The figure on the bed stirred slowly, then pushed the blanket off. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked over her shoulder. It was something Katazin had never seen. She was scared.
He waited patiently while she got dressed. After a few minutes she paused at the bathroom door and said, “I have to wake up Irina.”
“Why?”
“We can’t just leave her alone at home. She’s only a little girl.”
“It won’t take that long. You can be back here before she wakes up.”
The look his wife gave him told Katazin everything he needed to know. She knew she was not coming back to the house. Like any good mother, all she was worried about was her child. She was willing to leave the house without resistance just to make sure her daughter was safe. That struck a chord with Katazin. He still saw no other alternative.
Just as he reached for the knob of the bedroom door, there was a light tap on it from the hallway. He moved his right hand from the pistol and opened the door. His daughter stood in the hallway, the long T-shirt that she always slept in hanging to her knees.
She stepped right past him and walked to her mother, saying, “Mama, my throat hurts again. Will you make me feel better?”
Katazin’s wife stammered as she searched for the right phrase. She clutched the girl in her arms as if she were saying good-bye.
It was at that moment that Joseph Katazin realized he would have to take the risk and let his wife live. There was no telling what was going to happen after today anyway; at least this way there would be someone to take care of his daughter. Even though he knew he would never be able to see either of them again.
He eased down on his right knee and held out his arms, motioning for his daughter to come give him a hug. She squeezed him tight, and he realized how much he was giving up for patriotism. He whispered in her ear, “Mama will take care of you. I have to go to work early today.” He held on to her for a few seconds more, and as he released the hug he said, “Remember that Papa loves you.”
38
Less than two hours after Bill Shepherd had been forced into a firefight with a woman he thought was a flirt and her terrorist partners, he was preparing to board a Black Hawk helicopter to be transported to Estonia along with six platoons of marines. They were formulating their combat plans now, but everyone agreed that they couldn’t fight the Russians in Estonia if they were sitting on their asses in Germany.
The briefing in a hangar on the base’s tarmac was businesslike and efficient. A tall, lanky general stood next to a giant screen showing satellite photos of Estonia, then maps. The general even accepted notes as he was speaking. Shepherd knew he was getting intelligence from the CIA, information from live satellite feeds, intelligence from the Defense Department, and comments from his senior staff, all while holding the attention of the forty-two officers in the briefing. The general said, “The bottom line is simple: We’re in a shooting war. I don’t know how serious or for how long, but our orders are to work with the limited Estonian defense force and intercept the Russian force and buy time for more assets to arrive.”
From the crowd of officers someone said, “Sounds like they don’t want another Crimea.”
Someone else said, “Or Hitler.”
That brought some knowing nods from the group. Most good military officers had studied history and knew that if people didn’t change it, history tended to repeat itself.
The general was in no mood for a peanut gallery. Shepherd hung on his every word.
“Right now we know the Russians are moving at least five separate divisions south from the border. Each one has thirty to fifty tanks, antiaircraft support, troops, and supplies. It’s a massive effort. In addition, several trains are under way with follow-on supplies and additional artillery and tanks. If we allow them to get dug in along the southern border, we’ll have a hell of a time knocking them back.”
He looked around for questions. The room was silent. The general continued. “We are loading tanks for a fast move through Poland by rail. We also have fast-moving armor on its way. Air cover is moving into position as well. We are currently evaluating the Russian antiaircraft assets and planes in the area. In short, they caught us completely flat-footed.”
He started to hand out specific assignments. Armor officers were to focus on moving their tanks and supply vehicles into position; the infantry would support them and set up forward operating bases in southern Lithuania. It looked like the U.S. was going to cede a lot of the country to the Russians before any fighting. At least they intended to fight.
Finally the general turned toward Shepherd and the other eleven marine officers sitting near the front. “You marines are going to deploy ASAP and meet up with some of the Estonian troops you trained with over the past six months. You are to disrupt the Russian supply chain and make them think twice about advancing. I don’t care if you slow them with shoulder-fired missiles or mines, or by destroying roads and bridges, your main objective is to buy us time. Is that understood?”
As one, without meaning to, all the marine officers shouted, “Sir, yes, sir.”
It gave Shepherd chills and made him proud at the same time.
After the briefing, as he was racing to where his platoons were gathering, the colonel caught up with him.
“You straight on this, Major?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You will be with your units at the tip of the spear. Probably before we have much support for you. Pick your spots and do what you can to slow them down. We intend to drop you and your Estonian partners near a rail line we believe they will use to move supplies. There’s no telling what the president and Congress will decide to do, and I don’t want a truckload of marine casualties if we’re just giving away the whole country anyway. Be smart. Hit and move. No stand-up fights. Is that clear?”
“As crystal, sir.”
Now, getting ready to fly to a war zone, Shepherd was trying to understand all the factors that typically went into a fluid battle situation. The reports were still sketchy, but it was clear that Russian armor and a long supply convoy had crossed the Narva River and were moving out along the highway system in Estonia. This was one of numerous training scenarios they had considered over the past couple of years. They had war-gamed what would happen if Russia invaded Belarus, Estonia, and a number of other NATO allies. Now that this had happened, the problem of transporting artillery and tanks to the front line became much more than academic. Train lines had always been a key to moving armor a long distance, but this fight could be reached by moving some of the tanks at top speed through Poland and into Estonia. That would take time, and it would be up to his marines and airpower to slow down the invasion.
Shepherd’s commanding officer, a very fit colonel who had served in both Iraq wars, jumped into the Black Hawk and sat on the bench next to him. Their headphones connected to each other and allowed them to speak in a reasonable tone over the growing noise of the rotors and equipment being moved across the tarmac.
Shepherd said, “Colonel, I have to tell someone that I wonder if my incident with the Frenchwoman and the terrorists is somehow related to this Russian move into Estonia.”
The colonel, who had always been somewhat informal, looked at him and said, “No shit.”
Shepherd had to smile and added, “I just thought someone should consider it. It sounds like you already have.”
“Not just me. I was just reading an intelligence report linking all of the lone wolf terror attacks, as well as some of the financial market problems, to some sort of scheme to distract the West as Russia gobbled up Estonia. I think the intel boys are a little embarrassed they didn’t pick up on this sooner.”