Dead Hand

Chapter 18

The opening of the door, the sudden rush of noise from outside, and the flood of light were more than enough to wake Demetre Orlov. Even before Captain Anna Zudiev called to him. the Russian colonel was swinging his feet up off the sofa on which he had slept. "The General needs to see you. Colonel," the staff officer said in a voice that was a bit too sweet for a professional soldier.

Before he could speak, Orlov tried to clear his throat. The irritation from inhaling foul air the previous day had left a gritty dryness, making that effort quite painful. Coming to his feet, he took a moment to stretch before looking around the room in an effort to reorient himself.

After Likhatchev left him, Orlov had tried to venture out of the room where he had been sequestered. That effort had been short-lived. Even before he had finished opening the door leading out into the corridor, one of the two armed sentries posted there had moved to block any effort by the Russian colonel to leave. When he asked the man if he was being held prisoner, the sentinel did not reply. While the man was Asiatic. Orlov was sure that he had understood his question. He was simply doing his duty, in the manner the General expected of all subordinates.

Sensing that the direct approach would not work. Orlov tried a different tack in his effort to explore his surroundings. "I need to use the latrine." he stated. While the sentinel still refused to speak, this time he at least acknowledged that he had understood what his charge had said. Keeping one hand securely wrapped around the rear grip of his assault rifle, the mute guard pointed over Orlov's shoulder at a door in one corner of the room. Then, stepping back, the man reached down, grasped the door handle, jerked it away from Orlov. and pulled the door shut.

Left alone again. Orlov had wandered back over to the sofa.

Settling down, he poured himself another glass of vodka. While he nursed his drink, he tried to sort things out. This effort soon petered out as his exhaustion, the alcohol Likhatchev had served him, and the inviting softness of the sofa conspired to put an end to all conscious thought.

Without a word. Orlov made his way over to the latrine that the guard outside had so brusquely pointed to the night before. "Colonel," the female captain standing in the doorway stated in a manner that irked him, "the general is expecting you."

Pausing, he turned and faced her. In a deliberate effort to embarrass her, he began to open his fly as he responded: "I do not think the general would appreciate it if I pissed over his boots. Now, if you are in such a hurry, you are free to come along and see if you can squeeze it out any quicker than I can."

His words and gesture had their desired effect. Red-faced and unable to find a suitable response, Captain Zudiev withdrew from the entrance and pulled the door partially closed. In her haste, she did not hear Orlov's parting shot. Redirecting his efforts, he resumed his leisurely advance to the latrine, shaking his head as he went and mumbling just under his breath, "Silly bitch."

Once in the small, spartan latrine, Orlov went about tending to his needs without much thought. It wasn't until he turned toward the sink to wash his hands that he looked at himself in the mirror. While the reflection was not totally unexpected, it did cause him to pause. The two-plus days of beard was barely visible through the grime and smudges of soot that covered his face. In the field, surrounded by others exposed to the same conditions, a soldier does not notice just how filthy he is until he finds himself in a place where his appearance is the exception and not the norm. It was only after he had taken time to scrub his hands and face twice and look at himself in the mirror again that he noticed just how bloodshot his eyes were.

With water still dripping down his face, — Orlov leaned forward in order to inspect his work in greater detail. There was no doubt that he could have done a better job of it, he told himself. That he had tarried here long enough, leaving the staff captain to cool her heels a bit in an effort to put her in her place, was equally clear. Straightening up, he took the thin towel that hung on a ring next to the sink and dried his hands and face. When he was finished, he balled the towel up before tossing it into the bowl of the sink. "Well," he announced firmly as he stared at himself in the mirror, "let us see what our great General has to say."

After leaving the room where he had spent the past few hours, it did not escape Orlov's attention that there were no longer any sentinels outside his door. Nor could he help but notice the extreme sense of urgency with which everyone in the corridor moved. Though he was tempted to ask Zudiev what was going on, he knew better, especially after having treated her the way he had.

The captain escorted Orlov into the main operations center of the regional headquarters complex. The center was like every other operations center the Russian colonel had been in. Every square centimeter of the large room's walls were adorned with charts listing the status of units and facilities, as well as maps of all descriptions. Equally telling was the tension, which was almost palpable, and the near-frantic pace. Without bothering to give any of the maps or charts a close look, Orlov smirked as he mused to his escort. "I see the folks in Moscow have got you hopping."

Captain Zudiev, looking over to where General Likhatchev was busy giving instructions to a handful of staff officers, shook her head while she waited for him to finish. "No," she stated curtly. "Moscow is giving us fits at the moment. NATO troops are active in the region."

Ordinarily, Demetre Orlov could absorb even the most outrageous pronouncements, or listen to incredible news, without showing even the slightest hint of surprise. In part, this was due to the fact that he went to extremes to make sure that he was never surprised. The colonel of commandos was an absolute fanatic when it came to keeping himself abreast of the situation, not only as it existed in his own little sphere of influence, but also ensuring that he was aware of developments within the operational and strategic realms. Before departing Moscow, he had made it a point to personally visit each one of the many contacts he had within Russia's intelligence community. He had specifically looked for evidence of any unusual activities by American or NATO forces, for even the slightest hint that they might be preparing for intervention. That Russia's traditional enemies could somehow launch an attack on them, out of the clear blue without even the slightest warning, was all but unimaginable to Orlov.

He was still reeling from this shocking bit of news when general Likhatchev, finished with his staff, motioned for Orlov to join him. Slowly, the Russian colonel made his way through the crowded room, paying the staff officers little heed. He kept his eyes on the General, trying to gauge the man's mood and, perhaps, his intent.

For his part, Likhatchev greeted his former subordinate as he would any other member of his staff reporting for duty. "I trust you slept well, Demetre."

Conscious that there was more in play than he was aware of and that he needed to maintain his vigilance, Orlov responded with little more than a nod and a grunt.

Sensing that his former protégé’s guard was up, and knowing full well that he would insist on some sort of evidence that his claim about the NATO forces was true, the general focused his attention on the wall lined with a battery of maps, each posted with a variety of information. Pointing to red circles on one of the maps displaying the location of the missile silos scattered about the region, the general began by giving Orlov a quick overview of the situation as they knew it. "The NATO transports that appeared in the wake of the asteroid strike brought us more than emergency relief aid. Small commando teams were dropped throughout the region under the most horrific conditions imaginable." Pausing, Likhatchev turned and gave Orlov a once-over. "Of course, I have no need to tell you just how bad things were out there."

For the first time, the Russian colonel felt self-conscious about his physical appearance. Averting his eyes for a moment, he made a halfhearted gesture to brush off his uniform. "Yes," he said in an uncharacteristically apologetic tone. "It was by far the worst that I have ever seen it." Then, catching himself, he straightened and looked into the General's eyes.

Likhatchev made no effort to hide the pleasure he felt in being able to manipulate a man many considered to be impervious to the subtle psychological tricks men use to throw other men off balance. Orlov imagined that it pleased the old man that he had not lost his touch. When Likhatchev turned back to face the map, the Russian colonel reprimanded himself for letting his guard down like that.

"Our damage-assessment teams were the first to discover our unexpected guests," the General continued. "Some of them were already dead, others not far from it. As best we can determine, the force not only consists of the usual suspects, but includes some of the more exotic components of NATO's Special Operations command. We have evidence that members of the Danish Jaegerkorptset, Belgian para commandos, and Hungarians from their Kommando Spezialkrafte are participating in this operation. Even our old friends, the Poles, couldn't resist the temptation to join in on the fun. They threw in some of their finest, commandos belonging to their 1 Pulk Komandosow Specalnego Przezanczenia. All in all, it's a real gathering of eagles."

Likhatchev paused as he reflected on both the magnitude of the operation and the apparent unity among the diversity of the participants. "As you can see, their objectives are scattered through the region."

The Russian colonel, in an effort to gain a psychological advantage over the General, shook his head. "I see that they have been quite selective in regard to their targets," he said in a hushed tone, almost as if he were thinking out loud. "I may be mistaken; but it would appear to me that they are all sites that are part of the Perimeter system."

Now it was Likhatchev's turn to have his composure rattled. He was stunned that a man who was neither a member of the Strategic Rocket Force nor part of the National Command could so easily recognize Dead Hand sites. "Yes, well," he mumbled as he endeavored to recover his composure, "neither their presence nor the targets they are after are a coincidence." Turning, he faced Orlov and drew near until the two were but a centimeter or two apart. "It would appear that our friends in Moscow have been hedging their bets. While they sent you out here to decapitate the threat, they more or less have sanctioned this NATO intervention."

Orlov took this bit of news in stride. "Are you suggesting that our own government is allowing NATO to destroy a key component of our Strategic Rocket Force?"

The general shrugged. "My sources in Moscow are not sure just who approached who in this matter. But," he sighed, "let there be no doubt that the NATO troops out there have Moscow's blessing."

That the men who had sent him out here to kill Likhatchev were capable of such duplicity was easy for Orlov to accept. Equally understandable was the fact that he was never informed about this other effort aimed at ending the General's revolt. Just what he would do now was a question that he had no answer for at the moment. In an effort to buy himself a bit of time to mull this over, Orlov went back to studying the map.

Though the room was crowded, staff officers who stood between Orlov and the map he was looking at quickly found someplace else to move to when the notorious commander of commandos stepped forward in order to take a closer look. "These two sites," he asked as he tapped each one with the tip of his index finger, "they have been missed?"

Likhatchev grunted as he joined Orlov at the map. "Not through lack of trying. Here." he indicated, pointing to the site nearest the regional headquarters, "we were fortunate in that we had the troops available to defend the silo. The security detachment managed to hold the Americans in check until reinforced by two platoons from here. Through sheer weight of numbers, we were able to wipe out their American Special Forces teams."

"I would have liked to have been part of the interrogation of the prisoners taken from that fight," Orlov commented as he studied the graphics that recorded the ground covered during the pursuit of the American intruders.

Likhatchev bowed his head and sighed. "I am afraid there were no prisoners."

"Not even wounded?" Orlov asked, incredulous.

The general looked up at his former subordinate. "You have engaged in enough close combat to know that. When a unit suffers heavily in battle, it tends to show the enemy little in the way of mercy."

"These are NATO troops we are talking about," Orlov retorted, "not Chechen rebels. There will be hell to pay."

Incensed by this criticism from a man who had been sent to assassinate him, the General's eyes narrowed as he drew himself up. "Invited or not, they have invaded Russia!" he bellowed. "No one who has the audacity to lift his hand against our people deserves to be spared."

"Does that include me?" the Russian colonel countered before he forced himself to return to his examination of the map in an effort to demonstrate that he was unaffected by the General's outburst.

The sharp exchange between the two men had brought all activity in the operations center to a complete stand-still. It took Likhatchev a moment before he noticed that his subordinates were gawking in surprise and confusion. Most of them had never seen their commander treated like this by a mere colonel. With a single scathing glance, he brought an end to this embarrassing pause.

The Russian general was still engaged in his silent intimidation of his staff when Orlov, bent over and studying the map, spoke. "I imagine there is a good reason why you have brought me here and taken the time to personally brief me on this situation."

After taking one more spiteful glance at the last of those who had not yet gotten the hint, Likhatchev returned to the issue at hand. "If the goal of the NATO intervention was to disable Perimeter, then it has failed," he announced brusquely, clueing Orlov to the fact that he had managed to best his former superior during the sharp exchange.

Finished with his cursory examination of the terrain and situation, Orlov straightened and turned to face the man he had been sent to kill. "You don't sound convinced."

He wasn't, and he knew it showed. Taking a moment to collect himself, Likhatchev made every effort to soften his tone. "Both you and I know what we would do if we had to deal with the situation NATO now faces."

This brought a smile to Orlov's face, for it reminded him of old times, of desperate missions against foes who meant nothing to him and were, therefore, easy to hate. "We would muster all men who could walk and carry a gun, form them up, and set out to finish the job."

Slowly, Likhatchev's eyes narrowed as he looked into Orlov's. "Don't you suppose they are in the process of doing that?"

It finally dawned on the Russian colonel what this was all about. But he wasn't going to let on. Playing along, Orlov shook his head in agreement and followed suit by toning down his discourse. "But of course, my dear General. While they may not be Russian, they are still commandos, the best the West has. Despite what some may think of the American military and its weak-kneed European sisters, it is not in their nature to turn their backs on a mission such as this half finished."

"I agree, as does my operations officer. Unfortunately," the General sighed as he turned away and made his way over to a long table running down the center of the room, "I have exhausted my reserves." Stopping at the edge of the table, he rummaged through a stack of papers until he found what he was looking for. After making a show of examining the sheet he held, he offered it to Orlov. "As serious as this particular situation is, I cannot ignore humanitarian relief efforts. Though the forces under my control are numerically impressive, the task they face is daunting."

As he took the sheet the General offered him, Orlov didn't bother looking at it. Instead, he simply stood in silence while Likhatchev went on. "Quite naturally, Moscow has done nothing to assist."

Orlov shrugged. "Naturally. You are, after all, in rebellion, are you not?"

The General, who had taken up wandering about the crowded room as he spoke, paused and looked over his shoulder at Orlov. "Yes, exactly." Then he glanced back at the map that displayed the missile silos and locations of known and suspected NATO forces. "And I suppose it is safe to say that NATO knows what's going on here, even though they continue to send in relief flights."

"Reinforcements?" Orlov asked.

"No. That I am sure of. But I suspect that the NATO aircraft on the ground here are part of the planned egress."

"What will you do if they are, General? With Moscow making no effort to assist by providing disaster relief, and NATO willing to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary is going on, to seize those aircraft, or to block the arrival of still more, would be, in my humble opinion, foolish."

"A perplexing problem, is it not, Demetre?" Likhatchev asked as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers and stared at the row of maps arrayed along one entire wall of the operations center. "This is just the sort of situation that men such as you and I live for."

The Russian colonel could not help but detect the joy in his former commander's voice. Had the asteroid that had set this entire chain of events in motion not been so completely out of the blue, Orlov would have had a difficult time convincing himself that Likhatchev had not been behind the entire crisis. "Since you have brought the subject up," Orlov said slyly, "I am curious as to why you have allowed me to live."

Likhatchev's words lost the somewhat easier tone that had crept into their conversation. "As 1 said, I have no reserve to dispatch to protect the remaining Dead Hand sites. While it is true that I could pull some of my troops off search-and-rescue, they would be no match for the tough professionals they would be going against. The butchering of the two platoons by a force only a fraction of their size is ample proof of that."

"So," Orlov said, "you want to use my men to do what yours could not."

If Likhatchev was irked by his former protégé’s remark, he didn't show it. Instead, tired of their psychological sparring, the Russian general simply nodded. "Yes, I want to use your men. They are available and they are the ideal weapon with which to deal with an elite enemy force."

Folding his arms, Orlov muttered as if in thought. "Huh. Logical, very logical."

For a moment, the two men were silent. Side-by-side, each waited for the other to make the next move. Likhatchev was anxious for Orlov to ask the question he knew the colonel was pondering. For his part, Orlov held back any further comments until his former superior asked the question he knew was coming. In the end, knowing full well that time was not on his side in this matter, it was the General who gave in. Turning to face Orlov, Likhatchev moved as close to the Russian colonel as he could so that no one else could hear him. In a hushed, almost pleading tone, he finally made it clear why Orlov was there. "Will you lead them?"

Feeling a twinge of triumph at having forced his master to ask in this manner, Orlov was now prepared to press his advantage. "I will have no restrictions placed upon me," he stated crisply. "No strings, no political commissars to make sure 1 behave, and full cooperation from any units under your command that 1 deem necessary to appropriate in order to accomplish my assigned tasks."

Though he was angered by Orlov's imperious manner, Likhatchev knew that he was in no position to quibble. Drawing in a deep breath, the General nodded. "Yes, yes. Of course. Only," he quickly added, "you understand that I must send an additional signal detachment along with you. The equipment your people brought was configured to keep Moscow informed of your progress. My communications chief tells me you are lacking the sort of short-range tactical sets that will be necessary to coordinate with other friendly forces on the ground."

"Not to mention," Orlov added without hesitation, "keeping you informed of my actions."

Likhatchev managed a sickly grin. "But of course. After all, you were sent to kill me. Only a fool would offer a loaded gun to the man robbing him."

Though he assumed that the general had already taken steps to ensure he didn't have a second chance at accomplishing his primary directive, Orlov decided not to pursue that issue. Based upon his quick study of the terrain he would have to cross and his experience from the previous day, he would need every minute he could find to make it to the sites he was expected to defend. Having finally been given a clear and definitive mission, one that was not contaminated by questions of professional loyalty or patriotism, Orlov found that he had no need to consider the consequences or weigh the alternatives. Snapping to attention, he pivoted about smartly until he squarely faced Likhatchev. "General, I am at your service."

Pleased that his former subordinate was again working for him, the General nodded approvingly, without ever forgetting that this state of affairs could, once Perimeter was secure, change yet again.