Red Storm Rising (1986) (22 page)

“In fact,” said Colonel Mellethin, director of Foreign Operations Analysis—he was a spare, austere man with eyes that clearly had not known sleep for some days—“the Americans understate the total quantities of munitions employed, because they consistently overstate the accuracy of Russian delivery systems.” The other two men in the room noted at once that
Russian
had been substituted for
Soviet.

“There is something else you wish to say, Mellethin?” Bitner asked sharply.

“Comrade Secretary, from the Russian point of view, what is the objective of this war?”

“The neutralization of NATO, and access to greater economic assets. Say what you have to say, Comrade Colonel,” Bitner ordered.

“Comrade, success for the Warsaw Pact would leave a united Germany. I point out that a united Germany, even a united
socialist
Germany, would be viewed as a strategic threat by the Soviet Union—after all, we are better socialists than they,
nicht wahr?”
Mellethin took a deep breath before going on. Was he risking his life? Did it matter? The family name had once been
von
Mellethin, and unwavering loyalty to the State was not something that Communism had taught his line of professional soldiers. “Comrade Party Secretary, Soviet success in this operation will leave Germany, socialist and capitalist, as barren as the surface of the moon, a minimum of ten to thirty percent of our people dead, our land poisoned, even without Western chemical retaliation. Comrade, we learned today that the Americans have begun airlifting ‘Bigeye’ chemical aircraft bombs into their base at Ramstein. If our ‘allies’ use their chemical weapons, and then NATO retaliates in kind, it is entirely possible that our country—that German culture itself—will completely cease to exist. Such an objective is not militarily defensible, but I suggest, Comrade, that this could be an additional,
political
objective of the Russian plan.”

Bitner’s expression didn’t change a whit, and his visitors couldn’t see the chill that was enveloping their national leader. The meeting he’d had the previous week in Warsaw had been unsettling enough, but now the reason behind the greasy reassurances offered him by the Soviet leadership seemed all too clear.

“There is no way to protect our civilian population?” Bitner asked.

“Comrade.” The General sighed. “These persistent agents need not be breathed. They also work through the skin. If one touches a contaminated surface, one is poisoned. Even if we order our people to remain in their homes with windows and door closed, houses and apartment blocks arc not airtight. And people still must eat. Factory workers in certain essential industries still must work. Medical personnel, police, and internal security personnel—some of our most valuable citizens will be the most gravely exposed. These aerosols will travel invisibly across our country, virtually undetectable. They will leave a toxic film on lawns, trees, fences, walls, trucks—nearly anything. The rain will wash much off, but tests made years ago show that some of these poisons—those on the undersides of fences, for example—will persist for weeks, even months. We would need thousands of decontamination teams even to begin the task of making our country safe enough for our citizens to walk to their markets. Colonel Mellethin is correct: if the Russians use their gas weapons, and then the Americans reply in kind, we would be fortunate if half our citizens were alive six months from today. It is actually easier to protect our citizens from nuclear weapons than against gasses, and nuclear effects are shorter-lived.”

“They said
what?”
The Defense Minister almost screamed.

“Our fraternal socialist comrades of the German Democratic Republic have informed us that they can only view the use of chemical munitions inside their territory as a matter of the gravest national concern.” The Foreign Minister spoke dryly. “Moreover, they have forwarded to us intelligence reports which show clearly that the use of such weapons would only serve to harden NATO resolve—and possibly open the door to other weapons of mass destruction.”

“But they are part of the plan!” Defense objected.

“Comrades,” Sergetov observed. “We all know that the use of chemical munitions will have calamitous effects on civilians—wouldn’t this compromise our political
maskirovka?
Aren’t we saying that our quarrel is with the West German
government?
How might it look then if on the first day of the war we coldly exterminate many thousands of civilians?”
How many more innocents shall we slaughter?
he thought.

“And there is another question,” said Bromkovskiy. Old and frail though he was, he was still an experienced man from the last war against the Germans, and his views on defense affairs still commanded respect. “If we use these weapons against all the NATO armies—and how can we restrict them to German formations? —America and France have made it clear that they consider gas as a weapon of mass destruction, to which they would respond in kind.”

“The American chemical arsenal is a joke,” replied Defense.

“I have seen studies from your ministry that suggest otherwise,” Bromkovskiy shot back. “And perhaps you will laugh at their nuclear weapons! If we kill many thousands of German civilians, their government will demand the use of atomic weapons against targets in our territory. If our gas weapons kill some thousands of American soldiers, do you think the American President will refrain from using his own weapons of mass destruction? Comrades, we have discussed this before. This war against NATO is a political operation, no? Do we cast away our political camouflage by using a weapon like this? We have the assurance now that at least one NATO country will not join in a Russian-German war. This is a great victory for our political policy. The use of chemical weapons will cast away that advantage and open political dangers from more than one direction.

“I feel that we should retain control of these weapons in the Politburo. Comrade Defense Minister, are you telling us that we can win only if weapons of mass destruction are used?” The old man leaned forward and spoke with harsh determination. “Has the situation changed? You will remember telling us that if strategic surprise were lost, our armies could be recalled. Has surprise been lost?”

The Defense Minister’s face went rigid for a moment. “The Soviet Army is ready and able to carry out its mission. It is now too late to retreat. This is also a political question, Petya.”

“NATO is mobilizing,” Sergetov said.

“Too late, and too halfheartedly,” replied the Director of the KGB. “We have split one country from the NATO alliance. We are working on others, and are hard at work throughout Europe and America spreading disinformation about the bomb attack. The will of the people in the NATO countries is low. They will not want to fight a war for German murderers, and their political leaders will find a way to disassociate themselves from the conflict.”

“But not if we slaughter civilians with gas.” The Foreign Minister nodded. “Petya and young Sergetov are correct: the political cost of these weapons is simply too high.”

“But why? Why are they doing this?” the President demanded.

“We simply do not know, sir.” The Director of Central Intelligence was clearly uncomfortable with the question. “We know that this Kremlin Bomb Plot was a complete fabrication—”

“Did you see what the
Post
said this morning? The press says that this guy Falken has ‘agency’ or its German equivalent written all over him.”

“Mr. President, the truth of the matter is that Herr Falken was almost certainly a Soviet sleeper agent under KGB control. The Germans have been unable to uncover very much about him. It’s as though he just sprang into being thirteen years ago, and he’s been quietly running his import-export business for the last twelve years. Sir, every indication we have is that the Soviets are prepared for an attack against NATO. There is no indication, for example, that they are demobilizing their conscripts who are at the end of their enlistment periods, nor any evidence of preparations for the new ‘class’ of conscripts that should have begun to arrive several days ago. Finally, there’s the case of this Spetznaz major the Germans picked up. He was infiltrated into the Federal Republic before the bomb plot, with orders to attack a NATO communications base. As to why—Mr. President, we simply do not know. We can describe what the Russians are doing but not the reason for it.”

“I told the country last night that we would be able to control this situation through diplomatic means . . .”

“We still might. We need to communicate directly with the Soviets,” the President’s national security adviser said. “Until they respond positively, however, we have to show that we mean business, too. Mr. President, a further call-up of reservists is necessary.”

The
Julius Fucik
was rolling ten degrees with a beam sea. It made life hard on the soldiers, Captain Kherov noted, but they were doing well for landsmen. His own crewmen were dangling over the sides with sprayguns, painting over the ship’s Interlighter markings, preparatory to replacing them with the Lykes Lines emblem. The soldiers were cutting away parts of the superstructure to conform with the silhouette of the
Doctor Lykes,
a U.S.-flag Seabee carrier remarkably similar to the
Fucik.
The Soviet ship had been built years before in Finland’s Valmet yard from plans purchased in America. Already the elevator winch area aft had been painted completely black to match the American line’s house colors, and a black diamond had been painted on both sides of the superstructure. Gangs of men were changing the shape and colors of the two funnels with prefabricated parts. The hardest job remaining was the paintwork on the hull. The Interlighter markings were made of twenty-foot letters. Replacing them called for the use of canvas templates, and the lettering had to be neat and exact. Worst of all, there was no way to check the workmanship short of launching a ship’s boat, something he had neither the time nor the inclination to do.

“How long, Comrade Captain?”

“Four hours at least. The work goes well.” Kherov couldn’t hide his concern. Here they were, mid-Atlantic, far from the usual sea lanes, but there was no telling—

“And if we are spotted by an American aircraft or ship?” General Andreyev asked.

“Then we will find out how effective our damage-control drills have been—and our mission will be a failure.” Kherov ran his hand along the polished teak rail. He’d commanded this ship for six years, taken her into nearly every port on the North and South Atlantic. “We’ll get some way on. The ship will ride more easily on a bow sea.”

“When are you planning to leave?” Flynn asked Calloway.

“Soon, Patrick. I hope you’ll be coming with me?” The unmarried children of both men were in college, and both had sent their wives west the day before.

“I don’t know. I’ve never run away before.” Flynn scowled at the empty stage at the end of the room. He had the scars to prove it. “They pay me to report the news.”

“You’ll be reporting no bloody news from inside Lefortovo Prison, my friend,” Calloway observed. “Isn’t one Pulitzer Prize enough?”

Flynn laughed. “I thought nobody but me remembered. What do you know that I don’t, Willie?”

“I know I wouldn’t be leaving without a damned good reason. And if it’s good enough for me to leave, Patrick, it’s bloody good enough for you.” He’d been told only the night before that a peaceful resolution of this crisis was now less than a 50-percent probability. For the hundredth time, the Reuters correspondent blessed his decision to cooperate with the SIS.

“Here we go.” Flynn took out his notepad.

The Foreign Minister entered from the usual door and moved to the lectern. He looked uncharacteristically frazzled, his suit rumpled, his shirt collar dingy, as though he’d been up all the previous night laboring to resolve the German crisis through diplomatic means. When he looked up, his eyes squinted through his reading glasses.

“Ladies and gentlemen, a year that has gone so well for East-West relations has turned to ashes in the mouths of us all. The United States, the Soviet Union, and the other nations that accepted our invitation to Vienna are within weeks of a comprehensive agreement on the control of strategic nuclear arms. America and the Soviet Union have agreed upon and implemented a grain sales agreement with unprecedented speed and cooperation, and even as we speak, deliveries are being made in Odessa on the Black Sea. Western tourism within the Soviet Union is at an all-time high, and this is perhaps the truest reflection of the spirit of detente—now our peoples are finally beginning to trust one another. All this effort, the efforts of East and West to bring about a just and lasting peace, have been brought to ruin by a handful of revanchist men who have not taken the lessons of the Second World War to heart.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Soviet Union has received irrefutable evidence that the government of the Federal Republic of Germany exploded its bomb in the Kremlin as part of a plot to bring about the reunification of Germany by force. We have in our possession classified German documents which prove that the West German government planned to bring down the Soviet government and use the resulting period of internal confusion to achieve their aim of remaking Germany into the principal continental power in Europe yet again. All Europeans know what that would mean to world peace.

“In this century, Germany has invaded my country twice. Over forty million Soviet citizens died repelling those two invasions, and we do not forget the deaths of so many millions of our fellow Europeans who were also the victims of German nationalism—Polish, Belgian, Dutch, French, English, and American men and women labored as our allies to safeguard the peace of Europe. After the Second World War, we all thought that this problem was completely at an end. Such was the reasoning behind the treaties which divided Germany and Europe into spheres of influence—remember that these spheres were ratified further by the Helsinki Accords in 1975—whose balance would serve to make a European war impossible.