A frustrated sigh escaped his lips; the warm air quickly formed a cloud that was instantly swept away by the wind. Turning, Gorokhov headed back to the command shack; there was nothing more he could do here. He had ventured out to see for himself if the bad news brought to him by the staff meteorologist was accurate — bad news confirmed. The walk back was short, only a few hundred meters, but it gave him time to organize his thoughts. He’d have to break the unpleasant news to the minister of defense carefully. Gorokhov knew from experience that General Trusov was a reasonable man; he would readily admit that weather-related delays were beyond human influence. Unfortunately, the man the defense minister worked for could be just as unreasonable.
The command shack was a large Quonset hut, just one of the two dozen structures that made up the Ice Base Cape Baranova Observatory, also known as the Prima Polar Station. Established in the late 1980s, the ice base was used for scientific investigation of the Arctic environment, glacier studies, and the research of Arctic fauna, especially birds. It also functioned as a base camp for floating ice stations, since it had a runway capable of handling medium-sized cargo aircraft. It was shut down in 1996 due to a lack of funding, yet another victim of Russia’s severe financial difficulties. The ice base was reopened in the summer of 2013 and focused on studying the effects of pollution at high latitudes. It also became a tourist attraction for those adventurers interested in taking a cruise on a Russian icebreaker up to the North Pole. Business seemed to be rather brisk, but the ice base was closed again after the 2020 season. The official reason given was that the facilities were old and outdated, in dire need of upkeep and improvements that would take about two years to complete. The official reason was partially true, but the “improvements” had nothing to do with scientific research.
Gorokhov braced himself as the wind gusted again; was it his imagination, or was it getting stronger? He placed each step with care; there was still plenty of snow and ice on the rocky surface and the windswept terrain hid the more slippery spots. He’d lost his footing on more than one occasion, and he had the bruises to prove it. As he approached the red-and-white hut, he noted the large number “14” painted near the entrance. During winter storms it was not unheard of for people to get lost walking from one building to another, sometimes with fatal results. Each structure had large numbers on its exterior to help guide those who had to go outside in poor visibility.
Once inside the entryway, the admiral removed his sheepskin mittens and ushanka and shook the snow off his heavy parka. Now that his “refreshing” stroll was over, he had to get back to real work. As soon as he opened the door to the inner workspaces he was met by his chief of staff, Captain First Rank Kalinin, with a steaming cup. Gorokhov handed his winter gear and binoculars to a waiting petty officer, then smiled as he reached for the hot liquid.
“Thank you, Boris. I definitely need this,” remarked Gorokhov as he raised the cup. But before he took a sip, he paused, eyed his aide and said, “It is properly ‘seasoned,’ yes?”
“Absolutely, Comrade Admiral.”
“Good,” Gorokhov grumbled.
“I take it then that it’s as bad as Captain Third Rank Chekhov reported?” Kalinin asked cautiously.
Gorokhov nodded, then added after a sip, “Perhaps worse. I don’t know if Apalkov’s men will be able to continue working under these conditions. The damn ice floes are coming right into the mouth of the strait from the Laptev Sea. That and the big swells will make it very dangerous for the men below.”
“Ahh, I see,” replied Kalinin. “Perhaps that is why Sergei called.”
The admiral stopped drinking his tea, sighed, and asked, “When?”
“About fifteen minutes ago, sir. He said it was urgent.”
“I’m sure it is.” There was a note of resignation in Gorokhov’s voice. “Very well, get him back on the secure radio. This isn’t going to get any better by waiting.”
“Yes, Comrade Admiral.”
Gorokhov could hear the wind howling in the background as Captain First Rank Sergei Ivanovich Apalkov gave his report. The captain was the lead construction engineer for Project Drakon — Project Dragon, a long-range, nuclear-propelled, nuclear-armed land attack torpedo system. In Russian terminology, the Dragon was a deep-sea torpedo-rocket strike complex, a strategic weapon that combined an incredibly large torpedo with a hypersonic land attack cruise missile.
A follow-on development to the huge submarine-carried Status-6 land-attack torpedo, the Project Dragon weapon was even larger and heavier. With a diameter of nearly two meters, a length of twenty-seven meters, and a displacement of fifty-six tons, it was larger than any of the Russian Navy’s current submarine-launched ballistic missiles. But unlike the Status-6, which had a multi-megaton nuclear warhead, Project Dragon had a very high-speed missile as its payload, able to reach targets well inland. The torpedo part of the new weapon had also undergone significant modifications and was a lot quieter than the Status-6.
Unfortunately, all these changes made the weapon so enormous that it couldn’t possibly be carried by any Russian submarine currently at sea, or on the drawing board. This left a ground-based launcher as the only near-term deployment option, and that led the Russians to the far north. The Bolshevik Island ice base was an ideal location. Its high northern latitude made it difficult for imagery satellites and spy aircraft to get a good look at it. And that assumed the weather was conducive for visual reconnaissance, which it often was not. In addition, Cape Baranova ran right up to the edge of the Nansen Basin in the Arctic Ocean. This enabled the launchers to be placed in relatively shallow water, but still have easy access to water depths greater than one thousand fathoms. The trick was getting the launchers built in an environment that was anything but cooperative.
“Comrade Admiral,” shouted Apalkov over the radio, “we need to temporarily cease the unloading evolution. The weather conditions have degraded and are causing the icebreaker to roll and pitch excessively. We cannot control the launch tube’s position and it’s getting very dangerous.”
Gorokhov rubbed his forehead as he listened; he had expected as much. Apalkov was a very good engineer and knew his business. If he said the situation was too dangerous, he had already exceeded normal safety protocols. Still, the admiral had to hear for himself that everything that could be done had been done to continue the construction work.
“I understand, Sergei. Is there any way to stabilize the tube? Isolate it from the ship’s motion?”
“I’ve used every trick I know, sir; the beast is wandering around like a drunken yak. It almost hit the launch complex; we only managed to just stop it.”
Gorokhov winced at the very idea of one of the twenty-eight-meter-long steel tubes smashing into the reinforced concrete structure and steel frames that were to hold the six launchers. That would have ended any hope of having the Dragon system online by the fall.
Apalkov kept on going, “And it’s not just the launch tube, it’s a diver-safety concern as well. We were pushing it when the winds gusted to eighteen knots. By regulations I should have pulled the divers then, but we managed to keep going. Now that we’re seeing sustained winds of twenty-plus knots, it’s getting very difficult for the men to keep their footing, let alone trying to do their job.