Shalenko followed his thoughts. Europe was being quietly purged of elements the Russians disliked, or openly loathed, a long list ranging from former right-wing and left-wing leaders, to media reporters. Some were being given offers they couldn’t refuse — work for the Russians or go to Siberia, or a work gang, or meet a bullet in the back of their heads — or were simply eliminated to terminate whatever problems they might have posed. The population at large was unaware of the tectonic shifts occurring under their feet; the absence of most media channels — replaced with a bland diet of soaps and television shows — hid much from their eyes… and even the news from America was mainly sensationalist. Europeans saw the talking heads on CNN and FOX and GNN and knew that America had abandoned them; many of them would seek ways to please the Russians, rather than opposing them.
And the streets were safe. The Russians had made it clear what had happened to the prisoners who had fallen into their hands, including the death sentence for the dangerous criminals. Many who had been allowed to roam free discovered that the Russians were watching for them; they had the records from Interpol and Europol and used them mercilessly, arresting and executing known serious criminals. Crime was lower than it had ever been… and that too was popular. As long as serious incidents could be kept down…
“Operation Morskoi Lev,” Nekrasov said, drawing his attention back to the matter at hand. His brief moment of distraction made Rybak smile; the FSB officer understood nothing of the true art of war. “General; how are the preparations for the invasion?”
The use of his rank was a quiet warning; Nekrasov wanted to talk to the General, not to the friend. “The preparations proceed apace,” Shalenko said, calmly. “We have twelve divisions prepared for the crossing, using mainly captured European shipping and some of our own ships that we used in Denmark, all based at the cleared ports here. The British have launched several attempts to disrupt the process, but we have enough radars and missile launchers around the ports to make such attempts costly. All, but one, of the aircraft involved in the final attack were wiped out.”
His hand traced the map. “Colonel Aliyev and his men will be landed first, here,” he said, tapping a location on the map near Dover. “We don’t anticipate that the British will leave the port in a useable condition, hence the pre-prepared jetties that we copied from the D-Day invasion years ago; they will be moved over to secured beaches once we have cleared them of mines and other surprises, and then the heavy units will be landed.”
He spoke quickly as he outlined the other elements of the plan. “We have over five hundred bombers in position, one hundred of them under the command of Admiral Daniel Sulkin and tasked to destroy the remainder of the Royal Navy’s fleet, should it attempt to engage our forces on the surface. Admiral Wilkinson is still ten days away from Britain and in any case flew off his aircraft a week ago; we do not feel that he will attempt to interfere… and if he does, we have the capability to destroy his fleet. The main British naval threat will come from submarines; to counter we have brought along our own submarines and ASW craft, and mines. It may be costly, as they will do what the Taiwanese did, years ago, and concentrate on the transports, but we will land a large force.
“The remaining bombers have their own targets,” he concluded. “We have been chipping away at the British transport network; commandos inserted on the ground will be tasked with directing some of the bombers onto British reinforcements and other targets of opportunity, while others will blast British targets we have left alone to lull them into a false sense of security. Once we have total air superiority, we will be able to expand our control and advance towards London for the final battle.”
“There is a British civilian population in Dover,” Rybak said, needling him. There was a mischievous tone in his voice, quietly taking a verbal sally at Shalenko; the FSB and the Russian Army would never be friends. The secret to controlling Russia was to ensure that the FSB and the Army were used to keep the other in check permanently; President Nekrasov was a master of the art. “How do you intend to handle it?”
“The intelligence reports claim that the British have evacuated most of their citizens from the area,” Shalenko answered. “They are not going to be a problem, although we may have to burn Dover rather than take the time to lay siege or accept the death toll involved in storming the city. Once we take London, your forces can fan out and secure the remainder of the country; some of my planners believe that the British will keep evacuating people to Ireland as long as they can, and then get them to America. They have some additional shipping, although less each trip; we’re putting pressure on some of the shipping lines to close their operations with Britain.”
Nekrasov nodded curtly; the Russians had made it clear that the seas around Europe were a war zone and any shipping that went in without permission did so at serious risk of being sunk without warning. The United Nations had tried to challenge it, but the Americans weren’t willing to interfere, and the Turks had led a chorus of African nations that felt Europe deserved everything that was coming to it. In the long term, the Turks would start wondering what the Russians might have in mind for them, but for a few more years, they would be neutral in Russia’s favour. The Japanese had protested the Russian declaration of a free-fire war zone, but they were in no position to press the issue; like the Americans, they were wrapped up in Korea and had their interests in China. A very quiet agreement had been proposed; the Russians would say nothing about Japanese plans to guarantee safe zones in China — occupation in all, but name — if the Japanese didn’t press the issue of the sea-lanes.
“Which brings us to the final conclusion,” Nekrasov said. He smiled tiredly down at his two generals. Shalenko knew what he was about to ask before he asked the question; they had tried hard to answer it. “Can the operation succeed?”
Shalenko weighed all of the factors in his mind a final time. “The operation can succeed,” he said, and meant it. The entire plan had been wargamed several times, looking for every possible variable and unknown factor, giving the British far more firepower than they could possibly have, just to be sure that nothing was overlooked. The only real danger was tactical nuclear weapons, and the Russians had made that issue clear to the British Ambassador in Washington; the use of tactical nukes would be responded to with strategic weapons against British cities. It was the only communication that they had had with the British; they had refused to be ‘reasonable’ about the future. “The losses may be higher than we predict, but the operation can succeed.”
Nekrasov nodded once. It dawned on Shalenko that the President was concerned about the final step in the campaign, the final stage of the conquest of Europe. A failure could dispel the newfound impression of Russian soldiers as invincible; it could lead to resistance rising up right across Europe and being brutally crushed… if it could be crushed. The Poles had a long history of rebellions against occupying powers… and while the European Union had helpfully managed to restrict the number of guns in civilian hands, there were still Polish soldiers out there, with Polish criminals armed with illegal weapons. A failure could be disastrous.
Operation Morskoi Lev would not fail.
Nekrasov steepled his fingers. “General Shalenko — Alex — I hereby grant you permission to proceed with Operation Morskoi Lev at the earliest possible moment,” he said. Shalenko understood; when Nekrasov delegated, he delegated all the way. Shalenko was the man on the spot, the one with the understanding of what was happening that no one, even Nekrasov, could grasp back in Moscow. “Launch the invasion of Great Britain.”