“No reply, sir,” the pilot reported. “Only a warning to stay away.”
Palcikas was boiling: “This is my country and my airspace, and no one will tell me what I will do. Hover near that group of vehicles, the one with the flag. Tell the other helicopters to stay by.”
“But sir, that appears to be the investigation team chiefs vehicle.”
“I said hover near it. About twenty meters upwind and ten meters overhead.” Palcikas unstrapped from the copilot’s seat and made his way aft. On his way to the cargo section of the small Soviet-made twin-engine Mil-8 assault helicopter, he passed his aide-de-camp and headquarters executive officer, Major Alexei Kolginov, a young, Russian-born infantry officer who had served with Palcikas for many years. “Follow me, Alexei.”
“Are we going to—?” And then Kolginov stopped and looked at Palcikas in surprise — his superior had just put a pair of heavy, rough leather gloves on his hands and had unstowed a four-centimeter-thick rope from its overhead storage bin. He checked that it was secure on its anchor hook on the ceiling of the helicopter’s cabin. “Sir, what are you—?”
“Just follow me.” Palcikas checked his sidearm, a Soviet-made Makaroy TT-33 automatic, then slid open the portside entry door ‘and peered outside. Kolginov knew what Palcikas had in mind, and scrambled to put on his gloves and secure his AKSU submachine gun.
The three-star commander of all Byelorussian forces in the western part of his country, General Lieutenant Anton Osipovich Voshchanka, cursed aloud as the Lithuanian assault helicopter moved nearly overhead. It quickly drowned out all voices around him. He grabbed his service cap before it twisted away in the wind, raised his voice, and turned to his commander of detached forces in Lithuania and Kaliningrad, Colonel Oleg Paylovich Gurlo, and yelled, “Get that asshole’s tail number and find out who the pilot is! I want him brought before me in thirty minutes!”
The Colonel had been in command of all Byelorussian armor and infantry units in Lithuania for many months. The loss of the attack helicopter the night before, and the subsequent appearance of his commanding general at the crash site, was turning into a real nightmare for him. This irritation was going to ice it for him — he would be lucky to hold on to his position for another hour.
The Colonel looked aloft and squinted against the swirling dust. “It is a damned Lithuanian helicopter,” he said. “I will deal with—”
Suddenly a man leaped out the portside cargo door of the hovering helicopter. At first it looked like a suicide attempt, because the man virtually leaped headfirst. But the shock wore off quickly, and the Colonel recognized the maneuver — a man doing an Australian rappel, the fastest assault rappel known. In only two seconds the man reached the ground, pulling himself upright three meters before his face smashed into the earth. He was followed shortly thereafter by another man, accomplishing a more conventional feetfirst rappel from the same rope a few moments later.
Soldiers accompanying the two Byelorussian officers unslung their weapons and held them at the ready, but the first rappeller ignored them all as he strode right up to General Voshchanka. “What in hell do you mean by ordering me away from this area?” the Lithuanian officer yelled after waving the helicopter that he and the second man had dropped in safely. The chopper veered away. “I demand to know what in hell is going on here.”
Voshchanka’s colonel recognized the man as none other than Palcikas himself, commander of Lithuania’s puny self-defense force.
“Who are you?” General Voshchanka demanded. “What is the meaning of this? Colonel Gurlo, arrest this man.
The Colonel knew he was not authorized to touch Palcikas — it would be an act of war for a foreign officer to touch a general on his own soil — but he motioned for two security officers to move closer. They immediately surrounded Palcikas but did not touch him. In Russian, the Colonel said, “General Voshchanka, may I present General Dominikas Palcikas, commander of the Self-Defense Forces of the Lithuanian Republic. General Palcikas, I present General Lieutenant Voshchanka, commander, Western Corps Armies, Republic of Belarus, and commander of security forces of the Baltic states for the Commonwealth of Independent States.”
Neither man saluted the other.
Palcikas’ face remained dark as he removed his thick rappelling gloves. But Voshchanka said, “Palcikas! We finally meet. I’ve heard a lot about you. That was quite a stunt for an old war horse.”
“I’d be happy to teach it to you, General,” Palcikas said in very good, well-disciplined Russian, “but it is not a maneuver for the faint of heart … or those with big bellies and soft hands.”
Voshchanka, a rather short, stocky man who had never even been inside an assault helicopter, let alone jumped from one, calmly smiled away the offhanded remark.
Palcikas, eyes dead-on Voshchanka, said, “General, you will explain to me why your troops have destroyed this farm, and why your unit has been ordering my aviation and ground units away from this area.”
“There was an attack last night, General Palcikas,” Voshchanka explained. “A Lithuanian deserter from a Commonwealth unit stationed in Vilnius was being pursued by a patrol helicopter when suddenly the helicopter pilot reported that he was under attack by an unknown aircraft. Seconds later he was shot down by a heat-seeking missile of Western design. The Lithuanian traitor has vanished. We are investigating.”
Palcikas’ eyes flared at “Lithuanian traitor,” which pleased Voshchanka. Palcikas said, “I sympathize with the loss of your flyers and your aircraft, General Voshchanka, but look at what your men are doing to this farmer’s land — you are causing thousands of liths’ worth of damage. The forests you’ve decimated can’t be replaced for decades. And you’re in violation of the treaty of security and cooperation by bringing your troops here. You will assemble them and move out immediately.”
“We were … concerned about destruction of evidence, General,” Voshchanka said lamely, not acknowledging Palcikas’ orders. “Having untrained, undisciplined farm boys roving around where they are not supposed to will hinder our investigation.”
“My men or these farmers could not possibly destroy more evidence than your men have done so far,” Palcikas said.
Voshchanka knew that was true. He had obtained all the evidence he needed after the first few minutes on the crash scene. “I’ll issue orders to my men to be more careful, and I will personally see to it that these farmers are reimbursed for the damage.”
“Very well, General,” Palcikas acknowledged. He stepped toward a plywood table covered with white canvas, where several pieces of a missile were being reassembled. The lower section of a one-and-a-half-meter-long missile, blackened and twisted, rested on the cloth, with several guidance fins still intact. “I see you’ve already collected quite a bit of evidence,” he said. “A Stinger missile?”
“Very observant, General,” said Voshchanka.
“Distinctive shape of the tail fins, distinctive blast pattern of the warhead section — I saw many like it in Afghanistan after they shot down our attack helicopters.” He took a closer look, then added, “These tail fins are Somewhat larger, however, and there appears to be an attachment point for an extra set of fins in the forward section, in addition to the normal Set of retractable nose fins. An AIM-92C air-launched Stinger missile, Perhaps?”