Northern Fury- H-Hour

by Bart Gauvin

  CHAPTER 73

  1500 CET, Sunday 13 February 1994

  1400 Zulu

  Over Kirkenes Lufthavn, Finnmark, Norway

  GUARDS COLONELS ROMANOV and Sokolov had retraced their course after observing the naval infantry assault on Vardø and were now approaching Kirkenes again after re-crossing the Varangerfjӧrd. Sokolov tapped Ilya on the shoulder and pointed down, through the porthole window of the Il-22 command aircraft, “My first wave is approaching now.”

  Ilya could make out a dozen whirling rotors spinning against the bluish-white canvas of the snowy tundra. Helicopters laden with Sokolov’s desantniki hugged the folds of the ground as they approached from the southeast. The radio operator flicked to the appropriate frequency, allowing Romanov to hear the radio chatter as the assault went in.

  Anna Hagen shivered against the cold seeping into in the attic of the Lufhavn’s passenger terminal. She’d been hiding in this crawl space for just over an hour, but it seemed a frozen eternity. She sat huddling for warmth, absent mindedly watching through louvers in an air vent as men, wearing civilian attire like the one she had eluded earlier and armed with stubby assault weapons, moved about the airfield. The peaceful world Anna had woken up to this morning seemed like a distant memory now, and she wondered if she would live to see another day. Her cheeks were bright red from rubbing away frozen tears, tears of mourning for her co-workers, tears of anguish for the things she had not yet accomplished in her short life, and tears of terror for her current situation and the things that might happen in the next few hours.

  The distant crump crump of artillery from the east continued unabated, but the sound had gradually changed, growing closer until it became thunderous booms that shook the entire building. Anna hugged her knees and rocked back and forth as boom after boom assaulted her senses. Suddenly a different sound startled her into heightened awareness. The sharp popping of gunfire. At first, just one or two shots, but it quickly exploded into an all-out firefight lasting about thirty seconds, somewhere behind her building, then it died down. What could that mean? she thought to herself.

  Anna’s hope that maybe the Home Guard soldiers would regain control of the airfield and rescue her was bolstered. The few Russians she’d seen couldn’t possibly keep control of this airfield against the battalion of Norwegian border guards and soldiers garrisoned just to the south, could they? She renewed her vigil, watching the wind- and snow-swept tarmac before her for any sign of deliverance, and she shivered. If I stay up here much longer, I’ll freeze, she thought, trying to shrink further into her winter coat.

  At that moment a deep, rhythmic thrum or throbbing noise crept its way into Anna’s consciousness. An engine? No, multiple engines, she decided quickly. Helicopters. The sound grew steadily louder, and Anna realized that the sounds of artillery had receded once again to the quieter, distant crumps. Now the thrum grew to a roar directly overhead that caused the whole building to reverberate. Anna, looking out desperately to see if the approaching aircraft could possibly be Norwegian, saw the dark shapes appear from behind the roof against the white-blue sky. She could feel the downdraft from the rotors blasting into her crawl space as the huge, bug-like machines moved slowly toward the runway. Amid a blizzard of swirling snow, Anna saw four helicopters flare and settle onto the runway between the yellow snow plows that still sat, parked, facing both directions.

  Side doors banged open and Anna saw white-clad figures jump from the aircraft and run, hunched over beneath the spinning rotor blades towards the margins of the airfield burdened by weapons and large backpacks. The blowing snow cleared enough that she could see the red star of the Soviet military painted prominently on the side of the nearest helicopter. More Russians!

  The helicopters remained on the ground only long enough to disgorge their passengers before lifting off ponderously, engines screaming, pivoting in sequence and accelerating towards the northeast. The first four helicopters were immediately replaced by more, bringing no relief from the noise or from the blowing snow, and unloading yet more soldiers. Her hope for salvation or escape was being trampled beneath the boots of each new soldier hitting the icy Kirkenes pavement.

  Anna, her hands growing painfully cold, was now forced to reevaluate her predicament. If no one was coming to get her, she would just need to find a way to save herself and get back to her home in Kirkenes, or freeze to death, or get shot. Or worse. Her thoughts and emotions brought her back to a night, several years ago, when she’d been out snowmobiling in the wilds south of town. Being an independent teenager at the time, she had neglected to tell anyone where she was going. She’d driven out too far onto the tundra and her snowmobile broke down nearly ten kilometers from town. In the gathering darkness, Anna had been faced with the choice of waiting through the arctic night for help to come find her, or saving herself by walking the ten snowy kilometers back to town. She arrived at home several hours later to proudly face parents nearly beside themselves with worry. Her sister Kristen had alternated between hugging her and admonishing her for being so foolish. Now she faced a similar dilemma, one she would need to solve herself.

  Hundreds of Soviet soldiers swarming over the airport couldn’t fail to see her if she slipped out, but perhaps…perhaps she could blend in with them? Anna remembered that the drapes in the office beneath her were off-white. She could wrap herself in those, wait for another flight of helicopters to land, then make a break for it in the blowing snow…It was a long shot she knew, but…her mind kept returning to the image of the predatory Russian beast cleaning his knife, standing over the body of her friend, and she decided she had to try.

  With the roar of helicopter engines filling her ears, Anna crawled back to the ceiling panel that gave her access to the maintenance closet and let herself down onto the wrought iron sink. She poked her head out of the closet into the office. No one was there. Wind blew through the office from the window she had left open. Anna dashed over and grasped the room-darkening drapes. Two violent tugs on the heavy fabric tore the curtain rod out of the wall, bringing it clattering down with a sound that Anna was sure every Russian on the whole Lufthavn must have heard. She stood stock still, listening for footsteps from the hallway that would signal her doom, her heart pounded.

  Anna waited. Her warm winter boots, the same ones in fact that she had worn on her snowmobile escapade several years earlier, felt frozen to the floor. Finally, she gathered up the courage to bend down and slide one of the drapes off the curtain rod. Wrapping herself, she crouched down, waiting, willing her heart to stop beating so loudly in her ears, determined to make a break for it when the next wave landed.

  Three thousand meters overhead, Romanov and Sokolov watched the helicopter assault go in. Another wave of four transports descended through a thin cloud of blowing snow onto the dark runway, landing between the yellow snow plows that stood out prominently, even from this altitude. Two platoons of desantniki were on the ground already, encountering no resistance. The Spetsnaz, Romanov thought, had done their job well.

  Now the next wave was approaching. The first two had been composed of Mi-8 troop transports. Now it was time for the huge Mi-6s, carrying BMD armored vehicles in their spacious holds, to descend.

  Sokolov called over to him, “Once those heavies are on the ground they will start advancing to seize the fjӧrd bridges to the south.”

  Ilya nodded. The attack was going like clockwork. He noted that Sokolov had opted to put the entire assault battalion into the airport, rather than landing individual companies at the bridges, the unit’s real objectives, as Romanov would have done. Bridges, in rough terrain such as this, were absolutely vital pieces of infrastructure, and Romanov would have elected instead to land right on them. Sokolov’s tactic was a risk, giving the Norwegians time to blow the bridges as the Soviet paratroopers traveled from the airfield, though it also allowed Sokolov to keep tighter control of the battalion. Ilya was more inclined to trust his wel
l-trained subordinates to achieve their objectives without him looking over their shoulder.

  Draped in her white curtain, Anna crouched below the window sill, peering over the ledge as more helicopters thundered overhead. She was working up the courage to make a break for the airport exit and then…And then what? She suddenly wondered. Do I just jump in my car and drive home? The idea seemed ridiculous, but what else could she do? If she stayed here there was no hope. The image of the Russian, blood on his long knife reappeared. She took in a long slow breath and steeled her resolve.

  Out on the runway different helicopters arrived, massive ones. They had rear ramps that lowered to the tarmac, and Anna heard the throaty roar of diesel engines. To her amazement, she saw what looked like a tank, Maybe a miniature tank? She thought. It emerged from the nearest helicopter, nosing gingerly down the ramp. The olive drab vehicle rolled on thin tracks bracketing a boat-like bow. Its low, round turret sat far forward on the hull, sporting a stubby cannon. Anna could see a soldier standing tall in the turret, leaning forward at the waist to ensure his vehicle cleared the helicopter’s fuselage. The vehicle was so small that the crewman was probably standing on the vehicle’s floor. She could also see the padded helmet of the driver poking up from the hatch beneath the short cannon.

  The little tank carefully inched onto the tarmac, then rotated until it seemed to be pointed directly towards her hiding place. Elsewhere along the runway, other little tanks were emerging from the other helicopters, the coughing of the engines punctuating the roar of the spinning rotors. Almost in unison, the Russian vehicles pivoted and drove forward to the edge of the runway, allowing the pilots of the monstrous helicopters to increase power and ponderously lift into the sky, driving snow through the open window of Anna’s office and stinging her eyes.

  The four armored vehicles formed into a column and dove towards Anna as the whirling roar receded. The little tanks rumbled past her window, rounding the corner of the building towards the parking lot, where her car offered her a chance at escape. As they crunched and squealed past the window, Anna saw her chance. Heart pounding in her ears despite earlier efforts to calm it, she crawled out of the window, clutching the white curtain over her head and around her shoulders like a shawl.

  Once outside, Anna began to jog along behind the rearmost vehicle, the smell of exhaust reminding her of heavy mining trucks that came and went on Kirkenes’ streets, while the purr of the engine made her think, oddly, of snowmobiling trips with her father and Kristen into the new Pasvik Nature Reserve south of Kirkenes. She was amazed by how normal it felt to trot along behind the Russian vehicle. Looking up, she saw that the soldier in the turret had dropped down so only his head was showing. The little column slowed to a walking pace as they rumbled onto the icy concrete of the parking lot. Looking beyond the vehicles, Anna could see her green Volvo in the mostly empty lot. If she could just get to it, then—Then I’ll think about what to do next, she decided. One step at a time. Maybe she’d be able to hide in her car until the Soviet soldiers left. It was a hopeful thought, so she clutched at it. One step at a time, get to the car.

  The little tanks were now heading towards the E6 highway, connecting the airport via two bridges to the town. Anna saw with rising hope that they would pass within feet of her car. Another flight of helicopters pounded the air overhead. With the distraction she might just slip out from behind the vehicle column and open her car’s door—

  “Stoi!”

  The shouted command nearly caused Anna’s knees to buckle. She froze in her tracks, looking around desperately. Her wild eyes quickly found the source of the command, and her hope of survival evaporated instantly.

  Two soldiers, dressed in white parkas under their broad, drab helmets, were advancing towards her quickly, their weapons pointed directly at her. “Stoi!” the nearest one shouted again, “Ruki vverch!”

  Not knowing what to do, Anna threw her hands into the air to show that she was unarmed. The white curtain fell to the pavement.

  The soldiers pulled up short. Perhaps they hadn’t expected the intruder to be a woman, Anna thought. The muzzles of both rifles lowered slightly. Beyond them, Anna noticed a knot of soldiers, several carrying radios, kneeling under a streetlight in the parking lot. With them were two men in civilian clothes, and all were looking in her direction. A soldier stood and started to walk towards the confrontation. Then one of the civilians rose and followed.

  Anna stood still, her body unresponsive to her urge to flee. As the two men approached from behind the two soldiers, Anna realized with horror that the one in civilian clothes was the same man who had tried to kill her earlier. Even from ten meters away she could see murder in his eyes. She was a rat in a trap.

  The uniformed man was obviously in charge, though, and he stopped near the two soldiers, looking Anna up and down quickly before issuing a rapid-fire series of curt commands. The soldiers quickly advanced and, grasping Anna by her upper arms, hustled her back towards the passenger terminal. She caught a last glance at the murderer’s face, and the look of rage chilled her far more deeply than the wind whipping across the pavement.

  The soldiers half pulled, half dragged Anna, whose legs felt like jelly, through the front doors of the passenger terminal. They stopped suddenly when she let out a scream. There, in front of them, were the two ticketing agents. The man and woman were lying in a pool of dark blood. Anna collapsed to the floor, sobbing at the sight of her dead coworkers. In such a small community, everyone knew each other to some degree, but these two had been her friends.

  The soldiers pulled her back up, their actions less violent now, guiding her, still crying, towards one of the side rooms. Between her cries, Anna noticed one of the soldiers looking towards the bodies with apparent disgust as they pulled her into a room where she could no longer see the carnage in the ticketing area, shoving her towards a seat. They stepped back, not knowing what to do next with their unexpected prisoner. Anna, in shock from the sight of her friends and with her hopes for escape and survival dashed, collapsed into the chair and covered her face.

  “We have secured the airport perimeter,” Romanov heard the radio crackle in his headset. “The first column of BMDs will move to secure Bridge Number One soon.”

  “Very good, Yastreb One-Two-One,” Sokolov, sitting next to Ilya, responded into his radio. “Send the codeword on the command frequency once both objectives are secure. End.”

  Sokolov set down the hand-mic and looked over at his friend. “Things are going well, Ilya Georgiyevich,” he said over the drone of the engines. He went on, “I was doubtful of the decision not to strike the airport itself with artillery before our assault went in, but those Spetsnaz boys seem to have done their job for once!”

  Ilya nodded as he watched more helicopters go into Kirkenes. Things certainly were going smoothly here. More than an entire company, with armor, was already on the ground at Kirkenes Lufthavn. By confiscating civilian vehicles, these elite paratroopers would turn themselves into a rapid strike force, able to move quickly to their objectives. Moreover, capturing the airport intact allowed reinforcement and supplies to land by fixed-wing transport aircraft before nightfall.

  Though the Norwegian border troops could do little to defeat the massed Soviet combat power coming towards them, they could, given some time, make things very difficult for the Russians by destroying the two bridges that crossed frozen, narrow branches of the Bøkfjӧrd. The mission of Sokolov’s paratroopers was to race south and east from the town to seize these two key pieces of infrastructure from the rear. This operation would allow the tanks and personnel carriers of the 69th Motor Rifle Division and the rest of the Archangel Corps to advance rapidly into Northern Norway. Ilya had to admit it was an elegant plan, and thus far, elegantly executed. He would have to reassess whether any existing infrastructure in his own objectives would be this useful, worth seizing early, given how little resistance he was told to expect.

/>   The decisive battle for Norway would not be fought here in the north, however. The Norwegian strategy for defeating a Soviet invasion rested on defending successive chokepoints to the west and south, such as Kirkenes and the area around Lakselv. The most formidable bottleneck was the imposing Lyngen position southeast of Tromsø, where the Lyngenfjӧrd and the Swedish frontier narrowed the width of Norway to a mere thirty kilometers of mountainous terrain. Romanov knew that other measures would be taken to nullify this position, but for now the Red Army’s chances of penetrating down to central Norway depended on how quickly they could defeat the Norwegian forces east of Lyngen. If NATO was given time to reinforce and fortify the Lyngen Line, then it would be a stalemate. Romanov did not want to consider what the consequences of that would be for his country.

  “It is time for us to move on to the main objective, Ilya Georgeivich,” Sokolov said. Then, speaking into the aircraft’s intercom he said, “Pilot, take us west to Banak. My pathfinders will be hitting the ground there soon.”

  CHAPTER 74

  1030 EST, Sunday 13 February 1994

  1430 Zulu

  US Coast Guard Sandy Hook Station, Ft. Hancock, New Jersey

  COMMANDER JIM INGALLS presided over the organized chaos in the Coast Guard watch center. Around him, officers spoke urgently into radios or telephones, others updated the status of sinking ships and underway rescue operations on dry erase boards around the room. More men and women moved magnets around the wall map to show the locations of the various wrecks as well as the rescue assets that were responding to the crisis. At the center of it all, Ingalls struggled to maintain awareness of where all the pieces were moving. His eyes focused in on the magnet representing Adak escorting the trawler-turned-minelayer Trogg back to port. That crisis was resolved, at least except for the mines blocking the harbor entrance. Beyond the Verrazano Narrow, things were much more complicated.