The pistols were actually more of a challenge than the MP18s had been. While the machine pistols were, broadly speaking, close to a rifle in terms of feel, weight, and handling, hence all the men had a fair idea of how to go about it, almost none of the enlisted men had more than seen a pistol. Thus, what was intended to be a quick refresher turned out to be a half day course.
Worst were the ones who were simply terrified of firing a pistol, and there were three of those. Nenonen or Federov had to stand next to these, gently coaching them through every step and every shot.
And I don’t think I will ever forget Dudnik, squeezing off the rounds with tears of abject terror coursing down his face. Though, on the plus side, terrified or not he didn’t quit.
And it’s not enough, mourned Nenonen. They need another two days, and then more every week until we set off.
It is beyond idiotic, Nenonen thought, watching First Platoon march off to the G ranges, to issue each man two incompatible weapons, a nine millimeter machine pistol and an eleven millimeter semi-automatic pistol. And I’d complain about it, I would, if I thought we had the slightest choice at this point. Still, I foresee problems.
On the other hand, to be fair, that big American pistol’s eleven millimeter, plus, bullet will put someone on his ass a lot more readily than a nine millimeter will, unless, as with the machine pistols, you hit him a couple of times. So maybe it makes some sense, if not logistic sense.
As Federov and Nenonen finished with one platoon of twenty-six men, including supernumeraries, they were sent over to the G Ranges and Captain Cherimisov, who would explain to them the drill he and Mayevsky had worked out for room clearance.
The G ranges—of which there were four of increasing size and complexity, plus non-firing, above ground buildings—were all for building clearing and noncombatant rescue. In the case of G1a1, what that meant was a one room shack with mostly open walls, one of four, above ground, in which squads could run through room clearing drills, in full light, without live ammunition, before descending into the underground room, G1, where they would practice with live ammunition.
Cherimisov waited until the entire platoon was seated, then began, “The first sergeant and I, with considerable input from the battalion commander, have spent a lot of time and expended a lot of thought on how to do this. By this point in time, everyone knows how to go into a building or bunker and clear it, leaving no one alive.”
The captain scowled. “That’s not our problem. It’s not a tenth of our problem. Oh, no; we have to go into a strange building, and kill some of the people inside, while not harming a hair on the head of any of the others. Moreover, the people we’re supposed to kill, once they realize what’s going on, are going to stop trying to kill us, and put their efforts into killing the people we’re trying to rescue. And if we fail to get the people we’re supposed to rescue out, alive and to safety, we will have failed. Miserably.”
Cherimisov gave the platoon a not quite smile. “It gets worse and harder. Because the enemy will try to move, or just go ahead and kill, the people we intend to rescue… hmmm… why don’t I stop being indirect with my terminology here? The enemy are the Bolsheviks, and I’ll call them that from now on. The people we’re trying to save? You already know this; the ‘people we’re supposed to rescue’ are the royal family, the Romanovs, tsar, tsarina, tsarevich, and the four grand duchesses, Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia. We have no particular idea at this point what any of the Bolsheviks look like, but you will all be studying pictures of the Romanovs diligently. Why? Why because if we have a choice between saving some maid or footman, on the one hand, or one of the Romanovs, on the other, the maid or footman lose.
“Remember, that value judgment is implicit in our oaths.”
“So, where was I? Oh, yes; the Bolsheviks, with any warning at all, will try to move the Romanovs, if they can, or kill them, if they feel they must.
“From there we can infer several principles we must follow. One is surprise, which comes in several forms. First is strategic or operational surprise; we cannot let them know we’re coming. The second is tactical surprise; when and where we hit”—Cherimisov slapped the back of the fingers of his right hand into the palm of his left—“it must be as a bolt from the blue. The third is technical surprise; the detailed manner in which we assault must be something so new to the Bolsheviks that they are shocked as nearly into passivity as possible.”
Cherimisov held up his left hand again, displaying his rather rare wristwatch. He tapped a finger against the crystal of the watch, saying as he did so, “Our second principle is speed. Every advantage we gain from surprise is fleeting. The longer we are in the area where the royal family is being held, the greater the chance we’ll be spotted. The longer it takes us to clear a room, the greater the chance one of the Bolsheviks will recover his presence of mind sufficiently to shoot the tsarevich.
“Oh, and by the way, the tsarevich is a bleeder. He will probably not survive even a flesh wound. If it ever comes down to you or him—or me—we must stand in front of him and take the bullet. We’ll have a chance, at least, of saving one of us.
“Our third principle is violence. We attack, attack, attack continuously, until the Romanovs are secure. We take no prisoners—no, not even if they try to surrender; every Bolshevik must be not only shot down without hesitation or compunction, but should be reshot once he’s down, to make sure.
“And, finally, we must be able to discriminate. I mentioned you will study the Romanovs. That’s not going to be all that helpful, for most circumstances. One thing we’ll have going for us is clothing. Probably most or all of the Romanovs, when we go in, will be in their nightclothes. These will probably be white or, at least, light in color. Probably the most dangerous Bolsheviks will be the ones on guard duty; they can be expected to be wearing some kind of uniform, no different from the ones you lot are wearing. Five of the seven Romanovs—the women—should have long hair. We won’t shoot people with long hair until we can examine them more closely.
“We’ll have a couple of things going for us, with regards to discrimination. One will be the flash grenades, that will blind anyone in any room where they’re used. Couple these to the dynamo lights you will be issued in a few moments. These you will wear on your chests, and activate just before entry. By their light, no great shakes but better than nothing, you will be able to see somewhat, while the Bolsheviks—oh, and the Romanovs, too—won’t be seeing much of anything. Secondly, we’re going to try to get the Romanovs to help us distinguish them.
“The entire family speaks English. So I want to you repeat after me, ‘Romanovs get down!’ Do it.”
After a chorus of barely intelligible attempts at that, Cherimisov decided, “We’re going to have to work on that one. A lot.
“All right now; everyone on your feet. Line up to draw dynamo lights, then the first sergeant and I will talk you through the room entry and clearing drill.”
Mayevsky lined up the first squad of the first platoon, six men, in three dyads, front to back. The rest of the platoon clustered round in a semi-circle.
“This,” he said, “is your standard formation for assaulting and clearing a room. Now listen carefully, shitheads; the way this is to be done is that the first pair have their machine pistols ready, the second pair are prepared to throw flash bombs, and the third pair stand by, but also have their machine pistols ready.