by Bart Gauvin
“Such as?” prodded Medvedev.
“Let us pursue our covert intervention in Poland,” Rosla suggested. Turning to Drugov, he asked, “Interior Minister, if NATO and the west respond with the sanctions you expect, can our economy hold on for at least another year?”
Drugov thought for a minute, then nodded. “I believe we can, though it will be…unpleasant, for our citizens.”
“If we can survive economically,” Rosla continued quickly, “and our covert strategy proves to be ineffective, then we would be prepared to launch a direct intervention in Poland in just under a year. The people of Poland are very religious, as are our adversaries in the west. A surprise invasion during their Christmas holiday would likely catch them unawares and allow us to achieve our aims before NATO could gather themselves to respond effectively. With Poland firmly under control, we’ll be able to negotiate a solution to our economic challenges from a position of strength.”
Heads nodded around the table. Medvedev considered his new marshal. The plan was creative, economical, and it allowed some flexibility in its timeline. A good choice, Medvedev thought to himself.
“I would only note,” offered Laskin, who, despite being a Medvedev ally, was clearly uncomfortable with the direction the meeting was going, “that direct intervention will create a situation in which military conflict with NATO would be very likely, even probable.” No one moved to interrupt, so the foreign minister continued, “It is true that many of the NATO states care little for Poland, but the most powerful ones, the British, the Americans, and the Germans, will surely push for a response because they’ll feel threatened. And if our actions are too aggressive we could even see France return to the military structure of the NATO alliance. Would our forces be prepared for such a war, against an aggressive NATO, in the timeframe you suggest, Defense Minister?” Laskin finished with the challenge directed right at Rosla.
“If we are not, the president will have my resignation a year from now,” was Rosla’s firm reply. Heads were nodding their agreement, or at least their willingness to follow Rosla’s aggressive plan.
“Very well,” Medvedev intervened, bringing the discussion to a head, “the proposal before us is that we immediately commence increased covert support for elements in Poland who are friendly to us and opposed to the Solidarity regime in Warsaw. Furthermore, I propose that we direct the defense minister to immediately commence preparations for direct intervention in that country, and to bring the armed forces to a state of readiness within a year’s time. All in favor?”
The vote was unanimous. Even the vice president approved, though the scowl on his face showed what he thought of his assembled colleagues in Medvedev’s camp.
“Very well,” Medvedev concluded the meeting. “I thank you for attending, and I wish you all a belated Dehn Roshdehnya.”
With the New Year’s greeting delivered and accepted, the Politburo members rose from their seats and began gathering their aides to return to their various ministries around the city.
“Marshal Rosla,” Medvedev beckoned.
“Yes sir?” answered the defense minister as he approached the head of the table.
“I have spent too much time here in Moscow in the past months, as did your predecessor. I gather that you will not be so desk-bound,” said the president.
Rosla shook his head with a smile. He most certainly would not.
“Very good,” Medvedev continued. “I would like to get out and see the training of our armed forces for myself as much as possible. Please arrange a circuit for me over the next several months so that I may learn the different elements of our military.”
“Of course, Pavel Ivanovich,” responded the defense minister. “This old desantnik,” he said, patting his chest, “will be learning a thing or two as well. I assume you will also want to see your sons during this time?”
Pavel smiled as he accompanied Rosla out of the room, “Yes. Of course.”
CHAPTER 8
1025 EST, Thursday 11 March 1993
1525 Zulu
US 2nd Fleet Headquarters, Building W-5, Naval Station Norfolk, Virginia, USA
“TO CONCLUDE, OUR analysis indicates that the Soviet Red Banner Northern Fleet is on track to achieve a peak level of efficiency, both in equipment readiness and training, sometime in the December to January timeframe. That is when they will have the most hulls, both refurbished and new construction, available to go to sea, and when their crews will be at their highest level of training. Sir, pending your questions, that concludes my brief.” 2nd Fleet’s N2, or chief intelligence officer, Ed Franklin, stood waiting for his chief’s comment.
He’s good, thought Colonel Rob Buckner looking around as the N2 wrapped up his weekly intelligence briefing to Vice Admiral Falkner and his staff. Franklin, a bespectacled navy captain, had just delivered another masterful performance, weaving disparate bits of data and information into a coherent narrative that communicated the most salient elements of the past week’s developments around the North Atlantic. This was only Buckner’s second briefing with the staff, but already he was growing to appreciate Franklin’s skills as both an analyst and a presenter of intelligence.
“Thanks, Ed. Good job,” responded Arthur Falkner in his mild accent and calm manner. “I want to go back to something you said a bit earlier. Do you see a connection between the Sov’s naval buildup and what’s been going on in Poland, or are those situations developing parallel to one another?”
Franklin was standing at the foot of the table, which was shoehorned into the cramped conference room of the headquarters building located just a few blocks from the piers where the might of the US Atlantic Fleet was moored. The table was barely large enough to fit the fleet’s sizable number of principal staff officers, most wearing the tan khaki work uniforms of the US Navy. Franklin took a sip of water from a plastic bottle as he visibly composed his response. Buckner had noted over the course of his few interactions with the intelligence officer that the navy captain took the time to be precise with his words.
“Sir,” Franklin said, “I’m trained not to believe in coincidences. The start of the Soviets’ accelerated training regimen and increased procurement activities did coincide with the increased tempo in their interference in Poland. Unfortunately, with all the funding that’s been cut from our human intelligence organizations over the past few years, all we really have is satellite and signal intelligence to go on. That, and what the Soviets choose to tell us themselves. Even the defector stream has dried up of late.”
At the head of the table, Falkner nodded. The shift in priorities for the US intelligence community to rely on technical, in place of human, sources of information was so far failing to impress the customers.
Franklin went on, “Satellite imagery can tell us about actions but not intentions. Without someone in their government who knows and is willing to talk, we can’t be sure what they’re up to. But to answer your question, sir: Yes, I think their naval buildup is related to their involvement in Poland. My read is that they are trying to project strength globally ahead of a more open and decisive intervention in Eastern Europe, like before Hungary in fifty-six, or Czechoslovakia in sixty-eight.”
That’s ominous, thought Buckner. Recently, a New York Times reporter had gained notoriety for breaking the story about an ugly incident at the Polish village of Ossówka. The slaughter there had become emblematic of the violence and chaos that was now engulfing Poland. Violence in that country had increased dramatically alongside signs of Russian meddling, and the opinions of western governments had hardened against the Medvedev regime. The world hasn’t been this polarized since the seventies. And now the Soviets are sharpening their bayonets.
“I read it the same way,” said Falkner. “What do you make of the timing of it all, Ed?”
“It’s tied to logistics, sir,” Franklin offered, ticking off his reasoning. “So much time
needed to refit a ship,” one finger, “only so many dry-docks available,” another finger, “only so much capacity in their naval and weapons industry,” the third finger. “It all adds up to a long lead time to get their whole fleet ready at once.”
Rob noticed Captain Hank Elliot, Falkner’s somewhat portly N4, or fleet logistics officer, nod in agreement.
“On the other hand,” Franklin went on, “they look to be on track for maximum readiness right around Christmas. They could be planning a Christmas Eve or Christmas Day operation, hoping our response will be delayed due to the holiday. They’ve done it before, in Afghanistan in seventy-nine. I don’t like it, sir.”
“Alright, let’s talk logistics then,” Falkner said, turning his attention to the fleet logistician. “Hank, where’s the trade off? What vulnerabilities is Red Fleet leaving itself open to by readying so much of their fleet so quickly?”
Captain Elliot removed his black-framed standard-issue eyeglasses before responding in his thick Boston accent, “Admiral, they’ah going to run into the same problems we would. The tradeoff is that they’ah going to have to stand down a lahge numbah of their ships shortly after the timeframe we’ah discussing. They’ah going to be ready too quickly for themselves to manage.”
Falkner nodded and turned back to his N2, but his next question was clearly directed at the entire staff. “So, assuming the Sovs are readying for some sort of open confrontation with Poland about nine months from now, what are the odds that they are planning something more ambitious to go along with it? Something to which we might need to respond.”
The feisty, diminutive Rear Admiral Walter Forrest, Falkner’s chief of staff, answered first. “Sir,” he said, “I’d still rate the probability as low. The correlation of forces, especially in our theater, is just too much in our favor. It might be a different story if Congress hadn’t voted down those cuts to the naval budget last year. We’ve managed to retain a lot of ships that were looking to be scrapped, and keeping Ranger in the reserve fleet, Forrestal as a training deck, and Saratoga in commission gives the Navy some strategic flexibility,” Forrest noted, listing off aircraft carriers that had been slated for retirement as part of the hoped-for “Peace Dividend” when all the pundits had been giddily declaring the Cold War to be over. “We’ve already switched Sara to the Pacific which allows us to keep Carl Vinson facing the Soviets in the Atlantic. As it stands, the Russians would have to achieve both strategic and operational surprise to have any chance of really hurting us, and I just don’t foresee that happening.”
That’s why they call it a “surprise,” Rob thought.
With the resurgence of Soviet power over the past two years, the Navy and Air Force had won some significant victories in Congress allowing them to keep their powerful force structure from the eighties largely intact. This included retaining older surface units and maintaining the production of the fantastic new Seawolf-class submarines. Despite this, the Navy’s budget was strained to the breaking point keeping ships crewed and trained. The Army, on the other hand, well the Army had never been good at playing politics in the halls of Congress.
Now Falkner’s N3, the fleet operations chief and Buckner’s direct superior, Rear Admiral Xavier Johnson, spoke up in his deep southern drawl, “I agree with Walt. December is an awful time to fight a war up there in the Arctic. I have trouble believing that, given their druthers, the Soviets would actually plan an offensive up there during that time. It would severely limit the efficiency of their ships and aircraft.”
Buckner frowned and leaned forward. That’s the opinion of someone who’s served in warm climates his whole career, he thought. Rear Admiral Johnson was from Mississippi and had spent his entire career to this point in the Med, the Persian Gulf, and the Indian Ocean. It seemed that, for him, cold weather was good reason to call off the party, whether that be a three-mile jog or a war. Cold weather would limit our ships’ efficiency too.
“Rob, you disagree?”
Buckner looked up. Falkner was looking at him, and now the rest of the staff were as well. He hadn’t realized his skepticism was so obvious. Great. Second staff update brief and I’m already being called upon to publicly contradict my boss. I really need to get that demeanor under control.
Buckner cleared his throat and dove in, “Sir, I don’t disagree that December would be a terrible time to fight a naval war in the Arctic,” he responded. Best to try to be as diplomatic as possible. “However, the purpose of a navy is to influence operations on land, right? Winter in the far north actually offers some positive conditions for offensive land operations. For example, the tundra terrain up there is marshy and largely impassible in the spring and summer, but in the winter it’s frozen and trafficable by vehicles. Don’t we say that weather and terrain are neutral? Both sides have to operate in them. What’s important is how you adapt to the conditions. The Russians could be banking on the assumption that they can adapt better than us. Also, Captain Franklin,” he addressed the N2, “you were just saying that our human sources in the Soviet Union are drying up. Doesn’t that make it more likely that the Russians could achieve at least strategic surprise?”
Rob chanced a sidelong glance at Admiral Johnson to gauge his reaction. The big man’s dark, craggy face was impassive, impossible to read. Great, the Marine thought again, unhappily. Admiral Falkner liked to have the members of his table debate, disagree, and challenge one another. It led to better decisions. That was no guarantee that everyone else at the table would be as welcoming of opposing views among their underlings. How’s that for a first impression in the shop.
“All good points, Rob,” Falkner was saying. “I agree, we can’t take for granted that the Soviets see the strategic balance or the operational conditions the same way we do. We have to take their buildup seriously.”
Falkner paused, then addressed the whole staff. “Gentlemen, I want a proposal by next week on how we can arrange the fleet to maximize our available combat power for the North Atlantic and Europe this December. I also want to schedule some major training exercises around Iceland for that time to validate our winter operations proficiency and let the Sovs know that we’re ready for any and all eventualities. Xavier, see if we can get the Brits to play in those.”
The N3 nodded and made a note.
Falkner went on, “Give me some ideas. What are our options to maximize our carrier battle groups in the North Atlantic during that time?”
Hank Elliot shifted unhappily in his seat, making scratches with a pen on his yellow notepad and flipping through some printouts in front of him. After a moment the logistician said, “Well sir, we could staht by puttin’ carrier refits on hold stahtin’ this fall. That would need approval from the CNO—”
“I’ll get it,” interjected Falkner, who was friends with the chief of naval operations, the Navy’s representative to the Joint Chiefs Staff in Washington. “What else?”
“We could spend some money to accelerate Eisenhower’s refit,” Elliot went on, “get her back in the water by October and delay her departure for the Med by a few weeks. That, along with the Carl Vinson will give us at least two carrier groups to play with in December. I don’t have the details in front of me on our surface and submarine forces, but I can brief you on those next week, sir.”
Admiral Johnson stirred. “I should note, sir,” he rumbled, “that the actions Captain Elliot is proposing would leave us with no carriers available for the North Atlantic in the January-February timeframe.”
“I agree, it’s a risk, Xavier,” Falkner acceded. “Hank, what can we do to mitigate?”
Elliot responded, “Not much for January, sir. We can accelerate Enterprise’s overhaul. That would need to be approved by the CNO as well,” a quick look to Falkner, who nodded, and Elliot continued, “but at best we could have ‘Big E’ doing her workups by mid-February. That still leaves us with a sizable gap in carrier availability.”
“Ed
,” Falkner addressed his intelligence chief, “you said the Sovs will likely need to stand down their fleet for maintenance as well after December?”
“Yes sir,” the N2 confirmed.
“Then I think we can assume some risk. Let’s move forward with the assumption that we will execute as Hank just outlined. I’ll get the okay from the CNO. He and I were baseball teammates at the Academy, so I think I can swing that,” he added with a smile at the baseball pun, a few, including Buckner smiled too, knowing their chief’s love of America’s pastime. “Okay, let’s move on with the brief. N3?”
Buckner watched as his boss the N3, and the N4 too, who normally would brief after him, looked down at notes detailing deployment and maintenance schedules that had just been left in smoking shambles by their admiral’s characteristically decisive decision-making. Rob couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt at the part he had played in their discomfiture, but he knew that Falkner’s action plan was the right one. Rob was feeling increasingly pleased with his own decision to come work for the admiral.
Falkner also seemed to sense his staff officers’ mood, because he said with a half-smile, “Okay, that was unfair. Based on these developments, why don’t you all go back and update your estimates. I’ll expect updated schedules by this meeting next week.”
The rest of the staff nodded, relieved.
With the Fleet’s business concluded, or at least deferred, Falkner ended the meeting with, “Alright, any other points? No? Then thanks team. Good job, and let’s get back to work.”
The officers crowded round the conference table rose in noisy unison, wooden chairs scraping across the hardwood floor, coming to attention and rendering the customary salute to their commander before gathering their notes and coffee cups, and filing towards the door.