Silver Tower

CHAPTER 2

Through swirling gusts of snow that fell outside the triplepaned windows, the Soviet Union's Minister of Defense Sergei Leonidovich Czilikov had difficulty seeing even as far as the frozen Moscow River and the new Varsauskoje Highway that spanned its southern and northern banks. He watched policemen trying to direct traffic around a minor collision in the middle of Bakovka Avenue east of the new Kremlin Administrative Center. Another long, severe winter was coming.

Czilikov turned away from the icy scene outside, but things were equally as depressing and cold inside. Seated around a long oblong oak table in the cavernous office were the members of the Kollegiya, the Soviet main military council. The Kollegiya included three deputy ministers of defense, a KGB general, the commanders of the five branches of the Soviet military, and five generals representing various support and reserve elements of the military. Fifteen men, six in business suits with medals and ribbons, the rest in military uniforms, and not one of them, least of all Czilikov, under the age of sixty. All but one, the relatively young KGB chief, Lichizev, were Heroes of the Soviet Union.

They were surrounded by aides and secretaries in hard metal folding chairs arranged along the century-old tapestries covering the walls of the room. Two elite Kremlin guards, each armed with AKSU submachine guns, flanked each heavy oak door leading into the chamber.

Everyone in the large, cold room looked on edge. Czilikov knew what each of them was expecting. As he moved to the unoccupied head of the conference table, the hubbub of noise died abruptly away. "We must attack," Czilikov said. The faces of the fifteen men remained stony, grim. Mindless cattle, Czilikov thought to himself. The new general secretary had such a firm stranglehold on these formerly powerful, soldiers, Heroes of the Soviet Union, that most were afraid even to look up from the table. The spirit of glasnost in general secretary Mikhail Gorbachev's regime had been squashed. "Intelligence reports are conclusive, tovarishniyes, " Czilikov declared. "Nearly all of the pro-Khomeini factions have been defeated by the moderates, and the pro-Western government is consolidating control of both the people and the military. The Alientar government in Iran has promised a return to pre-Khomeini wealth and prosperity for its people — funded by the Americans, of course. The KGB predicts that the Iranians will agree to the reopening of air and naval bases and listening posts in Iran in exchange for generous financial assistance. Which means that arms sales to Iran from the West, which were nothing more than secretive trickles, may soon flow like vodka."

Czilikov fixed each of them with an imperious stare. Despite his age, his eyes danced with the same fire as when he was a young tank commander rolling triumphantly across Poland in World War II. "The old efforts to consolidate the Transcaucasus under our rule by kindling this wasting, bloody war between Iran and Iraq have faded. Our former leader, more concerned with his television image than the needs of the future world Communist state, failed to anticipate that religious fanaticism can be a powerful, sustaining force-particularly in Iran. Our lack of success in supporting the Hussein regime in Iraq has seriously hurt our prestige. The result is that we are in danger of losing all our influence in the whole Middle East."

"Could this really be so, Comrade Marshal?" Deputy Minister of Defense and Chief of Ground Forces General Yegenly Ilanovsky asked. "Surely the hatred that the Iranians have for the Americans cannot be erased overnight? Thousands were killed in the American bombing raids on Tehran and Kharg Island just a few years ago."

"Raids which the Iranians themselves foolishly invited by attacking American shipping in the Gulf and staging that Christmas terrorist attack on Washington," Admiral Chercherovin, commander in chief of the navy, said. "They seem to have an instinct for self-destruction."

"Which may play into our hands nicely," Lichizev, the KGB representative, put in., "As for how the Iranians feel about the Americans at the moment, my agents in Iran report a distinct softening in attitude. Public memory can sometimes be conveniently short, and official memory can be adjusted. The CIA has given vital military support to the puppet regime of the Ayatollah Falah Alientar. They have helped crush his enemies very effectively, much as they did when the Shah Pavelirili Rezneveh was in power, before they got an attack of democratic conscience…"

"It is obvious that past transgressions have been forgotten,"' Czilikov summed up. "And if the United States and Iran sip a friendship and cooperation agreement, the Iran-Iraq war will be over within days. Iraq will not fire on an American vessel, and the skies over Iran will be nearly impenetrable if American planes are allowed to land there. We will be as powerless as we were in Egypt twenty years ago.

The Kollegiya became silent. The next question hung over the group like a poised guillotine blade, but no one was going to ask. Czilikov's gaze swept over the gray-haired men at the table, but he met few direct glances.

They were waiting for their orders, Czilikov decided. Well, give them the order… "Operation Feather has been approved by the Politburo," Czilikov finally said. "The plan for the occupation and control of Iran and the Persian Gulf. Swift execution is essential. The United States must be prevented from entering the Persian Gulf with a major naval air force. We do not want a repeat of their flagging operation of five years ago. We must take tactical command of the Persian Gulf theater before Iran formally asks the United States for assistance. Ayatollah Larijani has established a government-in-exile in Syria and has been persuaded to help us. He will announce that it was the pro-West members of Alientar's party who precipitated the war with Iraq. He will denounce the war as an American plot to divide the Islamic brotherhood. He will call for a holy war against Alientar's puppet regime."

Czilikov paused, letting his carefully chosen words sink in. "Then he will announce an alliance with President Hussein of Iraq to unite the two warring nations under a new flag, creating the Islamic Republic of Persia."

Czilikov returned to his seat and motioned to First Deputy Minister of Defense Sergei Khromeyev, chief of the General Staff of the Armed Forces. Khromeyev stepped before a wide flat-lens computer screen set up in a corner of the room. "The tentative scenario has been approved by the Politburo," Khromeyev began. "The ultimate objective of Operation Feather is to consolidate the Persian Gulf region under complete political and military control of our Soviet Communist party. The party, through the defense council, has ordered the Stavka to accomplish the objectives set out in these orders. "

Khrorneyev referred to a folder on the long conference table as a detailed computer-generated map of the Persian Gulf appeared on the screen. "Forces employed will consist mainly of air, land, and sea forces under the command of the Southern Military Theater. Operation Feather will be conducted using forces generated during Operation Rocky Sweep, our annual Southern TVD military district combat exercise. The forces mobilized during Rocky Sweep will be augmented by reserve forces for home defense as Operation Feather is implemented. A small but dramatic Iranian attack against one of our destroyers in the Persian Gulf will precipitate our defensive containment response. The attack will be preplanned by GRU and KGB agents in place in Iran, and will use Iranian Silkworm antiship missiles fired from Bandar-Abbas near the Strait of Hormuz.

"We already have an entire carrier task force in place. The Mockba-class Leonid I. Brezhnev aircraft carrier is stationed in the Persian Gulf. The Brezhnev battle group is nearly unopposed — the Americans, I'm glad to say, still refuse to put one of their carriers in the gulf out of fear of reprisal. The Brezhnev has six cruisers, ten destroyers, and ten support vessels. When the destroyer Sovremennyy is attacked, the battle group will attack the Iranian military ports of Abadan, Bandar-Abbas, and Bushehr. The group will be reinforced by Tu-95 and Tu-121B naval bombers from our ports in South Yemen. Control of Bandar-Abbas will give us control of the Straits of Hormuz, the major chokepoint, as you well know, of the entire Persian Gulf. The southern Teatr Voennykh Deistvii will occupy Tehran, with assistance from three divisions from Afghanistan, which will control the eastern border. Southern TVD, Caspian flotilla, and Iraqi forces will capture the western frontier."

Czilikov noticed a few nervous faces in the Kollegiya. They were not, it seemed, itching for battle. They would follow orders, but this was a far more ambitious operation than they had expected.

Khromeyev pushed on. "Syrian and Iraqi forces will contain any American military reaction from Turkey, and the Brezhnev carrier battle group in the Persian Gulf will close off the air and sea approaches to the Persian Gulf, the Gulf of Oman and the Arabian Sea."

Czilikov stood and faced the Kollegiya. The computer map had frozen with the scene of red sickles and hammers spread from Syria to Pakistan. "In one week we will occupy Iran," Czilikov said. "A coup will reinstate the Islamic regime of Larijani, which will, as mentioned, unify Iran under the Islamic Republic of Persia. We will retain both political and military control of the region and prevent the United States from ever regaining a strong strategic foothold in the Persian Gulf."

There was a low rumble of voices. Czilikov sat, folded his hands before him on the table, waiting for the rumble to subside. A few short years ago such a bold plan would have provoked vigorous, angry protests. No longer. Already the men surrounding Czilikov began to quiet. The members of the Kollegiya were either too dumbfounded or afraid or both to speak out. Czilikov let his words linger for a few moments, then said, "Your comments, tovarischniyes."

"It's a brilliant plan," Ilanovsky said enthusiastically. "A swift, crushing pincer that will grab the entire region away from the U.S."

"I assure you the navy stands ready, gentlemen," Admiral Chercherovin added. "The Brezhnev battle group can easily control the region, and our naval aviation forces from South Yemen and Vietnam will intercept all American rapid deployment air forces."

Each of the commanders of the armed forces, in turn, weighed in with their enthusiasm and support for Czilikov's invasion plan. But such overwhelming support didn't especially hearten the Minister of Defense. Intimidated military commanders tended to make unreliable decisions. He was about to make some comment about his staff's excessive enthusiasm when — he noted a quiet but animated discussion between Deputy Minister Alexi Ivanovich Rhomerdunov, commander in chief of aerospace forces, and one of his staff members. The staffer was all but being pushed back into his seat by Rhomerdunov, who had to be at least thirty years older than his enthusiastic aide. "Is there a problem, Rhomerdunov?"

All heads swiveled in the direction of the seventy-year-old head of air defense forces. Rhomerdunov straightened in his seat, stabbing an angry glare in his aide's direction. "No, Comrade Minister."

Czilikov nodded and was about to issue his orders to the Kollegiya when Rhomerdunov cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Minister Czilikov — he again looked apprehensively in the aide's direction — perhaps there are some important points to be made about this Iranian offensive."

The members of the Kollegiya froze and stared at Rhomerdunov, as if ad just a y ins. minister ofense. Czilikov said nothing. Then, without further prompting, Rhomerdunov's aide stood and straightened to attention. The officer was tall, lean, powerfully built. Ukrainian, obviously, judging by his wide shoulders, flat nose, and square jaw, Czilikov decided. He hit on the man's name as he began to speak.

"Sir, I am —"

"I know who you are, General Lieutenant Govorov. As the Soviet Union's first space shuttle cosmonaut and a Hero of the Soviet Union you're known to us all." Czilikov ground a fist into his palm in barely restrained anger. "Your contributions to the scientific and military excellence of our country forgive many… transgressions. Since you have seen fit to grant yourself permission to speak before the Kollegiya, please proceed. I'm sure everyone wants to hear from the new commander of the space-defense command."

"My apologies, sir," which was as far as Govorov's apology went. Most officers below the rank of three-star general would be a mass of jelly speaking in front of the Kollegiya, even without committing a major breach of protocol. But it didn't seem to affect young Govorov.

"Well, proceed, General Lieutenant."

Govorov stayed at attention. "It is my opinion that this mission to attack Iran will ultimately fail."

Rhomerdunov straightened in his seat and, looked straight ahead, as if steeling himself for the executioner. All eyes in the room moved from Rhomerdunov's granite face to the surprised Marshal.

"I've heard," Czilikov said, "that subtlety is not exactly your style. I see it is true." He looked to Rhomerdunov, who kept staring straight ahead. Well, Czilikov thought, it seemed the old war horse Rhomerdunov wasn't afraid to challenge the party, even if it was indirectly through his deputy Govorov.

As for Govorov, he took Czilikov's silence as a cue to continue. "The Americans have a device that is not only capable of warning of any impending invasion but also of directing American and NATO counterforces. This device, sir, is the Armstrong Space Station—"

"The space station? Their military station? It's only been in for a few months—"

"Yes, and it is fully operational," Govorov said. "As we all know, sir, the Americans have successfully completed their first operational test of their illegal Thor space-based interceptor missile. Although the test was less than perfect—"

"That is an overstatement, Govorov," Khromeyev put in. "The Americans called it an operational test, but it was carefully staged to insure optimal results. In spite of their choreography, our intelligence reported several clear misses with the Thor missile. It is an obvious propaganda ploy—"

"Our intelligence puts the effectiveness of the Thor missile at no better than eighty-three percent," Govorov agreed, "which my staff feels is no better than fifty percent in an actual wartime scenario. But, sir, the Thor missile is not at issue. My staff is more concerned with the system of advanced sensors now in use, especially the phased-array, space-based radar aboard the space station Armstrong. It has a far greater capability than we first estimated. We believe, sir, that the space-based radar can track and identify objects on land, sea, and in the air from ranges in excess of sixteen hundred kilometers."

A clamor of voices erupted in the conference chamber. Czilikov's voice boomed out above them all. "Sixteen hundred kilometers? That's impossible. No radar can do that."

"No earth-bound radar, sir. But a radar mounted in space has no size or geographical limitations, It's limited only by — the power available to it — and the space station has enough solar-energy capability to power the whole Kremlin."

"You are trying to tell us," Deputy Minister Ilanovsky said, "that a single space station can monitor all movement of military equipment involved in Operation Feather? Thousands of vehicles spread out over millions of cubic kilometers of space in mountainous terrain and in bad weather? That is preposterous—"

"It may sound so," Govorov said to the commander of the army, "but our estimates confirm it."

"I say that whether this radar can do all of these things is still immaterial," Deputy Minister Marasimov, the commander of Strategic Rocket Forces, said. "The station is in polar earth orbit. It does not permanently position itself over the Middle East. It can only provide short-term glimpses of the region a few times each day. Which would make it impractical as a warning and control station. "

Govorov hesitated for a moment. "That's true, but—"

"This expensive toy has no more capability than an ordinary reconnaissance satellite," Marasimov went on, smiling benignly at young Govorov. "What you have said about the Armstrong's radar is true… if the radar is in operation when it passes over the area, if it works properly, if its operators and interpreters correctly analyze the images, and if they can get the information to regional commanders in time to be of some use. By my count that's four pretty damn big ifs. "

Marasimov nodded to Czifikov. "I believe our young colleague has presented some very… interesting information, but I also believe that the radar on the American space station would be no obstacle to the success of Feather."

Govorov looked amazed. "Excuse me, but—"

"Thank you, General Lieutenant Govorov," Czilikov said, dismissing him. "I will — expect detailed briefings, on each command order of battle for Operation Feather in two weeks. "

Govorov sank back into his metal folding chair as Czilikov continued issuing his orders. He struggled to remain pokerfaced, his eyes narrowed into angry slits as a few of the deputy ministers and marshals cast amused glances his way.

They can't believe now, Govorov told himself. But they will. The American space station won't just be talked, or wished, away.