One did not easily turn down the Premier of the Soviet Union, and Valentin had offered his services without question. A quick briefing had followed, at which time Alipov had conveyed the purpose of this hastily scheduled trip.
General Vadim Sobolev was a larger-than-life figure whom Valentin had enormous respect for. As Commanderin-Chief of the Motherland’s Strategic Rocket Forces, Sobolev held one of the most important military positions in the country. This responsibility included the direct leadership of a force of over 1 million men.
Only an hour earlier, Sobolev had called the Premier and asked him to send a representative of his office to Tyuratam. Once at the Cosmodrome, this emissary would be briefed on a matter of the utmost sensitivity. This individual would then be free to return to Moscow, to share this new knowledge with the Premier.
Curious as to the nature of the information that would soon be passed on to him, Valentin had left Alipov’s office and begun making arrangements for the flight southward. It was the Defense Ministry that had chosen his means of transportation. A massive Ilyushin IL-76 jet had picked him up before dawn outside Moscow and whirled him off eastward to the Air Force base at Sverdlovsk, at the foot of the Ural Mountains. Valentin had been somewhat surprised to learn that this was as far as the jet was going. Not knowing what to expect next, he had been led to a fully armed, Mi-24 helicopter gunship. Having only seen such a craft in photographs before, he had found the camouflaged chopper most impressive.
It was only when its pilot had walked over to him and greeted Valentin by name that he had learned that this unusual vehicle would take him on the final leg of his journey.
The gunship’s main cabin was more comfortable than he had ever imagined. Though it was designed to carry eight fully armed troops, he was the only apparent passenger. An hour after they had lifted off from Sverdlovsk, the copilot had come back to visit with him. Sharing a hot thermos of sweetened tea and some tasty poppy seed cakes, the young officer had divulged that, after stopping at Tyuratam, they would be off to the front in Afghanistan. Valentin had learned that this would be the second tour of action there for each member of the helicopter’s current four-man flight crew. A battle-scarred veteran of a war the young bureaucrat had heard of only in reports and in the newspapers, the copilot had brought the conflict to a very real level.
The war stories that he had subsequently related to Valentin were genuinely shocking. It seemed that battlefield atrocities of the most distasteful kind were almost an everyday occurrence. And it wasn’t always the rebels who were the perpetrators.
One couldn’t help but notice the bitterness that had flavored the young officer’s words. It had reminded Valentin of the dissension expressed by many American troops during the Viet Nam conflict. He supposed this similarity was due to the very nature of the two wars. Like Viet Nam, Afghanistan was racked by a guerilla war. Unable to apply the full brunt of its superior firepower, the Soviet military was tied down in a frustrating, time-consuming battle against an ill trained poorly equipped rebel force. If the tide of victory didn’t shift soon, the Soviet Union’s armed forces could have a major morale problem on their hands. Valentin had made a mental note to share this observation with the Premier as soon as he returned to Moscow.
The copilot had eventually returned to the cockpit, and Valentin had been left alone to his current thoughts. What in the world awaited him in Tyuratam?
A slight decrease in the sound of the gunship’s rotors was followed by a noticeable drop in altitude, and he knew he’d all too soon know the answer to this question. Expectantly, Valentin’s gaze returned to the window. There a river was visible, snaking its way beneath them. A relatively dense stand of woods lay on each side of its banks. Minute* later, a two-lane highway could be seen. This strip of asphalt pavement led directly to an extensive, fenced-in compound.
Even from this height, Valentin could make out the chain-link barrier’s barbed-wire top and the groups of armed sentries that patrolled its length.
Valentin had visited the base once before to witness the launching of an SS-18. At that time he had been greatly impressed with the sophisticated facilities that had been developed here. This visit proved no different.
The Mi-24 continued losing altitude, and he was afforded an excellent view of Tyuratam’s ultramodern research and development test facility, massive fuel-storage area, and breathtaking main space-launch complex. An airfield was also visible up ahead, and he soon picked out the huge, domed roof of the Baikonur Cosmodrome. It was before this structure that the gunship landed.
The quiet was most noticeable as the helicopter’s rotors spun to a halt. As he left his seat to retrieve his briefcase, the fuselage door popped open. With his case now in hand, he made his way outside.
A gust of hot, dry wind hit him full in the face as he stepped onto the tarmac. Waiting for him there were a pair of smartly uniformed sentries, and a single smiling, white-haired individual whom Valentin had no trouble identifying. General Vadim Sobolev was quick to greet him with a warm hug and a kiss to each cheek. Appearing as vibrant as ever, and in remarkably good shape for his age, the Commanderin-Chief of the Motherland’s Strategic Rocket Forces welcomed Valentin like a longlost son.
“Welcome to Tyuratam, Comrade Radchenko. I hope your journey here was a smooth one.”
Valentin grinned, already infected by his host’s enthusiasm.
“That it was, General. I must admit, though, that I was a bit surprised by the manner in which the Defense Ministry routed me down here from Sverdlovsk. That was my first ride in an Mi-24.”
“That’s quite a machine,” observed Sobolev, who turned to get a better look at the vehicle.
Valentin followed the general’s gaze and took in the chopper’s box-like cockpit, dual turboshaft engines, and characteristic stub wings, onto which were attached a pair of gun pods and a missile launcher.
“She’s a lethal one, all right,” continued Sobolev admiringly.
“I imagine this one is bound for Afghanistan.
How I wish we could accompany its brave crew into action. A man doesn’t know how to live fully until he has enemy bullets flying at him. Only then can he really appreciate the great gift of life. Did you have the honor of serving in the armed forces, Comrade Radchenko?”
Vadim replied proudly, “That I did, General. For five years I was a deputy member of Admiral of the Fleet Gorshkov’s personal staff.”
“So you served with old man Gorshkov,” reflected Sobolev.
“You were a most fortunate lad, comrade.
The Motherland should only have more great men like that one.”
Turning from the helicopter, Sobolev pointed toward the domed hangar that lay behind him.
“I want you to take a look at something inside the Cosmodrome, Comrade Radchenko. Then we will go on to my office for tea and get down to the matter which has brought you these hundreds of kilometers.”
Nodding in compliance, Valentin followed his host toward the hangar. Doing all that he could do to match the general’s stride, the bureaucrat silently cursed his poor physical conditioning. Here was a man over twenty-five years older and he could hardly keep pace with him. He just had to make time for a serious exercise program. And then he’d even consider giving up smoking.
Suddenly conscious that he hadn’t had a cigarette since leaving Sverdlovsk, Valentin’s hand went to his jacket pocket, and he brought out a thin, silver case.
From it he removed a single filter less American cigarette.
He placed it between his lips, and was just about to light it when the general abruptly stopped him.