Ian Slater - Rage of Battle

“Comrade,” said the deputy minister. A small, squat man with a shock of graying hair, he pushed himself back from the semicircular cutaway in the elegant desk and rose, extending his hand. But Marchenko felt it was more protocol than heartfelt. The general envied the minister — he’d always wanted a desk like that, where documents were all around you, rather than where you could never reach them. “Comrade Deputy,” said Marchenko, simultaneously indicating the glum, nervous man sitting below Marx.

“It’s all right,” the deputy reassured him. “He is one of my advisers. We all need advisers, eh, Comrade?”

Marchenko was a recognized expert on military matters, but the nuances of superiors often bemused him. Was the deputy reminding him of the Kremlin’s pecking order with his comment or was he merely being polite?

“So — what’s critical, General?”

Marchenko gave him both barrels at once. “The Japanese fleet is in La Perouse Strait. Sailing north.”

The deputy said nothing, his face impassive.

“Between Japan and Sakhalin,” continued Marchenko.

“The Japanese call it Karafuto, you might recall.” Still the minister made no comment. Indeed, he seemed rather bored.

Containing his exasperation, Marchenko went on to explain, “They’re obviously strengthening their western flank. Northern Sakhalin is a perfect springboard for an invasion of Siberia.”

“Oil,” said the deputy.

Unconsciously Marchenko gave a sigh of relief. “Among other things, Comrade, yes. Oil and our Siberian bases, from which our bombers have been hitting their west coast.”

“You are sure it’s an invasion force? I thought you were the one who doubted Japan would escalate her involvement militarily.”

Marchenko looked straight at the deputy. “I was wrong. There are a dozen transports at least,” replied Marchenko. “A carrier, helicopter, ships as well, and a screen of fighters and surface vessels. Thirty vessels in all.”

“Can we stop them?”

“I don’t know,” said Marchenko. “If we were only fighting on one front, yes, of course.”

“But the Japanese defense force, I didn’t think was all that—”

“Defense force?” cut in Marchenko, eyebrows raised. “It’s as offensive as any other force. ‘Defense’ was there propaganda because they were forbidden to call it anything else under the surrender terms with the Americans in 1945.” Marchenko paused, and the deputy noticed the general looked more worried than he had ever seen him.

“We could muster enough troops in Vladivostok and ferry them over, but we haven’t the time and there are only two divisions on all of Sakhalin. It’s as big as Japan’s north island. But our main concern, Comrade Deputy, and this is why I’ve come straight to you for your support in the Politburo, is that even if we repulse the Japanese landing — and this may be possible with our fighters out of Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk in south Sakhalin — so long as Japan continues to get oil from the Americans, she will be able to harass us along our eastern flank. We’ve got to stop the oil coming to her from Alaska. Even if their fleet is a feint to—”

“What about our submarines?” interjected the deputy. “We surely have enough of those out of Vladivostok?”

“So do the Americans, Comrade Deputy. And quite frankly, the U.S. hydrophone arrays — underwater microphones — are so good in the Pacific, they pick us up way ahead. At the moment, we can’t get near those tankers because of Shemya and Adak.”

The deputy glanced up at his wall map at the Aleutians arcing like a sickle toward Russia’s Kamchatka Peninsula, with only the two Soviet Komandorskiye Islands between Kamchatka’s ICBM sites 190 miles to the west, and the westernmost U.S. island of Attu 250 miles east of the Komandorskiyes.

“So we have to take out Shemya and Adak?” proffered the minister.

“Adak would do. It’s the U.S. submarine listening post and base.”

“Can we do it, General? If there are so many American submarines in the Pacific—”

“No, no,” the general was quick to tell him. “Not by sea. By air. It’s the only way, given the time problem. Fighter attacks to soften the island base up — then paratroops.”

The deputy minister frowned. It was now evident why Marchenko was seeking his approval so urgently. He would need a majority of Politburo supporters on this one. “General — I am not as adroit as you in military matters, but I would doubt the Americans will fail to see you coming. An attack on the island by our fighters flying below enemy radar can be done. This I know. But when you take in paratroops, the radar will surely see them.”

“Not if our fighters knock out the American radar first.”

“And what if they don’t? As I remember from your reports on our air-to-ground rocket raids on England, radar installation masts can be notoriously difficult to knock out. Almost as difficult as bridges, I believe. But if I am correct, Shemya Island, as well as being one of the most heavily armed places on earth, is between Komandorskiyes and Adak?”

Marchenko nodded. “And if we wait, we could have the American Pacific Fleet to contend with. Elements of it are already heading up from the Sea of Japan, where they were providing carrier fighter cover for the U.S.-ROK counterattack in North Korea.”

“Then how do you propose dealing with the Adak submarine base?”

Marchenko walked to the wall map, extending his hand out from the Komandorskiyes. “We will fly due east two hundred miles north of Shemya — midair refueling for the MiG-29s. Then due south to Adak.”

The deputy minister nodded approvingly. “Then what about the Americans’ antiaircraft missile batteries on Adak Island?”

Marchenko permitted himself a smile of anticipated satisfaction. “We have our covert trawlers commanded and manned by disaffected Aleuts — descendants of our fur traders. Some of them still believe the Aleutians are theirs — very much like the American Indians and—”

“We have them, yes, but can they do the job?”

“It’s already proven, Comrade. One of them has already downed a Hercules off Unalaska. The Americans thought it was volcanic ash from Mount Vsevidof. The Aleutians are a chain of volcanos. The trawlers will be ‘fishing’ off Alaska. Very rich fishing grounds, especially off Adak.”

“The American shore batteries on Adak will blow them out of the water.”

Marchenko shrugged. “Of course— after the trawlers have wreaked havoc on Adak Station. Our paratroopers will finish the rest, and we will have secured a stepping stone to Alaska. Most importantly, we will have neutralized the American advance warning station for their submarines just as the Japanese neutralized their Wake Island station in the Second World War. Our submarines will be much freer to attack oil tankers en route from Alaska. In addition, this—”

“Will take the pressure off our western front,” said the deputy, “and allow us time to deal with the Japanese.”

“Exactly,” said Marchenko. “Will you support me in the Politburo?”

The deputy’s fingers were tapping his blotter. “You really think it will work, Marchenko?”

“Comrade Deputy, my son is stationed in the Far Eastern Theater. In Ulan-Ude. I fully expect him to be one of the fighters in the attack on Adak.”

“If you’re that confident, Comrade,” said the deputy, “I’ll support your proposal to the premier.”

“Thank you, Comrade Dep—”

“One thing,” cut in the deputy, pushing himself back from the desk. “I take it the Americans had a board of inquiry into the crash of their Hercules. Do you think they are convinced it was — what did you call it, ‘volcanic ash’?”