Red Hammer 1994

“In the late 1980s, the GRU placed a series of experimental, stealth satellites in an unusual orbit. The purpose was twofold. First, to test American space-surveillance capabilities, and second, to analyze certain optical phenomenon which could be associated with optical sensor or weapons tests in space.” Antonovich forced himself to slow down. “Of the four satellites launched, only two reached the proper orbit. The others were lost due to a booster malfunction. Indications were that the Americans never detected the remaining two. After a series of tests, the satellites were shut down and put in a semi dormant mode, to be triggered to life by certain wavelengths of light received by onboard sensors.” The doctor glanced from side to side. They were actually listening. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Antonovich settled into a smooth cadence, his initial trauma ended. “As you are well aware, on the twelfth of April, one of the satellites detected unusual activity from a point in space over the Pacific Ocean. These emissions occurred over a period of three-and-one-half minutes. Two distinct wavelengths of visible light were identified, along with readings in the infrared spectrum. At first we were puzzled, but upon analysis and comparison, we concluded the light source was a chemical laser.”

Antonovich pointed to the chart projected on the screen. “Here you will observe the light intensity as a function of time. Note the short bursts.” A small pointer moved across the chart, pausing convincingly at each of four peaks to emphasize his point. The council members sat motionless; only an occasional cough broke the silence. Wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, Dr. Antonovich continued.

“The second phenomenon was more difficult. You can observe two instances here and here. At first we thought these two broad peaks were caused by a malfunction in the detectors—a severe noise spike. But after filtering out the background signals, we concluded they were large, chemical explosions. After much discussion, we concluded that a space-based laser had fired at and destroyed two targets.”

“Dr. Antonovich,” interrupted the defense minister hurriedly, “are you sure the source of the light emissions was a chemical laser? I have been briefed on our own laser research programs, and the data shows that a chemical laser small enough to be carried by a shuttle does not have nearly the power to destroy any worthwhile target. They are mere toys.”

“We have gone over the data many times, Defense Minister,” Dr. Antonovich emphasized, “and the conclusion is always the same. It was definitely a chemical laser, a very powerful one.”

The director of the SVR nodded his head in agreement. The others exchanged troubled glances. Laptev scowled.

The second chart that was set square on the glass, labeled “Experiment Geometry,” depicted the relative positions of the laser source and the targets. Antonovich hesitated while the Defense Council members scrutinized the chart. He concluded they would never figure it out on their own.

“Once we determined the source of the emissions, we attempted to construct the geometry of the experiment. It appears the spacecraft was in an orbit of approximately forty degrees inclination at an altitude between one hundred and sixty and three hundred kilometers. We were unable to determine the exact source of the destroyed targets, but if missiles, they came from Vandenberg, California. The puzzling thing is their apparent IR signature. I made inquiries at the intelligence analysis section at GRU headquarters and—”

“Thank you very much, Dr. Antonovich,” the defense minister interrupted once more. He turned to the Russian president. “Do you have any questions, President?”

Laptev slowly shook his head, an unsettling, distant look painted on his face. Dr. Antonovich, taken aback, quickly gathered his materials and stood awkwardly, waiting for instructions, like an offending school boy. An officer walked up, put his strong hand on the back of his arm, and coldly said, “Follow me.”

Laptev happily doodled on his pad of paper, obviously pleased with his creation. But then the slight smile at the corners of his mouth vanished as quickly as it had come. The others waited patiently, like they were used to the annoying pace. The president spoke only when he was ready.

“It is time we discuss the doctor’s very enlightening presentation.” Turning to the line of military officers seated against the wall, he said, “You are dismissed, except General Surikov.” The military audience rose and hastily departed.

“General Surikov,” the defense minister said, gesturing with his pudgy hand, “join us at the table.” The fat man flinched, having completely trampled protocol. He belatedly turned to Laptev, who graciously overlooked his grievous error—this time, and sanctioned the invitation with the slightest of nods. The defense minister expeditiously revived the stalled meeting.