There was something else too. He was trying to remember, had he proposed a toast to his own daughter? It had crossed his drunken mind, but had he said it out loud? Damn — he couldn’t remember! He’d kept his daughter a secret until now because the mother was a foreigner with whom he’d only had a casual fling before she had moved back home. But if it became known he’d had a relationship with a foreigner without declaring it — worse, had a child with the woman — that kind of ‘oversight’ could bite you on the ass. He grabbed his razor in one hand and his shaving cream in the other, then dropped them both as the bile rose in his gut and he spun around to face the toilet.
Wiping his mouth with a towel, he rested his forehead against the cool tiles. He’d know soon enough if he’d been indiscreet.
Usually Bondarev would doze through a staff meeting like today’s, his brain numbed by the reading of minutes, follow up on administrative actions, edicts about the misuse of supplies and a long list of transfers. He was a combat commander, not a bureaucrat, one of the few at the table who had actually led in war and personally downed three enemy pilots over Turkey, though it had given him no satisfaction.
Today however, despite the rising acid in his gut and the pounding in his head, he was focused on the figure at the end of the long mahogany meeting table, General Lukin; one of the few in the Air Army hierarchy who had Bondarev’s respect, because Lukin was known to be fiercely loyal to his pilots and ground crews, and not afraid to stand up to Kremlin stupidity. What got Bondarev’s attention right now, was that Lukin appeared to be more interested in reading the room, than the papers in front of him. Bondarev got the sense that whatever he was about to announce, it was well rehearsed. The man was no longer in his physical prime, was carrying a few pounds more than was probably healthy for him, but he was still a fairly fit 50 years old. He was sweating. And he looked like he’d aged five years since Bondarev had seen him on video link two days earlier when the Ozempic Tsar had been lost.
“Gentlemen, you are all aware that two days ago the United States, without provocation, attacked and sank a merchant ship of the Russian Federation in the Bering Strait, well inside the Russian Exclusive Economic Zone,” he said and paused. “An ultimatum was given to the United States to acknowledge its responsibility, apologize and offer reparations to the owners of this advanced and very expensive vessel.” He looked around the room, “The ultimatum has expired, and as expected the United States has not accepted responsibility for the destruction of the Ozempic Tsar.”
As the General finished, he looked up, and nodded to an aide at the back of the room who had been standing there holding a stack of lightweight tablet PCs. The man began walking around and distributing them, and Bondarev put his thumb on the DNA lock that woke the screen. He saw a dozen folders on the home screen, all of which started with ‘LOSOS’, the Russian word for Salmon.
“Operation LOSOS,” Lukin said, guessing their thoughts. “What you are holding are your personal orders for the upcoming operation to secure the Bering Strait from future acts of piracy by the US or any other nation and guarantee free passage for international shipping traffic.” The large OLED screen behind the General came to life and an intelligence officer that Bondarev recognized as a young Lieutenant from his own Division staff stepped forward. He remembered she had been seconded to the 3rd Command staff for a special project — now he knew what it was. Whatever was going down, it had not been triggered just two days ago, it must have been in preparation for months. He got a sudden feeling he was about to be a part of a major chapter in the history of his nation, but on the right or wrong side? That was yet to be seen.
Lieutenant Ksenia Butyrskaya drew a big breath and straightened her back. Bondarev noticed she kept her hands firmly clasped behind her back, probably so that their trembling didn’t give her away. “Our intelligence indicates that the attack on the Ozempic Tsar was most likely conducted by an unmanned US warship which fired two PIKE anti-ship missiles. Operation LOSOS…” she began. She swiped a hand quickly across the touchscreen to show an aerial reconnaissance photograph of a small airfield. Bondarev noted the presence of a light aircraft, helicopters that were probably air-sea rescue machines, and what might have been a military transport aircraft. He saw nothing of real significance. Butyrskaya continued, “… has a single objective. In an internationally sanctioned peacekeeping action we will take and hold the US island of Saint Lawrence, specifically the airfield and radar installation at Savoonga, capture any US military personnel on the island and leverage control of the island to ensure the safe passage of international air and maritime traffic through the Bering Strait.” Butyrskaya paused, expecting the room to immediately explode with questions.
In fact, there was a stunned silence.
Bondarev spoke first, “Are we declaring war on the USA?”
Butyrskaya looked to Lukin. He shook his head slowly, “There will be no formal declaration of war. And our objective is to take St Lawrence with minimal use of deadly force. The US keeps only a small military police force at its radar base, there are no ground troops garrisoned there. The forces allocated will be more than adequate to contain them. Operation LOSOS will involve more shouting, than shooting.”
Bondarev looked across the table at an old friend, Lieutenant Colonel Tomas Arsharvin. One of those he’d been drinking with last night, they’d served together in Syria during the border conflict with Turkey and saved each other’s asses more than once. Bondarev guessed he would be the one who knew what was really going on, but he couldn’t ask him here. He’d have to save that until after this charade of a briefing. Arsharvin caught his look and tried to read his mind, “We are acting under the authority of the Barents Euro-Arctic Council to preserve the rights of all international shipping to traverse the northern polar seas without interference.” His voice sounded hollow, letting Bondarev know what he thought of that flimsy diplomatic cover.
Bondarev couldn’t help himself. “Sweden supports us taking military action against the US?” he asked disbelievingly. The Barents Council was a subset of Arctic nations comprising Norway, Sweden, Finland and Russia that had come together to lobby for fishing rights in the Arctic waters that were opening up as the icecap receded. Norway had dropped out after a dispute several years ago but the other three nations continued to make treaties with each other under the name of the Barents Council — even if, until now, no other country had paid them any mind.
“Sweden abstained,” Arsharvin said, his voice betraying nothing of what Bondarev knew he must be thinking. “The vote was carried on a majority.”
And what the hell have we promised Finland? Bondarev was going to ask, but kept that question to himself. “The United States will not let Russia occupy its territory in the name of a tinpot fishing coalition. It will react with violence such as we have never before seen,” Bondarev commented, looking around the room. No one was meeting his gaze.
“Perhaps they should have thought of the consequences before they sank the Ozempic Tsar Comrade Major-General,” Butyrskaya said, clearly wanting to say more.
General Lukin held up his hand, “Thank you Lieutenant,” he said. He brushed at an invisible hair on his lapel and then spoke to the officers at the table, not to Bondarev in particular. “The United States is riven with internal division. It has shown a reluctance to engage in international affairs of any consequence and our activities in Africa, the Pacific and the Baltics have brought only bluster from their President and State Secretary and whining in the United Nations. In every situation where we have moved our agenda forward, the United States has conceded and returned to its own political bickering.”