“Welcome to Lielvārde, Major! I am Colonel Teteris, the base commander.” As he stepped onto the rain-streaked pan, Bertinetti was greeted by a stocky Latvian officer, who was evidently waiting for him.
“It’s a pleasure to be here, Sir. Phil Bertinetti.” The dark-haired Coloradan first saluted smartly and then shook the proffered hand.
“Everything is ready for the arrival of the remaining F-16s. Your Contingency Response Group landed yesterday and has set up the necessary support. We Latvians will continue to secure the outer perimeter and provide other host-nation support, although we have had some difficulties, which I will brief you about shortly. Meanwhile, 435th CRG is now set up to provide airfield operations, command and control of air operating out of here, weather support, close protection and defense of your aircraft and personnel, maintenance and everything you need.”
“Sounds like them,” said Bertinetti. “They don’t waste any time getting things organized.” It was good to know that the well-oiled machine that was the US Air Force was in place. That would send an important message of reassurance to the Latvians, but after his experiences in Ukraine, he doubted it would deter the Russians, as many were hoping it might.
Teteris looked preoccupied. “Major, I have to tell you that things are very bad here. Latvia suffered a catastrophic cyber-attack two days ago. We have some communications, but much of our national infrastructure has been badly affected. We are doing all we can to fix things, but we can offer you only limited support.”
Shortly afterward, after a much-needed cup of strong, black coffee, Bertinetti had linked up with his kit—flown in by C-130 the day before—and found the room and bunk he’d been allocated in the transit accommodation. He and Teteris then met up with the CRG commander, discovered that the remaining four F-16s were expected that night, and talked through the way they were going to operate, while Mike Ryan, his wingman, checked reception arrangements for the remainder of the squadron.
Bertinetti was conscious that he was going to have to step carefully. Both Teteris and the CRG commander were colonels and he was a major. Although they were merely there to provide support for him and his men—the ones who would be doing the flying, the fighting and, quite possibly, the dying—he still had to follow their commands. He was going to have to find a way of telling them what needed to be done, even though he was their junior.
“Sir, I suggest we establish contact with the Latvian National Armed Forces Joint Headquarters. They probably need to know what we can bring to the party and I’m sure they’ll want to know when we reckon we can declare full operating capability.”
“Good idea, Phil,” replied the CRG Commander. “Why don’t you take a car and head into Riga? I want to stay here and make sure everything is set up for the incoming aircraft.”
“I’ll take you,” said Teteris. “They would very much like to see you at Joint HQ. I’ll get a message through to say you are coming. We’ve now got enough communications for that.”
Two hours later, with Bertinetti still in his aviator’s flying suit but, given that he was now in an operational theater, carrying his grab-bag and issue 9 millimeter Beretta pistol, the car entered the compound of the Joint HQ in Riga.
Teteris led him into the building and, much to Bertinetti’s surprise, immediately took him to the Chief of Defense’s office, where he was personally welcomed by Lieutenant General Raimonds Balderis, a measure of the importance the Latvians placed on the deployment of the American F-16s. Bertinetti briefed him on the ETA, the estimated time of arrival, of the remaining F-16s.
“That’s very good news, Major,” said Balderis. “Now you need to tie down the details of command and control and how you are going to operate alongside the NATO Baltic Air Police mission. It is not straightforward, as they are not operating from Latvia. Correct, Colonel Teteris?”
“Correct, Sir,” responded Teteris. “The mission is currently operating out of Siauliai Air Base in Lithuania. We need to talk to the Operations Center to work out the details.” He then turned to Bertinetti. “Come, I will take you.” They saluted and left Balderis’s office.
As Bertinetti entered the Operations Center, he couldn’t help but notice a tall, dark-haired young man, wearing what looked like British combat uniform, sitting apart from the Latvian officers and talking to a slim, blonde-haired girl.
The young man saw Bertinetti’s flying suit with its US flag on the shoulder and stood up.
“I’m Tom Morland, UK Liaison Officer to the Latvians. You must be here with the first F-16s?”
“Sure thing, Tom. Good to meet you.” Bertinetti extended his hand and introduced himself. He glanced inquiringly at the blonde girl.
Krauja looked him in the eye. “Marina Krauja. I’m with the Latvian Interior Ministry.”
Teteris led them all into the Operations Center, on the wall of which was a digital map showing Latvia and its borders. On the Latvian side of the Russian border, blue icons indicated Latvian army positions. Further east, inside Russia, Bertinetti could see the concentration of red icons around Pskov, with more to the south around Opochka and Ostrov.
“All part of the snap exercise the Russians have been conducting,” commented Teteris.
In front of the map, staff officers and watch keepers sat at rows of desks in front of computer terminals. Headsets on and speaking quietly into remote microphones, they issued orders, digested and passed on situation reports. As subordinate units reported locations, icons were automatically updated on the digital map.
“I see you’ve got over the cyber problems,” said Bertinetti.
“We have been expecting such problems—they are as much a part of modern warfare as close air support or an artillery fire plan before an attack. We’ve learned from the experience of our Estonian friends. They established a cyber home guard, manned by civilian computer experts. Most of them are hackers and teenagers. Our people were able to get most of our key systems back up and running. They’re still working on the problems. But at least Joint HQ can still operate from here.”
“Come,” he said to Bertinetti, “I’ll show you the air operations center where we coordinate with the Baltic air policing mission.”
He took Bertinetti and Morland into a side room, where they sat down with the Air Planners and he worked through the coordination with the NATO mission while the Brit officer watched and listened. Once completed, Teteris led them into the main Air Operations Coordination Center, along the wall of which was a radar screen showing the recognized air picture; flashing radar icons indicating the listing of all aircraft in flight within Latvian airspace and that of her neighbors. As in the main Operations Center next door, watch keepers sat at desks with their computers, headsets and microphones—plotting, observing, controlling, recording and reporting.
Teteris explained how each aircraft was identified as friendly or potentially hostile, with the information drawn from a number of different sources, including the integrated Latvian military radar system, civilian air traffic control and NATO’s central Air Operations Center at Kalkar in Germany, which integrated all airspace control in the north and east of Europe.
Bertinetti nodded. This was second nature to him, but it was good to see the Latvians were so well-organized. “That all figures. I see you’ve got our F-16s linked into this already.”
“We watched you all the way from Aviano,” said Teteris with a smile. “And we’re watching your other F-16s on their way, too.” Then the smile disappeared. “As are, no doubt, the Russians… Also, this is where we pick up their incursions into our airspace. Every day now, without fail.”