NATO had E-3 Airborne Warning and Control radar planes above Bosnia, Albania, and Macedonia monitoring air traffic over the entire region, and at one point two U.S. Navy F-14 Tomcats from an aircraft carrier in the Adriatic Sea had been vectored in on them, intercepting them shortly after they’d lifted off from the Russian air base in Bosnia. The F-14s had warned the planes to turn back, and even locked onto them with their missile-guidance radars, threatening to fire if they didn’t reverse course. But Kazakov had ordered the An-12 pilots to continue, and the Americans had eventually backed off without even firing a warning shot. The move had surprised the entire world and briefly touched off fears of NATO retaliation. Instead, Russia had gained in hours what weeks of negotiation had failed to achieve — a role in the peacekeeping efforts inside Kosovo. NATO had not only blinked at Kazakov’s audacity — they’d stepped aside.
Of course, if NATO had wanted to take Pristina Airfield back, they could have done so with ease — Kazakov himself would have readily admitted that. Kazakov’s troops, although elite soldiers and highly motivated, were very poorly equipped, and training was substandard at best. Peacekeeping duty in Bosnia had the lowest funding priority, but the government wanted mobile, elite commandos in place to assure dominance, so Kazakov’s men were woefully unprepared. The assault on Pristina Airport had been the first jump most of the men had made in several weeks, because there was very little jet fuel available for training flights; everything from bullets to bombs to boots was in short supply. But the surprise factor had left the Americans, British, French, and German peacekeepers frozen in shock. One hour, the place was nearly deserted; the next hour, a couple hundred Russian paratroopers were setting up shop.
The mission’s success had sent a surge of patriotic, nationalistic joy throughout Russia. Kazakov had received a promotion to full colonel and the People’s Meritorious Service medal for his audacity and warrior spirit. In the end, the event had marked the beginning of the end of the Yeltsin administration, since it was obvious Yeltsin either had not sanctioned the plan, fearing reprisals from the West, or, more likely, had known nothing about it in the first place. Less than a year later, Yeltsin had resigned, his Social Democratic Party was out, and Valentin Sen’kov and the new Russia-All Fatherland Party, not communist but decidedly nationalistic and anti-West, had surged into the Kremlin and Duma in large numbers.
Kazakov could have been elected premier of Russia if he’d wanted to get into Russian politics-no doubt a much tougher assignment than any other he had ever held. But he was a soldier and commander, and wanted nothing more than to lead Russian soldiers. He’d requested and been authorized to command the Russian presence in all of Yugoslavia, and had chosen to set up his headquarters right in NATO’s face, squarely in the middle of the hornet’s nest that was Kosovo — Prizren, in southern Kosovo, the largest and most dangerous multinational brigade sector. Kazakov commanded two full mechanized infantry battalions, four thousand soldiers, there. He also commanded an eight-hundred-man Tactical Group, composed of a fast helicopter assault force, in the Kosovo Multi-National Brigade — East headquarters at Gnjilane, and was an advisor to the Ukrainian Army’s three-hundred-man contingent there as well.
Now the troops had been in place for almost two years, with only minimal-duty out-rotations, so the men were slack, poorly trained, and poorly motivated. All they received here in Kosovo were constant threats from ethnic Albanian civilians and Kosovo Liberation Army forces — most of whom roamed the streets almost at will, with very little interference from NATO — and increasing cutbacks and inattention from home. The new president of Russia, ex-Communist, ex-KGB officer, and ex-prime president Valentin Sen’kov, promised more money and more prestige for the Russian military, and he was beginning to deliver. But no one, not even President Sen’kov, could squeeze blood from a turnip. There was simply no additional money to invest for the Russian Federation’s huge military.
“The question is,” Susic said, gulping down more brandy, will Thorn continue the American buildup in Kosovo and continue to support revolutionaries, saboteurs, and terrorists in Albania, Montenegro, and Macedonia, like his predecessor? Or will he stop this maddening scheme to break up Yugoslavia and let us fight our own battles?”
“It is hard to tell with this president,” Kazakov said. “He is a military man, that much I know-an army lieutenant in Desert Storm, I believe. He is credited with leading a team of commandos hundreds of miles into Iraq, even into Baghdad itself, and lazing targets for precision-guided bombers.”
“That mealymouthed worm was a commando?” Susic asked incredulously. He hadn’t paid much attention to the American political campaign. “He would not be qualified to shine your boots, let alone be called a commando, like yourself.”
“If it was a lie, I believe the American press would have exposed him in very short order — instead, they verified it,” Kazakov said. “I told you, Captain, do not underestimate him. He knows what it’s like to be a warrior, with a rifle in your hands sneaking into position, with your enemies all around you in the darkness. His outward demeanor may be different from other American presidents’, but they are all pushed and pulled by so many political forces. They can be quite unpredictable.”
“Yes, especially that last one, Martindale,” Susic said. “A real back-stabbing snake.” Kazakov nodded, and Susic felt pleased with himself that he had made an observation that this great warrior agreed with. “The master of glad-handed robbery — shake hands with the right hand, club you over the head with the left.” He started to pour Kazakov more brandy.
But Kazakov held out a hand over the glass and rose to his feet. “I’ve got sentry posts to check,” he said.
“That’s what junior officers are for,” Susic said, filling his glass again. Kazakov glared at him disapprovingly. Susic noticed the stare, ignored the brandy, and got to his feet as well. “Excellent idea, Colonel. I think I’ll join you. Always good to show some brass to the troops.”
The early-evening air was crisp and very cold, but the skies were clear and the moon, nearly full, was out. It was easy to see the perimeter of the headquarters compound and its five-meter-high barbed-wire-topped fence. Crews were busy keeping snow from piling up on the fence, which was wired with motion detectors — they would certainly be deactivated now while they worked. That meant that the guard towers and roving patrols were more important than ever, so Kazakov decided to check those first. Kazakov got clearance from Central Security Control on his portable radio. “Follow me, Chief Captain.”
“Of course, sir,” Susic said, then caught his tongue. To his great surprise, Colonel Kazakov began removing his greatcoat as he headed for the steps to the first security tower. “Where are you going, Colonel?” he asked.