Richard Shirreff - War with Russia

The general was now doing much the same in the Baltics, but Vronsky’s current concern was not with them. His sole mission was to capture this British officer. Succeed and he would have the gratitude of the President. Fail and… he did not even want to think about it. His plan called for a sophisticated ambush by his Spetsnaz team, waiting downstairs for the “go” order right now. However, he had little doubt that the general would prefer to simply blitz the area and the British with it. And that was not what the President had ordered.

“Explain your thinking, Major,” the general finally said.

Vronsky caught the general’s piggy eyes looking up at him. He did not make the mistake of looking down. “Colonel General. Ever since the failed ambush, SIGINT has been trying to monitor the terrorists’ movements. They got a break when they realized that their patrol signaler has a distinctive way of signing off after a transmission. They then replayed all recorded intercepts and were able to track him as he moved south. First down through Latvia, then into Lithuania, and finally into Kaliningrad.”

“Kaliningrad!” the general exploded. “That’s Russian territory—and our Iskander batteries are there. They’d never dare…”

Vronsky waited and when the general said nothing more, he continued. “That’s our conclusion as well, Sir. They’d never dare. Also, we now know for a fact that this is a team of five ordinary infantry soldiers.”

The general began to growl in anger and his hands clenched on the desk. “Exactly what are you implying, Major?” the general demanded.

“Military Intelligence is categoric, and the FSB has confirmed that this is the case: the British always use their Special Forces as the tip of their military spear. Find the location of their Special Forces and you will find where they are going to attack. This is not only common sense, but it has been demonstrated time and again. Just as Spetsnaz always lead our attacks.”

The general thought about it. “Go on.”

“There are no Allied Special Force units in or near Kaliningrad. However, we are already picking up indications that they are trying to infiltrate British SAS and SBS, together with American Deltas and SEALs into Estonia and Latvia. Precisely where NATO will attack. If it is foolish enough…”

“So?”

“So, these five British infantrymen were in Latvia conducting training and were caught behind our lines when we recovered our Baltic Provinces. They have been left there. The border is so closely guarded by land, sea and air that nothing can get in and nothing can get out. They are stranded and making mischief. And that’s it. Nothing strategic, just being nuisances.”

“They’ve certainly succeeded in that,” the general growled, with the first hint of a smile of recognition for a fellow professional.

“I know, Colonel General. Which is why I’m here… Anyway, we believe they are on a recce mission. No more. No less. They are with a handful of Forest Brothers. However, each missile battery is guarded by a reinforced company and each is based in a highly defended complex. What possible threat could these few British constitute to us? What can they hope to do?”

“Attack our missiles…”

“With what, Colonel General? When I saw the British officer he was on the back of a motorbike, looked half-starved, and was armed only with an infantry rifle. What can he hope to do with that? And, even if he were to attack them, NATO knows the President will reply with nuclear missiles. They’d be mad. Which is why their Special Forces are nowhere near here. These men are lying low, trying not to be caught. Doubtless trying to do something useful, like reporting back our troop dispositions.”

“Your conclusion?”

“This is your opportunity, Colonel General. The President wants this British officer. Were it not for that I’d bomb them from helicopters and drones and send in our airborne to pick up the remains. Because that’s all that would be left of them. But the President wants us to give him this man to put on television. Alive…”

“Take a seat, Vronsky… Sasha!” he bellowed at the closed door.

A terrified-looking ADC opened the door and saluted. “Yes, Colonel General?”

“Vodka, two glasses, and a plate of ‘salo.’ [5] 5. The salted pork fat beloved as a taster to vodka. And quickly. Major Vronsky and I have a plan to put together.”

The general turned back to him. “Your plan?”

“Colonel General, early this morning we intercepted another radio transmission. Same radio, same operator. It’s the British. This was about twenty kilometers north from Pravdinsk, in the forest south of the River Pregolya.”

“Pravdinsk… Our command bunker… and one of the Iskander batteries. If you’re right, a target well worth a reconnaissance, but not one they’d ever dare attack. More an opportunity not to be missed than a specific threat. Hmm… and I suppose there’s nothing they will see there that their satellites have not photographed already.”

“My thoughts entirely, Colonel General. My plan is to bring my Spetsnaz team of fifteen to reinforce the garrison. We’ll either catch them when they go in to do their recce, or we’ll zero in on them and catch them when they send their situation report back to London. Now we know what we’re looking for, we’ll locate them in minutes. Either up against the wire at Pravdinsk, or when they transmit… They’ll never know what hit them.”

“Very well, Major. But on your own head be it,” Kirkorov growled, pouring two glasses of vodka before unbuttoning the top button of his tunic.

Following the general’s lead, Vronsky drank the vodka in one gulp and quickly followed it with a piece of salo to line his stomach. Unless he could persuade the general otherwise, it was going to be a long, wasted afternoon and he still had much to do. “Colonel General, my men are hoping you will do them the honor of inspecting them before they depart. And I need to get them to Pravdinsk long before the British arrive. Would you perhaps care to… ?”

The general gave him a sharp, suspicious look. He had obviously been looking forward to telling some stories as they drank the vodka. “Go. I will inspect them in fifteen minutes.”

Vronsky drew up his men of the 45th Guards Spetsnaz Regiment in the vehicle hangar adjacent to the headquarters of the Kaliningrad Special Region and quickly explained the situation. An inspection like this was the last thing they needed, but Vronsky calculated that getting the general to inspect his soldiers right now was the best way of getting on his way before he got drunk and, perhaps, changed his mind. Besides, with only fifteen men in the detachment, Kirkorov would soon be finished.

As he stood, ready to greet the general by the door, Vronsky had time to think through his plan once again. Was he making a mistake?

From their radio transmissions, the British captain and his team were clearly heading for the Iskander nuclear missile battery, south of Pravdinsk. He could not imagine what they planned to achieve there, other than a recce of the bunker. They could not hope to seize a missile, at least not without starting the next world war and that seemed simply stupid. And he would not allow anything stupid to happen. Not with these men in the hall behind him. No, if the President really did want this man alive—and it seemed he really did—then ambushing him like this was the best solution. Decision confirmed, he and his men stood and waited.

The ADC arrived thirty minutes later and announced that Kirkorov was on his way with the base commander.

Vronsky ordered his men to attention.

The general, smelling slightly of vodka, strode in and, ignoring Vronsky, went straight to the line of men.