by Dale Brown
There were the usual photo opportunities at the White House, but instead of sitting around in the Oval Office, seated on the usual chairs in front of the fireplace surrounded by photographers, the President, who was a bit younger than Sen’kov and every bit as athletic, took the Russian politician out to the covered, winterized White House tennis courts for a game. The President preferred jogging, but he knew the Russian loved tennis. The press went crazy at every hit. The easy “batting the ball around for the press” turned into a serving warm-up, which evolved into a quick game, which turned into a set, which turned into an all-out head-to-head battle. It was a close game, with no real winner apparent until the very last point—Sen’kov, always politically prudent, lost. They returned for iced tea and ice cream in the Oval Office. Ice cream was one of the President’s weaknesses, and it added to his girth. The press was allowed to stay for only a few minutes before being escorted out.
“I wish I could claim a true victory, Valentin,” the President drawled in his deep southern accent, as they were joined by the First Lady, “but I had to fight for every point, and I think you let me win.”
“I wish I could claim that I let you win, Mr. President,” Sen’kov said, “but I cannot.” Sen’kov, after spending a long time overseas—including getting a master’s degree at the President’s own alma mater at Oxford—had only a very slight Russian accent when he spoke English, which made both the President and First Lady feel very comfortable around him. “We must make it a point to play more often.”
“That’s tough to arrange these days, Valentin,” the President said.
They sat in silence for a few moments, drinking iced tea and toweling off; then the First Lady said, “Valentin, I know it must be very difficult for you to leave your country at a time like this. Russia is on the front page every day, especially with that recent tragedy of that transport being shot down by the Moldovan Air Force. How awful.”
“I understand you knew many of the men on that aircraft,” the President added.
Sen’kov seemed to hesitate a bit, but whether that was from a sad memory or because he was thinking of being double-teamed by this formidable political duo, it was difficult to tell. “I thank you both for your thoughts,” he said in a low voice, seemingly choked up by their comment—which, he hoped, would make them feel a bit guilty and perhaps back off a bit. “Yes, I did know some of the senior officers on that plane.” He paused again, and the couple could see his expression change from one of sadness to one of rising anger. “It was a senseless thing to do.”
“You mean the Moldovans shooting down your transport, and the Ukrainians informing the Moldovans of its presence?” asked the President, putting a big spoonful of ice cream in his mouth.
“No, Mr. President, I mean it was a senseless thing to do to send those paratroopers in the first place like that.”
“You mean you would have sent them in at night, or in more than one aircraft, or by a different route?”
“You misunderstand,” Sen’kov said in earnest. He hesitated, then decided to be as blunt as possible: “I think it was an insane mission to begin with, perpetrated by an insane man.” Well, Sen’kov thought, at least they knew now that he had not supported the Russian mission into Moldova. Sen’kov rested his head on his hands and made a pyramid with his index fingers (he had been taught once by the KGB that doing this made one look very pensive, as if deliberating very hard on a subject), then said, “May I tell you the truth?”
“Please do,” the President said.
“I could put a bullet in President Velichko’s brain myself for what he has done,” Sen’kov said, “and not because he botched the job, but because of the way he is conducting this entire line of foreign policy.” He modestly nodded to the pretty blonde First Lady. “I am sorry if I offended you.”
“I understand, Valentin,” the First Lady said reassuringly. “No offense taken.”
“Thank you. You know what he is about, Mr. President, ma’am. He appeals to those in my country who want the old ways, to bring back the strong central government, to weaken the military, to protect Russians living overseas. Instead of embracing the West and the emerging third world, he shuns it. Instead of trying to strengthen the Commonwealth by strengthening the Republics under a free market society, he tries to strengthen Moscow and bully the independent Republics into allowing Russians to keep all the property and privileges they controlled under the old oppressive regime. It cannot be done. It must ultimately fail.”
The First Couple nodded in complete understanding. Shortly after the President had taken office, one of the first crises he’d had to face was the continuing loss of influence and power by Boris Yeltsin, a man the President—and most of the Western World—had hoped could keep the newly formed Russian Republic moving toward democratic reforms. During his first state of the union address, the President had called upon more aid for Russia to help Yeltsin implement his social and economic reforms. But the country, facing an enormous deficit, high unemployment, and a sluggish economy, informed him through their Congressional representatives and Senators that it was time to care for America’s own first. The President, at the urging of the First Lady, the Secretary of State, and others, was undaunted. He continued to make speeches pressing for aid.
Then, in March of 1993, former President Richard Nixon came back from a trip to Russia—he still knew the country better than anyone in or out of office—and met privately with the President, reiterating the dire need for American aid. Nixon even wrote an editorial in The New York Times declaring disaster ahead if America didn’t get involved. And then, step by step, things began to unravel for Yeltsin. In an extraordinary four-day session, the Congress of People’s Deputies stripped Yeltsin of a lot of his powers, putting them back into the hands of his opposition.
The President, sensing the urgency of Yeltsin’s decline, called upon the major industrialized nations to pump up emergency aid for Yeltsin. His pleas fell on deaf ears. The Germans were struggling with the economic effects of reunification, the Japanese were still reeling from their own faltering economy, the French were typically more concerned about their own country than anyone else, and the British simply had no money.
Nixon, the southern Democratic president realized, had been right all along. Before the summer was over, Yeltsin was out, and Vitaly Timofeyevich Velichko was in.
Velichko was not only President of Russia, but President of the Commonwealth of Independent States’ (CIS) Council of the Heads of State; Chairman of the Socialist Motherland Party (which was formerly the Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union); Commander in Chief of the Russian Armed Forces; as well as the Commander in Chief of the Joint Commonwealth Forces. He was the most powerful man in Russia, and he shared ultimate control over the nuclear weapons in the CIS states that still had them with his Minister of Defense and his Chief of the General Staff.
Under the Soviet government prior to 1992, Velichko was Deputy Defense Minister and the chairman commander of the Main Military Council, the principal group charged with maintaining wartime readiness in peacetime (the equivalent to the U.S. Strategic Command). In wartime the Main Military Council becomes the Stavka, the highest wartime military body, and the President takes direct control.
After the Soviet Union’s humiliating withdrawal from Afghanistan, Velichko’s primary job was the restoration of the image and fighting timbre of the Russian Army, and he did it with ruthless abandon. He blamed the failure in Afghanistan not on Russian troops, but soldiers from the outlying, more pro-Muslim republics. Velichko ordered imprisonment and executions for desertion, drunkenness, insubordination, and conduct unbecoming a Soviet soldier. In particular, non-Russian soldiers were policed, even persecuted. Soldiers with Muslim families or a Muslim heritage were removed from the Red Army.
Rather than alienate himself from the military, he actually endeared himself to them, especially hard-line Russians. Velichko was instrumental in continuing many strategic military programs despite
huge budget deficits and soaring inflation—the SS-25 and SS-18 intercontinental ballistic missiles, the Tupolev-160 strategic supersonic bomber, the Typhoon-class nuclear-powered submarine, and others.
It was Velichko’s job to align the Russian military with the pro-Communist plotters during the August 1991 coup attempt, and when the coup failed and Yeltsin came to power, Velichko faded into the background, remaining in his Black Sea dacha on the Crimean Peninsula of the Ukraine. His popularity with the military was so great that, even after the Ukraine’s independence in November of 1991, the Crimean Peninsula became a virtual Russian military enclave, with all naval and naval air bases there remaining in Russian hands. No one dared challenge Velichko and Russian ownership of those installations.
But in a stunning peaceful coup precipitated by threats from the military commanders, in the summer of 1993, Yeltsin was forced to give up his presidency in order to avoid a military takeover. The Congress of People’s Deputies, the unelected legislative body in Russia, announced Velichko president, pending elections in 1995. Velichko did not call for elections for members of the Congress, and so he solidified his hold on the government.
Quickly, tactics not seen since the days of the old Soviet Union started emerging. The KGB was refortified and renamed, beefed up with budgetary dollars meant for the people, persecution and disappearance of political enemies escalated, freedoms enjoyed since the fall of the USSR began to evaporate: free speech, the right to openly practice religion, and the right to travel between the CIS states were tightened. He also seized many of the industries that had, during Yeltsin’s rule, been taken into private ownership. Velichko ruled Russia with an iron fist reminiscent of Khrushchev, but unlike Khrushchev, many (including the U.S. President and the CIA) felt that Velichko was a psychiatrically defined sociopath. In other words, he was nuts, which made him all the more dangerous.
“You know,” the President was saying, “you’re gonna have to get your Congress together and tell him he’s gonna fail. Big-time. He’s going to drag your whole country into war with the United States or NATO, sure as hell.”
“It is hard to speak of calm and cooperation in the dead of winter,” Sen’kov said. “The truth is, many in my country like Velichko’s explosive rhetoric. There are many who blame the Ukrainians, the Muslims, the Romanians, the Baits, for Russia’s problems. In their minds, an invasion would solve everything.”
“So that transport was carrying an invasion force,” the First Lady said as if she knew it all along.
Sen’kov looked as if perhaps he was going to deny it; then: “I’m afraid so, ma’am. Reinforcements for the rebels in Kishinev, and SPETSNAZ commandos to stage cross-border raids against Romanian and Ukrainian air defense installations.”
“Velichko promised me that aircraft was full of humanitarian relief supplies,” the President said. “He said those men that died were relief workers and aircrewmen.”
“Quite the contrary, sir. It was a small but very lethal fighting force. Petition the Romanian government to examine the wreckage.”
“We did that,” the First Lady interjected. “As expected, the Moldovans said it was carrying troops. We have evidence that they doctored the cargo to make it look like an invasion force.”
“It was, madam,” Sen’kov said. “Look at the plane’s radar installation. You will find it is different than the normal navigation and weather radar—it has been modified for all-weather terrain-avoidance operations. Normally explosives are planted when military equipment such as this is installed in civil aircraft, to destroy these components in a crash, but I know that most aircrews will disable the explosive device on most low-level flights because they fear turbulence will cause the charges to go off.”
The President finished his ice cream, poured himself more iced tea, walked around the Oval Office a bit, then said, “You know, I feel powerless, Valentin. I can’t get any more aid approved for Russia until Velichko backs off or is ousted. What else is there to do? What’s your prediction here? How far is Velichko prepared to go?”
“I know that I may not be considered an impartial reference, Mr. President,” Sen’kov said. “I lost my office to his hard-line socialist party; I have made it quite clear that I intend to run against him in the next election; and I certainly do not share his extreme views. But in my opinion, sir, Vitaly Velichko is a madman. He will not stop until the Ukraine, Moldova, the Baltic states, Kazakhstan, and Georgia are all firmly in the Commonwealth, back under Russian domination. The presence of American warships in the Black Sea, and Ukrainian airmen in Turkey training with NATO forces, is proof to him that Russia is doomed unless he acts, with all the speed and power of the Russian military.”
“But what is he going to do?” the First Lady asked. “How far is he going to take this?”
“Madam, a planeload of SPETSNAZ troopers is only the beginning,” Sen’kov said. “Velichko feels he was betrayed by the Ukrainians, with American and Turkish assistance. The recent news that the Ukraine has been stockpiling weapons in Turkey is simply more proof. Romania or Lithuania is not a great threat to Russia—but the Ukraine is. He will have to deal with the Ukraine.”
The President and the First Lady looked at each other and suddenly felt uneasy.
TEN
Over Northwest Ukrainian Republic January 1995
Pavlo Grigor’evich Tychina was mad enough to chew nails. If he heard one more wingman grouse about having to pull another night of air patrols, he was going to put a missile up his butt.
For the sixth night in a row, Tychina was leading a gaggle of twelve MiG-23 fighters, NATO code name Flogger, on air patrol of the Volynskoje Uplands of northwestern Ukraine. To Tychina, it was an honor to lead this large formation of planes. It was unusual for such a young aviator to command such a large flight, especially when the patrol was at night—not to mention the very tenuous political and military conditions under which the patrol was now operating. Because the Air Force had been conducting these patrols round-the-clock for over six months now, the thought had crossed his mind that they were running low on fresh, seasoned pilots and were digging deeply into the less-experienced crews to lead night patrols. He, Tychina, was the leader, and had been for nearly a month and twenty sorties now.
“Lead, this is Blue Two.” The radio call came a few moments later. It was Aviation Lieutenant First Class Vladimir Nikolaevich Sosiura again. “My fuel gauge is oscillating again. It’s bouncing on empty. Maybe I better take Green Two back to base. Over.”
“Vlad, dammit, this is the second ‘oscillating fuel gauge’ in three nights,” Tychina said. Sosiura’s roommate and drinking buddy was in Green Two—how obvious could Vlad be? “Maybe you had better talk to your plane captain and get some different malfunctions. In the meantime, hold your position.”
“Go to hell, Pavlo,” Sosiura in Blue Two replied. “If I flame out, it’ll be your fault.” Sosiura’s “butt-comfort duration” was about forty-five minutes, and most of the time it didn’t take longer than thirty minutes before he or someone else in the twelve-ship formation started seeing “malfunctions” crop up in their planes. Tychina thought they gave “soft” new meaning.
The twelve Mikoyan-Gurevich-23 single-engine, single-seat jet fighters were on a night air-combat patrol of the Volynskoje Uplands, nicknamed the “Polish Bunghole” because of its vast stretches of dark wasteland and its close proximity to Poland and Belarus. Air patrols of the Bunghole were necessary because long-range radar coverage in this region was so poor: the L’vov radar adequately covered the Polish border and even into Slovenia, but radar sites in Kiev, the capital of the Ukraine, and Vinnica in central Ukraine were short-range approach radars only, leaving huge gaps in radar coverage in the northwest. They had installed outdated, unreliable Yugoslavian portable radar units in the area, but they rarely worked, and the more reliable Soviet- and Ukrainian-made mobile radar units had limited range. With tensions this high, the Ukraine needed reliable long-range eyes in the sky.
By forming six gigantic racetracks in the skies over the Bunghole, Tychina was able to fill that five-hundred-kilometer-wide gap. The six ovals were aligned north to south. Each was about one hundred kilometers long, and separated by about seventy-five kilometers, spread from west to east from the Ukraine-Poland border to Zitomir, about one hundred fifty kilometers west of Kiev, from where surveillance and ground-controlled intercept radars would pick up the air defense task. Each oval had two fighters in it, orbiting apart from one another so that when one plane was turning southbound, the other was turning northbound. This way a solid wall of radar energy was always being transmitted northward to cover the Belarus-Ukrainian border west of Kiev. Similar radar pickets had been established in the skies between Kiev eastward to Char’kov, covering the Russia-Ukrainian frontier, and more conventional air patrols were in the skies near the Crimean Peninsula and over the Black Sea.
Almost a hundred MiG-23, MiG-27, and Sukhoi-17 fighters were involved in this night operation, rotating in two-hour shifts from air bases at L’vov in western Ukraine, Kiev and Vinnica in central Ukraine, Char’kov and Doneck in eastern Ukraine, and Odessa on the Black Sea. Three more groups of a hundred planes each patrolled the rest of the day—the patrol operation involved two-thirds of the Ukraine’s fleet of combat aircraft. In addition, four-fifths of the Ukraine’s eight hundred military and government helicopters—not just combat or patrol helicopters, but transport, communications, liaison, and command helicopters as well—patrolled the Russian, Belarussian, and Moldovan frontiers day and night. It was easily the largest air armada ever launched by a former Soviet republic.
