“The Commonwealth does not control Minsk. I control Minsk!”
“There is little doubt of that,” Gabovich soothed, “although I do know Commonwealth forces are garrisoned near your capital. No matter-you can subdue them easily if you have to. But that may not be true for the Baltic states. You have considerable forces in Lithuania, but Russia controls Latvia, not Belarus. If you had to fight Russia, you would fight from weakness, not strength. A landlocked country, surrounded by CIS forces…
“We will never be subdued by anyone,” Voshchanka said confidently. “This is all a fantasy. There is no conflict…
“If the Commonwealth falls apart or is taken by Russia, Belarus withers and dies away,” Gabovich said. “You, however, have the opportunity to seize the upper hand before it collapses. You have the position — and I and my principals can help.”
“Help with what, General Gabovich?” Voshchanka asked suspiciously.
Gabovich leaned closer to the Byelorussian general, and in a low, conspiratorial voice, said, “Take Lithuania and Kalinin. Now.”
“What?” Voshchanka breathed. The old war horse seemed genuinely surprised at the suggestion. “Invade Lithuania… take Kalinin…
Gabovich nodded. “Come now, don’t act so surprised. You know it’s the only solution. Belarus must have access to the Baltic and to those rail lines and highways. Not to mention a buffer zone between it and Russia. The only solution is to … take Lithuania.
Voshchanka said nothing, the wheels of thought turning.
Gabovich went on. “What’s your biggest concern? How to counter the strength of the Commonwealth armies? You have hundreds of nuclear-Capable launchers, from aircraft to artillery pieces to rockets. You also have several dozen warheads that you have not returned to Russia.” Voshchanka narrowed his gaze at Gabovich and was about to speak, but Gabovich raised a hand. “I know you do, Comrade. So don’t even bother Protesting. But what you do not have is the means to unlock and pre-arm these weapons. Well, my principals in Fisikous do have the knowledge- they Probably designed and built many of the tactical nuclear warheads still stored in your country. They also have the means of making your army one of the most powerful and technologically advanced in the world.”
Voshchanka stared at Gabovich, not sure if he was a savior or the devil himself. Slowly, the Byelorussian general sank back into his seat, trying to sort out everything. “Your idea is absurd, General Gabovich,” he said finally. “What makes you think I will not report your treason to the Commonwealth?”
“Because I’m the last hope you have of Belarus determining its own destiny,” Gabovich said. “You report me and I’ll deny this conversation ever took place — and I believe I have the political strength to neutralize your allegations. You would then have made yourself a powerful enemy in me.”
Voshchanka looked at the ex-KGB officer as if sizing up this man who was so free with his threats. He was wondering if Gabovich really had the power to challenge a general of the CIS Army. “What if your connections did not save you?” Voshchanka asked. “The Commonwealth would order me to take you and occupy Fisikous myself. I would have its technology in any case.
“My principals would prefer to deal with you, General,” Gabovich replied, “but they are certainly able to do so without you. If you tried to take Fisikous, my security forces would simply hold you off long enough to destroy all records and all devices. Believe me, we have the strength to hold off an entire army, even without thermonuclear weapons.”
“A few scientists in a small research center, with no government sup-port? How long do you think you’d last?”
“My OMON forces are handpicked and specially trained, General,” Gabovich said. “We were trained to hold this entire country against well-organized militants.”
“You obviously failed at that task.” Voshchanka smirked.
“Perhaps. But now we control Fisikous. Now we control the weapons and defensive systems developed at Fisikous. We can stand against any army, at least long enough to destroy all the weapons inside and make our escape. After your army loses thousands of men trying to take Fisikous, you would find nothing but a booby-trapped, burned-out hulk. And if we face certain disaster from a sneak attack or airborne raid, one nuclear-tipped cruise missile aimed at your headquarters in Minsk should avenge our deaths. Where will you be when the fighting starts, General?”
Voshchanka clenched his fists, barely controlling his anger. “How dare you threaten my country. Do you expect me to trust you after making a threat like that …?”
“General Voshchanka, I want to work with you, for the benefit of my principals and the benefit of Belarus,” Gabovich said calmly. “Think about it. We can build a new Soviet state, ruled under Communist ideals, with the central government, led by Belarus, firmly in charge. And if Belarus wishes to remain in the Commonwealth, you can deal with Moscow on equal terms. I’m offering you a way to take advantage of the weakness of Lithuania and the weaknesses in the Commonwealth. Decline it, and we will both lose. Accept it, and we both have a chance to win.
Gabovich shrugged his shoulders. He knew an incohesive, disorganized, turbulent Commonwealth would leave Fisikous alone. He gave Voshchanka a mischievous smile. “If we fail, tovarisch, at least we gave it a good try. You will be praised as a patriot who wanted nothing but greatness for his country. The Commonwealth might bury you in an unmarked grave, but the people would remember you always.”
Voshchanka couldn’t believe Gabovich’s balls — and that last remark! Gabovich’s allegory was from a famous Byelorussian legend about a general from Minsk in the Great Patriotic War who commanded one of the armies that helped drive the Nazis from Russia; when the Byelorussian general reported back to Stalin that Moscow and Leningrad had been saved, he was reportedly shot and buried in a shallow grave because his fame might make him a political nemesis. “You know your Byelorussian history, tovarisch,” Voshchanka said finally. Then he stood up, nodded to his aide, and headed for the door. “I will be in contact with you, General Gabovich. Doh svedanya.”
Even in winter, the Leningrad Rail Station in central Moscow was normally one of the most beautiful public buildings in Europe. With soaring concourses, wide entryways, intricately carved relief sculptures on every wall, and ornate clocks everywhere, it was one of the main tourist attractions of Moscow. Even after the city of Leningrad changed its name back to its imperial, historic name of St. Petersburg in 1991, the Leningrad Station kept its name — there was no debate.
Today, it resembled a makeshift relief center for victims of some widespread natural disaster. Hundreds of men, women, and children were huddled against radiators and steam vents hoping for a trickle of warm air that would never come. Farmers from the countryside were selling the last bits of rotting food from their barns and cellars for exorbitant prices, just for a chance to buy a good coat or boots that did not exist anywhere In the city. Roving gangs of thieves were common, so the city police, Russian Federation army soldiers, and Commonwealth Army soldiers patrolled the station. Yet the soldiers, who had to give every ruble and every ration coupon they earned to their families, stole almost as much from the hapless, cowering merchants, and from each other, as the gang members.
Moscow, even in the best of times and weather, was never a particularly uplifting place to be. Now, in early spring, with heavy snowfall and freezing temperatures still lingering and after years of shortages leading to outright famine, it was a perfectly miserable place to be assigned.