“With just a few B-52s? It doesn’t seem likely,” Preston said skeptically.
“The EB-52 Megafortress battleships each has the offensive punch of an entire wing of A-10 or F-16 tactical bombers,” Elliott said. “They may not be able to stop the entire force in one night, but if the first wave can be decimated it might help to call off the entire invasion.”
Preston grudgingly agreed with Elliott’s assessment — but he wasn’t about to tell Elliott that. Instead he said, “If the bombers find their targets. What’s their status?”
“We can expect the primary group of four bombers to go feet-dry in about forty-five minutes—”
“Feet-dry?”
“Cross the Baltic coast and heading inbound,” Elliott explained. “One Megafortress will travel across northern Lithuania to strike at the armored units coming out of Smorgon from the east. Two bombers will start across the north, but then cut through central Lithuania to strike at the Byelorussian air base at Siauliai and continue south to counter the armor units coming in from Chernyakhovsk against Kaunas. The fourth bomber will go against the armored units along the coast that are threatening Klaipeda. The strikes will occur within ten minutes of each other, approximately two hours after crossing the coastline.”
“What about the COBRA VENOM units that are already in Smorgon?” General Kundert asked. “I thought we were going to have air support for them as well.”
“Yes, sir, we will,” Elliott replied. “We have two Megafortresses in reserve. While the four primary birds are withdrawing, the two spares will proceed inbound. They are configured for air-to-air combat as well as ground attack. They will be able to help cover the primary group’s withdrawal, and they will establish contact with the Marine Special Operations teams within Byelorussia. Together, their task is to locate and destroy Voshchanka’s command-and-control system, including his nuclear-weapon-control network.”
“That is absolutely essential, gentlemen,” Preston emphasized. “We can knock back Voshchanka’s tanks and infantry all we want, but if he follows through on his threats and pops off a few nuclear missiles, we’ve lost the battle.”
“Sir, we need all the help we can get to locate those nuclear missiles,” Curtis said to Preston. “Secretary of State Danahall indicated that some State Department or embassy staffers from Moscow are trying to help. Is there any indication on their progress?”
“Well, our embassy’s political affairs officer, Sharon Greenfield, is probably the best Company operative we have. And she’s got a strong line into Boris Dvornikov, the former Moscow bureau chief of the KGB, but I wouldn’t count on any help from Moscow,” Preston said. “The President is counting on your Special Operations Marines and General Elliott’s bombers to knock out Voshchanka’s headquarters. If we miss, we could be looking at a full-scale nuclear war in Europe within a couple of hours.
“A messenger from Moscow, sir,” the doorman said on the intercom. “It is marked urgent, eyes only.”
General Viktor Gabovich hesitated. He had relocated to the twelfth floor of the Hotel Latvia in downtown Riga, once a run-of-the-mill Soviet-run Intourist hotel and a former KGB safe house, now converted into a rather lavish joint-venture Western-style hotel run by companies from Sweden and Germany as well as Latvia itself. Gabovich had left the confusion and danger of Lithuania and had escaped to Latvia to wait out the results of the Byelorussian invasion and to try to get a reading on Voshchanka’s actions from the Commonwealth ministers. Absolutely no one should have known that he was there. But he did expect that former KGB officers from around the Commonwealth would try to contact him, to try to get in ‘me for their piece of the new communist republic that Voshchanka was forming, so the message was not totally unexpected. Gabovich pressed the intercom button. “Bring the message up.”
“The messenger insists that he deliver it to you personally, sir.”
“Who is the messenger?”
“He has no name, sir, but his credentials are in order.”
That was the typical response for a KGB officer: no name, no identity. A KGB officer appearing somewhere in person would not want to identify himself to anyone not known to him personally or to anyone of lower rank, especially a doorman or guard — Gabovich would have been suspicious if the stranger had given a name. He said, “Very well. Show him upstairs.” Gabovich wished the hotel had a video security system, but Western-style hotels did not have such things, and Latvia and the rest of the Baltic states were becoming more and more Western every day.
Gabovich drew a Beretta automatic pistol from a shoulder holster when he heard the knock at the door — four knocks, then one lower on the door, a standard KGB entry code. Pistol at the ready, Gabovich opened the door.
“Greetings, General Gabovich,” came the hearty greeting.
Gabovich did not know whom to expect, but one person he never would have guessed would appear was General Boris Georgivich Dvornikov, the former director of the Moscow Central office of the KGB and once the highest-ranking field officer in the entire service. Dvornikov was now a top-level official with the Moscow City Police, though Gabovich knew from his own sources that Dvornikov did more than just handle police affairs. Rumor had it that he kept his hands in many pies after the collapse of the USSR, and his contacts were considered to be far superior and more loyal than even Gabovich’s own. It was also known that Dvornikov could be duplicitous at will and had on more than one occasion bent over backwards to help out the Americans. It was said he had a hard-on for the U.S. Embassy’s political affairs officer in Moscow, Sharon Greenfield. Gabovich could only imagine what a sadist like Dvornikov wanted to do to Greenfield…
“Well, Viktor Josefivich, aren’t you going to invite me in, or will we talk out here in the hallway?”
Speechless with surprise, Gabovich motioned for Dvornikov to enter.
“It has been a long time since I’ve stayed at the Hotel Latvia,” Dvornikov said casually as he removed his black leather gloves and glanced idly around the apartment. “Not anything like it was when Intourist ran the place, is it? The Ministry of the Interior and we in the KGB knew nothing of running hotels.” He noticed Gabovich’s hand in his right front pocket, smiled, and said, “Are you still carrying around those delightful little Italian automatics? You always did go for the best.”
Gabovich withdrew the pistol from his pocket and placed it back in his holster, snapping the securing band tightly. “This… this is a surprise, Comrade General …”
“Please, no more rank, Viktor,” Dvornikov said in mild protest. “At least not until the Union is restored — and then I will probably be inferior in rank to yourself. Only you have had the vision to actually do something positive to restore the Union to its former glorious position.” He hesitated, watching Gabovich’s eyes brighten with a smile. Yes, Gabovich was truly proud of his deeds these past few weeks. Never mind that he could be pushing the entire world to the brink of war — that wasn’t his concern. Dvornikov added, “I assume that is what you are doing regarding this pact you have made with General Voshchanka and the other berserkers in Byelorussia, no?”
Gabovich was clearly relieved. His plan, and so far its successful progress, had been noticed by one of the highest-ranking, most powerful men in the former Soviet Union. Dvornikov was actually deferring to him! “Y-yes, that is precisely what my plan was, Comrade General,” Gabovich said proudly. “I’m very glad you approve.”