Barbeau’s lip curled. “You’re not really going to tell me that a couple of hundred ex-Spetsnaz troops could threaten this country’s survival, Ed?”
“Our survival? No, Madam President,” Rauch said quickly. He looked worried, though. “But a clandestine force of that size could inflict some serious damage on a U.S. military installation, either here, or more likely, in Europe.”
“Get real, Dr. Rauch,” she retorted. “There’s no way the Russians could hope to sneak that many men into this country or one of our NATO allies… not without getting caught. They’d be lucky to infiltrate ten men successfully. Trying the same thing with even twenty would be one hell of a risk.” She shrugged. “What could Gryzlov really hope to accomplish with a handful of former Spetsnaz thugs with small arms and maybe some RPGs and explosives? That’s not a strategic game changer. Not even close.” Reluctantly, Rauch dipped his head, acknowledging her point.
Barbeau turned her cold-eyed gaze on Luke Cohen. “Anything to add, Luke?”
Her chief of staff nodded. “Sure, Gryzlov’s ballsy. But he’s not stupid enough to come after us. Not without good cause,” he said confidently. “He’s got to know that we’ll retaliate for any attack on us or our real allies… no matter how hard he tries to spin it as some phony-baloney mercenary operation.”
“Okay, that’s a solid point,” she agreed. She looked back at Rauch. “Well, Ed?”
“I can’t argue with Mr. Cohen’s analysis, Madam President,” he said. The pale little former academic looked thoughtful. “But fear of us won’t stop Gryzlov from attacking the Poles again, using his ‘private’ covert-action units to sow terror and confusion ahead of a more conventional offensive.”
“Is the CIA or anyone else in the intelligence community picking up any hints that Moscow’s planning a new war against Warsaw and the AFN?” Barbeau asked sharply.
“Not really,” Rauch admitted. He spread his hands. “But our intelligence assets — our satellites, intercept stations, and HUMINT sources — are all almost exclusively oriented against Russia’s official military and political establishment. If Gryzlov really has created an off-the-books mercenary force, our people might not even be looking in the right direction.”
“Great,” Barbeau muttered, chewing that over in her mind. What if that nutcase Gennadiy Gryzlov actually had his own private army and somehow managed to kick the crap out of the Poles and their piddling allies? Russian success in Eastern and central Europe now could make her look weak in the unsophisticated eyes of too many swing-state voters. The enduring political problem she faced had once been defined by General George S. Patton. Americans loved a winner. And they would not tolerate a loser.
But Luke Cohen only shrugged when she expressed her fears.
“So the Russians hit the Poles again? So what?” the New Yorker said with a callous grin. “It doesn’t matter how many badass Spetsnaz commandos Gryzlov’s got on his personal payroll. If the shit hits the fan, they’re still completely outmatched by Martindale’s Iron Wolf robots.” He shrugged. “We’ve all seen the intel on those machines. They’re basically death on steroids.”
With a quick grimace, Barbeau nodded. Just thinking about those unearthly war robots made her skin crawl. In the past, she’d had her own terrifying encounters with Cybernetic Infantry Devices. Those experiences were not something she ever wanted to repeat.
“Even if they got lucky, the best the Russians could hope for would be just another blood-soaked stalemate,” Cohen continued. “And no one who matters is going to blame you for refusing to shove American fighting men and women into that kind of a no-win meat grinder.”
He offered her a cynical grin. “Besides, looked at the right way, every dead Spetsnaz goon and every shot-up Iron Wolf combat robot is just one less threat to our national security. In the bigger scheme of things, another round of fighting between Russia and Poland would be a win for us.”
Slowly, Stacy Anne Barbeau nodded. Years ago, Martindale and that warmongering slimeball Patrick McLanahan had effectively stolen the technology for those Cybernetic Infantry Devices from its rightful owner, the U.S. government. So why not let the Russians pay the blood price necessary to pare down Scion’s inventory of the deadly machines?
With a bleak look on his face, Polish president Piotr Wilk leaned over the desk and snapped off the power to his computer monitor. The field of gray static left when Barbeau cut the secure teleconference link to Warsaw vanished. Then he sat down across from Martindale. “You made a valiant effort,” he told the American. “At first, I really hoped she might listen.”
“Unfortunately, listening to others has never been Stacy Anne’s strong suit,” Martindale said. “Especially when they’re asking her to admit she might have made a mistake. Like too many politicians, she confuses rigid thinking with strength of purpose.”
“She is certainly astonishingly petty and willfully blind.” Wilk shook his head in disappointment. “Your country deserves better.”
“Maybe so, Piotr. We’ll see what the voters say in November.” Wry amusement flickered in Martindale’s eyes. “Otto von Bismarck once said that God looked after fools, drunkards, and the United States. There are many times when I wish my fellow Americans weren’t so willing to test that proposition to its limit.”
“In the meantime, it appears we must look to our own defenses.”
“That’s about the size of it,” Martindale agreed. He sighed. “I just wish I could shake the nagging worry that we’re missing something. Something important.”
“Such as?”
“Such as the fact that, try as I might, I can’t figure out what Gryzlov hopes to gain by forming his own mercenary force,” Martindale said, with a frustrated look. “He’s got to know that conventionally equipped Spetsnaz commandos are no match for the Iron Wolf Squadron and our CIDs. So what’s his real plan?”
Wilk nodded. Even at Perun’s Aerie, where everything went wrong, it had taken an ambush by a battalion of Russian tanks and other armored fighting vehicles, together with massed artillery fire, to destroy the two Iron Wolf combat robots piloted by Charlie Turlock and Whack Macomber. And so far, they had no reports that would indicate Moscow was supplying Gryzlov’s RKU mercenaries with tanks, self-propelled guns, or other heavy weapons.
“The Russians could still hurt us badly in a sudden surprise attack,” he pointed out. “After all, there are only six CIDs in our order of battle. We cannot defend every vulnerable point in the Alliance of Free Nations.”
“Sure, Gryzlov’s mercs could inflict some pain,” Martindale said evenly. “But not nearly enough to swing the outcome in a new war.” He looked at Wilk. “We’d just roll with the first punch and then tear them to shreds.”
“Perhaps friend Gennadiy is more optimistic about his chances against us than you are,” the Polish president countered in a dry voice.
“Oh, I’m sure he is,” Martindale agreed. “But he’s still not crazy enough to see using hired Spetsnaz veterans as a winning play. Gaining a measure of plausible deniability for violent covert action may be useful from a diplomatic and political point of view, but it doesn’t change the fundamental military equation.”
“He may not define winning in quite the same way we do,” Wilk warned. “Russia’s armed forces still outnumber ours. Moscow can trade pawn for pawn and still come out ahead. Maybe Gryzlov has decided to erode our strength with a series of pinprick raids using his ‘mercenaries’—confident that we will be unwilling to escalate in retaliation.”
Martindale frowned. That was a nasty thought. A prolonged covert war of attrition would not succeed in destroying Poland and its allies outright, but the military and economic strain involved in fending off a seemingly unending series of commando attacks and sabotage would be enormous. It was no secret that a number of governments in the Alliance of Free Nations were fragile, dependent on small parliamentary majorities and narrow margins of public support. If those governments fell, either by losing elections or because of massive public discontent, their successors might be more willing to cozy up to Moscow in return for peace. Having failed in his earlier all-out military and cyberwar campaigns, was Gryzlov now willing to play a longer game?