The Red Collusion Page 3

  “Each of you was vetted not just for skill and creativity but also for background. We checked your family histories back to your great- grandparents. Your loyalty, to the country and to the party, and that of your families and friends, have been proven beyond a doubt. You will provide me with the plan I need, even if it entails a substantial sacrifice of Soviet citizens.”

  The Minister of Defense completed his speech and lit yet another cigarette. Leaning back in his seat, he placed his enormous palms on his desk.

  “Is everything clear?”

  “Mr. Minister of Defense”, someone from the team ventured. Everyone turned to identify the man with the courage to address the Marshal without first asking for permission. The Minister addressed the team member by name and rank.

  “Yes, Colonel Yevgeni, speak up.”

  Colonel Yevgeni rose to his feet. On the short side, very thin and hunched, and wearing thick eyeglasses, he did not look like a military man. His colleagues and the Marshal were anxious to hear what he had to say.

  “Comrade Marshal, Minister of Defense, you may not have explicitly stated the nature of the event to be planned, but as a mathematician and physicist, I deal with formulas and unknowns. All the required components you mentioned make sense in only one context, and, in combination, lead to one conclusion that is quite clear. Only an offensive by hostile powers can pave the way for us to embark on an extensive retaliatory action in Western Europe. We must cause a sufficiently cataclysmic event - for example, a nuclear incident within Soviet territory - that can be blamed on American aggression. Do I understand your intention correctly, Mr. Minister?”

  Absolute silence descended on the room. The Colonel’s five colleagues were nervous, each squirming uncomfortably in fear of the Marshal’s reaction. It was obvious that what the Colonel had suggested bordered on the unthinkable, if not the insane. But everything depended on the response this idea would elicit from the Minister of Defense. They could either admire Colonel Yevgeni for his courage, or pity him for his stupidity. Everything depended on the man at the head of the table.

  To their amazement, the Minister of Defense nodded approvingly at the Colonel.

  “Now you understand why we chose you for this mission”, the Minister acknowledged. “You could not have expressed it better or more clearly. You grasped what I want to achieve and were able to fathom what I meant. However, I expect you to create a situation that is not the real thing but only looks like the real thing, simulating the effects of such a catastrophe but without all the destructive consequences. If you can do this, we will save human lives. However, I am afraid that this may be impossible. Even my advisers are skeptical, claiming that in the real world, one can either be pregnant or not pregnant – one cannot be half pregnant.”

  The Minister got up just as the mysterious civilian in the light blue suit suddenly re-entered the room.

  “This is Gregory”, the minister explained. “From now on, he is your father and mother, your wife and your mistress. He has direct access to me twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I want to hear ideas by tomorrow. Good luck.”

  The Minister walked to the door and Gregory followed him, hurrying to match his pace. The six teammates were all alone now, trying to come to terms with the complex and sensitive situation they now found themselves in. The Marshal had not introduced them to each other, and none of them felt comfortable enough to start a conversation yet. The six were partners in destiny. They continued to disregard each other’s presence, but not for long.

  Marshal Budarenko’s convoy of official black cars entered the Kremlin gates. Svetlana greeted her uncle formally and ushered him into the General Secretary’s office. His bodyguards remained in the reception area, which was Svetlana’s domain.

  Budarenko took his seat at the General Secretary’s desk. Yermolov cleared his throat and looked at his Defense Minister expectantly while sipping his tea. The minister removed from his case a thin folder with two thick red lines across one corner and the words TOP SECRET stamped on it in large red letters.

  The minster placed the folder in front of Yermolov, who glanced at it for a moment before turning to the Defense Minister.

  “What have you brought me this morning?” Yermolov inquired.

  “This, Mr. General Secretary, is the plan for the introduction of forces into the German Democratic Republic”, replied the minister.

  “Good. And what order of battle do you require to restore order there?” asked the General Secretary.

  “In the first phase, ten thousand tanks, plus reserve forces near the border.”

  The General Secretary could not believe his ears. He stood up, still clutching his steaming cup of tea. His whole body shook. He put his cup on the desk and stared straight into the eyes of his Minister of Defense.

  “Ten thousand tanks”, he roared. “Now tell me, Mr. Minister, are you confused with the zeros? I think I heard one more zero than needed. You meant one thousand tanks, didn’t you? Only yesterday you said that in 1968, in Czechoslovakia, you could have succeeded with only five hundred tanks. Now you need twenty times more? Why? Both countries are similar in size and population. Why do you need all this force?”

  Marshal Budarenko did not respond.

  “Do you want all of NATO to be on red alert?” continued the General Secretary in a raised voice. “I don’t understand you, I really don’t, Why does everything you do have to be grand, bombastic?”

  “Mr. General Secretary”, Marshal Budarenko replied, “If you read the whole document in front of you, you will find all the answers to your questions. But to address your question about Czechoslovakia, there are substantial differences between the situations in the two countries. In Czechoslovakia, we acted in summer, in August, and now, in the GDR, it is winter. Germany is much further north than Czechoslovakia, and its winter is harsher, wetter and muddier. Our tanks will be less mobile. Therefore, we will need many, many more tanks as backup.”

  “Mr. Marshal”, the General Secretary reverted to the form of address he often used when at odds with his minister. “I am not an expert like you in maneuvering armored columns, but if the surface is impassable to one tank, then it is impassable to ten and even one thousand tanks. If you have any doubts about the tanks’ abilities to manouver, send fewer tanks and more armored personnel carriers that are lighter and more mobile.”

  He paused, expecting an answer from the Minister, but this did not come. “Why do we need all these tanks? Who do you think you’ll be fighting there? These are civilians, workers and students.”

  The rivalry between these two men, close in age and with similar backgrounds in the Great Patriotic War, as WWII was known in the Soviet Union, was long-standing. Yet Marshal Budarenko knew that he could not deceive his superior as he had deceived others. Now he could not help but admire the “civilian”, as he derisively called the General Secretary behind his back, especially in closed military meetings. He recognized Yermolov’s outstanding analytical abilities and common sense, and he was thankful for Yevgeni’s superior planning talent to help him clear the hurdles facing him.

  “Mr. General Secretary”, the minister repeated calmly. “All the answers to your questions are here, in this document that I gave you. But I would say that my mission and duty are to prepare our Armed forces to face the worst scenario. The rebels’ strength and influence are so great now that it is possible, even probable, that in response to our invasion, the German Democratic leadership will order the Landstreitkraft4 to resist us and fight on the side of the rebels. I must remind you, Mr. Secretary, that the GDR has the second strongest army among our Warsaw Pact allies. We were quick and eager to supply them with every modern tank that we produced. They are equivalent to us in the quality of their ordinance. As I see it, it is highly likely that we will find them facing us and defending their land against our forces. Therefore, we must have an overwhelming force, to suppress any noti
on they might have of resisting us.”

  General Secretary Yermolov was beginning to feel that he had reached an impasse. In the past, the Marshal, with characteristic hardheadedness, had dug in and refused to reconsider his position, and he was likely to do so now. He is not about to downsize the force, definitely not the number of tanks, the General Secretary thought. Several minutes later, Yermolov signed Marshal Budarenko’s invasion plans. At least the Defense Minister had conceded, or so Yermolov rationalized, by not planning to invade Western Europe and start another great war. Let the minister have something, rather than everything or nothing at all, Yermolov reasoned.

  Marshal Budarenko left the General Secretary’s office in much higher spirits than when he had entered. He smiled at Svetlana with a half wink as he exited her reception area. He had good reason to be satisfied, having gained the General Secretary’s approval of his plan to amass the most powerful armored forces ever assembled in modern history just a few hundred miles from his greatest enemy, the Federal Republic of Germany. Yermolov’s approval guaranteed the Politburo’s approval as well. In time, Budarenko would also mobilize the reserve forces. Soon he would be commanding the largest armored forces the world had ever known.

  * * *

  4The GDR’s land forces

  Chapter 3

  The six members of the think tank had spent some time together, although together was true only as far as their being in the same room. They sat at their desks with their documents and writing paper before them. They were working under tremendous strain. Their short deadline and the magnitude of the mission, not least its utmost importance for the future security of their country, inhibited them from producing the brightest, most daring ideas that they could have had under better circumstances. As though the pressure to excel was not enough, their personal careers were also on the line. Marshal Budarenko’s words of “encouragement” still echoed in their minds. One could easily be transferred to a job in much colder, more desolate environments. For hours, they had not raised their voices above a whisper.

  The intrepid Colonel Yevgeni was focused on a pile of papers strewn on the desk. From time to time, he would lean towards a man with cropped hair sitting to his right, whom he always addressed by his military rank, Brigadier General Dimitri. The two would exchange information and ideas while jotting down short notes.

  The other four team members sat nearby in silence, occasionally glancing at the two working beside them. It seemed that the crew had decided to let Marshal Budarenko’s burden rest on the thin shoulders of Colonel Yevgeni and the broader ones of Brigadier General Dimitri.

  Suddenly the door opened, squeaking on its rusty hinges, and in came Gregory in his light blue suit. “Mr. Defense Minister has arrived”, he announced, and the six men rose to attention.

  The Minister entered briskly, as usual. To everyone’s surprise, he grabbed a chair and joined them at their desk.

  “Good morning, officers”, Budarenko greeted them. He was in a much better mood than the day before.

  “Good morning, Mr. Minister of Defense”, the six replied almost in unison.

  The minister turned to Sergey. “Sergey”, he said, “The operation order that you prepared for me yesterday has already been signed by Mr. General Secretary. What have you prepared for me now?”

  Although the question was directed at all the team members, it was obvious to everyone that Colonel Yevgeni would answer. He and Dimitri had been working on a joint plan, and Yevgeni, although lower in rand than the Brigadier General, had the ear of the Defense Minister.

  But it was Dimitri who rose to his feet, tapping Yevgeni’s shoulder as if to say, “Leave this to me. I know how to handle the Marshal.” He looked directly at Defense Minister Budarenko.

  Brigadier General Dimitri was the epitome of the fit, active Soviet junior general. His jet black hair was thick and precisely cropped. A handsome man of average height, his physique was athletic and he walked with a springy gait. The beige turtleneck sweater he wore indicated his branch of service – the Navy. He had only recently received his rank of Brigadier General, after being transferred from his long service in the navy to general military intelligence.

  Marshal Budarenko pointed at him like a schoolteacher. “Brigadier

  General Dimitri, speak!”

  “Mr. Minister”, began Dimitri. “We have so far conducted a preliminary examination of two options. One we have already deemed too difficult to execute. The second, we need to test in the field.”

  Dimitri paused, looking nervously at the minister.

  “Go on. I’m listening”, coaxed the marshal.

  “We’ve checked how a ballistic missile is launched from an American submarine. Namely, the chain of command to approve such a launch and whether the missile can be aimed at a specific target that is less sensitive, from our point of view, or whether the target is pre- programmed and locked into the missile’s navigation system.”

  The Brigadier General paused, waiting for the Minister to respond, but the Minister motioned to him to continue.

  “We’ve checked with naval intelligence here, and with our KGB people in Washington. The Americans’ most advanced submarine is operated by a crew of 15 officers and 140 men. As the Americans have 91 such submarines, their total submarine force is 14,000 seamen and officers.

  “We requested information from our Washington staff and, just as we thought, they have good intelligence and real-time data on some of the officers and seamen in the submarine fleet. We checked the feasibility of bribing or using some means of coercion to compel some crew members to cooperate with us and launch a missile. It quickly became obvious that this course would be complicated, even impossible, as both the submarine captain and the first officer wear the keys to the safe box, where the launch codes are stored, around their necks 24 hours a day. The safe box can only be opened with both keys simultaneously. Because we concluded that this option requires a hostile action and a violent takeover of the vessel, we rejected it.”

  Beginning to lose his patience, Marshal Budarenko was about to erupt at any moment. He hated being told what could not be done, especially in detail. He glanced at his watch.

  “Good, Brigadier General”, he said. “Now that I know what is not possible, could you kindly tell me what is possible and how it can be done?”

  Dimitri was taken aback, but soon recovered, and continued his presentation in an even voice.

  “We continued our inquiry. If not the Navy, then the Army, the tactical field units, where we assume the procedures and rules of engagement are not as strict.”

  “What do you mean by tactical units, Brigadier General?” Marshal Budarenko interrupted.

  “I mean the Pershing missile batteries deployed in West Germany. These are relatively small missiles placed on mobile platforms, not in underground fortified bunkers. They are very much like our own SS-20 missile batteries, except that the Pershing is even lighter and more mobile.”

  “I know the Pershing”, the Marshal snapped. “Go on, Dimitri.”

  “Using the Pershing, a violent takeover could be successful, although it could leave traces. But we have found a better option.

  “I spoke with our staff in the Federal Republic last night, and received some useful intelligence from them. The American soldiers manning the Pershing batteries are not as disciplined as the ones in the submarine fleet. They are bored. They leave their bases in the evenings and go out drinking, passing their time in bars and discotheques in the surrounding towns. Our men, and especially our women, know what to do with them. They have marked several men who can be captured, isolated and interrogated to tell us how their batteries function up to the stage of pressing the launch button.”

  “Very well”, interjected Marshal Budarenko, lighting a cigarette. “This is getting interesting, but hurry up. Our time is short.”

  “Our most qualified personne
l in this matter are stationed in the Cologne area”, Dimitri explained. “A Pershing battery is deployed near a small town east of Cologne, called Siegen, in an isolated and mountainous area. Our people recommend that we concentrate on this battery. They even say they can bring one of its senior operators here.”

  “Bring him here? No!” countered Budarenko. “You go there yourself and squeeze all the information you need from that operator. Then, based on this information, you will decide if we can take over the battery and execute a launch, or convince the American to perform the launch himself. I know that our people there have the means to get people to do things.”

  Marshal Budarenko now turned to Gregory, sitting to his right, who had not spoken since entering. Budarenko pointed at Dimitri.

  “Gregory, prepare a west European passport for Dimitri. I see no reason why he cannot leave within two hours, to … Bieden? What’s the name of the town again?”

  “Siegen, Mr. Minister of Defense”, said Dimitri.

  “All right, Siegen”, repeated Marshal Budarenko. “Is that clear, Gregory?”

  Gregory rose to his feet. “Yes, Minister. Dimitri will be there within a few hours.”

  Marshal Budarenko folded his arms on his chest. “I am not pleased that you have presented me with only one plan so far. If Brigadier General Dimitri returns with answers that rule out the Pershing option, then what? We start again? I want you to use this time until Dimitri returns to create even smarter alternatives that may be easier and safer to execute. Is this clear?”

  “Yes, Mr. Minister”, the team members chorused.

  All the officers rose to their feet when the marshal stood and walked out the door, followed by Gregory. There was relief at his exit, and Dimitri’s five colleagues looked at him with appreciation. Would he be the one to come up with a winning plan that would relieve them of the burden of satisfying Marshal Budarenko’s whims?