Ian Slater: Arctic Front

“Sir,” said General Grey, “Brigadier Soames is correct in his estimation. We’ve shot our wad for the time being in and around Moscow. It’d be another two months at the very least before we could muster enough men even to attack the Urals with any hope of breaking through. Best we can hope for there is to keep it at a stalemate.”

“What about their eastern flank?” shot back the president.

“If we could get enough men across the Bering Strait fast. Perhaps. But there’s still Kamchatka Peninsula further south. It’s heavily garrisoned. And now it looks as if the whole coast— from the East Cape all the way south to Vladivostok — is also well protected. They’ve even got Soviet forces on the Kuril Islands running down from Kamchatka — case the Japanese move to reclaim the islands they lost in the Second World War. But either way we’d have to get men across the strait — take command of their East Cape airfields. Once we did that we could hit them further south without constantly worrying about their East Cape planes.”

“How about our air force?” cut in the president. “General Allet, can you secure air cover over the Bering Strait so that we can get our boys across to their East Cape — secure a beachhead? What is it across there? Only fifty miles or so from Alaska?”

“Fifty-two miles, sir.”

“Well then?”

“Sir, before we could move anybody across there we’d have to have air supremacy. We’d have to take out the AA missile batteries, SAM sites, and the like on Big Diomede. It’s shallow around there, some places no more than twenty fathoms — not deep enough for our subs.”

“Big Diomede?” asked the president.

“Largest of two islands, sir. Little Diomede, ours, is the smallest — on our side of the international date line. Big Diomede is theirs. High and solid rock. Locked in by ice and covered in snow this time of year. It’s a fortress — five miles long, one-and-a-half to two miles wide, with deeply recessed and super-hardened AA missile and AA gun battery defenses. They’ve also got half a dozen long-range naval guns in place that can shell Alaska’s Cape Prince of Wales — our staging area for any invasion.”

“You telling the that they can shell us from over twenty miles away?”

Admiral Horton looked surprised that the president didn’t know this. “They’ve had the long-barrelled gun — got it from South Africa after that Canadian inventor Bull sold it to Iraq and—”

“Never mind the history lesson,” cut in Mayne. “I want to know what the hell we’re going to do. If the air force can’t guarantee it can take out this Big Diomede, can we try naval bombardment?”

“Too much ice for the battle wagons to get within range,” said the CNO. “But we can try carrier-borne aircraft from further south.”

“Then get ready to try, Dick, and while you’re doing that I want you,” he turned to General Grey, “to send this to the Siberians and all Allied commands.” As he began writing the message, he asked, “Our K-16 satellite still operational?”

“Far as I know, Mr. President. But with all that snow in Siberia and the Siberians’ camouflage, it’s going to be difficult even for our satellite to pinpoint their positions.”

“Maybe so, General,” said President Mayne, his writing hand moving with singular determination. “But I have a hunch the Siberians might just be bluffing. I don’t mean about what They’ve got to throw at us but whether this central committee or whatever it is in Novosibirsk has really been able to break free of Moscow’s political arm.” The president depressed the tip of his ballpoint, adroitly slipping it inside his suit jacket. “Has it occurred to you gentlemen that we might be getting all steamed up for nothing? Anyway—” He handed the message to General Grey. “—this’ll answer that.”

The president’s message to the Novosibirsk central Siberian command read, “You have twenty-four hours in which to surrender all your forces to Allied command. If you have not done so by 0800 tomorrow Washington time, the Allied armies will reengage with maximum force.”

“Mr. President,” asked General Grey, “you think there might be some confusion about what we mean by ‘maximum force’?”

The president smiled. “Yes. That’s for them to figure out, Jimmy.” He turned to Air Force General Allet. “Bill, I want ‘covers off’ at least a dozen. Midwest. And just in case the Siberians aren’t getting any satellite readings of their own, have our K-16 photographs of our MX silos when their lids are off beamed down to Siberian air space. Put them clearly in the picture.”

Brigadier Soames felt it his duty to voice his skepticism.”Mr. President, I really don’t think the Siberians would have gone on the offensive against our troops in the Urals in the western sector if they didn’t think they could win this thing. And if we use nuclear weapons no one wins. I don’t think they’re bluffing, Mr. President. I didn’t want to unduly depress anyone, but my aide informs the that I’m also incorrect in my estimate of how many divisions the Siberians have at hand. It is in fact in excess of sixty-five. That’s well over a million and a—”

“Yes, yes, I know, Brigadier, but threatening to use the MX doesn’t mean we have to. Our bluff could work. They might just cave in when they see our determination.”

“I beg to differ, sir. I think—”

“Well, let’s give it the old college try, shall we, Brigadier?”

“By all means, sir. By all means.”

Just as Press Secretary Trainor had never heard the president take, as Mayne would have put it, “the Lord’s name in vain,” neither had he heard the president use “shall we?” before. The president, he thought, had handled the brigadier — and thus in effect the joint Allied high command’s anticipated criticism— rather well. “Shall we?” had just the right tone to it — one of confident authority, unbowed by the frightening possibility of having to confront more man sixty fresh, highly trained Siberian divisions — twice the total number of U.S. divisions. Perhaps the president was right. Maybe the Siberian colossus had not shucked off the long political reach of Moscow and would think twice about it, seeing the missiles “standing proud”—that is, their warheads above the silo openings. Perhaps the Siberians would blink.

The president’s message was transmitted in plain language so that all the Siberian forces would be aware of it. A smart move, Trainor acknowledged, in that there might have been some Siberian units reluctant to go along with Novosibirsk’s decision to attack the Allied forces east of Moscow.

Though he didn’t know it, Trainor was right. There had been such resistance, notably in the person of Vladimir Cherlak, the general commanding the Siberian Third Motorized Rifle Division at Tyumen, halfway between Novosibirsk and Moscow. Though no friend of President Chernko, Cherlak, like so many senior Russian officers, had attended the Frunze Military Academy. Using this tenuous connection with Chernko to maximum effect, Cherlak stated flatly that he had no intention of disobeying Moscow’s directive to surrender.

Novosibirsk’s Central Committee said it respected his loyalty to Moscow but appealed to Cherlak to place his responsibility to the United Siberian Soviet Republics above any personal loyalty to a defeated Moscow. Cherlak replied that his hesitancy to throw in his lot with Novosibirsk was not merely a matter of personal loyalty but one stemming from the oath he had taken to the Russian federation which Chernko now headed.

Novosibirsk decided there were only two ways of dealing with Cherlak: shoot him as an example to any other undecided officers or show him Chernko’s plan. They sent an emissary to Tyumen. Cherlak was notoriously self-centered — some said he was so full of himself he must think himself a czar. But he knew when he had met his match, and upon seeing Chernko’s plan was unabashedly awed.