Arctic Storm Rising

by Dale Brown

  “Amen to that,” Takirak agreed appreciatively.

  Six

  Over the Chkalov State Flight Test Center, Southern Russia

  A Few Days Later

  Several thousand meters above the winding trace of the Volga River, three Russian aircraft slid southeast through a moonless night sky. Two were twin-tailed Su-34 fighter-bombers assigned as chase planes to the third, much-larger plane—the manta ray–shaped PAK-DA stealth bomber prototype. Weeks of rigorous tests had validated the experimental aircraft’s flight characteristics and confirmed that its stealth features made detection and tracking by radar and infrared sensors extremely difficult. Now the program had moved on to check out the bomber’s advanced navigation, attack, and defense systems.

  Inside the PAK-DA’s relatively spacious cockpit, Colonel Alexei Petrov tweaked his stick slightly to the left. Responding immediately to his control inputs, the bomber rolled into a gentle turn. The Su-34s flying a thousand meters off each wingtip matched his maneuver perfectly. Infrared sensors fed their images directly to the face shield of his flight helmet—turning the inky darkness into a green-tinted version of full daylight.

  He smiled under his oxygen mask. Flying at night like this made it more difficult for any foreign intelligence agents stationed near the Chkalov Test Center to track this new aircraft. It also offered an excellent opportunity to evaluate the sensors and software that Tupolev’s engineers touted as providing unparalleled situational awareness to the bomber’s crew. So far, he had to agree. A quick press of a switch on his stick allowed him to toggle rapidly between any of the cameras mounted around the PAK-DA’s nose and wing—giving him the equivalent of a full, 360-degree view. And all without the need to actually turn his head or lose sight of any of the vital flight information provided by his HUD, his heads-up display.

  Seated next to him in the right-hand seat, Petrov’s copilot, Major Oleg Bunin, checked one of his large multifunction displays. It showed a detailed, digitized map of the terrain ahead of them. Variously shaped icons glowed across the map. One blinked green. “Coming up on the target evaluation range in two minutes.” Bunin, stockier and slightly taller than his commander, tapped the screen with a gloved finger. “The range is locked in to our navigation system.”

  A new steering cue appeared on Petrov’s HUD. It slid right and then centered as he rolled out of the turn to the east and leveled off. His left hand slid the throttles forward. “Going to full military power.”

  The roar from the bomber’s two massive NK-65 turbofans deepened as it accelerated, racing ahead now at more than a thousand kilometers per hour. Both Su-34 chase planes easily kept pace. The fighter-bombers were capable of attaining supersonic speeds well above those possible for the larger, longer-ranged aircraft.

  “Sixty seconds out,” Bunin reported. “Activating targeting radar and other sensors.” His fingers tapped at another of his displays. Instantly, the PAK-DA’s active electronically scanned array Ku-band radar powered up. Like the AESA radars carried by America’s B-2 stealth bombers, its signals were designed to be difficult for any enemy to intercept.

  Almost immediately, new icons blinked onto Petrov’s HUD. They showed the positions of possible targets—camouflaged tanks, armored personnel carriers, artillery pieces, surface-to-air missile launchers, and bunkers—scattered across the test range. Some of them were real. Others were decoys that had been carefully constructed to produce apparently genuine radar and thermal signatures. “Engage our target discrimination program,” he ordered.

  Obeying, Bunin set a piece of sophisticated computer software running. It rapidly analyzed data collected by the bomber’s radar and other sensors, ferreting out the slightest inconsistencies. “The TDP program is running.”

  One after another, target icons vanished as the software weighed them in the balance, judged them to be fake, and locked them out of the system—ensuring that no missiles or bombs would be wasted on mere decoys. As they disappeared, Bunin highlighted several of the remaining high-priority targets for the bomber’s advanced attack software. Acting autonomously, the computer selected the weapons most likely to kill each target and assigned them on its own, without human intervention.

  A countdown timer flashed into existence on Petrov’s HUD. “Attacking in ten seconds,” he said calmly. His thumb settled over the weapons release button on his stick. The timer clicked to zero. Petrov pressed the switch. “Weapons away!”

  A high-pitched whine permeated the cockpit as the bomber’s internal bay doors cycled open. Graphics showed simulated missiles and guided bombs leaving the bays and plunging toward their designated targets. When they were gone, the bay doors whined shut again.

  Satisfied, Petrov throttled back to reduce speed and keyed his mike. “Chkalov Test Center, this is Ten’ Odin, Shadow One,” he radioed. “Attack complete. Repeat, attack complete.”

  “Copy that, Shadow One,” the mission controller monitoring this series of tests acknowledged. “Stand by for our evaluation.”

  Data links between the bomber prototype and the test center allowed the technicians there to follow every action taken by the PAK-DA’s flight crew and its computers in real time. Right now, they were checking the evaluations made by the bomber’s target discrimination program. Had it successfully identified which targets were real and which were cleverly crafted fakes?

  “Shadow One, this is Chkalov,” the controller said, sounding pleased. “We score that as a complete success. Every target selected was legitimate. And every target discarded by your computer was a decoy. There were no observed errors.”

  Petrov and Bunin exchanged triumphant glances. While Russia’s stealth bomber was primarily intended as a strategic strike platform to hit high-value fixed sites—enemy command centers and air bases, for example—they’d just demonstrated an additional capability to conduct attacks on well-camouflaged tactical targets. That made the PAK-DA a match for America’s B-2s, which had been used for years against terrorists in Afghanistan, Libya, and Syria.

  “Understood, Chkalov,” Petrov said. He glanced across the cockpit at his copilot. “What’s left on our checklist, Oleg?”

  “Just one more computer test,” Bunin told him, reading a menu of action items from one of his displays. “We need to verify the handoff between our primary and secondary computers in case of trouble.”

  Petrov considered that. Because the bomber prototype relied so heavily on computers to manage its advanced fly-by-wire flight controls, weapons, defenses, and sensors, it was equipped with redundant backup computer systems. If its crew lost their main computer, either because of battle damage or some other malfunction, secondary systems were supposed to take over automatically. They’d successfully demonstrated this switching capability several times on the ground. Now it was time to make sure it worked when it counted, in the air.

  “We’ll head back to the barn,” he decided. “And conduct that last test on our way.”

  He rolled the PAK-DA into another turn, this time back around to the northwest. A new steering cue appeared. They were roughly one hundred kilometers from the test center’s Akhtubinsk military airfield, approximately eleven minutes’ flying time at their present speed.

  “Standing by to shut down the primary computer,” Bunin said. His fingers were poised over a menu on his largest MFD.

  “Permission granted,” Petrov replied.

  Bunin tapped one of the icons on his screen and then used the virtual keyboard that appeared in response to enter a code confirming his instruction. Tupolev’s software engineers wanted to make sure no one could shut down the aircraft’s computer systems with a simple accidental finger swipe.

  Immediately, every multifunction display in the cockpit went dark.

  And stayed dark. So did Petrov’s HUD.

  “Der’mo,” he snarled. “Shit.” When they’d tried this out on the ground, the secondary computer had taken over so fast that all they’d noticed was a slight flicker on the screens. “Bring the secondary
computer up manually.”

  “Yes, Colonel,” Bunin said. He flipped open a panel on the console set between them and pushed a system reset button. Nothing happened. He tried again, but all the screens stayed blank.

  “Go back to the primary computer,” Petrov ordered.

  Bunin nodded and punched the main computer’s manual reset button. Again, there was no response.

  Turbulence buffeted the bomber. Caught by a sudden gust, it banked slightly to the right. Instinctively, Petrov tried to level out again. The stick felt dull and mushy in his hand. Like all flying wings and many other advanced military aircraft, the PAK-DA prototype was inherently unstable. It relied heavily on computerized fly-by-wire systems to make the adjustments to its elevons and rudders that were necessary to maintain controlled flight.

  Well, this was bad, Petrov thought. But not necessarily lethal. After all, he’d practiced for just such an event in simulators many times. Coolly, he instructed Bunin, “Switch to the backup manual flight controls.”

  His copilot opened another panel on the central console and flipped a new series of switches. His eyes darted toward Petrov. “Our manual flight controls are active.”

  Gingerly, and then with more force, Petrov tugged his stick to the left and pushed down hard on the rudder pedals. The aircraft responded sluggishly, but finally it came back level. “Christ,” he muttered. “This thing handles like a drunken pig without the computers.” He keyed his radio mike again. “Akhtubinsk Tower, this is Shadow One. We’ve lost both flight control computers. I am declaring a mission abort.”

  “Understood, Shadow One,” the control tower replied right away. “We lost your data link at the same time. We’re clearing the field now. Emergency vehicles are on standby.”

  Quickly, Petrov shifted his attention to the two Su-34 chase planes. “Opekun Odin i Dva eto Ten’ Odin. Guardian One and Two, this is Shadow One. Close on me. I’ve lost all instrumentation and I’m returning to Akhtubinsk immediately. But I’m going to need your eyes.”

  Unable to hide their concern, both chase plane pilots acknowledged. The twin-tailed aircraft rolled in to within fifty meters, one on the bomber’s left side and one on its right. Their red, green, and white position lights glowed brightly in the darkness.

  “Give me a reading on my airspeed, altitude, and heading,” Petrov said calmly.

  “Shadow One, your airspeed is five hundred kph. Altitude thirty-eight hundred meters. Your heading is now three-two-one degrees,” one of the Su-34 pilots reported.

  “Understood,” Petrov replied. “What’s my most direct heading back to the airfield?” That earlier, inadvertent roll to the right had thrown them a little off course. And with the computers down, so was their digitized navigation system.

  “Come left to three-one-four degrees.”

  Sweating under his helmet, Petrov muscled the stick and rudder pedals to raise control surfaces on the trailing edge of the bomber’s right wing, while simultaneously lowering rudders and elevons along its left wing. Slowly, the big plane banked left a few degrees. Straining, he reversed the process to level off again on the correct heading.

  Carefully, the Su-34 pilots and weapons officers coaxed the stricken PAK-DA prototype back toward the test center’s Akhtubinsk field. Their constant commentary on altitude, attitude, airspeed, and the observed positions of the bomber’s wing rudders and elevons blurred through Petrov’s mind as he fought to keep the inherently unstable aircraft in control. Without the fly-by-wire system, even small adjustments required enormous effort.

  Under the strain, time seemed to stretch out almost unbearably for most of the return flight. Seconds felt like minutes. Minutes dragged like hours. But then, as they came in on final approach, with the airfield’s bright lights blazing ahead of them through the cockpit canopy, everything sped up. And Petrov’s whole world narrowed down to a tight cone directly ahead of the aircraft.

  “I confirm that your landing gear is down, Shadow One,” one of the Su-34 pilots radioed.

  “Copy that,” Petrov replied tightly.

  “Two hundred meters, descending at ten meters per second. You’re coming in a little hot. Airspeed is three hundred ten kph.” The Su-34s were sticking to the bomber’s flanks as if they were glued there, gliding down out of the sky beside it as though they planned to land, too.

  Petrov blinked away a droplet of sweat. The double strand of runway lights seemed to be rushing at him like a runaway freight train. Reacting instantly, he reduced his throttles and heaved back on the stick to raise the bomber’s nose a degree or two. His rigid neck and shoulder muscles felt as though they were on fire.

  “One hundred meters, down at eight meters per second. Angle of attack looks good, Shadow One. Split drag rudders full open. Airspeed two-ninety kph,” he heard a chase plane report through his headset.

  And then they were over the runway itself. Parallel white bars painted along the concrete strip loomed up and then vanished beneath the cockpit, growing ever bigger as the PAK-DA lost altitude. Abruptly, the heavy bomber dropped the last couple of meters and touched down with a sharp jolt. Instantly, the Su-34 chase planes on either side hit their afterburners and climbed away at high speed.

  Petrov chopped back on his throttles to reverse thrust and then braked hard to shed their remaining speed. With its turbofan engines howling, the big aircraft rolled down the runway. Slowing fast, the PAK-DA prototype came to a complete stop about fifteen hundred meters from its touchdown point. Through the cockpit canopy, he could see flashing red and white lights as several emergency vehicles converged on their stationary bomber.

  With a sigh, he shut down their engines and sat back.

  Beside him, Bunin stripped off his flight helmet. The younger man’s thick mop of hair was soaked with sweat. His teeth gleamed briefly in the darkness. “That was some seriously shit-hot flying, Colonel,” he said in unfeigned admiration. “I think you just saved the whole stealth bomber program—not to mention a twenty-billion-ruble experimental aircraft. Oh, and our lives, too, for whatever they’re worth. I suspect our masters in Moscow are going to be very, very happy with you.”

  Wordlessly, Petrov nodded. Inside, he smiled. Without realizing it, his copilot had just managed to put his finger on the whole point of tonight’s little exercise.

  Seven

  Mercury City Tower, Moscow, Russia

  The Next Day

  Mercury City Tower’s glowing, bronze-tinted reflective glass made it stand out among the five other ultramodern skyscrapers that formed Moscow’s International Business Center. Slanting, steplike recesses along one side of the building gave the nearly 340-meter-high tower a unique, tapered look that only added to its apparent height. And inside its reinforced concrete-and-steel exterior, high-end restaurants, stores selling luxury goods, business offices, and opulent apartments filled the seventy-five floors soaring above the ground.

  Two hundred meters and forty-four stories above street level, the corporate headquarters for one of Russia’s largest and most successful industrial and financial conglomerates, Severnaya Zvezda Stolitsa, or North Star Capital, occupied three full floors. In theory, North Star was a shareholder-owned corporation. In practice, it was completely controlled by its chairman and CEO, Dmitri Grishin.

  Grishin maintained a palatial private office on the topmost of those three floors. Floor-to-ceiling, east-facing windows offered him an unobstructed view of a loop of the Moskva River, the centuries-old Arbat District, the Kremlin’s redbrick walls, and much of the sprawling metropolis beyond. On good days, he savored the view.

  Today was not such a day.

  Grishin glowered down at the report he’d just finished reading. Irritably, he scrawled his signature across the last page, closed the folder, and tossed it onto a growing stack of similar documents. Early on in his quest to amass wealth and power, he’d learned the importance of closely monitoring the decisions made by his subordinates. Staying near the top of the heap in Russia’s chaotic, ever-churning bus
iness and political climate required an almost infinite capacity for hard work and careful attention to even the smallest details. As a result, senior managers across his far-flung corporate empire were expected to provide weekly summaries of their operations—production costs and profit figures, personnel moves, interactions with federal, local, and foreign officials, consumer feedback, and a host of other useful data.

  Unfortunately, none of the reports he was studying now made pleasant reading. For months now, persistently low world oil and natural gas prices had been wreaking havoc with Russia’s economy, which depended heavily on the energy sector. More than a sixth of the nation’s GDP came from oil and gas, along with half its government revenues, and more than two-thirds of its export income. Because of depressed prices affecting those industries, incomes were down, unemployment was sharply up, and the broader economy was sliding fast toward a severe recession. And aware of the growing strains on government finances, foreign creditors were increasingly reluctant to lend money to Moscow except at exorbitant interest rates.

  Grishin’s frown deepened. The worsening slump threatened both his own personal wealth and Russia’s political stability. In the past, his fellow countrymen had proved willing to surrender their freedoms in return for a measure of prosperity and security. The current government’s increasingly obvious failure to live up to its end of that bargain was dangerous. Already, there were protests and demonstrations in the streets of Moscow, St. Petersburg, and other large cities. They were peaceful so far, but the slightest spark could turn them violent. Worse still, there were unpleasant rumors that the Kremlin might soon be forced by its fiscal woes to cut pay and pensions for the armed forces and the police. And if unrest spread through the two strongest pillars of the state—the military and law enforcement—Russia’s ruling elites could lose their grip on power in the blink of an eye.