Arctic Storm Rising Dale Brown (literature books to read TXT) 📖

strip our most dangerous enemy, the UnitedStates, of most of its nuclear arsenal. The opportunity, moreover, to do so with minimal damage to our Motherland’s own militaryand industrial might.”

Zhdanov grimaced. What the hell was this madman talking about?

As if in answer, Petrov sat back again, allowing them to see the detailed map filling one of the stealth bomber’s large, sophisticateddigital displays. It showed the interior of the United States. “This plan is code-named Vikhr, Whirlwind,” the traitor colonel said conversationally.

Whirlwind? Zhdanov darted a questioning glance at Rogozin. The general shrugged helplessly, as if to confirm this was nothing he’d everheard of before, either.

On-screen, the recorded image of Alexei Petrov kept talking. “Very shortly, I will take off from this hidden airfield,” hetold them. “Once safely airborne, I will fly a stealthy course deep into American airspace.” He smiled grimly. “There, approximatelyfive hours from now, I will launch the twelve long-range, nuclear-armed stealth cruise missiles that you, perhaps foolishly,have entrusted to my care.”

That drew startled gasps from around the room. All along, the prospect of a rogue commander in control of live nuclear weapons had been their worst nightmare—a fear that had faded only when it seemed Petrov was more interested in money than in sparking a nuclear holocaust.

“These missiles will be targeted on American military command and control centers in and around the Washington, D.C., area,their B-2 bomber base in Missouri, their B-52 bomber bases in Louisiana and North Dakota, and the U.S. Navy’s ballistic missilesubmarine bases at Kitsap, Washington, and Kings Bay, Georgia,” Petrov said calmly, apparently wholly unconcerned that hewas announcing the probable deaths of hundreds of thousands and perhaps millions of people, soldiers, airmen, sailors, andcivilians alike. “They will be carefully timed to arrive and detonate simultaneously.”

Zhdanov saw Rogozin’s head nod slowly. What the colonel proposed was technically possible. It was simply a matter of settingthe necessary navigation points so that missiles aimed at closer targets would fly somewhat longer, more circuitous pathsto arrive at their chosen destinations. While that increased the chances that the Americans might detect some of the incomingattacks, the risk was minimal. Their ability to spot stealth weapons fired from so deep inside their national territory wasnegligible.

Petrov reached out and tapped the display. The digital map of the United States blanked and then disappeared. “My attackswill decapitate America’s political and military leadership,” he said bluntly. “They will also wipe out its strategic bomberforce and sink much of its ballistic missile submarine fleet in port.”

“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 thesame 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 radioactiveruins and the American president and his top military leaders dead, the Americans simply would not be able to react in thethirty short minutes between the time Russia’s own ICBMs rippled out of their silos and off their mobile launchers and thelethal 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 ofits 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 AmericanICBMs 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, Zhdanovslammed his fist down on the table, rattling cups and saucers and startling his advisers and military commanders, who appearedsunk 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 amission update. His face was pale. “Unfortunately, we’ve lost contact with the raiding party . . . and with the crew of theirhelicopter, 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 launchthose cruise missiles?”

The Air Force commander shook his head. “It’s highly unlikely, Mr. President. NORAD’s radars and air defenses are concentratedalong 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 chosentargets from anyplace in a huge volume of space, across tens of millions of square kilometers. In effect, his planned launchpoint could be literally anywhere over the continental United States . . . or even over southern Canada. It would take a miraclefor 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 warningthe Americans?” He glared around the room, seeing their sudden, alarmed comprehension. He nodded. “Exactly. We gain nothing.The Americans can’t