Richard Shirreff - War with Russia

He stopped and looked troubled. “The bad news is that we’ve also picked up that a National Guard contingent, which was hiding out in the forest nearby, was attracted in by the shooting and caught the full force of Russian revenge. The Russians will think they were responsible, so that’s probably let us off the hook. However… those poor bastards…”

There was silence in the bunker. All knew that when the Russians exacted revenge, they did so with total ferocity.

There was a cough and Morland looked round to see that Bradley, the New Zealander, had entered the bunker unnoticed. For a big man, he moved with the agility of a gymnast.

“Boss, I’ve just picked up another data-burst transmission from PJHQ.”

The informal greeting in public like this was usually frowned upon in the Mercians, but somehow, here in the forest, it didn’t seem to matter. However, still shocked by what he had just heard, Morland was not in the mood for pleasantries. “And?”

“Message reads: GCHQ intercept of email from Russia Today states that Commander Western Military District accompanied by unnamed VVIP—possibly even the President—to visit Ligatne, site of recent success against Latvian insurgents. TV crews to be in position for arrival 270930 local May. VVIP party expected 271000 local May.”

“Got him!” said Krauja, her fists clenched. “That’s the President coming to gloat over the murder of another bunch of Latvians. If it’s him, they’ll want TV shots of him at the front line on Russia Today. Probably waving a rifle. They want to broadcast Russia’s victory to the world. Fucking bastards…”

Nobody said anything, while Krauja recovered from her outburst. She paused and then continued, her voice calmer. “Great work by your friend at GCHQ, Tom. The Russian General Staff forbid any use of email by their soldiers in case it’s hacked. But I’m guessing they’ve been caught out by their obsession with favorable propaganda, as Russia Today only use email, text and mobiles. All easily hackable. Appropriate somehow.”

“Right,” said Krastiņš, interrupting. “That’s 0930 tomorrow morning. We need to get to work. We’ve got to make a plan, give orders, rehearse, and infiltrate into position before first light.”

He spoke in Latvian to a Special Forces sergeant in the bunker. Then he turned to Morland. “Let’s meet in thirty minutes to start planning. We’ll need all the good ideas you can muster. And we need your people giving us any updates they can as to what the Russians are planning.”

The rest of the day passed in a maelstrom of planning, orders and rehearsals. The Mercian team, together with Krauja, Krastiņš and the Stinger teams, were to infiltrate back through the forest to set up another anti-helicopter ambush. Krastiņš was emphatic that the aim was not to kill the VVIP or Commander Western Military District, no matter how tempting.

“If he’s killed, he’ll become a martyr to the cause of glorious Russia,” explained Krastiņš. “Much better to humiliate him on TV. We’ll shoot down another helicopter and we’ve got to try to make sure he’s in the picture when it happens. Failing that, we’ll blow something up behind him and in camera shot. That way they won’t be able to edit it out. It’ll go viral in seconds and he’ll be humiliated in Russia. What’s more, we’ll have demonstrated that we can pick and choose what we do to him and that will encourage our people to keep resisting. This is all about perception and not actual sabotage.”

The sentiment was fully endorsed by PJHQ when Morland backbriefed them on the plan via the planned sked, followed by a direct order from the PM that neither the President nor the General were to be targeted.

The PM and CDS are doubtless terrified of a Russian revenge attack , Morland thought to himself. Left to his own devices and in the mood he was in, he would have given it to the President or whoever, and with both barrels. But Krastiņš was probably right. It was said that the President was almost a pussy-cat compared to other more extreme nationalists lurking and manipulating well out of the media limelight. A dead martyr President, killed live on TV, might bring them to the fore and that would be a catastrophe.

By dawn the next morning, the ambush was set. Four Latvian Special Forces Stinger teams, two men wearing night vision goggles to each motorbike, had infiltrated through the forest close to Ligatne during the night. They had taken up positions in a circle around the base, one team at each point of the compass. They were under strict instructions to leave the troop-carrying Mi-8 Hip helicopters to fly into Ligatne unmolested, as it seemed logical that the VVIP party and TV crews would arrive that way. Targeting members of the press, even by accident, was not their intention and would backfire badly. Their task was to shoot down one of the distinctive Mi-24 Hind gunships, which were bound to fly continuous protective top cover while the VVIP was being interviewed on the ground below. Knock down one or more of those Hinds and there had to be a very good chance it would be in full view of at least one TV crew, and that would be a PR coup worth risking their lives for. Certainly, the Forest Brother ambush crews thought so.

Morland and his team had crawled in close to support the Stinger teams by setting up an ambush; to cover the teams’ escape route if they were pursued as they bugged out after the missiles had been fired. Morland was now lying in the prone position with his SA80 rifle made ready next to him. He reflected on the plan and, as he had first thought, it was about as high risk as it could be. But it would also be about as spectacular as it could be, if they could pull it off. Anyway, there was no point worrying. The ambush was set and it would be up to training and chance now. Once the Stinger teams fired on the top-cover attack Hinds, there was bound to be instant retribution from the latter, but the plan needed the TV crews to keep filming the mayhem—as any half-competent cameraman would, given this would be the scoop of a lifetime. Then, as it was most probably being filmed live, the shots would go viral within seconds. And as a fallback, there were bound to be people there with mobiles filming the scene. In fact, given modern technology, they’d be very unlucky not to get some live film of the ambush from somewhere.

In a perfect world, they’d get two or three helos down and the Russians running around in panic, focusing on protecting the VIPs, while they slipped away to the ERV—the emergency rendezvous point.

He looked left and right at his team’s ambush position. They’d rehearsed their drills until everyone knew their tasks and positions instinctively. Krauja lay five meters away, equally watchful behind her borrowed Latvian Army-issue G36 assault rifle, face smeared with black-and-green stripes of cam cream, blonde hair tied back. The remainder of the team was in position on either side of him, ready to hit any Russians coming up the narrow forest path to their front. Archer was cut off. Watson was on Morland’s right with, beyond him, Bradley behind the GPMG, covering the ambush killing area right in front of them. Wild lay further along, ready to initiate the claymore anti-personnel mines and turn the track into a mass of high-velocity ball-bearings. They were all linked by their personal radios, but in the event of the inevitable confusion and any loss of comms, the signal to bug out to the ERV was the firing of a red Schermuly flare by Watson. Morland noted that it now lay beside him, prepped and ready to fire.

All too slowly, the hands on his watch moved toward H Hour. And then, at 0920, he heard the sound of multiple helicopters from the west, the direction of Riga. That’ll be the first troop-carrying choppers with the TV crews and their Hind escorts , he thought to himself. They’ll need to set up before the VIPs arrive . Then he felt the pit of his stomach tighten with nerves. This is unreal… it can’t be happening to me , and he knew at that moment what fear was.