Silver Tower

CHAPTER 17

The battle staff members, chaired by Minister of Defense Czilikov himself, had met every hour on the hour since the first Silkworm missile was launched by exiled Iranian Revolutionary Guardsmen and Soviet agents. First Deputy Minister of Defense Marshal Khromeyev conducted the latest hourly operations briefing. "The first sorties from the Brezhnev have already returned, he began. "All aircraft report complete success. No opposition all the way to their targets and only minimal on their return route. Latest casualties and losses are one Sukhoi-27 fighter bomber from the Brezhnev shot down by Iranian antiaircraft artillery while exiting hostile territory; one Tupolev-26 bomber from the Seventy-Fifth Naval Aviation Bombardment Squad at Lyaki lost over Tabriz in Northern Iran, all four crewmembers lost…"

"That's all?" Czilikov said. "Out of nearly a hundred aircraft over Iran in eight hours only two were lost?"

"Yes, sir, I would like to mention the actions of the men of the Second Rescue Operations Force aboard the Brezhnev. When the Sukhoi was reported downed the men of the Second ROF volunteered to attempt a rescue of the downed airman. Two Mil-14 helicopters from Second ROF were dispatched along with a single Yakovlev-38 vertical takeoff-and-landing aircraft for support cover. After destroying an Iranian gunboat near the crash site, the Second ROF rescued the Sukhoi fighter pilot and all three aircraft safely returned to the Brezhnev. The Sukhoi pilot immediately volunteered for another sortie. I request that the men of Second ROF be awarded the Order of Lenin for heroism."

"So ordered," Czilikov said. "In less than half a day the forces under Marshal Chercherovin have crushed all opposition from Iranian land, air and sea forces. The skies over Iran, Iraq and the Persian Gulf belong to us." He turned to Chercherovin. "And what about the Americans in the area? What has their reaction been?"

"Negligible. The four American vessels in the Persian Gulf have taken our warnings and stayed away from the Brezhnev — as a matter of fact, they've kept their distance even when the Brezhnev and her escorts moved to launch or recover aircraft. In response, all aircraft involved in Feather have stayed a minimum of one hundred sixty kilometers from all American ships, as you ordered. The Americans are not stupid — they know they're significantly outnumbered in the gulf. They won't risk destruction for Iran."

"And the American carrier fleet in the Arabian Sea?"

"Absolutely no response, sir, except to launch a few medium-range reconnaissance aircraft near Iran's southern shore to monitor our invasion. Admiral Ynoliev of the Brezhnev had allotted ten Sukhoi fighters to counter any actions made by the Nimitz, but none was necessary. The Brezhnev remains at the very edge of the Nimitz's effective combat radius. The American carrier will have to move several hundred kilometers closer to the Gulf of Oman to be able to strike at the Brezhnev, but if it does it will expose itself to counterattack by the Brezhnev's escorts. The exact distance between the Brezhnev and the Nimitz is, I feel, significant, Comrade Minister. The Americans are telling us they're aware and concerned about our operation but for now will not interfere. The reality of the situation is obvious to anyone — neither the Nimitz nor the Persian Gulf flotilla is in a strong enough position to strike."

Czilikov, as much as his aged face would allow, managed an almost childlike smile. "The great American navy, confined like a spoiled brat in a crib."

"Perhaps we put too much emphasis on the disposition of the Americans' surface forces, sir," Deputy Minister of Defense Marshal Yesimov, the commander in chief of the Soviet Air Force, said. "It is the heavy and medium bombers of the American air forces in Turkey and Diego Garcia that are our chief concern. Those bombers will undoubtedly be allowed use of Saudi Arabian bases as staging areas. The Brezhnev's planes cannot counter enemy land-based aircraft from Turkey and Saudi Arabia and carrier aircraft from the Nimitz all at once, no matter how skilled their pilots are."

Noting something less than pleasure on the face of Admiral Chercherovin, Yesimov hurried to put his remarks in context. "My comments are, of course, not meant to reflect Admiral Chercherovin's brilliant execution of phase one of Operation Feather. What I'm concerned about is phase two. Our use of chemical weapons to neutralize the Iranian surface-to-air missile batteries was, I feel, an… unfortunate miscalculation. We've been able to land only a small regiment of paratroopers in Tabriz, Esfahan and Shiraz — the chemical residues are still too dangerous for any more than a small neutralization force. The defenses surrounding Tehran were stronger than we had anticipated and the battle for Tehran Airport hasn't yet been resolved. Also, Bandar-Abbas was too heavily damaged to land transports at its airfield — our carrier-based fighter-bombers were, unfortunately, a bit too enthusiastic."

Commander of the Red Army Ilanovsky cleared his throat several times and added, "Marshal Yesimov is correct, sir. Although we have made remarkable headway, our gains are still not consolidated…"

"We must push forward," Czilikov said in a deep, rumbling voice. "The speed of our false Iranian attack has frozen the Americans. They may have had plans to reestablish ties with the present Iranian government but the distrust, distaste, most Americans feel toward all Muslims is still there — and that has worked to our advantage. We've not even received an official protest from the U.S. government."

Czilikov directed his gaze toward Ilanovsky. "Tehran and Bandar-Abbas must be subdued immediately. We must take control of the Strait of Hormuz for our resupply ships to enter, and the central command and control centers of the Iranian military must be neutralized. You have explained the dangers and difficulties associated with conducting military operations in the chemical and exposure suits and hermetic equipment, but we can't wait for another twenty-four hours to consolidate our advances. At least a full division must advance on both Bandar-Abbas and Tehran within six hours."

"Six hours? With full hermetic equipment? That is impossible," Ilanovsky said abruptly.

"We have the transport resources," Marshal Yesimov put in. "I can land a division within an hour of notification that your shock troops have secured the airfield at Bandar-Abbas and made sufficient repairs—"

"Another raid on Mehrabad Airport in Tehran from the Brezhnev should crush all opposition," Chercherovin said. "Doshan Tappeh Airfield in Tehran can be used as an alternate; a squad of shock troops has already occupied that airport, although they hold it by a shoestring. The Antonov-124 may not be able to land at Doshan Tappeh, but a smaller Antonov-72 or -74 should be able to land there."

"And Bandar-Abbas?" Ilanovsky asked, trying to calm his anger at being upstaged by the others in the general staff. "What happens after my shock troops are put in place? They're elite soldiers, not engineers. Who will repair the runway?"

"Combat Engineers from the Brezhnev will be landed in Bandar-Abbas to make repairs," Chercherovin replied easily, bathing in the satisfied smile of approval from Minister of Defense Czilikov. "Equipment can be airlifted from the Brezhnev easily — provided your soldiers can secure the coastline. "

"One company of Seventh Shock Force can control the whole damned town," Ilanovsky told him. "Bring your ditchdiggers to repair the damage your pilots caused — my men will protect them."

"Then we're decided," Czilikov said, shooting a stern look at both generals. "The Brezhnev will be responsible for repairs to the airfield at Bandar-Abbas and for a second heavy strike on Tehran. The air force will provide air support and a second bomber strike. Communications will be maintained so that the transports are airborne and over Tehran and Bandar-Abbas when the respective airfields are secure. Those two divisions will be in Tehran and Bandar-Abbas within six hours.

"Meanwhile, sir," First Deputy Minister Khromeyev picked it up, "a full division of hand-picked Iraqi infantry led by Glavnyi Marshal Valeriy Belikov, the commander of the Southern Teatr Voennykh Deistvii will once and for all take and hold Abadan and Khorramshahr along the Iran-Iraq border, making it possible for Soviet vessels to safely dock at Al-Basrah in Iraq. With their country surrounded on all sides, the leaders of Alientar's government will have no choice but to surrender."

Czilikov scanned his battle staff. "This is the culmination of a thirty-year plan, comrades. The actions we take in the next seventy-two hours will decide the conflict — even, perhaps, the future of Soviet history. If we can subdue Iran and cause a new pro-Soviet revolution to occur in the Middle East, it will signal a new era of Soviet power and influence. Who knows how far we can go…"

It was a grandiose thought, more political than was usual for Czilikov. Why, Czilikov asked himself, had it been necessary to go against his own grain and invoke the future like some bombastic commissar? Maybe because the feeling of ultimate victory, somehow, wasn't there yet. Yes… they'd made spectacular advances, demoralized the battle-weary Iranians, caught the United States napping and unprepared to take action. But it was as if they were clinging to the pinnacle of success by a hangnail rather than standing firmly on top of it.

His generals had followed along blindly, Czilikov reminded himself. There had been no long discussion, no arguments, no turmoil, no extended planning sessions. They were fighting this war not so much because they believed in its objectives as because they believed that they would be exiled or disposed of if they refused. That was why he felt the need to remind them of their duty. Real soldiers, real Russian warriors wouldn't need such a reminder — but the general staff never behaved like real Russian warriors. Czilikov thought he saw a spark in them during the meeting, when they had argued about their forces' respective capabilities, but the arguments had quickly died away. True Russian warriors? Where were they? Not here…

That is, except for one. There was one…

"We'll meet again at precisely zero-three-hundred hours," First Deputy Minister Khromeyev said to the battle staff. "The final plans for the thrust into Bandar-Abbas and Tehran will be ready for presentation and ultimate approval by the minister of defense." Khromeyev turned to Czilikov again. "Tovarisch Chayzeyaen, pazhaloosta?"

Czilikov shook his head, still lost in thought. Cattle. Mindless cattle… "Dismissed. Pastayach."

The battle staff members shuffled to their feet and began to file out, but as the large outer doors of the conference room swung open the retreating generals and admirals abruptly stopped. Czilikov noticed it and followed Khromeyev's gaze out through the doorway.

There, standing at attention, was General Govorov. An aide stood alongside him, carrying a small pile of computer printouts. Govorov wore a dark gray military space suit that he himself had designed for the "new breed" of Soviet soldier. His boots were high-polished, his utility uniform was immaculate — overall, there was something in his bearing that suggested limitless self-confidence.

Khromeyev looked as if he were about to explode. "Govorov, I warned you to—"

"Comrade Minister," Govorov said to Czilikov, interrupting Khromeyev, "I must speak with you."

Khromeyev's face flushed. "Get out before I have you—"

"Come," Khromeyev heard behind him. Czilikov was on his feet, motioning to Govorov.

"But Comrade Minister—" Khromeyev protested.

"You may go, Khromeyev. Be sure the plans are ready for me by zero-three-hundred hours."

A final look from Czilikov sent the stunned chief of the general staff hurrying out the door.

Govorov moved quickly into the conference room and stood in front of Czilikov, feeling less sure of himself than his little performance had, he hoped, indicated. His aide carried the sheaf of computer printouts as if it was dinner on a silver tray. "Sit down, General Govorov," Czilikov said, a smile slowly forming on his lips. "We need to talk."

Govorov sat, reminding himself what steel was behind that simile.