Dead Hand

Chapter 6

The sight of General Eric Shepard, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, walking side by side with the Chief of Staff of the Army in and of itself was unusual enough to raise eyebrows. To be together in the Army's wing of the Pentagon was downright strange. Though he was proud of his parent service and what it had achieved during his years as a junior-grade officer, Shepard felt he needed to distant himself from the Army in order to escape the impression that he favored one branch of the armed forces over the others. While this was laudable to some. Chuck Smith often found himself reminding his superior and longtime friend of what color his uniform was, especially when the two were on opposite sides of an issue.

That the two officers were at odds was clear to Smith's staff as the pair moved through the outer suite of offices and straight into Smith's at the double-quick. Smith's only comment to his staff was a short, gruff "No calls" to no one in particular as he went blitzing by.

Once the door was closed, the Chairman of the joint Chiefs turned and faced Smith, "lust what in hell are you doing. Chuck?"

Having expected something like this. Smith was not bothered in the least. Moving to a sofa, he undid the last two buttons on his blouse and sat down before answering. When he did, his voice was calm and relaxed. "General. I'm just doing my job. Nothing more."

Rather than satisfying him. the tone of Smith's voice as well as his patently evasive manner only stoked Shepard's rage. "Dammit, Chuck. Your conduct during the meeting with the President went beyond the pale. You all but accused the Air Force of being incompetent and impotent."

Still unruffled. Smith shrugged. "But it's true, Eric. You heard Wagner's own assessment. Even if the Air Force had sufficient ordnance available to handle the task, they have neither the aircraft nor the conventional cruise missiles to take out the Russian missile silos in a single, swift strike." Pausing, Smith's expression hardened. "The Commander in Chief himself set the criteria for this operation at the very beginning of the NSC meeting this morning. One," Smith stated crisply as he held his right hand up and lifted a single finger, "given the nature of the Perimeter system, the targets must be neutralized with a single, swift strike. Two," he continued, raising another finger, "the strike force has to be under positive control at all times, with the decision to execute or abort delayed until the last possible moment. And three," he emphasized with the addition of a third finger, "the end result, the total neutralization of the Perimeter system, must be guaranteed."

Dropping his hand, Smith locked eyes with Shepard. For several long seconds, the two most senior officers in the United States Army glared at each other. Finally, Smith broke the silence. "The option the Air Force offered couldn't meet a single element set forth as being crucial to success."

Though Smith's oratory took some of the venom out of Shepard's, the Chairman was still far from pleased by what had happened at the White House. "There's more to this than simple, blind professionalism. I know you too well."

Smith did not respond right away. Rather, he looked over to the Army flag and the seal of the United States Army that adorned the wall behind his desk. "I have spent my entire adult life in the Army, just as you have," he stated, glancing over at Shepard for a moment. "We joined this man's Army while it was in the throes of pulling itself together after Vietnam. In later years, we thought we had seen rock-bottom. We thought things couldn't get any worse."

Smith paused when his eyes fell upon one of the many plaques that adorned the walls in his office. This particular plaque had been his first, received when he was a platoon leader. It was an award for being part of the best tank crew in the battalion during annual tank gunnery. "The day I reported in to my first unit, three of the five tanks in my platoon were deadlined. Our motor pool was mostly on dirt, which became a sea of mud the second it rained, which in Germany during the winter is often." A fond smile crossed Smith's face as he looked over at Shepard. "You know, the first time I saw my own tank, it was sitting in the middle of that muddy mess, its engine on the ground behind it. I had never seen a tank with its engine pulled before. All sorts of cables and hoses were running from the haul of the tank to the engine." As he spoke of that long ago day, the old general made motions with his hands. "In the haul, looking as miserable and nasty as the weather, stood a bedraggled mechanic hooking up more hoses. I looked over into the haul and watched. Finally, I managed to muster up the gumption to ask, 'What's wrong?' Well, without looking up, the mechanic flapped his arms about and mumbled, 'Fuck! I don't know.'"

For the first time that day, Shepard laughed, as much from the recollection of his own faux pas when he was a young second lieutenant as from Smith's little story. Feeling a bit of the oppressive burden he had been shouldering all day slip away, the Chairman followed Smith's example by unbuttoning his blouse and easing hi> tall frame into one of the overstuffed chairs behind him. "Back then," he stated blissfully, "I can remember asking, 'Dear God, what have I gone and gotten myself into?' "

Having both pondered that thought at one point in their careers, the two senior officers laughed. Then, in unison, they looked away from each other as the burdens of their offices and the train of thought that Smith had set in motion began to play out.

"For a while," Smith continued, "this Army really amounted to something. We had a mission, the capability of executing that mission, and leadership with the courage to see things through. Now," he stated sharply, making no effort to hide the bitterness in his voice, "we're thrown hither and yon as peacekeepers, with no objective other than short-term political gain for the current occupant of the White House. Instead of training and maintaining combat readiness, we participate in social engineering. I'm here to tell you, Eric, if things don't turn around soon, this Army of ours will be a basket case."

Shepard studied his friend and fellow officer for a moment. Leaning forward, the Chairman brought his hands together, resting his elbows on his knees. "Is this what all your posturing is about? Grab this mission and run with it so that we can justify our existence? Throw our troops into Russia to prove that we can still be bad?"

The manner in which the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs put his question tended to make what Smith was trying to get at sound both sordid and illicit. But that was Shepard's way when he was dealing with tough issues. So Smith pushed on without mincing words. "Why the hell not! The Air Force has been doing it for years. You remember their BS after the First Gulf War in ninety-one, and again after Kosovo."

"Chuck, even you have to admit that it was the decisive element in both those wars."

Lurching forward, Smith quickly countered, "But only because we had a viable ground threat that we used in the Gulf and finally got around to threatening to use in Kosovo. Without that arrow in the quiver or the will to use it, our entire posture as a military power is less than credible to many who would oppose us. So you see, using the Army here, when we are the best choice for the job, makes our deterrence that much more meaningful in the future." Finished, Smith eased back onto the sofa.

Looking down at his clutched fists, Shepard considered Smith's position. After several moments of silence, when he spoke, his tone was uncharacteristically soft. "No matter how well this thing unfolds, we are going to lose a lot of your people, Chuck."

The expression on Smith's face hardened. "So be it. Far too many people, especially those who view this country as their next major enemy, don't think we have the stomach to shed the blood of our. youth to achieve our national goals. Even worse, an entire generation of our own politicians and fellow citizens have grown up thinking that we can wage war on the cheap. Eric, as cold and as terrible as this sounds, we must teach all of them that they are wrong."

As he listened to Smith's justification, a chill ran down Shepard's spine. While he had entertained many of these same thoughts, to be faced with such a decision was quite sobering. Standing up, he started to button his blouse in preparation to leave. Taking his cue, Smith also rose. "Well?" he asked, after giving Shepard time to consider the issue.

The Chairman of the JCS looked into Smith's eyes. Rather than anger, Smith could see the pain his superior was feeling. Finally, Shepard bowed his head and shook it. "I'll call the President and inform him of our decision." Then, looking up at Smith one more lime before turning away to leave, he added, "And may God have mercy on our souls."

for an officer such as Demetre Orlov, time was a valuable commodity. As the commander of an independent unit operating outside the normal military chain of command, it was up to him to improve every detail of his unit's deployment or to see to it that subordinate chosen to execute that task was doing so promptly and in accordance with Orlov s concept of operations. All of this was complicated by the fact that Orlov never committed his plans to paper and never articulated the entire scheme to any one man in his unit, liven his deputy. Major Gregory Petkovic. was provided only with information that would be needed in order to arrange for the transportation required during the operation.

Such precautions are part of what is known in American military circles as "operation security." These are measures taken to ensure that a foe does not become aware of one's plans. Few bothered to argue that Orlov's approach to this concern was too draconian. F. Very man in Orlov's elite special-action unit understood that no one. not even their comrades, could be trusted completely. The simple fact that the unit was often used to bring dissident elements of the Russian military back into line made this concern even more acute. Orlov had no way of knowing when one of his handpicked paratroopers would decide that his loyalty lay not with his current comrades, but with those they were being sent against. The founders of the Red Army, after all, were the same men who had entered the ranks of the old czarist army and fermented the revolt that led to the Revolution of 1917. While their efforts were revered in the mythology of the Army even after the collapse of the Soviet Regime, what they did was never forgotten.

In a way, the soldiers of the special-action unit preferred it that way. It was one less thing they needed to worry about, one less thought bouncing about in their fertile minds as they prepared their weapons and equipment for their next mission. Within the unit, Orlov's men saw that they had all the specialized skills needed to handle just about any tactical situation they could possibly face in the field. In addition to being lavished with the best ordnance available, each soldier was afforded ample time and munitions to hone his skills and marksmanship to near perfection. Even when it came to family housing, nothing was overlooked. So it was easy to live with Orlov's particular idiosyncrasies when it came to keeping his own council and running the unit. Every man understood that when the time came, he would be told what his target was. All that was required of him was absolute trust in his officers and a willingness to do whatever he was ordered to do, without question.

To prepare himself for his coming ordeal, Demetre Orlov conducted a routine that bordered on ceremonial. As he did before all operations, he followed a ritual as measured and reserved as the dressing of a matador. The centerpiece of this ceremony were the Russian colonel's pistol and assault rifle. After issuing a stern warning to the enlisted soldier who served as his secretary that he was not to be disturbed, Orlov closed the door of his office. A few measured steps took him to the locker where he kept the box with the cleaning kit for his weapons. Taking it in both hands, he moved over to a metal table that served as a work space and conference table. There he placed the box in the same spot he always did. Before taking his seat, he looked across the table to where his two weapons sat. Only after he saw that all was ready did Orlov take a seat and begin.

From the top of the metal box he lifted a neatly folded, thin, off-white cloth and spread it out on the table before him. Like a priest preparing an altar for High Mass, Orlov took a moment to flatten the cloth and square it up with the edges of the table. Next, he retrieved the various items he would need for cleaning his weapons. Since there was insufficient time to do more than field-strip them, he didn't pull the small container that held his special tools out of the metal box. Instead, he fished out the appropriate bore brushes, cleaning rods, patches, oil, and extra-fine steel wool, all of which he laid out across the top of the white cloth in the order in which he would use them.

When ail was set, Orlov reached across the table for his assault rifle that had been sitting there like a loyal dog waiting for its master. As with everything else in his life, he took things in priority. Though he didn't anticipate any interruptions, a man in his position could never be sure of when a priority call or an unexpected development would force him to drop what he was doing and rush off to deal with a new crisis.

The weapon before him was an AKR submachine gun. This particular weapon was a derivative of the AKM, which itself is a modified AK-74. All of these weapons were descendants of the infarr. C's Kalashnikov AK-47. The latest reincarnation of this legendary assault rifle fired a 5.45mm cartridge that was noted for causing particularly nasty wounds. Unlike the standard AKM, Orlov's weapon was quite stubby. Its barrel was all but nonexistent. The Y-shaped metal folding stock, which Orlov never used, was almost as long as the submachine gun itself.

This reduction in barrel length, as can be expected, affects the accuracy of the AKR. But marksmanship was not a primary concern for the Russian colonel. Reliability and cyclic rate were what held his interest. As the senior officer of a unit, his primary function was command and control. To carry out these critical tasks, he had to refrain from engaging in combat. A soldier firing his weapon tends to focus on his target, resulting in tunnel vision and a reduction in situational awareness. Since the type of operations Orlov's unit participated in moved with a speed almost incomprehensible to ordinary people, he could not afford a lapse in his ability to view and assess the overall tactical situation. So he always placed himself where he could look, quite literally, over the shoulders of the men under his command, who were the designated killers.

Still, those same missions placed the Russian colonel in situations that had the potential of going south in a heartbeat. He needed to be prepared to either defend himself or, if the occasion really went to hell, step up onto the firing line himself and finish the job his unit had been dispatched to execute. That's why Orlov preferred the AKR. It had a good volume of fire, it used the same cartridge as his PRI pistol, and it was small and light, allowing him to easily sling it over his shoulder onto his back and out of his way.

Carefully, he broke his submachine gun down into its primary functional groups. As he removed each component, he placed it upon the cloth in the order in which he came to it. By the time he was finished with field-stripping the weapon, his mind was already turning toward other issues.

In the West, the question of loyalty to a unit commander or the nation is seldom a concern of a commanding officer. Part of being a professional soldier is commitment, without question, to the country and the organization to which the Western soldier belongs. Even in the Legion, a unit composed entirely of non-French, there is a dedication to the unit and a legionnaire's comrades that is beyond question. A member of a special-operations unit in the United States, Britain, France, or any other NATO nation, may not always agree with the mission to which he is assigned, or may not get along with the officers selected to lead it, but his reliability is never suspect.

The same could not be said for the armed forces of the Russian Republic. Though the end of the Cold War swept away the old Communist government and many of the systems that had run the country since the 1917 Revolution, there was never a break in the continuity within the Red Army. Everything, with the exception of the flag under which it served, remained as it had. What changes were introduced, such as uniforms, organization of combat units, and unit designations, were implemented by the same officers, operating within the existing framework that was built upon the traditions, customs, and practices of the once-proud Red Army. Some critics of the present Russian regime were fond of drawing a parallel between the current conditions in Russia and the German Weimar Republic of the 1920's and its Army. There were some who even whispered that given time, General Igor Likhatchev would legally assume power in much the same way Hitler had.

The concerns that kept many a politician in Moscow awake at night made Orlov's task of commanding a unit used to dealing with internal disorders a nightmare. On more than one occasion, the special-response team that Orlov led had been sent to deal with insubordinate or rebellious units from which many of his own men had been recruited. It was not at all unusual for a member of his command to have served under the very officers they were ordered to eliminate. This created tension within the unit over and above that normally associated with combat operations. Even more important, however, was the stress that it created between Orlov and his men, and even between the soldiers in the ranks themselves. Though he never spoke of it to anyone, the Russian colonel often wondered if the day would come when one of his own would turn in the midst of a firefight or at a critical juncture of an operation and declare for the opposition. Hence the necessity of keeping his personal weapons, designed for close-in work, well cared for, functional, and ready for any contingency.

Finished with the receiver group of his AK, Orlov returned it» o its proper place on the off-white cloth and picked up the bolt. Before he did anything else, he wiped away the light coat of oil that remained on it from its last cleaning. Lifting it up, he carefully studied the assembly. Turning it this way and that, Orlov inspected every square millimeter of the bolt for rust, wear, and damage. Though all was in order, he lowered it back down to table level. With his free hand, he picked up a small clump of extra-fine steel wool and began to gently work on an imaginary blemish on the side of the bolt. All the while, he looked over at far end of the table, where there was a pile of maps, diagrams, copies of messages, and intelligence reports.

Nowhere in that pile was there any sort of directive assigning Orlov and his men the mission they were preparing for. The Russian colonel never received written orders for any of his missions. While the Minister of Defense explained that the reason for this was in the interest of operational security, since written orders could be copied or read by unauthorized personnel. Orlov knew better. Written orders needed to be prepared by someone. Should the operation that those orders launched go bad, or actions taken by those executing those orders prove to be unpopular, the government official who originated them would be held accountable. Without such orders, the only person who could be held accountable was the one who actually led the action. In operations that required the use of the special response team, this meant Demetre Orlov.

While this added another element of risk to every mission he was given, Orlov preferred working without hard orders. It gave him a greater degree of freedom than he would have otherwise had. It also gave him an out. should he be brought to account for his actions later. The blame game, after all, could be played both ways.

None of this meant that the Russian colonel didn't lack for guidance or advice from his superiors on how to accomplish his mission. The Minister of Defense had wanted Orlov to deploy his team to Siberia before the impact of the asteroid so the outfit would be in place and ready to respond as soon as General Likhatchev made his move against the government in Moscow. Colonel Orlov, however, did not care for this idea. When he pressed the team of scientists and experts who were advising the government on the technical aspects of the pending collision between Earth and asteroid, he had quickly come to the conclusion that no one knew for sure what exactly would happen when the moment came. Some believed that the asteroid would burn up as it hit the atmosphere. Others felt that it would skip off the dense layer of air that surrounded the planet like a stone across water. A few, after studying the object as it grew closer, thought that the asteroid would break up, just as Shoemaker Levy did before hitting Jupiter. To a man, none could muster up the nerve to state categorically where in Siberia the thing would actually impact. "There is," one frustrated astronomer confessed, "no way of knowing for sure what will happen. There are simply too many variables and not enough facts."

Given this sad state of affairs, Orlov was successful in resisting pressure from the Minister of Defense and others to deploy his unit. "Without knowing the precise location of impact," he explained, "it would be foolish to place my men on the ground, especially since we would have no shelter to protect us from the horrific effects of the asteroid if the worst-case scenario is realized. Besides," Orlov went on to point out, "the general will undoubtedly sit out the event in one of the military command bunkers scattered throughout his province. Only after the asteroid has struck will he come out. And when he does, he will need to rely on radio and satellite communication to reestablish his authority in the region, as well as to negotiate with the government in Moscow. This means we will be able to track his movements and pinpoint his location. In addition," Orlov went on when Yuri Anatov made no effort to counter his argument, "the resulting chaos throughout the region, with relief flights coming and going, will provide us with the perfect cover for our insertion. We will simply join the flow of aircraft rushing into a devastated area, where the ability of security forces to protect the General, as well as the missiles, will be thoroughly compromised."

Though Anatov disliked the idea of waiting until the gun pointed at Moscow's head was loaded and cocked, as the Perimeter system would be after the impact, the tone with which Demetre Orlov delivered his proposal left no doubt that there was no room for discussion or disagreement. Since Orlov's loyalty to the government in this particular matter was already suspected by some, it would have been foolish to push him into accepting a course of action that he vehemently opposed. Besides, there was no one in a better position than Orlov to know what Likhatchev would do in this sort of situation. After all, Demetre Orlov had once served General Likhatchev as his Chief of Staff.