“Remember, it is the human capital that we need as well as the land,” Nekrasov said, seriously. “Some elements of the population will resist us, and when they do they will be eliminated, but the general population must remain as unhurt as possible by the fighting. Please bear that in mind.”
“Of course, Mr President,” Shalenko said. “Have you made that point to the FSB as well?”
“Yes,” Nekrasov said shortly. “They have the task of purging enemy society of unfortunate individuals, but otherwise they are to behave themselves, or you can have them for the penal battalions.”
Shalenko nodded his head. “Then with your permission, I will return to supervising the fall of Warsaw,” he said. “Once the city has fallen, we can resume our offensive west.”
“The enemy tanks are advancing,” the spotter’s voice murmured. The tactical combat communications system lent a faint air of unreality to the entire scene. The distant sound — and sometimes not so distant — of long-range gunfire and rockets could be heard in the background; it was just like an exercise, with one very real difference. They could get killed out in Poland. “They’ll be on your position in five minutes at most.”
Captain Guntar Markus was scared, much as he hated to admit it, even to himself. He had been deployed to Poland as part of a large force of Eurotanks, mainly German-crewed. The Poles hadn’t been that welcoming, even though they had largely overcome their fear of Germany from the last war; EUROFOR’s failure to deter the Russians from pushing the limits had shamed the Poles. Markus had never expected to be part of a very real war; he had never fired his Eurotank’s main gun in action before, outside drills. No one had expected the Russians to launch a major attack.
The German commander of the Eurotank division had been a martinet; it had saved Markus’s life. The orders from Camp Warsaw had been to spread out the division, even though any natural-born tank crewmen knew that that was inviting disaster, in order to provide some support to the Polish forces near Warsaw. There had been little point in it; the 7th Panzer was well out of position to either guard the border or provide reinforcements. As far as he had been able to tell, their task was really to hold the Poles’ collective hands.
His commander had seen it as a good chance to engage in some training and sent Markus — and a force of six tanks — out on a training drill. Two hours after they had started their stealthy manoeuvres designed to practice an advance against an unsuspecting foe — the irony was killing him — the skies had echoed with the sound of thunder… and lit up with the flashes of explosions. The Eurotank’s systems were among the best in the world; Markus had a ringside seat as Russian shells crashed down on Polish and European positions… including the command post for the 7th Panzer. The jamming had made it impossible for Markus to request orders, until they had established a brief link with EUROFOR Command, but there had been no orders. Moments later, they had even lost that link; there was no way to know what was going on.
There had been some intelligence, albeit very limited. The Russians had launched a major offensive… and they were targeting the mobile forces with air strikes. The European tanks, designed to be stealthy, had been missed, or at least Markus’s small unit had been missed. He’d forced down the rising flow of panic and sent out his small Polish escort to act as spotters, knowing that all he could do was delay the enemy. At least his position was good for that, if nothing else; there was no longer a serious uplink to EUROFOR Command. His men had tried to contact higher authority… and failed completely; it was almost as if they were the only human beings left in the world. Only a handful of helicopters, heading west, had passed the tanks… and the tanks had remained unnoticed. Markus was pleased; they might just have a chance to hit the enemy a major blow.
The Polish road leading into Warsaw would be a major angle of attack for the Russians, Markus was sure; it was basic tank tactics to ensure that your forces could move as quickly as possible, and trying to take tanks through the mixture of woodland and marshes was a recipe for disaster. If he tried to move his own tanks, even though his Poles knew the region much better than any enemy unit could know it, they would be certain to be spotted, but if they kept their heads down, they would be unlikely to attract attention. They would have a chance…
“Understood,” he muttered back into the tactical microphone. The entire system used a low frequency that was supposed to be undetectable by any known ELINT system, but Markus knew better than to trust it completely. A burst of radio or radar energy could strip away their protection within seconds, leaving them exposed to Russian precision bombing, perhaps even missile fire. The attack on the command post had been ruthless; he didn’t hold out much hope of being able to surrender if the Russians caught them. “Move.”
He checked his vehicle’s batteries again. The power cells that were changing the entire face of the world — and might have played a role in precipitating this attack — were supposed to be rechargeable from any power source, from other tanks to a main power grid. In theory, even without recharging their systems, they could have made it all the way across Poland, but he suspected that that was very much a best-case scenario. If they had to power the tank’s impressive array of systems, the power drain would become critical much faster… and once they ran out of power, they would be stranded. One hand caressed the service pistol he wore at his belt; if necessary, his men would try to make their way across country. Someone, somewhere, had to be organising resistance. He was sure of it. The Russians couldn’t have killed everyone in Europe.
“Shift in the background noise,” the gunner muttered. He was also the EW officer for the Eurotank; the three-man crew had had to have special training to cope with all of the requirements, even with the massive automation that had been installed into the hull. The passive sensors, thank God, didn’t trigger Russian alarms. “There’s a Russian drone up there, watching for trouble.”
“Think good thoughts,” Markus murmured. The tank’s optical sensors were peering down the road now; the audio sensors were reporting the noise of oncoming vehicles. He wished that he could say that he was surprised that the Russians had a drone overhead, but it was standard practice; the Russians had stolen the plans for the American Dragon Eye micro-drone and improved upon it. “Prepare to engage the enemy.”
Suddenly, he saw them… and he felt a spurt of cold rage. Part of him had never quite believed in the threat, even though he had known what was happening; war in the heartlands of Europe seemed a nightmare from the preceding century. He saw, now, the black shapes of the latest, most modern, Russian tanks, and shuddered. They were at war. The Russian T-100 tank was known for being as capable as a late-model Abrams tank, with optional versions for amphibious and anti-insurgency operations, but he was certain that he was facing a tank designed for offensive warfare. There would be no insurgency in Poland, at least, not yet; the Russians wouldn’t issue the anti-insurgency tanks until much later. He was facing the cream of the Russian Army.
“Bastards,” he hissed. Two Russian helicopters, anti-armour and ground support units, he suspected, could be seen floating in the distance and coming towards his people. The Russians weren’t acting as if they knew that the EUROFOR troops were there, but it could have been a trick; he forced himself to remain calm, waiting for the first chance to hit the Russians a major blow. The line of Russian tanks seemed endless… and unstoppable. “Bastards!”