Introduction

Original: Введение

On a plot of approximately 10 hectares a few kilometers from the Gorelyovo station near Krasnoye Selo, behind a three-meter fence of reinforced concrete panels with barbed wire on top, were positioned various radar stations, surface-to-air missile complexes, and an underground command post constructed from arched reinforced concrete structures that managed this rather complex operation. This was the training range of the Leningrad Higher Military-Political School of the Air Defense Forces (PVO) of the country. We—senior-year cadets—performed educational combat duty there and sat for examinations. So there was no time for the charms of approaching Leningrad spring or for leave passes to the magnificent nearby city. Probably, in the event of war, converting this training-combat equipment to actual combat status would have required a couple of hours, plus several more hours for ammunition delivery from the nearest technical battalion of the anti-aircraft missile regiment. Combat crews consisted of officer-instructors from the school and cadets. And as they said, strike the aerial enemy while the radars work. On this range, cadet units trained day and night in combat against air adversaries.

Previously, we had studied all the complex equipment in third and fourth year courses on specialized subjects SK-1, SK-2, SK-3, SK-4. In common parlance, these were specialized courses on the tactics of anti-aircraft missile and radio-technical forces, their armament and equipment. All special courses were classified disciplines. For classes, we received, with our signatures, thick notebooks bound with string and sealed with wax. During my studies, I cannot recall a single instance of such a notebook being lost. Even its accidental removal from the classified building was considered an extraordinary incident. Senior-year cadets of the military-political school, who were soon to become deputy commanders of radar companies for political affairs in the Air Defense Forces of the country, tried during the final months to master the necessary knowledge and skills for operating complex equipment, commanding a company in combat, and maintaining combat duty.

And then, in early spring, on that school range, for the first time from instructor Lieutenant Colonel Vladimir Sergeyev, we heard mysterious words to the effect that perhaps in the coming years we would have to retrain on such equipment that would completely transform the appearance of the radio-technical air defense forces of the country. Already such powerful radars are being created that with a single radar field would cover not only our state but would continuously monitor the territory of the USA and other NATO states around the clock. The need would disappear to place literally thousands of separate radar companies with small garrisons on the perimeter of the state right next to border posts. Then my comrades and I tried to get our instructor to open up. He was a man who with a smile, an intelligent word, often sharp masculine humor, could literally attract others to himself. There was a certain sparkle in him. Besides being an excellent officer—a man who looked like a picture in military uniform rather than wearing it like a sack as some of our military men did—he knew radar equipment exceptionally well. And Lieutenant Colonel Sergeyev treated us cadets in a somewhat special way, particularly with warmth of heart, understanding what difficulties awaited twenty-year-old boys in the forces, especially in separate radar companies on the outskirts of our great Motherland. It's possible he mentioned the mysterious locators inadvertently. Actually, there was nothing secret in his words. But then our questions about these, as we understood, super radars, our instructor in radar armament stopped in his characteristic manner. Like, well boys, you wanted to learn a state secret, but that's not how it will go. I'll only say that an experimental giant station stands near Nikolayev. Foreign press has even already written about it. But where the combat radars are being built, you'll find out when you get posted to serve on them. That's all the story about the mysterious radars. So we learned nothing then. And precisely in that period two combat over-the-horizon radar stations (OZGRS) were already undergoing state testing and preparing to take up combat duty in the missile attack warning system of the Air Defense Forces of the country. Even then many scientists, designers, state figures, and military personnel in the USSR believed that at last reliable ground-based radar armament had been created that could place an insurmountable barrier against American and other ballistic missiles with nuclear or other warheads. But it turned out that Soviet scientists and designers in the 60-80s of the last century accomplished only half of what was conceived. Very many factors prevented the great idea from becoming reality.

I was not mistaken in calling over-the-horizon location a great idea of the Russians. After all, the very invention of radio and radar has long been considered the greatest priority of the people who created them. To this day there continues a dispute in the world about who was first in the invention of Radio. The Russian scientist and experimentalist Professor Alexander Stepanovich Popov, who created in 1895 the first practically usable radio receiver in the world but did not obtain a patent for his invention, or the Italian Guglielmo Marconi? He obtained a patent in 1897, but not for the invention of Radio, rather for the improvement of apparatus for transmitting electrical impulses over greater distances. Moreover, his device basically repeated Popov's radio. So to whom should the laurels of priority in this outstanding discovery be given, to which state? Who first among earthlings invented and practically applied Radiolocation, which in its significance stands on the same level as the invention of Radio? It is no accident that the famous British Prime Minister Winston Churchill, already in retirement after the Second World War, once noted that among mankind's greatest achievements in the military sphere in the twentieth century is the invention of radiolocation. As is well known, this political figure did not throw words to the wind. It was precisely radar stations that helped the British win the air battle with the Germans and protect the country from total destruction by massive bombing campaigns. Locators detected squadrons of fascist fighters and bombers on the far approaches to the islands. British fighters rushed to intercept.

During the 'Cold' War, the USSR was able to protect its airspace, first and foremost, through the same use of radar stations. In Moscow at the Vagonstroitelny Plant at Lianozovo, a factory that within a couple of years had been repurposed into a modern and powerful electromechanical defense giant in an extremely short time, mass production of the P-20 radar stations (RAS P-20) was organized. Powerful locators, with tens of thousands of parts and components, were made on a conveyor belt like pistols or automatic weapons in which there are a hundred parts. Each month, up to 40 and more radar stations left the factory workshops. For the distinctive arrangement of the antenna petals, it was given an affectionate nickname 'Daisy.' These electronic flowers were planted over the course of several years on all borders of the USSR, the approaches to major cities and strategic objects. Unpretentious and reliable radar stations created an impenetrable radar field and put an end to the unimpeded flights over Soviet territory of foreign spy planes and even American strategic bombers.

Those same P-20 radar stations and other modifications helped India in its confrontation with Pakistan. The 'Daisies' covered the country with a radar umbrella against Pakistani combat aviation. The Indians, for their unpretentiousness and reliability, called them Russian samovars, which, as is known, work under any conditions, as long as you add water and burn dry kindling. Electro-mechanical Russian 'Daisies' from Moscow worked reliably for months in the mountains, jungles, marshes, and other such places in India where radar stations produced in the USA, France, and Italy quickly failed.

A decisive role in preventing a missile-nuclear war has been played and continues to be played by all the same radar stations. The Soviet, and now Russian missile attack warning system (SPРN), consisting of separate radar nodes, with powerful electromagnetic pulses across thousands of kilometers probes the air and space around the clock for decades and thereby blocks the launches of missiles with nuclear warheads. Should such a thing, God forbid, occur, then within minutes information about nuclear aggression will be conveyed to the military-political leadership of the country and a command will follow for a retaliatory missile-nuclear strike.

One could cite many more impressive examples of the use of radar stations, where such combat electronics have had and continue to have decisive significance for the fate of entire states and peoples. However, such a task is not set before us in this narrative. The story will be about human relationships during the scientific search. After all, in terms of knowledge intensity and technological sophistication, radar stations are among the most complex weapons ever created on Earth. Their development and serial production have at all times been connected with the relationships of hundreds of thousands of specialists in enormous scientific-production collectives. Scientific and technical difficulties often gave rise to struggles of opinions, ambitions, 'behind-the-scenes' and secret confrontations. As a result, all manner of secrets arose, unwillingness to publicize information.

All human passions were fully manifested in the creation of the domestic over-the-horizon radar system (OZGRS), on which hundreds of millions of sound rubles were expended in Soviet times. Facts and details remain concealed in safes and on desks as to why in the Soviet Union was not realized in the mid-80s the most brilliant twentieth-century idea of over-the-horizon location with the help of ground-based radar stations of air and space objects at a fantastic distance of 6,000 to 10,000 kilometers. Soviet scientist Kabanov first formulated and attempted to implement this idea in the mid-1940s of the last century. It was supposed that from the center of Russia, with radar stations, one could observe what was happening at American missile bases. Then Kabanov achieved nothing. And he himself concluded that it was impossible to build an over-the-horizon locator. However, Kabanov subsequently found inquisitive followers. It fell to my lot to touch upon the over-the-horizon secret. For more than 18 years I collected materials grain by grain, rare documents about OZGRS, and placed them in an old leather accountant-style briefcase. Time passed, and for fuller coverage of this scientific epic I still lacked facts, episodes, accounts of eyewitnesses. So perhaps these materials would never have been extracted from the old briefcase. And after another major cleaning of personal archives they would have gone straight to the dacha to fuel bonfires. But apparently, fate itself, after 18 years, took the old briefcase from the closet and showed me the path and plan of the future manuscript.

On one of the June days in 2005, the responsible editor of the popular weekly 'Independent Military Review,' Colonel Vadim Solovyev of the reserve, at whose newspaper I happened to be working as an ordinary columnist after being discharged to the reserve in the rank of colonel, approached my shabby workstation. On it stood an inconspicuous and moreover obsolete, flickering computer monitor. The system unit itself, due to lack of space, monotonously hummed its fan under the table. With a significant air, our newspaper 'commander' placed a book of substantial dimensions on the far corner of my desk.

"Once you finish composing material for the issue," the employer said quietly, who in the past had served in the Main Political Administration of the Soviet Army and Navy during the war in Afghanistan, "write a review of the book; I think it corresponds to your interests in radio electronics."

I glanced at the title—'Corporation "Vympel." Missile-Space Defense Systems.' To my question about the deadline for reading and reconsidering the contents of the book and putting my thoughts into a review, our newspaper boss simply waved his hand wearily. Like, no rush. A review isn't breaking news even for a weekly. After that he left, and I continued finishing material for the current issue. Time was pressing. There remained only an hour and a half before delivering material to the issue editor. So I cut myself off from the outside world, stopped answering telephone calls, and, drumming on the computer keyboard, drove line after line into the flickering white field of the monitor screen. My eyes hurt from the flickering. Involuntarily, rather coarse words arose in my mind directed at my superior, and also at the owner of our private newspaper, who, despite my repeated requests over six months, had not replaced the monitor. I really wanted to swear in colorful language and beat on the obsolete, flickering marvel of technology that should have long ago been placed on one of Moscow's industrial waste dumps.

Barely managed by the established deadline to prepare the material. A small informational note had to be completed and corrected three times. Not surprisingly, in any editorial office every chief who has even one correspondent under him already has virtually unlimited power over the material and its author. And if the leader's head has already been touched by the burden of fame and people cite him in other publications and information agency feeds, then he generally considers himself infallible in journalistic matters and his opinion is not debatable. But on that day, generally speaking, all the journalistic leadership treated my material benevolently. After circulating through several offices, the small note was finally corrected, signed and submitted to the page. One could take a breath and, so to speak, calm the trembling in one's knees. I settled into the battered, creaking chair behind my ancient workstation with its dying-out computer and monitor. I began soothing my nerves with strong tea. And just then, as it were, the book handed to me inadvertently came into view again. Such a hefty one, in hard cover. I thought that such a book in free circulation cost not less than 800 rubles. Such luxury in these times could be afforded only by very wealthy people or successful enterprises. However, the title intrigued me nonetheless. I knew well what this corporation was engaged in during these market times and the scope of its activities in the Soviet period, when the firm was called the Central Scientific-Production Association 'Vympel' (TsNPO 'Vympel'). Times had changed, but the firm's secrecy did not disappear from this. Only a small part of the iceberg was visible to the general public. All other activities, personnel, products were not for outside eyes. One can note for those particularly curious that the firm even now is engaged in especially complex systems of radio-electronic armament for antimissile and anti-space defense, control of space, missile attack warning systems.

I flipped through the first six pages of the luxurious coated paper of the highest quality with welcoming messages from the Chief of Armament of the Armed Forces of the RF—Deputy Minister of Defense, General of the Army Alexei Moskovskiy, the head of the Federal Agency for Industry Boris Aleshin, the Chief of the General Staff of the Air Forces of the RF, General-Colonel Boris Chelttsov, the Commander of the Space Forces General-Colonel Vladimir Popovkin. From the ceremonial introductory articles it became clear that the book-album was published for the 35th anniversary of the Interstate Joint-Stock Corporation 'Vympel.' Therefore it became interesting what was written further in the book after the welcoming materials, what would be the text, who would be the authors. Much from the spheres of activity of the corporation even in our market times, when everything and everyone is sold and bought, still remains state secrets to this day. I was particularly interested in contemporary matters. After all, one of the corporation's enterprises—the Research Institute for Far Radio Communications (NIDAR)—in 2002 delivered to the military for experimental-combat operation the powerful over-the-horizon radar node 'Volga' in Belarus, which with electromagnetic pulse-tentacles surveys the air and space above all of Eastern and Western Europe and a huge part of the Atlantic Ocean. Over several thousand kilometers in space it can automatically detect even an object the size of a tennis ball. The very scientists and designers created the mighty OZG [over-the-horizon] radar, which in translation into ordinary language means high factory readiness. All the equipment of the powerful locator is placed in containers like railroad containers. From large metal rectangles the radar is assembled over several months, like children's building blocks. Previously, construction of radars of such power according to normal technology took years. It was precisely 'Vympel' and its component part NIDAR that were previously engaged in over-the-horizon location. As is known, NIDAR has not changed this subject even now. Therefore my interest in the book had become serious. Privately I no longer called it another jubilee book dinosaur. Perhaps in its articles would be revealed information on OZGRS that interested me?

However, even the first article literally disappointed. The former deputy minister of radio industry, general director of TsNPO 'Vympel,' General-Lieutenant Markov recounted affairs from the long-past that were already known. The other articles yielded nothing new. True, material about the giant ship, electronic reconnaissance vessel with an atomic power installation 'Ural,' attracted me. Its transfer from the Baltic Sea to the Far East, where it now rots in one of the bays with plundered expensive equipment, from which 'clever operators—prospectors' long ago extracted parts and circuits with high precious metal content. I was about to go to my responsible editor and offer to give the book a critical review. But suddenly an unexpected question arose. Why is it that in the publication such sparse writing about how NIDAR developed combat systems of over-the-horizon location? After all, this is a Soviet, as people now say, know-how, or simply—achievement. The legitimate pride of the country and all the people. Of course, then due to numerous causes the OZGRS system was never accepted into service. However, one cannot remain silent about this tragic multi-year epic. After all, in the jubilee book one could have told about Russian over-the-horizon radar priorities in science, about the multi-year scientific search of thousands of Soviet scientists, designers, engineers. After all, as early as 1993 the chairman of the radar commission under the Government of the RF, Academician of the Russian Academy of Sciences Migulin, highly evaluated the scientific search in the creation of OZGRS.

I returned once more to the material. In the jubilee book about the incomparable epic with OZGRS, the name of the chief designer of over-the-horizon locators Franz Kuzminsky was mentioned extremely tersely, as if reluctantly. Like, there was such a figure. And nothing more. Not a line about this great opening that rightfully belongs to Russia, the titanic process of creating combat OZGRS. Not a word about how these radars came to be feared by military and political figures in the USA at one time. American military established that their missile bases were under constant radio-electronic radiation. And this could have meant that the USSR had built mighty ground-based locators that could detect the launches of ballistic missiles at the moment of liftoff. An unexpected missile-nuclear attack by the USA on the Soviet Union thus became meaningless and suicidal. The Russians could timely detect the launches of ballistic missiles and deliver a retaliatory-counterattacking missile-nuclear strike, which Americans greatly feared. In the book there was not a word about the tragedy of the chief designer Franz Aleksandrovich Kuzminsky during his lifetime and the recognition of his merits after death. Not a line about how, removed from all posts and disgraced in his own Fatherland, he was slandered by central newspapers of the USSR and RF with multimillion circulations. And he, despite persecution, stubbornly tried to perfect his creation, knocked on all manner of authorities and died in the prime of his talent.

After these thoughts, memories of 1990 began to surface, when journalistic fate first brought me together with Franz Kuzminsky. The name of one of his opponents, Vladimir Markov, involuntarily came to mind. I quickly leafed through the book to the beginning. The very first historical material about the firm belonged to the pen of Vladimir Markov. In the photo was depicted a man with strong features. A once-renowned leader of the radio industry of the USSR, General-Lieutenant. He was the first in the history of the Soviet Union to create the most powerful scientific-production association 'Vympel,' the present-day Interstate Joint-Stock Corporation 'Vympel.' He commanded thousands of workers, engineers, scientists and designers. For some reason, toward this man, for many years I feel a certain pang of conscience. In the winter of 1991, still before the collapse of the unified country, in the journal 'Communist of the Armed Forces'—a very influential publication of the Main Political Administration of the Soviet Army and Navy (GLAVPUR), where I worked at that time as a research associate in the department of combat training and military instruction of the forces—my investigative material was first published about the history and tragedy of the Soviet combat system OZGRS. In 1990, in the course of my journalistic investigation we met with Vladimir Ivanovich. He told me about the creation of OZGRS, his relationships with chief designer Franz Kuzminsky. He spoke quite frankly, giving his evaluation of why the OZGRS system was removed from combat duty and was not adopted into service in the USSR and was not included in the missile attack warning system. In subsequent years, involuntarily, I returned to this theme several more times at the request of a number of editorial offices. I specially collected material, met with scientists and military personnel who had been involved in the over-the-horizon epic. Gradually I came to the conclusion that in 1990 I approached the role of General-Lieutenant Markov in the fate of over-the-horizon radars somewhat superficially. For my part, in several materials I smoothed out some sharp corners. But still there remained constantly in my heart some offense at myself that I had not fully figured out the history and tragedy of the chief designer of OZGRS, had not shown more deeply how he was unjustly slandered in his native country. And to be honest, for a broader presentation of the history of OZGRS I always lacked newspaper or journal pages. The problem itself simply did not fit into the rigid volume of predetermined lines allotted for publication. As a result, important facts, memories, accounts remained beyond the bounds of each subsequent publication. So, the time has come to take out from the corner the cherished old leather briefcase with already yellowed notes and documents, reeking of insistent paper dust, and begin writing, not thinking about volume, but only about that which is to truly separate truth from falsehood about the creators of over-the-horizon location in our Fatherland.