Shattered Bone
Page 8
“It’s kind of funny, isn’t it, Carl? Life used to be so much simpler. For you. For me. For men such as ourselves. It used to be that we knew who our enemies were. We knew who to fight. We knew who to watch.
“But now, the world has changed. Who would have dreamed....” his voice trailed off. “I mean, look at us, after all these years, both of us finding ourselves back here in the Ukraine.”
An awkward moment of silence. Ammon turned to the other men in the room. None of them spoke. None of them even looked in his direction.
Ammon turned back to Morozov. “Who are these men?” he asked abruptly.
Morozov leaned forward in his seat. “If you knew who they were, you would change the tone of your voice.” Ammon sat back. He was still unimpressed.
“Why have you brought me here?” he demanded. “You almost killed me with your little scheme. And for what purpose may I ask? I thought our war was over.”
Morozov didn’t miss the bitter tone of Ammon’s voice. Ammon wasn’t intimidated. That was good. They would need a man who wasn’t afraid, even when he was alone.
“We finally have a job for you,” Morozov answered. “With your flying expertise and ability to operate within the United States, we think you—”
“And what if I’m not interested?” Ammon quickly cut in. “What if you have the wrong man?” He folded his arms in silent defiance. “I have always been loyal to my country.
“But what is this? I don’t know what your intention is here, but I tell you right now, you have made a huge mistake if you just assumed that, like you, I am for sale.”
Morozov’s face turned suddenly sour. “I want to tell you something, Carl,” he said sternly. “Something extremely important. Since we arc going to work together again, I think we should just clear the air.”
Morozov inhaled on his cigarette and let the smoke drift lazily out of his nose as he tapped ashes onto the kitchen table. He motioned to one of the Ukrainians and said, “But before I go any further, there is something that we want to know. Victor and I have been talking about the microfilm you gave us. We wanted to ask you. Why is the information outdated and useless? Don’t you trust us anymore?”
Ammon instinctively tightened his stomach muscles in an effort to keep the blood from draining from his head. He didn’t quiver or flinch or blink an eye as he answered in the same calm voice as before.
“You told me to bring in anything I could, but you only gave me two days. On such short notice, I did the best I could.”
Morozov smiled. “Of course. That makes perfect sense,” he said, then leaned forward in his chair. “No need to apologize, Carl, but there is something I want to explain. And this is very important, so I want you to listen very closely.”
Morozov looked around the room and gestured to the other men as he spoke. “You are one of us, Carl. You are Ukrainian, and have been since your birth. Your father, your mother, your grandparents ... your people have been rooted in this soil for five hundred years. This place, dark and drab as it is ... this place is your home.
“And that is not all, my boy,” he continued, his lips spreading into a thin and evil grin. “For your commitment doesn’t end there. For you are also mine. In many ways you are more my son than your father’s. I was the one who taught and trained you. It was I who set the course for your life. I was the one who saved you from a life with a drunk in the gutter.
“You were one of the few who were chosen. Out of the thousands of young men I could have selected, you were one of the very few culled from the crowd.
“And knowing that, did you think you could just walk away from me? Did you think you could just disappear in the West and never hear from me again?
“You’ll never be one of them, Carl. While the West may have many things to offer, it isn’t you. It simply isn’t in your blood. You are a soldier. You are loyal. You will do what I command you to do.”
Morozov leaned further across the table toward Richard Ammon. “We need you now, Carl,” he whispered. “You’re the only one who has the unique talents and training to complete this mission. So we are forced to use you. But I have to be quite honest. Some of these men don’t trust you. They suspect that you might have grown soft. Gotten hollow in the middle. So I have had to assure them that you can be relied on.
“I have staked my reputation on you, Carl. So do not let me down. Consider yourself on a sort of probation. If you do well, we will reward you. But remember, I’ll be watching you. I will be at your back, watching your every move.”
Ammon swallowed hard. Morozov sat back in his chair, waiting for him to reply. But Ammon didn’t answer. It was one of the few times in his life when he couldn’t think of the right thing to say.
EIGHT
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__________________________
KIEV, UKRAINE
“Now LET’S GET DOWN TO BUSINESS,” MOROZOV SAID COLDLY. “THESE men are very busy, and we have already wasted their time. It is time to get on with the matter. But before I tell you what part you will play, there is something I want you to read.” Morozov nodded his head toward Andrei Liski, the weasel-like man who took out a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and carefully spread it out on the table.
“How well do you remember your native tongue?” Liski asked sharply as he looked up from the paper to Richard Ammon.
Ammon hesitated. Morozov broke in. “He was not allowed to speak anything but English once he entered our training as a child. He has not spoken Russian in more than twenty years.”
Liski stared at Richard Ammon, unable to hide his impatience.
“My Russian is weak, but I can manage,” Ammon finally said.
“Then take a look at this,” Liski said unsmiling, as he pushed the paper across the table. “Tell me if you need help in the translation, for you will need to get this right. This isn’t something you want to screw up, or you will never understand.”
Ammon picked up the paper and stared at the Cyrillic writing. It seemed so foreign and unfamiliar. He read each word and then translated it in his mind, taking his time as he went, splitting his attention between making a correct translation and understanding the contents of the page. As he read, his face turned pale and the blood drained from his head. His hands began to tremble. His eyes widened and a look of pure disbelief spread across his ashen face. No one spoke, but all watched him intently as he read to the bottom of the page. He looked up at the waiting men, then turned back to the memo and read it again.
1325Z23MAY
WARPLAN OPTION 3
LIMITED TACTICAL NUCLEAR STRIKE
------------------------------------------------------
MISSION STATEMENT: THE PURPOSE OF THIS OPTION IS TO CONDUCT JOINT OPERATIONS AGAINST THE UKRAINE, DETER AN ARMED RESPONSE OR COUNTER ATTACK, SUPPORT OPERATIONS TO ELIMINATE UKRAINIAN LAND/AIR FORCES, SEIZE CONTROL OF THE COUNTRY, ELIMINATE THE CURRENT GOVERNMENT, IMPLEMENT INTERNAL SECURITY MEASURES, REINFORCE AND RESUPPLY RUSSIAN FORCES, SUPPORT KASS SCHEME OF MANEUVER, INTERDICT FOLLOW-ON FORCES AND ELIMINATE THE THREAT OF WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION (WMD) AGAINST THE ATTACKING RUSSIAN FORCES, MOTHERLAND, OR OCCUPIED TERRITORIES, WHILE MINIMIZING OWN FORCE LOSSES.
1. FIRST PRIORITY IS TO PROTECT RUSSIAN FORCES AND MINIMIZE OWN COMBAT CASUALTIES WHILE INFLICTING MAXIMUM DAMAGE TO UKRAINIAN FORCES. SREDNEKOLYMSK LABORATORIES ESTIMATE MINIMUM 30-37 PERCENT CASUALTY RATE AMONG TARGET FORCES AFTER FIRST WAVE NUCLEAR ATTACK. ASSUMING A CASUALTY RATE OF ONLY 30 PERCENT, 350,000 UKRAINIAN COMBATANTS WOULD BE ELIMINATED WITHIN 48 HOURS. VICTORY WOULD THEN BE ASSURED. COLLATERAL DAMAGE TO CIVILIAN POPULATION IS ESTIMATED LESS THAN 200,000—CERTAINLY AN ACCEPTABLE RATE. PREVAILING WINDS AND THE LOCATION OF THE SKROVEK HILLS, ALONG WITH THE RELATIVELY LOW YIELD OF THE TACTICAL WEAPONS WOULD LEAD TO MINIMAL LONG-TERM IMPACT UPON THE SURROUND-INGAREA.
2. UKRAINIAN FORCES HAVE NO NUCLEAR CAPABILITY, HAVING CEDED ALL NUCLEAR WEAPONS AS PART OF THE START III AGREEMENTS, SO A RETALIATORY STRIKE IS NOT A CONCERN. HOWE
VER, CURRENT UKRAINIAN DOCTRINE CALLS FOR THE USE OF WMD, I.E., CHEMICAUBIOLOGICAL WEAPONS, AS A LAST RESPONSE OPTION IN THE CASE OF IMPENDING MILITARY FAILURE. ALL UKRAINIAN WMD ARE CURRENTLY STORED IN UNDERGROUND FACILITIES THAT ARE ONLY VULNERABLE TO NUCLEAR AITACK. THUS, A FIRST WAVE NUCLEAR ATIACK IS THE ONLY WAY TO GUARANTEE THE DESTRUCTION OF ALL UKRAINIAN WMD WHICH MIGHT OTHERWISE BE USED AGAINST RUSSIAN OFFENSIVE FORCES.
3. THE PSYCHOLOGICAL EFFECT OF THE USE OF NUCLEAR WEAPONS UPON THE UKRAINE WOULD BE TWOFOLD:
A. THE SHOCK VALUE WOULD ASSIST IN SUBJECTING THE CIVILIAN POPULATION TO RUSSIAN CONTROL
B. MORE IMPORTANT, IT WOULD ALSO HAVE A DRAMATIC PSYCHOLOGICAL EFFECT UPON WESTERN GOVERNMENTS WHICH WOULD WORK TO OUR ADVANTAGE ONCE HOSTILITIES ARE INITIATED IN THE REGIONS OF THE FORMER WARSAW PACT COUNTRIES. SHOWING OUR RESOLVE EARLY BY USING LIMITED NUCLEAR FORCE AGAINST THE UKRAINE WOULD REDUCE THE POSSIBILITY OF A MAJOR EAST/WEST NUCLEAR EXCHANGE BY AS MUCH AS 70% ONCE THE WARSAW CAMPAIGN IS UNDERWAY. THE FIRST USE OF WMD WOULD UNDOUBTABLY RESULT IN ENORMOUS POLITICAL AND PSYCHOLOGICAL REWARDS THAT COULD EFFECTIVELY BE EXPLOITED ON THE BAITLEFIELD.
4. WE BELIEVE THAT THE UNITED STATES/EUROPEAN UNION WILL NOT—REPEAT—NOT—RETALIATE AGAINST RUSSIA FOR THE USE OF NUCLEAR WEAPONS AS LONG AS SUCH USE IS LIMITED TO ANY ONE OF THE FORMER REPUBLICS.
5. HOSTILITIES AGAINST THE UKRAINE WILL COMMENCE AS PLANNED. RECOMMEND THE USE OF TACTICAL NUCLEAR WEAPONS TO ASSURE A SWIFT AND ACCEPTABLE CONCLUSION.
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SUPREME COMMANDER
----------------
I CONCUR.
VLADIMIR FEDOTOV
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Ammon looked up and swallowed hard, his face a sheet of gray. “How do you know this is real?” he finally asked.
“Oh, it is authentic,” Liski responded dryly. “Do you think we would be here ... would we have brought you here ... only to stare at forgeries or counterfeit documents? I really think not.
“It is real. We know that. The original document was smuggled to us early last summer by a most reliable source. A source at the highest level within the Russian government. “However, I will have to admit, originally our reaction was identical to yours. We didn’t believe ... we couldn’t believe ... it was actually real. But now we know. It has been confirmed.”
Yevgeni Osk61 Golubev, the Prime Minister of the Ukraine, put his elbows on the table and leaned forward in his chair. He appeared to be the oldest in the group. He was silver-haired and overweight, with dry, brown skin and an enormous, bloodhound face. He turned to Nicolai and muttered something in Russian, then settled again in his chair.
General Lomov, Commander, Ukrainian Forces, reached into a small canvas bag that lay beside his chair and pulled out a series of eight-by-ten black-and-white photos.
“Take a look at these,” he muttered as he placed the pictures down in front of Richard Ammon.
Ammon quickly examined the photos. They were sharply focused, showing what looked to be Russian SS-25 short range nuclear missiles being loaded and fueled on the back of their mobile launchers. He examined the photos more closely, looking for signs of forgery or any other indication the photos might not be real. He studied the launchers along with their protective radar sites. He studied the tending dollies, fuel trucks, and missile loading platforms that accompanied the missile launchers. Everything was there. Everything looked perfectly legit. And the pictures were so clear. He brought one of the photos up to his face to study it in the darkening room. The photos were so good, he could make out the rank of the officers that stood watch over the loading procedures. He could see which men were smoking cigarettes.
He studied the pictures for a full five minutes. As far as he could tell, the photos were real.
“Where did you get these?” he finally asked, tossing them back on the table. He knew the reconnaissance pictures were not taken by a Ukrainian satellite or spy plane. Nothing the Ukrainians had could even come close to this. They were at least two technological generations away from being able to produce this kind of covert pictures.
“The Brits gave them to us. They felt it was something we ought to see.” It was Liski who answered.
Ammon looked again at the pictures. Superimposed in the right hand comer of every picture was the date and time that the photo was taken. He checked the date. A little more than two weeks ago.
“But you and the Russians are allies,” Ammon muttered.
“No! Russia has no friends,” Liski replied. “It has no allies and never has! It only has client states. Do you think that Chechnya considers Russia its friend? Or the Baltics? Or Azerbaijan? Did we volunteer to join the Soviet Union? Do you think we considered Stalin a friend!? Do you know how many million Ukrainians have been killed by Russian solders since the beginning of World War II?
Ammon met Liski’s eyes. Liski did not look away.
“I just find it hard to believe ...,” Ammon stammered.
Liski cut him off at the knees. “Then you’re an ignorant fool!” he hissed, waving a bony finger in Ammon’s direction. He had now known Ammon for less than an hour, but in that time he had developed a deep dislike and distrust for the man. “Do you think Fedotov considers nuclear war as completely unthinkable? Even the self-righteous Americans have considered going nuclear at times in the past. Don’t you remember the threats to Hussein during the Gulf War? I’d say Bush made his case pretty clear. Or what about the Cuban missile crisis? Or Hiroshima? Now, if the U.S. has been willing to use them, don’t you think Fedotov would use them as well?
“The man has no moral compass. No internal sense of right or wrong. Already he is an international pariah. By his own choosing. He has isolated himself from the West for this very purpose. He does what suits his own interest. And his interest is perfectly clear.
“He seeks to rebuild the Union. He has been laying this plan for the last several years. And he knows he must move quickly, for only by consolidating his power and rebuilding the union can he create the consensus that will keep him in power. And we, the Ukraine, are going to be his first target.”
Liski paused. Picking up the smuggled Russian document, he tossed it in Ammon’s direction. “Look at this!” he sneered. “Read the man’s own words! Recommend the use of tactical nuclear weapons. I concur. Vladimir Fedotov! It’s right there before you. Then consider what the man has already done. Within twenty-four hours of taking power, he declared martial law, eliminated his primary rivals, disbanded the parliament, and shut down the press. Within two months, he established his own security forces, re-nationalized private industry, expelled half a million foreigners, and initiated a hundred billion rubles worth of nuclear arms sales to Iran, Iraq, Pakistan, and North Korea, all to feed his military machine.
“Now he talks of rebuilding the union. And his people cry out in support.”
The room was turning glum as evening came on and the shadows grew. Ammon trembled and ran his fingers through his short hair.
Liski pressed home his final point. “And let’s not miss this most important fact. The document you just read makes it clear that Fedotov also has his eye on the former Warsaw Pact nations. Yet his army is weakened and in disarray, which defaults him to the nuclear option. It is the only way he can expand his borders without depleting his troops and reducing his strength. It allows him to control his combat casualties in order to remain strong enough to venture west.
“And west he will go. He will cut through the heart of eastern Europe, in some cases without any resistance. Albania, Bulgaria, Hungary, Romania, each of them right on the edge. Desperate as they are, they are ready, perhaps even eager, to fall under his fold.
“So he will push to the edge ... right up to the borders of Germany, Austria, and Italy. He will roll his armies westward, striking early, and with such blinding speed that there won’t be time to prepare. He will push right up to the point where the United States and NATO will have to respond.
“Then he will pull back and muster his forces while he works to conso
lidate his power. And when it is over, when Fedotov is finally satisfied, I have to believe that his new Union, whatever he chooses to call it, will be the most dangerous nation on earth.
“Even as we speak, his army is moving into position, supplying and preparing for war. It is now only a matter of time.”
The sun had set and the room was growing dark. The cold seeped in. Amril lit a few slender, gray, wax candles and placed them on the table. The men peered at each other in the flickering light.
Watching Amril light the homemade candles, Ammon shivered as he quietly asked, “But what about NATO? What about the U.S.?”
General Lomov leaned across the table and stared into Ammon’s face. “Let me ask you something, boy,” he said in a low and powerful voice. “Do you really think the Americans will come to our aid? Do you really think they will commit even one soldier to help us protect our homeland, especially if the conflict escalates to tactical nuclear war?
“Of course they won’t!” The general slapped the table. “They’ll have their quivering tails tucked so far up under their legs you’d have to roll them on their backs to even find it. They’ll sniffle and wring their hands. They’ll protest and embargo and whine. But they won’t lift a finger to help us. Not a finger! They simply won’t help us! Not in any real or meaningful way! They will not bloody our soil with the life of even a single American soldier.
“There will be no u.s. intervention. Of that, I am absolutely sure. You know that, we know that, and the Russians know that, too.”
The general stopped talking and glared at Ivan Morozov while settling back in his seat. Morozov picked up on the signal and cleared his throat. “This is where you come in, Carl,” he said.
Reaching into the canvas bag, Morozov pulled out a set of aeronautical charts and began to spread them out on the table, brushing his hands across the multicolored maps to flatten out the wrinkles. He rearranged the candles on the table to make room for the charts, then produced a small flashlight. The four other men at the table instinctively sat forward in their chairs to get a good look at the charts. Ammon quickly realized he was looking at a map of southwestern Russia. He studied the map for a moment before he saw the eight red triangles. It took him only a second to realize what they were. The Russians’ nuclear missiles.