Our Next Great War

by Martin Archer

  “Everyone is to travel light. Tell everyone to bring only what they can get into one duffle bag and that includes one personal weapon and one clip of ammunition. And as soon as possible after we arrive, Everyone is to put their American weapons away and start carrying Russian weapons. On the other hand, absolutely no one is to carry grenades and grenade launchers even if they are Russian.

  "Also, I want one of the officers to be responsible for seeing that the Starlifter takes off carrying ninety days of rations and winter sleeping bags and air mattresses for everyone including the crew and the guys who are already out there. Some extra jars of instant coffee and water purification pills would be helpful if you can get them.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. Get a lot of tea bags too, boxes of them. Most of the Russians drink tea and you’ll want to be able to offer it to visitors—and to me too,” I said with a smile. “I’m thinking about permanently switching over to drinking tea instead of coffee; it seems easier on the stomach.

  “Also, if there’s time, you might want to send Captain Carpenter or somebody else to hit the Metz Base Exchange this afternoon or tomorrow morning for lots of Tootsie Rolls, dry noodles, and energy bars; the Russian field rations are even worse than ours. We’ll leave from Reims on the Starlifter tomorrow at 1100. First stop Khabarovsk.

  “Oh yeah, and one more thing. Please remind me to tell everybody to remove their ranka, their names, their insignia, and everything else that would identify them as Americans. We’ll want to get everyone into Russian battledress and weapons as soon as possible.

  “Let’s see. What else? Oh yeah. Please don’t let me forget to tell the men, order them, never to talk to any media and to never, absolutely never, admit to anyone that they are Americans or military. They are to walk away without speaking a single word whenever a civilian approaches them.”

  I’m going to remind everyone of that order and the need to get into Russian battledress once again after we take off. If we wear the Russian stuff and let our beards grow we may be able to get away with pretending not to speak English, particularly if the guys with weapons are carrying Russian assault rifles.

  Finally, before I took off, Charlie and I had a private talk about the implications of Vladivostok being cut off and desirability of adding one or two naval officers to the team.

  We have Jack Flanigan, of course, but Jack’s always been a SEAL and a demolitions guy, never a supply officer or deck officer.

  What we finally decided, two cups of coffee and a couple of donuts later, was that we probably needed a couple of navy supply officers because of the reinforcements and equipment that would be coming into Vladivostok—and if we get them, we had better make damn sure they don’t outrank Jack and start giving orders instead of advice.

  Jeez this coffee is really getting to me. Maybe the Russians are on to something. I think I’ll switch to tea permanently starting now

  .

  ******

  Terry Martin, the Starlifter pilot, and his crew had had to hustle to get the plane ready by painting out its U.S. insignia and lining up the aerial refueling. But they got it done in time and we were on our way.

  There were about twenty of us from The Detachment on board in addition to the crew and a couple of warrant officers I grabbed from the Eleventh Airborne to join the commo team headed up by Chief Warrant Officer Ira Hanson. Since we were carrying so few people, some of the seats in the rear had been removed and we were also carrying explosive packs for the swimmers and the initial part of a big shipment of Israeli anti-tank and SAM missiles for the Russian motorcycle troops I had encouraged Danovsky to implement.

  Our young Marines were quite excited and trying not show it. Most of them spent the war as headquarters guards so they ended up never getting even close to combat. Hopefully they won’t see any this time either.

  In the back of the plane, in between the cargo nets the plane’s loadmaster was using to hold our cargo of boxes tight against the fuselage, Charlie Safford had set up a row of four folding card tables, tied their legs together so they wouldn’t slide apart, and covered them with maps. We were soon standing around the maps and going over everything once again.

  There was a real sense of urgency; it was beginning to sink in to our troops that we were about to be involved in another war and they would be right in the middle of it.

  After a long and scrambled talk on the satellite phone with Bill Hammond and his intelligence chief, General Arpasso, a call I placed to get updated on the latest news and intelligence from Washington and Russia, I suddenly felt very tired and decided to take a nap. I don’t know what was causing it, but these long trips were really starting to get to me.

  I woke with a start. Something Arpasso had said suddenly jumped out at me.

  “It appears to have been some of the younger reformists who tried to remove Danovsky.”

  I would have thought it would have been the old guard who wanted him removed. Why would the up and comers want to do that?

  ******

  Khabarovsk was covered with fog and clouds and its radar was out this morning. Major Nelson twice aborted his approach and poured on the power to get us up and around the nearby mountains. He looked cool as a cucumber sitting up there and I wouldn’t have worried about the missed approaches except I could see extremely nervous looks on the faces of the reserve crew sitting across the aisle.

  By the time we finish making our second failed approach everyone in the plane, including me, had picked up on increasing nervousness of the reserve crew. But the third time was the charm and there was a collective sigh of relief, and more than a few clapping and cheering young Marines, when we finally came through the clouds and the tires squealed as we settled onto the wet and foggy runway. I had to stifle my urge to join them.

  Generals Woods and Goldman along with Colonel Lindauer and the ever present Lieutenant Basilof were waiting on tarmac as the portable stairs were pushed into place so we could get off. So was someone important I hadn’t yet met, Colonel “Jim” Bowie, the commander of the Special Forces troops Hammond sent over to pass out the food and payroll money. Jack Flanigan was not with them; he and his guys were already in Arkhara training Danovsky’s Spetsnaz teams and swimmers.

  My plan at the moment was to meet with Danovsky to make my manners and exchange briefings, then fly on to Arkhara to see how Jack was doing with the swimmers. Our schedule thereafter would depend on what I heard.

  A briefing from the Americans on the scene was what we needed first, so we could be as prepared as possible before we met with Danovsky. So I asked Charlie Safford and his aides to remain on the plane while everyone else including the Marines went down the portable stairs to stretch their legs. Captain Shapiro went down with them to get the senior Americans so we could talk in private before there were any Russians around.

  If Basilof tried to board with them, Captain Shapiro, who knew him from our last visit, was to tell him politely, very politely, that I was not ready to get off the plane yet and wanted to talk with my senior staff before I did.

  The four men came up immediately and welcomed Charlie and me back to Kharbarovsk. Colonel Bowie had been staying with Woods and Goldman and sharing the information he’d been getting from his teams in the field. Each of the three was fully informed as to what the others knew and thought.

  And Bowie got real comfortable real fast when he came into the plane saw Charlie Safford standing next to me at our makeshift map table. Randall “Jim” Bowie, it turned out, had been a captain at Bad Tolz and deep-dipped at Safford’s recommendation for an early promotion to major when Charlie commanded the Special Forces group.

  Basically all the reports we heard were positive. Both Woods and Goldman said they thought the Russians, both army and air force, were going all out to try to do what they told us they would try to do.

  Bowie agreed. According to him, the Russian troops had been ordered to cooperate fully with us and were doing so. There was a lot of curiosity but no overt hostility; perhaps, h
e suggested, because the local Russian troops were stranded here and missed the recent war with NATO. And besides, it’s just plain stupid to bite the hand that feeds you food and money.

  What concerned Colonel Bowie most was that two of his Special Forces teams who had not yet reported in. He had heard from the other teams, however, and they reported that the food we were providing was getting to the troops and the Russian soldiers were getting paid.

  “Apparently, General Danovsky made it quite clear what will happen if anyone interferes with them or tried to steal or divert the food and money. The word is that they would be shot on the spot by the nearest political officer. The troops believe it because it’s true.”

  They know the political officers will do it and the other troops will applaud; it’s their food and their money.

  ******

  Danovsky was his usual warm and welcoming self. Even Turpin smiled at me. I got the impression their confidence in us was growing. After the traditional welcoming bear hugs, I introduced the new guys and we got down to business in front of the three huge wall maps in Danovsky’s conference room even before the arrival of the traditional tea and cookies.

  Pacing up and down as he talked, and with Lindauer and Basilof constantly translating, Danovsky pointed to the maps on his briefing room wall and gave us an update. He beamed agreement when I asked if we could record the briefing in case the translators missed a point or I forgot something.

  Most of his staff, Danovsky told us, were already at Arkhara getting things organized and checking the various communications links to make sure they were up. In the morning, if his signal guys confirm all the links are up, Danovsky intends to fly there. When he arrives, Arkhara will officially become the new headquarters of the Far Eastern Military District.

  I immediately pointed to Bobby Geither and suggested that Bobby and Mister Hanson’s commo team might be useful to have around at his new headquarters in case there were any gaps in his communications that we might be able to help his signal staff fill. Danovsky said that it sounded like a great idea and immediately agreed when I suggested that Bobby and his guys move to Arkhara and stay there for as long as he needed them.

  The preparation of his choke points were coming along nicely, Danovsky reported, even though he had to remove one of the division commanders “who slept too long and drank too much.” His biggest current problem, Danovsky said, was that the movement of so many men and so much equipment up the rail line was taking much longer than he and his staff had expected.

  “We’ll never be able to get all our troops and equipment evacuated into fighting positions if we wait for the war to start before we begin to pull them out of their current positions,” he admitted. “So I’m trying to get as many as possible of my men out into better positions.” Very smart.

  Accordingly, Danovsky said he was pulling even more units back while he still had time, particularly those still north of Khabarovsk or in the more isolated areas the Chinese are likely to bypass. He was also relocating some of his other units so they could more easily fall back on the railroad right of way and two other potential lines of communication that presently only have pioneer roads.

  That’s actually quite smart and I told him so. And it really is—he can retake the secondary territory he abandons after he defeats the main Chinese effort.

  Danovsky also reported that the food and money we have been providing seems to be reaching his troops. “But, of course, you know more about it than I do, but everything I hear is good and on behalf of my men I thank you.”

  After a brief moment of meaningless pleasantries while the inevitable tea and coffee was brought in and savored, I re-introduced Lieutenant Colonels Peter Marshall and Will Rutherford with a bit of detail about their recent combat experience as tank battalion commanders, and told Danovsky about the plans and maps they have been putting together for the possible use of armored raiding units to cut up the Chinese rear. This Russian tea isn’t half bad.

  Peter used the big wall map on the office wall to briefly explain the concept and point out some example locations and force compositions for some small independent armored formations that Danovsky might put together as his forces fall back—and then use them to tear up the Chinese rear once the mainforce units have gone past.

  Danovsky liked the idea. He promised to immediately appoint an overall commander to head up the project “to make sure it actually happens.” We said we’d provide him with maps and more details when we meet again tomorrow morning in Arkhara.

  After a moments of reflection, Danovsky said he would have a General Rutman, who is “good with armor,” head up the organization and placement of the independent armor formations and asked if Colonels Marshal and Rutherford could be attached to Rutman’s office for a few weeks to act as his advisors. I agreed instantly.

  “Rutman will be with me at Arkhara; and so will you and your men, I hope.”

  Then Charlie Safford and I briefed Danovsky about the bridge blowing and swimming teams, and where they might be stashed and used both in Russia and in China.

  As you might imagine, I particularly emphasized that the teams going after targets in China, the swimmers Jack was training up in Arkhara, would have to be flown in after the war starts, preferably on the first night of the war. And that meant a sufficient number of Russian helicopters needed to be standing by and immediately ready to go.

  Charlie did not give Danovsky the specific locations the helicopter borne swimmers would hit, that would come later; he just described them generally and the progress that has been made on implementing the operation.

  Danovsky seemed especially pleased when Charlie told him the required supplies and equipment have already begun arriving at the Arkhara airfield and that our man there, Admiral Jack Flanigan, reports he was working well with your Spetsnaz Commander, Colonel Krutchovy.

  I chimed in that we would know more in a couple of hours when we get to Arkhara ourselves and have a chance to meet with Jack Flanigan and Genral Krutchovy.

  Danovsky took me aside and quietly thanked me as we got up to leave.

  “Vasily Kafanov told me what you said in Moscow and I appreciate it. I also heard from some friends who were present. You impressed them with your honesty and your message.”

  And then, with a deep sigh of obvious sadness as he walked with me to the door, he told me about the “unfortunate loss” of General Tretyak and some of his political officers before they could be questioned about their dealings with the Chinese.

  “We are investigating the matter, of course. A report will be sent to Moscow as soon as I can free up someone to work on it,” he said, “perhaps after the war is over.”

  ******

  Late that afternoon the Starlifter landed at the airbase near Arkhara and we piled into a couple of Russian-style military Jeeps driven by Jack Flanigan and his four NCOs, the guys who are teaching the Russian swimmers and the Spetsnaz troops to blow bridges. They’d make a second run to get the Marines; and a third to get the duffle bags and food crates that were being unloaded as we drove away.

  Most of the plane’s crew would sleep in one of the plywood shacks that function as the base’s transit facilities, except for the signal corps warrant officers and a couple of the Marines. They would stay on the Starlifter as guards and to operate its twenty-four hour message center with its nifty little antennae aimed at a satellite.

  Tomorrow morning we’d meet Danovsky along with General Rutman and Colonel Krutchovy, the commander of Danovsky’s Spetsnaz troops, and talk about the bridge blowing teams and the Russians' use of partisan infantry and armor units behind the lines; tonight we Americans would have a working dinner for ourselves at the residence on the Russian base that has been assigned to Jack Flanigan and his instructors.

  Jack’s residence used to belong to one of the Russian Air Force squadron leaders. It was a square log hut with a crude sink for kitchen and bathing purposes, a wood burning stove for warmth and cooking, and two small bedrooms. The outho
use is out back and smells horrible.

  Jack was in the smaller of the bedrooms; the four veteran swimmers he brought as instructors were in the other. They were all using the sleeping bags and fold up cots they brought with them. The swimmers' four cots literally fill their room so that the guys have to crawl over each other to get to their sleeping bags.

  It was an interesting and revealing quarters for a Russian field grade officer. There was a wooden table and four chairs, cold running water of dubious quality from a tap in the kitchen, and each room had a light hanging down from the middle of its ceiling. The latrine was accessed by going out the front door and following the path around the north side of the house to the outhouse in the backyard.

  I could only imagine what the quarters for the families of junior officers and enlisted men look like.

  Five identical log residences on the dirt street had been assigned to us. I’d share one with Peterson, Shapiro, and Teniers. Since rank has its privileges I gave myself the smaller bedroom. They can share the big one. Presumably the squadron leaders’ families have been evacuated; wonder where the officers are? I decided not to ask.

  Jack quickly showed everyone where to throw their gear and how to find their outhouse. “Then come on back to my place and bring back your mess kits if you want to eat.”

  After a few minutes everyone except the Marines and Jack’s instructors was jammed into Jack’s hut with the mess kits we’d quickly dug out of our duffle bags. Our enlisted aides and the Marines were eating with Jack’s instructors at another hut across the way.

  Jack surprised us. He brought in some steaks from our daily meat shipments to the Russians and announced, to enthusiastic whistles and applause, that we were to grill our own meat on the jerry-rigged barbeque he has set up outside his front door. And that’s what we had for supper—steaks and lukewarm coffee from the pot on the wood burning kitchen stove. Thank God the steaks are large. I’m starved.