Having expected the worst, Sorokin was prepared.
“It is impossible. Comrade! There are just too many safeguards for such a thing to happen.”
Rodin responded firmly.
“Well, open your mind, admiral, for if what the President relayed to me is true, the inconceivable has indeed come to pass. I need to quickly know the status of the IL-38 relay plane whose morning patrol route took it over the North Pacific. Then get me the exact position of the Delta Illclass submarine, Vulkan. I would like to talk with its captain, Petyr Valenko, as soon as possible.”
Sorokin couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
Somehow, their plot had failed! To find out what had gone wrong, he knew he would have to play his part straight. He would do what was asked of him and appear genuinely stunned with each successive revelation.
“I will get you that information at once. Comrade,” the admiral said as he reached to pick up the phone. While the aircraft’s communications operator got him an open line to Petropavlovsk, Sorokin tried a desperate gambit.
“I fear some sort of American trick, Comrade General Secretary. It would be just like the imperialists to create some sort of crisis to justify a strike of their own. I warned you that their pacifist rhetoric was all a clever ploy.”
Rodin shook his head vigorously.
“I beg to differ with you. Admiral. The Americans would have absolutely nothing to gain from such a charade.”
“You don’t know the Yankee bastards like I do,” Sorokin shot back.
“They have merely been playing with us all along, probing our weaknesses while preparing their military might for just such a surprise move. Don’t forget that it was not long after the signing of the peace pact with Germany that Adolph Hitler commanded his hordes to penetrate the heart of the Motherland. I trust no one. Comrade. This is one lesson that history has taught our people all too well.”
The line was now activated, and Sorokin began tracking down the information that Rodin had requested.
While he sternly questioned various subordinates, Viktor Rodin watched and considered the admiral’s suspicions.
Could it all be some sort of clever ruse on the part of the Americans?
Perhaps he had been too trusting.
For a moment, Rodin seriously considered ordering the flying Kremlin back to Petropavlovsk. If this were indeed an American trap, each mile they flew eastward would bring them closer to the snare. Yet, what if it weren’t? Certainly, President Palmer seemed quite upset. If he had been acting, he had done a most credible job.
As he reflected on the crisis, the Premier realized that if it was legitimate, his greatest nightmare was coming true. The unauthorized use of nuclear arms was every world leader’s worst fear. He couldn’t ignore the fact that this supposed insurgence had come from the ranks of the navy. His eyes locked on the uniformed, whitehaired figure who sat impatiently on the phone before him, Rodin recollected that the Soviet Fleet had once been a hotbed of dissent. It was in 1921 that a handful of naval officers actually took over several battleships to directly express their dissatisfaction with the State. The Kronshtadt rebellion had been a black mark on the young revolution’s progress.
Bloodily quelled, it led to a mistrust that was even evident in the modern navy, in the form of the zampolits who still sailed aboard every vessel.
Rodin had taken for granted the loyalties of the military men who served the Motherland. This trust was a part of his character. It was a trait that had been instilled upon him since childhood. Whether or not it was an inherent weakness in his ability to guide the Rodina’s future would all too soon be put to a test. He looked on, unblinking, as Stanislav Sorokin cupped the phone’s transmitter and pulled it away from his pallid face.
“I have just been in contact with the commander of air traffic control in the North Pacific basin. It seems that one of our IL-38’s is indeed overdue. All efforts to contact it have proven unsuccessful.”
“And what of the Vulkani” Rodin queried.
“An ELF page is being sent out to them now. Of course, receipt of this message cannot be guaranteed.
Land-based contacts with submarines on patrol are minimal at best. That is why we have platforms such as the IL-38s constantly in the area.”
“Then launch another one!” exclaimed Rodin.
“I must speak to Captain Valenko at once.”
Sorokin answered meekly.
“I have ordered just such a flight, Comrade. Unfortunately, the auxiliary aircraft is experiencing engine difficulties. The ground crew is working feverishly to complete the necessary repairs.”
Rodin’s face flushed as he slapped his hand down hard on the desk.
“Get that plane up now. Admiral!
Whatever it takes, you must get me in contact with the Vulkan immediately. Are there any surface vessels in the area that could possibly make this contact?”
Impressed with the Premier’s foresight and a bit shocked by the show of emotion, Sorokin issued a series of inquiries. Minutes later, he responded tersely.
“The Kresta-class cruiser Natya is presently in the vicinity of the Vulkan’s last known location, Comrade.” “Have them find the Vulkan at once!” Rodin shouted.
“Then we will use the Natya to contact the sub and find out just what is going on down there.
And I want a readout of what Captain Valenko was to have done if he had received a Red Flag alert.
Include a list of targets the Vulkan’s warheads were assigned to eliminate.”
“You don’t really think that the Vulkan has received orders commanding it to war, do you?” Sorokin countered.
“I don’t know what to think,” the Premier replied icily.
“My job is to consider all the possibilities.”
Sorokin managed a single question.
“And what will happen if the Natya tags the Vulkan and the sub fails to respond to its radio signal?”
The General Secretary answered thoughtfully.
“That will depend upon a number of factors, Comrade. First and foremost is the contents of Valenko’s war orders. Second, is the disposition of that spare IL-38. If all attempts at contacting the Vulkan are frustrated, and it appears that the vessel is actually going to go ahead with a launch, we will have no alternative but to eliminate the submarine with all due haste.”
“You want to sink one of our own subs?” the Admiral cried incredulously.
The Premier did not hesitate to answer.
“It’s either that. Comrade, or possibly witnessing the beginning of the end of the world!”
Seemingly in response, the flying Kremlin shuddered in the midst of a violent downdraft. As the engines strained to regain the altitude they had so quickly lost, Viktor Rodin reached out to make the inevitable phone call that he had promised on his honor to complete. Still not certain what he’d say to the President, he could only hope that Robert Palmer would trust his sincerity. At the moment, there was little else he had to offer.
Captain Frederick Yerevan, of the Kresta-class cruiser Natya, stood alone on the exposed bridge of his ship, oblivious to the icy chill that swept over the North Pacific. Born in Siberia these temperatures, which sent the young conscripts scrambling for cover, didn’t phase him in the least. Of course the bellyful of vodka consumed at lunch served to warm him better than the thickest of furs.
Tired of the musty, sweat-scented air of the ship’s interior, the captain enjoyed the cold, clean air.
Staffed by a crew of four hundred, the Natya was packed from bow to stern. Although a command of such magnitude was good for Yerevan’s career, he rather missed those carefree days when he had served aboard boats less than half the Natya’s size. One particular command of a Pauk-class attack vessel had been particularly satisfying. With a crew of only fifty, he had spent a free and easy year patrolling the warm, sunny waters of the Black Sea.