Thirty hours ago, Aymar received orders from the Belarusian Northwestern Operational Command, sending his unit south toward the Ukrainian border. It didn’t take much to discern the purpose of his deployment, nor was he surprised they had repositioned during the night under the cover of darkness, pulling off the highway into the forest just north of the Ukrainian border before daybreak. He was surprised, however, when the Belarusian units were augmented with six Russian Spetsnaz brigades, transiting into Belarus before their journey south. Russia wanted a quick and decisive victory.
As Colonel Aymar prepared to begin his unit’s assault into Ukraine, he knew his men wouldn’t get much sleep over the next few days. The encouragement he offered them at times like this echoed in his mind.
You’ll sleep when you’re dead.
As the last light of day faded to darkness, Aymar called down to his tank driver, ordering the 120th Guards Mechanized Brigade into motion. His tank pulled forward, followed by the others, emerging from the trees. Their objectives were far, making speed essential.
38
KIEV, UKRAINE
In the tail of the Ilyushin IL-76 jet aircraft, Sergeant First Class Roman Savvin sat in his webbed seat along the transport bulkhead, the last soldier in the 125-man detachment. Wearing full combat gear and two parachutes — a main on his back and a reserve strapped to his stomach — he waited patiently, taking comfort in the familiar vibration from the aircraft’s four turbofan engines. Tonight, Savvin’s aircraft was one of over one hundred IL-76s and a slew of other transports carrying Russia’s VDV–Vozdushno-Desantnye Voyska — airborne troops and their equipment.
They had initially headed west over Belarus, with some aircraft carrying only troops, while others carried a small cadre of soldiers and the airborne units’ armored vehicles. Unlike its Western airborne counterparts, which were essentially light infantry, the VDV was a fully mechanized infantry fighting force with significant firepower. Each unit was outfitted with a plethora of air-dropped armored vehicles: Typhoon armored personnel carriers, BMD infantry fighting vehicles, and self-propelled mortars, howitzers, anti-tank guns, and air defense missile systems. Compared to Western airborne troops, the Russian VDV was a heavily armed force.
The IL-76 banked to the left, beginning its journey south behind the Ukrainian front line. As the aircraft steadied on its new course, the Russian airborne motto echoed in Savvin’s mind:
Nobody but us.
For the objective assigned to his unit tonight, the motto was apropos. A few minutes after turning south, Savvin felt the aircraft descending, and he knew it wouldn’t be much longer. The light at the front of the aircraft fuselage still glowed red, and as he waited for it to turn yellow, his thoughts drifted to his joint training with American airborne troops several years earlier.
After the Cold War ended and during the brief period Russia and America embraced each other as friends, Savvin had trained for a short time with his American counterparts at Fort Benning, Georgia. He had memorized the American airborne cadences during their training, and although there were many variations of the C-130 cadence, one in particular tumbled through his mind as he prepared for tonight’s jump:
He remembered stopping by a training session at Fort Benning, where the instructor was explaining the aircraft exit procedure, which included the requirement to count to four — one thousand, two thousand… By the time you reached four, you should feel a tug on your harness as your main parachute deployed.
The Jump light at the front of the aircraft fuselage shifted from red to yellow. Savvin and the other men in his unit stood, hooked their parachute static lines to a cable in the overhead running the length of the fuselage, then turned aft, watching the aircrew open the cabin door. Less than a minute later, the light turned green and all 125 paratroopers moved toward the open door in unison, exiting at one-second intervals.
Upon reaching the end of the fuselage, Savvin turned toward the opening and, in one fluid motion, placed a hand on each side of the opening and launched himself from the aircraft. In a reflex action practiced hundreds of times, he tucked his chin against his chest, pressed his elbows against his sides, and snapped his legs together, bending at the waist into a pike position just before his body was buffeted by the aircraft’s slipstream. As Savvin tumbled through the darkness, he began his count.
One thousand, two thousand…
39
AIR FORCE ONE
Air Force One cruised thirty-six thousand feet above the Atlantic Ocean, headed east toward Brussels, escorted by a pair of F-22 Raptors periodically refueled in flight. Secretary of State Dawn Cabral and National Security Advisor Christine O’Connor entered the president’s office on the main deck of the aircraft and took their seats in a brown leather sofa opposite the president’s desk. Two days ago, Christine had watched events unfold on the televisions in her hotel, only a few hundred yards from the Kremlin. Her decision to depart Moscow early had proven wise, given Russia’s invasion of Lithuania and Ukraine not long thereafter.
Thus far, however, the Russians had made no attempts to detain American diplomats. On the contrary, it was business as usual in Moscow, with Russia downplaying its dual invasions, labeling its incursion into Ukraine a temporary security measure to ensure the safety of ethnic Russians until the time, determined by President Kalinin, the Ukrainian government instituted adequate safeguards. Lithuania was also billed as a limited military deployment protecting the rights of Russia and its citizens, responding to the hostility of NATO countries — Poland and Lithuania — abusing their power by preventing the transit of Russian citizens and military units between Russia proper and Kaliningrad Oblast.
The president had invited Dawn and Christine to his office on Air Force One to discuss Russia’s transgressions and the pending NATO meeting in Brussels, and he directed his first question to Dawn. “Help me understand Kalinin’s thought process. What does he want that’s worth risking war with NATO and international sanctions that could cripple Russia’s economy?”
“In my assessment,” Dawn began, “if Russia were a person, he or she would be diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. They’ve been invaded by Western European countries three times, and Nazi Germany’s occupation was horrific, resulting in the death of twenty-seven million men and women and the destruction of hundreds of cities. In simple terms, Russians are paranoid, justly or not, and their paranoia increases each time one of their former allies joins NATO. They simply don’t trust the West, and many Russians believe it’s only a matter of time before NATO finds a reason to invade.