by F X Holden
Including regarding his personnel.
“Captain Kozytsin, I am starting to wonder if you are worthy of the great responsibility Russia has entrusted you with,” Bondarev was saying. He had risen for a 4 a.m. flight from Moscow to Baikonur to take Kozytsin’s report in person. He wanted to see the man to reassure himself he still had the backbone for the task ahead. And to hear what ideas his people had been able to generate since he had reported last night that not one, but two Groza units over China had gone dark. He needed answers before he was inevitably required to provide them to General Popovkin.
“You have had all night and a nice breakfast over which to come up with an explanation for what happened. I want to know what, and just as importantly, I want to know who,” Bondarev said. “I want to hear your best guess, and then I want to speak to your squad leaders myself.”
Ground observation showed they were still in orbit, for now. But they were neither responding to commands nor sending data to Baikonur. It seemed, for all intents and purposes, they had simultaneously malfunctioned. While in orbit over China. Around 3,250 miles apart.
Bondarev did not believe for a second that was a coincidence.
“Yes, General,” the man said, but he kept eye contact and did not sound defensive. “We have reviewed all available data up to the point we lost contact with the satellites. We have no indication of an object – either active or inactive – likely to have caused a collision. We detected no nearby objects at all at the time we lost comms. I have ordered our Cyberwarfare Unit to look for any comms radiation in the vicinity of the Grozas before we lost contact, but that will take time – it is not something we were actively monitoring.” He saw Bondarev’s face. “But it will be, in future.”
They were standing in Kozytsin’s modest office in Baikonur, two floors underground where even the rumble of a rocket lifting off out on a launch pad five miles away would be barely discernible. The office comprised a wall screen, a bare desk with a single lamp, and an inlaid tablet screen. Two chairs, neither of which were in use. A coffee pot and two cups, also not likely to be used. The only sounds were of Bondarev’s displeasure and Kozytsin’s discomfort.
“Go on.”
“Yes sir,” Kozytsin said, his Adam’s apple working hard. “The attacks occurred over Chinese territory. We have ruled out laser or anti-satellite missiles. Our working hypothesis is that the Groza units were disabled by experimental particle beam weapons, fielded by the Chinese PLA.” He motioned to the screen. “If I may?”
“Please,” Bondarev nodded.
Kozytsin had prepared a single slide, showing a blurred aerial photograph of a ship-mounted weapons system and a column of data alongside it. “A Chinese Renhai Type 55 stealth destroyer, fitted with a prototype neutral hydrogen particle beam weapon. GRU has not seen it tested against satellites, but it has the advantage of enhanced focus when fired through the atmosphere. GRU believes it could have the range to allow it to disrupt low earth orbit satellites.”
“Hmmm,” Bondarev considered the idea. “Tell me, Captain. Does a Chinese Renhai stealth destroyer have wheels?”
Kozytsin reddened. “Comrade General?”
“Because one of those Grozas was intercepted as it crossed overhead from Kyrgyzstan into China. To my knowledge, the nearest ocean would be, what, a thousand miles to the south?”
The caustic remark hit home, and Kozytsin straightened. “You asked for our hypothesis, Comrade General. A Chinese attack by a particle beam weapon, ship or vehicle mounted – that is our hypothesis.”
Bondarev stood looking at the photograph of the Chinese ship and made several snap decisions. “I suspect part of your hypothesis was right. The attacker was most likely Chinese. It seems we now have a three-front undeclared war on our hands.” He turned to face the officer. “But that will no longer be your concern. You are relieved of your command, Captain. I am told your second in command, Lieutenant Ilya Solenko, has now returned from sick leave. Please advise him I will be taking personal control of Groza Operations for the duration of the current conflict; he will now be reporting directly to me. And ask him to call all personnel together immediately so that I can address them. You are to remain in barracks until you are reassigned. Is that clear?”
The Captain saluted, unmistakable enmity in his eyes. “Yes, Comrade Major-General.”
As he left, Bondarev’s thoughts were already racing ahead to what he would tell Popovkin. Firstly, that he had relieved the officer responsible for failing to defend the Grozas and was assuming command himself. Secondly, that they were now under attack by three nations – the US, UK, and China. Whether they were working in concert or alone, it was impossible to say and, at the end of the day, irrelevant. He had warned Popovkin that there would be repercussions from the use of Groza, which the Colonel-General had acknowledged, but like the soldiers below him, he was simply following the directives of his own commanders, the President and Minister of Defense.
Well, they had sown the field, now they must harvest it.
Geopolitics were not his worry. Bondarev’s job was to protect his Groza units and preserve Russia’s newly won superiority in space. He had now lost three of sixteen units to enemy action, and four were depleted. With nine units still operational, Groza was still a formidable platform, and he planned to keep it that way.
He was betting nearly everything on the threat of that Lider keeping the US spacecraft grounded. If he could take the US threat off the board, the UK would be reluctant to act alone, freeing him to deal with the new threat, China. He had expected China would react, and angrily, when it discovered the Russians were culpable for the Korla strike, he had just not expected that reaction to come so soon. But a range of diplomatic, economic and, if necessary, military options were available to persuade the Chinese to back off. Not least their newfound reliance on Russian and Iranian oil.
Bondarev was not normally a betting man, and he didn’t like how few options he had right now. As it had been during the Cold War, Russia now found itself standing very much alone against powerful enemies as it tried to assert itself on the world stage. But at least during that conflict, they hadn’t also been dealing with a potent enemy like China at the same time.
Rodriguez was also girding herself to deal with China. After multiple high-level contacts between the Pentagon, China’s Ministry of Defense, and the two country’s space forces, she was now face to face with the officer who was her opposite in the coming operation.
She’d decided to keep the meeting low key, one to one. Friendly ice breaker style introductions were out of the question since they would both be using simultaneous translation bots, and the speak/pause rhythm of tcons that went via translator bots didn’t make for socializing. To add to the awkwardness, she’d never spoken with a Chinese military officer before and exchanges between the two space forces had been limited since a recent ‘misunderstanding’ in which US forces had shot down a Chinese fighter aircraft over Okinawa. But she was painfully aware that China was now in many ways a step ahead of the USA in the space race. Since the decommissioning of the International Space Station, China’s Tiangong was the only manned space station in orbit. NASA was planning for another moon landing at around the same time as China was planning to put a manned spacecraft in orbit around Mars.
The man coming into focus on the screen in front of her was young – late thirties she guessed – and dressed in a sharply tailored green PLA army jacket adorned with a golden cord or aiguillette, tan shirt, black tie and a peaked hat with a bright red band. She was suddenly very happy she’d changed out of her combat utility uniform into her dress blues just before the call.
When they’d both logged into the translator bot, the man spoke. “Colonel, I am Major Fan Bo of the People’s Liberation Army Xichang 27 Test Base. I have been ordered to cooperate with you in this upcoming operation.”
The Chinese officer didn’t exactly sound happy about it, but it could of course just be the translation. Rodriguez decided to give
him the benefit of the doubt. “Uh, yes Major, and I have been ordered to provide you with any assistance you may require, assuming it is within my power to help of course.”
The man frowned. “I need no assistance from US Space Force. I have already received all the data your government is willing to share. My specialists have examined the record of your recent engagement with the Russian system, and identified all the flaws in your attack. Unless you have new information, there is nothing I require.”
Was he deliberately trying to provoke her? If so, he was succeeding. If not, he was also succeeding.
“It is a little hard to know how best to help you, Major, unless we know a little more about your attack vector.” She decided to throw a shot across his bows. “For example, we assume you are using your Parasite system to conduct these attacks. Would it be valuable if we provided a distraction, for example by lasering the Russian satellite while you engage, to increase the chances your Parasite mini-sats can get through?”
Bo reached forward and muted the call, speaking to someone off-camera. So, they weren’t alone after all. She hadn’t really expected they would be, but the pretense of a private call might have been nice. He turned back to the camera and unmuted. “Your assumption around our attack vector is uninformed. We have multiple possibilities and will use the system with the greatest likelihood of success under the operational conditions.”
She leaned forward on both her forearms. “Major, I have been advised by my superiors that it has been agreed China will not use ground or sea launched anti-satellite missiles for this operation. Both to reduce the risk it will be observed, and to reduce the possibility of targeting errors that might impact US space assets.”
Bo opened his mouth to speak, and then apparently reconsidered. He gave her a thin smile. “As agreed, we will not be using anti-satellite missiles.”
Rodriguez tried to change the mood. “Major, I just want to say, I was saddened to hear about the Russian attack on your citizens in Korla. I understand there was significant loss of life. You have my personal condolences and my commitment that I and my people will do whatever we can to prevent future Russian kinetic bombardment attacks be they on China, the US, or elsewhere.”
Bo looked quickly off to the side at whoever was standing there, but didn’t consult before responding this time. “Thank you Colonel. I cannot confirm anything about an attack on China but your sentiment is appreciated.”
Rodriguez nodded. “If there is nothing you need from me, then I will sign off. We are working to move new assets into place, and I will be in contact when we have a launch date and time. Good luck Major.” She wasn’t sure of the protocol, but she gave him a salute.
He appeared taken aback and returned her salute stiffly. “Thank you Colonel. Goodbye.” The screen went dark.
Well Alicia, Rodriguez thought. That was one small step for Space Command, one giant backward leap for bilateral space relations.
She had other problems to deal with, since O’Hare had kamikazed her one orbiting X-37. Right now, she had one operational and one reserve X-37 grounded at the Cape and was haggling with Air Force, NASA, United Launch Alliance, SpaceX and a half dozen other commands and bureaucracies for a priority shot on a heavy-lift rocket that could get one of her machines into orbit stat. It was the first real test of what she had thought were protocols Space Command had already agreed with the dozens of parties involved in lifting big payloads into space, and she was getting nowhere, even with Severin and Zeezee storming the bureaucratic ramparts.
Apparently, without a formal declaration of war she could wave in people’s faces, she was regarded as just another customer trying to jump the queue.
It didn’t matter to Amir Alakeel whether his country had formally declared itself at war or not. He was preparing to die anyway. He had just volunteered for a mission from which, his CO had explained, they expected many would not return.
The Natanz nuclear enrichment facility was in Esfahan province in the heart of Iran, 500 miles as the crow flew from Alakeel’s base at Dhahran. But Alakeel’s squadron would not be flying as the crow flies. They would be making a dogleg north via Kuwait, crossing into Iran south of Basra in Iraq, avoiding the heavily patrolled skies of the Iranian west coast. This part of their route had been cleared with Kuwait through US intervention and was the least dangerous part of the mission. Once they entered Iran, they would hug the terrain, avoiding known air defense zones around the cities of Ahvaz and Esfahan. Flying low exposed them to the risk of being visually identified and would burn more fuel. But they would be overflying Iran between 0200 and 0300 at night, and that risk was deemed better than the risk to their stealth profile if they popped up to an altitude where they would be more vulnerable to radar detection.
The Natanz facility, which had been identified in the early 2000s as Iran’s primary nuclear enrichment facility, had been an obvious target for nearly thirty years and Saudi intelligence indicated Iran had gone to extreme lengths to protect it. The six-square-mile facility was buried 72 feet underground, surrounded by walls and ceilings of 15-foot-thick reinforced concrete. Alakeel had been part of many exercises wargaming an attack on Natanz, including one very realistic exercise conducted during his training in Nevada.
Although not state of the art, the air defense system at Natanz was the best Iran had in its arsenal – a Russian-made S-300 system with a hardened central command post connected to four independent radar arrays dotted around the site at 12-mile intervals and 12 Buk M3 self-propelled launch vehicles each able to independently track and launch against four targets simultaneously, and reload within 15 minutes. It was similar to systems fielded by Syria during that country’s war with Turkey, and it had proven deadly against non-stealth aircraft, but had yet to claim a stealth aircraft kill in any conflict.
He lost one of his men five minutes into Iranian airspace, north of Bandar Mahshahr. The Saudi aircraft were not flying within visual range of each other – each had its own stealth-optimized route to the target. There was no warning, no arc of a missile launch, no cry for help; one moment his icon was there in the flight ahead of Alakeel, and then next, he was gone. There was no emergency rescue beacon triggered by the pilot, either. An enemy patrol? Comms failure? There was no way to know.
They had flown on.
The biggest threat to their mission was that they might bump into a lucky Russian air patrol. Signals analysis had shown Russia had based the Su-57s it sent to Iran at the Iranian Air Force Base in Esfahan. It was probably not a coincidence. Russia was happy to lend a little air muscle to Iran, but it had made sure its precious stealth fighters could take off and land under Iran’s heaviest air defense cover. While they had no indication – again from electronic signals intelligence provided both from their own observations and by the USA – that Russia had set up standing combat air patrols over Esfahan, the Russian Su-57s were constantly taking off from Esfahan to patrol the Iranian west coast and the Gulf, and just as frequently landing again.
The chances they would be spotted by such a patrol were low, but in just a few minutes were about to become very, very real.
Saudi and US hackers had tried more than once to disrupt operations at Natanz with cyberattacks, but Iran had learned its lesson after Natanz was successfully targeted by Israeli hackers in 2010, and no viable attack vector could be found. Two Saudi human agents had died in 2023, trying to physically infiltrate the site to plant malicious code.
But if Alakeel’s aircraft could penetrate to the heart of Iran – and if the 2,000 lb. rocket-boosted High Velocity Penetrating Weapons (HVPW) provided to Saudi Arabia by the US Air Force for this mission could break through the earthen and concrete ramparts protecting the 7,000 centrifuges below – then they might set Iran’s nuclear program back years. Iran seemed hell-bent on putting nukes on its ballistic missiles, but without a steady supply of enriched uranium, it would be limited to the few weapons it had on hand, not many of which could be made compatible with ballistic missile warhea
ds.
The HVPW had never been used in combat. It had been designed specifically for the smaller payload bay of the F-35, used the same air to ground targeting system, and was intended to strike with the hitting power of a 5,000 lb. GBU-28, which could deliver 630 lbs. of high explosive through 150 feet of packed earth or 20 feet of reinforced concrete.
That was the theory. Amir Alakeel was about to test the reality for the first time in history.
Nine of ten aircraft had made it this far. Right now, they were one hundred and fifty miles out of Natanz, flying at six hundred miles an hour, winding northeast through a low range of hills between Farsan and Chelgerd. They were not flying in a tight formation. Each machine’s pilot and AI were working constantly to maximize their stealth profile, and so they were flying in train, each machine a variable distance ahead of the next, with about fifteen minutes separating the first machine to the last – which was flown by Alakeel.
They were observing total radio silence on this flight, not wanting to give away their presence to any electronic warfare unit that might be sniffing the airwaves over Iran. But each of his men knew exactly what part they were expected to play. And even though they had not used it since leaving Saudi territory, his men had chosen their own call sign for this mission: Janbiya. It was the name for a very iconic curved dagger from the Najran region of southwest Saudi Arabia. It was worn for ceremonies but was only ever taken out of its sheath at times of extreme conflict. The allegory was considered very appropriate for the times.
His role and that of the three aircraft at the head of the line of aircraft was air defense suppression. He had two HARM antiradar missiles in his weapons bay, leaving room for only two Sidewinder air to air missiles. In five minutes, the first of the aircraft ahead of him would turn gently northeast, skirting the mountain range that protected Natanz from the west. The other eight aircraft behind it would follow the same track. Then they would bank right, flying around the farthest reaches of the mountain range and swing south, attacking Natanz from the flat plains of its northern approaches. The first three aircraft in his squadron would also concentrate their anti-radar weapons on identified air defense targets, while the next six were each carrying two of the bunker-busting HVPW bombs, programmed to strike different points in the complex. They could be released at a range of ten miles, but with the S-300 able to swat them from the sky at ranges out to 50 miles (if it got a lock), they would have to get well within the Iranian kill zone to fire them.