“My God … I don’t believe it!” Luger shouted. It was an EB-52 Megafortress, flying in tight formation with the Fisikous-1 70. It had sneaked up on the unsuspecting MiG-29 and used one of its heat-seeking missiles to blow the MiG out of the sky from behind. A few moments later a second EB-52 appeared off the right wing, flying alongside. It was one of the most incredible sights any of them had ever seen — three massive, futuristic bombers, flying near one another less than two thousand feet above ground. “Two of them! You built more Old Dogs?”
“Damned right,” Ormack said happily. “I just never thought I’d see one this side of hell.”
Unseen by them, two more were far above the low-altitude planes, acting as high combat air patrol as they exited Lithuanian airspace. They stayed off the radios to avoid being detected by the enemy, containing their joy at the unexpected escort. Minutes later the group was safely over the Baltic, on their way to Norway and a safe recovery.
The Byelorussian sergeant ran up to his unit commander, Captain of Rocket Troops Edlin Kramko, saluted, and gave him a message. He read it silently, then reread it. His NCOIC swore that his commander’s face went white, even under his camouflage makeup and helmet. “Sir …?”
“We’ve received the alert order,” Kramko said. “All missiles are to be ready to launch within ten minutes. And we’ve received retargeting orders as well.”
Kramko handed the message over to his NCOIC. His eyes bulged in sheer horror when he read the new targets. “Sir, this must be a mistake. The first two targets are the original ones — Vilnius and Jonava, in Lithuania — but this last target has to be an error. Machulische? That is a Commonwealth air base in Minsk! We must—”
“I will call for confirmation,” Kramko said. “But this fits with the radio messages we have received about air raids and commando raids inside Belarus itself. These bases may have been overrun by Russians or Commonwealth forces — we’ve heard rumors that even Ukrainian bombers have crossed the border and are invading. If this is true, we may be the last line of defense for the capital.”
“But we are firing on the capital!”
“That’s enough, Master Sergeant,” Kramko interrupted. “I will get a confirmation if it’s possible — the radios have been heavily jammed all night — but in the meantime set these new coordinates and alert the detail to prepare the missiles for launch.”
The NCOIC saluted and trotted off to the control trailer.
Kramko’s company commanded a total of twelve SS-21 Scarab missile units, three of which had nuclear warheads. For maximum reliability, all twelve units were interconnected with each other and with the command trailer by an armored telephone cable as well as by standard VHF radio. A microwave data-relay system allowed the command trailer to exchange position, targeting, and atmospheric information with the headquarters command center, and that was what Kramko wanted to check first before risking a radio transmission for confirmation of the retargeting orders. “Status of the relay channel?”
“Open and active, sir,” the launch technician reported. Kramko checked the targeting data himself — it was verified. The retargeting information he had received by radio was the same as what was being fed into the missiles by the microwave link — two independent confirmations. “All units acknowledging the alert order.”
“Very well. Notify me on the pager when the spin-up order is received. I am going to inspect the special units.”
The spin-up order was really the launch order, but the SS-21 missile system required widely varying time periods to spin up their gyroscopes in preparation for the flight-as short as three minutes, but as long as five, depending on the age and serviceability of the units and environmental conditions. The nuclear-armed SS-21s had the most reliable gyros. Kramko had set up the nuclear-armed SS-21s within a few hundred meters of the command trailer, mostly for security reasons, and he was going out to give them a once-over.
There was nothing more for Kramko to do except wait — wait and wonder what in hell General Voshcharrka was doing aiming a nuclear warhead at his own capital, Minsk.
In a scene reminiscent of old World War II movies, Voshchanka had set up a room-sized map of Belarus and the Baltic region on the front “stage” of his command post, in the battle-staff area. Radio operators on the floor moved tiny blocks of unit and national flags around the map with long croupier sticks. He and his battle staff, sitting in a glass-enclosed balcony overlooking the stage, could easily watch the progress of the battle, like gods watching the human tragedy from Mount Olympus. Behind and above the stage were four rear-projection screens on which overhead transparencies, films, photographs, maps, and checklists could be presented.
The mood in the command center at that moment was one of incredible shock and surprise. The single crimson block representing the forty-thousand-man Home Brigade deployed from Smorgon had first been divided into six battalion blocks when the report of the Lithuanian commando attack had come in, with one battalion block removed and an RC, or “reduced capability,” flag placed on two other battalions.
After a short time more RC flags appeared.
Suddenly, inexplicably, all of the battalion blocks were removed, to be replaced by two company blocks with RC flags on them. The air-battalion block from Smorgon had an RC flag on it as well, although it had been removed from the board almost from the outset after the commando attack on the airfield and fuel depot. The same thing had happened south of Vilnius — three battalions sent to attack the capital city of Lithuania had been suddenly attacked by unidentified aircraft.
“One aircraft was identified by our fighter pilots as a Russian experimental-research aircraft,” the Air Force commander had reported. “The aircraft attacked Thirty-third Battalion with cluster bombs. The pilots spoke English but identified themselves as Russians.”
Russian aircraft involved in this war — that was unthinkable, completely unexpected at this early stage. Although Voshchanka and his staff had no positive identification of the aircraft that had attacked the Home Brigade or the other Byelorussian tank columns, they were assumed to be Russian or Commonwealth bombers as well — there had been no radar contacts from aircraft trying to penetrate Lithuanian airspace from the west. That meant they had to come from Russia or the Ukraine, the only two republics that flew heavy bombers.
“Has Kurenets acknowledged the retargeting order?” Voshchanka asked.
His commander of rocket troops looked at his colleagues on the battle staff. They remained silent — they were not going to back him up. He decided to forge ahead anyway. “Sir, they have acknowledged the retargeting order, and the command channel is open and active.
“Good. Then I want—”
“But I must re-emphasize my objection, sir. The missile targeted on Machulische is less than five kilometers from Minsk. A direct hit will cause much damage and destruction in the city, and claim perhaps thousands of lives. But if the missile misses, or falls short of its target — sir, the devastation would be tremendous!”
“General, that base is the main Commonwealth … no, the main Russian military base in Belarus,” Voshchanka said. “It has twenty thousand troops, two dozen fighters, and a hundred attack helicopters based there.”
“None of which have been used, sir. The forces there have not even been put on alert.”
“That can change very quickly,” Voshchanka argued. “Moscow refuses to confirm or deny the presence of heavy bombers over Belarus and Lithuania — they say they are investigating. That is unacceptable. Completely unacceptable!”