by Tom Clancy
Sevrov’s commanding voice thundered with the technical authority of a man with three advanced degrees in electrical engineering, but the fruit salad of medals and parachutist’s jump wings on his barrel chest reminded the assembled audience of Serbian military staff and field officers that he was also an accomplished combat commander.
Sevrov’s mission today was twofold. Certainly it was to convey his country’s most recent advances in EW, but even more important was the political goal of stiffening the spines of the soldiers and politicians in the room, including a delegation from the Republika Srpska, representing the most nationalist elements among the Serb population in Bosnia.
To Sevrov’s shame, some of the people in this room didn’t trust his country to defend them during a crisis. He couldn’t blame them entirely. The Serbs had expected the Russians to protect them against NATO intervention during the war, but his government made the strategic decision to leave the Serbs to their own devices, primarily out of weakness, having just emerged from the fall of communism.
Sevrov was a junior lieutenant at that time, and felt personally betrayed that his own government would allow NATO to kill Slavs in order to protect Muslims. Many of the men in this room had also been active in the war. Having experienced both NATO military prowess and Russian weakness, they were entitled to their doubts about the ability and willingness of his government to protect them in a time of crisis.
Sevrov intended to dispel those doubts today, once and for all.
Today’s briefing, coupled with the ongoing Slavic Sword and Shield special ops exercises, was also meant to solidify the growing Russian–Serbian military alliance. Tomorrow morning, Sevrov himself would jump with five hundred other Serbian, Russian, and Belarusian paratroopers in the opening spectacle for the joint Serbian–Russian civilian air show being held at Batajnica Air Base.
Sevrov killed the lights as a giant projector screen slid into view.
“I don’t need to remind anyone sitting in the room of NATO’s power and reach across Europe,” Sevrov began. “Or its abuses.”
He used a laser/presentation combo remote to flip to the first PowerPoint image, a familiar sight to anyone of a certain age who lived in Belgrade. It was a picture of the former Yugoslavian Ministry of Defense building burning in the night. Despite their painful familiarity with the subject matter, there was still an audible gasp in the room.
Sevrov advanced to another picture of the same building taken last year. It still stood in the heart of Belgrade, a shattered remnant of its former glory.
The architecturally significant building had been smashed by NATO fighters in 1999 in response to Serbian aggression in Kosovo. Officially, the Serbian government left the remains of the ruined building standing as a monument to the unjust “cruelty and suffering” inflicted upon the Serbian people by NATO. Critics of the government said that the bureaucrats in Belgrade were either too poor or too incompetent to manage a proper demolition and reconstruction of the massive edifice, a view not shared by any of the nationalist patriots in this particular room.
Sevrov let the image of the bombed-out building linger on the screen to allow the moment to soak in, another reminder of the shame, humiliation, and outrage Serbians felt at the time—and still did.
The general then clicked through a series of short videos of NATO tanks, planes, missile launchers, and self-propelled howitzers in action.
“Nor do I need remind any of you of the history of NATO’s combined-arms AirLand Battle doctrine.”
He then flipped to an animated graphic representing the same battle systems, but now all connected to one another by electronic signals transmitting to and from satellites circling over Europe.
“The AirLand Battle doctrine has now evolved into NCW—Network Centric Warfare—which, of course, is merely following the lead of the Americans, who also use the term NCO—Network Centric Operations.” Sevrov grinned and wagged his head. “But you know how the Americans are. They always have to put their own little spin on things, don’t they?”
A smattering of laughter rippled through the room.
Sevrov continued with more slides displaying facts, figures, and quotes, all of which were presented in the voluminous notebooks sitting in front of each delegate. His job today was to summarize the presentation into easily digestible bites, not to regurgitate the reams of data in their hands.
“NCW/NCO relies on a vast array of sensors, everything from tiny RFID chips tracking shipping crates of MREs all the way up to orbiting satellite platforms.
“The essential theory of NCW/NCO is that massive inputs of data from all of these innumerable sensors, combined with faster rates of communications at all levels, increases the decision-making abilities and combat effectiveness of all units and commands, from the lowly soldier in the field to the general directing the war.
“The means of accomplishing this is referred to in the NATO literature as C4ISR—Command, Control, Communications, Computers, Intelligence, Surveillance, and Reconnaissance.
“In other words, the Americans and Europeans believe that they have enhanced, extended, and improved the speed and effectiveness of their combat capabilities by relying on the latest communications technologies.”
Sevrov flipped to more images as he continued. “GPS, cell phones, shortwave radio, radar, computers, satellites, laser-guided munitions . . . ships, planes, tanks, UAVs, soldiers, sailors, airmen . . . everybody linked, everybody connected, everybody seeing what everybody else sees. Building on the platform of NCW, their ultimate goal is to create a vast collective network of perfect informational awareness, command, and control.”
One of the civilian Serbian politicians spoke up. “But General, is such a capacity even possible? It sounds like more American ‘fake news.’”
Sevrov shrugged. “It’s not only possible, it’s inevitable. Perhaps you have heard of IoT—the Internet of Things? American corporations are proposing to connect every toaster, lightbulb, television screen, A/C unit, and food blender in their homes to an integrated network, so that everything is connected and monitored. You know, ‘Alexa, buy a box of cereal’ or ‘Siri, turn the thermostat down.’ That sort of thing.
“In the same way, the American war planners are proposing an IoBT—an Internet of Battlefield Things, where everything is both a sensor and a processor, from the rifle scope to the aircraft carrier. The Pentagon imagines that in the future there will be one giant central nervous system of combat operations, coordinating efforts between units, and across services—Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines. They have even envisioned squadrons of swarming drones—air, land, and sea—all connected to one another, engaging enemies as one AI mind, fighting as fast as quantum computers can think.”
Sevrov let that idea wash over the audience. And then he winked. “Sounds pretty scary, doesn’t it?”
Nervous chuckles bubbled up around the room.
“There’s no doubt that NATO and the United States rely heavily on advanced technologies to achieve their war-fighting aims, and they have had some spectacular successes.”
Sevrov pulled up another video. “We’ve all seen the videos of laser-guided drone munitions destroying nests of Islamic fighters. The West believes that technology is the key to everything, including warfare.”
Sevrov paused for effect.
“But I will remind everyone in this room that every war the Americans have lost—Korea, Vietnam, Somalia, and, yes, Afghanistan—has been lost to technologically inferior opponents.”
Sevrov watched heads around the room nodding in surprised agreement as that revelation hit home.
He flashed two more images: a B-2 stealth bomber in the sky and another of a smiling, toothless, and bearded Taliban fighter holding his battered AK-47.
“Seventeen years after invading Afghanistan with their billion-dollar bombers and lasers and drones, who is still in charge of the Afghan countr
yside? The illiterate peasant with his two-hundred-dollar rifle.”
More heads nodded in agreement. Sevrov continued.
“I’m not saying that NATO and America aren’t powerful military forces. They certainly are.” For a moment, the humiliating image of NATO forces smashing the Russian invasion of Lithuania flashed in his brain. He pushed it aside.
“But even they will tell you they are powerful only because of their technological advantages, and they are only becoming more reliant on their technology.
“But what would happen to their vaunted military power if suddenly their radars and radios, satellites and lasers, strike fighters and helicopters, cruise missiles and missile cruisers, GPS and drones, were suddenly snatched out of their hands with the flip of a switch?”
The general pulled up a new slide, titled “Russian Strategic Doctrine: Radio-Electronic Combat.”
“We have taken an entirely different approach from NATO. Whereas NATO sees the electromagnetic spectrum as a means of improving combat capabilities in the battle space, we view the electromagnetic spectrum as the battle space, and, perhaps, the most important one.”
Sevrov then tapped a few keys on his computer keyboard, pulling up a live video feed of a handheld camera focused on a four-axled cab-over truck with stabilizer bars extended perpendicular from the open bed. EW troops scrambled over and around the green all-terrain vehicle, monitoring the vertical extension of a huge telescoping mast reaching straight up for the sky. The handheld camera swung over to three more identical trucks in a semicircle several hundred feet away. Their masts were already extended to more than one hundred feet.
“What you are witnessing here is the deployment of our Murmansk-BN electronic warfare system just north of your air base. Murmansk-BN is just one of several new systems we’ve brought into service in the last year. It has an operational range of three thousand kilometers, and is capable of locating enemy radio signals such as the American High Frequency Global Communications (HFGC) system and targeting the source. It is also capable of monitoring radio signals and even jamming them over that incredible distance.”
Sevrov tapped another key and pulled up a picture of an American Civil War Confederate cavalry unit on the attack. “Some claim it was the southern Americans who first engaged in EW by deploying telegraphers with their advanced cavalry units who would ‘spoof’ federal troops with false orders, sending them to the wrong locations or reporting enemy positions that didn’t exist.” Sevrov smiled broadly. “Of course, our own troops have done much the same thing in recent operations, sending phony text messages and voice mails, confusing and frightening enemy combatants in our latest version of PsyOps.”
Suddenly, cell phones vibrated and buzzed all across the room. As delegates checked their emergency text messages, a wave of laughter bubbled up. A few concerned faces frowned as well. Sevrov’s team had crashed through the security architecture of their phones and sent them all a spoof text cracking an obscene joke at President Ryan’s expense.
A few chuckles of admiration murmured among the Serbian officers.
An oil painting depicting a battleship engagement during the 1904–1905 Russo–Japanese War appeared on the screen. Sevrov continued.
“But without question, the first instance of radio jamming during war happened in 1904, when a Russian operator jammed Japanese radio signals during a bombardment of Port Arthur. Of course, radio jamming was practiced in World War One and perfected in the Great Patriotic War by all sides.”
Sevrov tapped more keys. Another live feed came up showing a BAZ-6900 series cab-over truck, another four-axled transport, but this one was enclosed. A three-dish array deployed on the back end of the roof rotated in a slow circle.
“This is the Krasukha-4 jamming station with a three-hundred-kilometer range, designed to neutralize airborne radar systems like the E-3 Sentry AWACS and the E-8 Joint STARS. It is also capable of attacking low Earth orbit (LEO) systems like the Lacrosse/Onyx radar-imaging reconnaissance satellites and, of course, UAVs like the Reaper. And these are just a few of the many new systems we’re deploying now, including handheld devices and aerial drone systems.”
Sevrov surveyed the room again. He had their attention for sure now, particularly the Republika Srpska delegates.
“Without question we are years, even decades, ahead of NATO in EW weaponry, deploying systems that will utterly deny NATO’s C4ISR capabilities with a virtual flip of the switch. Flipping that switch will render them electronically blind, deaf, and dumb, completely disrupting their battle plans.
“And one last thing, perhaps equally important. All of these systems, and others detailed in your briefing books, also provide impenetrable defenses for our own forces against NATO’s inferior EW capabilities.
“In short, our doctrine provides total electronic support, protection, and attack resources for all of our tactical and strategic operations. As you can clearly see, our Radio-Electronic Combat doctrine is both a sword and a shield, and my government is proud to extend both to our Slavic brethren throughout the region.”
Sevrov shut his laptop and cast a glance back up at the portraits of old Serbian generals hanging on the wall. He swore they were smiling at him.
General Sevrov set his controller down, then stepped out from behind the lectern, raising his opened palms, and smiling like a kindly uncle.
“Questions?”
18
CENTRAL BOSNIA
The driver squinted his weary eyes through the fog of cigarette smoke in the truck cab. The dark figure in his headlights stood in the two-lane asphalt road far ahead, waving a red flashlight.
The driver tapped the brights. The figure in the road was clad in black and masked, with a rifle slung behind his back.
The driver’s heart fluttered for a moment. The Croatian Mafia was active in this part of the country, and truck hijackings weren’t uncommon. He wasn’t sure if he should try and speed past the guy—or maybe run him over.
But before he could decide, his headlights caught the white fluorescent POLICIJA patch blazoned across the man’s chest, and the driver’s tension eased a little. He geared down and tapped the big truck’s brakes with a short bark of compressed air.
The truck slowed to a crawl as the policeman leaped onto the running board, seizing the chrome handle assist on the side of the cab. He directed the driver onto a rutted dirt road that angled off into a deserted farm a few hundred meters from the highway.
The truck driver panicked again, but the tactical officer could easily shoot through the glass if he tried anything, so what was he to do?
When the truck reached the farmhouse, the cop signaled for the driver to stop and cut the lights, which he did, killing the engine and setting the parking brake with a final blast of air.
The driver’s door flew open and the policeman grabbed a fistful of the trucker’s stained soccer jersey, flinging him all the way down into the hard dirt with a crashing thud.
Before the driver could raise himself up, a knee in his spine forced him back down and a strong pair of hands wrenched one of his arms back. The driver felt something hard and sharp cut into his wrist with a zipping sound, and then his other arm was yanked into the same position, and the other plastic cuff was zipped into place. A hand shoved the driver’s face into the ground and held it there for a moment, a silent command to lie still and be quiet. What else could he do?
The officer finally stood, relieving the pressure from the driver’s back. He heard the man unsling his weapon and rack the firing bolt. Warm urine flooded the driver’s oily trousers.
He was going to die.
* * *
—
The tall policeman raised a pair of bolt cutters and snipped the padlocks with a couple violent cuts. The shorter officer pulled the ruined padlocks off and the two of them lifted the handles and unbolted the trailer doors.
They pulle
d out their flashlights and scanned the contents. It was a stack of cardboard boxes, eight high, marked ELECTRONICS and MADE IN CHINA.
The tall policeman climbed into the trailer and with a crash pulled down a box as the shorter one glanced over at their partner standing guard over the truck driver and watching the road.
The tall policeman pulled out his heavy combat knife and slashed open the top seal, revealing several smaller boxes of LED desk lamps with flexible necks.
The two exchanged a worried glance through their balaclavas.
The tall one pulled down another box, then stood on his toes and flashed his light toward the back of the truck. He turned around, his eyes beaming. He flashed a thumbs-up, then pulled down three more boxes to make room to crawl. He lowered his long arm and the smaller cop grabbed his hand and pulled, and soon the two of them were scrambling over a few rows of boxes to get to the real thing.
Behind the stacks of desk lamps were a dozen wooden crates about ten feet long. The shorter cop pulled off the balaclava, spilling out a wave of shoulder-length blond hair. The woman grinned ear to ear and flashed her light on one of the crates as the tall cop pulled his balaclava off as well, and started working the crate lid with his thick blade. The weak nails squeaked inside the soft pine as the knife levered up the lid. When his fingers could finally get purchase, the big man sheathed his knife and pulled the lid off with his hands and tossed it aside as the woman knelt down and yanked out the packing material. They were looking for 122-millimeter missiles.
Instead, they found a crate of cold rolled-steel plumbing pipe.
The woman—a GRU major—swore a vile curse in her mother tongue.
Russian.
NEAR TJENTIŠTE, REPUBLIKA SRPSKA, BOSNIA AND HERZEGOVINA
Eighty kilometers south, a thirty-nine-foot-long Happy Times! tour bus was parked behind a line of trees, far from the empty highway. Eight men in pairs, including the “Greeks”—Captain Walib and Lieutenant Dzhabrailov—pulled heavy ten-foot-long wooden crates out from the wide luggage compartments beneath the bus’s passenger cabin and loaded them onto a flatbed truck for the drive to the camouflaged storage building a hundred meters away.