of the sprawl of Kerch. The naval port was directly on the north, almost
adjacent to the tank farm, while a major airfield was visible to the
northwest. By the dazzling light of the new-risen sun, Tombstone could
see Kerch itself to the northeast, a drab-looking city separated by the
sparkling blue waters of the Kerch Strait from the gray strip of land
marking the western tip of the Taman Peninsula. Where much of the
southeastern coastline of the Crimea had been devoted to resorts, health
spas, and recreational beaches, the eastern end of Crimea, the Kerch
Peninsula, was nearly entirely given over to the Russian military.
In particular, there was a Black Sea Fleet port at Kerch itself,
together with a major refinery and military petroleum storage facility
at Arsincevo. A major pipeline from the rich oil fields of the Caucasus
came through the town of Chuska on the Taman Peninsula, then crossed the
strait underwater, emerging south of the Kerch naval base and running
through the Arsincevo refinery complex. The storage facilities here held
millions of gallons of diesel fuel for the Black Sea Fleet ships
deployed at the base.
And some of those tanks, according to General Boychenko, held several
million gallons of aviation fuel, a formulation identical to the JP-5
used by U.S. Navy aircraft.
CBG-14 might have been left to its own devices by Washington, but they
were about to demonstrate that those devices could still be very
“Hey, Captain Magruder?”
It was Doc Ellsworth. During the drive up the coast from Yalta,
Tombstone had been able to draw the young man out a bit more. He’d been
right in his guess that Doc was a SEAL, a member of the elite Navy
commando unit descended from the famous UDT frogmen of World War II. He
was serving now as part of a Marine Force Recon unit; SEALS and Marine
Recon often teamed up in four-man units for special ops.
“Whatcha got, Doc?”
“Trouble. Coming out of the Kerch naval base and headed this way.”
Tombstone nodded. “Okay. On my way.”
He was tired, though the pump of adrenaline had been keeping him going
since yesterday. It had been a long, long night.
The coming day promised to be longer still.
0745 hours (Zulu +3)
Company “Sobaka,’ 15th Naval Infantry, Kerch Naval Command Polkovnik
Yuri Nikolaivich Yevtushenko was riding with his head and shoulders
above the circular commander’s hatch in the turret of his BTR-60 as the
armored personnel carrier crested the ridge north of Arsincevo. It was a
glorious morning, the sun sparkling off the sea, though a low line of
dark clouds to the north held the promise of rain later.
On the highway ahead, the BTRS of the reconnaissance platoon were
stirring up a cloud of dust. Turning in his steel-ringed perch and
looking back past the heads of the naval infantry commandos riding on
his command vehicle, he could see the rest of the column strung out on
the road behind him, six amphibious PT-76 tanks and a long line of
“We’re all here, Comrade Colonel,” one of the soldiers said, shouting to
make himself heard above the roar of the armored car’s engine. The
others laughed. “None of us has left yet!”
“Well, then,” Yevtushenko said, grinning, “perhaps I’d better get into
uniform!” Ducking back below the hatch, he removed his regulation steel
helmet and pulled out his beret, the famous black beret of the Russian
naval infantry, and donned it at a jaunty angle. Rising again in the
hatch, he grinned at the soldiers and tossed them a strictly
nonregulation one-fingered salute.
“Ah!” one shouted. “Now I know we are going into combat!” He removed his
own helmet and pulled his beret out from inside his one-piece,
light-camouflage uniform. In seconds, the others had done the same.
Russian military uniform doctrine specified steel helmets for naval
infantry troops, but the black beret was such a beloved and distinctive
part of their uniform by now that most commanders had long since given
up trying to enforce that regulation. In fact, the Morskaya Pekhota, the
naval infantry, was an elite combat unit, classified as a “Guards” unit,
in fact. As such, they were permitted to wear their berets, with the red
Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145