Under the Ice

“If it wasn’t a mechanical problem or the weather that took the Flying Kremlin down, just what did?”

Waiting for this very question, Mikhail Kharkov pivoted and took a step aside. He was now facing the blank wall, directly adjoining the fireplace. With an outstretched hand, he triggered a recessed switch that had been hidden in the flagstone of the hearth, and as a result of his touch, the wall board lifted up, revealing a large cabinet. An assortment of electronics gear was stored there. With a deft movement of his hand, Kharkov switched on a good-sized television monitor, whose picture screen filled with a polar projection map of the entire Arctic region.

With the assistance of a telescoping pointer, the admiral singled out an elongated island, to the immediate west of Greenland.

“As you very well know, comrades, this is Baffin Island. It is somewhere on this frozen landmass that the remains of the Flying Kremlin are thought to lie. Though almost every informed citizen of the Motherland, and of the world for that matter, is aware of this previously insignificant piece of ice-covered permafrost from the newspapers and news broadcasts of late, what they don’t know about are the top-secret, NORAD installations that litter this same island. The newest and most sophisticated of these installations is called Polestar, and is located here, on the extreme northern tip of the island, directly east of the tiny outpost of Arctic Bay.

“We have known about Polestar for some time now.

From its very inception, our Intelligence analysts suspected it of being a major element of the West’s so-called Strategic Defense Initiative. Built in total disregard of the latest ABM treaty, Polestar is believed to incorporate a sophisticated array of scrambling devices, that are designed to interfere with the delicate navigational systems of our ICBM, bomber, and cruise missile forces.

“Both the Bear recon plane and the Salyut reported that contrary to prior practices, Polestar briefly went active on two separate occasions. The first burst was monitored seconds before the Flying Kremlin made its mysterious, unauthorized change of altitude. While the second burst occurred almost at the very moment the 11–76 disappeared from our radar screens altogether.”

“Are you saying that it was Star Wars that was responsible for the death of Alexander Suratov?” quizzed Yuri Kasimov.

Though he was bothered by the bureaucrat’s skeptical tone, Mikhail Kharkov took a deep breath and held his ground.

“Yes, Comrade Kasimov, I am indirectly.

For, you see, another vital item that the newspapers and television reports didn’t mention that two American F-15 Eagle fighters were scrambled from Thule at the very same time Polestar was going active.

Thus while this so-called early warning radar installation was in fact interfering with the Flying Kremlin’s sensitive navigation and communication’s systems, the Eagle interceptors were provided a target that was little challenge for their Phoenix air-to-air missiles.

And mind you, comrades, all of these clever Yankee machinations were intended to take place with the whole world totally ignorant of their guilt!”

“Such a thing must not be allowed to happen!”

cried Ivan Zarusk, who excitedly stood and in the process knocked over his teacup.

“We’ve caught the Imperialist pigs with their hands in the proverbial cookie jar, and it’s now up to us to revenge our beloved Premier’s passing and in the process guarantee that his death was not in vain.”

Disgustedly shaking his head at this outburst of emotion, Yuri Kasimov coolly put in, “I imagine that the next thing you’ll be asking from us is our support in ordering an immediate nuclear retaliatory strike against the West to set the record straight.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” countered the red-faced Defense Minister.

“Here the Imperialists have been caught in a clear-cut case of cold-blooded murder and Comrade Kasimov doesn’t even want to retaliate!”

“I didn’t say that!” the usually mild-mannered bureaucrat said forcefully.

“I’d be the first to support such a strike, if you could supply me with some concrete proof of the West’s guilt.”

“I agree!” added Dmitri Tichvin.

“A nuclear strike is serious business. Yet if the Americans were indeed directly responsible for the downing of the Flying Kremlin, we have no choice but to teach them a lesson they’ll never forget.”

All the time breathlessly watching this spirited exchange, Mikhail Kharkov could hardly believe what he was hearing. Sensing that he had his two naive colleagues right where he wanted them, the battle-wise veteran returned the focus of their discussion back to the Arctic map, as he tapped the end of the pointer up against the monitor’s glass screen.

“Then what would you say, comrades, if I could get you that indisputable proof?” Mikhail questioned boldly.