Leonov turned to one of the scientists, an older man with a shock of thick, white hair. “Are you ready to proceed, Dr. Savvin?”
“We are, General,” the other man said with quiet confidence. “All systems are functioning perfectly.” At Leonov’s silent nod, the scientist spoke into his own headset mike. “All control stations, this is Savvin. Commence weapons test.”
Immediately Gryzlov heard a muted, high-pitched whine and felt a faint vibration coming through the floor. On the video screen, the appearance of the bright lights illuminating the huge chamber went oddly flat.
“High-efficiency pumps are emptying the test chamber’s atmosphere,” Leonov explained. “When they finish, it will be in a near-perfect vacuum.”
Gryzlov nodded. Without air molecules to diffract the light, no wonder it seemed so strange. He focused his attention on the screen.
At the far end of the chamber, he could see the full-scale mock-up of an American reconnaissance satellite — complete with fully extended solar panels, GPS receivers, downlink antennas, and radar dishes — hanging in midair, attached by wires to the ceiling, walls, and floor. Closer in, a maze of power conduits and fiber-optic cables surrounded a complex assembly of electronic equipment. To his untutored eye, this machine resembled a massive, upright, six-armed starfish with a short, stubby rod projecting from its center.
The shrill whine died away, along with the vibration. “Pump cycle complete,” one of the controllers reported. “Atmospheric pressure now less than one hundred nanopascals.”
Gryzlov was impressed. That was roughly one-hundred-millionth of the air pressure at sea level. In effect, atmospheric conditions in that vast chamber now closely approximated those of outer space.
Savvin glanced at another technician. “What is the weapon’s energy status, Andrei?”
“Our high-energy graphene supercapacitors are at full charge and holding.”
“Very good.” Savvin turned toward a trim aerospace forces officer seated at the nearest console. “You may fire when ready, Captain Kazantsev.”
“Firing now,” the younger man acknowledged. He leaned forward and tapped a glowing icon on a touch-screen control panel.
Instantly, the center of the large starfish array emitted a blinding white pulse. The satellite mock-up at the far end of the chamber shuddered violently — wreathed in a shimmering orb of lightning for just a split second. Shards of shattered solar panels and antennas spiraled away.
“That’s a confirmed kill,” another controller said exultantly, studying data from sensors attached to the satellite.
Gryzlov blinked. “What just happened?” he demanded.
Leonov grinned. “It will be easier to see in slow motion, Gennadiy. Fortunately, we have the entire test chamber covered by ultra-high-speed cameras.” He signaled Savvin. “Replay the attack sequence, Doctor.”
This time, Gryzlov watched closely, mesmerized by the otherworldly imagery. A glowing, meter-wide toroid of plasma emerged from the stubby cylinder in the middle of the array and streaked toward the target satellite — slamming into it with a blinding flash. When the lightning faded away, it left the satellite replica a blackened, half-melted wreck.
He shook his head in disbelief. “What the devil is that device?”
“Our new weapon, Mr. President — a coaxial plasma rail gun,” Leonov told him proudly. “We call it Udar Molnii, Thunderbolt.”
Gryzlov’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Go on.”
Leonov pointed to the cable-draped, starfish-shaped machine on-screen. “Using energy stored in the supercapacitors lining that six-armed structure, Thunderbolt creates a ring of extremely dense plasma, effectively a form of ball lightning, and then accelerates it with a powerful magnetic pulse.”
“At what speed?”
“Up to ten thousand kilometers a second,” Leonov said flatly. “Which is why these plasma toroids explode on contact with significant thermal and mechanical force. Those explosions also produce destructive electromagnetic pulse effects and high-energy X-rays.”
Ten thousand kilometers a second? Gryzlov was staggered. That was faster by orders of magnitude than any other missile or projectile ever invented by man. Only lasers, which struck at the speed of light, were faster. He dragged his gaze back to Leonov. “What is the effective range for this weapon?”
“At least several thousand kilometers,” the other man replied. “Perhaps more. Supercomputer simulations suggest the plasma toroids could remain stable for almost a full second.” He shrugged. “We would need operational testing in space to confirm those numbers, of course.”
For a moment, Gryzlov bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. Wicked glee danced in his pale blue eyes. Screw the naysayers who moaned and bitched about extravagant spending on what they called wild-eyed schemes, he thought. Together with the other advanced weapons, energy technologies, and space launch systems he’d championed as part of Proyekt Marsa, the Mars Project, this new plasma rail gun had the clear potential to make Russia the world’s unchallenged superpower. After all the narrowly disguised defeats and Pyrrhic victories of the past several years, he could at last sense his long-held ambitions and plans coming to fruition.
But then his predatory smile faded as he was struck by a sudden and very unwelcome possibility. “What about the Americans, Mikhail? Especially that damned company, Sky Masters. What if they’re working on a plasma rail gun of their own?”
“They are not,” Leonov said confidently.
“How can you be so sure?” Gryzlov snapped.
“Because the Americans themselves first tried to develop this weapon long ago — as part of their President Reagan’s so-called Strategic Defense Initiative. They named it MARAUDER, which stood for ‘magnetically accelerated ring to achieve ultrahigh directed energy and radiation,’” Leonov told him. “They even powered their experiments using capacitors in the same six-armed shape, something they called the Shiva Star.”
“And how, exactly, is learning that the Americans are potentially decades ahead of us supposed to comfort me?” Gryzlov said acidly. “In an arms race, victory does not go to those who lag so far behind.”
“That is the point,” Leonov said with a wry smile. “There is no arms race in this case. After a few small successes, a later American administration canceled the MARAUDER program — both to save money and because it opposed the whole concept of space-based weapons. So the Americans classified their research and then locked it away out of sight and out of mind… which is exactly where our spies uncovered it a few years ago, gathering dust and cobwebs.”
“So by the time our enemies realize their folly and scramble to restart their own long-mothballed program—” Gryzlov realized.
“It will be too late,” Leonov agreed. “Russia will own the very sky itself.”
One
Seen through a thin screen of pine trees, the little village looked abandoned. Except for a few dingy, off-white curtains wafting in the gentle breeze, nothing moved among its cluster of drab one-story houses or along its rutted dirt streets. Old-model civilian cars and light trucks, more rust and dents than anything else, were parked outside some of the homes.
Crouched in cover near the edge of the forest, Polish Special Forces Major Nadia Rozek slowly lowered her binoculars. According to the intelligence briefing for this special training exercise, a simulated force of Russian Spetsnaz commandos was holed up in the town — probably using its inhabitants as human shields. Which meant appearances were deceiving. A slight frown creased her attractive, tanned face. More than one hundred meters of open ground separated these woods from the nearest houses. No competent enemy commander would miss the chance to turn that clear stretch into a killing zone.