“Like hell there’s no other activity!” Voshchanka screamed. “I want a full armored detail dispatched to sweep this entire area! I want this area secured!”
At that instant two tremendous explosions ripped open the ceiling just above the stage, virtually in front of the battle-staff officers. The glass surrounding the battle-staff area exploded, the lights snapped out, and the entire area began to fill with acidic smoke that burned the eyes, throat, and all the way into the lungs. Emergency lights snapped on. Through the smoke, flying debris, tears, and confusion, Voshchanka saw men descending by ropes onto the map stage below. The stage was soon filled with at least twelve or fourteen soldiers dressed in black, with gas masks and large bulbous devices over their eyes. Voshchanka saw them rush the doorway leading off the map stage just before one of them shot out the emergency lights, plunging the entire area in darkness.
The lone Byelorussian soldier in the area went a little crazy, sweeping the stage with automatic gunfire, but he succeeded in doing nothing more than pinning down the officers beside him — a single shot, so far the only shot fired by the enemy, killed him instantly. Voshchanka crawled past him, opened the steel protective door, and crawled into the communications area.
Those bastards, Voshchanka cursed. How dare they attack my headquarters! He did not know who the attackers were, but it didn’t matter— he would deal with them right now.
Voshchanka crawled over to the communications panel, over to the microwave network-relay system for the nuclear-armed SS-21. Shaking— more from anger and excitement than from fear — he removed the second silver key from his pocket, stuck it in the communications panel, and—
“Stoy!” a voice shouted behind him in Russian. A black-suited soldier, wearing a weird helmet with large, bug-eyed goggles and a breathing apparatus, pointed a small submachine gun at him. Then, in what Voshchanka recognized as Lithuanian, the soldier shouted, “Uzeiga Lieutuvos! Lithuanian Army!” Then, in Russian again, he said, “Nyee dveghightyes. Don’t move!”
“You are too late, you Lithuanian bastard,” Voshchanka said — and he turned the key. The soldier immediately ran over to Voshchanka and pushed him to the floor. More soldiers, all dressed in the futuristic garb, rushed in behind him. The first soldier turned the key and removed it from the panel.
“That won’t help, you idiot,” Voshchanka said. “The missile launch is unstoppable now.”
Another soldier placed a large, backpack-looking device underneath the communications console and pulled a lanyard.
Voshchanka was dragged to his feet and half-dragged, half-carried outside.
Small helicopters, ones Voshchanka recognized as Lithuanian Defender light attack helicopters, were flitting all over the sky, shooting at Byelorussian troops on the ground. The soldiers knelt down near the doorway, taking cover as two more Defenders swooped across the parking lot, blasting away at anything that moved. There seemed to be dozens of the little two-man helicopters buzzing around. Just then a bright flash of light and a loud, rolling boom! made them all jump and take cover.
Voshchanka recognized it instantly: it was one of his T-72 tanks responding. He could see it speeding across the outer parking lot, going toward the headquarters building. Its 12.7-millimeter antiaircraft gun was blazing away, keeping the Defenders away. The small-caliber guns on the little Defender helicopters weren’t going to stop it, Voshchanka gleefully realized.
Suddenly the tank disappeared in a terrific explosion — the turret popped right off it as if it had been lifted off by a giant can opener.
Seconds later, as the Defenders swept across the parking lot searching for advancing infantry, a massive aircraft appeared overhead. It moved incredibly fast, then suddenly stopped in midair and fired two missiles into the darkness beyond the outer parking lot. More explosions followed — obviously two direct hits. The huge rotorcraft wheeled and made a sweep of the area around the headquarters building before settling down on the grassy quadrangle outside the building. Voshchanka realized what it was when it turned on landing lights just before touching down- it was a CV-22, an American CV-22 tilt-rotor aircraft!
Men began running toward the open rear cargo ramp of the CV-22. Voshchanka knew he was next. He considered breaking free from the soldiers guarding him and making a run for it — but to his surprise the soldiers released him. One of them even saluted him and said in Lithuanian, “Aciu, General Voshchanka, uzteks. Viso gero. Thank you, General, we’re finished. Good-bye,” before turning and dashing for the CV-22.
His first impulse was to run into the headquarters building, but that would have been foolish — those were obviously bombs they had planted in there. He could do nothing but stand and watch as the CV-22 lifted off and, escorted by waves of Defenders, sped off to the west. As soon as they were out of sight, he hurried away from the building. He made it across the senior-staff parking lot when a tremendous explosion, then two, three, four, five more explosions, rocked the headquarters building. Sheets of fire flew into the sky, and the roof and several walls collapsed seconds later. The rumbling he felt beneath his feet told him that they had even destroyed the underground weapons-storage facilities, power generators, and alternate-communications equipment. In less than ten minutes his entire central-command facility was gone.
But he had the last laugh.
The SS-21s were in launch commit — nothing was going to stop them now. Vilnius, Minsk, and Jonava — in five minutes, they would be no more.
He heard helicopters approach and quickly darted behind a tree as they came closer. But these were not Defenders or CV-22s — they were Mil-24s! He ran happily out to the parking lot and waved for them to land.
Finally his men were responding…
But as the helicopters settled in for a landing, he realized they were not Byelorussian — they had Russian and Ukrainian flags with white diamonds on their fuselages. Commonwealth troops, but obviously not under his command any longer. Soldiers leaped out of the three helicopters that had landed. Voshchanka turned and hustled for the headquarters building — maybe he could lose himself in the ruins before the soldiers—
“General Voshchanka!” a voice called out to him. “Stop! This is General Ivashova!”
The commander of the Commonwealth Defense Forces—here? With Mil-24 attack helicopters and dismounting troops, Voshchanka knew Ivashova wasn’t here for a social call, so he ran harder.
“Stoy!” a new voice shouted. “Stop! Stop or I’ll shoot.”
Panic made Voshchanka run even faster now. He heard a sharp crraack!, then a dull thwap, then a sharp pain in his back. He never felt the pavement hit him in the face because he was dead before he even hit the ground.
Captain Kramko was on his way to inspect the second of the three nuclear-armed SS-21s when his walkie-talkie beeped. “Alpha, this is Control, commit message received at Zero-three-two-one,” his NCOIC reported.
Kramko acknowledged the report. Dammit, he thought. They’ve really done it. They’re going to launch the missiles. Unbidden, his eyes filled with tears, and a lump of sorrow formed in his throat. A nuclear war — begun by Belarus. It was too much to believe.