Red Hammer 1994

After an uncomfortable silence, Laptev became the teacher. Such an attack, he declared, would throw the Americans’ entire command and control into absolute chaos. Even if the surprise were not total, the stunned Americans would refuse to believe their indicators and simply sit on their hands. He cited Pearl Harbor and Hitler’s massive offensive against Russia in the Second World War as prima fascie evidence. Human nature has not changed one iota, he had offered.

The defense minister had listened in shock. Only once did he interject that the unimaginable risks would far outweigh any marginal benefits. He considered talk of global war with the United States, whether nuclear or conventional, inappropriate and foolhardy. He had wished then and there for the courage to use stronger words, but they had frozen on his lips. The weak response had triggered a final scolding from the Russian president. He lectured the defense minister for underestimating the severity of the current crisis.

Then an incredible transformation transpired. When all had expected Laptev to press, he had leaned back, a wide smile pasted on his thick Slavic face. The gloom had given way to sunny skies and gentle breezes in the blink of an eye. He reached for a bottle of juice and flicked the top off with an opener. The defense minister had been dumfounded; he had felt squeezed by some bizarre time warp that left him panting. The others outside of Laptev’s tight inner circle reacted in varying states of incredulity.

Such an attack plan should always be available for appropriate contingencies, Laptev had said matter-of-factly. It was simply prudent planning. What if the Americans suddenly threatened Mother Russia, blustering and threatening like they are prone to do when things don’t go their way? I ask you, what would we do? He turned his mouth upside down and shrugged. No, we must be prepared. Then he had sent them all packing.

Reaching for the ornate silver box resting on the rosewood coffee table in front of him, the defense minister nervously removed an American-made cigarette, repeatedly tapping the end on the polished wood surface. He couldn’t stand Russian brands, and American cigarettes were becoming scarce. He was interrupted by a knock at the door. “It must be Marshal Ryzhkov,” he remarked, flicking the lighter cupped in his hands.

“Come in,” grunted the defense minister, taking a puff on the cigarette dangling from his lip. He glanced up to see two senior officers enter. The first was Marshal Ryzhkov, deputy minister of defense and commander in chief of the Strategic Rocket Forces. He didn’t recognize the second officer.

“Good afternoon, Defense Minister,” greeted Marshal Ryzhkov. “This is Colonel General Strelkov, my deputy for plans. When I received your urgent message, I felt it would be appropriate for him to accompany me.”

The defense minister nodded his approval. “Have seats.” He waited until the two were posed opposite him in overstuffed leather chairs.

“Marshal Kiselev and I just returned from a meeting of the Defense Council,” he said. “We presented various policy options prepared the last few weeks. Quite frankly, we were disappointed and shocked at how they were received.” He was frightened to reveal the entire truth.

Taking a final drag on his cigarette, the defense minister ground it into the ashtray in front of him. “I was convinced we could humiliate the Americans by bringing twenty to thirty reserve divisions to full strength in concert with a demand for total repudiation of the spaced-based laser program. We could even feint a buildup in the Crimea as a precursor to a move into Turkey. A bluff really, but the cost would be minimal, and the Americans couldn’t match our partial mobilization. Never mind that our army divisions are nowhere near combat ready.”

The defense minister leaned forward and let out a sigh. “The president has specifically directed us to develop additional plans covering a broader range of military options. That is why I called you here.”

Ryzhkov looked unconcerned, glancing casually toward Strelkov, sitting stone-faced in his chair. The defense minister took a gulp of air. Here goes, he thought.

“The president demands the formulation of an attack plan against American command and control centers and their strategic forces. A surprise nuclear attack. For further evaluation, he says.”

Ryzhkov nodded in acknowledgement. Once again, he gave no visible response. The defense minister was convinced the two officers hadn’t heard him; perhaps there was wax in their ears.

“This American laser business is dominating the agenda,” remarked Kiselev. “There is even loose talk of an American first strike once the space-based defense system is fully operational in a few years.”

“That makes no sense,” replied Ryzhkov sharply.