Laird nodded her understanding, and then asked the obvious question. “What do you think will happen next?”
“In a general sense, especially given his success in Belarus, I am sure President Fedorin will continue to find ways to expand Russian influence, especially into what were Soviet or Warsaw Pact countries. Exactly how is harder to say, but he’s shown a willingness to use any tactic that will exploit an opponent’s weakness and strengthen his own hand — this is the essence of multimodal warfare. There isn’t a fixed set of tactics. Each situation is approached individually. Where this will happen next, I can’t predict.
“Russian foreign policy is often described as opportunistic. I agree, to a point, but Fedorin took advantage of the existing corruption within the Minsk government and skillfully exploited it, creating his own opportunity. The next step was to fan the flames, claiming Russian nationals were at risk, threatening military action on the one hand and economic benefits on the other. A classic case of ‘the carrot’ and ‘the stick.’ This ‘overnight’ takeover was actually months, or even years in the making. President Fedorin just had to wait until the time was ripe. There is this one thing: If we can watch Russian actions carefully, and see where they are active, we may be able to deduce their future intentions.”
The cameras switched off, and Laird turned to shake Kyvalyow’s hand. “That was well done, Professor. I’m sure your students enjoy your lectures.”
He smiled, but there was a grim edge to it. “My classes have been very well attended lately.”
“And good luck to your relatives still in Belarus.”
Kyvalyow thanked her and left the studio. As he rode the elevator down, he checked his cell phone — still no word. He’d lied to the quite pretty reporter, but the last thing he wanted to do was tell her that early that morning, his uncle Artyom and his family had loaded everything in their car and headed northwest toward the border with Lithuania. It was about a two-hour trip, and he should have received word by now that they were in Vilnius, the capital. Kyvalyow and his parents were waiting to help arrange their passage to the United States.
He hoped his relatives were safe.
“They probably started moving at first light, Mr. President.” The army colonel gestured toward a large flat-screen on one wall. “Two-thirds of the Western Military District is moving or will move within the next few weeks.”
The flat-screen showed a map of Russia, with a big part of northwestern Russia highlighted in red. Colonel Collins knew they didn’t need lots of detail. “There are three armies in the Western Military District. The First Guards Tank Army is in Moscow”—he tapped the map to the north—“the Sixth Army is in St. Petersburg, and the Twentieth Army is to the east of Moscow, in Nizhny Novgorod.” Each army’s headquarters was marked on the slide by a small numbered flag, with the garrisons of the different units marked by smaller flags, forming a cluster around each headquarters.
“Overhead imagery this morning showed units loading for what appears to be a permanent move.” Collins pressed a control, and satellite photos appeared. Long columns of vehicles filled highways. Other pictures showed rail yards where tanks and artillery were loading. The map reappeared, linking the satellite photos to different flags. Then, on the same map, arrows appeared near two of the armies, both pointing west.
“The Sixth is staying put,” Collins explained, “but the First is moving west, into Belarus, and the Twentieth is taking the place of the First in Moscow. Each of those armies has close to fifty thousand troops.”
“It’s like moving pieces in Risk,” Secretary of Defense Richfield commented.
“But with a lot of hidden moves,” Andrew Lloyd, Secretary of State, responded.
“Andy’s right. They couldn’t have decided to do this overnight,” President Hardy stated. “How long?”
Collins answered, “The physical prep work for a move of this size takes weeks. The staff work would take months to organize, perhaps a year.”
“So they were getting ready for this before they orchestrated the takeover in Minsk. And the cost?” Secretary Lloyd added.
Collins shrugged. “Hundreds of millions to rebuild or expand the old Soviet bases in Belarus. TRANSCOM and Army logistics people are working up estimates, which will be passed to the Joint Staff and the intelligence community. The move could cost even more than the money Fedorin spent in bribes to essentially buy Belarus.”
“And Russian cash is in short supply right now,” Lloyd added, “so Fedorin really wanted to do this… badly.”
Richfield added, “He didn’t need to move those troops. Our intel says that the Minsk government was on top of any dissent. Those Russian troops aren’t there to back up Yatachenko’s government.”
Hardy asked, “Where will he do it next? What’s his next move?”
Collins looked helplessly at the two cabinet secretaries. That question was well above his pay grade. Richfield broke in. “I’ll answer that question, Mr. President. Fedorin’s missed his chance in Ukraine. When Putin annexed the Crimea in 2014, he pissed off the Ukrainians so much that there’s no way he can get it back now short of an overt invasion.”
“That hasn’t stopped him from backing the Russian militants in Ukraine,” Hardy muttered.
Richfield continued, “And he’d love to bring the Baltic States back into the fold, but they’re part of the EU and NATO now. Their economies and governments aren’t as vulnerable as Belarus or Ukraine — and then there’s that little issue of Article V.” Lloyd and Colonel Collins both nodded agreement with the SecDef. Any military action against the Baltic States would invoke the collective defense clause that would bring the other NATO nations to their aid. No one thought Fedorin was crazy enough to try and push the NATO alliance that hard.
Hardy shook his head, frowning. “That doesn’t answer my question. I understand that a Russian-style takeover needs a reasonable Russian national presence in the population and a weak government, one corrupt enough to be bribed.” He paused for a moment, staring at the map. “You’re all in agreement that he can’t take over any more European states with the same tactics. Which means he’ll have to change his tactics, try something else, somewhere else.”
“Yes, Mr. President. And he’ll be as sneaky as he can,” Richfield added.
Russian President Ivan Olegovich Fedorin was in his mid-forties; he looked young for his age, with only a few traces of light gray lacing his otherwise short brown hair. His eyes were gray, in a long narrow face that could switch from a smile to an angry scowl between two words. He was as handsome as an actor, and just as adept at changing roles as the situation demanded. At the moment, he smiled broadly, waving to the cheering crowd, basking in their wild enthusiasm. A sea of Russian flags waved before him, celebrating the latest achievements as if he were a conquering hero of old.
A parade celebrating the return of Belarus to the Russian Federation had been announced the same day as the agreement was signed. Exactly one week later, Belarusian President Yatachenko and other Belarusian officials stood on the reviewing stand next to Fedorin, watching as tanks and troops marched by and jet aircraft flew almost dangerously low over the crowd, then spiraled up into spectacular aerobatics.
The moment the massed bands stopped playing, Fedorin almost sprang to the podium. He grabbed the microphone with one hand and leaned forward. “Comrades! Fellow Russians! Our country is larger, stronger, and richer today because our Belarusian brothers have rejoined us! And Belarus is stronger and richer as part of our Federation!”