Now, however, they had a real dilemma. Yes, both he and Pliyev had agreed that the area around Guantanamo would be the logical place for the Cuban bandits to set up and launch the Luna But the area around the base was large, and it was assumed that the Cubans had only a handful of vehicles which meant they could be hidden almost anywhere.
He'd gotten a radio message that Soviet intelligence in Havana thought that Che Guevara himself was in charge of the rocket, and Dragan thought it ludicrous. From what he'd seen and heard about the Cuban firebrand, he knew nothing about missiles, much less atomic ones, and didn't have a lick of common sense.
Of course, that made Che all the more dangerous. He was liable to launch the rocket at the first decent target and scream 'Cuba Libre' while initiating World War III. Dragan shuddered. He still had relatives in the Leningrad area. He signaled the column to move out. They would set up a base north of Guantanamo. He wondered if any American Special Forces, the Green Berets he'd heard so much about, would be scouting the area as well and thought it highly likely. He wondered what they would say to each other if they should meet. Perhaps they could compare equipment. Maybe he could trade his distinctive cap for a beret? Or would they simply start shooting.
He grinned and a couple of his men wondered what was so funny. They wouldn't ask, of course. Dragan was considered a good officer, but a very formal one.
Ross, Cullen, and Morton walked carefully through the rubble left by the navy's planes. Only a little while earlier they'd again endured the helpless feeling as shock waves from exploding bombs nearly overwhelmed them. They'd been a couple of miles away from the impact area and felt momentary pity for those who'd been directly under the bombs. For Ross, Cullen, Cathy, and those who'd earlier nearly been obliterated by American fire, it had brought back bitter memories. For Romanski and Morton, the incident had come as a terrible shock.
Romanski and the others had remained back a little ways to provide cover if necessary as the three men walked carefully through the devastated ground. Romanski had tripped and his leg was acting up again. It wasn't broken, but he was pretty immobile and very upset.
"See anything," Ross asked. The two NCOs said they didn't. Nothing but craters and churned up ground and some shattered trees.
Cullen held up his hand and they halted. "Bodies."
The moved forward. Several men lay dead and mangled. From their uniforms, or what remained of them, they'd once been Cuban militia. A good sign, but where was the launcher?
A more thorough search of the area showed nothing to indicate a tracked rocket launcher or its remains. It could have been smashed to pieces, but it was as big as a tank and at least some of the pieces would still remain. There was nothing, no tires, no frame, and, most important, no rocket. The planes had missed again.
This was the third time they'd tried to get bombs on what they felt was the launcher. The problem was that it took so long to coordinate an attack and Guevara, if that's who it was, was now thoroughly spooked and keeping his nuclear toy on the move.
They knew they'd been close. They'd followed the tracks into the grove of trees and thought they'd seen it camouflaged. It had to be nearby, maybe right under their noses.
"Here's some wreckage," Morton yelled and they came running. The mangled remains of a tracked vehicle and some more bodies lay where the bombs had hurled them. But it wasn't the Luna launcher. It was a Russian built ZIL anti aircraft system. Its bulbous turret lay fifty yards away from the chassis and at least a couple of cremated bodies lay alongside.
Cullen laughed harshly. "Those guns are a nasty piece of work. Too bad it didn't help them."
Ross looked around. If the nuke wasn't there, then where was it? They began to look for tracks, and it only took a few moments to find where a tank-like vehicle had headed away from the bomb site.
"What now, lieutenant?" Morton asked. It no longer surprised him that the two senior NCOs accepted his leadership.
"Well, this ain't the yellow brick road, but I think we're supposed to follow it."
Kraeger and Golikov met at Arlington National Cemetery. This time neither man had brought a female companion. It had been Golikov's request that they be alone. A shame, Kraeger thought, Elena should be part of this and Arlington was one of the most humbling places in the world. Row upon row of headstones dedicated to those who had given their lives in the service of their country graced its gentle rolling hills. Granted, a lot of them had died in bed and there were others who had gained access through political influence, but the overwhelming majority of them were heroes.
"Where's the lovely Oksana?" Kraeger asked.
"Been promoted to Moscow where's she's doubtless fucking the brains out of some more senior member of the KGB,” Golikov said bitterly. “A wonderful woman and I miss her terribly. I hope she gets the clap and spreads it around the Politburo."
Charley laughed. The Russian was clearly annoyed at being dumped. He decided to change the subject. "So why did you select Arlington for this meeting?"
"Because I love this place," Golikov said quietly, surprising Kraeger. "Such quiet majesty and beauty, dignity and pride. We have next to nothing like this back in Russia."
"Why not?
"Because," he said somberly, "we suffered twenty million dead in the Great Patriotic War against the Hitlerites, maybe many millions more, and God knows how many additional in the First World War and the Revolution that followed. That is, if there is a God who knows these things. Most Russian men simply left their homes and villages to go fight or flee and were never heard from again. The same with Russian women as the war swept over them. They were sucked into war and died of wounds or starvation or disease or all three. If we wanted to build a cemetery to pay honor to them it would have to be as large as Poland."
Golikov smiled slightly. "Of course, there are those who think that turning Poland and other satellite nations like Cuba into graveyards is a good idea. No, we have to make do with monuments to heroic soldiers that are massive and monumentally ugly. No elegance, no dignity, no peace and grace. Nothing like this. The poet in me says I should weep, but that would be unbecoming for a KGB officer."
Kraeger knew the Soviet Union's casualties in the wars had been enormous, but, like most Americans, had never given it much thought. The numbers were beyond comprehension. Twenty million? More? Where did one begin to count?
Golikov continued. "Those obscene numbers are a large part of what shapes our foreign policy. The Jews in Israel have a saying, ‘Never Again,’ which refers to their Holocaust. We Russians had our own holocaust and you call it World War II. How would your nation behave to real or perceived outside threats if it had suffered proportionately?"
"With considerable ill will towards anyone who threatened it again," Kraeger admitted with no reluctance.
"Yes, and that is why we have surrounded ourselves with buffer states and with shit countries such as Poland, Hungary, East Germany, and the like, and that is why our nation takes the presence of American long range nuclear missiles that can hit the Soviet Union as an offensive threat, whether you intended it that way or not. The satellite nations can protect us from your tanks but not from your missiles. Is it not said that capabilities drive intentions? Your country has the capability to attempt to destroy us. Doesn’t that mean that you will someday try? As long as those rockets exist, the possibility of a first American strike remains."
"Not necessarily," Kraeger answered. "My leaders believe they are defending our nation against another Pearl Harbor, or a strike that would incapacitate us."