The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

and this was only the first stage of machining. The data read-out on the machine
showed tolerances measured in angstroms. The tool-head was spinning at 25,000
RPM, not so much grinding as burning off irregularities. Separate instruments
kept a computer eye on the work being done, both measuring tolerances and
waiting for the tool-head to show signs of wear, at which point the machine
would automatically stop and replace the tool with a fresh one. Technology was
wonderful. What had once been the work of specially-trained master machinists
overseen by Nobel Prize winners was now being done by microchips.
The actual casing for the device was already fabricated. Ellipsoidal in shape,
it was 98 centimeters in length by 52 in extreme breadth. Made of steel one
centimeter in thickness, it had to be strong, but not grossly so, just enough to
hold a vacuum. Also ready for installation were curved blocks of polyethylene
and polyurethane foam, because a device of this sort required the special
properties of both the strongest and the flimsiest materials. They had gotten
ahead of themselves in some areas, of course, but there was no sense in wasting
time or idle hands. On another machine, workers were practicing yet again on a
stainless-steel blank that simulated the folded-cylinder plutonium reaction-mass
primary. It was their seventh such practice session. Despite the sophistication
of the machines, the first two had gone badly, as expected. By number five, they
had figured most of the process out, and the sixth attempt had been good enough
to work – but not good enough for Fromm. The German had a simple mental model
for the overall task, one formulated by America's National Aeronautics and Space
Administration to describe the first moon landing. In order for the device to
perform as desired, a complex series of individual events had to take place in
an inhumanly precise sequence. He viewed the process as a walk through a series
of gates. The wider the gates were, the easier it would be to walk through them
quickly. Plus/minus tolerances reflected slight closure of the individual gates.
Fromm wanted zero tolerances. He wanted every single part of the weapon to match
his design criteria as exactly as the available technology made possible. The
closer to perfection he could get, the more likely it was that the device would
perform exactly as he predicted . . . or even better, part of him thought.
Unable to experiment, unable to find empirical solutions to complex theoretical
problems, he'd over-engineered the weapon, providing an energy budget that was
several orders of magnitude beyond what was really necessary for the projected
yield. That explained the vast quantity of tritium he planned to use, more than
five times what was really needed in a theoretical sense. That carried its own
problems, of course. His tritium supply was several years old, and some parts of
it had decayed into 3He, a decidedly undesirable isotope of helium, but by
filtering the tritium through palladium he'd separate the tritium out, ensuring
a proper total yield. American and Soviet bombmakers could get away with far
less of it, because of their extensive experimentation, but Fromm had his own
advantage. He did not have to concern himself with a long shelf-life for his
device, and that was a luxury that his Soviet and American counterparts did not
have. It was the only advantage he had over them, and Fromm planned to make full
use of it. As with most parts of bomb design, it was an advantage that cut both
ways, but Fromm knew he had full control over the device. Palladium, he told
himself. Mustn't forget that. But he had plenty of time.