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.
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 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.