There was a low rumble of voices. Czilikov sat, folded his hands before him on the table, waiting for the rumble to subside. A few short years ago such a bold plan would have provoked vigorous, angry protests. No longer. Already the men surrounding Czilikov began to quiet. The members of the Kollegiya were either too dumbfounded or afraid or both to speak out. Czilikov let his words linger for a few moments, then said, "Your comments, tovarischniyes."
"It's a brilliant plan," Ilanovsky said enthusiastically. "A swift, crushing pincer that will grab the entire region away from the U.S."
"I assure you the navy stands ready, gentlemen," Admiral Chercherovin added. "The Brezhnev battle group can easily control the region, and our naval aviation forces from South Yemen and Vietnam will intercept all American rapid deployment air forces."
Each of the commanders of the armed forces, in turn, weighed in with their enthusiasm and support for Czilikov's invasion plan. But such overwhelming support didn't especially hearten the Minister of Defense. Intimidated military commanders tended to make unreliable decisions. He was about to make some comment about his staff's excessive enthusiasm when — he noted a quiet but animated discussion between Deputy Minister Alexi Ivanovich Rhomerdunov, commander in chief of aerospace forces, and one of his staff members. The staffer was all but being pushed back into his seat by Rhomerdunov, who had to be at least thirty years older than his enthusiastic aide. "Is there a problem, Rhomerdunov?"
All heads swiveled in the direction of the seventy-year-old head of air defense forces. Rhomerdunov straightened in his seat, stabbing an angry glare in his aide's direction. "No, Comrade Minister."
Czilikov nodded and was about to issue his orders to the Kollegiya when Rhomerdunov cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Minister Czilikov — he again looked apprehensively in the aide's direction — perhaps there are some important points to be made about this Iranian offensive."
The members of the Kollegiya froze and stared at Rhomerdunov, as if ad just a y ins. minister ofense. Czilikov said nothing. Then, without further prompting, Rhomerdunov's aide stood and straightened to attention. The officer was tall, lean, powerfully built. Ukrainian, obviously, judging by his wide shoulders, flat nose, and square jaw, Czilikov decided. He hit on the man's name as he began to speak.
"Sir, I am —"
"I know who you are, General Lieutenant Govorov. As the Soviet Union's first space shuttle cosmonaut and a Hero of the Soviet Union you're known to us all." Czilikov ground a fist into his palm in barely restrained anger. "Your contributions to the scientific and military excellence of our country forgive many… transgressions. Since you have seen fit to grant yourself permission to speak before the Kollegiya, please proceed. I'm sure everyone wants to hear from the new commander of the space-defense command."
"My apologies, sir," which was as far as Govorov's apology went. Most officers below the rank of three-star general would be a mass of jelly speaking in front of the Kollegiya, even without committing a major breach of protocol. But it didn't seem to affect young Govorov.
"Well, proceed, General Lieutenant."
Govorov stayed at attention. "It is my opinion that this mission to attack Iran will ultimately fail."
Rhomerdunov straightened in his seat and, looked straight ahead, as if steeling himself for the executioner. All eyes in the room moved from Rhomerdunov's granite face to the surprised Marshal.
"I've heard," Czilikov said, "that subtlety is not exactly your style. I see it is true." He looked to Rhomerdunov, who kept staring straight ahead. Well, Czilikov thought, it seemed the old war horse Rhomerdunov wasn't afraid to challenge the party, even if it was indirectly through his deputy Govorov.
As for Govorov, he took Czilikov's silence as a cue to continue. "The Americans have a device that is not only capable of warning of any impending invasion but also of directing American and NATO counterforces. This device, sir, is the Armstrong Space Station—"
"The space station? Their military station? It's only been in for a few months—"
"Yes, and it is fully operational," Govorov said. "As we all know, sir, the Americans have successfully completed their first operational test of their illegal Thor space-based interceptor missile. Although the test was less than perfect—"
"That is an overstatement, Govorov," Khromeyev put in. "The Americans called it an operational test, but it was carefully staged to insure optimal results. In spite of their choreography, our intelligence reported several clear misses with the Thor missile. It is an obvious propaganda ploy—"
"Our intelligence puts the effectiveness of the Thor missile at no better than eighty-three percent," Govorov agreed, "which my staff feels is no better than fifty percent in an actual wartime scenario. But, sir, the Thor missile is not at issue. My staff is more concerned with the system of advanced sensors now in use, especially the phased-array, space-based radar aboard the space station Armstrong. It has a far greater capability than we first estimated. We believe, sir, that the space-based radar can track and identify objects on land, sea, and in the air from ranges in excess of sixteen hundred kilometers."
A clamor of voices erupted in the conference chamber. Czilikov's voice boomed out above them all. "Sixteen hundred kilometers? That's impossible. No radar can do that."
"No earth-bound radar, sir. But a radar mounted in space has no size or geographical limitations, It's limited only by — the power available to it — and the space station has enough solar-energy capability to power the whole Kremlin."
"You are trying to tell us," Deputy Minister Ilanovsky said, "that a single space station can monitor all movement of military equipment involved in Operation Feather? Thousands of vehicles spread out over millions of cubic kilometers of space in mountainous terrain and in bad weather? That is preposterous—"
"It may sound so," Govorov said to the commander of the army, "but our estimates confirm it."
"I say that whether this radar can do all of these things is still immaterial," Deputy Minister Marasimov, the commander of Strategic Rocket Forces, said. "The station is in polar earth orbit. It does not permanently position itself over the Middle East. It can only provide short-term glimpses of the region a few times each day. Which would make it impractical as a warning and control station. "
Govorov hesitated for a moment. "That's true, but—"
"This expensive toy has no more capability than an ordinary reconnaissance satellite," Marasimov went on, smiling benignly at young Govorov. "What you have said about the Armstrong's radar is true… if the radar is in operation when it passes over the area, if it works properly, if its operators and interpreters correctly analyze the images, and if they can get the information to regional commanders in time to be of some use. By my count that's four pretty damn big ifs. "
Marasimov nodded to Czifikov. "I believe our young colleague has presented some very… interesting information, but I also believe that the radar on the American space station would be no obstacle to the success of Feather."
Govorov looked amazed. "Excuse me, but—"
"Thank you, General Lieutenant Govorov," Czilikov said, dismissing him. "I will — expect detailed briefings, on each command order of battle for Operation Feather in two weeks. "
Govorov sank back into his metal folding chair as Czilikov continued issuing his orders. He struggled to remain pokerfaced, his eyes narrowed into angry slits as a few of the deputy ministers and marshals cast amused glances his way.
They can't believe now, Govorov told himself. But they will. The American space station won't just be talked, or wished, away.