In any case this was the perfect time to move. With the communications infrastructure in Lithuania disrupted, news of his troop movements would be delayed, perhaps by hours, even in daylight. In that time his troops could take over the entire country. He felt his face flush with anticipation.
But was he ready to do it? Where was Gabovich and the MSB going to be when the shooting started? He wondered… maybe it would be best to wait. “What if the Americans are assisting the Lithuanians?” Voshchanka asked. “The Americans could retaliate with force. I need time to mobilize my troops.”
“Your troops should have been ready to move, General,” Gabovich hissed. “I’m willing to bet they’re ready — it’s you who are hesitating. I’ve seen your forces maneuver for best position over the past few days, barely within the constraints of the treaty. Your aviation units must have updated their data base of landmarks, assault locations, rally points, and landing spots — I have seen their activity across the border more and more.
“The time is now, General Voshchanka. You know it is. Quit vacillating. This opportunity may not come along again in years.” There was a pause, Voshchanka still having second thoughts, when Gabovich added, “You must also attack the American aircraft on the embassy grounds.”
“Attack the American Embassy?” gasped Voshchanka.
“Well, you say there are three, perhaps more, attack helicopters on the embassy grounds. They must be destroyed, General, before our troop movements are detected. You must also demonstrate to the Americans that we will deal harshly with any military force that tries to interfere with our plans.”
Voshchanka should have known that Gabovich was manipulating him, saying “our” and “we” when it would clearly be only Voshchanka’s troops on the firing line-but in his excitement, Voshchanka ignored the real impact of Gabovich’s words. It was a delicious opportunity. Far better than even he had expected. If it worked, it would ensure Voshchanka of the chance to create a new, stronger empire. One in which he would have to answer to no man or council… and he would rule with an iron fist. Without another word, he handed the receiver back to his radioman. He thought for a long moment, then turned to his aide. “Get me Colonel Tsvirko at the Fifty-first Air Army. I want to speak with him immediately. Have the Order of Battle for the Fifth and Seventh armies ready for me when I arrive at the office. And use the siren to clear that traffic out there, driver, or I will pull out a rifle and start clearing them away myself.”
“Here it is,” Ormack shouted. “I got something!” He was poring over a file-cabinet safe full of materials that Briggs and one of the Marines had broken into with a small piece of C4 explosive. McLanahan and Briggs ran over to him. “Look — it looks like a briefing package, as if the scientists were going to brief government officials on the project. I got slides, videotapes, handouts, cost projections, the works.”
“I got something, too,” Briggs said. “Looks like a security — inventory logbook, with lists of publications and documents and which drawers they’re in. I’ll get Sergeant Haskell to translate it for us.” The Marine Special Purpose Force such as the one that invaded the Fisikous Research Institute usually carried at least one man who was very familiar with the local language. The assault team’s man was Andrew Haskell, one of the Marines patrolling the stairwell.
As McLanahan and Ormack piled files and videotapes into their green canvas bag, McLanahan said, “Christ, John, can you believe we’re doing this? In a top-secret Soviet research lab, trashing the place? And we found Dave. I just can’t believe it.”
“Me either,” Ormack huffed. “I just wish we’d get out of here. If we can’t get into the aircraft hangars, what’s the use? We got Dave and he’s okay. Let’s get the hell out.”
“Yeah — but wouldn’t you love to get a look at that bomber?”
“Look at this,” Ormack said, ignoring the question. “This is a briefing slide on… man, this is a slide on a test flight for the bomber! It even has a date on it… hey! That’s only a week and a half from today! That thing must be ready to fly!”
“Let’s ask Captain Snyder for permission to go over there,” McLanahan insisted. “I hate going over Trimble’s head, but his head has been up and locked this entire night. These Marines are tough sons of bitches, John, but if it’s not in the game plan, they won’t allow it.”
“Look, I’m not gonna argue with their game plan, Patrick, because they got us in here alive,” Ormack said. McLanahan nodded his assent. “But I don’t have any trouble going to Snyder. We’ve got a job to do, and Snyder runs this show, not Trimble.”
They packed all the documents they had collected into one B-4 bag, then went out to the main stairwell where the guards got clearance for them to head upstairs to the roof. A cold drizzle had started to fall in the pre-dawn hours, which only served to heighten the feeling of nervousness and dread.
Ormack dropped the stuffed green canvas bag near the elevator-shaft door under an overhang, which would provide a bit of protection from the rain.
Captain Edward “Breaker” Snyder was huddled under a low poncho tent, sitting beside a suitcase-sized portable radio, a headset in one ear. His executive officer was flipping through a small notebook, reading. Occasionally Snyder would raise a pair of night-vision binoculars and scan the nearby buildings and the aircraft hangars. He lowered the binoculars when Ormack and McLanahan approached.
“You gentlemen done already?” Snyder asked. In the pre-dawn light, Ormack could see the exhaustion and worry on Snyder’s face. Ormack didn’t know if this was Snyder’s first actual assault, or if he had done dozens of them in the past, but from his stooped shoulders and sagging mouth, the pressure was definitely affecting him.
“There was nothing on any floor except for the third floor,” Ormack replied. “We’ve gone through the file cabinets and safes, and we got everything there is.”
“Then go through the desks and the lockers on the first floor,” Snyder said. “You have some time.”
“What we’d like to do is go over to the aircraft hangars,” Ormack said.
Snyder took a deep, exasperated breath. Before he could speak, Ormack interjected, “Captain, the plane is over there. The tech orders are over there. We need to—”
“Captain, vehicles approaching from the south!” the executive officer shouted. Snyder jumped at the announcement, whipped off the headset, then crawled over to the south edge of the roof and peered over. The two Air Force officers did the same.
An armored troop carrier was slowly rumbling down the ramp area in front of the aircraft hangars, heading toward the security building. Atop the APC was a large red flag, the Vytis, fluttering on a radio mast. There was also a white flag tied to the muzzle end of an AK-47, being held aloft by a soldier in the cupola of the vehicle.
“Radio message coming in from that vehicle, sir,” the executive officer said. “On the emergency channel. Unsecure.” Snyder crawled back to the radio tent and held the headset up to his ear:
“Attention please, American Marines. Attention please,” came the heavily accented voice. “I speak on behalf of General Dominikas Palcikas, commander in chief of Lithuanian Self-Defense Forces. The General sends you greeting and would like to inform you that all Soviet security forces have been removed from Fisikous. I repeat, all Soviet OMON troops have been captured or killed inside Fisikous. My commander requests to speak with the commander of your forces, please.”