“I urge you to wait for confirmation before attacking a Commonwealth military installation, sir. If you wish to attack now, then use the conventionally armed missiles. The aircraft at Machulishche are still on the ground and are vulnerable — a single high-explosive warhead can do great damage.”
“If its accuracy is perfect. We both know the SS-21 is not an accurate weapon, especially with a conventional payload.”
The much-heavier high-explosive payload on the SS-21 reduced its maximum range by one-half, and also doubled its CEP, or circular error probability. In contrast, the lighter, more advanced guidance system on the Fisikous KR-11 thermonuclear warhead actually increased the normal range of.the SS-21 by 20 percent, to almost two hundred kilometers, and decreased its CEP to less than two hundred meters.
“Then we will fire a salvo on the base,” the Air Force commander argued. “A volley of twelve missiles from Baranovichi or Kurenets will destroy all the aircraft and most of the aircraft-support facilities. Or we can stage our own air assault from Lida. But a nuclear weapon…” He had to hesitate — the very thought of releasing a nuclear device was unthinkable for him. “Sir, you must reconsider—”
A loud, insistent beeping phone interrupted him. Voshchanka scowled at his air boss as he turned to his operations officer, who answered the phone.
“Air-raid warning, sir,” the operations officer said. “Numerous aircraft at low altitude, about twenty kilometers away, identification unknown.”
The Air Force commander picked up a telephone that connected directly to his air division commander, based there at Smorgon. After a few seconds he reported, “We’ve got a brief radar plot on the target — they’re probably helicopters, hedgehopping across the border. I’ve got Number Nineteen squadron dispatched to intercept.”
As he spoke, a red block shaped like a five-blade helicopter rotor moved out from Smorgon — a composite air squadron consisting of six Mil-24 helicopters that had survived the attack on the flight line at Smorgon, and MiG-27 fighter-bombers from other bases in northern Belarus.
Voshchanka’s earlier anger and frustration subsided a bit. Yes, they were knocked back on their heels a bit; yes, they had lost a lot of tanks and vehicles in a very short period of time. But he now took a moment to look at exactly what he did have out there — and it was still impressive.
Although Kaunas and Vilnius, Lithuania’s two main cities, were still unthreatened — except of course by his SS-21 missiles — the port city and third-largest city in Lithuania, Klaipeda, was under virtual occupation by his forces, and the fourth-largest city in Lithuania, Siauliai, with its huge air base and high-tech electronics businesses, firmly belonged to him. That was the plan: his forces in western Lithuania would remain safe and secure while the bulk of the Lithuanian resistance was destroyed in the east. Along with the fact that Kalinin oblast and the city of Kaliningrad were virtually his, the entire operation was still going as planned. The involvement of Russian and / or Ukrainian troops and air forces was unexpected, but he still had enough troops in reserve to handle that threat.
All in all, the operation was still proceeding nicely …
“Perhaps it is a bit premature to launch the SS-21s,” Voshchanka said. He could see a genuine sigh of relief from each and every one of his battle staff officers. “I will keep the units on alert status, but I will withhold the final launch-commit order until I speak with the President and representatives from the Commonwealth. I will not tolerate interference from anyone — the Commonwealth, Russia, Poland, or the NATO countries. If I cannot receive assurances of their noninterference, I will commit the SS-21s immediately.”
There were approving nods all around the battle-staff table, punctuated by the rocket troops commander: “Very wise decision, sir. The SS-21s are a much more effective weapon of intimidation than an actual destructive weapon.”
“Sir, radar reports the inbound targets are fifteen kilometers out,” the operations officer said. “Seventeen Squadron is still two minutes from intercept. I suggest we go down to the air-raid shelter.”
“Very well,” Voshchanka said. The staff officers hurried to their feet, impatiently waiting for Voshchanka to leave. He purposely slowed his pace, watching with amusement as they jostled each other in their anxiousness to depart.
A heavy steel door sealed off the battle-staff area itself. Voshchanka led them through the doors and into the command post itself, which contained the main communications system for the base as well as the microwave data-relay system for the nuclear weapons. Voshchanka glanced at the one silver key already in the command panel — he had inserted it an hour ago and turned it, which activated the command channel to the microwave-relay network to the missiles. The second key, the launch key, was in his pocket. He wished President Kapocius of Lithuania, President Bykov of the Commonwealth of Independent States, President Svetlov of Belarus, President Miriclaw of Poland, and even the President of the United States could see that key in its lock — it, and the other key so readily available, were proof of his determination to succeed in this endeavor.
A light-steel-sheathed wooden door with a bulletproof window was at the entrance to the communications center, followed by a long corridor entrapment / inspection area, then a heavy steel grate door at the opposite end so security guards in the command post could see anyone entering the building. Another heavy steel door protected the other side of the entrapment corridor, but so many people were moving in and out of the command post that the door was kept open and a guard posted. Normally only one person at a time was allowed in the entrapment corridor, but when the senior staff was present they were allowed to go in and out together. Beyond the door was a small security office with a simple glass office door, and beyond that was the front foyer to the headquarters building. Several soldiers, heavily armed and outfitted for combat, were stationed both inside and outside the front doors to the building. Voshchanka could see all the way to the circular driveway and ceremonial flagpoles outside. He noticed it was dark outside and realized he had been hard at it for well over twenty-four hours — maybe he would just stay in the bunker, three floors down in the basement, and take a nap.
Voshchanka had just entered the corridor, and the guard at the other end had just opened the grate door for him, when a tremendous explosion shook the walls as if they were made of tin. A series of explosions had ripped open the front doors of the headquarters building, right in front of Voshchanka. The blasts shattered the glass doors of the security office, but he was not hurt. Smoke and debris flew everywhere. Shots were fired, most from soldiers inside the headquarters but some from outside.
Soldiers flooded into the foyer, taking cover against the wall. Several soldiers, carrying bulletproof shields, ran into the security office and pushed Voshchanka back inside the communications center. “You’d be safer inside, sir,” one soldier told him. The members of the battle staff had already run back inside, and Voshchanka wasn’t going to argue either.
He met up with his officers back in the battle-staff room. The radio operators on the stage had disappeared. The staff officers were herded back into the battle-staff room and the door was locked behind them, with one soldier on guard inside with them. Voshchanka was on the phone immediately. “What’s going on out there?”
“Unknown, sir,” came the reply from the chief building-security officer. “We’re investigating the area of the senior-staff parking lot — one of my men thought they saw a muzzle flash. There’s no large force and no sign of any other activity.”