“Looks kind of hazy to me,” an admiral said around his pipe. “How are we supposed to persuade somebody that this means anything?”
“A good question, sir. Any of these indicators taken in isolation would appear entirely logical in and of itself. What concerns us is why they are all happening at once. The problem of manpower utilization in the Soviet military has been around for generations. The problem of training norms, and integrity in their officer corps, is not exactly new either. What caught my interest was the battery thing. We are seeing the beginnings of what could become a major disruption within the Soviet economy. The Russians plan everything centrally in their economy, and on a political basis as well. The main factory that makes batteries is operating three shifts instead of the usual two, so production is up, but supply in the civilian economy is down. In any case, Admiral, you’re correct. Individually, these things mean nothing at all. It’s only when taken in combination that we see anything to be concerned about.”
“But you’re concerned,” CINCLANT said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Me too, son. What else are you doing about it?”
“We have an inquiry into SACEUR to notify us of anything they think is unusual in the current activities of the Group of Soviet Forces in Germany. The Norwegians have increased their surveillance in the Barents Sea. We’re starting to get more access to satellite photography of ports and fleet bases. DIA has been informed of our data, and is running its own investigation. More bits and pieces are beginning to show up.”
“What about CIA?’
“DIA is handling that for us through their headquarters at Arlington Hall.”
“When do their spring maneuvers begin?” CINCLANT asked.
“Sir, the annual Warsaw Pact spring exercise-they’re calling it Progress this year-is scheduled to begin in three weeks. There are indications that in keeping with the spirit of detente, the Soviets will invite NATO military representatives to keep an eye on things, and Western news crews as well-”
“I’ll tell you what’s scary about this,” Commander, Naval Surface Forces, Atlantic, grunted. “All of a sudden they’ve started doing what we’ve always asked them to do.”
“Try selling that to the papers,” Commander, Naval Air Forces, Atlantic, suggested.
“Recommendations?” CINCLANT asked his operations officer.
“We’re already running a pretty active training schedule ourselves. I don’t suppose it would hurt to beef that up. Toland, you said that what tipped you to this situation was this battery thing in the civilian economy. Are you looking for other economic disruptions?”
“Yes, sir, we are. That’s DIA’s brief, and my contact in Arlington Hall is also asking CIA to run some additional checks. If I might amplify on this point, gentlemen, the Soviet economy is centrally managed, as I said earlier. Those industrial plans they have are fairly rigid. They don’t deviate from them lightly, since those deviations tend to have a ripple effect throughout the economy as a whole. ‘Disruption’ may be too strong a word at present-”
“You just have a nasty suspicion,” CINCLANT said. “Fine, Toland, that’s what we pay you for. Good brief.”
Bob took his cue and left. The admirals stayed put to talk things over.
It was a relief to leave. Much as he liked the attention, being examined by senior officials like a tissue culture on a petrie dish could make you old rather quickly. He walked through a covered walkway back to his building, and watched the late arrivals wander about looking for parking places. The grass was greening up. A civilian crew was mowing while another was fertilizing. The shrubbery was already beginning to grow, and he hoped they’d let the bushes expand a bit before they trimmed them back again. Norfolk could be pleasant in the spring, he knew, with the fragrance of azaleas on the salt-laden air. He wondered how pleasant it would be in summer.
“How’d it go?” Chuck asked.
Toland stripped off his jacket and allowed his knees to sag theatrically in front of the Marine. “Pretty well. Nobody snapped my head off.”
“Didn’t want to worry you before, but there’s people in there been known to do that. They say CINCLANT likes nothing better for breakfast than fried commander garnished with diced lieutenant.”
“Big surprise. He’s an admiral, isn’t he? I’ve done briefs before, Chuck.” All Marines thought all sailors were wimps, Toland reminded himself. No sense giving Chuck more encouragement for that view.
“Any conclusions?”
“CINCLANT ops talked about increasing training schedules. I got excused right after that.”
“Good. We ought to have a packet of satellite shots later today. There are some questions coming in from Langley and Arlington. Nothing firm yet, but I think they might be stumbling onto some odd data. If it turns out you’re right, Bob-well, you know how it works.”
“Sure. Somebody closer to D.C. will make The Discovery. Shit, I don’t care about that, Chuck, I want to be wrong! I want this whole friggin’ thing to blow over, then I can go home and play in my garden.”
“Well, maybe I got some good news for you. We got our TV tied into a new satellite receiver. I talked the communications guys into letting us tap into Russian television to catch their evening news. We won’t learn anything hard, but it’s a good way of catching moods. Just tried it out before you got here, and found out Ivan’s running a film festival for all of Sergey Eisenstein’s classics. Tonight, The Battleship Potemkin, followed by all the others, and ending on May 30 with Alexander Nevsky.
“Oh? I have Nevsky on tape.”
“Yeah, well, they took the original negatives, flew them to EMI in London to make digitalized masters, and rerecorded the original Prokofiev score on a Dolby format. We’ll be making tapes. Your machine VHS or Beta?”
“VHS.” Toland laughed. “Maybe this job has a few bennies after all. So, what new stuff do we have?”
Lowe handed him a six-inch file of documents. Time to get back to work. Toland settled in his chair and began sorting through the papers.
KIEV, THE UKRAINE
“Things are looking better, Comrade,” Alekseyev reported. “Discipline in the officer corps has improved immeasurably. The exercise with 261st Guards went very well this morning.”
“And 173rd Guards?” CINC-Southwest asked.
“They too need further work, but they should be ready in time,” Alekseyev said confidently. “The officers are acting like officers. Now we need to get the privates to act like soldiers. We’ll see when Progress begins. We must have our officers turn away from the usual set-piece choreography and seek realistic engagement scenarios. We can use Progress to identify leaders who cannot adapt to a real combat environment and replace them with younger men who can.” He sat down opposite his commander’s desk. Alekseyev calculated that he was exactly one month behind in his sleep.
“You look weary, Pasha,” CINC-Southwest observed.
“No, Comrade General, I haven’t had the time.” Alekseyev chuckled. “But if I make one more helicopter trip I think I shall sprout wings.”
“Pasha, I want you to go home and not return for twenty-four hours.”
“I—”
“If you were a horse,” the General observed, “you would have broken down by now. This is an order from your commander-in-chief. Twenty-four hours of rest. I would prefer that you spend it all sleeping, but that is your affair. Think, Pavel Leonidovich. Were we now engaged in combat operations, you would be better rested-regulations require it, a harsh lesson from our last war with the Germans. I need your talents unhindered-and if you drive yourself too hard now, you won’t be worth a damn when I really need you! I will see you at 1600 tomorrow to go over our plan for the Persian Gulf. You will be clear of eye and straight of back.”
Alekseyev stood. His boss was a gruff old bear, so much like his own father had been. And a soldier’s soldier. “Let the record show that I obey all orders from my commander-in-chief.” Both men laughed. Both needed it.
Alekseyev left the office and walked downstairs to his official car. When it arrived at the apartment block a few kilometers away, the driver had to awaken his general.
USS CHICAGO
“Close-approach procedures,” McCafferty ordered.
McCafferty had been tracking a surface ship for two hours, ever since his sonarmen had detected her at a range of forty-four miles. The approach was being made on sonar only, and under the captain’s orders, sonar had not told the fire-control party what they were tracking. For the time being, every surface contact was being treated as a hostile warship.
“Range three-five hundred yards,” the executive officer reported. “Bearing one-four-two, speed eighteen knots, course two-six-one.”
“Up scope!” McCafferty ordered. The attack periscope slid up from its well on the starboard side of the pedestal. A quartermaster’s mate got behind the instrument, dropped the handles in place, and trained it to the proper bearing. The captain sighted the crosshairs on the target’s bow.