by Walt Gragg
They were barely inside when Cheninko, the anxiousness quite evident in his voice, asked, “How bad is it?”
“The reports are still coming in, Comrade Premier,” Yovanovich said.
“That doesn’t answer my question, Yovanovich. How bad is it?”
“It was a massive assault. From what we’ve gathered, hundreds of thousands are dead—or will be in the coming days from radiation poisoning.” He paused for Cheninko to respond. When the Premier said nothing, he continued. “This was certainly no surprise. The Americans had warned us for decades that this would be their response should we ever invade Germany.”
“Yes, General, you were quite clear such an eventuality could occur. What I want to know, however, is even with our losses, is our army still strong enough to finish the destruction of Germany?”
Yovanovich’s finely honed body visibly drooped. The immense effort needed to prepare for and conduct this war had taken him to the edge of both physical and mental collapse. The futility of recent events overwhelmed him, and he was ready for the crushing nightmare to end.
“There’s nothing more to accomplish, Comrade Cheninko. We’ve already destroyed the Germans. We’ve already won. There’s no need to continue. Fromisch and his followers are dead. The vast majority of Germany’s in ruins. It will take decades for them to rebuild. They’re no threat to us. Now is the perfect moment to put an end to the madness before it’s completely beyond control. At this point, any significant escalation from either side and hundreds of millions, Russian and American alike, will be dead. All that is left if the conflict goes much further is total nuclear war. Our cities will be nothing more than smoking ashes beneath blowing mushroom clouds. And for what purpose?”
Cheninko, however, was unmoved by his general’s pleas. “We’ll stop, Yovanovich, when I decide we stop. Now answer my question. Is our army sufficient to complete the total destruction of Germany?”
Unaware of the Americans’ ingenious plan to counter the Russians in the coming days, Yovanovich answered. “Yes, despite what has occurred in the past few hours, our force remains powerful enough to finish the task. The enemy has little left inside Germany with which to resist.”
“Then we shall not cease until every meter of Germany is conquered.”
“Comrade Premier, I beg you to reconsider. Your decision makes little sense. Continuing the slaughter adds nothing to our triumph. Our finest young men are gone. Why add one more widow to the rolls of the grieving? We must end this. We must stop before it’s too late.”
Cheninko’s absolute rule called for absolute obedience. Few had ever questioned his decisions in even the slightest. Those who did quickly discovered what the consequences were for such a rash decision. The late hour, and the shock of the American attack, made Cheninko’s quick temper show. He was ready to erupt.
“Are you questioning me, Yovanovich?”
“Comrade Premier, what does it matter what we do at this point? We won’t be able to change history. In three months, possibly less, Germany will be back in American hands.”
“What?”
“We can conquer, but we no longer have the capability to hold what we’ve gained. Even without the American nuclear attack, our losses have been far greater than anticipated. The Americans, while defeated, mounted an exceptionally aggressive defense. No Russian division would ever have been able to stand up to such an unrelenting assault the way the Americans did. They took a huge toll on our forces. With our casualties, we’re still able to take Germany, but we’ll never be able to keep it.”
“If I so decree, Yovanovich, we’ll hold Germany no matter what the cost. I’ll see to that.”
“Comrade Premier, we must be realistic. Force of will, while important, will never be enough. The Americans are no doubt going to seek their revenge. And with the losses we’ve sustained, we’ll never be able to resist so powerful an enemy. Their soldiers are probably loading on their ships this very moment. If necessary, to defeat us they’ll bring everyone they have to the battlefield. Their anger will know no bounds. Our forces may be able to defeat the first division they send. With luck, we might withstand the second. But the third won’t be stopped. When those that follow join them, they’ll quickly annihilate our men and push us out of Germany forever. And you shouldn’t be surprised when they refuse to stop at the German border. We committed our entire army to this battle. We have no meaningful reserves. There will be little to dissuade them from rolling across Eastern Europe. Unless we act swiftly to appease them, their tanks will be rumbling down Moscow’s streets by spring’s first blooms.”
“Appease them? Appease the Americans? I’d never consider anything of the sort. When I ordered you to prepare for this war, why didn’t you tell me of the possibility of such events?”
“Because you never asked, Comrade Premier. You ordered my staff to prepare a plan for the destruction of Germany. We did as you directed. Germany is nothing more than a festering boil.”
Cheninko considered what he’d heard. Deep within him, he sensed the truth in Yovanovich’s words. His mind, however, was unwilling to accept such a blunt assessment. His ego, and the depravity that comes with absolute power, would never let him back down.
“Commence further attacks immediately. Hold nothing back. Strike with everything we’ve got.”
Yovanovich’s frustration with such a senseless pronouncement knew no bounds. If he hadn’t been so weary, or so completely exasperated by the outlandish edict, he’d have never uttered what he did.
“And what if I decide not to carry out such an order?”
Cheninko exploded. “Yovanovich, men have visited my courtyard for far less! Unless you wish to join them, you’ll carry out my directive without the slightest hesitation. I’ll accept nothing but complete compliance as your answer.”
There was no mistaking Cheninko’s not-so-veiled threat. The Premier’s office looked down upon a wide courtyard. At the courtyard’s far end, the sorrowful wall was littered with bullet holes and streaked with red. Some of the mortal stains had been there for the six years he’d controlled Russia. Some of the blood was quite fresh. Untold scores of luckless souls had met their fates in front of the grim wall’s firing squads. A visit there was always a final one.
Cheninko would stand at his open window, perverse pleasure on his face as he watched those he’d personally selected for execution reach the final moments of their pitiful lives.
Colonel Zulin knew this battle of wills wouldn’t end well if he didn’t step in. He would be risking his own life, but he had to protect his commander. “Comrade Premier, won’t you at least let us finish the damage assessments before we begin the assaults anew?”
“No. My orders are clear. The war will continue. Initiate the attacks at once. Keep the pressure on until every German has felt my wrath.”
Zulin could see the anger in Yovanovich’s eyes. To keep his superior from being marched into the courtyard in the coming minutes, he jumped in a second time, “It will be done, Comrade Premier.”
He grabbed Yovanovich’s arm and began moving his recalcitrant superior toward the doorway. The displeasure on the general’s face was quite evident. He did nothing to mask his animosity.
The door soon closed behind them.
• • •
It wasn’t until the pair was a great distance from the Kremlin’s walls that either said a word. Always aware of prying eyes and unfriendly ears, they spoke in hushed tones. It was clear Yovanovich’s anguish was unabated.
“I laid the truth in front of him, and he spit it back in my face,” he said. “Thousands and thousands more are going to die just to satisfy the grotesque ego of one man.”
“Yes, Comrade General,” Zulin said, “but you did what you could. You should be proud. Few are brave enough to tell him such things.”
“There’s nothing to be proud of in failure, Zulin. I should have st
ood up to him.”
“And forfeited your life, Comrade General? What purpose would that have served?”
“Even so, before this goes much further, confronting him is an action I may have no choice but to hazard. One thing’s certain. At some point the madness must stop. No matter how severe the risks I’m forced to endure, this is going to end.”
There was little doubt what the Director of Operations was saying. Both understood that drastic measures might soon have to be undertaken if they were going to keep the world from being destroyed in total nuclear war, with hundreds of millions dying.
“You know your staff is completely loyal to you. Each would gladly give up his life in your service.”
“I know. But we are fewer than one hundred, and the Kremlin guards are more than three times our number.”
“True, Comrade General. But that may not be the insurmountable obstacle you believe it to be. The commander of the guards is a good friend. We go back many years. A week ago, after far too much to drink, he confided a deep secret to me.”
“What would that be?”
“The Kremlin guards despise that fat, old bastard as much as we do. My friend was quite concerned his men wouldn’t be willing to mount much of a defense should a threat to Cheninko appear. So if we decide to act, our chances, despite the odds, would likely be far greater than you anticipate.”
“That’s good to know, Zulin. It’s certainly something I’ll need to give serious thought.”
“So what do you wish me to do?”
“Let’s play this out a bit further. For now, we’ll do what that pompous fool wants. Order the attacks to recommence.”
“It will be done, Comrade General.”
• • •
The war would continue into another day.
CHAPTER 58
February 1—6:09 a.m.
Charlie Battery, 1st “Cobra Strike” Battalion, 43rd Air Defense Artillery Regiment
A Parkplatz on Autobahn A8
Jeffrey Paul listened to his headset as he received a short report from the communication van. Having been briefed by the crew they were replacing, Fowler and Morgan settled into the engagement controllers’ chairs. For the next four hours, the cramped space at the front of the small van would be their home.
“Last of the reserve missiles have been loaded onto the launchers,” Paul said.
“How many Patriots does that give us?” Fowler asked.
“Twelve total.”
“When does regiment anticipate we’ll receive some more?”
“They didn’t say. There definitely aren’t any more in-country. The eight they sent us were all there were. They said replacement Patriot missiles are on the highest priority possible. But so is basically everything else. Rumor has it they loaded a C-5 full of Patriots in El Paso twelve hours ago, and they’re due in Germany anytime now.”
“That’s the same rumor I heard in the mess tent yesterday,” Fowler said. “And the day before from a friend of mine at battalion.”
“Twelve missiles,” Morgan said. “One thing’s certain, if the Russians make another determined attack, we’re all dead.”
“That’s for sure,” Fowler said.
“What about our Stinger supply?” Morgan asked.
“We’re in fairly good shape there,” Paul said. “All three gunners have at least one missile. And the 24th Infantry has offered to give us six to eight more. Seems their commanding general likes the fact that you two, and the other engagement teams, keep knocking the bad guys out of the sky every time they try to attack the 24th’s troops.”
“We’ve done all right so far,” Morgan said.
“What’s our present kill total?” Fowler asked.
“In eight shifts in the Engagement Control Station, it’s been confirmed that the team of Morgan and Fowler has destroyed thirty-one enemy aircraft,” Paul said.
More kills than the other three shifts combined.
“How many Patriot batteries are still in the war?” Morgan asked.
Paul posed the same question to his headset. In the communication van fifty yards away, a voice gave him the answer.
“Delta Battery, with its reconstituted personnel, has left Rhein-Main and is headed across the river to protect a high-priority communication center. They’ll be there in a couple of hours. Besides that, there are three still fighting in the north, two German and one American, and us in the south. They’re planning on moving the American one across the Rhine later today to protect Ramstein.”
“Ask them how far away the last report places the Russian armor,” Morgan said.
Paul spoke into the headset once more and waited for the answer to come.
“Lead elements of the 24th Infantry are presently engaging the Russians thirty miles east of downtown Stuttgart.”
Enemy tanks were twenty miles from where the Patriot battery sat in a rest area on the autobahn connecting Stuttgart and Munich. Unless something drastic happened, the Russians would reach their location by noon. But the Patriot team wasn’t overly concerned with such an eventuality. With so few missiles remaining on their launchers, Fowler and Morgan understood it was death from the sky that posed the greatest threat to their survival.
The radar screens were quiet at this early hour of the morning. Well to the north, a dozen triangles circled over the western one-third of Germany still in Allied hands. The aircraft had been identified as friendlies by the previous shift.
Locked in their electronic world, there was little for the Patriot crew to do. Some shifts were like that. Quiet and uneventful, four hours of staring at the screens would slowly pass.
The somber heavens were calm.
“Paul, why don’t you start working on getting those Stingers from the 24th Infantry before they change their minds and withdraw the offer,” Morgan said. “I suspect we’re going to need them pretty soon.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Paul spoke into his headset. A few minutes later, the communication van relayed the news that six Stingers would be on their way to the Patriot battery shortly after sunrise.
For the next twenty minutes, the radar screens remained quiet. Outside, the darkness was cold and eerily still. The damp German winter hung heavy over the Patriot soldiers’ small world. Only the distant rumble of the developing battle between the five thousand men of the 1st Brigade of the 24th Infantry Division and the ten Russian divisions they faced disturbed the early-morning silence of the first day of February.
But things were going to change soon. The Patriot team’s boredom was about to be unexpectedly shattered.
Without warning, a dozen triangles appeared in the east. At the speed the triangles were moving, they had to be helicopters. Concern leaped onto Morgan’s face and filled the corners of her eyes. She began interrogating the triangles.
The Patriot radar reached out and requested the lead helicopter return the proper response. The Patriot’s interrogation, friend or foe, was completed in a heartbeat.
Foe.
A hostile symbol appeared next to the first triangle on the screens. Morgan continued to interrogate the formation. One by one, the results were the same. Twenty miles away on the black horizon, a dozen enemy helicopters were headed toward the Patriot battery. The helicopters were already well within range of the Patriot’s missiles. Unless stopped, the Russian threat would reach the battery in six minutes.
Fowler looked into Morgan’s eyes. Her eyes mirrored his fears.
“What do you want me to do?” he said.
“Paul, alert the Stinger teams to get ready,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Go ahead and target the first five helicopters. But don’t give the command to fire until we’re certain they’re coming for us.”
“Roger,” Fowler said, “targeting first five helicopters. Command to fire won�
��t be given until directed.”
“Paul, tell the Stinger teams it looks like twelve Hinds are headed our way. If the helicopters attack, we’ll engage the first five with Patriots. They’re to kill the next three . . . more if they can. We’ll play it by ear from there. If we’re lucky, we just might have a few Patriots left when this thing’s over.”
She was gambling the Stingers could handle some of the helicopters before the Russians got close enough to get off a good shot at the Engagement Control Station. It was either that or put the battery out of business by using the last of her missiles to destroy the Hinds.
The attackers churned through a raven sky at nearly two hundred miles per hour. Their steadfast course didn’t alter in the slightest as the seconds ticked by. There could be little doubt. The Hinds were headed straight for them.
The killers were within fifteen miles.
Morgan waited to give the order to fire. Her mouth and lips were dry. Her pulse was racing.
Suddenly, eighteen rapidly moving triangles leaped onto the screens. They roared west. The new threat was seventy-five miles away and approaching fast. Their course appeared to match that of the first group of attackers. At six times the speed of the helicopters, the MiGs raced toward the Patriot battery. At their present rate, the fighters would arrive at their target in four minutes. The helicopters were going to reach the battery at precisely the same moment. Fowler and Morgan instantly recognized they were in serious trouble.
“Paul!” she said. “Get us some air support down here right now! We need at least a half dozen fighters, more if you can find them.”
Without air support, they’d have no chance. Paul spoke into his headset once again. Morgan started interrogating the high-flying formation. Neither she, nor Fowler, needed to look at the screens to know what the results would be. All eighteen were going to come up “foe.”