Dead Hand

Chapter 9

For twelve hours after the primary impact of Nereus 1991 HWC, the remnants of the asteroid continued to rain down on central and eastern Siberia. Like the first major chunk of cosmic debris, those bits and pieces that followed refused to adhere to the predictions of the experts, leaving the Russian leadership in a quandary.

The shock wave generated by the fragment that had killed the World News Network crew had not yet finished running its course before a lively debate in Moscow broke out over what to do. Some members of the Russian security council favored additional evacuations of civilians from the area, now defined by an expanded footprint. Others pointed out that the means to organize and effect those evacuations didn't exist. Even if they did. as the Minister of Defense pointed out. there was no way of knowing for sure if the people they reached were being moved away from danger or being placed in harm's way. In the end. the paralysis created by this debate ate up what little time authorities on the spot had, leaving them no option other than to simply urge the populace in that new danger zone to seek the best shelters available and ride out the storm.

Not everyone in Moscow was dumbstruck into inactivity while the rest of the nation was reeling from the disaster then unfolding in the eastern province. At a military airfield chosen for its remoteness. Colonel Demetre Orlov slowly made his way down the line of commandos who stood at attention in full combat gear, patiently awaiting inspection by their commanding officer. At a time when most units within the Russian Army had no discipline to speak of, Orlov insisted on maintaining the most rigid standards that he dare impose. Though this created a palpable degree of coolness between him and his men, it left no doubt in anyone's mind as to who was in charge. Besides. Orlov found that the gulf that separated him from his men due to his policies and manner permitted him to view both their abilities and loyalties objectively. Far too often he had watched as senior officers found themselves in difficult straits because they had allowed feelings of camaraderie with subordinates cloud their judgment. Faced with the sort of missions that were routinely assigned him, as well as his concerns over individual loyalties that were never far from his mind, a lapse in judgment, for any reason, was the last thing the Russian colonel needed.

The aloofness that Orlov jealously guarded did not leave him lacking in an understanding of the men under his command. He knew which of his soldiers were crack shots, and who were the most nimble. He knew who had to have everything expected of them explained in great detail, and who had the mental agility to grasp complex situations and concepts quickly. As he slowly went from man to man, Orlov regarded each of his soldiers with the same critical eye. Yet there were some he passed with nothing more than a quick once-over and a nod, while stopping before others and checking their every piece of equipment and weaponry. No one complained about this inequity. That was not because complaining in this unit would do no good, which was true. Rather, each of the men Orlov was looking at understood that they were only a piece of the whole, a single cog in a complex machine. They also understood that not every man was the same, that there wasn't a man among them who had at his command all of the talents necessary to deal with every situation they were expected to face. So a man who was a bit slow mentally was tolerated because he had the brawn to shoulder the heaviest loads. And no one made fun of the man who wore glasses but was an absolute whiz when it came to dealing with electronics.

Pausing before one of his more outspoken soldiers, Orlov took time to tighten a strap on the man's harness that he thought was too loose. As he retained his ramrod posture of attention, the soldier gazed over his commander's shoulder off into the distance. Though the sun had disappeared below the western horizon hours before, the eastern sky still glowed with bright hues of red and orange. This caused the soldier to smile. "It has always been said that you would one day lead us all straight to hell, Colonel. I just never thought that day would actually come."

Without looking up from the strap he was adjusting, Orlov replied, "You are an atheist, Stephonich. What could you possibly know of hell?"

"I am a practical man, Colonel. I know that on this earth of ours, there are some places that are said to be paradise, and other places that are not so nice. While I never expected to visit the paradise so many of our leaders promise they will one day lead us to, I was hoping to avoid those other places."

Finished, Orlov stood upright and faced the soldier. "If that is so, why did you volunteer for this unit?"

This caused the Russian commando's smile to broaden. "I suppose I am a bit insane."

"Yes, well, if you must know, I think we are all a bit touched," Orlov remarked as he turned away.

"Tell me, Colonel," the soldier said, not letting the terse conversation end there, "are we being sent by the chief inmates of our asylum to kill other wretched souls like ourselves? Or have the sane people out there gotten out of hand?"

Unable to pass up this challenge, Orlov backpedaled and faced the soldier again. "Be sure to watch your step when we leave here, Stephonich. It is a dangerously narrow line that you will be walking."

The commando locked eyes with his commander. He knew that the colonel was not speaking of those hazards that are normally associated with an active military airfield. Realizing that he had pushed his luck as far as he dare, the soldier nodded. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

As he continued his inspection, Orlov was haunted by the analogy that Stephonich had chosen to use, for even the most dedicated officer he knew considered their struggle to protect the current regime to be illogical. "While we mock those in the Kremlin and call them clowns," a general had casually remarked to Orlov during an unguarded moment, "I believe it is we who are the fools. After all, are we not the ones who are keeping them in power?" Orlov himself entertained such sentiments, making his current mission all the more difficult since he was being sent to eliminate the one man whom soldiers like himself considered to be Russia's last best hope for salvation. Hesitating before continuing his precombat inspections, lie looked off at the rod eastern sky. Red had always been the color of revolution. It had always been his favorite color. Was this, he wondered, a sign? Perhaps the doomsayers were right. Could it be that the advent of the asteroid was not a disaster, but rather, the harbinger of a second coming, the beginning of a new era of revolution and a rebirth of the Soviet Empire? What a shame, he found himself thinking, to be on the wrong side of that monumental event.

Bowing his head. Orlov tried to clear such thoughts from his mind. This was not the time to entertain foolish speculation, he told himself. He had a mission. He had his orders. But as he straightened up and glanced off into the cast again, ho found that none of his doubts had subsided. Perhaps his mission and his orders were not one and the same. Perhaps the paradise Stephonich spoke of in a hall-joking manner lay just beyond the hell into which he would soon be going. Perhaps all that was necessary to roach that paradise was the courage to do what was right, and not that which was expected.

By early evening, it had become obvious that the worst-case scenario the American Central Intelligence Agency and the British Ml 5 had feared was in play. Both agencies, through their contacts within Russia and via electronic surveillance of the Russian strategic command and-control nets, independently came to the same conclusions.

The impact of the primary asteroid at 05:54 Greenwich mean lime, followed quickly by a succession of blows delivered to the Siberian region of Russia by fragments of Nereus 1991 I IWC. had alerted the Perimeter sensors to the fact that, the Motherland was being rocked by a cataclysmic event. This, coupled with a disruption of the national command-and-control network, had initiated the sequence of events that freed field commanders within the Strategic Rocket Force from the fail-safe system controlled from Moscow.

Though military communications had not been affected to the same degree as the civil system had been, the resulting disarray caused the leadership in Moscow to resort to radio and satellite communications rather than to use the more secure landlines that most senior officials in Russia preferred. This reliance on networks that broadcast over the airwaves gave intelligence agencies in the West a glut of information on just about everything that was going on both in Moscow and in Siberia. In some cases, the speed of the CIA's decryption equipment was able to pass messages intercepted and decoded to their analysts before the addressee in Russia was privy to it.

Intelligence, of course, is not an end in itself. It is only a window through which one can freely view the actions and activities of another. More often than not, the picture generated by these captured bits and pieces is not complete. Almost always, the actual intent of the parties observed from afar by electronic means is obscure. It is like walking into a conversation concerning a matter you have no firsthand knowledge of, and having to leave before the parties involved have come to a resolution. It is left up to the analysts to fill in the pieces that are missing and place the pirated message within its proper context and purpose. Quite naturally, the skill of the analyst and the willingness of his superiors to accept the conclusions he derives from the puzzle pieces handed to him for interpretation are critical to this process. In the end, it is the person who has assumed the mantle of command, whether he be a battalion commander in the field or the current occupant of the Oval Office, who must decide how to use the information at his disposal.

Intelligence provides the reason and the target. Plans define the means and the mechanics. But, unlike a machine, these plans never remain fixed or static. This is especially true of plans that are thrown together on the spur of the moment. No matter how gifted the creator of the original draft is, even the best plan can be improved upon. In addition, it is often necessary to make concessions when dealing with allies. Some ideas brought to the table by non-U. S. participants were, in the overall scheme of things, quite beneficial. Others were included in Tempest for no reason other than to gain the support of those nations being asked to pony up some of their best troops for the operation.

As a seasoned staff officer, Major Andrew Fretello understood the rules of the game. He knew that as soon as other NATO planners were brought onboard, they would insist on putting their own imprint upon the plan. In the name of maintaining peace among the world's foremost warriors, Fretello would have to accept a certain amount of give. Thus he found himself engaging in ceaseless revisions to Tempest as a blizzard of changes and alterations were handed down to him by his superiors.

One of the first changes to his plan came as soon as the NATO tasker for aircraft was put out. In Fretello's original plan, each team being inserted would have its own aircraft. This wishful bit of thinking was turned down without a second thought. As an alternative to one aircraft per team, Fretello suggested that the three teams assigned per target would share an aircraft. While this would require the pilot of the transport to make a series of quick turns in a very short period, it would reduce the number of aircraft required for Tempest by two thirds.

This change had no sooner been agreed to by the Military Airlift Command and penciled in by Fretello, when a representative of the intelligence staff pointed out that aircraft slated to carry relief aid into Russia could be used to drop the Special Ops teams as part of their deception plan. In this way, the intelligence officer pointed out, NATO would not be in the difficult position of justifying unscheduled over flights to the Russians. Though the staff judge advocate assigned to the joint planning staff for Tempest worried that using medical supply aircraft as troop carriers could be considered a violation of the Geneva Convention, his concerns were overridden. This change now meant that Andrew Fretello and the Air Force major working with him had to plot new air routes from Scotland into Russia that would permit the dual-purpose transports to overfly their special targets before continuing on to an airfield where relief aid was being sent, without raising undue suspicion.

Not every change to Tempest was greeted with a collective groan by Fretello and those working with him to keep the plan from becoming any more complex and risky than it already was. One addition to the plan actually turned out to be to his liking.

While it is quite easy for the chair-borne warriors who populate the Pentagon, as well as for the planning staffs, to be cavalier when it comes to placing the soldiers of their armed forces at risk, the commanding officers of the units from which those men and women come are far less sanguine about putting their people in harm's way without a well-defined plan of extraction. The original concept of having the Special Ops teams make their way to undefended rally points on their own after executing their tasks was met with a unanimous outcry from every troop commander as soon as he saw it. General Gerard Rouge, commanding officer of France's Commandement des Operations Speciales, demanded that command-and-control teams be included in the plan. "The days of dropping French soldiers behind enemy lines without a practical means of extracting them," he stated with a firmness that left no doubt that his point was nonnegotiable, "ended with the fall of Dien Bien Phu." Rouge pointed out that these command-and-control elements were necessary to give his soldiers, as well as those being sent by other NATO nations, a fighting chance to survive once their targets had been destroyed. Under his plan, these command-and-control elements would serve as rally points for the teams, coordinate impromptu actions to assist teams that found themselves in trouble, and coordinate the extraction of the teams from their assigned area of operations.

Without exception, this sentiment was echoed by every senior commander tasked to provide troops for Tempest. It was, as were many of the operational details, left to Fretello to come up with a way of satisfying this new requirement without creating a top-heavy command structure. His guidance for tackling this particular change was simple. "Come up with an organization that can get the job done with the fewest possible number of people using the least amount of equipment."

As a practical matter, Fretello recommended that the personnel needed to populate these command-and-control teams be drawn from the staff already gathered at the RAF base in Scotland. This had several advantages that he knew would appeal to his superiors.

First, it would save time, a consideration that was always critical in military operations. Second, it would use people already dedicated to Tempest as support personnel. "Once the strike teams are airborne," Fretello pointed out, "everyone left back on the ground in Scotland is out of a job." That this included himself was not overlooked by the young major or his superiors. This provided the third, and by far the most important, reason to Fretello for using on-hand personnel.

While he didn't expect to have a great deal to do as the executive officer of one of the forward operation's command-and-control teams, or FOCCT's for short, at least he would finally participate in a combat jump. When this matter was brought up by Colonel Hightower, who was serving as both the senior U. S. Army troop commander for Tempest and chief of the combined Special Operations staff, Fretello appealed to his warrior ethics. "For fifteen years, sir, I have accepted every assignment and duty without hesitation or complaint. When I was not tagged to go to the Persian Gulf in ninety-one, I did not despair. When I was told that it was more important for the Army that I stay at Leavenworth and finish my course in advanced military studies while my contemporaries were being rushed off to defend Taiwan, I swallowed my pride and soldiered on. To miss this opportunity to earn my pay as a soldier would be intolerable."

Hightower patiently listened to Fretello's plea. "You realize, Major," the colonel finally replied, "that officially, this operation will never have taken place. If this goes off the way you've planned it, there will be no campaign ribbon for it. No one will be awarded a medal, a citation, or even get credit for his role in Tempest on his next evaluation report. So as far as your career is concerned, this will be little more than a shadow, nothing more."

Though he hoped that this wouldn't be true, Fretello understood what his commanding officer was saying. "If nothing else, sir," he acknowledged, "I'll be able to prove to myself that I have what it takes. Though that may sound selfish, not to mention a tad bit clichéd, it's how I feel."

Having experienced his share of disappointments during his own military career, Hightower nodded. "You understand," the colonel grumbled, "that this new assignment you've managed to create for yourself in no way relieves you of your current duties and responsibilities as the chief plans officer for the operation. You have a final briefing for all group and team commanders in less than two hours. So plan accordingly."

Though he tried hard not to, I'retello found himself smiling. "Yes. sir. Of course, sir." he responded out of habit. "Rest assured, everything is in order and ready to go in regard to the briefing."

In past training exercises, it had been the practice of Hightower to cool the ardor of his subordinates when they made bold claims such as this by responding with a terse comment such as. "It damned well better be." or "We'll see about that. Major." Colonel Hightower. however, was not in the mood for such theatrics at the moment. He would be making what he expected to be his last combat jump. Within a year, he would be relinquishing the command of his Special forces group. After that, his career would forever take him away from the troops he so loved. There would be no more sudden deployments to places unknown. I le would never again have the opportunity. not to mention the thrill and excitement, of pitting his skills and knowledge against impossible situations and wily foes. Though it would be at a much higher level, he would become a staff officer, just like the major before him.

With a simple. "Thai's all. Major." and a salute. Hightower dismissed I'retello. As soon as the anxious young staff officer had closed the door behind him. the colonel picked up the phone and dialed his home phone number. As the hour drew near, the time had come to say his farewell to the only person in the world whom he loved more than he loved the Army in which he served.

When Great Britain's Ministry of Defense was presented with the American plan for neutralizing Perimeter, there had been no question about supporting it. While many in the MoD had argued that their island nation would probably not be a target for the handful of missiles dedicated to the Russian doomsday system, the ramifications of any attack on a NATO nation, as well as the subsequent response by the United States, were clear. "Regardless of our personal feeling about the Americans and their rather unorthodox plan," the British Minister of Defense had pointed out, "we have no choice but to support Tempest. Not to do so would make the NATO charter meaningless at a time when it may be needed to protect Europe from a reenergized Russian bear."

This did not mean that the British accepted Tempest in its original form. Like the French, they had some serious reservations. Following General Gerard Rouge's lead, the British insisted upon changes that fit their national policies. And like their fellow European allies, the British were not ready to commit all of their "best and brightest" to this one operation. "Even if Tempest is a hundred percent successful," the British Chief of Staff pointed out to the Minister of Defense, "we have no way of knowing what will transpire within Russia once all the dust there settles. We may very well need our Special Operations Forces to respond to a renewal of the Cold War."

In light of this opinion, it was decided that only a portion of Britain's Special Operations resources would be committed to Tempest. "Where possible," the Chief of Staff instructed his plans people, "utilize those personnel and elements within the SAS and SBS that are expendable."

When the Chief of the Imperial Staff issued this planning guidance to the officers in the MoD responsible for generating the troop list for Tempest, he did not have Captain Patrick Hogg's name in mind. Senior officers and decision-makers who are part of each nation's Security Council do not think in terms of actual people or personalities. They deal only with "units" or "elements," words that are not tied to faces, or spouses, or children. The commitment of a nation's sons and daughters to combat is hard enough without burdening those initiating the action with actual images of real people. By insulating themselves from the troops who will be sent forth to fight and die for their country, leaders at the national level are thus free to use the word "expendable" without evoking an undue flood of guilt or emotion.

That is how it came to be that Major Thomas Shields and his cadre at Hereford found themselves as part of the United Kingdom's contingent for Tempest, while many of the men they had trained and passed off to the various squadrons of the SAS stood by, idle.

Standing in the center of the three teams he was responsible for, Shields had to look into the eyes of the men who had been deemed expendable. Like Demetre Orlov, Shields knew everything there was to know about the soldiers gathered about him. Though he spent most of his time at Hereford fighting the good fight from a desk, he was not so far removed from the line that he could not read the men's expressions, their moods, or their feelings.

Having finished his briefing, Shields stood back from the table upon which a map of their area of operations lay and looked around. "As the American major stated in his briefing," he stated crisply, "once one of our three teams has placed its device on the silo's hatch, all it needs to do is to withdraw to a safe distance, transmit the standing-by code, and blow the missile to bits when the order to execute is given."

Despite his best efforts to put a positive spin on their mission, the grim expressions staring back at him told him that his men knew that things were not going to be as easy as that. Clearing his throat, Shields lowered his eyes back down to the map and continued: "It will be necessary to inspect the site after the dust and debris have settled, just to be sure that target effect has been achieved."

Hogg chose this moment to interrupt. "Sir, there's one thing I am not absolutely clear on. Does this confirmation mean that we must physically crawl up to the smoking hole in the ground and peek in? Or will we be able to use our best judgment in determining if the ICBM has been rendered nonoperational?"

Looking over at the second most senior officer of his group and the leader of one of the teams, Shields nodded. "Yes, 1 see your point, Captain Hogg. Like you, I would expect that if the shaped charge does its job, there'll be a secondary detonation that will leave no doubt in anyone's mind that the missile has been, shall we say, deactivated."

"Blown to bloody hell is a better way to put it, sir," Hogg replied.

"Yes, of course," Shields acknowledged, doing his best to hide his displeasure over hearing one of his officers use language that he considered unnecessarily colorful. "1 will leave it to the discretion of the team commander who is actually executing the target to make that determination. After all, we have all seen enough explosions in our collective lifetimes to be able to judge that sort of thing."

"Yes," Hogg mused as he stared down at the map. "I daresay we have."

Sensing that this was an appropriate time, Sergeant Kenneth McPherson asked a question that had been bothering him ever since they had left the mass briefing for all those with active roles in Tempest. "Sir, if you could, I would appreciate it if you would explain why it is that we are reporting to an American FOCCT team once we have completed dispatching the Russian missile?"

Seeing an opportunity to add a bit of humor to the otherwise grim session, Shields smiled. "That is a very good question, Sergeant McPherson. And as soon as someone explains it to me, I'll be more than happy to pass the reason on to you."

As expected, this generated a spate of chuckles. After allowing the moment to linger as long as he dare, Shields tried his best to provide his subordinate with a reasonable response. "As things were explained to me earlier today, it has to do with which teams are dropped in which areas. Where there is a predominance of one nationality in an area of operation, a Forward Operational Commandand-Control team, made up of personnel from that nation, has been created and charged with the responsibility for all teams within that area. We happen to be fortunate enough to have drawn a target that is in an area of operation populated mostly by Americans."

From across the table, McPherson smirked. "Three cheers for us, eh?"

A chorus of subdued guffaws and snickers rippled through the gathering. Enjoying the moment, Shields related how the commander of the French teams in their area reacted. "Yes, well, the commander of the CRAP team that will be knocking off the missile a few kilometers from ours was somewhat less friendly. Drawing himself erect, the French captain looked the American major who planned this operation, and who is also the deputy of the FOCCT in our area, right in his eyes. 'While I have no say. Major,' the Frenchman said, 'to whomever I report, I must insist that we bring our own rations. Facing the best the Russians have available to throw at them is something that my men will do without hesitation. The idea of having to subsist on your MRE's, however, is completely out of the question.' "

Whether it was the story itself or the manner in which their commander told it, every man present, including Hogg, broke out in uproarious laughter. "Did the French captain happen to say, sir," a corporal asked, "which wine they would be serving?"

Shields didn't miss a beat as he responded to this inquiry with a straight face. "Well, seeing as how we are going into Russia, I would assume that a nice red wine would be apropos."

Again a wave of laughter rippled through the group. Only when it was subsiding did Patrick Hogg attempt to get back to the briefing by pointing to a cluster of buildings marked on the map. "This complex, sir?" he asked in a rather offhanded manner. "Do we know for sure what it is? The German who gave the intel portion of the briefing glossed over it rather quickly."

Refocused on the operation, Shields looked at the map, then over at Hogg. "It is assumed that this is where the headquarters and support facilities for the Strategic Rocket Force that all these missiles belong to is located."

This sobered up the balance of the assembled SAS men. Hogg considered the major's response for a moment before he continued. "Do we have any reliable idea on how many personnel are there, specifically security and ready-reaction forces?"

While he continued to stare down at the map to the spot that Hogg was asking about, Shields folded his arms. "No, I am afraid I an not privy to that information. As best I can tell, no one is certain of the strength of the security force there. While I expect that some of it will be drawn away to assist in disaster relief, you can be sure they'll leave someone back to mind the store."

Glancing up, the SAS major looked about. He saw the concern on each man's face. "Captain Hogg's point is an important one, one that we must bear in mind at all times. This operation is going to be no walk in the park. We are going into a foreign nation, defended by a force that has but one mission, and that is to defend the very targets we are being sent to destroy. Regardless of what is going on between Moscow and General Likhatchev, those Russian soldiers will defend those rockets with their lives. That's why the Americans insisted on sending three teams against each silo."

"Playing the odds," Sergeant McPherson murmured.

"That's right, Sergeant," Shields responded. "We're playing the odds. So stay alert, and stay focused. We've got but one chance to get this right."

"And if we don't?" Hogg asked.

Shields didn't answer that. He couldn't. Neither the briefings he had received nor his imagination could provide him with a suitable reply.