A thin smile creased Lukács’s broad face. “Coming from an old aviator like you, my friend, that is high praise indeed.” The Hungarian prime minister waved a hand toward the nearest firing slit. “My generals assure me our troops and pilots are gaining much-needed experience in this war maneuver wonderland of yours.”
Wilk nodded. That was true. Drawsko Pomorskie was Europe’s largest military training area, with more than a hundred and thirty square miles set aside for live fire exercises and battlefield maneuvers. No other country on the continent except Russia could boast of anything comparable. The Polish Army had used the area since 1945. Now the combined forces of the new AFN held their spring and summer maneuvers among its forests, fields, low rolling hills, abandoned villages, and swamps. Decades of combat training had left the exercise area littered with burned-out hulks used for target practice — among them, old Soviet tanks and self-propelled guns, surplus U.S. Army M-60 tanks, Huey helicopters, and stripped-down F-4 Phantom fighter jets.
“Local enemy air defenses are judged as suppressed,” one of the exercise control-team officers reported over the intercom. “Iron Wolf Squadron strike team inbound. Follow-on conventional armored and infantry forces in movement from Phase Line Alpha.”
Wilk raised his binoculars in time to see a large, twin-engine aircraft in mottled dark green, light green, and gray camouflage roar in just above the treetops. It banked left over the valley in a steep, tight turn, slowing fast. Its huge propellers were already swiveling upward, turning into rotors. The Sky Masters XV-40 Sparrowhawk tilt rotor had the same basic lines as the V-22 Ospreys flown by the U.S. Air Force and U.S. Marine Corps, but it was smaller and more agile.
Rotors spinning, the Sparrowhawk touched down in the middle of the valley. Immediately, its rear ramp whirred open. Two tall, menacing shapes unfolded out of the troop compartment and glided down the ramp. Without any pause, the two Iron Wolf combat robots darted away at high speed, heading down the valley toward a distant ruined village defended by a simulated Russian motorized rifle battalion. As soon as they were off the ramp, the XV-40 leaped into the air and veered away, accelerating fast as its rotors transitioned to level flight.
Explosions erupted among the buildings as the CIDs opened fire, using their autocannons, rail guns, and grenade launchers. One after another, old BMP-1 infantry fighting vehicles went up in flames. Puffs of smoke and debris flew away from foxholes dug amid the rubble. Within minutes, the two Iron Wolf machines had fought their way through the village and disappeared into the surrounding woods, leaving only smoldering wreckage in their wake.
“Bámulatos! Amazing!” Lukács murmured from beside Wilk. “So much power. So much speed.” He leaned closer. “Now I understand better how your country has dared to defy Moscow for so long.”
The Polish president concealed a smile. That was exactly the kind of reaction he’d hoped for. Although Kevin Martindale had been understandably worried about the security risks entailed in showing off the CIDs in these open-field maneuvers, he’d insisted they were necessary — both on political and military grounds.
Battle drills blending the capabilities of the AFN’s conventional air, armor, and mechanized units with the Iron Wolf Squadron’s robots, drones, and deep-strike recon and commando forces built much-needed teamwork. Equally important, they helped strengthen the alliance by reassuring its political leaders that their combined armed forces could hold their own against Russia if another open war broke out.
“But can your squadron field enough of those robots to defend us all?” Lukács asked pointedly, after a moment’s reflection. “I understand the Americans have made it difficult to obtain replacements and new machines.”
“President Barbeau’s sanctions and legal threats have made the buildup of our CID force slower and more expensive than I would have liked,” Wilk agreed. “Despite that, we now have six operational fighting machines and twelve trained pilots.”
“Only six?”
“Three years ago, fighting in coordination with my country’s ground and air forces, just two CIDs were able to first delay and then defeat two full-strength Russian armies,” Wilk reminded the Hungarian prime minister dryly.
“But then you had the element of surprise,” Lukács commented. “Gryzlov and his commanders will not make the same mistakes again.”
“No, they won’t,” Wilk said. He nodded toward the valley below their bunker. An assortment of Polish, Romanian, and Hungarian armored vehicles were coming into view, deploying from march columns into battle formation as they advanced. “Which is why exercises such as this are so important. As are all the modernization programs our armed forces are undertaking.”
Every member of the Alliance of Free Nations, even the tiny Baltic states, had agreed to strengthen and modernize its air and ground forces — replacing antiquated and worn-out Soviet-era tanks, APCs, artillery, and aircraft with newer, more capable weapons. At the same time, they’d toughened their training and increased combat readiness. Timeservers and careerists had been weeded out in favor of younger, more energetic officers.
It was a difficult and expensive process, but Wilk was convinced that it was working. Together with their CIDs, the alliance’s conventional ground forces were now strong enough to stop an offensive by Russia’s tank and motorized rifle divisions. In the air, the combination of upgraded Polish and Romanian F-16s and Hungary’s JAS 39 Gripens, working in tandem with Iron Wolf’s stealthy MQ-55 Coyote drone missile launchers and Scion’s other high-tech weapons, stood an excellent chance of blunting raids by Russia’s fighters and bombers. The same held true for any new cyberwar campaign orchestrated by Moscow. Since the last onslaught, the alliance had steadily strengthened its defenses against computer hacking and destructive malware.
The Hungarian sighed. “I only wish the costs were not so high, Piotr,” he said. He looked pained. “Every new defense bill draws more and more opposition in my country’s National Assembly.”
Wilk nodded somberly. He faced the same political difficulties. Even after two Russian attacks on Poland, there were still some members of the opposition parties who fought him tooth and nail over every zloty for national defense. “Well, I think it’s better to spend money now than to spend lives and risk our freedoms later,” he said quietly.
Grudgingly, Lukács acknowledged the power of his argument.
At least I’ve convinced you that we can hold our own against Moscow, Wilk thought, looking at the Hungarian. Then why am I still so worried?
Much later that evening, after a dinner and reception in honor of the ranking political and military leaders attending the exercises, Wilk finally got the chance to pose that same question to some of his closest advisers. They were gathered in his hotel suite in Szczecin, eighty kilometers west of Drawsko Pomorskie.
He looked carefully around the sitting room, taking each of the attendees in.
First, Kevin Martindale, looking smooth and well polished as always in an elegant black dinner jacket and bow tie. Next, Major Nadia Rozek, his former military aide, in her dress uniform as an officer in Poland’s special forces. And finally, Captain Brad McLanahan, tall, broad-shouldered, and blond-haired. The young American wore the dark, rifle-green uniform jacket, collared shirt, and black tie of the Iron Wolf Squadron. A patch on his shoulder showed a metal-gray robotic wolf’s head with glowing red eyes on a bright green background.