Shaking his head with wonder, Valentin continued, “The quality is most excellent considering the height at which it was taken. Yet what does it all mean?”
Sobolev stifled a chuckle.
“What this shows, Comrade Radchenko, is a desperate attempt by the Americans to save the lives of over 100 of their brave seamen trapped beneath those same seas. For, if my intelligence source is correct, this photo is proof positive that the Imperialists have lost one of their latest 688class attack subs here. The Premier will be thrilled to see that their overly rated submarine force isn’t so invulnerable after all!”
Absorbing this observation, Valentin grasped the second photograph. Pictured there was some sort of strangely shaped, exploding cloud of airborne vapor.
Not having the faintest idea what this could be, he scratched his forehead and looked up into the eagle like gaze of his host.
“Don’t fret, Comrade Radchenko. I didn’t expect you to identify this remarkable photo either. Taken yesterday morning from the same Salyut platform, it shows the actual failure of an American Titan missile launch over the coast of central California. The fates were indeed smiling on our cosmonauts when their cameras chanced upon this tragic incident, just as they initiated their first dawn pass over the North American continent.”
Aware now of the circumstances, Valentin was indeed impressed.
“I must be the first to congratulate you, General Sobolev, on these unbelievable photographs.
Once again, our military intelligence services have outdone themselves. Yet I still don’t understand what was so important to warrant yesterday’s call to the Premier.”
Sobolev’s eyes gleamed as he positioned himself before his guest and spoke out succinctly.
“The information I am about to pass on to you is of the most confidential nature. I would have flown to Moscow myself to personally share it with Viktor Alipov, but my responsibilities here made such a trip impossible. Unable to trust the reliability of scrambled telephone lines or encrypted telegrams, I was forced to ask the Premier to send me a trusted member of his staff. We are indeed fortunate that he choose you. Comrade Radchenko. Your probing intellect and rare ability to get things done in the capital are known even on the plains of Turkestan.”
Blushing at this compliment, Valentin nodded in acknowledgment of the unexpected praise, while his host took a deep breath and continued.
“Earlier in the week, America’s primary Keyhole reconnaisance satellite burnt up in the atmosphere high over this very installation. This event in itself did not surprise us, for we were well aware that the platform had reached the end of its operational lifetime and was due to fall from its orbit eventually. It was as this satellite’s back-up was called down to replace it that our telemetry technicians in Kapustin Yar notified me of a totally unexpected development. Without any outside interference on our part, this second Keyhole platform also failed. I don’t have to remind you what this means. Comrade Radchenko, for it leaves the Imperialists with no effective eye in the sky over the Central Soviet Union!”
Calmly taking in this revelation, Valentin offered his own observation.
“This is all rather fascinating, General, but surely this condition is only temporary. Don’t the Americans merely have to launch a new Keyhole satellite to replace the failed unit?”
Though he was anxious to answer his guest, Sobolev waited a full thirty seconds before responding.
“And just what do you think was the payload of the Titan, whose remains are so graphically displayed before you?”
Shocked by this disclosure, Valentin suddenly realized this was the news the general wanted passed on to Premier Alipov. Surely it would cause a ripple of interest within the Kremlin, yet he couldn’t help but feel that there was still more behind this hastily called meeting.
As if he were reading his guest’s mind, Sobolev turned and walked over to the fireplace’s far corner.
There a piece of blank wooden paneling lay between the marble mantle and the bookshelves. The general triggered a recessed button and the oaken panel slid upward to reveal a large map of the world. A bright crimson star lay over Tyuratam, with dozens of smaller red flags interspersed over the rest of the planet, the majority being situated in North America.
A satisfied grin was on the general’s face as he pivoted to again address Radchenko.
“What you see before you, comrade, is the culmination of this old soldier’s hard-working life. For over five decades I have ceaselessly toiled to allow this vision to be possible. Now, without any help of my own, the fates have presented us with a situation that we can’t possibly ignore. For who knows if such an opportunity will ever be handed to us again?
“The glorious plan that I am about to share with you is not my humble work alone. It is a synthesis of unselfish efforts. Though most of these individuals are long cold in their graves, they come from the ranks of our country’s greatest heroes. Foremost in helping plant this vision in my mind was my beloved predecessor, Pavel Yagoda. As the first Commanderin-Chief of the Motherland’s Strategic Rocket Forces, Pavel had a unique genius that allowed this dream to become a reality. I will not bore you with further accolades. Rather, I will get right down to an explanation of the operation which will at long last allow the entire world to share in the bounties of our Socialist State.
“What I propose is a surprise surgical nuclear strike against the Imperialist powers. This attack can be accomplished with a minimum of casualties, for it will be focused on the West’s vulnerable communications and command centers. By destroying these installations, we will render the enemy unable to order a counter strike Total victory will thus be ours in a matter of mere minutes!
“What presently makes such a strike most attractive is the current status of America’s satellite-home, intelligence-gathering platforms. Now that they are completely blind to our efforts here at Tyuratam, we can go about the business of refitting our SS-18’s with the new Tartar weapons packages. I’m sure you’ve read the latest material on the Tartar system. It allows each of our longest-range ICBM’s to be fitted with ten independently targeted nuclear warheads, each with a yield of eight hundred kilotons and a CEP of less than one hundred meters. For the first time ever, we will be able to take out any target in North America, no matter how hardened it may be.
“The red flags you see pinned to the map before you correspond to ninety carefully chosen, vital counterforce sites that the West depends on to issue an attack of its own. By knocking them out, we will render the West completely defenseless. As you can see, the eighteen SS-18’s that we currently have ready to go here at Tyuratam will be more than adequate to take out these targets. Since each rocket holds the equivalent of ten separate warheads, we can have the luxury of striking these sites with a pair of bombs each. Not even their Cheyenne Mountain facility will escape this attack unscathed!”
A moment of hushed silence filled the room, and Valentin found his thoughts spinning. Though he had been briefed on the possibility of such a strike in the past, hearing it so convincingly described by the general caused him to look at it in a new light. Merely contemplating such an attack used to be unthinkable.
The dangers of it developing into a full-scale nuclear exchange were just too great. Yet now, he was beginning to have second thoughts.
Sobolev carefully scrutinized his guest, as Valentin’s brow tightened in the midst of his difficult mental deliberations. Seeing just a hint of weakness in the bureaucrat’s tired face, the general continued his offensive.
“Well, Comrade Radchenko, now you know why it was necessary for me to ask the Premier for a personal representative. Can you imagine me conveying such an operation over the telephone? Now that you know my innermost dreams, and the extenuating circumstances that prompted my original call, how do you think such a plan would be received in the Kremlin? No one has his hand on the pulse of the Premier as you do, comrade. Tell me, would Viktor Alipov be presently open to my operation, or would I be merely spewing more hot air onto the summer winds?”