by James Rosone
“Yes, Sir,” they responded.
“That gives us two snipers and one spotter,” Major Gogaza continued. “If all goes according to plan, we will destroy the pumping facility, three million barrels of oil, and a critical junction in the pipeline. That will put a serious dent in the Russian petroleum business.”
They all smiled, excited to be a part of degrading the Russian capability to support this horrible war.
*******
The night air was cool. Cloud cover obscured the moon, which, for Major Gogaza’s team, couldn’t have turned out any better. They had driven to a small dirt road that was less than a few hundred meters from the perimeter fence they had chosen to infiltrate. All of them did a mic check to make sure that their throat radios were operational; they could clearly hear each other whispering as if they were talking right next to each other in a normal tone of voice. Then his men adjusted their night vision goggles before they exited the two vans. The special operators quietly snuck out of the vehicles and moved quickly and stealthily through the small trees and underbrush until they reached the fence.
The two-man team that was going to gain entry further down the perimeter drove their vehicle down the road another two kilometers until they reached their own infiltration point. Once there, they would wait for their overwatch team to let them know it was safe to cut the fence and move to place their explosives near the pumping terminal.
While Major Gogaza desperately wanted to penetrate the facility with his men, he knew he could serve them better by staying with the sniper team and managing the small surveillance drone they had brought with them. When the rest of the team got close to the fence line, he and the sniper team split off from the rest of the group.
Once they reached the hill, the snipers immediately unslung their packs and went to work setting up their rifles and other equipment. They removed the thermal-resistant blankets they would cover themselves with to prevent their body heat from showing up on any infrared or thermal security cameras. Before Gogaza crawled under one of the large blankets with his sniper team, he pulled the small surveillance drone out of the backpack, quickly unfolding it and turning the power on. Once the system check was complete and the drone was paired with the controller, he turned the little engine on, pulled his arm back and threw it for all his worth into the air.
The drone took off and established a circular holding pattern until Major Gogaza took direct control of it. With their eye in the sky in place, he crawled under the safety of the blanket. Flicking the night vision camera on, Gogaza quickly found the roving guard patrols. From what he could see, there were four roving patrols that moved around the perimeter of the fence.
Once the first patrol passed, he contacted his operators. “Cut the fence and begin to infiltrate the storage tank facility,” he ordered.
They needed twenty to thirty minutes to place enough charges inside the tank farm to make sure the entire facility went up. If all went according to plan, his team would also place multiple charges at a lot of the oil pipeline terminal sections, which would tear apart the actual pipeline shutoff junctions. That would in turn cause petrol to continue to flow past the destroyed sections of the pipe, into the raging inferno they were about to create. With any luck, this fire would rage for days if not weeks, depriving the Russians of a critical fuel source.
Five minutes into the operation, they spotted their first sign of trouble. One of his team leaders contacted Gogaza. “OP1, Alpha Two has eyes on two tangos with a dog moving toward my position. I’m going to be spotted. Please advise if you’re able to neutralize the dog. I’ll take out the tangos.”
Major Gogaza cursed under his breath. “That’s a good copy. OP1 will neutralize the dog. Stand by,” he replied. He gently nudged the sniper to his left, who had already zeroed in on Alpha Two’s position and found the tangos and the dog.
Despite using a silenced rifle, the sniper’s shot was still audible when he fired. Because of the range needed for this situation, he could not use subsonic rounds, which meant the silencer could only partially muffle the sound.
Major Gogaza suddenly felt nervous and exposed. “At least the infiltration team on the ground is in a range to use their subsonic rounds,” he thought.
The sniper’s round successfully struck the German shepherd center mass, killing it instantly. Before either guard could react to what had happened, the operators of Alpha team appeared from behind one of the fuel tanks and fired short bursts from their silenced rifles, hitting both guards in the chest and killing them before they could fire a shot or alert their comrades to the attack that was underway.
Knowing their cover was blown, Major Gogaza called an audible and changed the attack plans. “Alpha, move immediately to place your charges on the pipe control junction now! Bravo, find one more fuel tank to place your explosives on and head back to the rally point. Charley, get your charges placed on the pumping station ASAP and then meet back at the rally point. How copy?”
One by one, the three teams reported in and raced to get their explosives rigged. Then, to Gogaza’s dismay, the drone detected several additional guards exiting a small building, heading toward his Alpha team’s location, probably to investigate the single gunshot they’d heard.
“Alpha, you have six tangos heading toward you. Set your charges and get the hell out of there!” he said urgently.
He watched nervously as the guards fanned out and moved toward the pipe control junction.
Gogaza keyed his mic. “OP1, OP2, you guys are going to have to cover them on the way out.” The two snipers used their foot to tap, letting him know they understood and were standing by.
It was killing Gogaza to watch everything take place over a drone feed and not be on the ground with his men. He’d been in Special Forces his entire military career, and he lived for missions like this. Sadly, rank and command meant he was spending more time doing activities like this than actually being the shooter directly on the ground.
His radio crackled ever so slightly. “This is Charley. Explosives have been set. Exfilling now. Will meet at rally point.”
“Thank God, at least the pump station is rigged to blow,” thought Gogaza. Now they just had to get their other two teams out.
To his surprise, the guards that were headed toward Alpha were either walking slowly or just completely missed them as they made their mad dash to the fence line. In either case, both Alpha and Bravo teams made it out of the facility before the second perimeter guard patrol got near them. Then, as he and the rest of the teams packed up their gear and headed to the van, they all heard the facility alarm go off.
Gogaza sighed. “They must have found the bodies,” he realized.
“Blow the charges now, and let’s go,” he ordered as they all piled into the van. It was time to go meet Charley at the rally point and then head to their exfil point and hope their ride out of Dagestan was still possible.
As the alarms of the facility vibrated in the air, the darkness of night was broken by a brilliant flash and a thunderous boom. The first petrol storage tank had exploded. This initial blast was quickly followed by several more glorious explosions. Within minutes, close to a dozen more tanks had blown up. The night sky turned to day as the roaring flames now reached thirty or forty meters high into the sky.
Major Gogaza’s team sped along the side road even faster. The perimeter of the flames would only increase, and they had to pick up Charley Team before they too were engulfed.
A mischievous smile spread across Gogaza’s face. If the guards had survived the immediate attack and managed not to be thrown to their deaths by the shockwaves, they would surely be much more interested in trying to live or finding a way to stop the flames than in catching him.
A few seconds later, Gogaza’s van twisted to a stop, kicking up dirt. Charley Team jumped in and they closed the door. They would all be drinking that night.
*******
Volgograd, Russia
Lukoil Oil Depot
W
arrant Officer Third Class Tiberius Petre held the 120mm mortar round over the top of the mortar tube, waiting for the order to release. Within seconds of indicating he was ready, his commander, Major Constantine Prezan, gave the order to him and the two other mortar teams. Tiberius dutifully dropped the mortar round and bent down to grab the next one.
Thump, thump, thump.
The mortars shot out of their tubes and headed toward one of the largest oil depots in Russia. Seconds after the first mortar fired, Tiberius dropped the second round in and repeated the process as quickly as he could until all his rounds were spent. In the span of three minutes, the three mortar teams had managed to fire off 36 mortars into the tank farms, causing many of them to explode. Soon, the fires and explosions were ripping across the nearby facilities. Within twenty minutes, the entire area was torn asunder as millions of barrels of petrol and the refineries nearby were reduced to a burning inferno.
Tiberius swelled with pride. With his mission complete, it was now time for them to work their way back to their safe houses and see what other mischief headquarters had in store for them.
The Big Switch
Moscow, Russia
National Control Defense Center
A technician finished changing one of the halogen lightbulbs in President Petrov’s office, under the close supervision of two FSB agents and a set of personal bodyguards. Once the agents had made sure there were no listening devices somehow being inserted into the light fixture, they let the poor man leave so he could go about the rest of his duties in the underground bunker, ensuring all the lighting and HEPA filters were functioning properly.
Since the assassination of the American president two months ago, Petrov had become paranoid that the Americans would try the same thing against him. The Yankees had managed to effectively piece together the assassin’s history and find the link between the Russian GRU and the antifascist organization that had been running roughshod on the American and European college campuses. Once Foss had been able to see the full scope of the work stoppages, antiwar protests and general civil disruption that Antifa was having on the American and European war efforts, the new administration immediately moved to crack down on the organization. There had been so much anger and outright hostility toward Antifa after Gates had been assassinated that what had been a horribly dysfunctional American Congress had somehow managed to unite around banning Antifa as a violent Russian-sponsored organization.
However, what really had Petrov on edge was the fact that the Americans and the British had uncovered the FSB plot to remove the former Tory government in favor of one that would end the United Kingdom’s involvement in the war. To that end, he had called an urgent meeting.
“These answers had better be good,” he thought as he stared at some fish in his aquarium, fighting over a piece of food. He couldn’t help but think how the world situation was not unlike the struggle he observed before him.
“Everyone is ready in the briefing room,” one of Petrov’s bodyguards told him, breaking his temporary trance. He stood up and headed toward the briefing room with his bodyguards in tow.
Petrov had recently insisted on having a set of bodyguards with him twenty-four hours a day, regardless of what he was doing. He’d also doubled the number of guards protecting his family, which he had moved to a well-furnished dacha near the Urals, far away from the American bombing attacks.
As Petrov entered the briefing room, everyone rose from his or her seat out of respect before he signaled for them to sit. Surveying the faces of the men and women at the table, Petrov could sense their unease. They squirmed in their seats.
Not beating around the bush, he jumped right in. “How did the British and Americans uncover our deception with Prime Minister Chattem? And what has happened to our man, Maksim Sokolov?” he inquired. He stared icily at his senior advisors, the men who had assured him this could never happen.
Ivan Vasilek shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The tables had been turned. Ivan was usually the one assaulting his subordinates with these types of pointed questions. However, he obviously did not enjoy the feeling of being put on the spot himself.
With all eyes looking at Vasilek, he sighed deeply before eventually looking Petrov in the eyes. “We were betrayed. I was betrayed, and for that, I am supremely sorry.”
Taking this in, Petrov’s eyes burned with rage. “Betrayed! How? Who?” he demanded.
“Major Petr Yelson, a young and very promising officer in my British directorate,” Vasilek responded, hanging his head low. “He was assigned to work for Sokolov and handle his reports and electronic files here in Moscow. He also met with him on a number of occasions prior to the war, so they knew each other personally. In his role, he knew everything about the Chattem deception, from the political assassinations to the domestic attacks, the role the Antifa organization played in inciting domestic destabilizations, to our Red Storm social media disinformation campaign. From what I’ve been able to learn, somewhere in the last month or so, he became disillusioned with the war and found a way to reach out to Alexei Kasyanov.”
There was a collective gasp. Then grumblings and curse words were muttered throughout the room as the full magnitude of this betrayal became clear. Petrov stood up, not saying a word, and paced for a second, too angry to talk. He then burst out in a tirade of profanity at Vasilek for allowing this to happen. Petrov was so enraged that he grabbed a nearby pitcher of water and threw it at the wall, shattering it in a loud crash.
“I ought to have you shot!” he yelled at Vasilek, whose eyes suddenly grew large as saucers. “You realize, this leak, this betrayal, has compromised our entire war effort! The entire war plan and strategy has essentially been given to the enemy. This Major Yelson will be a veritable treasure trove to the Allies for years to come!
“I want this man’s family rounded up and executed,” Petrov ordered. “Video the execution, and make sure it’s sent to whoever he defected to. I want him to know that his actions have consequences. He’s betrayed his country and cost the lives of countless thousands—his family’s death doesn’t even begin to make up for the damage he’s done to our country!”
The others in the room looked aghast as they, too, suddenly realized that nearly a decade’s worth of time, effort, and planning had just been revealed to the enemy. Their looks of shock turned to looks of anger and betrayal. Several of them seemed to be drilling holes into Vasilek’s skull with their eyes.
Taking a moment to calm himself down and collect his thoughts, Petrov spoke again, more softly this time. “What is being done to minimize the damage?” he asked.
Foreign Minister Dmitry Kozlov joined the conversation at this point. “Sir, as of this morning, the British opposition party introduced a no-confidence vote in the government, and the Home Secretary issued an arrest warrant for Prime Minister Chattem. He’s currently under house arrest until he’s officially removed from power. The public outcry at the realization that he had helped to orchestrate multiple Tory assassinations and the cruise missile attack that hit five British cities has enraged the public. There are already calls for the British to rejoin the Global Defense Force and restart hostilities against us.”
“How is this affecting our operations on the continent right now?” asked Petrov. He wanted to know if their offensive could still accomplish its goal or if they would have to start playing defense again.
“For the moment it has had no effect,” answered Alexei Semenov, the Minister of Defense. “However, if the British do reenter the war, then we are going to see their fighters return. It will take time for their ground forces to redeploy, but within a month we could expect to see large British ground forces again. Putting aside the possible return of British forces, I believe that militarily, our larger concern is the destruction of our oil refineries and pipeline near Volgograd and Makhachkala on the Caspian Sea. These two attacks just severed more than 40% of our entire petroleum production. This is going to cut our fuel stocks at the front by significant
margins.” The poor man looked very worried, like he had just swallowed a rotten bowl of borscht.
“How far have our forces reached?” asked Petrov.
“In the south, our forces captured Trnava, Slovakia, roughly 57 kilometers east of Bratislava and Brno, Czech Republic,” answered General Boris Egorkin, the Army Chief of Staff. He pulled up a map on his tablet. “In the center, with great help from our Indian counterparts, we broke through the Allied lines and captured Kraków. However, the GDF has hit us repeatedly with counterattacks, and I don’t believe we’ll be able to hold the city for more than a few days, maybe a week. In the north, our forces were stopped cold just north of Lublin. We have been unable to break past the German and French forces there.”
President Petrov ran his fingers through his hair, calculating his next move.
“Generals, I want a plan by tomorrow on how we are going to hold on to our gains while Minister Kozlov works to put an end to the war,” he announced. “We will try to secure an end to hostilities, with us retaining control of eastern Ukraine in exchange for withdrawing our forces from the captured territories. We’ll see if President Foss is willing to save the lives of his countrymen, or if he will continue this war.”
Petrov then angrily looked at his FSB Director. “As for you, you and I are going to have a private conversation. Dismissed.”
Counteroffensive
Wadowice, Poland
The sky had turned gray. Another storm looked to dump even more rain on the already-saturated ground. After rain that had lasted for most of October, the cavalry men were hoping to catch a break, so they could get back into the fight. The last month had been a frustrating series of fighting withdrawals, one after another, under relentless Russian attacks. Those attacks, however, appeared to have faltered. Perhaps they had finally come to an end.