“In other words, you intend to sidestep the Constitution by putting our troops under the UN,” Scott said bluntly.
Heideman flushed. “Stop twisting my words, Admiral. Troop commitment is a foreign policy decision. Executive Branch has the authority.”
“Except that Congress has the War Powers Act sitting there waiting for you, and you don’t want to force a confrontation on whether it’s legal for the Executive Branch to exercise the kind of authority you’re talking about.” Scott shook his head. “The simple fact is that UN intervention often has nothing whatsoever to do with our national interests.”
“It does in the Black Sea,” Waring said. “Right now the whole of the former Soviet Union is balanced on the thin edge of complete anarchy. Our presence in the Black Sea will serve to stabilize the area.”
Reed nodded. “My point exactly, Herb. I’ll also point out that intervention in this case helps our interests in the short term.”
Short-term interests, Magruder echoed in his mind. Penny-wise, pound-foolish.
If the other people at the table were looking for disasters waiting to happen, they didn’t need to look beyond the current situation unfolding between Ukraine and the fragmenting Russian Federation. Magruder glanced at Roger Lloyd, the new director of the CIA. He’d already given his briefing on the geopolitical situation in that part of the world and did not look happy with the way the discussion was going.
And Magruder didn’t blame him one bit.
The vast expanse of rolling, fertile, black-earth prairies that was Ukraine had been one of the original founding states of the Soviet Union in 1922, but its people had never fully reconciled themselves to Russian domination. Ethnically, Ukrainians were not Russians; they remembered still with blood-soaked bitterness Stalin’s forced collectivization during the 1930s, a policy of genocide by starvation that may have killed as many as twenty million people. Glasnost had come slowly to Ukraine; long after Gorbachev came to power, the head of the Communist party there had been one of Brezhnev’s cronies, and the arrests, repressions, and police harassments had continued until his dismissal in 1989.
After extended flirtations with various union treaties, Ukraine had declared complete independence in 1991, shortly after the failed coup attempt against Gorbachev, then turned around and signed the Minsk Agreement with Russia and Belarus, creating the Commonwealth of Independent States. For a time, during the Norwegian War, Ukraine had again been part of the Soviet empire, but with the collapse of Moscow’s central government and the outbreak of a general civil war, Kiev had again declared independence… and this time around seemed downright eager to redress old wrongs.
Unlike many other autonomous regions throughout the old Soviet Union, Ukraine had few internal ethnic conflicts. Most of the region’s large Tatar populations had been forcibly resettled in Central Asia during the 1940s; the only real ethnic hostilities remaining were those between Ukrainians and Russians. Eastern Ukraine had a high percentage of Russians in the population, most of whom favored strong ties with Moscow; from the few reports coming out of Russia to the West, strongly nationalistic Ukrainians had precipitated a blood-bath among ethnic Russians, killing hundreds of thousands ― perhaps millions ― and sending millions more fleeing across the border into the already devastated lands of the Russian Federation.
Besides that, the old dispute between Kiev and Moscow over the ownership of the Crimean Peninsula and the Black Sea Fleet remained. With Russia involved in its civil war, Ukraine appeared poised to settle the issue once and for all… by threat if possible, by military force if necessary. According to the most recent intelligence available to the Jefferson battle group, the Ukrainian Fifth and Seventh National Armies were in position at Odessa and at Melitopol, ready to move in and seize the Crimea from its Russian caretakers. Amphibious landing craft were being gathered at Odessa and at both Ocakov and Svobodnyj Port at the mouth of the Dnieper, lending credence to CIA and U.S. Naval Intelligence predictions that an invasion of the Crimea ― both overland across the narrow isthmus to the north and by sea, along the beaches north of Sevastopol ― was imminent.
Though distracted, the Russians had been trying their best to bolster their defenses in the Crimea. Since Ukraine blocked all approaches across the isthmus, their main line of communication ran across the narrow straits of Kerch, from an arm of the Russian Federation that flanked the Black and Azov Seas from Novoazovsk to the Georgian frontier at Gagra. Most of that bolstering had taken the form of military flights ― transports and air escorts ― flying in from Krasnodar. No one was quite sure at the moment whether Red or Blue forces held the upper hand, either in the Crimea or at Krasnodar. For a time, there’d been speculation among U.S. intelligence officers that those flights out of Krasnodar were in fact an invasion, one civil-war faction moving in to take Sevastopol away from the other in a three-cornered tug-of-war between Reds, Blues, and Ukrainians. So far, though, there was no indication that this was the case. Supply flights were moving in and out of the various Crimean military and commercial airfields with an almost clock-like regularity, and so far the Ukrainian forces had not attempted to hinder them… or to deliver the expected attack on the peninsula’s defenders.
But the situation was becoming more dangerous ― explosively so ― day by day. If the northern half of the Black Sea, from Odessa to Gagra, became a war zone, it would be difficult, perhaps impossible, for the UN-U.S. forces in the area to stay clear of the fighting.
And now, three days after the accidental sinking of a Russian sub in the southern Black Sea, a Russian general named Boychenko, the de facto military ruler of the Crimean Peninsula, had just offered to surrender military control of the district to the United Nations. One of Boychenko’s people had approached the U.S. ambassador to the UN with the proposal during discussions of the return of the Russian submariners now aboard the Jefferson.
“I really wonder if it’s our interests that are being served here,” Scott said. “Let’s put this in perspective. First off, Boychenko is the Military Governor of the Crimea. After Krasilnikov declared martial law during the coup against Leonov, he became what amounts to the absolute ruler of the entire Crimean region. We’re not talking about some small unit commander wanting to turn over a few pieces of heavy artillery here. This is the equivalent of having an entire country ask for UN intervention.”
Lloyd nodded agreement. “Admiral Scott’s right,” he said. “It’s completely unprecedented. If the UN accepts this arrangement, they’re in effect declaring the Crimea to be under the authority ― and the protection ― of the United Nations Security Council.”
“That’s what Boychenko’s counting on,” Scott went on. “The only reason he’s decided to make this offer is the fact that he’s got a Ukrainian army knocking at his front door. The Ukrainians want the Crimea, and they want it bad. They want the prestige of controlling what they consider to be Ukrainian territory. They want the military supplies and materiel there. The bases, The ships of the Russian Black Sea Fleet that haven’t been seized or defected to them. Most especially, they want the Pobedonosnyy Rodina.”
“Excuse me?” Reed looked baffled.
“Pobedonosnyy Rodina, Madam Secretary,” Magruder offered. “It means “Victorious Motherland’ in Russian. That’s the name of the largest remaining ship in the Red fleet, a nuclear carrier as big as any of ours.”
“I thought we took out their carriers in the Norwegian War,” Waring said.
“We accounted for two out of three, sir,” Magruder said. “Kreml and Soyuz, their first two carriers. This one wasn’t ready for action when the fighting broke out in Norway, though. She was still undergoing sea trials in the Black Sea. You can be sure the Ukrainians would love to add her to their fleet. There’s nothing like a supercarrier to enhance a country’s image as a world power.”
“Unless it’s a nuclear arsenal,” Reed said, her mouth twisted in distaste. “Which Ukraine has, I might add. And Russia. All of this simply supports my argument, that
we must intervene to maintain the peace.”
“What peace, Madam Secretary?” Scott demanded. “The whole area is tearing itself apart now.”
“Ukraine has not attacked yet,” she said. “By taking control of the Crimea, the UN will help ensure that the war does not spread. As it would if Ukraine attacked Russian possessions in the area. They would not risk angering the United Nations with an attack.”
“Madam Secretary,” Admiral Scott said wearily, “how can you possibly know what the Ukrainians will or will not do?”
“There are also humanitarian considerations at stake here,” Heideman said with a disdainful look at Scott. “The Ukrainian government seems to have embarked upon a program of ethnic cleansing against the non-Ukrainian population within their borders. A large number of ethnic Russians have been killed or driven out already. And the population of Crimea is mostly ethnic Russian. Allowing the Ukrainians to take over the Crimea unopposed would open the floodgates to genocide.”
“It would make Bosnia look like a picnic,” Reed added.
“So by allowing the Reds in the Crimea to surrender to the UN, we keep the Ukrainians out,” Waring said. “We stop a blood-bath, we reduce the risk of a general war between Ukraine and Russia, and we stop Kiev from seizing military assets in the Black Sea that could further destabilize the region. I’m not sure I understand your objection, Admiral Scott.”
“And think of the opportunity we have here,” Heideman said. “An historic opportunity! Since the end of World War II, we’ve been looking for a way to make the UN a strong voice for world peace, and this could be just what we need to do it. The picture of a Red officer surrendering to the United Nations, not to any one country but to the world itself, that would be a symbol that would count.”
Reed nodded. “I agree. For years now Admiral Scott and others like him have been telling us that the U.S. can’t keep playing the role of world policeman. That’s true. But it’s also true that the world needs a policeman, and the only way I can see us getting one is to give the UN both the power and the prestige to do the job. This would be an ideal first step.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Magruder said quietly. “You just might get it.”
Reed raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been quiet this morning, Admiral Magruder. I suppose you share Admiral Scott’s viewpoint in this? Military tradition and national sovereignty and historical precedent and all the rest?” There was a note of contempt in her voice. Of all the services, the Navy was widely known to be Reed’s pet peeve, and she made little effort to hide how she felt.
“I’m as much concerned with practical questions as I am with tradition and precedent, Madam Secretary,” Magruder said slowly, keeping his voice flat and emotionless. “Since Desert Storm, everyone’s looked on the UN as the ideal foundation for the “New World Order.’ But for most of its history the UN has been anything but a reliable friend to the United States. How many times did we have to impose our veto to protect our national interests, or our allies’?”
“That was in the Cold War, Admiral,” Heideman said. “Now that we’re the world’s only superpower, we’re in a much better position to influence the UN agenda.”
“And when China is powerful enough to influence the agenda, are we going to feel the same way? Or Japan? Or Europe? If the twentieth century has taught us anything, it’s the fleeting nature of power blocs and alliances and national status. Before World War I, England, France, and Germany were the world’s superpowers. Less than a hundred years have passed, and look at the world today. Major powers have come and gone, alliances have changed, priorities are different. The world has changed in ways they never could have imagined a century ago. And it will keep on changing. New World Orders may be politically fashionable now, but don’t gamble our freedom on short-term fashions that could change tomorrow!”
“Your fears are groundless,” Heideman said. “The UN would never intervene against the United States.”
“That’s right,” Reed said. “We’d still have our power of veto.”
Magruder paused, his fingers drumming the tabletop. “I wonder. Does anybody here remember when the UN passed sanctions against Australia to force them to overrule one of their state governments when it passed laws against sodomy?”
“It was an archaic attitude.”
“Madam Secretary, it was an internal matter that the UN blatantly decided to get involved in. They might just as well have decided to pass sanctions against us because of the antisodomy laws still on the books in Mississippi or Alabama. And the time could come when a United Nations with all this symbolic prestige and real military power you want to give it could turn that power against us for reasons that are just as trivial.”
“Admiral, I think we all take your point,” Waring said. “Certainly the question of giving the UN control over any part of our military forces is one we shouldn’t decide on hastily. But I think you’re overreacting when it comes to this Crimean matter. Frankly, the President is concerned about the buildup of tensions in this part of the world. He wants to send a message to the warring factions that this sort of anarchy can’t be tolerated, not when the rest of the world’s population could be at risk if this thing turns nuclear. Anything, anything that will defuse this unfortunate situation should be seriously considered.” He paused, frowning, then rapped twice on the tabletop. “I will recommend to the President that our battle group in the Black Sea be placed under UN command and cooperate with them in receiving the surrender of the Crimea.”
“Sir-” Admiral Scott began.
“That is all,” Waring said. “This meeting is adjurned.”
With a rustling of papers and the scraping of chairs, the men and women in the conference room began gathering their things and getting up from the table. Scott exchanged a long, weary look with Magruder. Neither man said anything, however.
One long-standing tradition of America’s military remained firm and unshaken, and that was the tradition of political control of the armed forces. Determining policy was the job of the politicians, not of the military; admirals and generals could advise, but when the policy decisions were handed down, it was their duty to shut up and carry out their orders.
Magruder just hoped that this wouldn’t turn out to be one policy decision that the United States would end up bitterly regretting.
CHAPTER 12
Tuesday, 3 November
1057 hours (Zulu +3)
CVIC, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
Jefferson’s main briefing room was part of CVIC, the Carrier Information Center, and, like the department, was generally known as “Civic.” It was located aft of Flag Plot, where the admiral in command of the battle group maintained his command center when he was aboard. Rows of folding chairs were set up facing one end of the room, which was dominated by a podium and a rear-screen projector. The walls were hung with artwork ― a large painting of the Thomas Jefferson underway, and smaller framed prints of various scenes drawn from U.S. naval history. One painting, hung near the larger one, was a recent addition. It depicted Jefferson in the narrow confines of a rugged fjord during the desperate fight for Norway. Tombstone Magruder studied it for a moment before finding a seat, remembering the day it had been presented to Admiral Tarrant and Captain Brandt by the men and women of the Air Wing. Lieutenant Commander Frank Marinaro, call sign “Nightmare,” liked to paint in his off-duty hours and was quite an accomplished artist. It had been a gift to commemorate the end of Jefferson’s last eventful cruise.
Now it was another cruise, a different sea. Some of the men and women were the same; others were new. The ship, however, carried on.
Glancing around the large room, Tombstone thought of the other times he had been summoned here. An admiral’s CVIC briefing for senior CBG personnel usually signaled the beginning of a major new operation, often one involving combat. He caught sight of the air deployment’s senior staff near the front of CVIC and moved down the center aisle to join them. Coyote was there, along with Lieuten
ant Commander Arthur Lee, the CAG’s department intelligence officer, and Lieutenant Commander David Owens, the OC chief of staff. Owens looked up as Magruder approached.
“Have a seat, CAG,” he said. “We’ve got the good seats, for a change.”
“Is this a briefing or a movie premiere?” Lee asked with a grin. “Maybe I should’ve brought popcorn.”
“I doubt the admiral would approve,” Tombstone replied, sitting down.
“You’re in charge of intelligence, Art. Any idea what’s going on?”
Lee shook his head. “Not a clue, CAG. I heard tell the admiral’s staff was up half the night with a long decoding job from Washington, but nobody’s leaking.”
“That’s ominous all by itself,” Coyote commented. “Either we just got some pretty hairy new orders, or Sammie Reed’s issued another set of sensitivity guidelines!”
“Please, not that,” Owens said in mock horror. “Anything but that! I’ll spill everything I know, but spare me another sensitivity class”
Some of the officers nearby chuckled. In the last few years the Pentagon’s increasing shift to political correctness had made the institution a laughingstock in the front lines. “I’ve been waiting for a directive telling us we’ve got too many ships named after men,” someone said. “But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let them rename the Stephen Decatur after some feminist icon!”
Tombstone looked at the man and grinned. It was Decatur’s captain, Commander Richard Hough.
“They’ll probably rename it the Sammie Reed, Dick,” another man said.
There were groans from some of the officers, and a few scattered laughs.
Tombstone looked away. The banter had an air of gallows humor to it. These were men who already felt all but abandoned by their country, whose government cared more about budget cuts and social experiments in political correctness than in their welfare.
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