USSR Hoax

5 THE ENEMY

Moscow, USSR, was having one of its typical cold mornings as Viktor Alexandrov, dressed in his Soviet air force uniform, anxiously marched down the chilly corridor behind a tall Army commander. This was Viktor’s first visit to the Kremlin, and deep inside he felt like a little boy wishing he could venture through the antique rooms he passed. But instead, he kept a stoic face, his eyes cast forward, as his steps stayed in cadence with those of the robotic man in front.

Viktor had no idea why he had been summoned to the historical palace. The young engineer cosmonaut suspected high ranking Party leaders would be present at the meeting, which probably had something to do with the N1 rocket. Having been selected for the elite group of cosmonauts training for the first Soviet lunar landing, part of Viktor’s preparation was learning the intricacies of the massive moon rocket. His particular assignment was the rocket’s NK-15 engines. Thirty-two of these powerful engines were positioned at the base of the Block A first stage. He had spent long hours over the last couple of months working closely with the engine’s engineers. He did everything he could to become an expert on the complicated setup.

Two armed military guards were stationed in front of a large, antique wooden door that Viktor and the commander approached.

“Viktor Alexandrov reporting.”

The men saluted before opening the door.

Returning the salute, Viktor was surprised to hear a loud dictatorial voice booming out of the room, indicating that the meeting was already in progress. He entered alone, and was shocked to see the Chief Marshal of Aviation standing at the foot of the conference table shouting instructions to the men seated around the table. Viktor immediately snapped to attention, but no one seemed to notice. Wondering if he was late, he did a quick assessment of who was present. He knew of the chief marshal, who reported directly to the General Secretary on all space matters, and the Deputy Chief Rocket Engineer, Slava Kazbek. He assumed the other men, many in uniform, were Communist Party leaders or possibly KGB.

Noticed by Slava, Viktor walked over and took the available seat next to the deputy. Slava flashed a concerned look before turning his attention back to the marshal.

The sound of a fist pounding the table grabbed Viktor’s attention. The chief marshal angrily called out to no one in particular, “This is unacceptable to suggest we could be losing to the Americans. I do not care about technical issues. These are only excuses on why we cannot be first to the moon. I only care about results.” The marshal slowly looked over the room, anger in his eyes.

This was the first time Viktor had heard that the Soviet Union could be losing its race with the Americans, surprising him. The space agency was basically a military operation, and failing to beat the Americans would be a step closer to losing the Cold War. He nudged Slava to see if he agreed with the statement. The deputy didn’t budge. Though Viktor had heard the United States had gotten a few minor victories lately with a space rendezvous and flying a jet pack, the Soviet Union was still the first on every other major feat. All his comrades he trained with were sure one of them would be the first man on the moon.

The chief marshal pointed to Slava. “Losing one man should not change the course of our success. Sergei Korolev’s death should never be used as an excuse for our failures. I don’t ever want to hear that again.”

Sergei’s death was a serious blow to the Soviet space program. The rocket engineer had been the mastermind behind most of the country’s successes. But even with the loss, most of the cosmonauts were still confident the space agency would overcome and win the race to the moon.

Slava gave a slight nod toward the chief marshal.

The room went quiet as everyone froze. Viktor made up his mind right then that he wasn’t going to open his mouth unless he was called upon, and even then, he wondered if he had the guts. These men had the power to destroy him. He nervously wiped his sweaty palms on his pant legs, still wondering why he was in the high-level meeting.

A stocky man in a coat and tie broke the silence. “Sir, we have learned the United States is having stability problems with their F-1 engines.”

The marshal narrowed his eyes at the little man, whom Viktor assumed was a KGB agent. “Excellent.”

The agent took in a deep breath, looking to get the courage to carry on. “Sir, we can easily solve this problem. Possibly we offer a fix in exchange for the Americans signing the UN treaty stating the moon cannot be claimed by any country that lands on it.”

The marshal laughed. “Why do we care if they sign that treaty since everyone in this room feels we will win? They should be pressuring us to sign.”

Viktor surreptitiously looked around and could tell by some of the men’s faces they did not all agree with that assessment. But none spoke up.

The KGB agent tilted his head down slightly. “Sir, I am only suggesting we cover our bets.”

“Cover our bets? You talk like they are going to win.” The chief marshal put his hands on the table and leaned toward the agent. “Has the KGB gone behind my back and given any indication to the Americans we are interested in signing such a treaty?”

That statement vouched for the idea that the man was involved with the KGB. Without looking up, the agent slowly shook his head, giving Viktor the impression the man wasn’t telling the truth.

The marshal leaned farther over the table and said, “Well we are already covering our bets, by having two different rockets built. If the N1 rocket fails, the Proton will fly the mission to the moon.”

“Yes, sir, but that approach has also split our resources, putting both rockets behind schedule,” said the KGB agent as he slowly raised his head. “Though I agree with your strategy and am confident we will win, I am suggesting we take advantage of America’s setback. We have the expertise to easily solve their engine problem. Maybe we secretly offer a fix in exchange for lunar samples from their first landing. Regardless of which country lands first, this ensures we get a wide sample of lunar material, allowing our scientists to study fusion using Helium 3 from the moon. Sir, you have wanted a new science spectacular, and developing a cheap power source would do just that. The fusion of the world could be controlled by the Soviet Union.”

The marshal sat down in his chair. “So you are saying we give them our technology. Basically help them get to the moon, and possibly beat us?”

Viktor was starting to understand why he was called to the meeting. He was aware of a similar fix that was implemented on the N1 rocket engines.

The agent straightened up and spoke in a surprisingly stronger tone. “Sir, I am not suggesting we give them our technology. I recommend we only give them the parts. We keep the science on how they are designed and manufactured a secret. This deal will allow us to get lunar material from their landing sites along with ours, providing for a wider range of samples to better understand the moon’s makeup and determine the best location where to mine Helium 3.”

“So the Saturn V engine parts are similar to ours?”

“Yes, sir. Sir, the Americans will solve their engine problem with or without us. But this problem may be preventing them from meeting their deadline of putting a man on the moon by the end of the decade. Because of this, they may be interested in making a deal now. I say let’s take advantage of this situation so it benefits us. This could guarantee we get a sufficient amount of lunar material, regardless if we reach the moon or not.”

“If I agree to this, I say we request samples from at least two missions.”

The agent nodded. “Yes, sir. That would be smart.”

The chief marshal started tapping the table with his fingers as he raised an eyebrow at the man. “Would you suggest we sign that treaty?”

The man dropped his head again and timidly answered, “Yes, sir.”

The marshal’s face started to get red with anger. He obviously felt signing such a treaty would be accepting defeat. He looked out over the table. “Who else agrees we should sign that treaty?”

Viktor was surprised to see a few hands rise. Slava wasn’t one of them, and of all the men around the table, the deputy would know best what their chances were to beat the Americans. Viktor wondered if Slava was only keeping his hand down for fear he could be replaced if he raised his.

The marshal shook his head in disgust. He turned back to the agent. “Who would oversee this operation?”

“I would, sir.”

“I would want this kept secret. Who would be your technical contact?”

The man turned and pointed to Viktor. “Viktor Alexandrov will be our inside man.”

Viktor sat stunned, not moving.

ANNE AND TOM were next door at the Grants’ for a fun night of cards. Tom took a big swig of his beer as the ladies sauntered into the kitchen to prepare dinner.

David Grant leaned over. “Just a little warning, my friend. I guarantee you Joan is telling Anne right now about the movie we saw last night.”

“What did you see?”

“Born Free.”

“Isn’t that about lions?”

“Yeah, I think it’s mainly about a lion cub. I’m not positive because I fell asleep. But as soon as the movie was over, Joan woke me from my comfortable slumber and started bugging me to get the kids a pet. She gave me a choice between a dog and a cat. I didn’t want either and suggested a fish. She laughed in my face. I think she would have gotten a lion cub if she could have it. I finally settled on the cat.”

Tom laughed. “Who wears the pants in this family?”

David’s tone turned defensive. “You saw Joan wearing a dress, so there’s your answer. I simply choose to be a supportive husband. You should try it sometime.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Sure, David, whatever you say.”

A smirk appeared on David’s face before he took a swig of his beer. “Again, just be warned. Anne will probably ask you to go see that movie and afterwards, bam, she wants a pet. And we’ll see who wears the pants in your family.”

Tom shook his head as he grinned. He took a big gulp of his beer. “Buddy, there’s no question who wears the pants in my family.”

“Peter?”

Tom smiled at his pal. “Funny.”

Tom found David was just as ultra-competitive as any of their fellow astronauts. Ever since Tom flew in space, he had bragging rights over his friend. The two joined NASA at the same time as part of the third group of astronauts. Tom was the first in their group to be assigned a space mission. Though Tom meant his jabs in good fun, David constantly reminded Tom the real prize was a trip to the moon. David still maintained he would beat Tom to the promised land. Tom was now thinking his friend just might do it after his meeting with Dick. Though David was disappointed to hear Tom had been grounded, it still didn’t stop his friend from gloating. David was back in front to reach the grand prize.

The two had become close friends soon after joining NASA. The former Air Force pilots instantly hit it off during their training. David was the one astronaut Tom felt he could trust in the cutthroat business of always trying to one up the other. Once their wives were introduced, the couples found they had a lot in common and enjoyed spending time together. When it was time to look for a house, it was decided to get lots next to each other. They found the perfect location in the newer development of Nassau Bay. Once both homes were built and the families had moved in, Anne and Joan quickly became the best of friends. Because of their husbands’ busy schedules, the two ladies came up with the idea of playing cards the first Saturday night of every month. Tom liked partying with the couple, and having a set date ensured the four would do their best to make the night work.

Tom looked out the window into the backyard. He had seen a backhoe in the yard behind David’s house earlier in the week. “So is your backyard neighbor building a pool?”

“I wish. Nope, he’s putting in a bomb shelter. When I saw the hole being dug, I thought the same thing. But when I asked, he said he was building a concrete bunker because of those damn Commies. He said I should do the same.” David took the last sip of his beer and then slammed the bottle down. “I’m thinking, Why do I have to build one? I’ll just bring my family over to yours.”

Tom chuckled. “I know another family doing the same thing. The father plans on burying an old school bus in his backyard.”

David tipped his head forward. “It’s all scary stuff; living in this nuclear age. If our president or the Soviets’ gets an itchy finger, we’re all dead.”

“Yeah, and I doubt sitting in a bus underground will do much good in an atomic war.”

David started to get up. “We just have to beat those Commies to the moon. We do that, and we’ll rule the world. Can I get you another beer?”

Tom wasn’t convinced winning the space race would solve all their problems. “Yes, please.”

TOM WAS IN bed with a nice buzz, ready to fall asleep. He leaned over to give his wife a kiss goodnight. Before their lips touched, his wife asked, “Honey, is it okay if we go see Born Free tomorrow?”

Tom simply smiled. “Sure.”