by Mark Greaney
After a moment, a crackle and a ping noise came over the speakers. This was the first response, indicating an electronically encrypted transmission was coming through. Soon a distant but audible voice responded: “This is Attack Headquarters, Krasnyi Metal. We are receiving you. Send your transmission.”
Sabaneyev said, “I am now ready to report the raid on the headquarters in Stuttgart has been successful. We have minimal casualties and damage. We have twenty prisoners, including the deputy commander of AFRICOM and much of his staff. Names and ranks of the prisoners will follow this transmission. I am pleased to report we have destroyed all communications systems as well as both AFRICOM and EUCOM headquarters buildings. We continue to attack all tertiary objectives. Those attacks will be complete within the hour. Begin the diplomatic process.”
He smiled as he concluded the transmission, looking around the railcar at his proud headquarters staff.
The reply took several seconds, coming from just inside the Belarusian border. “This is Attack Headquarters. We understand all. All primary objectives met, all secondary objectives met, and you are prosecuting all tertiary targets. We will send the code that Moscow can begin the process for your safe return.”
A cheer roared through the train. None of the prisoners could speak Russian, but those who hadn’t been deafened by the attack well understood the meaning of the jubilant tones of the men.
Whatever the hell had just happened, Russia had won.
General Sabaneyev handed the radio back and walked to the operations officer to confer on the next moves. He wanted to have this train heading east by the time Dryagin made it back to the city. Hopefully the prisoners would serve as sufficient bargaining chips. The Americans could have their people back as long as they allowed his raid forces safe passage back into Belarus and ultimately Russia, and NATO could avoid even more destruction by staying out of their way.
* * *
• • •
THE KREMLIN
MOSCOW, RUSSIA
26 DECEMBER
The Kremlin sent the coded message through the one direct Moscow-to-D.C. undersea cable they had left intact for just this purpose. An administrative team had worked day and night to craft the perfect words, taking great care that their English translations could not be misunderstood. They added some of the data from General Sabaneyev’s transmission, the number of prisoners and their names and ranks, so the veracity of their claims of captives would not be in dispute.
The message was lengthy, boisterous, and highly fictionalized. According to the Kremlin, the advance guard force of a massive invasion had made it as far as Stuttgart, but the attack’s progress had been sluggish due to NATO’s combined armor and air forces, so the decision had been made in Moscow to hold the main invasion force in Russia. Claiming the situation to be a stalemate, they offered terms for the Russian withdrawal from Europe, but declared that if their advance guard force was not allowed to return to Belarus unmolested, Russia would press their general invasion of Europe, further imperiling Poland and Germany.
The cable mentioned Western crimes and recent military buildups in Central Europe as the justifications for going to war but nevertheless requested an immediate cessation of hostilities and a return to preinvasion borders.
In the Pentagon the message was met with confusion. First, no massive buildup of Russian forces had been detected before the loss of satellite coverage over western Russia and Belarus. Second, even though the reports from NATO units in the combat area of Poland and Germany were only coming through in a spotty fashion, no one at the Pentagon had the impression that NATO was doing much at all to slow the advance of the probing enemy. So why the hell were the Russians so reluctant to commit their larger forces to battle? They had, after all, caught NATO with its pants down at Christmas, and the great majority of U.S. forces were now in the Pacific.
Many suspected the entire attack had simply been a way for Russia to flex its muscles, to bolster support for the nationalist government domestically, and to weaken the NATO alliance by showing all how ineffective they had become.
But others at the Pentagon drank the Kool-Aid offered by the Kremlin. After all, the talk of a larger Russian invasion had followed their expected pattern of attack: a small but decisive vanguard action, followed by a massive invasion. The Pentagon officials celebrated the fact they’d stopped the Russians even while blind and deaf to their forces in Europe. They praised their local commanders’ quick decision to counterattack, feeling this had given the Russian advance force a bloody nose, one they seemed unable to recover from and continue their intended advance across Europe. It was a “stalemate” victory as the Russian communiqué suggested, to be sure. As far as some generals in the Pentagon were concerned, this proved without a doubt that NATO’s strategy of frontline defense with a massive fly-in retaliatory response to a Russian attack had worked definitively to prevent an all-out war.
It didn’t hurt that this same notion underscored the shortsightedness of years of congressional cuts to European and NATO defense pact budgets. Nearly two decades of fighting in the Middle East and a general lack of belief that Russia was capable or even willing to enter back into armed conflict. It was as if the idea were so remote that the West had placed all its bets against it.
The decision to ultimately accept or reject the cease-fire from the Russians was officially in the hands of NATO, but with the degraded communications infrastructure in Europe and the fact that response forces from America would be necessary to fight off an invasion, NATO leaders in Brussels deferred to the American president.
Privately, not publicly.
* * *
• • •
THE WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON, D.C.
26 DECEMBER
President Jonathan Henry sat at the conference table in the White House Situation Room reading the cable for the fourth time. Around him his National Security staff, all well versed in Russia’s proposal, sat quietly while he did so.
When Henry was finished, he rubbed his tired eyes and then went around the table seeking the informed counsel of his advisors. All in the room were incensed about the attack in Germany, and many thought it madness to accept the Russians’ terms, but no one could paint a rosy picture of the United States and NATO continuing the fight while still nearly deaf, dumb, and blind.
The president most wanted to hear from his secretary of defense and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, but he saved them for last. When he finally got to them, to Henry’s surprise both men recommended accepting the cease-fire.
The secretary of defense put the Pentagon’s reasoning clearly: “You accept, Mr. President, and we’ve won. Just like that. You will have personally thwarted a full invasion of Europe. We took a gut punch but prevented a knockout blow, and we delivered a few jabs of our own. Better still, we won while facing war on two fronts with world powers. That’s a win, Mr. President. A big win. We sell it as such and immediately return our focus to containing China. We beef up Europe with our reserves and then draw up some sanctions to impose on Russia—punish them severely. Plus, no one in Congress but the whack jobs is going to fight us for a renewed increase in military spending in the next fiscal year.
“But if you reject the cease-fire, and either Europe is subjected to an invasion of forces we haven’t even identified—or else this attack element that, in a day and a half, made it all the way from Belarus to near the French border . . . well, then we’ll have to fight a dangerous, bloody campaign that we cannot win quickly or easily. We will lose more American and European lives, and our ability to repel any subsequent Russian attack, should it come, will be degraded.”
The secretary of defense added, “And if we reject the cease-fire, you essentially will be laying down a welcome mat in front of Taiwan for the Chinese to walk on in. They will see that America’s forces are split, and they will know that their time to reabsorb their breakaway stat
e has come.”
Henry pushed back that once communications were fully restored, the media would spend weeks showing the devastation wrought by Russia, and he would look weak for letting them get away with it; but he was promised by everyone in the room, especially the secretary of state, that Russia would be held to account for their crimes.
The secretary of state said, “Anatoly Rivkin threw a Hail Mary to save his regime by attacking Europe. It didn’t work as planned. Let him lick his wounds for a couple of months while we deal with this crisis in Asia, and then we’ll hit him with our economic might. Russia is poor and getting poorer. When we pushed them away from that rare-earth mine in Kenya a few years ago, we started a clock ticking on Rivkin’s political survival, and that clock is winding down, sir.”
The secretary of state then added, “Mr. President, I don’t like letting Russian forces kill our people and then just walk away, but the bigger issue is China, Taiwan, and the stability of our Pacific Rim allies.”
Henry put his head in his hands. “Give me a second, ladies and gentlemen.” Then he sat quietly for over three minutes. His national security advisor started to make another point, but Henry held up his hand, appealing for silence.
Finally he mumbled, “Shit.” Looking up, he addressed the table. “Two adversaries, both world powers, threatening at the exact same time. That’s the angle in all this. Like Hal said, America needs to focus on what happens in Asia next week; we can’t afford to build up to go on the attack in Europe right now.
“I’ll spend the rest of my years in office making certain Russia pays for what they’ve done over the past two days. But we need to show nothing but strength and resolve in the Pacific now to prevent a war. Europe can defend itself. They have NATO. On the other hand . . . Taiwan, Japan, South Korea, our Pacific partners, don’t have a strong mutual defense treaty like NATO. There’s nothing there to balance the region. SEATO was dissolved years ago.”
The Southeast Asia Treaty Organization had been a diplomatic failure, and that was never clearer than right now.
He stood up and then addressed his secretary of state. “Okay . . . here’s my decision: Notify Brussels that they should accept the cease-fire and allow the Russian forces currently in Germany safe return to the Belarusian border, under armed escort. They’ll rue the day they decided to fuck with us, but we’ll give them the next couple of weeks to gloat and think they bested us.”
“A wise decision, Mr. President.”
* * *
• • •
Three hours later, two a.m. Stuttgart time, Colonel General Eduard Sabaneyev received the message from Moscow that the terms had been agreed to and that he should effect his immediate return to neutral Belarus with haste. Colonel Dryagin and his force, now augmented with armor and troops off-loaded from Red Blizzard 1 in Stuttgart before its destruction, started off to the east soon after.
Red Blizzard 2 stayed in Stuttgart long enough to off-load some of the tanks and Bumerangs from the railcars, to further bolster Dryagin’s firepower.
“If the NATO bastards decide to renege on the agreement, it will be in Poland,” he said.
Sabaneyev knew that he needed to get back over the border before America realized that what Lazar was doing thousands of kilometers away was directly related to Russia’s actions in Europe, and the “cease-fire” was really nothing more than a ploy to get Russian forces home with their unequivocal win in Europe before Red Metal entered its final phase.
CHAPTER 43
THE PENTAGON
ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA
26 DECEMBER
Lieutenant Colonel Dan Connolly had spent a half hour briefing the vice chairman and his staff about the actions of General Boris Lazar and his brigade. Everything from putting his dacha up for long-term rental, to the movement to southern Azerbaijan, to the surprise announcement of the Christmastime snap drill that didn’t look like a snap drill at all but instead a purposeful race across the length of Iran to the southern coast.
Then he outlined the loading of the brigade into the container ships in Chabahar Bay, the formation into a flotilla with Iranian warships, and the cruise south out toward the Gulf of Oman.
Most of the people in the room had begun listening to the lieutenant colonel from Strategic Planning with frustration. They were trying to deal with the crisis in Europe and the other in Asia, after all, and this joker was talking about war games in Iran. But in minutes he had everyone’s rapt attention. This wasn’t a new crisis . . . This was an expansion of the existing crisis in Europe.
Before Connolly was even finished, someone at the conference table said, “They are going to the REM mine in Kenya. The bastards are going to take it back by force!”
Connolly nodded. “I don’t see any other possibility, sir.”
The vice chairman thanked Connolly for his work and asked him to have a seat at the table. The Marine did so, pulling out a notebook and a pen.
The vice chairman said, “We’ll go to the president with this. He won’t want to expand this conflict with Russia, but he sure as hell won’t allow them to invade Africa and retake Mrima Hill, either. I’ll suggest we attack Lazar’s forces while they’re still on the water.”
A Marine general on staff said, “I concur, sir, but I do think we have to have a plan B: some forces on the ground in Africa in case Lazar gets through.”
“Absolutely,” said the vice chairman. “A MEU at least. How quickly can we make that happen?”
“We have a task force on board USS Boxer. Amphibious Readiness Group, a three-ship unit, and they’re within a day of port in Tanzania. That’s south of the mines but close enough to beat the Russians there, assuming we don’t stop them first.”
The admiral nodded and said, “I need a man on the ground, someone aboard the Navy and Marine Corps amphibious task force who understands this thing from the start and can decompress it if it goes supernova.” He scanned the room quickly. “Connolly?”
Lieutenant Colonel Connolly looked up from where he had been furiously scribbling notes on the admiral’s usual rapid-fire stream of ideas, worried he’d miss a tidbit and be held accountable for it later.
“Sir?” he said, wondering why the hell he was being called on.
“It’s you, ace.”
“It’s me . . . what, sir?”
“It’s you I want aboard Boxer. I need someone from my office. Someone who understands the whole issue at stake. Someone who knows how to author a plan integrated into our national will.”
There was a long pause. Connolly was dumbfounded, but he finally found the words. “Me? Don’t you want an intel type? Someone who can contribute to the mission? The battalions, the regimental commander . . . I mean, they won’t be too pleased having a ‘spy’ from the Pentagon along for the ride.”
The admiral said, “Colonel Connolly, you are to report to the commander, RCT-5, once aboard Boxer. Colonel Caster. Know him?”
“I know him well, sir. An old friend.”
“Good. You can tell him you are there as a lead planner, or a headquarters liaison, or whatever . . . Just remember, you still report to me. I’ll do my part back here as long as you keep me informed. We can stay abreast of any political maneuvering by the Russians that way, and if they sue for peace or some other shit like they pulled in Europe, I’ve got you there to send me a direct feed of ground truth.”
Connolly had recovered from his initial shock. “Copy, sir. I’ll gear up.”
“Hey, and one more thing: I need Lieutenant Colonel Connolly, the strategic planner, reporting and advising a successful Boxer Expeditionary Strike Group. I don’t need Lance Corporal Dan hiding behind the bushes, taking AK fire from the Russians, trying to earn himself another combat action ribbon. Leave the firefights to the grunts.”
“Apologies, sir. I am a grunt.”
The admiral smiled a little. “The younger grunts,
Dan. Let them pull triggers. Not you. You got me?”
“I got you, sir. Not a problem.”
* * *
• • •
“You worthless motherfucker!” Spittle flew from the mouth of Admiral Herbers as he roared, splattering Major Bob Griggs on the chin. “You are the absolute worst piece-of-shit officer I have ever known!”
“Yes, sir.” Major Griggs did not blink. He stood at attention, looking straight ahead.
The admiral’s tirade had been going on for thirty seconds already without any details as to why, exactly, he was mad. Griggs had strong suspicions, of course, and these were finally confirmed by Herbers in his next outburst. “Did you really think you would get by me and get in to see the vice chairman without me knowing about it? I can read his digital calendar, you idiot! You thought I wasn’t going to notice the name Major Griggs on the daily meeting update?”
He went on: “I just knew you’d try to go behind my back. I find it telling that Connolly obviously knew better than to attempt the end around. Didn’t see him on the schedule with you.”
Griggs answered flatly, “No, sir. I did not put Colonel Connolly on the schedule.”
“Do you honestly believe the vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs has time for your harebrained concoctions?”
“No, sir,” Griggs said again.
“You’re damn right he doesn’t! Now . . .” The admiral lowered his volume and said, “Good news. I got ahold of an old pal of yours. Colonel Richter is coming down personally to collect you right now.”
Griggs’s eyes widened briefly, and then they returned to their impassive stare.
Herbers said, “You won’t be a pain in my ass any longer. Instead of getting paid to make my life difficult, the Department of Defense just might get some work out of your lazy ass before you retire.”
