But did it have any way he could hook up a basic microphone handset? Could he get a signal out himself?
No. Useless piece of junk.
He looked up at the wall where the ten mobile field handsets were normally racked — empty. Tapping the screen, he checked and saw the only working unit, the one being used by the Sergeant, was there on the connections menu. It was at max signal strength, which was to be expected as the column of soldiers and refugees had only left about a half hour ago, so they hadn’t gone far.
Strange. There was a second signal showing.
It didn’t have the same designator as the other field handsets, it was showing a different IFF code. Zubkhov picked the manual off the floor and turned to the back where the designator codes were listed.
He frowned. The code for the second radio signal was the one listed for an ATOM Infantry Fighting Vehicle comms unit. The only ATOMs they had brought with them had all been destroyed in the attack, two out by the airfield, and one that had been parked outside the town hall. He checked the signal strength. It was showing a distance of 6-10 kilometers. Unfortunately, it didn’t show direction. But 6-10 kilometers, that would be right, if by some quirk one of the radios in an ATOM out at the airfield was still switched on.
But after three days? The battery should be dead by now.
As he watched, the signal disappeared, and didn’t come back.
Ah, right. Faulty connection, cutting in and out. That explained why it hadn’t completely drained the battery yet.
Suddenly, life didn’t seem so hopeless after all. If there was a working radio out there somewhere, all he had to do was salvage it, call his buddy to sail over, pick him up and then he could say goodbye to this stupid unit, this stupid army and this stupid windy rock in the Arctic, forever!
General Lukin and his staff were walking into the briefing room at Lavrentiya at the same time as Bondarev, and Lukin put an arm on the Major-General’s shoulder. “So, how is the leg?”
Bondarev dropped into a squat and stood again, ignoring the tearing feeling in his calf, “Stronger than ever General. I am grateful you arranged a ceasefire to allow me to recover without missing any combat.”
“Anything for the Commander of my 6983rd Brigade,” the General chuckled.
“General,” Bondarev asked. “Just quickly. Is LOSOS still on track? I can assure you…”
“Patience, comrade Major-General,” Lukin said. They were walking into the room now and Bondarev greeted the commanding officers of the 3rd Air and Air Defense Forces Command’s three other Air Regiments, together with its nine subordinate group commanders, most of whom reported to him. He fell back and let the General step ahead and take his seat. Lukin looked serious. Very well. The news was either going to be very good, or very bad.
The General wasted no time on pleasantries. “Gentlemen, I have just returned from Moscow, after high-level strategic discussions about how we should respond to the American threats to our troops on Saint Lawrence.” He looked around the table. “As you know, Operation LOSOS troops are on the island lawfully, under the mandate of the Barents Council of Nations.”
There was a folio of maps in front of each participant in the meeting, and a cover sheet. Lukin nodded to the intelligence officer Bondarev remembered from their first LOSOS briefing. Lieutenant Ksenia Butyrskaya.
She stepped beside a screen on the wall and brought it to life showing a map of the Operations Area. “Comrade officers, as you know, following the sinking of the Ozempic Tsar, we succeeded in our objective of peacefully taking control of the island of Saint Lawrence. Not a single civilian or military death was recorded, and only minor injuries to our own or enemy troops. Under the auspices of the Barents Council of Nations, a no-go zone was declared around the island affecting only US military aircraft and shipping, and freedom of commerce was restored.” She took a breath and brought up a table of figures on the screen. Bondarev didn’t need to look at it, he knew the kill/loss ratio numbers by heart. She continued, “Unfortunately the USA did not respect the no-fly zone and responded with a major act of aggression in which it attacked our peacekeeping troops on and above Saint Lawrence with fighter aircraft and cruise missiles.” She glanced briefly at Bondarev. “Although outnumbered, we inflicted significant losses on the US air element, but we sustained considerable losses ourselves both in the air, and on the ground. With the viability of our defensive position on Saint Lawrence threatened, a ceasefire was negotiated and is still in force.”
She clicked a button in her hand and an overhead satellite image appeared on a wall behind her, showing a group of ships, at the center of which was clearly an aircraft carrier, sailing on the open sea.
“Yesterday, a US aircraft carrier task force centered around the USS Enterprise, and comprising at least three guided missile cruisers, five guided missile destroyers and two supply vessels left San Diego naval base for what the US Navy announced was to be a ‘freedom of navigation’ transit of the Bering Strait. Such carrier strike groups are usually accompanied by at least two attack submarines, not visible in this image.”
She zoomed the photograph in on the supply vessels. “These are not normal supply vessels. They are in fact LX/R amphibious assault vessels, each capable of carrying 2,200 US Marines and landing 36 amphibious assault vehicles; supported by two to four manned vertical take-off transport aircraft or six drones. Their inclusion in this strike force is an unambiguous declaration by the Americans that they plan to land troops in the theatre.” She clicked the screen off. “The carrier strike force will arrive in theatre within five days.” She stepped back against the wall. Bondarev noted with interest she had said ‘land troops in the theatre’, not that they planned to ‘land troops on Saint Lawrence’.
“Gentlemen,” General Lukin said with gravity. “Operation LOSOS is moving to a new phase, dictated by the continued irrational and irresponsible behavior of the USA. The cruise missile strikes on Saint Lawrence, mere miles from Russian territory, are a provocation we cannot ignore. The willingness of the crazed politicians in Washington to sacrifice their own citizens to their missiles, is also something the world community cannot ignore. Today, the Council of Ministers in Moscow agreed to a plan to establish a neutral geographic zone as a buffer between the USA and Russia, to secure against future attacks and to mitigate the threat of any land borne invasion of Russia by the USA.” Bondarev looked around to see he was not the only one who was unsurprised by the news. Good. At least he knew his fellow officers were not fools either. Before anyone could speak to ask questions, Lukin waved a finger to Butyrskaya again.
She flashed up a map of Alaska, showing what were clearly landing zones and directions of attack. The ultimate objective was shown to be a diagonal line of control stretching from Fort Yukon in the north to the fishing town of Bethel in the south-west. It was almost entirely uninhabited country. The nearest US military facilities were the air bases as Eielson and Elmendorf-Richardson Dickson, hundreds of miles outside the line of control. The only population center of any note was Nome, population 2,300.