“Excellent,” Voshchanka said. “And the origin of the missile?”
“Difficult to say, General Voshchanka. Many countries now fly the AIM-92C,” Palcikas said. “We can narrow it down to six or seven European countries outside NATO. And they are readily available on the black market, I should think. They are license-built in Belgium, and their plant security is reputed to be poor.”
“I see that we can do away with our investigation team, General Palcikas,” Voshchanka said facetiously. “You’ve done all the detective work for us.”
“Good,” Palcikas said evenly. “Now you can get off this farmer’s property and remove all these vehicles to Byelorussia.”
“The proper name of our country is Belarus, “Voshchanka said. “The distinction is important to us.”
“As you wish,” Palcikas said distractedly. For decades the western Soviet republic had been called Byelorussia, loosely translated as “White Russia,” which, although most scholars attributed the name to mean that this part of the Slavic territory was never conquered by the dark-skinned Mongols, some said gave the people of this region a decidedly negative connotation, as in weak or enslaved people. When it became an independent nation, the republic proclaimed itself as the Republic of Belarus, which translated more closely to “Great Russia,” or “Mother Russia,” the native land of the original Rus conquerors of early Europe. The distinction was meaningless to Palcikas except for the fact that he knew how it would aggravate the hawkish right-wing advocates in the Byelorussian military.
“The presence of all these vehicles and soldiers violates the security and cooperation agreement between Lithuania and the Commonwealth of Independent States,” Palcikas continued, and then recited the treaty provisions.
Voshchanka remained impassive, with the same amused smile on his lips, but the Colonel with him hissed: “Who in hell do you think you’re talking to, Palcikas? General Voshchanka does not answer to you or to any Lithuanian!”
Voshchanka held up a hand. “What the Colonel is saying in a rather inelegant way, General Palcikas, is that I take my orders from the commander in chief of military forces of the Commonwealth of Independent States. Because of the nature of this mission — an attack against a Commonwealth helicopter by an unknown, hostile aircraft — I personally took charge of this mission when the order was delivered from Minsk, and I did not inquire into the treaty or legal ramifications of those orders.”
“General Voshchanka, I did not ask you for an excuse,” Palcikas interrupted. “You may submit your explanation in writing to the Lithuanian government directly, through me, or through the Commonwealth. I am only concerned with these Belarus troops violating the treaty. I hereby order you again to comply with the joint cooperation treaty and return to Belarus or to your bases. Will you comply with my orders or ignore them?”
Voshchanka pointed to the black smear of metal and burnt debris. “Three men died in that crash, General Palcikas. Three highly trained, professional aviators. Are you not concerned about the men who died here?”
“As concerned as you appear to be about complying with any treaties with Lithuania,” Palcikas said.
“You insolent bastard!” Colonel Gurlo retorted. “The General has told you that he has orders to investigate this incident, and he will accomplish that mission with or without your cooperation or any trash about treaties. Now step out of the way and we will complete our assigned duty.”
Now Palcikas chuckled. “Does this pitiful excuse for a colonel speak for you, General Voshchanka?”
The Byelorussian colonel said something in unintelligible Russian, and he drew his sidearm. “You Lithuanian bastard. I will put a bullet in your head for that.”
Just then three helicopters popped from over a nearby treeline, encircled the group of Byelorussian vehicles, and hovered about two hundred meters away from the group. Voshchanka and his colonel could see that the first helicopter was Palcikas’ Mil-8 transport helicopter, with door gunners standing in each side door and out the back of the rear cargo ramp, aiming huge Degtyarev 12.7-millimeter machine guns at the vehicles and soldiers below. The other two helicopters were small, almost toylike American-made McDonnell-Douglas Model 500 Defender attack models, but each one carried a rocket and gun pods on fuselage-mounted pylons. They may have looked like toys, but there was nothing childlike about the threat. At the same time, Palcikas’ aide had raised his AKSU assault rifle, ready to open fire.
“Tell your aide to lower his rifle or there will be bloodshed,” the Byelorussian colonel said. He had aimed his sidearm at Palcikas’ aide when he had raised his own. The two men eyed each other, neither daring to move; then Kolginov turned the muzzle of his weapon away. The Colonel smiled, as though he had just won a major victory, then holstered his sidearm.
“This is how you want to conduct business with the Commonwealth, General Palcikas?” Voshchanka asked, taking only a momentary glance at the attack choppers before turning back to the Lithuanian general. “Aim a gun pod at a fellow officer-in peacetime? Threaten us with violence while in the midst of negotiations? You should re-evaluate your actions, I think.”
“I am no threat to you or your Byelorussian soldiers, General Voshchanka,” Palcikas said. “I am sure six antiaircraft guns are targeted against each one of my helicopters. They, or I, would not survive a firefight. But neither would you, and I assure you, I would be satisfied with that outcome.
“You Lithuanian pig,” Voshchanka’s colonel spat.
“I have asked you twice to depart this area. I shall ask a third time. After that I will consider this detachment an invasion force and deal with it with all the power in my command — right here, right now. You will pack up your troops and your vehicles and return to your CIS base in Siauliai or to Kaliningrad immediately. Will you comply?”
Voshchanka’s confident smile had vanished with the appearance of those attack helicopters. True, he had more than enough counter-battery units to destroy this pathetic force, especially hovering as they were in plain view, but one rocket from one helicopter could kill all of them instantly. No, this was not the time nor place for a showdown.
“Colonel Gurlo, order your units to assemble and return to base immediately,” Voshchanka said, keeping his gaze affixed on Palcikas. “Tell the gunners to lower their antiaircraft guns right now.
The Colonel looked mad enough to spit bullets, but he relayed the order.
Palcikas remained as he was, staring at Voshchanka as the big BMP-1 and BMV-3 armored personnel carriers scattered around the farm fired up their big diesels and started to move toward the main road, their 30-millimeter machine guns lowered and pointing far away from the helicopters. As the armored vehicles moved, the two Defender helicopters moved along with them, leaving Palcikas’ Mil-8 nearby ready to pick up the Lithuanian general.
“I’d say that was a very risky move, General Palcikas,” General Voshchanka said. “Sacrificing ten men and three helicopters, plus yourself and your aide — that would be more than your poor country could afford, I think. You might be better off letting your politicians do the fighting for you and to direct your forces from a desk instead of leaping out of helicopters and threatening superior officers.” He moved a bit closer to Palcikas. “It could get very dangerous out here, you know, surrounded by superior forces.
“On Lithuanian soil you are nothing but a trespasser, General,” Palcikas replied. “I respect you and your soldiers, but I won’t let that alter my responsibility to defend my homeland.” This time Palcikas paused, then glanced at the retreating armored vehicles. “This is a large number of vehicles for a simple aviation incident, General.”