Red Hammer 1994

Strelkov stood to stretch and then answered his own question. “Because decisions concerning war are facilitated when tempers are short and cries of revenge are in the air. Adolf Hitler was probably the last modern head of state to coldly and deliberately commit his nation to total war.”

“What would the Americans do after their ICBMs were destroyed?”

“Their options would be to doing nothing, capitulating, or they could strike with surviving SLBMs and bombers, if there were any.”

“I know that,” snapped the defense minister. “But what would they do?”

Ryzhkov drew back, waiting for the defense minister to regain his composure.

“It’s difficult to say. If they committed their SLBMs, they would be going after urban industrial targets and will have expended what reserve force they have left. We will have communicated our intention to meet any retaliation with a devastating counterattack. The United States would have sustained little damage outside key military targets and the silo fields. Would you, as president, commit your nation to mass destruction simply to satisfy a primitive urge for revenge?

“We would emerge from the attack unscathed, the majority of our strategic forces intact, while the Americans would be broken. Yes, the risk would be high, but the reward would be commensurate.

“Surprise attacks always succeed, Defense Minister; history supports the thesis. Without exception, attackers gain the initiative. They fail when they neglect to press their advantage.”

The defense minister slowly rose and walked across his office to the window overlooking the Kremlin grounds. “That will be all,” he ordered, staring out across the distance. The three officers exchanged puzzled glances then quietly rose and left. “Marshal Kiselev,” the defense minister called as he stepped through the door. “I wish to see you first thing tomorrow morning.”

Gazing across the tree-lined cobblestone courtyard, the defense minister struggled to get a grip on the images coursing through his brain. He was beginning to think like his unstable master. It was terrifying.

The somber mood engulfing the Kremlin was ripe with a grim fatalism. Russia was rapidly slipping down a steep slope toward extinction. Laptev’s ruling clique proposed patchwork solutions, but most members secretly accepted the endemic weaknesses which doomed Russia to third-world status in the twenty-first century. Frustration was forged to hatred of the perceived architect of all Russian troubles—the United States. The Russians were like beggars, cup in hand, prostrate before the world community.

The defense minister turned and stared at the far wall of his office. On it was a diploma from the Moscow Officers’ Academy. He reflected on the rigorous doctrine pounded into their heads day after day so many years ago. Those hoary tenants of Marxism/Leninism, which stressed the criticality of the correlation of forces and the inevitability of conflict with the capitalistic West. It was the unquestioned foundation for every decision in the sixties and seventies. The eighties had swept that aside, formulating a dynamic which stressed integration and cooperation with the West. Now they had come full circle.

CHAPTER 8

“Here it is, Mr. Secretary,” said Thomas, handing the seated Alexander a manila folder emblazoned with a crimson swath stamped “top secret, code word.” It was the latest on a black satellite program that was grossly over budget and behind schedule. Alexander adjusted his reading glasses. Alexander’s brow knitted in direct proportion to his distress as he progressed down the page. Thomas shuffled to a nearby chair and plopped down. He had earlier reviewed the bad news, as he did all incoming correspondence, messages, and reports.

“Shit,” groaned the veteran secretary of defense, flipping the folder shut. He gave Thomas a tight-lipped frown then a look of resignation, flipping his glasses on his massive oak desk.

“I thought that would be your reaction,” Thomas said. “How about I visit my friends at the Air Staff and see if I can work a deal before this gets worse.”

Alexander nodded. He rocked back in his high-back swivel chair and gazed out his E-ring window at the lush trees and the peaceful Potomac lazily rolling toward the Chesapeake Bay.