Brown, Dale - Independent 01 (30 page)

           
“Heroes
of the
Soviet Union
.”
The
general secretary’s voice was laced with irony. “In eight hours I go before the
Politburo and tell them how I plan to proceed. As I see it we have three
possible options: retreat in disgrace, hold our unsteady and embarrassing
position, or attack.” He turned again to Czilikov. “Do you have an answer? Is
Operation Feather a failure? Do we turn and run? Will I be the first leader of
the
Soviet Union
to order a retreat in the face of
vastly inferior forces?”

           
“What you
want, I cannot give you—”

           
“What? What
did you say?”

           
“You don’t
want recommendations. You want to dictate. I will not be dictated to, nor will
I be insulted.”

           
The general
secretary leaned toward Czilikov and in a low voice said, “Be careful what you
say, old man.”

           
“Sir, you
can insult the title of Hero of the
Soviet Union
if you
like, but you cannot ignore its implications. Nor can you ignore the
consequences if your senior military staff should resign or retire during an
operation of the magnitude of Feather....” Czilikov’s face was flushed as he
spoke.

           
The general
secretary looked around the conference table. All faces were turned toward him.

           
“What do
you see, comrade?” Czilikov went on, encouraged by the silence. “Are you
perhaps trying to compute how many would follow if I leave or am removed?”

           
“I am
always computing that, Marshal Czilikov.” It was an uneasy reply.

           
“Sir, I am
your ally,” Czilikov said, his voice more conciliatory. “I believe in Operation
Feather. But it’s a military operation, not a political one. Occupation and
control of the Transcaucasus and
Persia
can only be brought about with the use of military force. And it cannot happen
instantly. The advances we have made in the past twenty-four hours are, I
believe, nearly miraculous. Our forces have taken control of over a million square
kilometers of territory in mere hours. Our objective is close at hand. But we
cannot
proceed rashly, or all our
efforts will be for nothing.”

           
The general
secretary paused, knowing he was, at the moment, outmaneuvered and not knowing
precisely what to do about it. “Well, then, Czilikov, I put it to you. I have a
meeting in eight hours. What is the new
military
plan?”

           
Czilikov
nearly preened. He had, it seemed, made the general secretary back off. “The
forces in
Iraq
,
Iran
and the
Persian
Gulf
must stay in place. It is absolutely essential. They must be
able to defend themselves against any attack or intrusion, but without
increasing their ranks.”

           
“No
reinforcements?” the general secretary said. “If we stop hostilities, isn’t
that the time to enhance our forces?”

           
“Not immediately... sir.
We must
appear
as if we are prepared to pull out of the area, to release
our newly acquired territory. We must not, of course, retreat or give away an
inch of ground.”

           
“So we are
reverting to a defensive war? I don’t understand, Czilikov. If we stand still
we will eventually be pushed back—if not by the Americans then by world opinion
and its condemnation. Or by both.”      ~

           
“We will be
fighting a defensive war on one front
only
,
”
Czilikov
said, and turned toward Marshal Rhomerdunov, the commander of aerospace forces.
His old foxhole compatriot allowed a reassuring smile.

           
“On an
entirely different front,” Czilikov went on, “we will take command. And, sir,
when that happens we will win much, much more than
Persia
and the Transcaucasus....”

 
          
TYURATAM
,
USSR

 
          
He tried to be patient and gentle in
his lovemaking, but he was too keyed up, too mindful of what the next day might
bring. Alesander Govorov resisted his young wife’s spirited foreplay and took
her quickly—almost savagely. She strived to match his intensity, to counter
with a frenzy of her own, but she couldn’t fake her orgasm fast enough. He
withdrew from her, wrapped his powerful arms around her chest as he lay behind
her on his left side, then kissed the back of her neck as an unspoken apology
for his clumsiness. In less than a minute he fell asleep. She pulled his arms
around her tighter, accepting his apology. There would be other nights. She
remembered the good ones. They were worth waiting for....

           
The ringing
telephone jarred his eyes open. He swung his feet to the carpeted floor and
stood, feeling not at all fatigued despite the few short hours of sleep. He
picked up the phone and began speaking to Gulaev.

           
“Yes. Yes,
I see_____ Have the report ready for me. I’ll be there immediately.”

           
Govorov’s
wife did not get out of bed, although she was wide awake as he dressed, getting
into his dark gray flight suit. She did not want to see him hurrying off to
Glowing Star. If for any reason he did not return, she wanted to remember him
the way he had been the night before—strong but vulnerable, impatient but
sensitive, a loving, caring husband, an imperfect man. Much more than a
soldier, though she was careful not to let him know such thoughts. They would
have embarrassed him....

           
General
Govorov came into the Space Combat operations center at Tyuratam at a pace that
would have left most men short of breath. Gulaev had to rush to keep up with
him as they hurried into the general’s office. Govorov was already holding out
his hand for the Operation Alpha report as his subordinate closed the door.

           
“It appears
the Sary Shagan laser has been even more effective than we hoped, sir,” Gulaev
said as he passed the space defense commander a sheet of computer printouts
bound in a notebook. “The station’s orbit is much more erratic than before,
which suggests a guidance or propulsion malfunction. Also, just a few hours ago
we detected several objects near the station. Small in size, no propulsion,
very hot.”

           
Govorov
studied the printouts, looked up at Gulaev. “Debris?”

           
“That’s my
guess, sir.”

           
Govorov
looked down at the printout again, nodding in approval as his eyes scanned the
columns of numbers. It seemed they’d managed to cripple the vaunted Armstrong
Space Station, after all. It wasn’t out of control yet—he would have received a
report about a rescue mission—but it was damaged. Vulnerable.

           
A quick
look at the rest of Gulaev’s report brought no pleasure.

           
“Our
attacks have stopped?”

           
“Temporarily, sir.
For safety’s sake, Colonel Sokilev at
Sary Shagan has limited the laser firing schedule to a five-burst volley every
eight hours—”

           
“But my
orders were to fire continuously. Why were they countermanded?”

           
“The pulses
generated by the facility are tremendously powerful. There was a problem with
some of the computer circuits shorting. The circuits are reportedly fixed, but
Sokilev feels continuous firing carries too great a risk—”

           
“I should
have been consulted. Tell Sokilev that if he goes against my command again, he
will be replaced. Also tell him that I expect Operation Beta to be put into
effect within the hour. Armstrong is about to pass below the horizon. If we can
destroy the Americans’ only other eye on the region, NORAD’s launch-detection
satellite, we will be able to get very close to the space station without ever
being detected.”

           
“But what about Armstrong’s Thor missiles, sir?
Even if the
Americans only have minutes to react, they’ll be able to target the
spaceplanes.”

           
“Yes, the
Thors would be a problem... if we didn’t have the means to get Armstrong to
expend its arsenal.”

           
“You mean
the Gorgons?”

           
“Why not?
It doesn’t matter if they are all destroyed. The
point is, they will draw off Armstrong’s fire and allow Voloshin and me to get
within range of the station.”

           
Gulaev
nodded. “I’ll see to the Gorgons immediately, sir.”

           
“Have a
firing disposition report ready for me in half an hour.” Gulaev saluted and
turned to leave the office. “And Gulaev....”

           
The younger
officer turned around. “Sir?”

           
“I’ll be
leaving for the launch pad in fifteen minutes. See that I’m not disturbed until
then.”

           
Gulaev
nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him. As he did Govorov got up
from his desk and stood by a large window overlooking the launch site. From
there he could see the maintenance crews completing the final checks on the
SL-16s. It was a beautiful day, the general thought to himself, a perfect day
to ride a fireball into the sky. He couldn’t wait to get started.

 
          
ARMSTRONG SPACE STATION

 
          
Jason Saint-Michael’s warning to his
crew not to get too cocky about the role the station had played in the invasion
of Bandar-Abbas seemed prophetic now as he clicked his microphone to the off
position and reflected on the message he had just received from Space Command.
The Russians had apparently just used their laser to knock out an American
geosynchronous TRW Block 750 infra-red launch detection satellite, leaving
Space Command and NORAD with no missile launch detection for south-central
Asia
.
It didn’t take a genius to guess what would happen next. Odds were that at that
very moment the Gorgon missiles at Tyuratam were being readied for launch.

           
Which dictated
he do... what? He had been about to order Jerrod Will to discontinue
Enterprise's
orbit around the station
and redock, so that Ann and Kevin Baker, who had also made the decision to leave,
could be sent back to Earth. But he wasn’t so sure now that he shouldn’t
evacuate most of the personnel...

           
He mentally
kicked himself for not getting Ann off the station earlier. Even though it
bothered him to think of her gone, it bothered him much more to think she might
be in serious danger. He just hoped Will could get the
Enterprise
docked and personnel aboard before he had to contend with those missiles headed
their way. At least Will and Sontag had flown their most recent resupply
mission to the station without Marty Schultz, so there would be that much more
room in the cramped Shuttle. The hard part was going to be deciding who should
go and who should stay.

           
Saint-Michael
keyed his microphone.
“
Enterprise
,
what’s your status.”

           
“Still orbiting
the station, per your orders, General,” Will said. “What’s up?”

           
“More
trouble, I’m afraid. I want you to redock immediately.”

           
“Will
Airlines copies,” Jerrod said as he activated his forward thrusters. He turned
to Sontag as if to say what now? but the copilot merely shook his head. They’d
have their answers soon enough.

           
By the time
Enterprise
had docked with the station and Will had made his way to the command module,
Saint-Michael had already received two more messages from Space Command. As
Will stepped through the module hatch the general acknowledged him with a nod
and continued talking to Ann, who had overheard the exchange between
Saint-Michael and the controller at Falcon Air Force Station in
Colorado
Springs
.

           
“General,”
she said, “it looks like the station’s going to be attacked. Skybolt could
help. I’m sure I’ve just about solved—”

           
“No arguments, please.”

           
“But—”

           
“Damn it,
Ann, report to
Enterprise
now”

           
This time
there was no argument. As she left the command-module hatch, Will moved next to
Saint-Michael. “General, we’re ready to fly, if that’s what you want. I’ve got
Yemana rigging up for a token OMS and RCS refueling—just a safety margin for
us. Won’t take long. Kelly is helping him in the docking adapter. What have we
got?”

           
“Eight
Soviet orbiting vehicles just entered orbits similar to ours,”

 
         
Saint-Michael told him. “We lost track
of them, but ground tracking stations are keeping an eye on them.”