Snyder nodded to Trimble, and a guard swiveled Palcikas’ chair around so he faced into the hallway. He wore a slight smile on his dirty, tired-looking face. “Do you understand English, sir?”
“Yes. Little,” Palcikas replied. He noticed the dark-blue bars on Snyder’s collar, looked at Snyder’s face, and his smile broadened a bit. “You are commander here?”
Snyder ignored the question. “Sir, how many troops do you have here in the Fisikous Institute?” he asked.
“You say ‘sir’ with very little respect in your voice, young captain,” Palcikas said. “You must be American Marines.” Palcikas had trouble with his English, but the other Lithuanian, still facing the wall, translated the question into Lithuanian and helped his superior with his translation: “I had four battalions here, about three thousand five hundred men. Two battalions, no more. Organized three battalions, each eight hundred men.”
“Jesus,” Snyder said. He had lost a third of his forces, as had Snyder, but this man had lost a hundred times more souls. “And I thought I lost a few men.”
Palcikas looked at Snyder and nodded, as if he could see the fear and pain that the young Marine captain was trying to hide. “War is a difficult thing, is it not, Captain?” Snyder made no reply. “You are very young to command American Marines, are you not? But then, some of my officers are very young as well.”
“What is your objective here?”
“Fisikous will be headquarters for my troops during attacks,” Palcikas explained with help from his radioman. “My headquarters in Trakai not good against air attacks. Fisikous very good, very strong.”
“But what is your objective? Why are you doing this? Why are you attacking Fisikous?”
“To drive foreign troops out of my country,” the man replied. “I destroy communications centers, missile bases, power plants, and airfields — now I take my stronghold and plan my next offensive. Fisikous now belongs to Lithuania.” He paused, scanning Snyder carefully, then asked, “And what is your objective here, Captain?”
“That’s classified, sir.” Haskell handed Snyder a printout. It was the fax from the Embassy with a recent photo of Palcikas. It matched. Snyder showed Trimble the printout, then showed it to Palcikas. “Release him — but don’t give him back his weapons until they’re ready to leave.”
Palcikas smiled at that extra bit of caution. He had a chance to look around after he was cut free and his equipment, minus his weapons, were returned to him: “Ah. Secret invasion. Small force, limited objective, few casualties. Hostage rescue? You steal secret formulas, like in James Bond movies?” He looked at the other men around him, his eyes falling on Ormack, McLanahan, and Briggs. “These men not Marines. CIA? You spies?” He shook his head, deciding they were not. Then he stared at Ormack and nodded his head. “No, not spies. But you are main man. You are commander here? You look like commander.”
Snyder gave Ormack a warning glance — no names, we’re not even supposed to be here — and Ormack nodded that he understood. “Perhaps someday we can be formally introduced,” Ormack said, extending a hand. Palcikas grasped it in his huge hand. “But it’s a pleasure to meet you, and I’ve admired you ever since you left the Red Army and returned to Lithuania. You are an inspiration for a lot of people in America.”
“You smart guy!” Palcikas said with a laugh, a broad grin on his face. “I first think you general like me, but you too smart for general — maybe gunnery sergeant, no?” The Americans around him laughed aloud — Palcikas’ charisma was infectious. “No names, classified mission, and you know of me — maybe you all spies.” He shrugged nonchalantly, then added, “No matter. You shoot the right soldiers — you shoot OMON Black Berets here in Fisikous. I thank you for assisting me. What are your intentions?”
“Right now, my intention is to get out of here,” Snyder said.
“Easy,” Palcikas said, clapping Snyder and Ormack on the shoulder. “You go. We take you. You go to embassy? City of Progress? Yes, we take you to embassy. Heavy guard, hide in trucks, you stay secret. Okay?”
Snyder was about to say, “No, we’re waiting for our people to come get us,” but he paused and thought about the officer. A SEA HAMMER or Super Stallion would have to make at least two trips to retrieve all the Marines trapped inside Fisikous, in broad daylight; each trip would be a hundred times more perilous than the previous one. Plus they would ruin any chance they had of keeping this mission into Fisikous a secret. He turned to Trimble and together they stepped away. “What do you think, Gunny? I hate putting our lives in the hands of people we don’t know, but they are locals. Enlisting the assistance of locals is part of the SOP. And if the Echos or the Hammers come get us, they’ll be under the gun the whole way.
“I think any way we look at it, sir,” Trimble said, “the faster we can get out of Fisikous, the better. We’ve accomplished our mission — we got the zoomie and we got the classified stuff. Let’s split.”
“I’m all for that,” Snyder said. He turned to Palcikas and said, “We accept your offer, General. We’d like a few conditions: I want to know the route of travel we’ll take, no one is blindfolded or restrained, we have full access to our weapons, and we have an equal number of Americans and Lithuanians in each vehicle.”
The radioman translated Snyder’s words, and Palcikas nodded. “Very cautious of you, Captain, but I approve of your caution. Your conditions we will meet.”
“Good. Perhaps you can use some of the weapons on the second floor of this building — they have enough ammunition and weapons for a battalion.”
“We can always use more bullets, young captain,” Palcikas said with a smile. “If you will allow it, I will bring troops to carry it out.”
“When we depart, you can have all of it,” Snyder said. “Not until.”
“You very cautious man. I like. Very well. You don’t blow up. I take when you leave. Good.” He issued orders to his radioman, then turned to Ormack and the other Air Force officers. “And what of you three unnamed spies? Will you go with Marines to the embassy or do you wish to see the rest of the facility? I have not been there yet, but I am told a fantastic and beautiful bird lives in the east hangar out there. I make a guess and say that was your objective, no?”
Ormack couldn’t hide his excitement from Palcikas, but Snyder, who was already on his walkie-talkie to his executive officer on the roof, said, “No, General, they will be accompanying us,” with emphasis, for Ormack’s benefit, on “will.”
Palcikas nodded and issued orders to his radioman, then said to Ormack, “Do not worry, General — and I know you are a general, despite taking orders from young captain — I will take good care of the bird, and my staff will take nice pictures. Perhaps you will see the pictures in Aviation Week and Space Technology next week, no?”
When a call from overseas comes into the White House Communications Center and is accepted by the President of the United States, he is not the only one who picks up the phone and says “Hello.” An incoming call is usually delayed a few minutes, no more than three or four, while an entire army of people gets on the line.
On this call from the Byelorussian capital of Minsk, two interpreters were quickly put on undetectable “dead extensions”—a Russian interpreter and, in this case, a Byelorussian interpreter. The Russian interpreter, a naval officer assigned to the White House, was on permanent assignment to the President’s National Security Advisor and ordered to stand by when the embassy reinforcement commenced; the Byelorussian interpreter, a civilian State Department employee born in the former Soviet republic, had been summoned shortly before the operation began, when it was obvious who might be calling.