What was going well were the Chinese preparations for the war. The Chinese were aware the Russians had begun a desperate eleventh hour buildup, but they were confident they had sufficiently large numbers of troops and weapons to overwhelm them.
Russia’s buildup, Chairman Xi assured the politbureau, was “too little and too late.”
******
According to the latest satellite photos the continuing Chinese buildup of military supplies, equipment, and troops was occurring all along the recently upgraded railroads and roads that ran east and west along the northern Chinese border with Russia. The Chinese supplies were safe so long as they were parked there because most of them were beyond the operational range of the Russian Air Force unless it used aerial refueling tankers. And the Russian only had a few tankers left because of their heavy loses during the Turkish War.
Both the NSA and the CIA now report the Chinese plan is to initially attack over the border towards Khabarovsk and Vladivostok. The Chinese expect their initial attacks will cause the Russians to rush reinforcements eastward from Chita and their other positions along the Trans-Siberian. The main attack will not begin, however, until the Russian reinforcements stop moving eastward. How the hell will the Chinese know that? They don’t have operational satellites according to the CIA and NSA. Or do they? Nah. It’s got to be observers reporting in by radio.
According to the CIA, only when the Russians stop moving their troops eastward towards Kharbarovsk will the Chinese launch their main attack over the Amur—far to the west and aimed at Chita. They will not try to cut the Trans-Siberian anywhere so long as the Russian reinforcements are moving eastward away from Chita.
That was because, as we now already know from our intelligence sources, the main Chinese attack would fall on the Russian territory far to the west south of Chita where the Chinese, Mongolian, and Russian borders meet. It was there that the Chinese intended to launch their major attack and attempt to win the war.
Crucially, they were going to wait to launch their main attack so long as Russia’s reinforcements were moving east towards the scenes of the initial attacks. They would do so because they wanted the Russian forces in the Chita area to be as weak as possible when they attacked.
Only when the Russians stop weakening their defenses at Chita by moving their troops and armor eastward would the Chinese launch their main attack—against Chita. They will not even try to cut the Trans-Siberian Railroad so long as the Russians are using it to move their forces eastward away from Chita. That would be counterproductive.
****** Chairman Xi Jinping
"Our plan of attack is a sound one. But an unexpected situation is developing that is actually rather encouraging—the Russians are so confused that they are not behaving as we expected. Instead of reinforcing Kharbarovsk and their far eastern cities, the Russians are frenziedly moving armor and troops in the other direction. Some of it is going west to the key road junction at Borzya across the Amur from the Chinese city of Heihe and, in even larger amounts, into the invasion corridor to Chita that begins immediately opposite the Chinese city of Manzhouli.
"At the moment, the Russians are using the Trans-Siberian Railroad to bring troops and equipment to the Borzya and the Manzhouli invasion corridors from both the Russian cities in the east such as Khabarovsk and from the reinforcements that are being airlifted into Chita at an ever increasing rate.
"What has obviously happened is that Moscow has finally figured out that we are coming—but their intelligence is so poor that they neither know where we intend to hit them nor our objectives. So they are accumulating reinforcements outside of what they expect to be the war zone; troops and equipment which can be rushed on the Trans-Siberian Railroad to wherever we attack."
"That is why we must initially attack elsewhere and leave the railroad intact—so it can be used to move the Russian troops and armor away from where our main attack will ultimately occur."
The Red Army generals in the room all nodded their heads in agreement.
“Of course the Russians are locating some of their troops along the Trans-Siberian east of Lake Baikal, Comrades,” explained Marshal Wu.
“Their intelligence as to our intentions is so lacking that they don’t know where else to put them. That will change when we make our initial attacks towards Khabarovsk and Vladivostok and leave the Trans-Siberian rail line open. Then they will use the railroad to rush their troops to the front—and in so doing clear the way for us to take Chita and all the lands east of Lake Baikal.” At least that’s what better happen. If I’m wrong I’ll be reeducated or worse.
“Once Chita is taken the rest of the Russian cities and forces in our stolen lands will be totally cut off and fall into our hands as ripe apples fall from a tree,” said Chairman Xi Jinping. General Wu smiled and nodded in agreement.
******
Vladivostok’s harbor was jammed with arriving ships and more were on the way, including the first of Russia’s three operational carriers and their escorts. The carrier that would probably arrive first, the Moskova, was still six days out.
The Moskova and its escorts were carrying major elements of two armored infantry divisions. The two other Russian carriers and their escorts were a couple of days behind it with the rest of the two divisions’ men and equipment. The Minsk’s engines were still being repaired.
Russian naval ships were not the only ships in the Vladiostok harbor. The Taiwanese tanker Soft Wind slipped in last night and began discharging ninety five thousand tons of bunker fuel to top up the port’s storage tanks.
When it finished delivering its oil, the Soft Wind would go back for another load, this time to pick up diesel fuel in Pusan. Two other chartered tankers flying Liberian flags and an American navy fleet replenishment oiler, the Sacramento, were also inbound with bunker fuel for the navy, gasoline and diesel for the Russian army, and JP-4 for the air force.
Chapter Eighteen
Bikin.
Vern and I flew into Vladivostok with Chernenko and some of his officers in a Russian crewed C-130 Hercules. The weather was nice and we landed without incident. Even so, I found the flight a bit nerve racking, particularly since our last C-130 flight didn’t end up so well and the plane we were on had Russian pilots.
I know damn well that the Russian pilots only receive a few hours of training to transition from the somewhat similar Russian planes they are used to flying—and that’s not enough no matter how many hours a pilot has in a similar type of plane.
Vladivostok was a madhouse. Our plane was absolutely swarmed by soldiers and civilians acting as cargo handlers as soon as the pilot lowered the cargo door– which took a while because he had to talk to the pilot of another plane before he could figure out how to work the door switch.
When we finally got off the plane we could see large numbers of civilians and military dependent evacuees lining up next to the runway to board it for the return flight to Moscow or wherever the plane was headed next.
Fortunately, we were expected. There were trucks to take the cargo to the train station and Jeeps to take Chernenko and his officers, including me and Vern, to the three helicopters assigned to Chernenko for the trip to Bikin. It would be an IFR trip—which in Russia seems to mean “I follow roads” or, in this case, “I follow railroad tracks.”
We got an inauspicious late start because our pilot happened to look at the fuel gauge after Chernenko’s chopper had already taken off and the engine of ours had already begun spinning up to follow him. Sure enough, we needed fuel. So we sat there in the cigarette smoke of our fellow passengers while the copilot went off to find a fuel truck. I wonder what else they missed. All the pilots did when the fuel truck finally disconnected its hose was flick their cigarettes out the side window before they started the engine.
I held my breath, the helicopter’s engine spooled up, and we were airborne and on our way to Bikin. We seemed to be running flat out in an effort to catch up with Chernenko as we flew along the railroad tracks a
nd passed low over two long and heavily loaded troop trains moving north. At least I assume the sight of men standing around their guns and vehicles on the flat cars and sitting on the roofs of the passenger and freight cars means the trains were heavily loaded.
The men on the trains seemed pleased to see us; absolutely everyone waved as we passed over them. Poor sods, they probably think they’ve been abandoned. Jeez, I wonder how they take a dump or pee if they have to ride up there all day.
******
Bikin was a big nothing burger, just a couple of dozen rundown log homes clustered along a rutted dirt track running up from the railroad and the dirt “highway” that ran alongside the tracks. The yards around the log homes were filled with abandoned refrigerators and beaten up old trucks and Russian Jeeps with flat tires. One look at the “highway” that ran through Bikin and it was crystal clear why the Russians were moving everything out of Vladivostok on the railroad.
We came out of our helicopter just in time to watch the major commanding the four infantry companies already at Bikin and his officers greet Chernenko. They did so with great formality. Then we followed them to the log house the colonel would be using for his headquarters and watched as maps began to be tacked up on its walls. It looks to me like it might have once been used as a one room school or perhaps a little store.
Major Vorshilov and his men had only arrived by truck a couple of hours before we did but already the village’s dilapidated log cabins were a beehive of activity; trash and broken furniture were being hauled out, doors and windows unboarded, and radio equipment installed. A portable generator was already up and running even though a big power line followed the railroad tracks and there were several smaller lines running from it to the village.
We were told that the villages residents had been evacuated several days earlier.
“At least this time we were smart enough to bring our own clothes, tent, and sleeping bags.” That had been my only comment as we walked from the helicopter to the log house that seemed to be getting everyone’s attention.
“Should’a brought our own rations,” was Vern’s response.
******
Three hours and two passing northbound troop trains later, there was a lot of loud locomotive horn blowing and we watched as a bearded civilian in ragged clothes materialized out of nowhere to lift a huge lever to switch a northbound train on to the rusty rail siding that ran along next to the double-tracked main line.
The train very slowly chugged and rattled through the switch until it came to a stop and troops begin pouring off with lots of shouts and officer whistle blowing. The first thing almost everyone did was pee and poop next to the track. It was a reinforced battalion of naval infantry under a Major Talun. They arrived yesterday in Vladivostok after a terrible voyage all the way from Kalingrad.
Only then did the first of Chernenko’s many problems become obvious—there was no station platform to use to unload the battalion’s tanks and military vehicles from the flat cars. Whistles blew and the digging started immediately with the little entrenching tools carried by every Russian soldier and Marine.
******
It was after dark and candles were flickering in the Russian tents when a sentry ran into the command post to report headlights, lots of headlights, slowly coming down the dirt highway.
Thirty minutes later Vern and I watched quietly from a corner of the room as half a dozen army and Spetsnaz officers clumped up the wooden steps and reported to Chernenko. He took them to a map tacked up on one of the walls and began pointing and giving orders.
It may have been my imagination but Vern and I got the impression the new arrivals liked what they were hearing.
It soon became obvious why the new officers seemed to like what they are hearing. They should. According to what Piotra was whispering in my ear as Chernenko was giving them his orders, they were getting independent commands and responsibilities.
Each of the three newly arrived army companies was told to dig in to guard the tracks around one of the three key bridges over the Bikin River and the swampy area on its southern side. Once they finished digging in they were to aggressively push out patrols and establish listening posts in an effort to intercept the Chinese before they could reach the bridges.
Colonel Chernenko told the major commanding the three companies to get his men back on the trucks and take them further south to the bridges. His assignment was to defend the bridges for as long as possible, especially the railroad bridge, and then fall back on Bikin if it was still holding, or walk around it and head for Kharborovsk if it was not. He was to locate his command post on the dirt service road between the bridges and establish a mobile reserve that could be an instantly available relief column to rush to the site of a Chinese attack.
In contrast to the three companies charged with defending the bridges, the Spetsnaz captain was ordered to operate independently. He was told to locate his men wherever he thought they would be most effective and begin patrols and ambushes with the goal of delaying the Chinese long before they had a chance to get close to the railroad and bridges.
Vern and I looked at each other and smiled when we heard the orders. We both thought that giving them was a very smart decision on Chernenko’s part.
And the army and Spetsnaz troops were also given some serious reinforcements: three of the Russian Marines’ light tanks and three of their tracked BMD infantry fighting vehicles were ordered to drive down the road with them and help defend the bridges.
The armor would give the major commanding the bridge defenders weight for his rapid response team. He was also given a couple of the Marines’ mortar squads. The mortar men were to be told to set up their heavy mortars in the beds of the trucks carrying the men to the bridges so they could be quickly moved from one place to another. I could see what Chernenko was doing and I liked it. Very smart. Vern agreed.
“Colonel is telling mens the bridges must be held as long as possible so reinforcements can get to comrades in interior,” whispered our new interpreter whose name was Eugene. “He is telling, how you tell it, track is fast repair; bridge no fast repair.”
What Chernenko was ordering the new arrivals to do really did made sense. Before we left Podovsk Colonel Lindauer explained to us that everything north of Vladivostok up to twenty kilometers south of the bridges was the responsibility of the regional headquarters at the port; the tracks from twenty kilometers north of the bridges all the up to Khabarovsk were the responsibility of its regional headquarters.
“All Chernenko has to worry about,” Vern had said cynically when we first heard of Chernenko's assignment, “is the middle one percent of the transportation corridor—the bridges and tracks where the fighting is almost certain to occur because it’s the only place where the Chinese won’t have to cross any streams and rivers except the Ussuri to get to them.”
After the airborne and Spetsnaz officers left Vern and I agreed that Chernenko had again impressed us; he hit the ground running and, even before he got here, he’d already decided where he would locate his initial forces. Then we set up our little tent and got some sleep. So far so good was my last thought as I drifted off to the sound of Vern’s snoring.
Sunrise woke us up to a scene of military bliss so far as I am concerned— whistles tweeted and someone blew a bugle to greet the day and wake the men. The Russian Marines poured out of their little tents and began eating field rations and making hurried trips into the nearby woods to pee and poop. So did we. It was a glorious sunny day. One thing about Russian troops, they rarely waste time digging latrines or covering what they leave behind. It means you’ve always got to watch where you’re walking or sitting.
About an hour after sunrise there are more whistles and shouting and the Marines and the men of the army companies begin hurriedly striking their tents in preparation to move out to their various newly assigned positions around Bikin. When they reached them they would dig in to fight off attacks and prepare themselves to move out instantly if
an attempt on the transportation corridor was made elsewhere within their unit's area of responsibility.
For a while we just stood around and watched the Russian troops strike their temporary camp. Then, as another heavily loaded troop train chugged its way north past our camp, we wandered over to the headquarters house to get the latest news. Where is the damn interpreter?
Chapter Nineteen
Defending the airfields
If I do say so myself, Charlie Safford, Jack Flanigan and I and the rest of the guys at The Detachment are a damn good team of military planners and doers. We ought to be after all those years of trying to get the biggest bang for the relatively small amount of bucks we had available to spend.
Our edge, I decided long ago, was our experience in the real world of combat while most of our peers were playing musical chairs at the Pentagon. It was probably why we never got promoted for so many years.
Being grounded by the President had its benefits. Those of us with a lot of years at The Detachment would once again be able to keep in close contact with each other and the current state of The Detachment's plans. That included me because I intended to continue to live near The Detachment and spend a lot of time there. I’d commute to Brussels and Campbell Barracks by helicopter or teleconference whenever the headquarters' bureaucracy actually needed my presence. Infrequently was my best guess.
I could commute because rank has its privileges and we had got a shit pot full of newly arrived helicopters and pilots as a result of the recent war. And I wanted to do it because I wanted stay close to the thinkers and doers I trust even if it meant spending time away from NATO’s Brussels headquarters with its great food and the paper pushers being groomed for promotion.
Our Next Great War Page 27