"Okay," the President said, looking at the faces around him. "I'll make this fast and to the point.
"A few minutes ago, I talked to our ambassador at the UN. This afternoon, gentlemen, in a special emergency meeting, with the Russian representative absent and China abstaining, the Security Council passed UN Resolution 984, calling on both sides of the Russian Civil War once again to surrender sovereignty over their nuclear arsenals. This time, they are authorizing military action to force compliance."
"Good Lord," Heideman said. "This could mean World War Three!"
"We may not have been able to avoid that in any case, Bob. A few moments ago, I spoke with Petrakov."
Viktor Petrakov had been the Russian ambassador to the United States under the Leonov government. Since Washington continued to recognize the Leonov government as the legitimate government in Russia, Petrakov remained America's principal diplomatic link with Russia, even if he was no longer recognized by the people currently in power there.
"Petrakov," the President continued slowly, "tells me that his government is holding their football, the nuclear codes for the Russian ICBM forces.
However, he fears that Krasilnikov's people may have cracked the codes for the missiles on at least a few of their submarines."
"God in heaven," Waring said.
"People, we cannot allow this horror to begin," the President continued.
"We must do everything in our power to prevent the outbreak of nuclear war in Russia. Resolution 984 gives us the legal authority to act. I might add that both the UN Secretary General and Ambassador Petrakov have formally requested our assistance, our intervention, to avoid a nuclear holocaust.
"I am prepared to give it."
There was silence in the room for a long moment after the President spoke. Magruder, finally, broke it. "Mr. President, are you telling us that we're about to enter that war?"
"To secure Krasilnikov's ICBM submarines in the Kola Peninsula, yes. It will be a limited incursion, and for the short term only. Why, Admiral? Why the long face?"
"I am, Mr. President, something of a student of history. I was just thinking of the last time we invaded Russia."
The President shook his head. "I don't think I understand, Admiral.
When have we ever invaded Russia? Throughout the Cold War we-"
"This was from late in 1918, Mr. President, until 1920. Right after World War I. An Allied force landed in Murmansk and at several ports in the White Sea, ostensibly to look after Western interests, in fact to lend military support to the Whites in their struggle against the Bolsheviks. The expeditionary force included British, French, even Serbian troops, but nearly half of them were Americans, straight from the trenches in France. We also had some troops in the Far East of Russia, trying to keep the Trans-Siberian Railroad out of Japanese hands."
"I suspect you and I read different history books when we were in school," the President said, but he disarmed the words with his famous grin.
"What happened?"
"They fought through a winter when six feet of snow fell on Arkhangelsk.
Most of the deaths were from frostbite or disease, but there were combat casualties as well, American troops fighting the Red Army in the heart of the Kola Peninsula. Squabbles among the Allies and a change of heart in Washington brought the rest of them home after two years."
"So what are you saying, Admiral? Are you recommending that we stay out of Russia?"
"I'm saying, Mr. President, that we'd better be damned sure about what we're getting into over there, that we'd better be crystal clear on what we're doing and why. Otherwise, sir, we'll find ourselves neck-deep in quicksand."
"I appreciate your concern, Admiral. But I assure you that we will have strictly limited goals and objectives. I'm told that the Pentagon has been working for some time on a plan for just such a contingency as this. Now, people, let me touch on some of the salient points of this operation."
As he listened, Magruder had to concede that this was not intended as a long-term mission. It was more of a raid in force, with no plans for occupation, or even for cooperation with Leonov's forces.
The only problem lay in the certain knowledge that it was going to be a hell of a lot easier getting into Russia's civil war than it would be getting out.
"Come."
Tombstone opened the door, stepped past the Marine sentry outside, and entered Admiral Tarrant's office. Tarrant had transferred to the Jefferson earlier that afternoon, at least for the time being. Shiloh was better for managing a sea battle, but the Jefferson offered better facilities for planning bigger ops, especially those involving the carrier herself.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
Captain Brandt was on a sofa in the corner of the room, but he said nothing.
"Yes, CAG. Shut the door and drag up a chair. Sorry to haul you up here so late. Drink?"
There was a crystal decanter of scotch on the Captain's desk, and Tombstone's eyebrows rose when he saw it. The Jefferson, like all Navy ships, was dry, and he knew Brandt didn't drink. Tarrant must have brought his own stock. "No, sir. Thank you."
"How's the wing holding up?"
"All right, sir. Tired, but we're keeping the CAPs aloft. Funny.
There's not been much reaction out of the Russians since we sunk their sub.
We've had two of their attack aircraft make runs at our perimeter, but those appeared to be probes sent in to test us rather than serious assaults. We turned one back and downed the other. I was expecting all hell to break loose."
In silent reply, Tarrant handed a message across the desk to Tombstone, then refilled his glass from the decanter.
It was a long one, signed by Admiral Brandon Scott himself, explaining in detail the parameters of a massive amphibious operation code-named White Storm. A U.S. amphibious task force, II MEF, was already en route to Bear Station and would be arriving sometime very early in the morning.
Scarcely believing what he was reading, Tombstone scanned rapidly through the message.
"We're… invading Russia, sir?"
"We are, and I quote, 'to secure certain key Russian naval facilities in order to prevent deployment of enemy PLARB forces." The sub bases, Stoney.
They want us to grab the sub bases at Polyamyy."
"Good Lord. How are we going to pull that off?"
Tarrant sipped at his drink, put his head back, and closed his eyes with a sigh. "God damned if I know, CAG. But you can start with this." Reaching out with one hand, he slid a stack of paper across the desk toward Tombstone.
The document was massive, inches thick and weighing several pounds. The cover page had the operational name, White Storm, and was marked top secret.
"The Pentagon has been working on this one ever since Leonov got kicked out of Moscow," Tarrant said. "It assumes we have to intervene in the Kola to stop a Russian ICBM launch by their submarine forces. They're calling it a UN peacekeeping operation. Hell, maybe they don't expect the Russians to put up much of a fight." He drained his glass and brought it back to the desktop with a sharp crack. "But fight or no fight, it's our baby. I called you here to tell you to get cracking. White Storm calls for a full Alpha Strike against all known shore positions, SAM batteries, radar sites, defensive installations, and port facilities. We're going to want to pay particular attention to the approaches to the submarine facilities on the Kola Inlet.
See my Intelligence staff for whatever maps and satellite photos you need."
"Yes, sir."
"We don't have much time. It's Sunday night now. Washington wants to be putting the Marines ashore by Tuesday morning. That's not much time to pull together an operation this complex."