With both men staring at Biryukov, he took a deep breath. "Unless the main reaction force arrives in the next few minutes, we will lose this facility. My orders are to prevent the loss of any weapons. Since I am unable to contact the commander of the reaction force or the military district command post, I must assume the worst and prepare to execute my orders." Biryukov paused to let what he had just said sink in. "Lieutenant Sorokovoy, you will remain with the main force here on this level and hold for as long as you can. Sergeant Popel will accompany me with two men to the lower level and wait as long as we can before initiating the sequence."
Still stunned, neither Sorokovoy nor Popel responded at first. Instructions for activating the small atomic demolition device that would destroy the storage site in order to prevent compromise were classified top secret and were supposed to be known only by the officers of the guard. That every sergeant in the force knew how to do it was an open secret. Still, thoughts of the consequences of admitting it, even under these circumstances, caused the sergeant to hesitate.
An ear-splitting blast wrenched Biryukov's attention back to the far end of the tunnel. The Russians were attempting to breach the blast door. From somewhere to his right a sergeant yelled to his men, "Here they come!"
Biryukov looked toward the door, then back at his subordinates, yelling as he did so. "Lieutenant Sorokovoy, the key. Give the key to Sergeant Popel now!" Sorokovoy, also looking toward the tunnel entrance, pulled the key from around his neck and offered it to Popel without looking. Popel, knowing what all of this meant, took the key dangling from a chain and held it at arm's length as if it were a poisonous snake. Only Biryukov's shouted orders got him to react.
"All right, Lieutenant Sorokovoy, you have your instructions. Do the best you can and pray the reaction force reacts." When Sorokovoy was gone, Biryukov reached out and grasped Popel on his shoulder. "Come, Sergeant. Stay next to me. And whatever happens up here, we must make it down that elevator. Understood?"
After Popel nodded, Biryukov moved closer to the barricade. Like everyone else, he lowered his head and steadied his weapon. As he watched and waited for the assault force to come, a gray cloud caused by the explosion crept down toward them, filling the chamber with acrid smoke. Instead of a stampede of boots, however, the first noise that came from the gray cloud was a series of clicks and hisses. It took Biryukov a second to understand what was happening. When he did, his warning was cut short by a series of pops as the flash grenades went off and flooded the tunnel with blinding light.
Damn, he thought as he rubbed his eyes. Damn! You fool, you know better. You know the drill. Blind the defenders with smoke or flash grenades and then attack. It was a standard drill for the KGB strike teams. Still unable to see, Biryukov was alerted by a new series of pops and hissing sounds to the next step in the KGB drill. Reaching down, Biryukov grabbed for his chemical protective mask, yelling as he worked to pull it out of its carrier, "GAS! GAS! GAS!"
Though the second series of grenades were only HC grenades, white smoke, Biryukov and his men had no way of knowing and were not about to take a chance. Had they realized that the attackers were American rangers and not KGB, they might have forgone the hassle of putting on their protective masks. As it was, the smoke grenades worked better than Smithy could have hoped. The Ukrainians were struggling with their protective masks when Smithy's 3rd Platoon came out of the white cloud and fell upon Biryukov's men.
The run from the border into the center of Uzhgorod was fast, wild, and unopposed. Following the cavalry troop that led the 1st Brigade into the Ukraine, Company C, 3rd Battalion, 3rd Infantry, under the command of Captain Nancy Kozak, prepared to turn south on the road for Chop. While her driver kept the last vehicle of the cavalry troop in sight, Kozak stood upright in the open hatch of her M-2 Bradley infantry fighting vehicle, alternating between looking down at the map she held in one hand and up as she tried to read the street signs and look for landmarks she had been briefed on. Not wanting to miss her turn, Kozak paid scant attention to the scene around her. She noted that the streetlights were still on, indicating that the Ukrainians were taken by complete surprise, and wondered how long that would last. Kozak didn't pay any attention to the people of Uzhgorod, shaken out of a sound sleep by the rumbling of the cavalry troop's sixty-three-ton tanks, as they pulled the shades of their bedroom windows back to see who was invading their country this time. Kozak didn't even seem to be aware of a police car, lights flashing, as it came out of a side street, stopping just short of the main road leading from the border. The startled policeman driving saw the armored vehicles, slammed on the brakes, and immediately backed up without hesitation or looking behind him. Though the policeman had no idea who or why his city was being overrun by armored vehicles, he knew that at that moment there was little he could do.
When Kozak saw the turnoff, she keyed the intercom on her helmet and shouted to her driver to make a hard right. Gripping onto the lip of her hatch, Kozak hung on as the Bradley made the sharp turn that almost carried them into a line of parked cars that lined the street. Once they were on the road to Chop, Kozak leaned over and looked to her rear to make sure that the platoon following her also made the turn. In the bright light provided by the overhead streetlights, Kozak began counting vehicles as they made the turn until her own Bradley went around a slight curve that blocked her view. By that time, she had seen all four Bradleys of her 2nd Platoon, as well as the lead tank of the attached tank platoon, make the turn.
Satisfied that everyone in her company team would make the turn and that they were on the right road, Kozak turned to the front, looking at the shops and apartment buildings that lined the street on either side. There was little difference between the streets and shops here and those they had seen in Czech towns and villages. Those, in turn, had reminded her of the towns and villages in Germany, except that the German buildings were more modern, cleaner, and more colorful. Before turning her thoughts back toward her mission, it dawned upon Kozak that this whole region, with its buildings and dingy towns nestled in the hills and mountains connected by twisting roads, reminded her of Pittsburgh. Strange, she thought. In her two years in Germany she had been with armored columns running through towns and across the countryside without giving it a second thought. The idea of doing so in Pittsburgh, however, was totally beyond her. When the last of the streetlights whizzed by as her Bradley raced out of the narrow streets of the town and into the dark countryside, Kozak looked back at Uzhgorod one more time. I guess, she thought, these people are used to this sort of thing by now.
From the second-story window of his small bedroom, a middle-aged Ukrainian shopkeeper watched the parade of armored vehicles roll by in the street below. Across the room, sitting up in their bed, his wife waited, struggling to overcome her fright and join her husband. Unable to do so, she called from the bed, "Josef, is it the Russians?"
At first he didn't answer. It had been a long time since he had served in the Red Army. But as a gunner on a tank stationed in East Germany, he had been trained well to recognize enemy vehicles. The sight of those vehicles right there under his own bedroom window was a shock. Finally, when he did answer, Josef meekly mumbled, "No, not Russians."
That statement made his wife's eyes grow large as she threw her hands up over her mouth. "Oh, my God, not the Germans, again?"