Chapter 13
The driver of the lead truck, sealed next to Demetre Orlov. remained silent as he did his best to ignore his commander. Only the sound of the windshield wipers laboring to push aside the heavy, wet ash that came down like snow disturbed the tense silence. With nothing better to do, he stared out into the gloom, watching his fellow commandos as they struggled to clear the road up ahead. Ii had been like this in the truck cab during the three hours it ha^ taken them to move four kilometers. Ordinarily, such a fact would have evoked a comment by the otherwise easygoing commando. But he knew belter than to make mention of their miserable lack of progress. Only the foul, oppressive conditions outside the cab came close to matching his colonel's dark mood.
With little more to do than watch the travails of his men. Orlov was left to brood, fume, and despair. Twisting about in his seat, he looked at his watch. He didn't need an odometer to tell him that they had made little headway since leaving the air base. As he thought about this, a chill ran down his back. While it was true that the temperature was finally beginning to plummet, the Russian colonel knew that the cold was not the source of this sudden sensation. Rather, it was the realization that he was running out of time. Time and the devastation that blocked their way had become tar greater foes than were the units loyal to General l ikhatchev. units that the colonel's special-response team would have to face when it reached its objective.
Unable to remained cooped up in the close confines of the truck's cab doing nothing. Orlov grabbed the door handle next to him and gave it a jerk. With more effort than required, he pushed the door open. The driver, though startled by this sudden move, did little more than look over as his commander climbed out. For him. sharing the cab of the truck had been like sitting next to a ticking lime bomb that he had no way of defusing. With the impatient colonel gone, the bored Russian commando would be free to relax.
Once on the ground, Orlov hesitated. He wasn't sure of what, exactly, he could do to make things move faster. Mulling this over, he watched his men as they laboriously bulled their way forward. He could clearly see that they were moving as fast as they could. Any efforts on his part to encourage them to redouble their efforts would, he concluded, be pointless. If anything, admonishing professional soldiers such as his to work harder when they were already doing their best could prove to be counterproductive. Nor did they need his supervision. The junior officer in charge of the section and his NCO's were doing well enough. Even in his agitated state, Orlov could see that they were providing all the direction their men required. The only contribution that he could make, he finally determined, was to provide an example to his men. By joining them, he would demonstrate both his willingness to share their labors as well as his resolution to overcome the unexpected and unimaginable devastation that threatened to hold them back.
Before setting out to lend a hand, Orlov drew a deep breath. Quickly, he regretted doing so. The fetid air that coursed through his lungs threw him into a fit of uncontrollable coughing. This became so loud and violent that the men closest to him stopped working and turned to see what was wrong with their commander. Realizing that his error was having an effect opposite of what he had set out to achieve, Orlov struggled with all his might to suppress his convulsions. Reaching out, he grasped the fender of the truck, pulled himself upright, and endeavored to bring his hacking under control. Only when they saw their colonel returning their stare did the work party turn away and return to its labors. Once he was sure that no one was watching, Orlov pulled his scarf up and over his mouth and nose. Though not a very efficient filter, like everything else that day, this improvisation would have to do.
Adversity and an unwavering dedication to duty are powerful motivators. In the past, they had helped Demetre Orlov achieve feats that would have humbled an ordinary man. On this day, however, his single-minded determination seemed to be of little use in the face of the utter devastation he and his small command now faced. The same shattered terrain that had kept them from landing near General Igor Likhatchev's regional command-and-control center was hindering their movement on the ground.
Neither of his previous experiences in Afghanistan and Chechnya had prepared him for this. During operations in those wars, he'd had only to contend with man-made destruction. Though considerable, such efforts had been localized. When faced with obstacles that could not be bypassed, Orlov had found that careful planning, persistence, and a bit of sweat usually sufficed to overcome even the most daunting impediment. In Chechnya, his subordinates had learned how futile it could be to report back to him that they were unable to advance because of a roadblock, a minefield, or rubble. Whenever one was foolish enough to try, Orlov would summarily reject whatever excuse was being offered him. "Any barrier laid down by mortal men," he'd snap, "can be overcome by moral men."
Of course, the premise of Orlov's philosophy on overcoming obstructions on the battlefield was based entirely upon the supposition that mere humans had been responsible for them. But the hand that had wiped away vast sections of the road he was trying to follow now, and had deposited shattered trees, boulders, and thick mud on the sections that remained, was more akin to being divine. Against such odds, even the efforts of a warrior as dogged as Demetre Orlov were for naught. It would take some time for this fact to become apparent to him, since the greatest obstacle facing his small band of commandos was their own commander's stubborn pride.
Over the years, Orlov had labored hard to become the perfect soldier. To him, this meant being impersonal, stern, and uncompromising when dealing with both his men and his mission. He believed that by adhering to these principles, he would be free to assess every situation with the cold, hard logic that a commander needed in order to make informed and proper decisions in combat. But like most professional soldiers, he was unable to shed character traits and flaws common to all humans. While it can be argued that a person's pride in his abilities can be a source of strength, at times it can also cloud his judgment. Nowhere was there a better example of this than along the road leading to the headquarters of General Igor Likhatchev.
At that particular moment, Orlov's pride was preventing him from seeing how futile and wasteful the labors of his men were.
Further, an inherent inability to admit failure made it all but impossible for him to appreciate the absurdity of their efforts to bull through to their objective via a road that no longer existed.
Those of his unit tasked to clear a path for the trucks had no such problem. Within the first hour, they had come to the realization that the transportation they had procured was a liability. As they inched their way forward, Orlov's men came to appreciate the fact that they would have to abandon both trucks and strike out cross-country. While even the most ardent of them dreaded the idea of making the long, grueling march across the devastated landscape, the idea of clearing every meter of a road by hand was far more repugnant. So absurd had that effort become that those unfortunate enough to have been selected to clear the debris no longer bothered to mount up when they finished a stretch of road. Instead, they simply trudged on forward to the next stretch of impassable roadway and began to clear it.
As hard as it was on his men, this slowly and seemingly pointless expenditure of effort wore on Orlov's nerves at the same time it was sapping the morale and physical strength of his men. Unable to remain idle and simply stand off to one side and watch, Orlov stepped forward to join them in their efforts. Seeing a single man trying to heft a felled tree, he grabbed hold of the other end. "Get your back into it, man," he yelled to the soldier on the other end. "You hefted loads far heavier than this in training."