“Yes, sir,” Anna said. “What about Colonel Aliyev?”
Shalenko scowled. “I’ll see him now,” he said. He climbed out of the command vehicle and glanced around; he could hear the distant noise of the occupation forces moving into Hanover. It would be a dangerous few hours for everyone involved; a single shot could lead to a slaughter. That would be very bad for the future; the important matter was to ensure that they were firmly in control of their territorial gains before imposing their own system on Europe.
Aliyev was standing, watching a line of tanks advancing onwards towards France, heavy helicopter support flying overhead, searching for targets. The paratrooper looked very tired, but still professional; in his uniform, he was one of the deadliest men that Shalenko had ever seen. He was proud of Aliyev; the man had had a difficult mission and had carried it out flawlessly. If the Poles had been just a little quicker to react…
“Colonel,” Shalenko said. It was the first time they had met since the war began. “You did well in Poland.”
Aliyev snapped off a salute. “Sir, with all due respect, my men and I need a mission,” he said, insistently. “We are losing our edge just standing around doing nothing.”
“I was unaware that this was the sort of army where officers chose their own missions,” Shalenko said, eyeing him darkly. Aliyev showed no reaction; the elite rarely showed any reaction to such issues. “Your unit is irreplaceable.”
Aliyev stared at him. “Permission to speak freely, sir?” Shalenko nodded once; the President’s determination on never shooting the messenger had sunk in to every level, with the possible exception of the lowest ranks. “My unit needs to continue fighting, not sitting around while others die; we could take an airport in France or…”
“That will be accomplished by smaller groups, those that have been left intact,” Shalenko said. France had two armies left, one of which was tied down in the south; it would be crushed once France itself had fallen. “The insurgency in France destroyed several airports and the French have been unable to rebuild or repair most of the damage.”
He shrugged. “We will be taking over airports and using them, but we will be doing that with more precision than we were doing in Germany and Poland,” he continued. The trick would be to ensure that the Algerians had their backs firmly stabbed before they realised what was happening; timing would be everything. “your unit will have another mission, fairly soon.”
Aliyev looked hopeful. “Ostend?”
Shalenko smiled. Had the news spread that rapidly? “No,” he said. “Ostend may have to be handled by the air force alone, although we will be looking for places where we can insert paratroopers if we can; the British have had two days to dig in and the Royal Marines are experts in such combat. It’s not a pleasant thought — that’s what Hitler did wrong as well — but there may be no choice unless the units probing into the Netherlands can reach Ostend in time to slam the door firmly shut.”
He rolled his eyes. “And there are other problems as well,” he admitted. It was important that Aliyev understood what was at stake. “Wear and tear on the equipment as well, for one. If we can smash the French force in the north, we’ve won in France; the FSB can finish the task of securing France. It’s butcher’s work; the bastards will enjoy it. Once we can take a breath, we can prepare for the next part of the operation — Operation Morskoi Lev.”
Aliyev lifted an eyebrow. “Sir?”
“You’ll be briefed later,” Shalenko assured him. The sound of jets rapidly rose and fell in the distance as they raced west, or perhaps east; the Russian Air Force was slowly expanding its control over all of Germany and had even skirmished with the remains of the RAF. “Just believe me when I tell you this; it will be the greatest mission of your career.”
He watched as Aliyev saluted him and departed. Aliyev had had a nasty fight in Poland; a Polish infantry unit had managed to respond to the capture of the airport and had attacked brutally, almost forcing the Russians out of the airport to certain death. The paratroopers had been banged up by the time Russian aircraft had arrived in time to save them from defeat; hundreds of their civilian prisoners had been killed in the exchange of fire.
The reports Shalenko had read had made grim reading. Aliyev had taken the failure to protect the civilians personally; he had intended to keep his word to the civilians and had failed. A small boy, whose enthusiasm about aircraft had been a joy to his harassed father, had lost his life to one of the bursts of fire. No one knew who had killed him, even though Russian propaganda would claim that it had been the fault of the Poles. He hadn’t deserved that…
Shalenko could only hope that Steiner would behave himself. The FSB security units were a law unto themselves under any other commanding officer; only his close friendship with the President gave him additional authority over them. If the Germans started to act up, the FSB would give them hell; FSB General Vasiliy Alekseyevich Rybak had made that clear. Bastard.
“General, the air force is sending more jets into the Belgium area,” Anna said, coming up behind him. Her face was concerned; she knew, as well as he did, that the process of conquest was still hanging in the balance. If the French managed to stop them… then… then Shalenko would have to bring up additional firepower and keep digging at them until they were broken. He had enough firepower to reduce a city to rubble; he could afford to take the time to ensure that it was all ready to be deployed against the targets. “They’re confident that they’ll close the sea-lanes.”
“Hah,” Shalenko commented. “Contact the Navy; I want them to recall Admiral Daniel Sulkin and his aircraft from Algeria, so they can start hacking away at the British ships. If I can’t get at the bastards on the land, I want to close their only line of escape.”
“Yes, sir,” Anna said. She paused. “The President would like you to know that Austria and Slovakia have both prepared themselves to accept our terms, Austria with a little more reluctance, but with the chaos in Italy spreading out of control, they’re likely to accept our security guarantee and the price that goes with it. Occupation forces had reported that we have secured most of the targets in Germany; once we have a breathing space, we can start bringing them all back online.”
“I’m not worried about that at the moment, Anna,” Shalenko said. He stared up into the sky, seeing the trails of Russian aircraft high overhead. “I’m worried about the logistics of the war effort. Our supply lines are still pretty weak, even if we have press-ganged Germans and Poles into driving lorries for us, with the promise of payment afterwards.”
And their hands handcuffed to the wheels, just in case they have any clever ideas, he added silently. The FSB was full of nasty tricks like that. “If we lose our supply lines, we will be in serious trouble.”
“The FSB is confident that it can keep the supply lines open,” Anna said. She was trying to cheer him up; he appreciated it even as he found it cloying. “It won’t be much longer before we can advance into France and finish the war.”
“That won’t be the end,” Shalenko said tartly. He allowed his voice to darken as he gazed in the direction of Hanover. There were thousands of Germans in the city and not all of them would be reconciled to the new world order for a very long time to come. “It will merely be the end of one campaign. The occupation and integration will come next and that is going to be very difficult indeed.”