Read Online Red Hammer 1994 by Robert Ratcliffe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Ratcliffe
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upside down and shrugged. No, we must be prepared. Then he had sent them all packing.
Reaching for the ornate silver box resting on the rosewood coffee table in front of him, the defense minister nervously removed an American-made cigarette, repeatedly tapping the end on the polished wood surface. He couldn’t stand Russian brands, and American cigarettes were becoming scarce. He was interrupted by a knock at the door. “It must be Marshal Ryzhkov,” he remarked, flicking the lighter cupped in his hands.
“Come in,” grunted the defense minister, taking a puff on the cigarette dangling from his lip. He glanced up to see two senior officers enter. The first was Marshal Ryzhkov, deputy minister of defense and commander in chief of the Strategic Rocket Forces. He didn’t recognize the second officer.
“Good afternoon, Defense Minister,” greeted Marshal Ryzhkov. “This is Colonel General Strelkov, my deputy for plans. When I received your urgent message, I felt it would be appropriate for him to accompany me.”
The defense minister nodded his approval. “Have seats.” He waited until the two were posed opposite him in overstuffed leather chairs.
“Marshal Kiselev and I just returned from a meeting of the Defense Council,” he said. “We presented various policy options prepared the last few weeks. Quite frankly, we were disappointed and shocked at how they were received.” He was frightened to reveal the entire truth.
Taking a final drag on his cigarette, the defense minister ground it into the ashtray in front of him. “I was convinced we could humiliate the Americans by bringing twenty to thirty reserve divisions to full strength in concert with a demand for total repudiation of the spaced-based laser program. We could even feint a buildup in the Crimea as a precursor to a move into Turkey. A bluff really, but the cost would be minimal, and the Americans couldn’t match our partial mobilization. Never mind that our army divisions are nowhere near combat ready.”
The defense minister leaned forward and let out a sigh. “The president has specifically directed us to develop additional plans covering a broader range of military options. That is why I called you here.”
Ryzhkov looked unconcerned, glancing casually toward Strelkov, sitting stone-faced in his chair. The defense minister took a gulp of air. Here goes, he thought.
“The president demands the formulation of an attack plan against American command and control centers and their strategic forces. A surprise nuclear attack. For further evaluation, he says.”
Ryzhkov nodded in acknowledgement. Once again, he gave no visible response. The defense minister was convinced the two officers hadn’t heard him; perhaps there was wax in their ears.
“This American laser business is dominating the agenda,” remarked Kiselev. “There is even loose talk of an American first strike once the space-based defense system is fully operational in a few years.”
“That makes no sense,” replied Ryzhkov sharply.
“Fine,” interjected the defense minister loudly. “Tell that to the Defense Council. I tried. I was crucified. So,” he said, raising his voice, “we will give them their plan. They will see the utter ridiculousness and return to their senses. My question to you, Marshal Ryzhkov, is it feasible in just four weeks?”
The marshal didn’t immediately answer. Instead he looked at Strelkov, a confident look crossing his face. Strelkov reached for his leather portfolio and removed a thin document and handed it to Ryzhkov. He gently slid it across the table in front of the defense minister.
“Your request was not totally unexpected,” remarked the marshal. “We have such a plan already.”
“What?” exclaimed the defense minster, turning to Kiselev. “Did you know about this?” His fat face turned three of shades purple. The bureaucrats were one thing, but he would not tolerate insubordination and intrigue from the general
Reaching for the ornate silver box resting on the rosewood coffee table in front of him, the defense minister nervously removed an American-made cigarette, repeatedly tapping the end on the polished wood surface. He couldn’t stand Russian brands, and American cigarettes were becoming scarce. He was interrupted by a knock at the door. “It must be Marshal Ryzhkov,” he remarked, flicking the lighter cupped in his hands.
“Come in,” grunted the defense minister, taking a puff on the cigarette dangling from his lip. He glanced up to see two senior officers enter. The first was Marshal Ryzhkov, deputy minister of defense and commander in chief of the Strategic Rocket Forces. He didn’t recognize the second officer.
“Good afternoon, Defense Minister,” greeted Marshal Ryzhkov. “This is Colonel General Strelkov, my deputy for plans. When I received your urgent message, I felt it would be appropriate for him to accompany me.”
The defense minister nodded his approval. “Have seats.” He waited until the two were posed opposite him in overstuffed leather chairs.
“Marshal Kiselev and I just returned from a meeting of the Defense Council,” he said. “We presented various policy options prepared the last few weeks. Quite frankly, we were disappointed and shocked at how they were received.” He was frightened to reveal the entire truth.
Taking a final drag on his cigarette, the defense minister ground it into the ashtray in front of him. “I was convinced we could humiliate the Americans by bringing twenty to thirty reserve divisions to full strength in concert with a demand for total repudiation of the spaced-based laser program. We could even feint a buildup in the Crimea as a precursor to a move into Turkey. A bluff really, but the cost would be minimal, and the Americans couldn’t match our partial mobilization. Never mind that our army divisions are nowhere near combat ready.”
The defense minister leaned forward and let out a sigh. “The president has specifically directed us to develop additional plans covering a broader range of military options. That is why I called you here.”
Ryzhkov looked unconcerned, glancing casually toward Strelkov, sitting stone-faced in his chair. The defense minister took a gulp of air. Here goes, he thought.
“The president demands the formulation of an attack plan against American command and control centers and their strategic forces. A surprise nuclear attack. For further evaluation, he says.”
Ryzhkov nodded in acknowledgement. Once again, he gave no visible response. The defense minister was convinced the two officers hadn’t heard him; perhaps there was wax in their ears.
“This American laser business is dominating the agenda,” remarked Kiselev. “There is even loose talk of an American first strike once the space-based defense system is fully operational in a few years.”
“That makes no sense,” replied Ryzhkov sharply.
“Fine,” interjected the defense minister loudly. “Tell that to the Defense Council. I tried. I was crucified. So,” he said, raising his voice, “we will give them their plan. They will see the utter ridiculousness and return to their senses. My question to you, Marshal Ryzhkov, is it feasible in just four weeks?”
The marshal didn’t immediately answer. Instead he looked at Strelkov, a confident look crossing his face. Strelkov reached for his leather portfolio and removed a thin document and handed it to Ryzhkov. He gently slid it across the table in front of the defense minister.
“Your request was not totally unexpected,” remarked the marshal. “We have such a plan already.”
“What?” exclaimed the defense minster, turning to Kiselev. “Did you know about this?” His fat face turned three of shades purple. The bureaucrats were one thing, but he would not tolerate insubordination and intrigue from the general
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