys have a squadron of ASW planes over the subs now.”
Miller paused, then continued. “Listen, Rex, I gotta’ run. The boss just flagged me, so if you have any questions, let me know.”
The NASA chief had many questions regarding the safety of the shuttles, but Miller was not the individual to deal with on this matter.
“Okay, Dave. Appreciate the information,” Hays replied, then placed the phone receiver down.
THE KREMLIN
The general secretary, with assistance from the Politburo, had briefed the Central Committee during the morning session about the difficulties the government had experienced in the previous years.
Zhilinkhov sipped at his strong, hot tea and reflected on Soviet history. Periods of Soviet lenience had always been followed by crackdowns, the only effective way to rule a communist country.
The general secretary thought about the mid-eighties when the new policy of glasnost, or openness, had been installed. The deterioration of the party had been obvious and immediate.
Riots had broken out during 1986 in Alma-Ata, the capital of Kazakhstan, over perestroika, reconstruction. The kazakh who had led the republic’s Communist party for more than a generation had been retired and replaced by a Russian. The unfortunate riot caused by that action had been made public and demonstrations erupted over the next five years in many outlying regions.
The open society approach resulted in Pravda, the Communist party daily, criticizing the Brezhnev era policies. The paper blamed the former general secretary for sending the country into an economic slump. Pravda also charged that favoritism had been rampant during the Brezhnev years.
Zhilinkhov had known that such open reporting would hurt the Party and the country. He had known also that the information was correct. Leonid’s friendship for him had paved the way to his becoming chief of the KGB.
The Party’s protracted crisis had worsened with the Chernobyl nuclear reactor disaster in 1986. The horrendous catastrophe had been shown in detail by the media. That incident had been one of the primary reasons the Party had begun to falter. Control of the media had been abolished, leading to further erosion of party authority.
The incident that had irritated the former KGB secret service chief the most had happened in 1987. Pravda had publicly rebuked a top KGB officer. The loyal agent, hand-picked years earlier by Zhilinkhov, had been fired as head of the unit in the Ukrainian region of Voroshilovgrad.
The policies of glasnost and perestroika had hit party ministers and members of the Politburo very hard.
Zhilinkhov remembered that his Politburo friend, Boris Dichenkovko, had come very close to forced resignation in 1987 for questioning glasnost.
The general secretary looked at his watch. He had twelve minutes left of his solitary lunch break before addressing the Central Committee again.
Zhilinkhov thought about the serious decline of production levels in the late eighties and early nineties. Economic growth had withered, which resulted in shortages of many consumer items, including clothing, shoes, watches, glassware, television sets, washing machines, refrigerators, cars, and motorcycles.
During the same period of economic stagnation and associated political unrest, more stinging attacks had been directed at the former Kremlin leaders, including Brezhnev and Nikita Khrushchev, from state-run periodicals. The articles had been very demoralizing for Soviet leaders and government officialdom.
However, Zhilinkhov, along with his contemporaries in the Politburo, had known in their hearts that it was typical for the Kremlin leadership to denounce its predecessors. Khrushchev had attacked Stalin in 1956, three years after Stalin’s death, and his friend Leonid had denounced Khrushchev after he was ousted in 1964.
The real blow to Zhilinkhov had been his dismissal from the Politburo in September 1988, along with Dichenkovko and two other members who were close stalwarts from the Brezhnev era. The four men, all hard-liners, had lived with the stinging embarrassment for many months.
Zhilinkhov had retaliated by publicly criticizing Gorbachev’s decision to allow Andrei Sakharov to visit the United States. The Nobel laureate had told Western reporters that Gorbachev’s political and economic restructuring faced solid domestic opposition that would endanger world peace. Sakharov warned that perestroika and glasnost could result in an extremely dangerous Gorbachev dictatorship.
The Western press had reported that Gorbachev had tried to rejuvenate the Communist party system, and renovate a government, without reforming it. The editorials had predicted that the authoritarian Communist system, lacking momentum and zeal, would slowly degenerate.
Then, during Gorbachev’s trip to the United States in December 1988, the Armenian earthquake overshadowed the general secretary’s announcement of Soviet troop reductions in Europe. Rushing to Leninakan, Armenia, Gorbachev found total confusion in the Russian rescue and relief efforts. High-level Soviet officials, aided by the media, lambasted the general secretary and his efforts at restructuring. The disorderly earthquake rescue effort, the critics said, was another example of a faltering government.
Gorbachev, beleaguered and harshly defensive, fired back at his critics during January 1989. He alluded to strong political resistance from leaders at the pinnacle of power, and downplayed calls for a return to the authoritarian style of Stalin.
The most alarming aspect of Soviet economic problems had been the unbelievable drop in oil production in 1990. The flow from the rich Tyumen fields of western Siberia had declined eighteen percent from the previous year. The loss in production had had a staggering effect on the country and the military in particular.
The oil minister, Yevgeny F. Sveridoskiy, a solid party member, had been fired and sent into exile, as reported by TASS. Zhilinkhov recalled, however, that Sveridoskiy had never been seen again by family or friends.
The Russian economy, exploited with ruthless means by the military hierarchy for three decades, had turned on its leaders. The perestroika facade had crumpled as waves of protesters rioted throughout major industrial sectors in 1991. The Soviet image of a dynamic, prosperous work force had become a national embarrassment.
The political meddling had escalated to finger-pointing and shouted insults among Politburo members. Longtime political friends wouldn’t speak to each other in social settings.
Party hard-liners had demanded a return to basic communist principles. The Politburo, feeling a total loss of control, had split into two factions.
Zhilinkhov recalled the evening he had contacted his Politburo friend, Boris Dichenkovko. That night the two of them had formed the “inner circle.”
Zhilinkhov and Dichenkovko had invited three current Politburo members, who openly resisted the former general secretary, to join them in a bold coup d’état.
The three newcomers to the circle had been bolstered by the zeal of Zhilinkhov and Dichenkovko. Their passion had grown as Zhilinkhov outlined the detailed plan in a lengthy secret meeting.
An “accident” had been arranged to kill the former general secretary. A Libyan militiaman, expert in the use of portable air-defense missiles, had used a Soviet SA-14 to down the Russian transport carrying the Kremlin chief. The recruited Libyan had been murdered less than thirty minutes after the crash by a Dichenkovko loyalist.
The three current Politburo members had acted swiftly to align the other eight members behind Zhilinkhov and Dichenkovko. The group had been at odds over many issues and readily embraced the plan Zhilinkhov presented to restore Communist party principles. The Politburo, with one dissenter, had elected their friend and former Politburo member, Viktor Pavlovich Zhilinkhov, to fill the position of general secretary and president.
After Zhilinkhov had entrenched himself in the position of consummate power, the inner circle had initiated the next phase. The steps necessary to probe the Americans in preparation for a nuclear, chemical, and biological “first strike” to the United States were begun.
Zhilinkhov had enlisted a longtime friend, Minister of Defense and General of the Army Trofim Filippovich Porfir’yev, in the inner circle.
Porfir’yev, the Russian equivalent of the American secretary of defense and chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff combined, had initially been shocked by the magnitude of Zhilinkhov’s intent. Although Porfir’yev was fully apprised of the different first-strike scenarios rehearsed by the senior military commanders, he had never discussed the possibilities with the ruling hierarchy.
After meeting with the other members of Zhilinkhov’s aggregation, Porfir’yev embraced the bold plan and strongly recommended that the group include Marshal Nicholas Georgiyevich Bogdonoff, chief of the general staff.
The members of Zhilinkhov’s circle, although concerned about security, agreed. They didn’t want too many individuals, even at the top, to be aware of the secret strike plan.
Bogdonoff had always been a fervent advocate of the preemptive strike theory. He would provide the key military ingredient during the first stages of investigating American reactions.
Zhilinkhov and Porfir’yev approached the marshal of the Soviet Union in the general secretary’s private dining room. Bogdonoff, though initially stunned, enthusiastically joined the conspiracy. He immediately set about implementing the military steps to probe the Americans without alarming any leaders in the Soviet military.
The first step had already been completed. Russian bombers with fighter escorts had approached American battle groups.
The inner circle knew they could launch cruise missiles at the U.S. carriers from within 150 kilometers.
Now Soviet submarines would pursue U.S. carrier groups, pressing closer than ever before, to evaluate Russian first-strike capabilities.
The bomber and submarine probes had been carefully designed to appear as normal military operations under the new regime. Zhilinkhov didn’t want to create any suspicion in the Kremlin, or the military, prior to giving the order to launch missiles.
If the secret plan leaked out, Zhilinkhov’s power to launch a strike on a moment’s notice, without question, would be stripped by the eight uninformed Politburo members. Zhilinkhov was one of two men on the planet who could launch a massive, world-threatening nuclear strike, on his own authority.
Zhilinkhov now waited patiently for the next step to take place—sinking the American submarine prowling the Sea of Okhotsk.
The general secretary looked at his watch again, thinking about the afternoon session with the Central Committee. He would tell them of his economic reforms, reorganization of bureaucratic dynasties, industrial incentive plan, and revitalization of the energy industry. His message was simple: the future would restore Russia to her prominence, if the Party would give him the time needed.
“Comrade General Secretary, the members await you. It is past one,” Dimitri, head of the kitchen staff, gently reminded the eighty-six-year-old party leader.
USS DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER
Linnemeyer awoke in his cabin as the ship rolled hard to starboard in a 180-degree course reversal. The CO turned over, glanced at his portable alarm clock, blinked a number of times to clear his vision, and read the hour. He had been asleep over seven hours, much longer than his customary four or five hours.
Linnemeyer rubbed his face gingerly, finding the stubble coarse and uncomfortable. He forced his way out of the warm, inviting bunk and reached for his shaving kit, knocking over a glass of water in the semidarkness of his room.
The private stateroom contained a toilet and shower, the size of a small closet, off to the side of a combination sitting room/bedroom.
Linnemeyer brushed his teeth, shaved, and enjoyed a brief, but exhilarating, hot shower. Conservative use of fresh water was mandatory aboard Navy vessels at sea.
He changed into fresh work khakis, smartly laundered and pressed to razor-sharp crispness, and combed his hair. Slipping into his sage green flight jacket, Linnemeyer grabbed his wallet and watch, opened his cabin door and stepped into the soft red glow of the passageway.
CIC was a short walk away and he looked forward to having a hot cup of coffee, along with an update briefing on the latest Soviet activities, before going back to have his dinner. He had slept through lunch and his body was telling him it was past time to eat.
Linnemeyer stepped over the hatch-combing into the Combat Information Center and was greeted by the senior petty officer of the watch, Jim Puckette, electronics technician first class.
“Good evening, sir.”
“Evening. Where’s the watch officer?” Linnemeyer asked, observing the activity in the room.
“Went to the head, sir. Be right back,” Puckette responded, knowing the CO didn’t have a lot of patience. “Care for some hot tea, sir?”
Linnemeyer glanced at the small, fold-out table normally reserved for the battered coffee pot.
“Hot tea? What happened to the coffee?” Linnemeyer asked as he noticed the watch officer, Lt. Pete Dyestrom, step back into CIC.
“Coffee pot shelled, sir.” Puckette looked at Dyestrom, seeking approval. “We deep-sixed it, sir. Graham broke out Wilson’s four-cupper. He only drinks tea.”
Puckette reached for the CO’s cup hanging on the bulkhead and poured him a steaming cup of strong rosewood tea.
“Sounds great to me. Can’t be choosey when ya’ come a-bummin’,” Linnemeyer responded, noticing the grins on the sailors’ faces.
“Well, Pete, what’s the picture at the present time?” the CO asked the CIC watch officer.
“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”
“Let’s go with the good. I’m an optimist,” Linnemeyer grinned as he tasted his tea, still too hot to drink comfortably.
“The Kennedy is joining us. They’re out of the Med now, somewhere off Lisbon—” Dyestrom abruptly ended the sentence when his intercom rang.
Linnemeyer looked at the ship’s position plot as Dyestrom completed his conversation.
“Staff wants to see you, sir. They tried your quarters and figured you’d be here,” Dyestrom hurried. “The bad news, briefly, is that we still have the two subs trailing along and the Kiev is standing off about—” Dyestrom looked over to the petty officer manning CIC plot.
“One hundred five miles, zero-six-zero, sir.”
“That’s about it. No action yet. We have a two-plane Barrier Combat Air Patrol orbiting seventy miles northeast of the ship. As you can see, sir, we’ve been steaming back and forth over the same course the past six hours,” Dyestrom concluded.
“Okay. Appreciate the tea. What’s the deck status?” Linnemeyer asked as he drank the last swallow in his cup.
“Spotted for immediate CAP launch, sir. The pilots are in the cockpits. The Hummer is airborne, along with two Vikings and a tanker. One Viking is on the subs and the other is patrolling around the battle group. Also, we have a LAMPS antisubmarine helo between us and the subs. We are relieving everyone on station at four-hour intervals,” Dyestrom glanced at the twenty-four-hour clock. Another thirty-five minutes before the next launch.
“Sounds mighty fine, Pete. See ya’ later.” Linnemeyer rinsed his cup and placed it on a wall peg before stepping into the passageway leading to the ship’s bridge.
USS TENNESSEE
The Trident II fleet ballistic missile submarine, one of the newest in the inventory, had been fitted with new D5 missiles during a dry-dock period in March 1990.
The advanced nuclear sub was now on patrol with the Seventh Fleet and attached to the battle group led by the carrier USS Constellation.
The skipper of the Tennessee, Capt. Mark McConnell, had received orders to return to the battle group. He had been reconnoitering deep in the Sea of Okhotsk and was underway for the Constellation and her escort ships.
Ohio-class “boomers” normally patrolled the depths of open oceans. However, the Tennessee had been given a highly classified mission to reconnoiter the capabilities of the latest Soviet antisubmarine warfare (ASW) technology.
The Russians had launched a number of secret Cosmos satellites in 1991. Each unit contained a “blue hue” blue-green laser able to penetrate deep below the ocean’s surface. The laser system converted ultraviolet light from an xenon laser source to ultrahigh-intensity, narrow-band blue-green laser light.
Soviet scientists, in less than fourteen months, had launched twenty-nine Cosmos satellites with only one failure. The laser aboard the fourteenth satellite had failed to energize.
The Soviet technological breakthrough had caused great concern in the Pentagon. Had the Russians finally been able to make the oceans “transparent”? Were our submarines being tracked from home port to destination?
If the answer was yes, our worst fears would be true. The Soviets’ latest generation bomber, the “Blackjack,” carrying nuclear-tipped cruise missiles, would be able to select and destroy every American submarine. The triad of United States landbased nuclear missiles, bombers, and submarines would be irretrievably weakened.
Another question military planners needed to have answered involved Soviet antiballistic missile defenses. Could an American ballistic missile submarine get close to Russian shores in order to shorten the flight time of their missiles? Senior military strategic planners believed the less time in the air, the less chance of interception by Soviet countermeasure systems.
Fourteen nautical miles inside Severo-Kurilsk, off the southern tip of Kamchatka Peninsula, the Tennessee had been intercepted by a Udaloy-class antisubmarine warfare ship carrying two Kamov Ka-27 Helix-A antisub helicopters.
The blue-green laser from Cosmos Kuybyshev had indeed detected the United States submarine in the Sea of Okhotsk.
The American sub had been running at two-thirds speed at a depth of 200 feet, generating a loud acoustical signature, when one of the Russian helos spotted it with a sonobuoy trailing in the water.
To exacerbate matters, two Soviet submarines, one Akula-class and one Sierra-class nuclear attack submarine, were positioned between the Tennessee and the American battle group. They had been notified by the Russian antisubmarine ship of the exact position of the U.S. nuclear sub.
“Skipper, I think we’ve crapped in our mess kit,” Cmdr. Ken Houston, the Tennessee’s executive officer, said in a hushed voice. The sub was in a state of silent running, descending deeper after being detected and “pinged” by the helo’s mother ship.
“You’re right, Ken,” McConnell acknowledged, looking at his watch. “I should have had the patience to keep us slowed down.”
Both officers knew the Russians would be enraged if they suspected, or knew, how far the Tennessee had probed into their territorial waters.
“Well, Ken,” McConnell said in a whisper, “was it the laser or a chance encounter?”
“I don’t know,” Houston replied, slowly shaking his head. “They were right on top of us.”
“Yes …” McConnell said, baffled. “Still, it could be a coincidence.”
“You think they might drop on us?” CPO Clay Booker, the senior sonarman, asked Houston.
“I don’t know. The situation is really strained right now. We were in their backyard,” Houston said, checking the sub’s diving rate.
“They shot down a 747 full of civilians with no provocation and full knowledge that it was an airliner. Can’t be sure of anything when we’re dealing with the Russians,” Houston concluded, as McConnell gave orders to evade the Soviet helicopter.
“Right standard rudder,” the captain commanded.
“Right standard rudder,” the officer of the deck repeated to McConnell.
“All ahead two-thirds. Steady heading one-two-five,” McConnell barked, as the nuclear sub continued deeper and changed course in order to escape the Russian antisubmarine vessel.
“Aye aye, sir.”
Booker leaned over to Houston and asked in a whispered voice, “Sir, do we have our whale disguise?”
“We may need it,” Houston answered with a slight grin, realizing the Russian was staying on the trail of the Tennessee. McConnell would have to use more erratic evasive maneuvers to escape detection.
The encounter with the Soviet antisubmarine warfare forces was becoming a real workout. The Russians apparently wanted to exploit the untidy situation and the Americans needed to get farther out into international waters. They also needed deeper water under the boat in order to escape from the Russians. It was obvious the U.S. missile submarine had been operating in sovereign Russian territorial waters.