Terekhov stared at a point on the bulkhead somewhere behind Glushko’s head. “My men did all they could, sir,” he said stiffly. “Had the Sukhois remained in the battle we could have destroyed the rest of their F-14 squadron and faced the reinforcements as well. But without the Sukhois …”
“You intend to put the blame on my decision to defend Soyuz then? Is that how your report will read?” He tried to keep from betraying his emotion, though he knew that Terekhov already understood how Glushko felt about him.
Terekhov didn’t answer.
“Listen to me, Captain,” Glushko went on, dropping his voice. “You think you can ruin me with an accusation like that. I, on the other hand, am in a position to ruin you as well. The operation was based on your plans, and the weakness of the defenses devoted to Soyuz was certainly a cause for legitimate concern. Even though the Americans did not attack, it was a possibility that had to be thought of, and your ambush, bold as it was, took no account of the possibility. So I may be censured for my part in this, but I can assure you that I will not crash alone. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Terekhov replied. His tone was wary.
Glushko smiled. “On the other hand … our casualties were not light, but we inflicted much damage on the American fighters. And the bombers carried out their strike on the base in Iceland successfully. This morning’s events can be presented as a substantial victory … perhaps even a decisive one. But it would not look good for one of us to … spoil the image of success through recriminations. It is easy enough to look back on an event and speak of those things which might have been, Terekhov, but it is not always the wisest course.”
The younger officer shifted his gaze to Glushko’s face. “I do not intend to let you destroy me or the reputation of my men, Comrade Captain. If this is some attempt to keep me from defending myself …”
Glushko laughed. “You have a suspicious mind, Sergei Sergeivich. I am proposing that we stop working at cross-purposes. The Americans are our enemies, and to defeat them we should learn to work together, no?”
“If you say so, Comrade Captain,” Terekhov responded reluctantly. “But just what do you have in mind, beyond not making any accusations in our reports on the action?”
Leaning back in his chair, Glushko smiled broadly. He hadn’t been sure if Terekhov would be willing to sacrifice his self-righteous ideals for the benefits of practical politics, but it had certainly been worth trying. And it seemed the man wasn’t quite the idealist he appeared on the surface after all.
“We can be an effective team, Terekhov, if we try. Hard though it is to admit it, I recognize that you have a talent that the Rodina needs. A talent that I frankly lack. My skill is in … effective human interaction. But I have influence. Several of the political officers in the fleet are well disposed toward me, and that gives me a measure of power that your talent cannot alter. Work with me, Sergei Sergeivich, and together the two of us will go far. Soyuz and his air wing hold the keys to the success of this campaign, and with those keys we will unlock the door to power in the new Union.”
He smiled again, hoping Terekhov would accept it as a sincere expression of warmth. The younger officer would be a useful asset once he was put in harness, and Glushko intended to exploit that asset for all he was worth. They would defeat the Americans and finish the Norwegian campaign, and Glushko would attract the notice of the Kremlin.
As for Terekhov … well, ambitious young fighter pilots were always at risk. If Terekhov didn’t survive the campaign, there would be many solemn mourners at his funeral. But Captain First Rank Glushko would not be one of them.
Vladimir Nikolaivich Vorobyev studied the summary of Admiral Khenkin’s report with a smile of cold satisfaction. Thanks to the initiative of Soviet Naval Aviation, it seemed that the American carrier’s air wing had suffered a major defeat while entering the Norwegian Sea. Coupled with the success at Keflavik, that opened a window of opportunity in Norway. For the next few days Western intervention would be next to impossible. Now was the time to act.
Korotich!” he said, pressing a key on the intercom box on his crowded desk. “My office. Now.”
Colonel Boris Ilyavich Korotich was Vorobyev’s senior aide, an unimaginative but loyal officer who excelled at carrying out his master’s wishes. He appeared at the door promptly, wearing the characteristic frown that suggested he was afraid he had forgotten some crucial detail but at the same time refused to accept any suggestion that he had failed. Korotich set far harder standards for himself than any of his superiors. It was one reason he made such an efficient aide.
“Yes, Comrade General?”
“Korotich, what is the current situation in Norway? The Bergen offensive specifically.” Vorobyev knew it well enough, but he wanted to hear the words aloud. It helped him focus on the strategic problem to hear someone else present the data.
The aide’s frown deepened as he summoned the information from his excellent, orderly memory. “Very little progress so far, sir. The 45th is stalled in the mountains. A comparatively small force of partisans can delay the advance significantly.”
“And there has been no further progress in suppressing their SAM defenses?”
“The diversion of aerial resources to North Star has slowed the operation, sir. However, the most recent report indicates that the air base at Orland has been cleared and can be put back into operation. This will allow the deployment of additional tactical air support, which in turn should speed up the hunt for the enemy SAM emplacements.”
The Norwegians had been clever in their use of surface-to-air missiles. A nearly impenetrable curtain of SAM fire had derailed the air strikes that should have opened the way for the occupation of Bergen. Finding the SAM batteries was a job on the same order as the American “Scud hunts” during their war with Iraq. But with the Rodina’s full aerial resources brought to bear those defenses would soon be neutralized.
“I want the efforts redoubled, Korotich. Continual strikes into that area, until those SAMs are out of action. Even if you have to burn up half the planes in the theater doing it.”
“Yes, Comrade General.”
“I want the path cleared for an airborne landing near the coast in two days, Korotich. By this time Saturday I want a full regiment on the ground within the Norwegian defensive perimeter.” His finger stabbed at the map spread out on his desk, indicating the region where Soyuz aircraft had previously reported success in reducing Norwegian defenses. “Here … at Brekke.”
Korotich examined the map and nodded solemnly. “Da … Brekke. That will distract the RNA forces defending the line between the Sognefjorden and the road junction at Gol. A sound plan, Comrade General.”
“They will do more than distract, Boris Ilyavich. At the same time you relay those orders, you will also order all amphibious forces and naval infantry to assemble. Within twenty-four hours after Brekke is secured from the air, we will pour every man we can transport by sea into that position. They will be less than a hundred kilometers from Bergen, and squarely across the line of retreat for the Norwegians around the Sognefjord. That will produce the breakthrough we need.”
Korotich nodded again. “It will be difficult to assemble some of the forces, Comrade General, but I think the bulk of them can be en route in time.”
Vorobyev gave him a cold smile. “Tell any officer who does not think he can have his men moving in time that he will answer to me. In person … and in full.”
Now was the time to strike. Now, while the Americans were reeling from their defeat, the new Soviet Union would reclaim its proper place in the world. Norway would break, and the rest of Scandinavia after it. Then Europe would face the full weight of Russia’s military securely placed in a flanking position that rendered useless its traditional defensive lines in Germany.