Operation Damocles' Sword
Operation Damocles' Sword
Scenario Name: Operation Damocles' Sword
Time and Date: June 7, 1967, 03:00:00 (Zulu)
Friendly Forces:
Primary Country/Coalition: Soviet Union
Bases of Operation:
Order of Battle:
Aircraft:
2x 3M 'Bison-B' Strategic Bombers
Loadout (per aircraft): 2x FAB-5000M-46 GPB 1
Home Base: Ayni Air Base
Adversarial Forces:
Primary Country/Coalition: People's Republic of China
Bases of Operation:
Military Installation: Karasay-Karakax Strategic Tunnel and Underground Facility, Xinjiang, China.
Order of Battle (Known and Suspected):
Ground-Based Threats:
Integrated Air Defense Systems (IADS):
S-75 Dvina (SA-2 Guideline) SAM Site: A battery is suspected of being hidden in the mountainous terrain guarding the approach to the valley (Estimated location: 37.85° N, 79.35° E).
AAA: Multiple positions of 57mm and 100mm anti-aircraft artillery are likely carved into the mountainsides overlooking the facility entrance.
Early Warning Radars:
P-12 (Spoon Rest) Early Warning Radar: A mobile radar unit is likely positioned on high ground to provide surveillance of the southern approaches (Estimated location: 37.70° N, 79.60° E).
Aircraft:
Shenyang J-6 (MiG-19) Interceptors: A detachment is likely on alert at a concealed airfield or a forward operating strip in the region, possibly Hotan Airbase (37.0381° N, 79.9644° E), to defend this critical site.
Mission & Objectives:
Geopolitical Situation:
The Six-Day War is raging in the Middle East, capturing global attention. Simultaneously, Sino-Soviet tensions have reached a boiling point. Premier Brezhnev's government has received alarming intelligence from a high-level source within the Chinese military: China, believing the Soviet Union to be distracted by the Arab-Israeli conflict, is preparing to move tactical nuclear weapons into a newly constructed, deeply buried underground facility in the Kunlun Mountains. This facility, accessible via a massive, hardened tunnel entrance, would give China a forward-basing capability that directly threatens Soviet Central Asia and the Baikonur Cosmodrome. Viewing this as an unacceptable strategic risk, the Politburo has authorized a preemptive and highly targeted strike. The objective is to use overwhelming conventional force to seal the tunnel entrance, entombing the facility and rendering it useless. The timing is critical, exploiting the world's focus on the Middle East to achieve the objective before Beijing can react.Friendly Mission:
You will command a two-aircraft element of 3M 'Bison-B' bombers on a high-risk, deep-penetration strike. Your mission is to deliver four FAB-5000M-46 "super bombs" directly onto the reinforced entrance of the Karasay-Karakax strategic tunnel. The mission requires ingress through treacherous mountain valleys to mask your approach from Chinese early warning radar. The success of the mission depends on a precise, coordinated attack that collapses the mountainside and seals the tunnel permanently.Success Criteria:
Primary Objective: Destroy the hardened tunnel entrance at the Karasay-Karakax facility (Coordinates: 37.785° N, 79.488° E). A successful strike will be registered as a "Destroyed" status on the target structure.
Secondary Objective: Avoid detection by the P-12 Early Warning Radar until you are past the main mountain range.
Constraint: Both bombers must exit Chinese airspace after weapon release.
Constraint: Minimize engagement with enemy interceptors; the mission prioritizes the destruction of the ground target over air-to-air combat.
Operation Damocles' Sword: Probability Assessment
Scenario Overview
Mission: Two Soviet 3M "Bison-B" strategic bombers conduct a high-risk, deep-penetration strike against the hardened tunnel entrance of the Karasay-Karakax strategic facility in the Kunlun Mountains, Xinjiang, China.
Objectives:
Destroy the tunnel entrance to seal the underground facility.
Avoid detection by the P-12 early warning radar until past the main mountain range.
Both bombers must exit Chinese airspace after weapon release.
Minimize engagement with enemy interceptors, prioritizing the ground target.
Key Threats and Mission Factors
Terrain and Radar: Mountainous terrain provides some masking for the approach, but the mobile P-12 radar unit on high ground is capable of early detection of high-altitude bombers.
Air Defenses:
S-75 Dvina (SA-2 Guideline) SAM battery likely positioned to cover the valley approach, posing a significant threat during ingress and egress.
Multiple 57mm and 100mm AAA positions embedded in the mountainsides increase risk during the attack run.
Interceptor Threat:
Shenyang J-6 (MiG-19) interceptors on alert at a concealed forward airfield can rapidly engage if bombers are detected.
Mission Complexity:
The mission requires precise navigation through treacherous mountain valleys to avoid early radar detection.
Coordinated delivery of four heavy FAB-5000M-46 bombs demands accuracy to collapse the tunnel entrance effectively.
Both bombers must survive and exit hostile airspace post-attack.
Probability Estimates
Combined Mission Success Probability
Probability both bombers survive SAM/AAA and exit:
0.40×0.45=0.180.40 \times 0.45 = 0.180.40×0.45=0.18 (18%)Probability of mission success (bombing success and both bombers exit):
0.50×0.18=0.090.50 \times 0.18 = 0.090.50×0.18=0.09 (9%)Weighted by probability of avoiding early radar detection:
0.09×0.35=0.03150.09 \times 0.35 = 0.03150.09×0.35=0.0315 (3.15%)Probability of mission failure:
1−0.0315=0.96851 - 0.0315 = 0.96851−0.0315=0.9685 (96.85%)
Summary Table
Analysis
The greatest challenge is avoiding early detection by the P-12 radar and surviving the dense SAM and AAA defenses in mountainous terrain.
The probability of successfully destroying the tunnel entrance is moderate due to the heavy bomb load but is limited by the difficulty of precision bombing in rugged terrain.
The risk from interceptors is significant, with limited chances to minimize engagement given the alert status of J-6 fighters.
The overall mission success odds are low (around 3%), reflecting the high-risk nature of deep-penetration strikes against well-defended, hardened targets in difficult terrain.
The mission prioritizes target destruction over air combat, but survival and safe egress of both bombers are critical constraints that further reduce success probability.
In conclusion: Operation Damocles' Sword is an extremely hazardous mission with a low probability of full success due to formidable Chinese air defenses, challenging terrain, and the precision required to seal the strategic tunnel facility effectively.
Excellent. A comprehensive threat and asset analysis requires a full roster. Here are the detailed character profiles for the key personnel involved in Operation Damocles' Sword.
SOVIET FORCES (Friendly)
1. The Lead Pilot
Name: Ivan Denisovich Volkov
Callsign/Codename: Medved 1-1 (Bear 1-1)
Age: 42
Nationality: Russian, Soviet Union
Affiliation: Soviet Air Forces, Long-Range Aviation
Rank/Position: Major, Aircraft Commander
Assigned Unit & Location: 121st Guards Heavy Bomber Aviation Regiment, Ayni Air Base (TDY)
Physical Description: A man of medium height but built like a wrestler, with a broad chest and thick hands that look oversized for the delicate controls of his bomber. His face is weathered, framed by short, iron-gray hair, and his eyes are a piercing blue that seem to be constantly scanning a distant horizon.
Psychological Profile: Volkov is the archetypal Soviet commander: stoic, demanding, and utterly devoted to the Rodina (Motherland). He trusts his aircraft and his crew implicitly but trusts the mission's intelligence far less. He sees the 3.15% success probability not as a deterrent, but as a challenge worthy of his skill. He feels the immense weight of his two FAB-5000s and the geopolitical consequences of failure. His internal conflict lies between the patriotic duty to obey and the veteran airman's instinct that this is a suicide mission.
Role-Specific Skills: Master of high-altitude strategic bombing and low-level penetration flight in heavy aircraft. Expert in managing complex crew resource coordination under extreme stress. Proficient in manual flight adjustments to counter high-wind conditions in mountainous terrain.
Background Summary: The son of a Stalingrad veteran, Volkov was raised on stories of sacrifice and victory. He joined the Air Force to fly the biggest and most powerful aircraft the Union had, believing them to be the ultimate shield of the state. He has flown the 3M 'Bison' since its introduction, knows its every groan and shudder, and has earned the respect of his crews by never asking them to take a risk he wouldn't take himself. This mission is the culmination of his entire career—either its crowning achievement or its final, fiery end.
2. The Lead Navigator
Name: Anya Filipovna Petrova
Callsign/Codename: N/A
Age: 35
Nationality: Ukrainian, Soviet Union
Affiliation: Soviet Air Forces, Long-Range Aviation
Rank/Position: Captain, Navigator
Assigned Unit & Location: 121st Guards Heavy Bomber Aviation Regiment, Ayni Air Base (TDY)
Physical Description: Tall and lean, with sharp, intelligent features and dark, focused eyes that rarely waver from her maps and instruments. Her dark hair is pulled back in a severe, regulation bun. She moves with an economy of motion, her hands steady even as she plots a course with a 97% chance of failure.
Psychological Profile: Anya is methodical, brilliant, and fiercely pragmatic. She deals in numbers, angles, and topographical lines, not patriotic fervor. She understands the mission's near-impossible parameters better than anyone, as she is the one who has to find the razor-thin path through the mountains. She trusts her calculations absolutely but is acutely aware that a single, unforeseen updraft or a misidentified ridgeline could doom them all. She is driven by a professional obsession to solve the unsolvable navigational puzzle laid before her.
Role-Specific Skills: Expert in celestial, Doppler, and dead-reckoning navigation. Uncanny ability to interpret topographical maps for low-level flight, identifying terrain masking opportunities and threats. Proficient in making rapid course corrections based on visual landmarks in radio silence.
Background Summary: Recruited from the Moscow State University's mathematics faculty, Anya was identified for her extraordinary spatial reasoning. She chose the Air Force over a sterile academic career, drawn to the tangible, life-or-death application of her skills. She has served with Major Volkov for five years, their professional respect forged over thousands of hours in the air. She knows this mission is her ultimate test, where her mind is the crew's primary defense against both the mountains and the enemy radar.
3. The Wingman Pilot
Name: Mikhail "Misha" Orlov
Callsign/Codename: Medved 1-2 (Bear 1-2)
Age: 29
Nationality: Russian, Soviet Union
Affiliation: Soviet Air Forces, Long-Range Aviation
Rank/Position: Senior Lieutenant, Aircraft Commander
Assigned Unit & Location: 121st Guards Heavy Bomber Aviation Regiment, Ayni Air Base (TDY)
Physical Description: Younger and less imposing than Volkov, with a wiry frame, a boyish face, and a nervous energy he tries to conceal with forced confidence. His eyes dart around, constantly checking his instruments and the position of his lead aircraft.
Psychological Profile: Misha is ambitious and a superb pilot, but he is terrified. He idolizes Major Volkov and is desperate to prove himself worthy of commanding his own Bison bomber. This mission is his chance, but he is haunted by the probability assessment. His primary internal conflict is the battle between his ambition and his fear. He is intensely focused on one thing: keeping his wingtip perfectly aligned with Volkov's, believing that proximity to the veteran commander is his only shield against the chaos to come.
Role-Specific Skills: Exceptional formation flying in heavy aircraft. Quick reaction time to lead aircraft maneuvers. Proficient in managing fuel consumption for maximum range and egress speed.
Background Summary: Misha was a star pilot in his training class, fast-tracked to the prestigious Long-Range Aviation. Unlike Volkov, he is a product of the post-Stalin era, less an ideologue and more a technocrat who loves the power and complexity of his machine. He has a wife and young son back at Engels Air Base, a fact that weighs on him more heavily with every kilometer flown towards the Chinese border.
4. The Intelligence Officer
Name: Dmitri Fyodorovich Zaitsev
Callsign/Codename: N/A
Age: 50
Nationality: Russian, Soviet Union
Affiliation: Main Intelligence Directorate (GRU)
Rank/Position: Colonel, Operations Officer
Assigned Unit & Location: Ayni Air Base
Physical Description: A gaunt, ascetic-looking man with thinning gray hair combed meticulously over a high forehead. He wears his uniform immaculately but looks more like a librarian than a soldier. His most notable feature is his perpetually calm, unreadable gray eyes. He is never seen without a locked leather briefcase.
Psychological Profile: Zaitsev is the living embodiment of state secrecy. He operates in a world of signals, whispers, and calculated risks. He sees the bomber crews not as men, but as delivery systems for a strategic objective. His primary concern is the integrity of his asset, "Kite," and the geopolitical outcome. He feels the immense pressure from Moscow to succeed but is detached from the tactical realities of the flight. His cold professionalism is his armor, but he internally grapples with the morality of sending men to their likely deaths based on the word of a single, unverified source.
Role-Specific Skills: Expert in human intelligence (HUMINT) analysis and operational security (OPSEC). Proficient at delivering mission briefings that convey absolute authority and minimize crew anxiety. Master of interpreting fragmented intelligence to construct a coherent threat picture.
Background Summary: A career intelligence officer, Zaitsev has served in hotspots from East Germany to Cuba. He was the GRU's case officer who first received the fragmented intelligence about the Karasay-Karakax facility. He personally advocated for this preemptive strike to the Politburo, staking his reputation and career on the intel's accuracy. He is the mission's architect, and its failure will be his own.
PEOPLE'S LIBERATION ARMY FORCES (Adversarial)
5. The Radar Operator
Name: Mei Lin
Callsign/Codename: N/A
Age: 21
Nationality: Chinese
Affiliation: People's Liberation Army Air Force (PLAAF)
Rank/Position: Lieutenant, Radar Operator
Assigned Unit & Location: P-12 'Spoon Rest' Mobile Radar Unit, Kunlun Mountains, Xinjiang
Physical Description: Small and slight, with a round, youthful face and intelligent, watchful eyes. Her hands, though small, move with practiced speed and precision across the cluttered console of the P-12 radar van. She wears a thick, padded uniform against the high-altitude chill.
Psychological Profile: Mei Lin is diligent, patriotic, and proud of her role as a "Sky Guard" of the motherland. She is new to this post and eager to prove her competence. The vast, empty green scope is her world. She is trained to filter out the intense ground clutter of the mountains, looking for the faintest, fastest-moving blips. Her internal conflict is one of inexperience versus responsibility—the fear that she might miss the one critical signal, a ghost on the screen, that could herald an attack on a site of national importance.
Role-Specific Skills: Proficient in operating and interpreting P-12 early warning radar, specifically in high-clutter environments. Skilled at differentiating between atmospheric interference, ground returns, and genuine low-flying targets.
Background Summary: The daughter of party officials from Ürümqi, Mei Lin was selected for her high test scores and unwavering political loyalty. She excelled at the Air Force Technical Institute and was assigned to this remote, highly sensitive post as her first commission. She believes deeply in the Chairman's vision and sees her lonely vigil as a sacred duty to protect China from its Soviet revisionist enemies.
6. The SAM Commander
Name: Fang Jin
Callsign/Codename: N/A
Age: 38
Nationality: Chinese
Affiliation: People's Liberation Army Air Force (PLAAF)
Rank/Position: Major, SAM Battery Commander
Assigned Unit & Location: S-75 Dvina (SA-2) Battery, Karasay-Karakax Valley approach
Physical Description: A stocky, barrel-chested man with a perpetually stern expression etched onto his sun-darkened face. His command voice is a low gravel, accustomed to being obeyed instantly over the roar of generators and equipment.
Psychological Profile: Fang Jin is a pragmatist and a veteran of the Korean War, where he saw the devastation wrought by American bombers. He trusts his missiles but is wary of the new, complex technology. His greatest fear is firing on a ghost signal or, worse, failing to fire when the threat is real. He is under immense pressure to protect the tunnel at all costs but knows a premature launch could expose his hidden battery. He is patient, cautious, and waiting for the one moment of certainty required to unleash hell.
Role-Specific Skills: Expert in S-75 Dvina missile system operations and tactical deployment. Skilled in assessing launch parameters against low-signature targets. Master of camouflage and concealment techniques for air defense assets.
Background Summary: Fang Jin learned his trade from Soviet advisors before the Sino-Soviet split, giving him a unique insight into the tactics of his enemy. He harbors a deep-seated resentment for the Soviets, whom he views as arrogant traitors to the communist cause. He was hand-picked to command this battery due to his steady nerve and his intimate knowledge of the very systems the Soviets would be trying to defeat.
7. The Interceptor Pilot
Name: Wei Kang
Callsign/Codename: Dragon 1
Age: 27
Nationality: Chinese
Affiliation: People's Liberation Army Air Force (PLAAF)
Rank/Position: Captain, Interceptor Pilot
Assigned Unit & Location: J-6 Detachment, Hotan Airbase (Forward Operating Strip)
Physical Description: Lean and athletic, with the sharp, predatory gaze of a natural fighter pilot. He walks with a confident swagger, his movements quick and economical. He seems most at home in the tight confines of his cockpit.
Psychological Profile: Wei Kang is arrogant, aggressive, and an exceptionally gifted pilot. He lives for the thrill of the chase and the challenge of air combat. He chafes at the boredom of alert duty in this remote region and craves the chance to shoot down a Soviet bomber, which he views as a slow, lumbering beast. His internal conflict is his impatience versus the strict rules of engagement. He wants to be a hero, and his greatest fear is that the intruders will slip past before he gets the order to scramble and engage.
Role-Specific Skills: Master of the Shenyang J-6 (MiG-19), excelling in high-speed, close-in dogfighting. Proficient in high-G maneuvering in complex mountain terrain. Expert in cannon gunnery against large, non-maneuvering targets.
Background Summary: Wei Kang was identified early as a "natural" and streamed into the elite of the PLAAF's fighter corps. He has more than 1,000 hours in the J-6 and is known for pushing the aircraft to its absolute limits. He sees this posting not as a defense mission, but as a hunting opportunity, and he is determined to make his name by becoming the first pilot to down a nuclear-capable Bison bomber.
8. The Facility Commander
Name: Liao Chen
Callsign/Codename: N/A
Age: 54
Nationality: Chinese
Affiliation: People's Liberation Army, Second Artillery Corps
Rank/Position: Colonel, Facility Commander
Assigned Unit & Location: Karasay-Karakax Strategic Tunnel and Underground Facility
Physical Description: A tall, thin, scholarly man with graying temples and wire-rimmed glasses. He has the posture and bearing of an engineer, not a frontline soldier. His hands are clean, his nails immaculate—the hands of a manager, not a fighter.
Psychological Profile: Liao Chen is an engineer and a bureaucrat, a master of logistics and construction. He is immensely proud of the facility he has built—a monument of engineering deep within the earth, impervious to any conventional attack, or so he believes. His focus is on the impending arrival of the "special cargo" (tactical nuclear weapons) and the complex logistics involved. The idea of a direct, preemptive Soviet air attack on his tunnel entrance is a possibility so remote in his mind as to be nonexistent. His fatal flaw is his hubris, a belief in the invincibility of his creation.
Role-Specific Skills: Expert in hardened underground construction and geological engineering. Proficient in managing large-scale, high-security logistical operations. Skilled in nuclear weapons handling protocols and security.
Background Summary: One of China's foremost military engineers, Liao Chen designed and oversaw the construction of the Karasay-Karakax facility from the first dynamite blast to the final installation of the 100-ton blast doors. He sees the facility as his life's work, a guarantee of China's security. He is completely unaware that he is sitting at the epicenter of an impending international crisis.
9. The Politburo Decision-Maker
Name: Leonid Ilyich Brezhnev
Callsign/Codename: N/A
Age: 60
Nationality: Russian, Soviet Union
Affiliation: Communist Party of the Soviet Union
Rank/Position: General Secretary
Assigned Unit & Location: The Kremlin, Moscow
Physical Description: Heavy-set, with his famously thick eyebrows dominating a fleshy face. At this moment, in the pre-dawn hours in his Kremlin office, he looks tired, the immense strain of his position showing in the slump of his shoulders and the deep lines around his eyes. A lit cigarette smolders in an ashtray nearby.
Psychological Profile: Brezhnev is a cautious, consensus-driven politician, not a gambler like his predecessor Khrushchev. The decision to authorize Damocles' Sword is deeply out of character. He is torn between two immense risks: the risk of acting and triggering a war with China, and the risk of inaction, allowing China to position nuclear weapons that could hold Baikonur hostage. He is relying entirely on the GRU's assessment. He is distracted by the Six-Day War, hoping the world's focus remains there, giving him the cover he needs. He is a man trapped by circumstance, forced to make a high-stakes bet that could secure his nation's southern flank or plunge it into a catastrophic two-front conflict.
Role-Specific Skills: Master of political maneuvering and risk assessment. Ability to project an image of absolute strength and control while beset by doubt. Skilled at navigating the treacherous internal politics of the Politburo.
Background Summary: Having consolidated his power after ousting Khrushchev, Brezhnev's reign is defined by the pursuit of "stability." The Sino-Soviet split is the single greatest threat to that stability. The intelligence from "Kite" landed on his desk as both a terrible threat and a unique opportunity. After days of tense debate with his inner circle, haunted by the specter of a nuclear-armed China on his border, he gave the final, quiet authorization for the strike. Now, all he can do is wait.
10. The High-Level Chinese Source
Name: Unknown
Callsign/Codename: "Kite" (Kайт)
Age: Unknown (Est. 50s)
Nationality: Chinese
Affiliation: People's Liberation Army (High Command)
Rank/Position: Unknown (Est. General Officer)
Assigned Unit & Location: Beijing
Physical Description: No physical description is available to the Soviets. "Kite" is a ghost, a stream of encrypted information passed through a dead drop in a third country.
Psychological Profile: Kite's motivations are the single biggest unknown in the operation. Is he a true Soviet sympathizer who fears Mao's increasingly erratic leadership? Is he a disgruntled officer passed over for promotion? Or, most dangerously, is he a double agent, feeding the Soviets false intelligence to lure their bombers into an elaborate trap? This uncertainty is Colonel Zaitsev's personal nightmare. Kite's communications are terse, professional, and devoid of emotion, giving no clue to his true endgame. He is playing the most dangerous game imaginable, where discovery means certain, brutal death.
Role-Specific Skills: Access to the highest levels of Chinese strategic military planning. Master of espionage tradecraft, including covert communications and dead drops. An iron nerve and the ability to function under the constant threat of discovery.
Background Summary: The GRU cultivated Kite for over a decade. He was a long-term, dormant asset who only became active in the last year as Sino-Soviet relations completely broke down. His intelligence on the Karasay-Karakax facility was unprecedented in its detail and accuracy, forcing the Politburo to take it seriously. He is the invisible hand pushing all the pieces on the board, a single man whose motives will decide the fate of the mission and perhaps the fate of Asia.
02:45 ZULU
AYNI AIR BASE, TAJIK SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLIC
SOVIET UNION
The air in the briefing room was thick enough to be a physical presence. It smelled of stale cigarette smoke, sweat-soaked flight suits, and the sharp, ozonic tang of overworked electrical equipment. It was an atmosphere of controlled dread, a feeling Major Ivan Denisovich Volkov knew as intimately as the controls of his own aircraft. He stood with his arms crossed over his broad chest, his piercing blue eyes fixed on the man at the front of the room, Colonel Dmitri Fyodorovich Zaitsev of the GRU.
Zaitsev was a creature of the shadows, a man who seemed more at home in a sealed vault than on a windswept airbase. His gaunt, ascetic face was unreadable, his uniform immaculate. He tapped a slender wooden pointer against a large-scale topographical map pinned to a board. The map depicted a jagged, unforgiving spine of mountains deep within the Xinjiang province of the People’s Republic of China. A single red line, impossibly thin and straight, knifed through the peaks and valleys.
“Your ingress route is plotted here,” Zaitsev said, his voice as dry as old paper. “You will maintain an altitude of 12,000 meters until this point”—the pointer tapped a spot over the western edge of the Pamirs—“at which time you will begin your descent. Captain Petrova has the precise flight profile. Adherence is not a request; it is a condition of survival.”
Volkov’s gaze drifted to the woman standing beside him. Captain Anya Petrova, his navigator, stared at the map with an intensity that seemed to burn holes in the paper. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and her face, all sharp angles and focused intelligence, betrayed nothing. But Volkov knew. He had flown with her for five years. He knew that behind those focused eyes, her mind was a whirlwind of calculations, of wind speeds, fuel consumption rates, magnetic deviations, and the terrifying geometry of terrain-masking flight. She was the one who had to translate Zaitsev’s red line into a survivable reality. For her, the 3.15% probability of success wasn't a statistic; it was a mathematical problem she was being ordered to solve, with their lives as the variable.
To Volkov’s right, Senior Lieutenant Mikhail “Misha” Orlov, commander of the second 3M ‘Bison-B’, shifted his weight. Misha was young, a product of the post-Stalin era, a superb pilot who loved the raw power of the four Mikulin AM-3A turbojets. But in the suffocating silence of the briefing room, his ambition was being strangled by a palpable fear. He kept glancing at Volkov, his eyes wide, seeking a confidence his commander did not feel. Volkov offered none. In a mission like this, false confidence was just another way to die.
“The target,” Zaitsev continued, tapping a red circle at the end of the line, “is the primary entrance to the Karasay-Karakax Strategic Tunnel. Intelligence, provided by our asset ‘Kite,’ confirms the facility is nearing operational status. The Politburo assesses that its purpose is the forward deployment of tactical nuclear weapons, directly threatening Baikonur and our southern territories.”
He paused, letting the weight of the words settle. Kite. The entire operation, the lives of two dozen men, the risk of open war with China, all rested on the word of a ghost. A whisper passed through a dead drop. Zaitsev’s personal nightmare, Volkov thought, was whether Kite was a patriot or a puppeteer.
“Your weapons load is two FAB-5000M-46 general-purpose bombs per aircraft,” Zaitsev stated, his tone flat, as if discussing sacks of cement. “Five-thousand kilograms each. High-explosive. You are to deliver them directly onto the coordinates provided. The objective is not damage; it is collapse. You are to trigger a landslide that will seal the entrance permanently. The world’s attention is on the Middle East. This is our window. You provide the force; the geopolitical situation provides the cover.”
Zaitsev’s eyes, cold and gray, swept across the two flight crews. “Detection by their P-12 ‘Spoon Rest’ early warning radar is likely once you cross the primary ridgeline. Engagement by S-75 ‘Guideline’ surface-to-air missiles protecting the valley is anticipated. A detachment of J-6 interceptors is on alert at Hotan. We know this. The mission profile accepts these risks.”
Volkov felt a muscle in his jaw tighten. Accepts these risks. It was the sort of phrase men like Zaitsev used. Men who would be sleeping in a warm bed while others flew into a hornet’s nest. He didn’t doubt the GRU’s intelligence on the threats. What he doubted was the sanity of flying directly into them.
“Your callsigns are Medved 1-1 and Medved 1-2,” Zaitsev concluded. “Radio silence is absolute until weapons release. Any questions?”
The silence was the only answer. What was there to ask? Colonel, have you condemned us to death? Volkov had his orders. He was a Major in the Soviet Air Forces. His duty was to the Rodina, the Motherland. He would fly the mission. He would trust his aircraft, his crew, and Anya’s numbers. It was all a man could do.
“Then you are dismissed,” Zaitsev said, turning away to gather his papers, his part in the tactical execution complete. He placed them carefully into a locked leather briefcase, the invisible weight of the state sealed within.
03:00 ZULU
THE KREMLIN, MOSCOW
The office was a cavern of gilded history and personal anxiety. Heavy velvet curtains blocked out the pre-dawn gray of Red Square, but Leonid Ilyich Brezhnev could feel the city stirring outside. The air was thick with the smoke from his cigarettes, each one lit from the stub of the last. He sat behind his massive desk, a thick, powerful man who at this moment felt profoundly weary. The world was a tinderbox, and he was holding the matches.
The teletype machine in the corner, a direct line to the Ministry of Defense, had been silent for an hour. The primary distraction, the war that had erupted between Israel and its Arab neighbors, was a raging fire that consumed the attention of Washington, London, and Paris. It was the perfect storm, the perfect cover for the surgical, high-risk operation he had authorized less than twelve hours ago.
It had been a deeply uncharacteristic decision. Brezhnev was a man of consensus, of stability. He was not a gambler like Khrushchev, who had brought the world to the brink over Cuba. Yet, the intelligence from Kite, delivered with chilling certainty by the GRU, had presented a threat that could not be ignored. A Chinese nuclear dagger poised at the soft underbelly of the Soviet Union. To allow it would be weakness. To challenge it openly would be to risk a two-front war.
And so, Operation Damocles’ Sword was born. A secret, preemptive strike, justified as a necessity, but feeling more like a desperate roll of the dice. He trusted his military. He trusted the massive, four-engine Myasishchev 3M bombers, the ‘Bisons’ as NATO called them. They were the fist of Long-Range Aviation. But he was a politician, not a general. He understood the consequences of failure far better than the mechanics of the attack. Failure didn't just mean the loss of two aircraft; it meant a furious, humiliated China, the exposure of his most valuable intelligence asset, and a potential escalation into a conflict that would dwarf the war in the Middle East.
An aide entered silently, placed a fresh cup of black tea on the desk, and retreated. Brezhnev didn’t touch it. His gaze was fixed on the teletype. He had staked his leadership, and the security of the Union, on the word of a faceless source and the skill of a handful of airmen.
Suddenly, the machine chattered to life, its clacking sound unnaturally loud in the silent room. Brezhnev leaned forward, his heavy eyebrows knitted together. A single, encrypted word was printed on the paper.
DEPARTED.
He leaned back, the leather of his chair groaning in protest. The sword had been unsheathed. Now, there was nothing to do but wait for it to fall.
03:15 ZULU
AYNI AIR BASE
The two 3M ‘Bison-B’ bombers stood like colossal, prehistoric beasts on the hardstand, their silver skins gleaming under the harsh floodlights. The ground shook from the low, guttural roar of their eight combined Mikulin turbojets spooling up to takeoff power. Inside the cockpit of Medved 1-1, Major Volkov’s hands moved with practiced economy over the throttle quadrant, pushing the levers forward. The aircraft strained against its brakes, a leviathan eager for the sky.
“All pressures green. Temperatures stable,” his co-pilot reported, his voice tight over the intercom.
“Navigator?” Volkov asked.
“Course set. First leg heading zero-niner-zero. Time to first waypoint is one hour, fifteen minutes,” Anya Petrova’s calm, clear voice responded from her station in the glassed-in nose below and forward of the main flight deck. Her world was a cocoon of charts, dividers, and the faint green glow of her Doppler radar display.
“Medved 1-2, report status,” Volkov broadcasted on the short-range frequency.
“Medved 1-2 is green for takeoff,” Misha Orlov’s voice came back, a touch too quick, a bit too high-pitched.
“Copy. Takeoff sequence on my mark. Good hunting, Misha.”
“Good hunting, Comrade Major.”
Volkov took a final look out the cockpit window at the distant, dark shapes of the mountains. He released the brakes. The 175,000-kilogram bomber surged forward, its acceleration a ponderous, rumbling force. The runway lights blurred into streaks of white. He felt the immense weight of the two five-ton bombs nestled in the cavernous weapons bay, a dense, malevolent presence at the aircraft’s center of gravity.
“V1,” the co-pilot called out the decision speed.
“Rotate.” Volkov eased back on the yoke. The massive aircraft resisted for a moment, then the nose lifted, and with a final shudder, the wheels left the soil of the Soviet Union. Below and to his right, Medved 1-2 mirrored his ascent, its own navigation lights a small, comforting presence in the vast darkness.
They climbed, turning east, toward the rising sun and the jagged teeth of the mountains that separated them from their quarry. The lights of the base dwindled behind them, and soon there was nothing but the star-dusted blackness of the high-altitude sky and the steady drone of the engines. For the next hour, there was only the routine of flight: instrument checks, fuel monitoring, the quiet professionalism of a crew operating at the peak of their abilities.
But Volkov felt the invisible line they were approaching. The border. He glanced at Anya’s station, though he could not see her. He pictured her there, pencil and ruler in hand, her mind tracing their path across the map, her calculations the only thing standing between them and a premature, fiery death on a Chinese mountainside.
04:30 ZULU
P-12 RADAR SITE, KUNLUN MOUNTAINS, XINJIANG PROVINCE
PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA
The cold was a persistent enemy. It seeped through the insulated walls of the P-12 radar van, a constant reminder to Lieutenant Mei Lin of her altitude and isolation. Her world was the size of a dinner plate—the flickering green screen of her Plan Position Indicator (PPI) scope. For hours, her watch had been a study in monotony. The radar’s beam, sweeping in a steady circle, painted the screen with the chaotic green fuzz of ground clutter from the immense mountain ranges surrounding her post. Her job, as she had been rigorously trained at the Air Force Technical Institute, was to find the signal within the noise.
She was proud of her role as a “Sky Guard,” a protector of the motherland from the Soviet revisionists to the north. But the reality of the job was hours of crushing boredom punctuated by moments of uncertainty. A flock of geese, atmospheric ducting, a solar flare—all could create ghost signals, blips on the screen that made a young operator’s heart leap into their throat.
Mei Lin sipped her bitter green tea, her eyes never leaving the sweep of the antenna. She was only twenty-one, and the weight of responsibility for this silent, vital sector felt immense. This radar was the tripwire. A few kilometers away, hidden in a valley, Major Fang Jin and his battery of S-75 missiles waited. They were the sword, but she was the eye that must guide its strike.
The sweep completed another rotation. Clutter, clutter, weather artifact… wait.
There. At the very edge of the scope, bearing three-one-zero. Two blips. Faint, almost lost in the noise, but they were there. And they were moving. Too fast for a weather pattern. Too high and steady for a flock of birds.
Her heart began to beat a little faster. She made a grease pencil mark on the glass. The antenna swept around again. The blips were still there, having moved a measurable distance, tracking southeast. They were holding a perfectly straight course, in formation. This was no ghost.
Her hand, small but steady, reached for the communications handset. She followed her procedure, her voice calm despite the adrenaline singing in her veins.
“Sky Sentry to Mountain Shield. I have a contact. Two targets. Bearing three-one-zero, range two-five-zero kilometers, altitude appears high. Course one-four-zero. I say again, I have two high-speed contacts, bearing three-one-zero.”
The voice that came back was clipped, professional. “Mountain Shield copies. Continue tracking. Report every two sweeps.”
Mei Lin’s world had suddenly shrunk to those two tiny points of light crawling across her screen. The boredom was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp focus. The intruders were still far out, over the highest, most impassable section of the range. But their trajectory was unmistakable. They were not skirting the border. They were inbound. They were heading for the valley.
04:48 ZULU
S-75 ‘GUIDELINE’ SAM SITE, KARASAY-KARAKAX VALLEY APPROACH
The klaxon’s metallic shriek tore through the pre-dawn stillness of the valley. Major Fang Jin was already moving, shrugging on a heavy coat as he ran from his command bunker toward the S-75 battery’s command and control van. His men, roused from their cold sleep, were moving with the frantic energy of a disturbed anthill, their actions drilled into them by months of relentless practice.
Fang Jin was a veteran of the Korean War. He had seen what American B-29s could do to unprotected positions. He had learned his trade on this very missile system from Soviet advisors in the 1950s, back when they called each other ‘comrade.’ Now, he viewed them as arrogant traitors, and he relished the irony of using their own weapons against them.
Inside the van, the air was electric with tension. A junior officer was relaying the tracking data from Lieutenant Mei’s P-12 site, his voice cracking slightly.
“Two targets, Comrade Major. Altitude estimated twelve thousand meters. Speed nine hundred kilometers per hour. They are maintaining course. Projected intercept with our engagement envelope in eight minutes.”
Fang Jin stared at the plot board where the targets’ progress was being manually tracked. High and fast. Strategic bombers. There was only one reason Soviet bombers would be flying this profile, toward this specific, secret valley. His blood ran cold. It wasn’t a probe. It wasn’t a reconnaissance flight. It was an attack.
He felt a deep, simmering rage. The Soviets thought they could sneak in while the world watched the Middle East. They thought they could decapitate China’s strategic deterrent before it was even born.
“Power up the Fan Song,” he ordered, his voice a low gravel. “Bring the engagement radar online. I want a firing solution the moment they are in range.”
The order was a critical one. Activating the powerful ‘Fan Song’ engagement radar was like lighting a beacon. The bombers’ own radar warning receivers would instantly detect the focused energy of the guidance system. It would tell them they had been seen, targeted, and were about to be fired upon. It would sacrifice the element of surprise, but Fang Jin was a pragmatist. There was no surprising an enemy at this range. There was only destroying them.
Outside, the large, van-mounted dish of the Fan Song radar array whined as it powered on and swiveled, its invisible beam of energy flooding the northern sky, hunting for the intruders. The long, telephone-pole-sized V-750 missiles on their launchers seemed to hum with anticipation, their surfaces coated in the thin frost of the high-altitude morning.
Fang Jin picked up a handset. “All stations, this is Mountain Shield. We have hostile aircraft inbound. This is not a drill. Prepare to engage and destroy.” His patience and caution were gone. Certainty had arrived. He would hold the line. He would not let them pass.
04:49 ZULU
COCKPIT, MEDVED 1-1
It came without warning. A sudden, piercing shriek that sliced through the monotonous drone of the engines. A high-pitched, insistent tone that signified one thing: death was looking for them.
“Radar lock! We have a lock!” the electronics warfare officer shouted from his station. “It’s a Fan Song! A goddamn Fan Song! They’re painting us!”
On Volkov’s instrument panel, a warning light flashed amber. SA-2 ENGAGEMENT.
“Anya! Position!” Volkov’s voice was a whip-crack over the intercom.
“Still eighty kilometers from the release point!” Anya’s voice was strained, but her professionalism held. “They’ve acquired us too early! The valley approach is supposed to shield us!”
The plan was already failing. The secondary objective—to pass the mountains undetected—had been obliterated. The Chinese were waiting for them. Zaitsev’s intelligence, Kite’s intelligence, had been right about the defenses, but wrong about their effectiveness. Or perhaps, Volkov thought with a flash of ice in his gut, Kite had led them here for this very purpose.
There was no time for that. There were only seconds. The S-75 missile could cover the distance to their position in less than two minutes. To turn back now was impossible. They were too deep, too heavy, and the Chinese would hunt them down. To continue at high altitude was suicide.
Volkov made the only decision a pilot could make. He chose to fly, not to be flown.
“Misha, listen to me,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, urgent command. “We are going down. Full power. Follow my lead precisely. We will use the terrain. We will go into the valley from the north. Stay on my wing.”
“Copy, Ivan,” Misha’s voice came back, tight with fear but resolute.
Volkov jammed the throttles to their stops. The four turbojets roared, and he pushed the yoke forward, pitching the nose of the massive bomber down into a steep, terrifying dive. The Bison, designed for stately high-altitude cruising, groaned in protest. The altimeter began to unwind at a furious rate. 11,000 meters. 10,000. The jagged, snow-dusted peaks of the Kunlun range rushed up to meet them.
His gamble was desperate. He would try to fly below the radar’s line of sight, using the mountains themselves as a shield. But it meant flying a strategic bomber like a fighter jet, through canyons and upslopes no one had ever attempted in an aircraft this size.
“Warning! Missile launch detected! Missile launch!” the EWO screamed.
Volkov craned his neck, looking out and down. He saw it. A bright point of light, ascending on a column of white smoke, separating itself from the dark earth below. It was beautiful and terrible. It climbed with impossible speed, arcing through the sky, its primitive electronic brain locked onto the signature of his aircraft.
“Anya! Give me a heading to the target!” he yelled, his knuckles white on the controls. The aircraft shuddered as it hit denser air, the winds whipping through the mountain passes.
“Bearing one-seven-five! Twenty kilometers to release point!” she called out, her voice a lifeline of pure data in the chaos.
The missile was closer now, a white-hot spark against the blue-black sky. Volkov threw the Bison into a gut-wrenching bank, the G-forces pressing him deep into his seat. The first missile, confused by the dive and the high-G turn, lost its lock. It shot past them, detonating thousands of feet above, its warhead exploding into a cloud of shrapnel that rained harmlessly into the void.
They had survived the first shot. But through the windscreen, Volkov could now see the valley opening up before him. And nestled on the valley floor, he saw a concrete slash against the rock. The tunnel entrance.
At the same time, the sky ahead erupted in puffs of black smoke. AAA. 57mm and 100mm shells, fired from positions carved into the mountainsides. They were flying directly into the kill box.
“Bomb bay doors open!” Volkov commanded.
A low hydraulic whine filled the aircraft. A red light on the panel confirmed. The two enormous FAB-5000s were exposed to the slipstream.
“Five kilometers!” Anya shouted. “Steady on this heading!”
The aircraft was being buffeted by flak explosions, the fuselage ringing like a drum as shrapnel struck it. On his right, Misha’s Medved 1-2 was taking hits, a plume of smoke beginning to trail from its inboard engine. But he was holding formation, his courage conquering his fear.
“Now! Release weapons now!” Anya screamed.
Volkov’s thumb slammed down on the red button on his control yoke. He felt a profound lurch as ten thousand kilograms of high explosive detached from his aircraft.
“Medved 1-1, bombs away! Medved 1-2, drop and break! Break right!”
He hauled the bomber into the tightest turn of its life, the airframe screaming in protest. He saw Misha’s bombs fall away, and then saw Misha’s plane, trailing more smoke, peel away behind him.
He didn't watch the bombs fall. He was already fighting for their lives, trying to claw his way out of the valley of death. But in his mind’s eye, he saw them. Four dark, oblong shapes, tumbling end over end, falling toward the reinforced concrete maw of the Karasay-Karakax tunnel.
04:52 ZULU
KARASAY-KARAKAX STRATEGIC FACILITY
Deep inside the mountain, Colonel Liao Chen, the facility’s commander, was reviewing a logistical manifest. He was an engineer, a man of concrete and steel, not of tactics. His world was one of construction schedules and security protocols. The imminent arrival of the "special cargo" was the culmination of his life's work. The faint rumbling he felt, he dismissed as blasting from a lower level. The concept of a direct air attack was a fiction, a paranoid fantasy. His facility was invincible.
Then the world ended.
It was not a sound; it was a physical blow. The four FAB-5000M-46 bombs, nearly forty-five thousand pounds of high explosive, impacted on the mountainside directly above the tunnel entrance. The detonation was a colossal, concussive event that did not so much explode as unleash the wrath of the mountain itself.
For Liao Chen and his men, the universe was reduced to a single, violent convulsion. The solid rock of the earth heaved. The reinforced concrete walls of his command center cracked and shattered. The lights didn't flicker; they vanished, plunging the entire facility into absolute, terrifying darkness. A roar, the sound of a world being unmade, echoed through the corridors, accompanied by a hurricane of concrete dust and pulverized rock.
The hundred-ton primary blast door, Liao Chen’s pride, was instantly buried under a million tons of collapsed granite. The entire face of the mountain slumped forward, sealing the tunnel not with a door, but with a newly-formed cliff face.
Colonel Liao Chen was thrown across his office, his head striking a steel bulkhead. His last conscious thought was one of utter, uncomprehending shock. His invincible fortress, his monument to engineering, had become his tomb.
05:10 ZULU
AYNI AIR BASE
Colonel Zaitsev stood alone in the communications room, a pair of headphones clamped over his ears. He listened to the hiss of empty space. For the last twenty minutes, there had been nothing but static from the bombers’ frequency. He had heard Volkov’s clipped, professional report: “…target struck… visual confirmation of landslide… egressing under fire…” followed by a chilling addendum: “…Medved 1-2 is hit… engine fire… losing altitude.”
Then, nothing.
The mission’s primary objective was complete. Kite’s intelligence had been accurate. The threat was neutralized. The Politburo would be pleased. It was a strategic victory of immense proportions, achieved with surgical precision and under a perfect cloak of geopolitical distraction.
But Zaitsev felt no triumph. He was an intelligence officer. He dealt in the cold calculus of risk and reward. He had known the probability. He had sent those men into that valley knowing the overwhelming likelihood that they would not return. He pictured Major Volkov, the stoic, iron-willed commander. He pictured the young wingman, Orlov, fighting his crippled bomber. They were not assets. They were men. Men he had fed into the maw of the state’s necessity.
He removed the headphones. The silence in the room was heavier than the static had been. He walked to the window and looked out at the eastern sky, which was now beginning to lighten with the first hint of dawn. He had his victory. But he did not know its cost. He did not know if the crews of Medved 1-1 and 1-2 were, at this moment, fighting for their lives in the wreckage of their planes, or if they were already dead. He did not know if they were prisoners, carrying the secrets of the mission in their heads.
The door opened. It was his aide.
“Colonel?”
Zaitsev turned, his face an unreadable mask. “Send the flash message to Moscow. Priority One. Use the single code word: ‘Damocles.’”
The aide nodded and hurried to the encryption machine. The sword had fallen. The mission was over.
But for Colonel Zaitsev, for General Secretary Brezhnev, and for the handful of survivors and captors in a remote Chinese mountain range, the consequences had just begun. The 96.85% probability of failure had not manifested in a missed target, but in the terrifying, unknown fate of the men who had been sent to deliver the blow. And in the silence from the mountains, a new and more dangerous chapter was already being written.
Comments
Post a Comment