Alekseyev waved for Major Sergetov to follow him. Only he felt the cold lead weight in his belly. Only he knew how weak his knees were as they trod down the marble steps. Alekseyev didn’t believe in God, but he knew that he had just seen the door to hell cracked open.
“Major,” he said casually as they entered the staff car, “since we’re in Moscow, perhaps you would like to visit your father the Minister before we return to the front?”
“That is very kind of you, Comrade General.”
“You have earned it, Comrade Major. Besides, I want figures on our oil supply.”
The driver would report what he’d heard, of course.
“They want me to use nuclear weapons at the front!” Alekseyev whispered as soon as the Minister’s door was closed.
“Yes, I was afraid of that.”
“They must be stopped! There is no predicting what catastrophe this could bring about.”
“The Defense Minister says that a tactical nuclear environment could easily be controlled.”
“He’s talking like one of those NATO idiots! There is no wall between a tactical and a strategic nuclear exchange, just a fuzzy line in the imagination of the amateurs and academics who advise their political leaders. The only thing that would then stand between us and a nuclear holocaust-our survival would be at the mercy of whichever NATO leader is the least stable.”
“What did you tell them?” the Minister asked. Had Alekseyev retained his wits enough to say the right thing?
“I must be alive to stop them-I told them it’s a wonderful ideal” The General sat down. “I also told them that I must have tactical control of the weapons. I think they will agree to that. I’ll make sure those weapons are never used. I have just the man on my staff to do that, too.”
“You agree then that the Defense Council must be stopped?”
“Yes.” The General looked down at the floor, then back up. “Otherwise-I don’t know. It is possible that their plan might start something that no one could stop. If we die, we die in a good cause.”
“How do we stop them?”
“When does the Politburo meet?”
“Every day now. We usually meet at nine-thirty.”
“Whom can we trust?”
“Kosov is with us. There will be a few others, Politburo members, but I do not know whom I can approach.”
Wonderful-our only certain ally is the KGB!
“I need some time.”
“Perhaps this will help.” Sergetov handed over a file he’d gotten from Kosov. “Here is a list of officers in your command who are suspected of political unreliability.”
Alekseyev scanned the list. He recognized the names of three men who had served with distinction in battalion and regimental commands . . . one good staff officer and one terrible one. Even when my men fight a war for the Motherland, they are under suspicion!
“I’m supposed to formulate my attack plan before I return to the front. I will be at Army Headquarters.”
“Good luck, Pavel Leonidovich.”
“And to you, Mikhail Eduardovich.” The General watched father and son embrace. He wondered what his own father would think of this. To whom do I turn for guidance?
KEFLAVIK, ICELAND
“Good afternoon, I am Major General William Emerson. This is Colonel Lowe. He will act as interpreter.
“General Major Andreyev. I speak English.”
“Do you propose a surrender?” Emerson asked.
“I propose that we negotiate,” Andreyev answered.
“I require that your forces cease hostilities at once and surrender their weapons.”
“And what will become of my troops?”
“They will be interned as prisoners of war. Your wounded will receive proper medical attention and your men will be treated in accordance with the usual international conventions.”
“How do I know you speak truly?”
“You do not.”
Andreyev noted the blunt, honest answer. But what choice do I have?
“I propose a cease-fire” -he checked his watch- “at fifteen hours.”
“Agreed.”
BRUSSELS, BELGIUM
“How long?” SACEUR asked.
“Three days. We’ll be able to attack with four divisions.”
What’s left off our divisions, SACEUR thought. We’ve stopped then all right, but what do we have to drive them back with?
They did have confidence. NATO had begun the war with an advantage only in its technology, which was even more pronounced now. The Russian stocks of new tanks and guns had been ravaged, and the divisions coming into the line now had twenty-year-old castoffs. They still had numbers, though, and any offensive SACEUR planned would have to be carefully planned and executed. Only in the air did he have an important advantage, and air power had never won a war. The Germans were pushing hard for a counterstrike. Too much of their land, and too many of their citizens, were on the wrong side of the line. Already the Bundeswehr was probing aggressively on several fronts, but they’d have to wait. The German Army was not strong enough to push forward alone. They’d taken too many losses in their prime role of stopping the Soviet advance.
KAZAN, R.S.F.S.R.
The youngsters were too excited to sleep. The older men were too worried to sleep. Conditions didn’t help. The men of the 77th Motor-Rifle Division were crammed into passenger cars, and while all had seats, it was at the cost of rubbing against their comrades even as they breathed. The troop trains moved along at a speed of a hundred kilometers per hour. The tracks were set in the Russian way, with the rail segments ending together instead of offset; so, instead of the clickity-click familiar to Western riders, the men of this C division heard only a series of thuds. It tested nerves already raw.
The interval between the jarring sounds slowed. A few soldiers looked out to see that their train was stopping at Kazan. The officers were surprised. They weren’t supposed to stop until they got to Moscow. The mystery was soon solved. No sooner had the twenty-car train stopped than new men filed into the carriages.
“Attention,” called one loud voice. “Combat soldiers arriving!”
Though they had been issued new uniforms, their boots showed the weeks of abuse. Their swagger marked them as veterans. About twenty got onto each passenger car, and rapidly secured comfortable seating for themselves. Those displaced would have to stand. There were officers, too, and they found their counterparts. The officers of the 77th began to get firsthand information of NATO doctrine and tactics, what worked and what didn’t work, all the lessons paid for in blood by the soldiers who did not join the division at Kazan. The enlisted men got no such lessons. They watched men who were able to sleep even as they rode to the fighting front.
FASLANE, SCOTLAND
Chicago was alongside the pier, loading torpedoes and missiles for her next mission. Half her crew was ashore stretching their legs and buying drinks for the crew of Torbay.
Their boat had acquired quite a reputation for her work in the Barents Sea, enough so that they’d be heading back as soon as she was ready, to escort the carrier battle groups now in the Norwegian Sea, heading for the Soviet bases on the Kola Peninsula.
McCafferty sat alone in his stateroom, wondering why a mission that had ended in disaster was considered successful, hoping that he wouldn’t be sent out again-but knowing that he would . . .
MOSCOW, R.S.F.S.R.
“Good news, Comrade General!” A colonel stuck his head in the office Alekseyev had taken for himself. “Your people were able to join up with the 77th at Kazan.”
“Thank you.” Alekseyev’s head went back to his maps when the colonel withdrew.
“It’s amazing.”
“What’s that, Vanya?”
“The men you selected for the 77th, the paperwork, the orders-they went through just like that!”
“A routine transfer of personnel-why shouldn’t it go through?” the General asked. “The Politburo approved the procedure.”
“But this is the only group of men flown out.”
“They had the farthest to go.” Alekseyev held up a message form he’d just filled out. Captain-no, now he was Major Arkady Semyonovich Sorokin of the 76th Guards Airborne Division was ordered to report to Moscow immediately. He would fly also. A pity he could not have the captain bring some of his men along, but they were where no Soviet general could reach.
“So, Mikhail Eduardovich, what does General Alekseyev plan?”
Sergetov handed over some notes. Kosov leafed through the pages in a few minutes.
“If he succeeds, at least an Order of Lenin from us, yes?” That general is overly smart. Too bad for him.
“We are far from that point. What about the timing? We depend on you to set the stage.”
“I have a colonel who specializes in this sort of thing.”
“I’m sure.”
“One other thing we should do,” Kosov said. He explained for several minutes before taking his leave. Sergetov shredded the notes he had from Alekseyev and had Vitaly burn them.
The trouble light and buzzer caught the dispatcher’s attention at once. Something was wrong with the trackage on the Elektrozavodskaya Bridge, three kilometers east of Kazan Station.