"We've been down this road before," his section chief said. "The last time, things broke down on this issue of mobile missiles. Both sides want them, but both sides are afraid of the other side having them."
"But the tone of the report-"
"They're always euphoric about their arms-control proposals, damn it! Hell, Bob, you know that."
"True, sir, but it's the first time that I know of that the Russians have unilaterally removed a weapons platform from service."
"The 'Yankees' are obsolete."
"So what? They never throw anything away, obsolete or not. They still have World War II artillery pieces sitting in warehouses in case they need them again. This is different, and the political ramifications-"
"We're not talking politics, we're talking nuclear strategy," the section chief growled back.
As if there were a difference, Toland said to himself.
KIEV, THE UKRAINE
"Well, Pasha?"
"Comrade General, we truly have a man's work before us," Alekseyev answered, standing at attention in the Kiev headquarters of the Southwest Theater.
"Our troops need extensive unit training. Over the weekend I read through more than eighty regimental readiness reports from our tank and motor-rifle divisions." Alekseyev paused before going on. Tactical training and readiness was the bane of the Soviet military. Their troops were almost entirely conscripts, in and out in two years, half of whose uniformed service was occupied just in acquiring basic military skills. Even the noncoms, the backbone of every army since the Roman legions, were conscripts selected for special training academies, then lost as soon as their enlistment periods ended. For that reason, the Soviet military leaned heavily on its officers, who often performed what in the West was sergeants' work. The professional officer corps of the Soviet Army was its only permanent, only dependable feature. In theory. "The truth of the matter is that we don't know our readiness posture at the moment. Our colonels all use the same language in their reports, without the slightest deviation. Everyone reports meeting norms, with the same amount of training hours, the same amount of political indoctrination, the same number of practice shots fired-that is, a deviation of under three percent-and the requisite number of field exercises run, all of course of the proper type."
"As prescribed in our training manuals," the Colonel General noted.
"Naturally. Exactly-too damned exactly! No deviation for adverse weather. No deviation for late fuel deliveries. No deviation for anything at all. For example, the 703rd Motor-Rifle Regiment spent all of last October on harvesting duty south of Kharkov-yet somehow they met their monthly norms for unit training at the same time. Lies are bad enough, but these are stupid lies!"
"It cannot be as bad as you fear, Pavel Leonidovich."
"Do we dare to assume otherwise, Comrade?"
The General stared down at his desk. "No. Very well, Pasha. You've formulated your plan. Let me hear it."
"For the moment, you will be outlining the plan for our attack into the Muslim lands. I must get into the field to whip our field commanders into shape. If we wish to accomplish our goals in time for the attack west, we must make an example of the worst offenders. I have four commanders in mind. Their conduct has been grossly and undeniably criminal. Here are the names and charges." He handed over a single sheet of paper.
"There are two good men here, Pasha," the General objected.
"They are guardians of the State. They enjoy positions of the greatest trust. They have betrayed that trust by lying, and in doing so, they have endangered the State," Alekseyev said, wondering how many men in his country could have that said of them. He dismissed the thought. There were problems enough right here.
"You understand the consequences of the charges you bring?"
"Of course. The penalty for treason is death. Did I ever falsify a readiness report? Did you?" Alekseyev looked away briefly. "It is a hard thing, and I take no pleasure in it-but unless we snap our units into shape, how many young boys will die for their officers' failings? We need combat readiness more than we need four liars. If there is a gentler way to achieve this, I don't know what that might be. An army without discipline is a worthless mob. We have the directive from STAVKA to make examples of unruly privates and restore the authority of our NCOs. It is fitting that if privates must suffer for their failings, then their Colonels must suffer too. Theirs is the greater responsibility. Theirs is the greater reward. A few examples here will go a long way to restoring our army."
"The inspectorate?"
"The best choice," Alekseyev agreed. That way blame would not necessarily be traced back to the senior commanders themselves. "I can send teams from the Inspector General's service out to these regiments day after tomorrow. Our training memoranda arrived in all divisional and regimental headquarters this morning. The news of these four traitors will encourage our unit commanders to implement them with vigor. Even then, it will be two weeks before we have a clear picture of what we need to focus on, but once we can identify the areas that need buttressing, we should have ample time to accomplish what we need to accomplish."
"What will CINC-West be doing"
"The same, one hopes." Alekseyev shook his head. "Has he asked for any of our units yet?"
"No, but he will. We will not be ordered to launch offensive operations against NATO's southern flank-part of the continuing maskirovka. You may assume that many of our Category-B units will be detailed to Germany, possibly some of our 'A' tank forces also. However many divisions that fool has, he'll want more."
"Just so we have enough troops to seize the oil fields when the time comes," Pasha observed. "Which plan are we supposed to execute?"
"The old one. We'll have to update it, of course." The old plan predated Soviet involvement in Afghanistan, and now the Red Army had a whole new perspective on sending mechanized forces into an area occupied by armed Muslims.
Alekseyev's hands bunched into fists. "Marvelous. We must formulate a plan without knowing when it will be implemented or what forces we'll have available to execute it."
"Remember what you told me about the life of a staff officer, Pasha?" CINC-Southwest chuckled.
The younger man nodded ruefully, hoist on his own petard. "Indeed, Comrade Generaclass="underline" we will do our sleeping after the war."
5 - Sailors and Spooks
His eyes squinted painfully at the horizon. The sun was only half a diameter above the green-brown line of Maryland's Eastern Shore, a reminder, if he needed one, that he'd worked late the day before, gone to bed later still, then arisen at four-thirty so that he could get in a day's fishing. A slowly receding sinus like headache also let him know about the six-pack of beer he'd consumed in front of the TV.
But it was his first fishing day of the year, and the casting rod felt good in his hand as he gave it a gentle swing toward a ripple on the calm surface of the Chesapeake Bay. A blue or a rockfish? Whatever it was, it didn't nibble at his Bucktail lure. But there was no hurry.
"Coffee, Bob?"
"Thanks, Pop." Robert Toland set his rod in its holder and leaned back into the midships swivel chair of his Boston Whaler Outrage. His father-in-law, Edward Keegan, held out the plastic cup-cap from a large thermos jug. Bob knew the coffee would be good. Ned Keegan was a former naval officer who appreciated a good cup, preferably flavored with brandy or Irish whiskey-something to open the eyes and put a fire in the belly.