Yet the cruel realities of the post-Communist Russia they ruled often left them little choice but to force some portion of the population to suffer in order to keep another, more volatile portion of the same population from going under. Sometimes, in the day-today running of the government, things slipped through the cracks. Resources diverted from here to help over there were not replaced. What started as a temporary sacrifice quickly became routine. When the affected portion of the population was one with little clout, the noise of more pressing concerns drowned out their cries. But when, as with the mutinous Strategic Rocket Regiment, these demands for restoration were backed by a real and viable threat, quick and decisive action must be taken.
Hence, the need for men like Orlov. As long as he and the crack commandos under his command remained loyal to the government, promises could be fudged and errors in judgment "corrected." Anatov's chief problem in dealing with issues in this manner was the cold fact that men like Orlov could be depended upon only up to a point. "Patriots wed to the silly notion that they owe all to Mother Russia and nothing to the system that gave them their power," the old man had told his political masters in the meeting he had just left, "are dangerous. The people we send to deal with those who wish to discredit us may, one day, decide that we, and not those they were sent to eradicate, are the problem. When that happens, they will ride into Red Square with our heads upon their lances."
"By the way, Minister," Orlov asked innocently as he paused before reaching the bottom of the steps, "did the issue of Dead Hand come up?"
Anatov's expression turned from one of concern to that of anger. Nervously, he glanced to his left and right before he descended the remaining steps until he stood toe-to-toe with Orlov. "No one in Moscow is to know about that. Do you hear? No one."
It took all of Orlov's strength to keep from smirking. His mention of the Perimeter system, using the code word "Dead Hand," had achieved the desired effect on the Minister of Defense. Few in the Russian government knew of the existence of Perimeter, a system designed to respond to a first nuclear strike.
The entire system was dreamed of and built during the Soviet era when the Kremlin was acutely aware of the growing precision of the United States' overwhelming nuclear arsenal. Unable to match the Americans' technological edge, the Soviet leadership searched for a system that would dissuade the Americans from launching a deadly accurate first strike against them.
Since military planners assumed that an American first strike would disrupt their strategic command-and-control, perhaps even eradicate their national political and military leadership in the process, they appreciated the fact that they, or their successors, might not be able to launch their own counterstrike. While such an event was in of itself terrible to contemplate, this assessment was made worse by the idea that they would be unable to respond in kind. Mother Russia and her brand of communism would be wiped from the face of the earth, leaving capitalism and America unscratched and triumphant.
This line of thinking led to a system that was meant to be robust, redundant, self-contained, and to the greatest' degree possible, self initiated. Put simply, it was an automated means of retaliation, a sort of doomsday system. Called "Perimeter," it was better known within the Russian military as Dead Hand, for obvious reasons. Of all the remnants of the old regime and the Cold War, Perimeter was one of the best-kept secrets, and most-feared element, of the Soviet Union's nuclear arsenal.
At the core of Perimeter were fields of sensors located at strategic points throughout Russia and parts of the former Soviet Union. These sensors were designed to detect major and unnatural disruptions of the earth's surface, like those created by a nuclear attack, as well as unexplained disruptions of the military's command-and-control channels. If enough cues were picked up by Perimeter's sensor fields, selected missiles would automatically be activated and prepared for launch. These designated missiles, unlike those they were collocated with, carried a transmitter instead of a nuclear payload. Once alerted that a Perimeter missile was set, the commander of the regiment to which it belonged simply had to confirm the circumstances that had triggered the activation. If he could not contact his superiors in a reasonable amount of time, the regimental commander was authorized to enter a code from his location to complete the launch cycle. After that, everything happened automatically.
Each Perimeter missile had a set program and flight path that took it on a low-level trajectory over the missile fields belonging to other regiments of the Strategic Rocket Force. Once launched, the Perimeter missile would transmit a special launch code to selected missiles that were tied into the Perimeter system. Unlike the initial Perimeter missile, these second-tier missiles were nuclear-armed. And unlike the initiating missile, they would launch without any further input, either from the regimental command-and-control bunker in the missile field in which they were located or the National Command Authority.
Anatov glared at the GRU officer. The Minister of Defense hated it when a man such as Orlov made a comment like that. Without saying so, Orlov was telling his superior that he, Orlov, had information that, used properly, could ruin him. How willing Orlov was to play this particular hand or any of his other well-kept secrets was a matter of speculation. That the military man would, under the proper circumstances, use his information was without doubt. Orlov had, after all, been given barely enough time to wash the blood of his fellow Army officers from his hands before returning to Moscow to report on the situation in person. That those same hands could be turned on him, or on any other government official the military deemed unworthy, was a cold fact never far from Anatov's thoughts.
Sensing that he had gotten the minister's attention, Orlov turned and continued on down the steps. When he reached the car, he opened the door but waited to get in. Looking back, he studied the old man glaring down at him. It gnawed at Orlov that he had to serve a man such as this. In the night, the screams of those he had murdered to protect the lumbering government in Moscow robbed him of his sleep. The voices of his victims called for atonement. They pleaded with him in his nightmares for justice. But Orlov was a realist. He knew there could be no justice in this world as long as the people of Russia cowered like sheep before men such as Anatov. Until someone with a vision, a proper one, for Russia came forth, he and others like him could only do what they could to hold things together.
Turning, Orlov looked out into Red Square. For a brief moment, the image of Marshal of the Soviet Union Georgi K. Zhukov, leading the victorious Red Army while mounted on a white horse in defiance of Stalin, flashed through Orlov's mind. "Perhaps," the GRU colonel whispered, "another such as he will step forth and save Mother Russia."
Chapter 3
Few would debate that the members of the military are the most visible guardians of their respective nations. But they are not the only ones. As the world becomes a more complex place, many of those who stand watch while their fellow citizens go about their daily routines never touch a gun, let alone step out of an airplane at an altitude of thirty thousand feet. Most do not wear a uniform of any type. The vast majority of them would be taken aback ii someone were to lump them together with the military. Yet all are just as dedicated and skilled in their respective fields as are Captain Patrick Hogg. Sergeant-Chef Stanislaus Dombrowski. Major Andrew Fretello. and Colonel Demetre Orlov. Some of these sentinels without uniform are physicians and lab technicians at the Center for Disease Control, standing ready to repel a biological invasion of the United States by microscopic pathogens. Others belong to the twenty-something generation of computer hackers in the service of Great Britain's Ml 5. where they continue the traditions of World War IIs Blenchly Park by monitoring links to the worldwide Web and laying traps for their malicious counterparts. Though few recognize their roles as such, these men and women are no less vital to their nations as are the men who wear berets.