Red Metal

CHAPTER 8

Colonel Yuri Borbikov stood in a conference room on the ninth floor of the Ministry of Defense, looked out the window and down to the Moskva River and Gorky Park beyond it, and steeled his nerves for his meeting to come.

This was the biggest moment of his career, even bigger than when he met privately with Rivkin at the Kremlin months earlier.

Today was more auspicious, because today he would meet his idol, Colonel General Boris Lazar, and he would have the honor of briefing him on the operation Borbikov himself had created.

Since the day he left the Kenyan mine three years earlier, Borbikov had thought of nothing other than his return. He’d worked sixteen-hour days crafting his operation, and now he would brief the two ground commanders.

Well… two of the three ground commanders. Borbikov would be in command of the Spetsnaz forces involved in the operation, and they would be conducting literally hundreds of missions behind enemy lines. Even though Borbikov was no general, he knew his role in the direct action of Operation Red Metal would be every bit as important as the work he did to design the operation in the first place.

He forced himself to take a calming breath to settle down and he realized his excitement had almost as much to do with meeting General Boris Lazar as it did with the operation itself.

Eduard Sabaneyev was a well-known general as well, but he was known more as Lazar’s former adjutant than as a star in his own right. Borbikov wondered what it must have been like to live a career in the shadow of another man, to always be considered the heir apparent, the underling.

The colonel imagined the younger of the two colonel generals would approach his mission as if he had something to prove, and that was just fine with Borbikov.

This conference room was normally swept for bugs twice daily, but the colonel requested another pass by the countersurveillance team. They had just wrapped up their sweep when the two generals entered.

The technicians stepped aside to let the men pass through the doorway before slipping out behind them, and Borbikov could see two separate entourages standing outside the room as the door closed. Today’s briefing would be exclusively for Lazar and Sabaneyev, but today would be followed by dozens more meetings about Red Metal in the next four months, and the generals’ staffs would be involved in virtually all of them.

Borbikov was careful to address both men with equal deference, because although Lazar had been his idol since he was a boy, Eduard Sabaneyev was Lazar’s equal in rank.

“It is a great honor to meet you both,” Borbikov said as he shook the two generals’ hands.

Sabaneyev looked like an actor. Handsome, with high Slavic cheekbones and a well-defined jaw, gray-flecked blond hair that was slicked back off his high forehead. He had a smile full of straight teeth and his tall, fit frame was just a few centimeters shorter than Borbikov’s own.

Lazar, by contrast, was short, big, and soft jowled. His round face was weather-beaten and wrinkled, and his eyebrows were full and low on his forehead.

The three of them sat down in a small sitting area and Borbikov poured tea for them all. “I understand you’ve just read the briefing packages that were prepared for you regarding operation Red Metal?”

Sabaneyev spoke first, and this surprised Borbikov. “You are being too humble, Colonel. We know you are the architect of this. You’ve found that rare thing, that balance between firm direction and not overcontrolling those aspects better left to the man on the ground.”

“Thank you, Colonel General. I’ve been that man on the ground many times, as I know you both have been.” He hastened to add, “More than I, of course. As you are well aware, it’s best to know your orders but to retain enough autonomy to achieve them in the best manner possible.”

Sabaneyev said, “I’ve spent the last hour asking around about you. I understand you were there, at Mrima Hill, during the standoff.”

“And prepared to fight,” Borbikov said. “Unfortunately we were ordered to stand down.” He smiled. “But now… now the time is right for this. We are seeing a confluence of events I didn’t even dream of when I wrote up the proposal. The U.S. has turned its eyes to Asia. The scandal in the Pacific with the general and the admiral is causing a shake-up at the top of the Pentagon and throwing the American military into crisis.

“Gentlemen, if those natural resources in Kenya, which are the rightful property of Russia, are ever to be reclaimed, it has to be right now. I firmly believe, and President Rivkin agrees, that Red Metal is the way.”

Borbikov turned to General Lazar now, finding himself anxious that the older man had not yet spoken.

Finally Lazar said, “I will execute my orders to the best of my ability. I have some nits to pick, but they center around the logistics end of the operation primarily, so perhaps we shouldn’t get into the weeds with it right now.”

“I am available to you or your chiefs of staff at any time, day or night, Colonel General Lazar, if you would like to pursue your concerns.”

“Spasiba.” (“Thank you.”) And then: “There is one thing, conceptually, that I’m not yet clear on.”

“Please, sir. Tell me.”

“If the operation fails… if I make it to Mrima Hill without the armor and the men to wrestle it away from the forces protecting it, or if I manage to take it but find myself unable to hold it with the remaining forces at my disposal… what then?”

Borbikov cocked his head. “I’m certain that was laid out in the briefing papers.”

“Yes… but indulge me. I want to hear it from you. The architect.”

“Certainly, sir. If you are unable to achieve your mission in full, you are to render the mine incapable of producing rare-earth metals.”

Lazar just said, “Go on.”

Sabaneyev rolled his eyes a little while Borbikov shifted in his chair.

Finally the colonel said, “Yes. General… as it states in the orders, you will carry six special artillery shells. When you and your retreating armor are a safe distance away, you will fire the shells at the mine.”

Lazar made no great reaction. “And… what’s so special about these shells?”

“As written, General, they have nuclear warheads. Also, if you are able to seize the mine but unable to hold it from counterattack, I have specially trained Spetsnaz troops who can wire the shells into a stationary device. In this case, you will place the improvised nuclear device in the center of the mine, leave, and then detonate it.”

“So… to clarify. If we fail to hold our objective, we are to… nuke the entire location.”

“Correct.”

“And… why is that?”

Sabaneyev muttered under his breath, but loudly enough to be plainly heard. “Oh, for fuck sakes, Boris.”

Borbikov looked back and forth between both men uncomfortably, then said, “For the purpose of denying the West the prize they did not earn. Control of the technology sector of the world’s economy for the next generation. Please remember that although the force you will be taking into Africa will be more than enough for the job at hand, there is no way to ensure Russia could repel a protracted siege when the Americans finally do get their act together. One month after you arrive, two months, three months… at some point there will be a response, and you need to have an ace in the hole. Your possession of the nukes at Mrima Hill will keep our enemies at bay.”

The colonel continued. “But I’m sure when the West learns any attack on the mine will not only kill all the attackers but degrade the world’s future technology prospects… they will back down, and they will make both peace and beneficial economic deals with Russia.” Borbikov smiled. “The weapons are merely a fail-safe. A peacemaker.”

Sabaneyev jumped in. “This is all a moot point, because Boris Petrovitch will succeed. He’s the Lion of Dagestan. The possibility of failure is not worthy of consideration.”

Borbikov turned to Sabaneyev. “I’m certain of it. But, nevertheless, the Kremlin has approved the full scope of this operation, so I suggest we continue with the operation as written.

“Colonel Generals… the rodina called for a military solution to a problem it was unable to solve by other means. The operation you have been charged with is the one that’s been approved and assigned. In one hundred and twenty days it will begin… and I feel quite certain our leaders have chosen the right men to lead it.”

Lazar placed his hands palms up on his knees, a show of contrition. “Of course, Colonel. As I said, I’m a nitpicker. I’ve been around a long time, so I’ve seen every sort of mess one can dream up. I will question… That is what I do. But on the day my armor begins to roll south, I’ll be leading the way, and I’ll be ready.”

Borbikov smiled, but his impression of the great Boris Lazar had been irrevocably damaged.