Arctic Storm Rising
- Автор: Браун Дейл
- Серия: Nick Flynn #1
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: William Morrow
- ISBN: 9780063015050
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «Arctic Storm Rising». Краткое содержание книги:
“My God,” Zhdanov muttered, seeing in his mind’s eye fire-laced mushroom clouds towering above American ports, airfields, and its national capital. It was the old dream so often pictured by Soviet strategists during the long Cold War. And, at the same time, the old nightmare of those who understood the risks involved.
Petrov’s mouth thinned. “Even men of limited imagination, like yourselves, should be able to see the opportunity offered by the chaos and confusion this bolt-from-the-blue strike will create,” he went on. “Perhaps even to realize that an immediate follow-on attack by Russia’s strategic rocket forces could destroy the remaining American ICBMs in their silos… before any of the dazed survivors can order a retaliatory launch.”
Again, Zhdanov saw Rogozin nod his head in agreement, though almost unwillingly now. With Washington, D.C., in radioactive ruins and the American president and his top military leaders dead, the Americans simply would not be able to react in the thirty short minutes between the time Russia’s own ICBMs rippled out of their silos and off their mobile launchers and the lethal moment their hundreds of multiple nuclear warheads detonated over U.S. missile fields.
“At that point, the United States will be left with only a handful of missile-armed submarines at sea,” Petrov said coldly. “If you threaten to destroy America’s cities in case those submarines launch their own weapons, the surviving elements of its weak-kneed governing elites will stand down in fear… leaving Russia the nuclear master of the world.” He shrugged. “The choice,” he added icily, “is yours. Either cast the die with me and win. Or die as ineffectual cowards when American ICBMs rain down on you in retaliation for my actions.”
The screen went dark as his message ended.
For a long, seemingly endless moment, there was only stunned silence in the crowded command center. Then, finally, Zhdanov slammed his fist down on the table, rattling cups and saucers and startling his advisers and military commanders, who appeared sunk in gloom and uncertainty. “Well, what do we do now?” he snapped.
“There is still a chance that our Spetsnaz troops will find Petrov and the stealth bomber,” Rogozin tentatively suggested.
Like a striking snake, Zhdanov whipped around on Ivashin. “Is there?”
The head of the GRU swallowed hard. During Petrov’s recorded tirade, he’d been frantically texting his headquarters for a mission update. His face was pale. “Unfortunately, we’ve lost contact with the raiding party… and with the crew of their helicopter, Mr. President.”
Zhdanov glared at him. “Which means your Major Korenev — and your brilliant deep-cover agent Orphan — have both failed.”
“Yes,” Ivashin admitted miserably.
Zhdanov turned back to Rogozin. “Can the Americans intercept the stealth bomber and shoot it down? Before Petrov can launch those cruise missiles?”
The Air Force commander shook his head. “It’s highly unlikely, Mr. President. NORAD’s radars and air defenses are concentrated along the perimeter of American and Canadian airspace. Petrov and his aircraft have already penetrated those defenses.”
“What if we warned the Americans ourselves?” one of the other generals asked.
Rogozin shook his head. “Petrov’s missiles have a range of more than twenty-eight hundred kilometers. He can strike his chosen targets from anyplace in a huge volume of space, across tens of millions of square kilometers. In effect, his planned launch point could be literally anywhere over the continental United States… or even over southern Canada. It would take a miracle for any American interceptor to find his stealth bomber in time.”
“And miracles have been in short supply lately,” Zhdanov said acidly. He scowled. “More to the point, what do we gain by warning the Americans?” He glared around the room, seeing their sudden, alarmed comprehension. He nodded. “Exactly. We gain nothing. The Americans can’t stop Petrov. But by warning them of what’s coming, we would just give them time to evacuate their military and political leaders, disperse their bombers and submarines, and put their ICBMs on full alert.” His fist crashed down again, making them all jump. “So, in the end, we would only find ourselves confronted by a fully armed and ready enemy — an enemy bound to seek vengeance for Petrov’s sneak attack.”
Rogozin and the others were visibly shaken. In many ways, that would be the worst of all possible outcomes. Even a failed cruise missile attack on the target cities and bases Petrov had listed would still kill hundreds of thousands of American civilians. War would be inevitable. “What, then, are our options, Mr. President?” the Air Force general asked finally.
Zhdanov’s eyes were hooded. “Options?” He shook his head in disgust, staring down at the surface of the table. “There are none.”
“Sir?”
Slowly, the Russian president looked up. “We have no choice but to ride this nuclear whirlwind Petrov plans to unleash. Every other path leads inevitably to disaster.”
“If you’re wrong, millions of our countrymen may die,” Rogozin warned.
Zhdanov nodded heavily. “True enough.” Then he shrugged. “But if we sit here and do nothing, those same millions may die — and all for nothing.” He turned to the commander of Russia’s Strategic Rocket Forces, Colonel General Anatoly Gruzdev. “Bring your missiles to their highest state of launch readiness, General. But discreetly. The Americans must not find out what we’re up to.”
Somberly, Gruzdev nodded his understanding.
“The moment our early-warning satellites confirm nuclear detonations on targets inside the United States, you will launch an all-out attack on America’s ICBM fields,” Zhdanov continued. “Destroy every single one of those enemy missiles in their silos, Anatoly. Make the rubble bounce. We’ll only get one chance at this.”
Thirty-Nine
Inside the cockpit of the PAK-DA stealth bomber, Alexei Petrov leaned forward and finished keying in the last elements of his flight plan. Lights along the top of the central multifunction display flashed from amber to green as the aircraft’s computers checked his orders and signaled their acceptance. He watched them closely, aware of more pressure building up in the back of his brain. The headaches triggered by his malignant brain tumor were coming ever more rapidly now, held at bay only by increasing doses of medication.
Fortunately, Petrov thought with cool irony, very soon now, he would no longer need to worry about his disease. Death, after all, was the final solution for all human illness. But in the meantime, the need to numb himself against crippling pain required him to rely on the bomber’s autonomous systems to manage this final mission. Through the haze induced by medicines, his own reflexes were no longer up to the task.
He checked his flight instruments and panels one last time, just to be sure. Without a copilot to help him run through his checklists, precision was even more essential. Satisfied, he tapped a code sequence on the screen’s virtual keyboard to set his VIKHR program in motion.
Immediately, a new window opened on the MFD. An icon blinked. go for engine start, the bomber’s computer reported. Two indicators flashed red and then green. ignition on both engines. Petrov glanced at his throttles. Eerily, both moved on their own accord, going to idle without any command input from him. Through the aircraft’s open belly hatch, he heard the two big turbofans powering up. Their noise deepened from a high-pitched whine to a growling rumble.