Pale Blue

by Mike Jenne

  “I suppose that the High Command would frown on that,” said Malenkov.

  “But you agree that we cannot readily replicate such a degree of realism on Earth?”

  “Absolutely, Comrade General.”

  “And there are other factors we can exploit,” said Abdirov. “Besides the obvious physical isolation, Vasilyev is significantly isolated in other ways. Since the Krepost lacks any means to receive radio or television broadcasts, Vasilyev is effectively deaf to the news of the world, except for the information that we pipe up to him on the intelligence channel.”

  “Very true, Comrade General,” replied Malenkov. “It is a truly unique situation.”

  “I’m glad that we agree,” said Abdirov. “And here’s what I want. With your experience, I want you to create an overarching exercise scenario and the same sort of mock-up reports that we use for strategic war games. I want the reports to describe a series of incidents leading to a gradual breakdown in international relations, followed by the enemy’s gradual escalation for a major attack.”

  Malenkov’s mouth dropped open. Regaining his composure, he asked, “You want to deceive Vasilyev into believing that the world is at the brink of thermonuclear war?”

  “I do. As I said, we could not possibly generate such a realistic training environment on Earth, so I want to take advantage of it while the opportunity presents itself.”

  “Begging your pardon, Comrade General, but this all seems very extreme.”

  “Nikolai Danilovich, stationing nuclear warheads in orbit is extreme,” said Abdirov in a fatherly tone. “But we are compelled to do so, because the Americans have fielded weapons that we cannot readily counter. And if putting nuclear weapons in orbit is an extreme option, we certainly must be confident of the men who are tasked to deploy them, and that’s why I consider this exercise to be so essential. Do you not agree? Does that not make sense to you?”

  “Da. I concur, Comrade General,” answered Malenkov. “It does make sense, and I can clearly see why you are so eager to exploit this unique opportunity.”

  “Look, there’s another reason I want to pursue this exercise scenario,” said Abdirov. “Vasilyev will be up there by himself, possibly for several weeks, without any direct human interaction. I want him to remain vigilant. I am very concerned that if we don’t provide him with adequate motivation to remain alert, then he might readily be lulled into complacency.”

  “That makes perfect sense, Comrade General, but I am compelled to ask: What if he becomes too wrapped up in the mock scenario that we feed him? What if he becomes unhinged and decides to deploy the Egg of his own accord?”

  Abdirov smiled, and then replied, “That’s the best part. He can’t. The Perimetr interlock prevents him from taking any sort of unilateral action. Regardless of how much he might want to drop the Egg, he cannot do so without an Independent Action Code, and we certainly aren’t ever going to issue one to him. Moreover, if we sense that he is losing his equilibrium, then we just admit that it was an exercise.”

  “That’s quite a relief, Comrade General,” said Malenkov.

  “Besides you, who else sees the intelligence reports that are sent up on Channel Three?”

  “Just the strategic intelligence analysts who prepare them,” answered Malenkov. “Two men on either shift. They summarize the daily intelligence reports and specify the reconnaissance targets for each pass over enemy territory. I review and approve the summaries. Once I sign off on them, then the intelligence analysts record them on a high speed recorder, encrypt them, and then they are burst-transmitted on Channel Three during the next available communications pass.”

  “How long are the voice recordings?” asked Abdirov.

  “No more than fifteen minutes, Comrade General,” replied Malenkov. “We are confined to that duration, because the communications window is limited. The burst transmission equipment reduces the fifteen minute voice recordings down to three minutes.”

  “And fifteen minutes is adequate?”

  “Actually, sir, it’s usually more than adequate. With very few exceptions, the reconnaissance targets were designated long before the mission launched. They are all identified by code number, so we have a brevity system that specifies when each target will come into view. As an example, San Diego Naval Base is Target N-26, so all we have to say is ‘N-26, 16:38,’ unless there are special instructions.”

  “Special instructions?”

  “Da, Comrade General. For example, ‘N-26, 16:38, verify departure of aircraft carrier battle group’ to confirm intelligence that we have received from other sources.”

  “That makes perfect sense,” replied Abdirov. “So, would it be an immense burden if I asked you to record the intelligence messages yourself, so that only you are aware of what is transmitted?”

  “Not a burden at all, Comrade General. I am just glad that I can be of service to you.”

  Abdirov smiled. “I think that it goes without saying, that you are not to share this with anyone,” he said.

  “Of course, Comrade General.”

  “Good. Draft up a preliminary scenario, and bring it round this afternoon.”

  8

  RUMORS OF WAR

  Aerospace Support Project Headquarters

  8:00 a.m., Tuesday, October 10, 1972

  Even though Mark Tew had been rejuvenated by the initial news that nuclear-armed Krepost was in orbit, the ensuing three weeks had turned into a laborious slog of paperwork and meetings. His fragile health had deteriorated yet again; just this past Friday, his cardiologist had made it abundantly clear that Tew’s unrelenting workload was depleting his dwindling days at an ever exponential rate. But try as he might to obey his physician’s wishes, Tew’s schedule just couldn’t accommodate regular rest and a healthy diet.

  As he waited for Seibert to hand out some papers, he slipped two pills into his mouth and sipped from a glass of lukewarm water. Struggling to conceal a persistent tremor in his hands, he donned his reading glasses and adjusted them on his nose. He picked up the report that the intelligence officer placed before him, but after seeing that its pages fluttered in his unsteady hands, he laid the document flat on the table to digest it. He looked up to see if Wolcott or Heydrich might have noticed his discomfort, but the two men were already focused on their own copies of the report.

  The tersely written intelligence summary amplified a cursory report they had received last week, indicating that the Soviets might not be able to sustain continuous manning for their nuclear-armed Krepost. The previous report, drawn from information provided by the highly placed source at Kapustin Yar, alleged that the assembly of Soyuz cargo ferries was significantly delayed; as a consequence, the Krepost’s current crew would be obligated to return to earth if the station was not replenished in time.

  As he skimmed through some charts and tables, Tew saw that this new summary not only corroborated the initial report, but also identified the specific facility responsible for the production delay. Moreover, it pinpointed the precise cause: a critical weld in the Soyuz cargo ferry’s pressure hull had repeatedly failed a stress test stipulated in design specifications. The thoroughness of the summary was a testament to the responsiveness, broad scope, and immense reach of the American intelligence machine. Since learning of the Krepost facility at Kapustin Yar, US intelligence agencies had focused on the Soviet cosmodrome with laser-like intensity. All available intelligence resources—electronic listening posts to monitor rocket launch communications and telemetry, surveillance satellites and analysis centers—were brought to bear. Obviously, the effort relied primarily on technical means that could only view Kapustin Yar from a distance; the secretive test facility was otherwise immune to penetration by HUMINT—human intelligence—assets. As a result, although they were collecting a wealth of information from the program’s periphery—like the facilities that produced the Soyuz modules—there was still much that they did not know.

  Flipping over the red-bordered document, Tew asked, �
�Do they have any other alternatives to resupply the Krepost?”

  “Not really, General,” replied Seibert. “No viable options, anyway. As best we can tell from reading some cable intercepts, they’re grasping at straws. They apparently have at least one Soyuz crew vehicle ready to fly. Theoretically, as a stopgap measure, they could modify it to fly as a cargo vehicle. But even if they were successful, there wouldn’t be much free space available to stuff with consumables. It might buy them a little time, maybe a week or two at most.”

  Tew nodded. “Assuming that they fail to replenish on schedule, when will they have to abandon the Krepost?”

  Seibert opened a manila folder to reveal a calendar. He pointed at a red-circled date and stated, “According to our source, their drop-dead date is the nineteenth. He stated that if they don’t receive a cargo ferry by then, the mission planners will order the crew to come home. Our supplemental intelligence supports this; their recovery forces are already ramping up for a mission on the nineteenth.”

  “Okay. Assuming their crew comes home then, how long will the Krepost be vulnerable?” asked Tew.

  Shrugging his shoulders, Seibert replied, “Honestly, General, I’m not sure. I have no idea of how long it might be vacant, but I also feel that we might not see a similar lapse ever again.”

  “So, Ted, do you feel that this report is reliable?” asked Tew, tapping a finger on the downturned document.

  “Yes, sir, we’ve surmised that this intelligence is accurate,” stated Seibert. “Very accurate, so I strongly recommend that we decisively act on this opportunity.”

  Tew swiveled his chair to face Heydrich. “Gunter, do we have adequate lead time to act on this?”

  Heydrich nodded. “We’ve certified the profile,” he stated. “Barring any changes or unforeseen consequences, we can launch from Kennedy on or slightly after the nineteenth. Based on our calculations, we should be able to effect an intercept in twenty-four hours or less.”

  “But, Gunter,” interjected Wolcott. “How about all those new gadgets that our eggheads have been workin’ on? Will any of those gimmicks be ready in time?”

  “From an equipment standpoint, no. We’ve validated the radar detection system, but the jamming pod and the torpedo won’t be ready for several weeks. Although we won’t have the new gear, we have cultivated new procedures that should enable the crew to fly the entire intercept without energizing their radar. Of course, they will be relying on a lot of information fed up from the ground.”

  Heydrich continued. “In any event, other than the new procedures, our crew will be flying essentially the same profile that we’ve employed successfully on seven other missions. They won’t have the new equipment, but they will still have the Disruptor, and that’s a piece of technology that’s proved itself time and again. In summary, if I believed the Krepost might be empty again, I would recommend that we wait for our technology to catch up, but I agree with Colonel Seibert. I don’t think that we’ll see this opportunity again, so I strongly recommend that we seize it.”

  “So that’s it?” asked Tew. He consulted the tiny metal calendar clipped to his leather watchband. “We send up Carson and Ourecky in nine days?”

  “Assuming your approval, General,” replied Heydrich.

  “Done,” said Tew. “Granted, we’ll have to run our plan past Kittredge and his group at the Pentagon, and they’ll have to seek approval from the NCA, but you have my blessing to proceed.”

  Wolcott cleared his throat loudly and rapped his fingernails on the table. “Mark, I’m obligated to remind you that Leon is in California,” he stated. “He can jump on his plane and be here tomorrow. Don’t you reckon we at least owe it to him to wait one more day so he can be a party to this discussion? You seem absolutely insistent on flying Carson and Ourecky on this mission, and I think we need to at least consider flyin’ his crew.”

  “No,” replied Tew emphatically. “This is my decision, not his.”

  “Mark, before we do something rash that we might later regret, can’t we at least take a minute to hash this around some more? Are you absolutely sure that you want to fly Carson and Ourecky?”

  “I am,” answered Tew. “How about you, Gunter? Just for the sake of discussion, how does the Navy crew look right now?”

  “Honestly?” answered Heydrich. “They’ve made great headway with the intercept procedures. They’re picking them up much faster than I had anticipated. I would say that they are at least on par with Carson and Ourecky before they flew their first mission.”

  “See what I mean, boss?” said Wolcott. “Even Gunter says that the Navy boys are on par with our best hands. Ain’t that something you should take into consideration?”

  “Virgil, I said that they were on par with Carson and Ourecky before their first flight,” said Heydrich, obviously flustered. “But they probably will never reach their present level of competency.”

  “But they could probably still handle this mission, right?” asked Wolcott. “After all, this revised procedure is even new to Carson and Ourecky, and the way you’ve explained it, virtually everything will be fed up from the ground. If that’s the case, the Navy boys shouldn’t have any problem wranglin’ this steer. This is an excellent opportunity for them to earn their spurs.”

  “I don’t agree,” said Heydrich, shaking his head.

  “Why don’t you talk to Carson, Mark?” asked Wolcott. “Personally, I ain’t comfortable with Ourecky going up now. I don’t think he’s healed up sufficiently, despite what the docs say. Anyway, those two are all but joined at the hip, so why don’t you ask Carson what he thinks?”

  Tew felt veins pulsing in his forehead. Struggling to contain his anger, he closed his eyes as he let out his breath slowly. It infuriated him that Wolcott was so anxious to ingratiate himself to Tarbox. He sensed his temples pulsing, then felt a sharp twinge in his chest, and then felt his fingers grow cold and numb. His circulation returned to normal in a matter of seconds, but it was still a frightening episode.

  The decision was his—and only his—to make. Of course, his recommendation would have to be ultimately approved at the highest levels in Washington, but they had not disagreed on any of his other recommendations concerning the previous eleven flights. Clearly, they trusted his judgment.

  As much as he disliked the notion of putting Carson and Ourecky back into harm’s way, he was absolutely convinced that the two men were the only crew even remotely capable of successfully executing this mission. And this mission was the very reason that the Project had been approved in the first place, so given this unique opportunity to finally swat a Soviet nuke from orbit, how could he possibly send anyone but his varsity team?

  As someone who had commanded in combat, he certainly understood the terrible human costs that might be incurred. After all, he had personally ordered Bea’s father to his death in Korea; as a result, Ourecky would never meet his father-in-law and Ourecky’s son would never meet his grandfather. But as much as he felt compelled to protect Ourecky from harm, because the engineer had already acted far above and beyond the call of duty, Tew also understood the clear necessity to destroy the Krepost at all costs.

  “Mark?” implored Wolcott. “Mark? Are you okay, buddy? I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted you to weigh out this situation some more. Just this once, I think we can afford to lend Carson and Ourecky a breather.”

  Opening his eyes, Tew groaned audibly. “Virgil, I’ve ordered plenty of men to execute missions when I knew full well that the odds were stacked against them. In every instance, I was very aware that they probably wouldn’t come back, but the harsh reality was that the mission was more important than their lives. Do you think I was ever comfortable sending those men to their doom?”

  “No, but…”

  “But nothing, Virgil. This damned Krepost is a terrible thing, just hanging over our heads, and we must destroy it. That’s our mission. That’s always been our mission, even though we’ve ventured off on a sidetrack. Should we
send Carson and Ourecky? Since those two gentlemen have consistently intercepted every target we’ve sent them up against, they’re obviously the only logical crew choice. Certainly, the Navy crew is extremely proficient and probably could be ready in time, but Carson and Ourecky are ready now.”

  “But, Mark, I think…”

  Frustrated, Tew shot his erstwhile deputy an angry glare. “Virgil, there’s absolutely no doubt in my mind: we are compelled to send our best, regardless of the risks, to ensure that this task is done. To me, this mission is less about destroying that station, and more about sending the Soviets a clear message that we can destroy anything they send up there, and if it’s a threat to our people, we will destroy it.”

  “But, Mark…”

  “Enough, Virgil!” howled Tew. His heart pounded in his chest. “Enough!”

  Krepost Station, On Orbit

  3:13 a.m. GMT, Wednesday, October 11, 1972

  GET: 27 Days 2 Hours 28 Minutes, REV # 433

  Vasilyev awoke from a fitful sleep and stretched. Feeling the onset of a migraine headache, he massaged his throbbing temples. After briefly contemplating the day’s requirements, he immediately commenced his daily chores.

  His self-appointed “day” was divided into a sleeping period, followed by an eight-hour watch. Although he had allocated four hours to every rest period, it was extremely rare that he actually dozed for more than a couple of hours at a time. It had been a few days since Travkin had returned to Earth. Since his companion’s abrupt departure, he had settled into the simple routine that centered around the need for constant vigilance. Except for the infrequent occasions when he retreated to the galley to grab a Spartan meal, Vasilyev divided his time into shuttling between the distant points of his little world: the docking hub and the control area. When he did snatch an hour or so of fitful rest, he elected to remain in the docking hub, close by the controls for Sparky. His motivation was that if the proximity alarm’s radar was triggered by the approach of a hostile space vehicle, he wanted as much warning as possible, so he could immediately activate the automatic cannon to engage the target at the greatest possible distance.