Praying that this wasn’t the case, the Canadian returned his glance to the glassed-in balcony, where Polestar’s bald-headed senior officer sat with the red phone cradled close to his ear, his somber stare locked on the central display screen, while their destinies hovered somewhere in the frigid skies above.
Chapter Three
During the early 1960’s, engineers with the U.S. Department of Defense began blasting out a series of immense caverns inside the solid granite rock that made up Colorado’s Cheyenne Mountain. Altogether fifteen separate buildings were constructed inside this subterranean netherworld, all of which were mounted on massive, steel-spring shock absorbers, that would hopefully allow the site to survive all but a direct hit in the event of a nuclear war. Once completed, the state-of-the-art complex became home to the North American Aerospace Defense Command, or NORAD as it was more commonly called.
The facilities’ main job was to determine whether the Soviet Union was launching a surprise nuclear attack against the North American continent.
NORAD did this by monitoring a variety of sophisticated sensors that ranged from satellites to ground-based radar stations. As the centerpiece of the entire U.S. strategic command and control system, NORAD had the task, if an attack was indeed determined to be forthcoming, of implementing a variety of preplanned retaliatory strikes, whose details were listed in the SIOP — the Pentagon’s top-secret Single Integrated Operational Plan.
The individual responsible for making such a demanding decision was the installation’s commander in chief. Currently holding the position of CINCNORAD was General Thomas Laird. Born and raised in a small farming community outside of Omaha, Nebraska, Laird was an early graduate of the Air Force Academy, where he quarter backed the football team to an unprecedented national championship.
Later, as a fighter pilot in Viet Nam, he won a wide assortment of decorations for valor, and, more importantly, the undying respect of his fellow officers and enlisted men. After being shot down over Da Nang during the Tet offensive, Laird was captured and taken prisoner by the Viet Cong. For six months he lived a miserable existence, subject to constant torture and starvation. Yet he never lost hope, and when the opportunity finally presented itself, he made good his escape, while carrying one of his less fortunate comrades on his back through miles of thick jungle and snaked-infested swampland.
With the war’s conclusion. Laird moved on to Washington D.C. where he became involved with NORAD. One of the youngest generals in the history of the Air Force, Thomas Laird was appointed CINCNORAD on the anniversary of his forty-fifth birthday. For over a year now he had held this all-important position, though reliable rumor had it that he would once again soon be packing to return to Washington, this time as a full-fledged member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
Though such an appointment would certainly be the pinnacle of a relatively short but full military career, Laird found himself with little time to ponder his rapid rise to power. His current responsibilities as CINCNORAD demanded his total attention. This was especially the case this morning, as a potentially serious and somewhat puzzling incident was unfolding in the Arctic skies above Canada’s Baffin Island.
Here an Ilyushin Il–76 airliner carrying Soviet Premier Alexander Suratov had mysteriously departed from its prearranged flight plan. Last recorded at an altitude of less than 20,000 feet, the so-called Flying Kremlin had departed from its intended course to Ottawa, and was believed to be approaching the ultra sensitive restricted airspace above Polestar, NORAD’s newest DEW Line radar station. Such an unauthorized overflight could have serious consequences for NORAD’s continued integrity, and Thomas Laird was taking this incident most seriously.
Currently positioned deep inside the Cheyenne Mountain facility, Laird was seated at his battle station, inside the glassed-in balcony of the central command post. Built into the wall before him was a huge, seventeen-by-seventeen-foot screen. Projected on to it was a polar view of the North American continent.
With his intense, pale green stare locked on this map, Laird studied the small, blinking red star that slowly circled the vicinity of the North Pole.
“That Bear-E still bothers the hell out of me, Ben,” grimly reflected CINCNORAD to his immediate subordinate, Brigadier General Benjamin Wagner. “If the Flying Kremlin was really having equipment problems, the Bear surely would have monitored their abrupt course change and attempted to contact the Il–76. But so far, we haven’t heard a peep out of them.”
“That’s because this little course change is all part of a carefully planned scenario,” offered Ben Wagner, whose silver-gray hair glistened in the muted green tones thrown off his computer display terminal. “It’s all too obvious what the Reds are trying to pull off here, Tom.”
“So you still think the Russkies are utilizing the Il–76 as a tickler?” retorted CINCNORAD.
“That’s affirmative,” answered Wagner. “We all know the Russians have been dying to find out what frequencies Polestar transmits on, ever since we first went on-line. Can you think of a more perfect probe than the Flying Kremlin? Assuming that we wouldn’t dare question a Mayday coming from a plane carrying their Premier, the Reds are gambling that we’ll turn on Polestar to track this so-called crippled aircraft, while meantime that Bear records the exact frequencies Polestar operates on. Then when it comes time to initiate a future attack, they’ll know just how to jam our most sophisticated Arctic radar station.”
CINCNORAD nodded. “Sounds convincing, Ben. But do you really think the publicity-shy Russkies would dare send the Flying Kremlin on such a mission? After all, I can’t think of a much more high-profile flight than this one. Why every news service on the planet is covering it.”
“All the more reason for them to think they can pull it off,” Wagner shot back. He scanned the central display map and suddenly saw a pair of blue flashing lights become visible just off the northwestern coast of Greenland.
“It looks like the ceiling has finally lifted in Thule, because there’re those blessed Eagles we’ve been waiting for all morning!”
This hopeful statement was accented by the shrill, distinctive ring of a telephone. Briefly catching his subordinate’s concerned stare, Thomas Laird reached down to the console and picked up the sole red handset.
“Yes, Mr. President,” greeted CINCNORAD. “…I understand, sir. But if you’ll just give us another fourteen minutes, we’ll have this mystery solved once and for all. You see, those F-15’s we’ve been waiting to launch have finally gotten airborne.”
A worried expression crossed Thomas Laird’s face as he intently listened to his Commander in Chief.
“But Mr. President, what about that Bear recon platform that’s still circling the Pole? We feel it’s all too obvious that what we’re witnessing is not a mechanical breakdown at all, but a deliberate attempt by the Russians to further probe our air-defense system.”
Thomas Laird winced as the voice on the other line came through even stronger. There was defeat in CINCNORAD’s hushed tone as he humbly replied.
“Yes, Mr. President. I understand your position. We’ll do so at once.”
As he hung up the receiver. Laird solemnly addressed his second-in-command.
“Get back on the horn with Oilie Paxton, and tell him to crank up Polestar.”
Looking on as disappointment registered on Benjamin Wagner’s face, CINCNORAD grimly mumbled.
“I hope to God the President is right. Because if this isn’t a legitimate air emergency, the Russkies are about to reap a god damned intelligence field day!”