Arctic Storm Rising by Dale Brown (readera ebook reader .TXT) 📗

weapons handlersin khaki fatigues bustled around the aircraft, completing their final checks.

Squads of stern-faced guards armed with 5.45mm AK-12 assault rifles were posted at the doors. Now that live nuclear weaponswere loaded aboard the bomber, the base commander had instituted even stricter-than-usual security measures.

Colonel Alexei Petrov and Major Oleg Bunin hopped down out of the jeep-sized Hunter. Each wore a flight suit and carried hisvisored helmet under one arm. Casually, they acknowledged the driver’s salute and then showed their IDs to the sentries. Afterbeing cleared through security, they strolled toward their waiting aircraft.

Suddenly, both of them faltered and came to a stop. They had unexpected company, another Air Force officer who was already there ahead of them. He wore a flight suit and helmet of his own and stood completely at ease, looking up at the PAK-DA with what could only be described as proprietorial pride. The stocky, barrel-chested figure of Major General Vasily Mavrichev was unmistakable.

“Vot der’mo. Oh, shit,” Petrov muttered in a furious aside to his younger copilot. “Just shoot me now.” Bunin nodded in dismay.

The commander of Russia’s strategic bomber forces swung around toward them. His broad face wore an insincere smile that utterlyfailed to reach his eyes. They remained as sharp and wary as those of any peasant watching a tax collector counting sacksof grain in his barn. “Ah, Colonel Petrov and Major Bunin, there you are. And right on time!” he said cheerfully. “I appreciatejunior officers with a sense of punctuality.” He tapped his flight helmet. “As you can see, I’ve decided to ride along withyou on this next mission. On your much-touted Ghost Strike combat exercise, eh? After all, I can’t just sit back and let youyoung fellows have all the fun, now can I?”

“Technically, we’re still in the test portion of this evaluation program, General,” Petrov pointed out carefully. “Which meansthat it’s well outside our safety protocols to carry anyone except trained flight crew who are completely familiar with allof the aircraft’s systems.”

If anything, Mavrichev’s smile became even more disingenuous. “Technically, that is true,” he allowed. Then he shrugged hisburly shoulders. “But on the other hand, you personally assured the president that this prototype was completely airworthy,correct?”

Almost unwillingly, Petrov nodded. Damn the old bastard, he thought icily, suddenly he was arguing more like a lawyer thana high-ranking Air Force commander.

“So, by your own assessment, there is no great danger involved,” Mavrichev concluded. “Besides, I’m coming along as a simpleobserver, not a crew member. And since the PAK-DA’s cockpit is designed for four men, my presence won’t exactly crowd you.”

Like hell it wouldn’t. Petrov’s mind was running very fast now, first raising and then just as rapidly discarding optionsto handle this new problem. Having the general along on this flight added one more serious wrinkle to an already complicatedplan. What was Mavrichev up to? he wondered. Did he somehow suspect what Petrov really intended?

Unlikely, the colonel decided. If that were the case, Mavrichev would have had him arrested the moment he set foot in thehangar. Most probably, the general, aware of President Zhdanov’s enthusiasm for Ghost Strike, now wanted to horn in on theaction—in the hope of reaping some of the resulting political benefits and glory for himself. It was an old maxim in Russia’sarmed forces: “Junior officers plan so that senior officers may profit.”

“Have you cleared this with Lieutenant General Rogozin?” Petrov asked, still desperately casting around for some other reasonto deny Mavrichev a seat on this flight. Yvgeny Rogozin, who commanded the whole Air Force, was Mavrichev’s direct superior.And there were rumors the two men were bitter rivals. If so, it was just possible that he wouldn’t be happy to see the headof Long-Range Aviation currying favor with the Kremlin this way. Maybe a quick call to Moscow would pay dividends—

“Of course I’ve cleared it with Rogozin,” Mavrichev confirmed, crushing Petrov’s faint hopes. “In fact, President Zhdanovhimself has also approved my presence aboard the bomber for the duration of this exercise,” he added with a thin smile.

Petrov kept his face immobile. “May I ask why?”

“Come now, Colonel,” Mavrichev chided him. “Surely you can guess?”

And then Petrov understood. “It’s our weapons payload,” he said flatly.

“Precisely,” the general said. “Just because the president approved your harebrained plan to carry nuclear warheads on thistraining exercise doesn’t mean he’s taken leave of all his senses. He understands the importance of tight control over suchdevices.”

Glumly, Petrov nodded. Unlike all American nuclear weapons and some of Russia’s own advanced ICBM warheads, Russian cruise missiles and tactical nuclear bombs were not equipped with permissive action links—electronic safeguards that required codes from two different sources before a weapon could be armed or detonated. Instead, as in the old Soviet Union, security over these nuclear warheads was maintained by “a man watching another man watching another man.” Which meant Mavrichev had successfully persuaded Rogozin and Zhdanov that he needed to be aboard the bomber to provide a third layer of human command and control—a final safeguard over the twelve 250-kiloton missile warheads currently nestled inside the PAK-DA’s weapons bays.

“Any other objections, Colonel?” the general asked pointedly.

Conceding defeat for the moment, Petrov shook his head. “No, sir.” He forced a smile. “In that case, Major Bunin and I willbe glad to have you on board. I think you’ll find the experience . . . enlightening.”

“I’m sure of that,” Mavrichev agreed.

Studying the other man’s bland expression, Petrov sourly wondered how many other unwelcome surprises the general had up hissleeve. With an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders aimed at Bunin, he led the way under the stealth bomber’s broad,blended wing to its open belly hatch.

One after another, the three Russian officers climbed up the short ladder and made their way into the cockpit. While Petrovand Bunin strapped into their regular places, Mavrichev took the right-hand rear seat. If there had been a full operationalcrew of four aboard, that spot would have been filled by the bomber’s weapons officer.

The older man shook his head in bemusement. Instead of the crowded banks of conventional switches, toggles, and dials