by Dale Brown
"I don't believe it," Curtis asked. "This thing is amazing."
The two men exited the bomb bay, and several security officers closed the four clamshell bomb bay doors. Elliott then led Curtis to the entrance hatch on the bomber's belly and both men climbed inside.
"Hard to believe," Curtis commented, "that a huge plane like this has so little room inside."
"Believe me, this is spacious now compared to a line B-52," Elliott asked. "A lot of things have been taken out, miniaturized, or moved to the fuselage area. There's almost room on the lower deck here for a couple airliner seats-in a line Buff, you can't stand side-by-side down here. We've taken out as much extraneous stuff as possible to lighten the plane."
They sat in the navigators' seats downstairs.
"Where's all the navigation and bombing stuff down here?"
Curtis asked, examining the blank panels before him. The entire compartment was almost devoid of equipment. There was the radar navigator's ten-inch radar scope and associated controls on the left side, plus a small video monitor beside it with a small typewriter keyboard. Between the left and right sides were three small control panels. The navigator's side had a few flight instruments, but nothing else. All the rest of the equipment slots were covered with blank plastic panels.
"The world's biggest video game," Elliott said with a smile.
"Simple, straightforward navigation. The Megafortress uses the Satellite Global Positioning System for navigation, along with a ring-laser gyro inertial navigation set. The INS is updated by the satellite, so the radar scope isn't needed for navigation-we've modified it more for threat detection than for navigation.
"The radar nav uses a plug-in cartridge with all the navigation points and computer subroutines in it. The gyro takes three minutes to spin-up to full alignment, and it's accurate to a quarter of a degree per hour just by itself. The satellite system automatically locks onto two of the eight Air Force navigation satellites orbiting the Earth and fixes its position once every five minutes, and it's accurate to a few feet every time. The radar nav also has a combination computer and TV monitor and a keyboard for reprogramming the computer.
Elliott pointed to the ten-inch attack radar scope. "The Old Dog now has a Hughes APG -75 attack radar from the Navy F/A-18 Hornet fighter, which can feed targeting and tracking information to any of the Scorpion missiles. The radar can also serv e as a navigation radar, if necessary, and it can be used as a terrain-avoidance mapping display "There's more, sir," Elliott asked. "Let's go upstairs."
The two men climbed another ladder to the upper deck.
"Pilots won't be happy about this," Elliott commented, "but we didn't do much in the pilot's compartment. Their job hasn't changed much.
This Megafortress has the capability of automatically monitoring its fuel system and electrical panel, so it frees the co-pilot to help out.
"One major addition is the automatic terrain avoidance system," Elliott explained. "It's an adaptation of the cruise missile's terrain comparison system. We needed a system that could help the Old Dog fly as close to the earth as possible, but without using radar transmissions that would give away the plane's location.
"The satellite navigation system and inertial nav system sends present position, heading, and groundspeed information to a computer, which already has all significant terrain and man-made obstacles for the proposed flight planned region programmed into it. The system finds where it is and figures out what altitude is safe for the proposed flight path. It then sends instructions to the autopilot to fly a set altitude over the terrain. Radar is only used intermittently as a back-up to the syst.e.m. so electronic emissions that could expose the plane's position are almost eliminated."
They half-walked, half-crawled aft of the cockpit to the defensive crew compartment. "Not many changes at the electronic warfare officer's station, either," Elliott asked. "His equipment is more specialized and a bit more automatic. The gunner's station is quite different. He has an eight-inch firecontrol radar, the controls and indicators for the defensive missile launcher, and the controls for the air mine cannons and forward-firing missiles.
He'll be one busy man back here."
"All off-the-shelf, General?" Curtis asked, finding his tongue.
"If it wasn't, sir, you'd know about it. You didn't."
Elliott led Curtis back down the entrance way ladder. A pair of security guards climbed inside and did a quick inspection of the bomber interior while Curtis and Elliott were watched.
After the guards reemerged, the two men were free to leave.
Elliott escorted Curtis toward the exit.
"You realize, Brad," Curtis said as they headed for the security gate, "that this whole trip was just a friendly visit. I wasn't asking about any special project or piece of equipment.
Just a friendly visit, that's all."
"Perfectly clear, General," Elliott said.
"Good. Now that we understand each other, I want to know-" "My test bed B-1B arrives in three weeks," Elliott interrupted him. "It's been on the books for months, far earlier than your meeting with the President. No connection could ever be made.
Curtis smiled. Then: "Only one B-1T' Elliott thought for a moment.
"I'm having lunch with the commander of the test and evaluation unit at Edwards in a few days. Colonel Jim Anderson, a real fireball but a great stick. I wanted to invite him in on some of the new Old Dog weapons tests I'm conducting. I think he can supply us with a B-1
A-model the contractors aren't using. We won't be able to bring it here to Dreamland without raising some curiosity, but I think he can arrange to have it….. at our immediate disposal. We can get it here when….. the time comes."
Curtis shook his head in disbelief. "And I thought I had influence."
He smiled — "If I didn't know better, Brad, I'd say you knew what I was thinking all along."
"After Andy Wyatt got hold of me, sir," Elliott said, "I didn't spend time shining my latrines up for your visit. "He thought for a moment, then said, "it just so happens that those Old Dog tests will coincide perfectly with the refit of those B-1s. Most of the equipment you've seen here tonight can be put in those B-1s in no time at all."
"All right, all right, Brad.
This is starting to get spooky," Curtis asked. "Remember, I never asked you for anything, you never saw those intelligence notes, and "I understand completely, General. "He looked sideways at the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and said, "Two months.
Curtis shook his head in disbelief. "You mean-?"
"The tests will be completed in two months, sir," Elliott asked. "For… whatever reason.
"I may need a plane sooner… for whatever," Curtis said.
Elliott thought for a moment-but only a moment.
"Then I'll send the Old Dog."
Curtis started to laugh but choked back the urge when he saw that Elliott was serious.
"You're crazy, Elliott Curtis asked. "A thirty-year-old B-52?You've been wandering around this desert for too long.
Elliott smiled. "Just a thought, General," he asked. "Just a thought Dowwowlv MANHAnAN Andrina Asserni, confidential secretary and aide to Ambassador Dmitri Karmarov, Soviet Ambassador to the United Nations, could scarcely believe it when she was informed by security that Secretary of State Marshall Brent was waiting in the outer reception area of the Ambassador's private residence.
"Show him in immediately," she told the guard. And a minute later he appeared.
"Secretary Brent…
"Zdrastwayti. Good evening, Miss Asserni," Marshall Brent said in fluent Russian. Asserni's eyes twinkled. How strange and wonderful her language sounded, coming from such a tall, distinguished American.
"May I speak with the Ambassador, please?"
Asserni stammered. "Why, uh, yes… of course. My apologies, Mr. Secretary. Please, please come in. "She stood in awe as Brent strode into the outer apartment. She had never seen the American Secretary travel like this, alone.
"My sincerest apologies, Mr.
Secretary," Asserni asked. "I had no idea you would call on us — " "This is a very informal and impromptu visit, Miss Asserni, I assure-" At that instant, Ambassador Karmarov entered the outer apartment. He wore a simple blue robe in place of a coat, and carrying a can of beer, looked exactly the opposite of his stiff, official persona. "Comrade Asserni, get me the file on-" "Comrade Ambassador!"
Karmarov looked up from his papers and took a step back.
"Marshall… Brent… I mean, Mr. Secretary."
"I hope I am not intruding, Ambassador Karrnarov "No… no, of course not. "He turned to Asserni and handed her the documents he was carrying. "Take the Secretary's coat, Asserni, what possesses you?
Why wasn't I notified?" Brent removed his long dark coat with slippery ease, and Asserni took it in her arms like a newborn baby.
"This is an unexpected surprise "Ochin zhal. I do apologize for any inconvenience this visit has caused, Ambassador," Brent asked. "But I was hoping to speak with you on an urgent matter.
"Of… of course. "Karmarov motioned to his inner apartment. "Do come in. "He turned to Asserni. "Bring coffee and brandy immediately.
And I will strangle anyone who interrupts us. Is that understood?"
Asserni was too astonished to reply. As she hurried off to the kitchen, Karmarov followed the tall, lean, impeccably dressed American into his inner apartment and closed the door behind him.
The Russian ambassador's apartment resembled a large study, with walls covered mostly with floor-to-ceiling shelves of books of all kinds The most imposing item in the room was Karmarov's massive desk, a huge, ornately carved antique, well over half the width of the apartment itself. Brent ran a hand over plush leather chairs, noticing that the coffee table in the center of the apartment was genuine Chippendale.
"A most exquisite room, Ambassador Karmarov," Brent said without turning around. Karmarov wrung his hands with impatience as he waved Asserni into the apartment. She set the tray with a silver urn, a long fluted decanter of brandy, china cups, and large snifters onto the Chippendale table and hurried out.
"Balshoye spasibe. Thank you," Karmarov said.
"Mr. Secretary, we may speak English if you prefer. You need not-" "I am in Russia now, Mr. Ambassador," Brent said, continuing in urban Muscovite Russian. "It would be a presumption to speak anything but your native tongue."
Brent turned, his hands folded behind his back. The two men observed each other for a moment. Karmarov saw a tall, elegant frame; a silver-maned head; a firm chin thrust defiantly up and outward; a thin silver mustache perfectly symmetrical.
The suit was conservative, tailored to razor-sharp perfection, the shoes were polished to a gleaming shine despite the harsh Manhattan streets.
Brent saw a shorter but powerful man, with a full head of gray hair atop broad shoulders. The years of plush living in the most fashionable section of New York had begun to tell on the Ambassador's waistline and chin, but Karmarov's eyes were still as fiery and bright as in his revolutionary youth.
Karmarov finally motioned Brent forward. "Pazhaloosta saditis. Please sit down, Mr. Secretary."
Brent took the wide-armed leather chair offered him by the Russian and lightly seated himself. He kept his knees, legs and back perfectly straight as Karmarov joined him. Karmarov reached for the coffee urn but, correctly interpreting a sly grin in Brent's eyes, his hand slipped over to the decanter. He poured a generous amount of brandy for both of them and offered one to the American Secretary of State.
"To your health, Mr. Secretary," Karmarov said in English.
Brent raised his glass. "Za vasha zdarovye!And to you and yours, Ambassador," Brent replied.
They let the strong spirits flood their insides, then Brent set his glass down on the table.
Karmarov spoke first. "I am totally embarrassed, Mr. Secretary," he asked. "I had no idea "It is I who should apologize, sir," Brent said.
"This may seem most inappropriate, but I simply felt that I must speak with you immediately."
"By all means," Karmarov said. He took a bigger sip of brandy.
"It concerns the fears some in my government have of the research being done at the Kavaznya complex," Brent began.
"They feel-" "Please. Mr. Secretary," Karmarov said, his eyes serious.
"I am not permitted to discuss Kavaznya. It is more than a classified facility, sir. It is a forbidden subject."
"Then permit me to speak," Brent asked. "Consider this a message from my government to yours-you need not reply."
Brent interlaced his fingers and let his arms rest on the chair's wide armrests. "The Pentagon is convinced on what I feel is sketchy " information, that your government is responsible for the destruction of an American reconnaissance satellite and an American RC-135 aircraft."
Kannarov said immediately, "My government has already categorically denied any involvement-" '.Yes, Ambassador. I know," Brent interrupted. He picked up his brandy snifter, passed his nose over it, letting the palm of his left hand warm the liqueur. He settled back into his chair.
"Allow me to be frank with you, Ambassador," Brent said.
Karmarov's eyes widened. "I am not a friend of my country's military hierarchy. I believe it was Montesquieu who once said 'if our world should ever be ruined, it will be by the warriors.
"He referred to Europe, I believe," Karmarov said, his eyes narrowing.
Brent nodded.
"It applies to affairs between our nations as well," Brent continued.
"Ambassador, we are on the threshold of an historic arms-control agreement. In the two years since those negotiations have been conducted, both sides have mainaged to keep the uniformed military out of the negotiations. We have dealt on a level never before attempted-instead of throwing our bloody swords on the table and staring into each other's faces to see who will blink first, like some medieval combat, we have sat down like men and talked true disarmament.
"Ambassador, in our lifetime we can see nuclear weapons eliminated.
Not just a phony controlled escalation, not even a numerical reduction.
No, I talk of true disarmament."
Brent swirled the brandy in his glass and stared into it. "But there are those who see disarmament as a weakness. They seek to disrupt our efforts at every turn. It is the actions of these 'disrupters' that I wish to warn your government about, Ambassador.
"What… actions, Mr. Secretary?" Karmarov asked.
"As I said, there are many in my government who are convinced of your culpability in the loss of our aircraft," Brent asked. "They have conjured up a magical laser device, straight out of one of our Hollywood films, and planted it on UstKamchatkskiy, at your research center at Kavaznya. Evidence or.not, they have all but convinced the President that this laser exists and that it threatens the security of the United States."
Karmarov could not keep his eyes focused on Brent's.
Brent's fingers curled a bit tighter around the brandy snifter as he noticed Karmarov's uneasiness.
Dammit, Brent thought. Could it be true?Is it possible…?
"You must convince them. Mr. Secretary," Karmarov said quickly, forcing his eyes back toward Brent's. "I plead with you, my government is deeply and firmly committed to lasting peace and the total elimination of all nuclear weapons from the face of the globe. Nothing must interfere."
"I have come to offer you my guarantee," Brent continued, "that I will make every effort to achieve a workable arms greement. But I must tell you what is afoot. There is talk of matching the so-called killer laser with a construct of our own.
I'm not at liberty to give details, but-" "Ice Fortress."' Karmarov said suddenly. "The armed space platform!That's what your military means to deploy, isn't it?"
Brent sighed. "Again, I'm not at liberty to discuss-" "But that's it, isn't it?" Karrnarov's face was flushed with anger. "Marshall, you know that deployment of Ice Fortress is a clear violation of the 1972
Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty. It is a violation of the 1982 Space
DeMilitarization Agreement. It flies in the face of our entire arms elimination negotiations. It is madness.
"Key elements in our military are convinced of the existence of a killer laser," Brent asked. "That is also a violation "Such a device-should it ever exist in our lifetime-is not a violation of the ABM Treaty," Karmarov interrupted. "The Treaty clearly never mentioned such exotic devices because they exist only in the imagination of a few excitable scientists and physicists. Why write a treaty forbidding something that does not exist?"
Karmarov's rising tone of voice, with the strained chuckle punctuating his last sentence, rang like an echo from the walls of a canyon in Brent's ears. Karmarov continued: "The Space DeMilitarization Agreement does not apply, of course, to a ground-based defensive device. It was specifically written to eliminate the placement of weapons of any kind in orbit over the Earth. It was supposed to have averted a madness that swept both our countries. It cannot be possible for your country to deploy Ice Fortress. It cannot."
"I have made no admission that such is the case," Brent asked. "But I can tell you that many options are being considered. "He looked directly into Karmarov's eyes and paused, as if to lend emphasis to what he was about to say "The laser is a menace, Dmitri," Brent said.
His voice sounded as if it came from the bottom of a deep well. "Find some way to reassure the leaders of my government that their fears about a laser at Kavaznya are groundless. Make some sort of presentation about the research you conduct there, or at least describe the facility in a bit more detail. But put the saber-rattlers to rest "I can guarantee little," Karmarov said.
We must not fail, Dmitri," Brent replied. He got up and took Karmarov's hand in his. "The future-our children's future-may depend on it. "Slowly, Brent released his grip on Karmarov's hand. He gave the Ambassador a curt nod and made his way out of the room.
Karmarov watched him leave, then sat down in one of the plush leather chairs. He did not move for a full two minutes.
Finally, he rang for Asserni.
"Do they know?" Assemi asked.
"They suspect. How could they not suspect?" Karmarov reached down to the table and gripped his snifter with both hands. "What the hell are they doing over there, Assemi?Are they trying to destroy the arms agreement?What do they want the Americans to do?"