The Fall of Night

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Advance on Warsaw

Near Warsaw, Poland

“The Americans screwed us!”

General Aleksandr Borisovich Shalenko found it hard to contain his fury, made worse by the fact that he knew that he had been the one who had concluded that they had managed to successfully take control of the American base intact. Major Fletcher had stated that he wouldn’t destroy any files… but he had already done it, somehow. The report from Natasha Belova, who had almost been in tears, had been clear; they would get nothing from the American systems, but dust.

“That’s one way of looking at it,” President Aleksandr Sergeyevich Nekrasov said. Shalenko felt his heart sink; the Russian Government had historically had a long history of blaming the messenger, or the commanding officer, for any mistakes, even if it hadn’t actually been their fault. Nekrasov was different, but at that moment, the remembrance that terror and death were very close was chilling. He had promised to secure the American base… and Fletcher had been laughing at him behind his weakness. “Still, we could hardly expect the Americans to roll over.”

Shalenko understood, once again, the frustration that led to atrocities. He had spent years rebuilding the professional Russian army and he had trained them, as best as he could, to avoid committing atrocities. He wouldn’t hesitate to cause a civilian slaughter if the civilians were in his way, but he shrank from mass slaughter for no good purpose. It was the task of the pacification units to continue preparing Poland — and the rest of Europe — for integration into the Russian Federation; they were criminals and Kazakhs, not true soldiers. They would also have Warsaw, once he took it; they were only in theory under his control.

His lips twitched. If they caused his supply lines to be broken, he’d kill them all personally.

“The Americans said that they would destroy nothing,” he snapped. He paused; Natasha’s report had been clear and concise, and it had reported an impossible precision of devastation. The computers had looked intact when he had walked through the base; Natasha had claimed that only the interior, part of the interior, had been damaged. The Americans had even engaged in a little taunting. “They broke the terms of their surrender!”

“The Americans have made it clear that the destruction was carried out as soon as Operation Stalin actually began,” Nekrasov said, coldly and very calmly. The chill in his voice worried Shalenko, even if it was not directed at him personally; the President seemed more angry at himself than anything else. “Under the circumstances, we could hardly treat them as surrendered prisoners who grabbed guns and started to shoot.”

He held up a hand before Shalenko could say anything. “No, we will honour what we told the American Government, through their Ambassador; the men will be returned to America though Turkey, which has agreed to take them,” he continued. “The loss of the computers and the other systems there is irritating; my people here can’t figure out how it happened. One thought is that the Americans somehow caused the molecules in the computers to come apart, but how…? No one seems to know.”

Shalenko nodded. “Mr President, one day we will be able to do it ourselves,” he said. “Did Unit One find anything of interest apart from American porn magazines?”

“Not much,” Nekrasov said. They shared a mischievous grin before Nekrasov was all business again. “What is the current status of the offensive?”

He could have downloaded it from the Battlespace Management System, Shalenko knew; his friend wanted his impressions, not the cold dispassionate figures. “We have secured most of our targets for paratrooper drops and supply lines,” he said. “The Shock Armies are spreading out to push deeper into Poland while the smaller armies are preparing to take Warsaw and secure the city. Once that is completed, we can turn our attention to further north and link up with the northern prongs.”

Nekrasov nodded once. “And resistance?”

“We have smashed most of their forces on the ground in the first few moments of actual combat,” Shalenko said, proudly. “A number of isolated units stood their ground and fought to the death, a handful more started to flee back to Germany. Air resistance has been almost non-existent; we have lost a handful of aircraft to ground-based systems and one accident at a captured airport. So far, there is no sign that the enemy has begun to organise coordinated resistance or even a general withdrawal. It will become harder from here, of course, but we have smashed most of the forces they would use against us.”

“That is acceptable work,” Nekrasov said, as they shared a glance. “What about the civilians?”

Shalenko winced. “There have been thousands of injuries or deaths,” he admitted. “Around twelve of our men have been remanded to the penal units on charges of rape and in one case shooting a child by accident. The general population in areas we occupy are staying in their homes, out of sight; there’s a lot of panic further west, despite our radio broadcasts. I fear that there will be more deaths before we have finished.”

“Remember, it is the human capital that we need as well as the land,” Nekrasov said, seriously. “Some elements of the population will resist us, and when they do they will be eliminated, but the general population must remain as unhurt as possible by the fighting. Please bear that in mind.”

“Of course, Mr President,” Shalenko said. “Have you made that point to the FSB as well?”

“Yes,” Nekrasov said shortly. “They have the task of purging enemy society of unfortunate individuals, but otherwise they are to behave themselves, or you can have them for the penal battalions.”

Shalenko nodded his head. “Then with your permission, I will return to supervising the fall of Warsaw,” he said. “Once the city has fallen, we can resume our offensive west.”

“The enemy tanks are advancing,” the spotter’s voice murmured. The tactical combat communications system lent a faint air of unreality to the entire scene. The distant sound — and sometimes not so distant — of long-range gunfire and rockets could be heard in the background; it was just like an exercise, with one very real difference. They could get killed out in Poland. “They’ll be on your position in five minutes at most.”

Captain Guntar Markus was scared, much as he hated to admit it, even to himself. He had been deployed to Poland as part of a large force of Eurotanks, mainly German-crewed. The Poles hadn’t been that welcoming, even though they had largely overcome their fear of Germany from the last war; EUROFOR’s failure to deter the Russians from pushing the limits had shamed the Poles. Markus had never expected to be part of a very real war; he had never fired his Eurotank’s main gun in action before, outside drills. No one had expected the Russians to launch a major attack.

The German commander of the Eurotank division had been a martinet; it had saved Markus’s life. The orders from Camp Warsaw had been to spread out the division, even though any natural-born tank crewmen knew that that was inviting disaster, in order to provide some support to the Polish forces near Warsaw. There had been little point in it; the 7^th Panzer was well out of position to either guard the border or provide reinforcements. As far as he had been able to tell, their task was really to hold the Poles’ collective hands.

His commander had seen it as a good chance to engage in some training and sent Markus — and a force of six tanks — out on a training drill. Two hours after they had started their stealthy manoeuvres designed to practice an advance against an unsuspecting foe — the irony was killing him — the skies had echoed with the sound of thunder… and lit up with the flashes of explosions. The Eurotank’s systems were among the best in the world; Markus had a ringside seat as Russian shells crashed down on Polish and European positions… including the command post for the 7^th Panzer. The jamming had made it impossible for Markus to request orders, until they had established a brief link with EUROFOR Command, but there had been no orders. Moments later, they had even lost that link; there was no way to know what was going on.

There had been some intelligence, albeit very limited. The Russians had launched a major offensive… and they were targeting the mobile forces with air strikes. The European tanks, designed to be stealthy, had been missed, or at least Markus’s small unit had been missed. He’d forced down the rising flow of panic and sent out his small Polish escort to act as spotters, knowing that all he could do was delay the enemy. At least his position was good for that, if nothing else; there was no longer a serious uplink to EUROFOR Command. His men had tried to contact higher authority… and failed completely; it was almost as if they were the only human beings left in the world. Only a handful of helicopters, heading west, had passed the tanks… and the tanks had remained unnoticed. Markus was pleased; they might just have a chance to hit the enemy a major blow.

The Polish road leading into Warsaw would be a major angle of attack for the Russians, Markus was sure; it was basic tank tactics to ensure that your forces could move as quickly as possible, and trying to take tanks through the mixture of woodland and marshes was a recipe for disaster. If he tried to move his own tanks, even though his Poles knew the region much better than any enemy unit could know it, they would be certain to be spotted, but if they kept their heads down, they would be unlikely to attract attention. They would have a chance…

“Understood,” he muttered back into the tactical microphone. The entire system used a low frequency that was supposed to be undetectable by any known ELINT system, but Markus knew better than to trust it completely. A burst of radio or radar energy could strip away their protection within seconds, leaving them exposed to Russian precision bombing, perhaps even missile fire. The attack on the command post had been ruthless; he didn’t hold out much hope of being able to surrender if the Russians caught them. “Move.”

He checked his vehicle’s batteries again. The power cells that were changing the entire face of the world — and might have played a role in precipitating this attack — were supposed to be rechargeable from any power source, from other tanks to a main power grid. In theory, even without recharging their systems, they could have made it all the way across Poland, but he suspected that that was very much a best-case scenario. If they had to power the tank’s impressive array of systems, the power drain would become critical much faster… and once they ran out of power, they would be stranded. One hand caressed the service pistol he wore at his belt; if necessary, his men would try to make their way across country. Someone, somewhere, had to be organising resistance. He was sure of it. The Russians couldn’t have killed everyone in Europe.

“Shift in the background noise,” the gunner muttered. He was also the EW officer for the Eurotank; the three-man crew had had to have special training to cope with all of the requirements, even with the massive automation that had been installed into the hull. The passive sensors, thank God, didn’t trigger Russian alarms. “There’s a Russian drone up there, watching for trouble.”

“Think good thoughts,” Markus murmured. The tank’s optical sensors were peering down the road now; the audio sensors were reporting the noise of oncoming vehicles. He wished that he could say that he was surprised that the Russians had a drone overhead, but it was standard practice; the Russians had stolen the plans for the American Dragon Eye micro-drone and improved upon it. “Prepare to engage the enemy.”

Suddenly, he saw them… and he felt a spurt of cold rage. Part of him had never quite believed in the threat, even though he had known what was happening; war in the heartlands of Europe seemed a nightmare from the preceding century. He saw, now, the black shapes of the latest, most modern, Russian tanks, and shuddered. They were at war. The Russian T-100 tank was known for being as capable as a late-model Abrams tank, with optional versions for amphibious and anti-insurgency operations, but he was certain that he was facing a tank designed for offensive warfare. There would be no insurgency in Poland, at least, not yet; the Russians wouldn’t issue the anti-insurgency tanks until much later. He was facing the cream of the Russian Army.

“Bastards,” he hissed. Two Russian helicopters, anti-armour and ground support units, he suspected, could be seen floating in the distance and coming towards his people. The Russians weren’t acting as if they knew that the EUROFOR troops were there, but it could have been a trick; he forced himself to remain calm, waiting for the first chance to hit the Russians a major blow. The line of Russian tanks seemed endless… and unstoppable. “Bastards!”

He checked the gunner’s panel quickly. “Choose your targets,” he muttered. Little strands of laser light, connecting each of the tanks to one another, flickered out, designating targets. The Russians would probably detect a laser targeting system, but one wasn’t needed for the Eurotanks, not at this range. The Russians were still coming along, watching for trouble, but unaware of the presence of his tanks. “Stand by…”

The image of the lead Russian tank grew in front of him. “Fire!”

The Eurotank was the result of seventy years of armoured warfare experience, much of it British, American or German. It barely shuddered as it fired a main antitank shell towards the enemy tank, catching it completely by surprise. The gunner didn’t hesitate; even before the shell had struck its target, he was swinging the barrel of the main gun around to engage a second target and…

Six Russian tanks exploded. The high-energy shell had been developed to defeat the latest armour; they punched right through the Russian tanks and exploded. He saw the turret of one of the Russian tanks exploding into the air, wrapped in a wreath of flame, and come crashing to the ground. The gunner fired a second shot, then a third… and then the Russians started to turn their own guns at terrifying speed.

“Get us out of here,” Markus snapped. The driver didn’t need to be told twice; he hit the engine and the tank leapt backwards, heading as quickly as it could down the hill. The foliage seemed to explode as a hail of Russian fire cut through the woodlands that had hidden the tanks, but only one of Markus’ tanks was hit and destroyed. There were no survivors. “Move it!”

A Russian tank crested the hill, its guns already searching for a new target; two of Markus’s tanks fired at it and disintegrated it. The passive sensors were blinking up alerts; the Russians were sending in their helicopters to cover their tanks, which would be moving around the hill, trying to outflank the Europeans. The driver kept them moving as fast as they could trying to get out of the firing range, while Russian infantry appeared, holding antitank weapons.

“I think we made them mad,” the gunner remarked, as he fired at them with the tank’s machine guns. Russians fell under his fire or dived for cover, trying to escape the machine guns, as the Russian helicopters swooped down. The Eurotank’s sensors were working completely now; it fired an automatic missile at the first Russian helicopter, blowing it apart in a sheet of flame. The second helicopter fired a stream of rockets at the tanks and killed two of them, roasting their crews inside the flames. A Russian tank burst out of nowhere, narrowly missing Markus’s tank with a high-explosive shell; they destroyed it with a single shot. A second tank was hit in the treads and skidded to a halt, but he realised that its main gun was still working.

“You’re telling me,” Markus said, as the tank reached the road. The driver gunned the engine and the tank drove rapidly away from the encounter, the crew knowing that they had only a limited amount of time before the Russians gave chase or called in a close-air support aircraft to finish the surviving two tanks off. “Get us to the next firing point!”

He found himself very calm, even as the Russians stopped their pursuit; he’d faced his first major encounter with the enemy, and survived. Over half his force had died, but he had survived… and he promised himself that he would exact revenge for what the Russians had done to his crewmen. A shadow fell across the tank and the sensors screamed a warning… just as the Russian attack helicopter blew the Eurotank away.

The road to Warsaw lay open.

“Excellent work,” Shalenko murmured, as he watched from the command vehicles. The remains of 7^th Panzer had dug themselves in well, but they had exposed themselves to his fire when they had engaged his lead units, and he had far more tanks than the European forces had. He didn’t understand it; the Europeans could have built thousands more Eurotanks for the sums of money they had spent upon their headquarters, but they had chosen to waste the money instead. He could only be grateful; the Germans had handled themselves well… as had the French, further north. If they had had more tanks, air cover, and advance warning, the attack would have bogged down.

“General, the advance units are requesting permission to enter the city,” Captain Anna Ossipavo said. “They believe that resistance will be minimal.”

Shalenko nodded. “Remind them that they are to use the minimum force consummate with the survival of their commands,” he said. He looked towards the burning city; smoke and flames were rising into the air. “The President wants Warsaw fairly intact.”