For the first time that day, Shepard laughed, as much from the recollection of his own faux pas when he was a young second lieutenant as from Smith's little story. Feeling a bit of the oppressive burden he had been shouldering all day slip away, the Chairman followed Smith's example by unbuttoning his blouse and easing hi> tall frame into one of the overstuffed chairs behind him. "Back then," he stated blissfully, "I can remember asking, 'Dear God, what have I gone and gotten myself into?' "
Having both pondered that thought at one point in their careers, the two senior officers laughed. Then, in unison, they looked away from each other as the burdens of their offices and the train of thought that Smith had set in motion began to play out.
"For a while," Smith continued, "this Army really amounted to something. We had a mission, the capability of executing that mission, and leadership with the courage to see things through. Now," he stated sharply, making no effort to hide the bitterness in his voice, "we're thrown hither and yon as peacekeepers, with no objective other than short-term political gain for the current occupant of the White House. Instead of training and maintaining combat readiness, we participate in social engineering. I'm here to tell you, Eric, if things don't turn around soon, this Army of ours will be a basket case."
Shepard studied his friend and fellow officer for a moment. Leaning forward, the Chairman brought his hands together, resting his elbows on his knees. "Is this what all your posturing is about? Grab this mission and run with it so that we can justify our existence? Throw our troops into Russia to prove that we can still be bad?"
The manner in which the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs put his question tended to make what Smith was trying to get at sound both sordid and illicit. But that was Shepard's way when he was dealing with tough issues. So Smith pushed on without mincing words. "Why the hell not! The Air Force has been doing it for years. You remember their BS after the First Gulf War in ninety-one, and again after Kosovo."
"Chuck, even you have to admit that it was the decisive element in both those wars."
Lurching forward, Smith quickly countered, "But only because we had a viable ground threat that we used in the Gulf and finally got around to threatening to use in Kosovo. Without that arrow in the quiver or the will to use it, our entire posture as a military power is less than credible to many who would oppose us. So you see, using the Army here, when we are the best choice for the job, makes our deterrence that much more meaningful in the future." Finished, Smith eased back onto the sofa.
Looking down at his clutched fists, Shepard considered Smith's position. After several moments of silence, when he spoke, his tone was uncharacteristically soft. "No matter how well this thing unfolds, we are going to lose a lot of your people, Chuck."
The expression on Smith's face hardened. "So be it. Far too many people, especially those who view this country as their next major enemy, don't think we have the stomach to shed the blood of our. youth to achieve our national goals. Even worse, an entire generation of our own politicians and fellow citizens have grown up thinking that we can wage war on the cheap. Eric, as cold and as terrible as this sounds, we must teach all of them that they are wrong."
As he listened to Smith's justification, a chill ran down Shepard's spine. While he had entertained many of these same thoughts, to be faced with such a decision was quite sobering. Standing up, he started to button his blouse in preparation to leave. Taking his cue, Smith also rose. "Well?" he asked, after giving Shepard time to consider the issue.
The Chairman of the JCS looked into Smith's eyes. Rather than anger, Smith could see the pain his superior was feeling. Finally, Shepard bowed his head and shook it. "I'll call the President and inform him of our decision." Then, looking up at Smith one more lime before turning away to leave, he added, "And may God have mercy on our souls."
for an officer such as Demetre Orlov, time was a valuable commodity. As the commander of an independent unit operating outside the normal military chain of command, it was up to him to improve every detail of his unit's deployment or to see to it that subordinate chosen to execute that task was doing so promptly and in accordance with Orlov s concept of operations. All of this was complicated by the fact that Orlov never committed his plans to paper and never articulated the entire scheme to any one man in his unit, liven his deputy. Major Gregory Petkovic. was provided only with information that would be needed in order to arrange for the transportation required during the operation.
Such precautions are part of what is known in American military circles as "operation security." These are measures taken to ensure that a foe does not become aware of one's plans. Few bothered to argue that Orlov's approach to this concern was too draconian. F. Very man in Orlov's elite special-action unit understood that no one. not even their comrades, could be trusted completely. The simple fact that the unit was often used to bring dissident elements of the Russian military back into line made this concern even more acute. Orlov had no way of knowing when one of his handpicked paratroopers would decide that his loyalty lay not with his current comrades, but with those they were being sent against. The founders of the Red Army, after all, were the same men who had entered the ranks of the old czarist army and fermented the revolt that led to the Revolution of 1917. While their efforts were revered in the mythology of the Army even after the collapse of the Soviet Regime, what they did was never forgotten.
In a way, the soldiers of the special-action unit preferred it that way. It was one less thing they needed to worry about, one less thought bouncing about in their fertile minds as they prepared their weapons and equipment for their next mission. Within the unit, Orlov's men saw that they had all the specialized skills needed to handle just about any tactical situation they could possibly face in the field. In addition to being lavished with the best ordnance available, each soldier was afforded ample time and munitions to hone his skills and marksmanship to near perfection. Even when it came to family housing, nothing was overlooked. So it was easy to live with Orlov's particular idiosyncrasies when it came to keeping his own council and running the unit. Every man understood that when the time came, he would be told what his target was. All that was required of him was absolute trust in his officers and a willingness to do whatever he was ordered to do, without question.
To prepare himself for his coming ordeal, Demetre Orlov conducted a routine that bordered on ceremonial. As he did before all operations, he followed a ritual as measured and reserved as the dressing of a matador. The centerpiece of this ceremony were the Russian colonel's pistol and assault rifle. After issuing a stern warning to the enlisted soldier who served as his secretary that he was not to be disturbed, Orlov closed the door of his office. A few measured steps took him to the locker where he kept the box with the cleaning kit for his weapons. Taking it in both hands, he moved over to a metal table that served as a work space and conference table. There he placed the box in the same spot he always did. Before taking his seat, he looked across the table to where his two weapons sat. Only after he saw that all was ready did Orlov take a seat and begin.
From the top of the metal box he lifted a neatly folded, thin, off-white cloth and spread it out on the table before him. Like a priest preparing an altar for High Mass, Orlov took a moment to flatten the cloth and square it up with the edges of the table. Next, he retrieved the various items he would need for cleaning his weapons. Since there was insufficient time to do more than field-strip them, he didn't pull the small container that held his special tools out of the metal box. Instead, he fished out the appropriate bore brushes, cleaning rods, patches, oil, and extra-fine steel wool, all of which he laid out across the top of the white cloth in the order in which he would use them.