Another silence followed, into which Butyrskaya unwittingly stepped, “If they were strong, they would have challenged our navy with theirs. Instead, they resort to an ambush on unarmed civilian shipping.”
Finally Bondarev heard a voice other than his own. Major-General Artem Kokorin, commander of the 573rd Army Air Force Base, slapped a hand down on the table. “We are not fools here. I do not believe we are risking all-out war with the USA for the sake of a freighter owned by a rich fool and piloted by a robot!”
Lukin fixed him with an ice cold glare, “Russia does not want war comrade. The Bering Strait is a strategically important waterway and the USA has seen fit to challenge the freedom of our ships to traverse that waterway. This peacekeeping action will assert the rights of all shipping to move through the Strait and we will withdraw as soon as the USA acknowledges its perfidity and gives assurances it will pay reparations and guarantee freedom of navigation.”
Kokorin nodded then leaned towards Bondarev and whispered under his breath, “Bullshit.” Lukin waved at Butyrskaya to continue her briefing. She pointed at the tablets in front of them. “Your unit level orders are being sent to you as we speak and your officers recalled for detailed briefings. Operation LOSOS will be initiated at 0100 hours on the 24th of August.” She saw faces tighten and nodded, “Yes, that is six days from now. As soon as special forces have secured the airfield and radar station garrison at Savoonga on Saint Lawrence, Major-General Bondarev’s 6983rd Air Brigade will provide air-to-air and air-to-ground cover for ground operations then will stay on station to protect the airlift of ground-air defense units and garrison troops by the 573rd Army Air Force. We expect to have full control of both air and sea in the operations area within 24 hours of the arrival of special forces troops in the target area and full control of the territory of Saint Lawrence within 36 hours.”
“If my Sukhois and Migs are running CAP over a US territory at the same time as their radar and airfield there goes dark, there will be a reaction. I predict a maximum of ten minutes before the first US F-35s arrive to order us to leave their airspace. What are we to tell them, if they bother to ask before they shoot?” Bondarev asked.
Butyrskaya smiled, “That has been anticipated. Immediately before special forces land, we will declare a submarine emergency in international waters off the coast of St. Lawrence,” she said. “One of our boats will send a mayday and declare a nuclear containment breach. Arctic Fleet assets in the area will be directed to respond and will start moving at speed to the area and provide ship-based anti-air cover. All international shipping and aircraft will be asked to divert to allow our rescue efforts unhindered freedom of action. The US might send reconnaissance aircraft, but the cover story should be enough to prevent a full-scale air defense response until we are in control.”
“And if they don’t buy this cover story?” Bondarev persisted. “I have the resources to rotate a CAP of one squadron over Saint Lawrence for that period, but if we sustain any losses, I assume I will be able to call for reserves from 2nd Command?”
Butyrskaya looked at Lukin, and opened her mouth to speak but Lukin spoke first. “We will not be mobilizing any more units than absolutely necessary, so as not to forewarn US intelligence. This operation will be run entirely with the resources of 3rd Command. Central Military District will not be drawn in.”
“We should preposition reserves,” Bondarev continued. “We cannot…”
“Reserves will not be needed,” Lukin said, in a tone clearly intended to end the discussion. “Does anyone else want to raise strategic concerns?”
“Rules of engagement,” Kokorin said. “The smokescreen about the submarine might enable us to get assets in place, but it won’t hold if the US gets satellite or air recon confirmation that we are moving troops onto St. Lawrence.” He looked at Bondarev, “If my aircraft are tasked with transport and low-level air defense suppression, I want to know Bondarev’s fighters will be able to protect us without having their hands tied.”
“We will not tolerate US interference in our peacekeeping operation,” Lukin said. “You will be free to fire on any land, sea or air threat in the operations area.” At last, something Bondarev liked. His leaders might be throwing him into an uncertain battle on a flimsy pretext, but at least they were not restricting his freedom of action.
Lukin waited for other questions and when there were none he picked up his tablet, and nodded to his staff, “Gentlemen, I will not keep you any longer. You have a vital peacekeeping mission to plan and the clock is ticking.”
As the others stood, Arsharvin made his way to Bondarev’s side. “My office, as soon as you are done with your staff meetings,” he said.
Bondarev grabbed his arm as he was about to walk away, “This isn’t about the Ozempic Tsar, is it? It isn’t even about that stupid island.”
Arsharvin looked up at the ceiling to where small dome cameras sat capturing every audible word and gesture. “My office,” he whispered. “And bring a bottle of your best stuff. What I have to tell you is worth it.”
NO REST FOR THE WICKED
When Rodriguez’s shooter declared the electromagnetic catapult operational, word spread through The Rock like Severin had put a post on Twitter. There were currently thirty-seven other people serving underground in the base and it seemed all thirty-seven of them had some reason to be working in the docks or on the deck somewhere where they had a good view of the Chute. She couldn’t blame them — it was the Rock’s first operational launch in weeks. Until now, they had only had simulations, and then three test flights, before the Cat was taken offline. Tonight they would be putting one drone in the air and seeing how fast they could do it. The eventual goal was one machine every three minutes, or a full ‘hex’ of six machines, inside 20 minutes. She sighed. If they were to be certified combat capable, that’s what it would take, but it would strain both her people, and the cantankerous Cat.
She looked around the launch bay. When she was down on the ‘flight deck’ or in her command trailer up behind the dock for a launch, she wore a yellow Air Boss shirt over her green flight suit with its simple squadron commander gold oak leaf on the shoulder. The deck was awash with multicolored shirts.
Half of her 12 man crew was finalizing pre-flight checks on the drone; the other half was operating the Cat and its feeder system. It was supposed to be an almost fully automated system, but something always glitched. Unlike on a carrier, the Fantoms under Little Diomede were originally designed for ‘cartridge launch’ — made to be launched off the back of a truck like an old ICBM, fitted into launch canisters and fired into flight by a rocket-propelled launch arm like a bullet out of a gun. Here under the Rock, they’d modded the canister system and put the canisters on a conveyor belt so that a whole hex could be loaded onto the Cat and launched one after the other in quick succession. Supposedly, once they were pre-flighted and loaded into the canisters, it only took one plane handler to lock the drone into the catapult shuttle and a single shooter to operate the launch system. As the base development moved into Phase III, even those two roles would be automated. That was the theory anyway.