Jerry had a Top Secret SCI clearance, but that did not entitle him to know everything in all compartments. Until the powers that be decided that he needed to know about something to do his job, the very existence of a particular “compartment” was hidden.
According to the paperwork, Jerry was going to be briefed into something called “Tensor.” As with all sensitive compartmented information, he could not reveal the existence of Tensor to anyone else, or discuss Tensor-related information with anyone not also briefed into the compartment. The penalty for breaking these rules was severe.
Jerry did indeed know the drill, and was already briefed into several compartments that were required for his job as a submarine squadron commander. Nobody had ever explained to him how he was supposed to forget all that stuff after he left DEVRON Five. He was sure he had room in his brain for one more stack of super secret stuff, and handed the signed forms back to Travis, who checked them over before nodding to Perry.
Perry’s tone was friendly, but businesslike. “This is a highly secure area, Commodore, more than your typical SCIF. Please do not discuss anything about Tensor with anyone unless you’re in an accredited space like this one.” He pressed a key on the laptop, and a large flat-screen display on the wall lit the darkened room.
It showed a drawing of what appeared to be a torpedo, but Jerry noticed the man-size figure placed next to it seemed much too small. The thing was huge. Then he noticed the title: “Status-6.”
“Commodore, this is where it starts: the Status-6 nuclear torpedo. Excuse me, nuclear-propelled, nuclear torpedo. You’re familiar with it?”
“Yes,” Jerry answered, nodding. “We have weekly briefings for the squadron on Russian developments. What we got was scary enough. A nuclear-powered torpedo that travels thousands of miles at a hundred knots and armed with a very large warhead. The last data I saw said we didn’t know the exact warhead size. Fifty megatons?”
“It’s called the RDS-252, and has a yield of between twenty and twenty-five megatons, give or take a few kilotons.” Perry smiled grimly. “Not that the difference will matter to whatever coastal city it hits. By the way, that information is in the Tensor compartment, for the moment.”
Jerry shrugged. “Everything I’ve read said that this is a second-strike strategic nuclear weapon. The thing’s as noisy as a cement mixer. We’d hear it coming hours before it reached its target, not that we could stop it. It’s just adding more radioactive sunshine to whatever’s left after the U.S. and Russia trade missile strikes. The material I saw reasoned that the Russians built it as a backup to their missile force. A ballistic missile defense shield won’t help us against this thing. Wait a minute, does this mean…”
Perry stopped him. “Your understanding of the Status-6 is still what the intelligence community believes. And Russian actions are mostly confirming that evaluation. The Project 09851 Khabarovsk left on her first patrol last year, loaded with six of these monsters, and the second hull is close to being launched. We’re still trying to confirm that the Project 09852 Belgorod mothership is also fitted with six launch tubes. So far, there isn’t a smoking gun but it’s starting to look that way.
“But Commodore, please remember that the Status-6 is just the starting point. Given that the Russians have designed the purpose-built Khabarovsk-class to carry this weapon, and are building at least one more of the class, what would you think of them building a coastal launch site in the Arctic?”
Jerry was confused by the question. “Do you mean a shore installation for launching the Status-6?” His mind quickly ran through the implications. It would be cheaper — much cheaper — than a submarine. And a Khabarovsk, and probably Belgorod, could only carry six weapons; after that, it would have to go home. Of course, since the weapons would be launched as the second wave of World War III, there would be no home to go back to. A shore installation could potentially launch more weapons, as many as the Russians…
Shaking his head, he stopped. “No, I don’t see how that would work,” Jerry decided. “It doesn’t make sense. Status-6 is a second-strike weapon. Any static installation, especially one capable of launching nukes, goes right to the top of our target list. And it would be difficult, not to mention expensive, to harden it like an ICBM silo. Why build an unstoppable weapon and launch it from someplace that can be taken out as soon as the shooting starts?”
“Exactly!” Perry agreed enthusiastically. He tapped a key on the laptop with a flourish. “But look at this.”
The screen shifted to a polar projection map of the Earth. From a point over the North Pole, the Arctic Ocean was almost entirely surrounded by land, with Canada’s northern coastline and Greenland on one side, and Russia and Siberia on the other. A small star marked the center of the Russian northern coast, and Perry zoomed the map in until Jerry could see it marked an island. Then, as it continued to expand, he recognized the place: Bolshevik Island.
Jerry saw buildings clustered near the northwest corner of the island. “The Russians call it Prima Polar Station or Prima Ice Base. Considering how remote it is, it gets a fair amount of traffic, including tourist expeditions and scientists researching climate change and Arctic Ocean biology.”
Perry explained, “A little over a year ago, we received information that people associated with the Status-6 program were being sent on trips to the Russian Arctic. Engineers on the program were also being consulted about ways to adapt the weapon to a ‘different launch scheme.’”
They’ve got someone on the inside, Jerry realized. The deduction must have shown on his face, because Perry nodded. “That’s why this is compartmented. We must not do anything that has the slightest risk of compromising this source.”
Perry hit a key and markings appeared at several points on the image. “We wanted to confirm the report, and actually didn’t have to look hard to find out that indeed something is going on at the Prima station. First, about the same time we received our information, those tourist cruises I mentioned before were canceled for this year’s season. No explanation. Since the Russians get some much-needed foreign cash from those excursions, it must have been a good reason.
“At the same time, they closed the scientific station to foreign nationals. This time there was an explanation — the station was going to be heavily renovated and expanded. So we started watching the Prima base and the area around it, and sure enough, they did start upgrading the place. They refurbished the 1960s-era airfield, which has a two-kilometer runway, big enough to handle medium-sized transports, and started flying in people, machinery, and supplies. Until that time, everything had been brought in by icebreakers.”
Perry pointed to several marked areas on the screen. The airfield was still basic, with a single runway and one hangar, but there were several radars, electronic vans, and a makeshift control tower. “Notice there are no air defenses, but the Russians have installed a full set of front-line radars and instrument landing aids.” He pointed to several areas enclosed by white rectangles.
“They did expand the base itself, with several new buildings, and here”—he pointed to a spot a little distance away—“they are building something else, but we can’t tell what. Whatever it is, it will be underground when they’re finished.”
Perry changed the screen again, and a close-up of the second site appeared. “This was taken last October. The weather was already pretty bad, but they worked until it was too cold for the machinery to function.” The image flickered, and was replaced by a new one, but taken from a slightly different angle. The patches of snow had shifted, and the construction site looked further along.