by Bob Thomas
“I am glad you made it back home. I hope everyone had a restful trip.” He felt the need to at least say goodbye. It was a nagging curiosity that pulled him to them. They were soldiers, much like he had been many years before. Whether from another country or not, they shared a bond of sorts, and these five …
“We are glad to finally be back on the ground,” Anya replied. “A bit hungry, but nothing more.”
“Hungry?” Andrey looked puzzled.
“Yes sir,” Danil replied.
“Did not the steward check on you?”
“We have not seen anyone since you left the cabin,” Ivan answered.
“I am very sorry for that. We do not often have guests this far back in the plane. I’m sure it was an oversight.” Andrey crossed his arms and lowered his head. “I will see each of you are properly fed.” Andrey held up his hands as they began to protest, but he would have none of it. He would at least send them off to their duty with a full belly.
Day Twelve
USS Columbus SSN 762
“Sir, flash message on ELF.”
“Bring her up to surface depth. Let’s get the full story.”
“Con, come to periscope depth.”
“Periscope depth. Con aye.”
The USS Columbus took the next five minutes to come to communications depth. A Los Angeles class 688 boat, the Columbus was one of the newer of the old girls. Try as they might, there still wasn’t a better attack boat in the world. It had depth and range and an array of weapons nearly unmatched in the silent world of darkness. She was an updated 688 with vertical launch tubes, making her capable of firing Tomahawk cruise missiles. But even with those, these boats were showing their age. Many had been retired with an eye on the new Virginia class boats in production. But they were still the workhorse of the fleet.
Sliding down the narrow corridor, the seaman knocked gently on the captain’s door.
“Come.”
“Sir, heading to the surface to receive a message.”
“Very well. Have Commander Tull brief me when done.”
“Aye sir.” Seaman first class Nathan Ricks closed the door quietly and slipped back to his station in the control room as the Columbus reached its depth.
“Con makes periscope depth, sir.”
“Raise the mast.”
The hum of the motor throughout the control room lasted just seconds as the UHF antenna pushed its way through the ocean’s surface from the sail. The array of communications gear on the boat was staggering. They could communicate from anywhere around the world, including beneath the arctic world encased in ice. The UHF antenna was the best method to quickly receive both voice and data messages. The encrypted file was received within seconds and the mast immediately dropped.
“Let me know when you have it decoded, Flip.”
“Aye sir.”
Ensign Philip ‘Flip’ Morse took the message and keyed it into his cypher controls. Everything was electronic. He’d read about the old days when communications officers used code books to decipher messages. It took several minutes or longer to break down each one. Now, he had it in seconds. He made a note in the margin and turned to hand it off but the XO was already gone. He was quickly out of his seat and down the corridor to the captain’s cabin. He’d be there.
Lt. Commander Hector Tull stood across from his captain who was seated on his bunk. He scanned the decoded message before looking up.
“Well? Do we go home or what?”
“It’s an ‘or what’ sir,” he said with a grin. “We’ve been ordered to disengage from the training exercise.”
“And do what?” Captain Cleve Dawson leaned back, unhappy at the news.
“We’ve been ordered to precede to coordinates 57 North, 8 East.”
“Where the hell is that?”
“It’s the North Sea, sir.”
“Where?”
“Denmark.”
“Go on,” Captain Dawson replied.
“You are hereby ordered to coordinates Fifty Seven Zero Zero North Lattitude by Zero Eight Zero Zero East Longitude. Await further orders. CINCUSATLFLT”
“From the big boss himself.” Dawson’s eyes widened. “I wonder why us? We don’t even belong to this group.” Dawson raised himself from his bunk and stepped to the dresser. He looked in the tiny mirror and ran his hands over his face. He was tired, but more so, he was sick. The flu-like bug he had picked up was beginning to get to him. He’d tried to keep himself away from most of the men, but that was a difficult task on board a submarine.
“We are the northern-most boat in this exercise. Perhaps it’s the luck of the draw.”
“But we’re a Pacific Fleet boat. If is wasn’t for this joint exercise, we’d be sitting pretty in Pearl right about now.” Dawson ran his fingers through his dark hair and spun, resting his elbows on the dresser. “Besides, if the shoe was on the other foot, wouldn’t CINCPAC want to give the credit to their own boat?”
“It must be pretty important if they’re giving this to us.”
“Well, maybe it’s just common sense.”
“Sir?”
“We’re still the best boat in this exercise, Commander. There’s a reason they brought us all the way over here from the warm Pacific. Gotta help these poor Atlantic bastards out.” Captain Dawson reached out and took the paper from his exec’s hands and briefly scanned the order. “Let’s get underway, Commander.”
“Aye sir.”
The White House
Martin Powell walked across the carpet of the Oval Office and dropped a paper on the president’s desk. His face was covered with a deep scowl.
“Sir? Satellites report a large movement along the Ukraine border.”
“The Russians, or the Ukrainians?”
“The Russians, sir.”
“What the hell are they doing now?” President Kiger leaned back and sighed. He could almost feel winter’s chill through the windows, the snow still blanketing the White House lawn. “Tanks?”
“It appears so.”
“How long has it been since our group landed back in Russia?”
“Only a few hours. They would have landed about 2 a.m. our time.”
“Well, that didn’t take long.”
“This may not have anything to do with the current op. It could be something that was already planned.” Martin slipped into a chair in front of the historic desk. His gaze fell to the polished woodgrain. ‘How many world-changing events had come from behind this desk?’ he wondered. “There aren’t any movements reported involving their Air Force.”
“Preplanned?”
“Perhaps,” Martin answered. “Field commanders may have a slight bit of autonomy in the matter.”
“That would be very un-Soviet of them.”
“As you are often to remind me, this isn’t the old days, Mr. President. But I’m sure the hold over the military isn’t much different than it used to be. President Novichkov needs to have a firm hand. He’s not as adept in foreign policy as his predecessor. And with the state of their economy, things could get dicey.”
“Dicey or not, there is no threat of a military coupe. Their forces are too vast, too spread out for anything like that.”
“It happened before, sir. Yeltsin.”
“The circumstances were much different then, Martin. You know that.” POTUS stood and walked around the desk, his hands resting in his pants pockets. “The Soviet system had collapsed. There was nothing left. Yeltsin stepped into a vacuum. The military was all that they had, the only structure anyone could remotely count on. They could do nothing else.”
“So what do we do? You know DOD is going to have their input into this.”
The door to the Oval Office opened, the guard closing it behind Martin’s assistant. POTUS stopped and smiled in her direction.
“So, to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit, Mary?”
“Mr. President,” she said as she smiled. “General Scott is on the line for you,” she said as she l
ooked at Martin. “He says it’s important.”
“Go ahead and see what he has to say, Martin.”
“Yes sir.” The chief of staff was out the door seconds later.
Moscow
It was as cold as any of them had ever been. The winds whipped through the streets of Moscow with ferocity, flurries carried on the winds like darts. The five pulled their parkas around them tightly and began their journey in an unfamiliar homeland.
“It would have been nice if they’d have offered us a ride from the airport.”
“In Russian,” Captain Jenner replied. “From here on out, only Russian. We can’t afford anyone to think we’re not who we say we are. Otherwise, this mission is over.”
“Yes sir,” Lt. Anthony replied.
“And no mention of rank, of any sort,” Major Francis Brown answered in his best street Russian. “As commander of this group, we have to act like we have no formal hierarchy. We can’t stick out. We can’t act military, anywhere.”
“Besides, that cab ride was good enough.”
“I almost tossed my cookies in there,” Commander Jen Lewis replied. “Did you smell that thing? A girl can’t function like that.”
“How far are we away from our destination?”
“Not too much farther,” Brown replied. “Just keep your eyes focused. We need to make sure no one knows anything.”
They wound their way through the next four streets, at last turning into the back alley behind an old theater. A fitting place for a ballet troupe, most thought. Francis Brown pulled on the wooden door. Stuck. He tugged again. Nothing. Then he heard a clunk on the other side, a latch falling away.
“Who’s there?”
“Sasha, from the ballet troupe.” He looked behind him at the others shivering in the cold. Another clunk from behind the door echoed before it creaked open.
“In, in. Hurry,” the raspy voice said.
They scurried in as quickly as they could, like rats escaping a flooding ship. The winds whipped snowflakes into the cool room, fading away as did the troupe from the night, no longer available to prying eyes. They entered a small room, walled with concrete and a single opening. The door closed behind them, the locks turning shut again.
“You are?”
“As I said, I am Sasha. We were left behind by the troupe.” He removed his hood as the remaining flakes began turning to water.
“Major Brown,” he replied as he extended his hand, “I’m Donald Freeze. Welcome.”
“Thank you. Not very secluded for a safe house.”
“You watch too many movies,” he chuckled. “This is not really a safe house, but where better to meet members of a ballet company than in a theater?”
“I see your point.” He turned, presenting the others. “Captain Jenner, Lt. Commander Lewis, Lt. Anthony and Captain Garrison.” He turned back to Donald with his next question. “Now what?”
“Now, we get you ready.”
“How much time do we have?”
“That’s a good question, Major. I wish I had an answer.” Donald extended his arm, directing them out of the room. “We have a training camp set up,” he said as they walked out, “and a few other scenarios we can play through.” They stopped as they moved into the main auditorium. “You’re army, correct?”
“I am.”
“It’s a good thing you’re leading this mission then. If you’re going to start shooting people, you have to have had experience. What’s your background?”
“Went through special forces training. Spent a year in Afghanistan before blowing out my knee.”
“So you’ve got experience in house to house?”
“I do.”
“It might come in handy.”
“Wow. This place was beautiful!” Ruth stepped away from the others and peered over the edge of the balcony. “We’re so high up.”
The others followed and looked into the massive auditorium. It was old, very old, but it still held the ornate style of times long past. The red leather seats were cracked and faded and the gold trim worn and tarnished, left abandoned through the long years of neglect. The semi-circular bowl arced toward a wooden stage, the platform broad and wide.
“This place is grand,” Ruth exclaimed.
“It was indeed.” Donald looked out into the lower half as he rested his hands on the rail, its fabric too, long since eroded to near nothingness. “It’s time we begin using only your Russian names. Even here. It needs to become habit. It is your name from here on out.”
“What is your background, Donald?”
“CIA, of course.” He turned and leaned against the rail. “I’ve been here for a very long time. I suppose you could call me the deepest operative since the Soviet Union fell.”
“So I’m assuming your real name isn’t Donald.”
He did not reply to Captain Jenner’s question. It was simply understood. Theirs was an unusual mission. Few in history have been directly, and personally authorized by the president. It was rare someone with as deep a cover as Donald inside a foreign power was opened up to outsiders, be they from the same country or not. Such was the value of a deep asset. Important missions were left to fail rather than compromise a deep source.
“Well, let’s get this show underway.” Sasha said as he turned to face his unit. “It’s time we get training and earn our keep.”
“It is good to be home again, Andrey.”
“It is, Mr. President.” Andrey sat across from President Novichkov’s desk as the morning light filled the room. They’d had little sleep, but that was the nature of governing. He looked up at the ornate and intricate woodwork that decorated the president’s personal office. It spoke of the long history of his country.
“The American president was nearly confrontational in his accusations. Perhaps it is time we give him something to be confrontational about.”
“What do you have in mind?” Andrey suddenly got very nervous. Though his president was not a military man, he understood it well; understood the military mind.
“We should beef up the border by Ukraine.”
“But we already have many troops there. They have been supplemented with tanks from the 10th division.”
“I know that was already a planned move. The patriots fighting to unite with us need to see our support.” The president leaned back in his chair. “I was thinking of Air Force flyovers.”
“I do not think having them in the fight would garner us any friends on the outside.”
“But if we just use them for show; fighters simply observing what is happening in the Crimea. Yes, yes. That would be a direct answer to their president and a show of solidarity to the freedom fighters.” Yuri leaned forward. “Contact General Brezhnev and make it so, Andrey. But be very specific, they are not to engage.”
“I will be very explicit, Mr. President.”
Andrey nodded as he rose from the chair, taking his leave of the president. ‘A hand in an official mission. A novel thought’, he told himself. He grinned as he pushed through the heavy mahogany door.
Andrey arrived back in his office and took an immediate seat behind his desk. He was tired. Sleeping on a plane was not sleeping. It wasn’t when he commanded in the Air Force, and it certainly wasn’t now, not at his age. He picked up his phone, contacting the operator.
“Place a call to General Anton Brezhnev, please. Thank you.”
He laid the phone back in its cradle, leaving his hand on it for a moment. This wasn’t his choice. This wasn’t his decision. No one could put the burden on his shoulders if something went awry. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. Troops were moving, and it wasn’t his doing. He kept repeating that to himself. It wasn’t his doing. The phone rang back two minutes later and President Novichkov’s plan was relayed. As he hung up, his cell phone vibrated in his suit coat pocket. He looked at the number with disdain.
“Yes?”
“Hello Andrey,” the voice said. It was the same. Always the same. “Welcome back to your
homeland. I trust you had a good time in America.”
“What do you want?”
“You have been away, much too long.”
“I cannot control that.”
“We have a request.”
“Your last request resulted in an international incident.” Andrey began to raise his voice. The situation was becoming more difficult to deal with. The stress could give him a heart attack; at least it felt that way. Each time his cell phone rang, he could feel his blood pressure rise.
“I cannot be held responsible for the actions of a reckless American pilot.” The voice went silent for a moment. “Have you checked on your family today? No? Do not be concerned. They are well. So far, you have done what we’ve asked.”
“What more do you want?”
“Not much more.”
“If I am suspected in any of this, it will go badly for me, and who will you use then? Who? You have no one else.”
“Most assuredly, we have an alternative. It would be just so much more, well. This is so much more appealing.”
“What do you want?”
Day Thirteen
Alaska
The E-3 Sentry continued its track at the top of the world. One had remained airborne since the original incident over the Alaskan coast. It was a drain on the 3rd Wing as only two were currently stationed in Alaska. Keeping one airborne along with two F-22 escorts and a tanker to keep the fighters aloft was beginning to become taxing on the crews. General Nathan Dulles had requested a third, but it had yet to arrive. AWACS could look down over the top of the world. Radar stations in Alaska and Canada were subject to the curvature of the earth. They could not see over it, and the satellite in geosynchronous orbit was older, and failing. It was unreliable. It should have been replaced ten years ago.
“We need another one, Al. I’ve got maintenance crews going over every inch of the one on the ground, but it needs done properly. Two E-3s just aren’t enough if you want one up at all times.”
