“What is the latest news from Moscow, Comrades?”
“As if you didn’t know already,” the admiral commented with a wink.
“Events are plodding along just as we expected. I imagine you heard that our esteemed General Secretary recently welcomed a U.S. trade delegation of over two dozen ‘accredited’ individuals.
Doesn’t Rodin realize that they’re nothing but a bunch of CIA spies?”
Zavenyagin sat forward on the edge of his chair.
“Yesterday we received the production results from the quarter just completed. For the first time in this century, consumer goods show a healthy increase while military output continues to drop. There is talk on the street that the average citizen is most happy with the bevy of television sets, radios, washers, driers and automobiles now readily available on the open market.”
“If the fools only realized they were signing their own death warrants,” Belchenko commented dryly.
“The imperialists will take this opportunity to flood our markets with their decadent goods. Infected by the greed of possession, our people will soon lose sight of their socialist direction.”
“This drop in military outlay has me greatly concerned,” the admiral offered between bites of herring.
“Just when the Motherland had finally achieved a position of unquestionable superiority, Rodin comes along and negates our advances with a single blow.
While we are drowning in consumer goods the West will continue its huge military expenditures until parity is eventually achieved. Our past sacrifices will mean nothing!”
“What is the mood of the Politburo these days, Pavel?” Belchenko asked.
Setting down his tea cup, Zavenyagin’s brow tensed.
“As before, Rodin’s views continue to dominate.
Our position will be seriously weakened at the end of this month when Yuri Polnocny retires. The General Secretary will be free to appoint another one of his cronies, and the majority will be clearly his.”
“Can the remaining old-timers still be relied upon to support our cause when the time comes?” Belchenko asked.
Zavenyagin did not hesitate to say, “There is no question of their loyalty. Comrade. As long as they remain in office, the better interests of the Mother land will guide their actions. Like ourselves, they too fear the moderate’s ways. Unfortunately, their advanced ages make individual dissent difficult.”
Belchenko smiled.
“Then we’ll just have to make the first moves for them. Is the summit still on as planned?”
This time it was the admiral who answered.
“As of this morning, things remain on schedule. The meeting in Los Angeles will begin two weeks from tomorrow. I have taken it upon myself to personally be in Petropavlovsk to wish our beloved leader bon voyage as he takes off for America.”
“Excellent,” Belchenko said.
“And what of the submarine? ” Sorokin answered while getting to his feet to pour another shot of vodka.
“So tar, there have been few obstacles. The Cheka and the Vulkan are presently undergoing joint maneuvers in the North Pacific.
This will allow the captains of the two vessels to become more comfortable with each other. Incidentally, we experienced little difficulty in getting our man assigned to the Delta-class boat. His report will tell us just who we can rely on when the going gets tough.
Now, Konstantin, what is the nature of this exciting news you are so anxious to share with us?”
Belchenko beamed expectantly.
“I’m certain that both of you will be excited to know that, as of yesterday afternoon, one of my most trusted agents successfully infiltrated the Premier’s codification staff. In effect, this means the top-secret mechanism needed to unlock the Motherland’s nuclear arsenal is now in our hands.”
“Then we’ve done it!” exclaimed a relieved Zavenyagin.
“I’m afraid there’s still much more to be accomplished,” Belchenko warned.
“Yet, knowledge of the daily release code was the obstacle most feared.”
“I concur,” Sorokin added.
“Without the proper signal our job would have been more difficult than it already is. I commend you on your efficiency, Konstantin. Other than the few logistical difficulties we still have to face, I believe it’s time to address the problem of actual targeting.”
Belchenko nodded and rose stiffly. Making his way to the right side of the fireplace, he pulled down a large, laminated topographical map of North America.
The area shown included a large portion of the Pacific Ocean. Utilizing a pointer, he began talking animatedly.
“Comrades, as we discussed earlier, this is to be a Counterforce attack, intended primarily to take out the imperialists’ communications relay stations and military command posts. If all goes as planned, the Americans will be unable to answer with a retaliatory strike. At long last the capitalists will be completely at our mercy. Of course, all this will take place with a minimum of civilian casualties. Stanislav, why don’t you begin by explaining just what hardware we have at our disposal.”
The admiral finished off his vodka and spoke out clearly.
“The primary launch vehicle for the attack will be the Vulkan, ova latest Delta Illclass missile-carrying submarine. This vessel will be loaded with sixteen SS-N-18 Mod 3 missiles. Each rocket will be topped with seven MIRVD warheads capable of eliminating targets over 6,000 miles distant. This will allow us to destroy 112 separate locations.”
“By using only a single submarine, won’t we be opening ourselves to a needless amount of risk?”
interrupted Zavenyagin.
“I still feel we should be thinking about sending some ground-based ICBMS to insure the enemy’s defeat.”
“Your concern is noted. Comrade,” the admiral said.
“But 112 SS-N-18 warheads will be more than enough to strike the Yankees a crippling blow. Besides being a most effective weapons system, the use of this single submarine will guarantee our anonymity.
I can just imagine the logistical problems we would encounter attempting to insure the release of an ICBM.
Those characters in the Strategic Rocket Corps have a loyalty all their own.”
“Stanislav is correct,” Belchenko added.
“I thought we agreed on this point weeks ago. Only by keeping our scenario as simple as possible can we hope to succeed. Have you already forgotten our initial agreement, Pavel?”
Zavenyagin blushed and sat back in his chair.
“Of course not. Comrade. It’s just that I still find it hard to believe that the warheads from one submarine can render the imperialists helpless.”
“Don’t worry yourself so, Pavel,” Belchenko advised.
“I, too, had trouble accepting this amazing fact. Yet the crux of the matter is the amount of targets we’ll ultimately need to eliminate. I’m certain you’ll see by the conclusion of this meeting that the locations that need to be taken out will indeed be destroyed. We’ll have more than enough warheads to do the job, without the need for a back-up.
Stanislav, why don’t you start us off with a list of our primary targets.
Standing up to pour himself another vodka, the whitehaired admiral took several seconds before responding.
“To guarantee penetration, our first salvo will take out the PAVE PAWS Phased Array Warning System site at Beale Air Force Base, California.
With this station eliminated, the United States will be unable to accurately monitor the release of subsequent submarine-launched missiles from the North Pacific basin.
“I’ve taken the liberty of drafting a document outlining the attack format. For security reasons, I’d prefer that the list not leave this room.”