Red Storm Rising (1986) (108 page)

They knew something else it meant: the 77th Motor-Rifle Division would be committed to action within a week. It was quiet that night in the encampment. Men stood outside the unheated barracks, looking at the pine forests on the eastern slopes of the Ural Mountains.

“Why are we not attacking?” the General Secretary demanded.

“General Alekseyev has informed me that he is preparing for a major attack now. He says he needs time to organize his forces for a weighted blow,” Bukharin answered.

“You tell Comrade General Alekseyev,” the Defense Minister said, “that we want action, not words!”

“Comrades,” Sergetov said, “I seem to recall from my own military service that one should not attack until one has a decisive advantage in men and weapons. If we order Alekseyev to attack before he is ready, we condemn our army to failure. We must give him time to do his job properly.”

“And now you are an expert on defense matters?” the Defense Minister inquired. “A pity you are not so expert in your own field, or we should not be in this predicament!”

“Comrade Minister, I told you that your projections for oil use at the front were overly optimistic, and I was correct. You said ‘Give us the fuel, and we’ll see it is properly used,’ did you not? You said a two-week campaign, four at the worst, did you not?” Sergetov looked around the table. “Such expertise as this has brought us to disaster!”

“We will not fail! We will defeat the West.”

“Comrades,” Kosov walked into the room. “Forgive me for being late. I just received notification that our forces on Iceland are surrendering. The general in command cites thirty-percent casualties and a hopeless tactical situation.”

“Have him arrested at once!” Defense roared. “And arrest the family of the traitor.”

“Our Comrade Defense Minister seems far more efficient in arresting our own people than in defeating our enemies,” Sergetov observed dryly.

“You young whelp!” The Defense Minister went white with rage.

“I do not say that we have been defeated, but it is clear that we have not yet been victorious. It is time that we seek a political conclusion to this war.”

“We could accept the German terms,” the Foreign Minister said hopefully.

“I regret to inform you that this is no longer a possibility,” Kosov replied. “I have reason to believe that this was a sham—a German
maskirovka.
”

“But your deputy said only the day before yesterday—”

“I warned him and you that I had my doubts. A story appeared today in the French newspaper
Le Monde
that the Germans have rejected a
Soviet
offer for a political settlement to the war. They give the correct times and location that the meetings took place—the story could only have come from official German channels, and the clear implication is that this was all along a NATO effort to affect our strategic thinking. They are sending us a message, Comrades. They say that they are prepared to fight the war to the finish.”

“Marshal Bukharin, what is the strength of the NATO forces?” the General Secretary asked.

“They have taken massive losses in men and materiel. Their armies are exhausted. They must be, else they would have counterattacked in strength already.”

“One more push, then,” Defense said. He looked to the head of the table for support. “One more very very hard push. Perhaps Alekseyev is right—we need to coordinate a single massive attack to smash their lines.”

Now you are grasping at other men’s straws,
Sergetov thought.

“The Defense Council will consider this in private,” the General Secretary said.

“No!” Sergetov objected. “This is now a political question for the entire Politburo. The fate of the country will not be decided by five men only!”

“You have no place to object, Mikhail Eduardovich. You have no vote at this table.” Sergetov was stunned to hear these words from Kosov.

“Perhaps he should,” Bromkovskiy said.

“That is not a question to be decided now,” the General Secretary announced.

Sergetov watched the faces arrayed around the oak table. No one had the courage to speak up now. He had almost altered the power balance of the Politburo, but until it was clear which faction was stronger, the old rules would prevail. The meeting adjourned. The members filed out except for the five Defense Council members, who kept Bukharin with them.

The candidate member lingered outside looking for allies. His fellow chieftains filed past. Several met his eyes, then looked away.

“Mikhail Eduardovich?” It was the Minister for Agriculture. “How much fuel will be available for food distribution?”

“How much food will there be?” Sergetov asked.
How much food can there be?

“More than you think. We have tripled the size of private plots throughout the Russian Republic—”

“What?”

“Yes, the old people on the farms are growing plenty of food now—at least enough to feed us for the time being. The problem is now one of distribution.”

“No one told me.”
Some
good
news?
Sergetov wondered.

“Do you know how many times I have proposed this? No, you weren’t here last July, were you? I’ve said for years that by doing this we could solve many problems, and finally they listened to me! We have food, Mikhail Eduardovich—I just hope we will have people to eat it! I need fuel to transport it to the cities. Will I have the fuel?”

“I will see what I can do, Filip Moiseyevich.”

“You have spoken well, Comrade. I hope some will listen.”

“Thank you.”

“Your son is well?”

“The last I heard from him, yes.”

“I am ashamed that my son is not there, too.” The Minister for Agriculture paused. “We must—well, we have no time for that now. Get me the fuel figures as quickly as you can.”

Alekseyev held the message in his hand: FLY AT ONCE TO Moscow FOR CONSULTATIONS. Was it his death sentence? The General summoned his deputy.

“Nothing new. We have some probes around Hamburg, and what looks like preparations for an attack north of Hannover, but nothing we should not be able to handle.”

“I have to go to Moscow.” Alekseyev saw the concern on the man’s face. “Don’t worry, Anatoliy, I haven’t been in command long enough to be shot. We will have to arrange our personnel transfers in a systematic way if we have any hope of transforming these C divisions into a fighting force. I should be back in twenty-four hours or less. Tell Major Sergetov to get my map case and meet me outside in ten minutes.”

Alekseyev handed his aide the message form in the back of the staff car, along with an ironic look.

“What does this mean?”

“We’ll find out in a few hours, Vanya.”

“They are truly mad.”

“You should choose your words with greater care, Boris Georgiyevich,” Sergetov said. “What has NATO done now?”

The KGB Chief shook his head in surprise. “I mean the Defense Council, you young fool!”

“This young fool has no vote on the Politburo. You pointed that out yourself.” Sergetov had held the fleeting hope that the Politburo might be brought to its senses.

“Mikhail Eduardovich, I have worked very hard to protect you to this point. Please do not make me regret this. If you had managed to force a Politburo decision in the open, you would have lost and possibly destroyed yourself. As it is”—Kosov paused for another of his grins—“as it is, they have asked me to discuss their decision with you in hope of getting your support.

“They are doubly mad,” Kosov went on. “First, the Defense Minister wishes to initiate the use of a few small tactical nuclear warheads. Second, he hopes for your support. They propose the
maskirovka
all over again. They will explode a small tactical device in the DDR, forcing us to retaliate while proclaiming that NATO has violated the no-first-use agreement. But it could be worse. They’ve summoned Alekseyev to Moscow to seek his assessment of the plan and how best to implement it. He should be on his way here now.”

“The Politburo will never agree to this. We’re not all crazy, are we? Have you told them how NATO will react?”

“Of course. I’ve told them that NATO will not react at all at first, they will be too confused.”

“You encouraged them?”

“I wish you would keep in mind that they prefer Larionov’s opinions to my own.”

Comrade Kosov,
Sergetov thought to himself,
you care less about the danger to the
Rodina
than you do for your own future. You’d be quite satisfied to bring the whole country down if you bring them down first, wouldn’t you?

“The votes on the Politburo . . .”

“Will support the Defense Council. Think. Bromkovskiy will vote no, perhaps Agriculture also, though I doubt it. They want you to speak in favor of the plan. This will reduce the opposition to old Petya. Petya is a good old man, but no one really listens to him anymore.”

“I will never do this!”

“But you must. And Alekseyev must agree.” Kosov got up and looked out the window. “There is nothing to fear—no nuclear bombs will be used. I have already seen to that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Surely you know who controls the nuclear weapons in this country
^?
”

“Certainly, the strategic rocket forces, the Army’s artillerymen—”

“Excuse me, I phrased my question poorly. Yes, they control the rockets. It is
my
people who control the
warheads,
and Josef Larionov’s faction does not include that segment of the KGB! This is why you must play along.”

“Very well. Then we must warn Alekseyev.”

“With caution now. No one seems to have noticed that your son has made several trips to Moscow, but if you are seen with General Alekseyev before he meets with them . . .”

“Yes, I can understand that.” Sergetov thought for a moment. “Perhaps Vitaly can meet them at the airport and pass a message?”

“Very good! I will make a
chekist
of you yet!”

The Minister’s driver was summoned and handed a written note. He departed at once, taking the Minister’s Zil out toward the airport. A military convoy of wheeled armored personnel carriers held him up. Forty minutes later, he noticed that his gas gauge was down. Odd, he’d just filled the car up the day before—the Politburo members were never short of anything. But it kept dropping. Then the engine stopped. Vitaly pulled the car over, seven kilometers from the airport, got out, and opened the hood. The chauffeur checked belts and electrical connections. Everything seemed as it should. He got back in and tried to start the car, and nothing happened. He figured out a moment later that the alternator had gone bad, and the car had been running off battery power. He tried the car phone. The battery was completely flat.

Alekseyev’s transport was just arriving. A staff car provided by the commander of the Moscow Military District motored up to the plane, and the General and his aide got in at once for the ride to the Kremlin. For Alekseyev the most frightening part of the flight was getting out of the aircraft—he halfway expected to see KGB troops waiting for him instead of the staff car. It would almost have been a relief to be arrested.

The General and his aide rode in silence—all their talking had been done on the noisy aircraft where listening devices could not possibly have worked. Alekseyev noted the empty streets, the absence of trucks—most of them now at the front—even the shorter-than-usual lines outside the food stores.
A country at war,
he thought.

Alekseyev had expected the ride to the Kremlin to seem slow. The reverse was true. Seemingly in the blink of an eye the car pulled through the Kremlin gates. A sergeant outside the Council of Ministers building pulled open the door, saluting smartly. Alekseyev returned it and walked up the steps to the door, where another sergeant waited. Alekseyev walked like a soldier, back straight, his face set in a stern mien. His newly polished boots glistened, and his eyes caught the flashing reflection of the ceiling lights as he walked into the lobby. The General disdained the elevator, preferring the stairs for the trip to the conference room. He noted that the building had been repaired since the bombing incident.

A captain of the Taman Guards, the ceremonial unit stationed at Alabino outside Moscow, met the General at the top of the stairs and escorted him to the double doors of the conference room. Alekseyev ordered his aide to wait as he entered, his visored cap tucked tightly under his arm.

“Comrades: General Colonel P. L. Alekseyev reports as ordered!”

“Welcome to Moscow, Comrade General,” the Defense Minister said. “What is the situation in Germany?”

“Both sides are exhausted but still fighting. The current tactical situation is one of stalemate. We have more troops and weapons available, but we are critically short of fuel.”