General Anton Osipovich Voshchanka hung on to a leather strap bolted on to the interior of his Zil staff car as the driver negotiated a tight turn in the streets of Kaliningrad. It was about four-thirty in the morning, and already the streets seemed more crowded than usual. People that were out stopped and pointed at the large, dark-blue sedan, as if they could see its occupant. Do the citizens know? Voshchanka thought to himself. News, especially bad news, usually travels very fast. The big military car, sealed and armored on all sides and weighing several hundred kilos more than a regular automobile, fishtailed a bit on the icy streets. Voshchanka tightened his safety belt and tried to pay attention to his executive officer briefing him:
“… No more than a series of hit-and-run strikes,” his exec was saying, “but the Lithuanians knew where to strike. They went after power transformers, radars, communications facilities — not just the easy stuff like the antennas or transmission lines, but the relays and control centers. They also blew up several key rail and highway bridges. Very little loss of life, but damage was extensive and complete. Entire bases are still out of direct radio or telephone contact, and it’s been over an hour since the first attacks.”
“Has a general alert been broadcast?” Voshchanka grumbled.
“Yes, sir, but we’ve received acknowledgment from only thirty of the largest bases and installations,” the executive officer replied. “Small installations and outposts have not reported in. Of the ones that did acknowledge the alert, all but three say they were under attack or had already suffered some damage.”
“Palcikas is going to pay for this,” Voshchanka said under his breath. “God, I am going to make him pay! Who does he think he’s playing with? I want his location, and I want him placed under arrest—”
“General Palcikas is believed to be in the Fisikous Research Institute.”
Voshchanka’s mouth dropped open in surprise: “Fisikous was attacked?”
“Not just attacked, sir,” the exec replied. “It has been taken. It is the only installation where Lithuanian troops have invaded and then occupied. They have an estimated four to five thousand troops inside the facility itself and on the airport, plus another one to two thousand patrolling the capital.”
“You said that American Marines were over the city and in Fisikous,” Voshchanka said. “So the Marines are working with the Lithuanians to attack our bases and facilities?”
“It is not known yet what the link is between the Lithuanians and the Americans,” the executive officer replied. “But it is too much of an extraordinary coincidence. They’ve got to be working together.”
“Any word from the Americans? Anything on television or from Minsk?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Incredible,” Voshchanka mused. “America attacks Commonwealth and Byelorussian bases and facilities without a declaration of war — and does it hiding behind little Lithuania’s skirts!” Despite his bravado, Voshchanka was worried — if the Americans were involved, he stood a very good chance of losing his command, not to mention his life. He’d almost lost his command a few weeks ago after Palcikas had complained to the Lithuanian President. But he’d convinced the Commonwealth Council of Ministers to keep him on — and after the riot at Denerokin they were glad they had. They would never know of his involvement in promoting the massacre. The Americans were proven to be tenacious, punishing fighters. “Are they still using the embassy as a base of operations?”
“Yes, sir. There are at least two small attack helicopters, identified as Marine Corps AH-l Sea Cobras, both fully armed, and one supply helicopter, a Super Stallion, that appears to be damaged or under repair. A contingent of at least one hundred Marines landed in the embassy, which would bring the total contingent to about one hundred and fifty. Three Super Stallion helicopters airlifted civilians out of the embassy grounds.”
A security officer in the front seat, acting as radio operator as well, handed the executive officer a message.
“Another aircraft sighted in the embassy, sir, identified as a Marine Corps MV-22 tilt-rotor aircraft, nicknamed the Sea Hammer. It too appears damaged. Four casualties were observed being taken off the aircraft.”
“Did it come from Fisikous?” asked Voshchanka.
“Yes, sir. This would seem to confirm the identification of the aircraft that was shot down inside the Fisikous Institute as a V-22 tilt-rotor. A modern Marine Corps composite helicopter squadron usually has six to eight such aircraft, along with the Sea Cobra and Super Stallion helicopters.”
“Any firm estimate on how many Marines are in Fisikous?”
“None, sir. The Commonwealth’s MSB had some forces still inside the facility with a radio, giving some intelligence information on the forces inside, but they were routed out by the Lithuanians. But each MV-22 aircraft holds up to twenty combat troops plus a crew of six.”
“So we may assume that there are at least thirty-six Marines still inside,” Voshchanka said. “A pitifully small force.”
“There has been no word from the MSB forces inside Fisikous,” the executive officer reminded his superior, “and there were several hundred troops there. That may mean that those forty Marines defeated ten times their number when they took Fisikous.”
“With help from the Lithuanians,” Voshchanka said, shaking his head. “What a debacle! This must be the worst defeat Soviet troops have suffered since Afghanistan.”
The executive officer had taken another message from the radioman in the front seat, and he interrupted Voshchanka with it: “Sir, General Gabovich of the MSB is on line one.”
“Gabovich? How did he get this number?” But there was no use asking that — he was KGB, after all. He probably had the President of the United States’ bedroom phone number in his coat pocket. Voshchanka hit the line button and picked up the phone: “General Voshchanka here.”
“What in blazes are you doing, Voshchanka?” Gabovich asked in Russian. “What in hell is going on? Are you on duty or aren’t you?”
“What are you talking about, Gabovich?”
“General Palcikas and his street-gang members have raided the Fisikous Institute,” Gabovich raged. “There are helicopters all over the city. I have lost contact with my aide and my military commanders in Fisikous — I think they’ve all been slaughtered by Palcikas.”
“They’ve been attacked by American Marines,” Voshchanka said.
“What? Marines? In Lithuania …?” On the other end, Gabovich wondered if Voshchanka had been drinking.
Quickly, and without too much detail, Voshchanka told Gabovich about the series of raids all throughout Lithuania, and some details about the embassy reinforcement and the raid on Fisikous. Why he did this, he himself wondered. “So,” Voshchanka said, after finishing his short briefing, “this seems to destroy your little plan for dealing with the Lithuanians, doesn’t it?”
There was silence.
Voshchanka was considering hanging up on the pretentious Russian.
Gabovich finally said, “No, General, this is the perfect opportunity. You must launch your attacks now. Move your forces from Kalinin and Byelorussia now. There will be no better time.”
‘Now see here, Gabovich—” But Voshchanka froze, realizing Gabovich was right. With all the confusion over the raids, Voshchanka, as commander of all Commonwealth forces in Lithuania, could — no, was expected—to respond in order to safeguard lives and property. These were obviously terrorists operating in Lithuania. The word was that they were Lithuanian soldiers, but there was no word from the Lithuanian government about the threat of such attacks. Perhaps they were not under government control — Palcikas could have gone insane or was operating independently. Maybe he was trying to stage a coup or take over the high-tech weapons in Fisikous for his own use! Yes, perhaps that was it. Or at least what he would tell the Council of Ministers if he had to.