Night of the Hawk, page 37
part #4 of Patrick McLanahan Series
“An American military officer that has been tortured for years in that place will be executed if we don’t go in there, Lieutenant,” McLanahan shouted over the roar of the wind whistling in the cargo section. “We’ve come too far to turn back. Luger will die.”
“He’s dead already, McLanahan,” Trimble said. “If the Byelorussian Army was ordered into Fisikous, the first thing they’d do is execute all foreign prisoners.”
“You don’t know that,” John Ormack interjected.
“That’s standard operating procedure for them,” Trimble said.
“We’ve got to go in anyway,” McLanahan insisted. “We can’t leave him, not when we’re so close.”
“It doesn’t work that way around here, McLanahan,” Marx said. McLanahan could tell that he hit a nerve with Marx by continually referring to Luger by his human name instead of the “target” and the “objective.” Trimble was completely unaffected. “If there’s any hope for success, it has to be planned to the smallest detail. Men will die if we don’t take everything into account.”
“A man will die if you don’t finish the mission,” McLanahan said angrily. “Send in the AC-130 to suppress fire around the security building—the embassy evacuation and reinforcement should be over by now. Call in your air cover. The AV-8s can be over the city in fifteen minutes!”
“We’re not authorized to use the fighters,” Marx explained. The AV-8B Harrier II ‘jump jets” were deployed on the USS Wasp amphibious assault carrier stationed in the Baltic. The upgraded Harrier attack jets could attack heavily defended targets with pinpoint precision at night or in bad weather, they could take off and land like helicopters, and they could put a lot of bombs and rockets on target with pinpoint precision—they were designed from the start to support Marines during an invasion. “The Harriers are on standby to support the embassy reinforcement only. This is a non-mission, McLanahan, and we can’t just start sending in planes.”
“Then we’ll forget about stealing stuff on the Fi-170 stealth bomber. The building clearing and I.D. is supposed to take seven minutes. Seven minutes to save an American’s life. We can get Dave Luger out and be off before they know what hit them.”
“Shut your mouth, McLanahan,” Trimble ordered. “You don’t know shit about this operation!”
“Let the Colonel talk, Trimble,” Hal Briggs said, rising to his feet and staring down Trimble. Hal did not need to hold on to a handrail or the bulkhead to steady himself—it was as if all turbulence and noise had vanished when he stood.
The challenge was unspoken but obvious. Briggs was as tall but not as big as Trimble, but apparently Briggs’s reputation preceded him—or else it was the surprise of seeing the Air Force officer challenging him. In either case, Trimble hesitated, his eyes briefly wide with surprise, before saying, “You wanna fuck with me, Briggs? Go ahead. Take your best shot.”
It seemed like a ridiculous scene—they were speeding over a foreign and hostile country, enemy soldiers below them, aerial death on the way, noise and vibration so great that it was hard to think straight, mere feet away from hitting a tree or crashing into a five-hundred-year-old castle, and Trimble was trying to goad Briggs into taking a swing at him. But life and death was a serious affair for these Marines, and they didn’t want hassles from three outsiders. Briggs had little chance against a trained killing machine like Trimble, but Trimble’s slight hesitation in front of Briggs spoke more than any threat or action.
Marx defused it: “Shut the fuck up, all of you, right now.” Just then, the radioman handed Marx the radio handset, and Marx took it as Trimble and Briggs glared at each other, practically nose-to-nose in the cramped, soldier-filled compartment. “Hammer Four, go.”
“I’m recommending we abort,” Marx heard Captain Snyder say. Marx looked at McLanahan then at Trimble, thought for a moment. “Hammer Four, you there?” asked Snyder.
“Affirmative… I recommend we proceed. Our pax want to proceed as well. Suggest we bring in Congo Two over the target for fire support.”
“We’re showing a battalion of hostiles rushing into the facility, Hammer Four. We’ve lost touch with the situation.”
Marx could tell that Snyder wanted to continue as well—the Captain was never this indecisive unless logic and the book were conflicting with his gut feeling. If he really wanted to abort, he would have just ordered Hammer Three to turn around—Hammer Four would have followed, and the mission would be over. Marx said, “Our timeline is still intact as long as the newcomers don’t storm the target building. With Congo Two We can keep the bad guys away until we get the target. I recommend we proceed.”
The pause was only momentary this time: “Stand by.” There was dead air for about fifteen seconds; then: “Hammer Four, we’ll take one extra turn around the city to let Congo Two in. I’ll be on the horn with home base. Stand by.”
The five-hundred-man Black Beret security force on duty at the headquarters was prepared for all sorts of emergencies, especially after the riot at the Denerokin facility. They had contingency plans for saboteurs, terrorists, accidents, natural disasters, civil disturbance, even a hostile occupation by well-armed left-wing radicals—everything but a full-scale military invasion force. Fisikous was supposed to be impenetrable. Who would dare try to take the base? Even without the pledge of support from the Byelorussian Army—which was supposed to begin an invasion of Lithuania—the security forces under General Gabovich and Colonel Kortyshkov were ready for any eventuality…
… But they weren’t ready for an invasion by the Lithuanian Self-Defense Force under its charismatic Soviet-trained leader, General Dominikas Palcikas.
Palcikas didn’t want a bloodbath in Fisikous, but with unknown and potentially hostile aircraft on the way, he wasn’t going to play games with the garrison at the Denerokin facility. Third Battalion had joined up with Fourth Battalion, and they were going up against the Black Berets’ heavy armor protecting the Institute. Second Battalion joined up with Palcikas’ First Battalion, and Palcikas quickly surrounded the garrison building. The faster he could capture the Black Berets’ security-force headquarters, the faster the remaining forces would surrender.
Palcikas pulled one of his T-62 main battle tanks up in front of the commander’s front window, lowered the four-and-a-half-inch muzzle, and blew out the entire office and part of the front of the building with a single sabot round. The Soviet security-force commander immediately ordered his men in the garrison to surrender. Good thing they did, because except for a few white phosphorous rounds, the T-62 had no more ammunition.
The siege had lasted only a few short minutes. Palcikas’ men, forgetting caution and procedures in their happy rush toward their objective, rushed the garrison en masse with guns blazing. The sloppy but direct approach worked. A few Lithuanians were wounded, but it was obvious the troops inside were not aching for a fight after being rattled by a T-62 wakeup call, and the OMON Black Beret troops surrendered.
Palcikas soon faced the OMON deputy commander, Lieutenant Colonel Ivan Ivanovich Stepanov, who had been dragged out of a basement backup communications facility. “Greetings, Colonel Stepanov,” Palcikas said when the Black Beret commander was dragged before him. “You and your men will surrender to me immediately.”
Stepanov was so shocked and disoriented that for several moments he could do nothing but gape at Palcikas. After a few moments of stuttering he cried out, “Palcikas, what in hell do you think you are doing?”
“I am in command of this facility now, Colonel,” Palcikas said. “I order you to—”
“You… pompous… strutting… Lithuanian bastard!” Stepanov shouted. The guards tightened their hold on Stepanov’s arms, but he continued. “You will release me and my men and lay down your weapons immediately!”
“No, Colonel. The Black Berets no longer control Fisikous or any of the Soviet defense posts in Lithuania. My men control them.”
Stepanov looked skeptical at first, but seeing the sheer number of men Palcikas had and how well they were armed seemed to slowly convince him.
To Colonel Zukauskas, his second-in-command, Palcikas said, “See to it that all prisoners are strip-searched for weapons and all are handcuffed. Secure the officers in a separate room and post guards inside and out. Colonel Stepanov will be secured by himself in a separate room.” To Stepanov, Palcikas said, “You will be allowed to speak with your men before being separated from them, Colonel. I advise you to tell them not to resist. I will give my men specific instructions to shoot any man, officer or enlisted, who fails to follow orders. If you do not resist, I promise that you will not be harmed, you will be treated fairly, you will be given rations and personal items equal to my own men, you will not be used as hostages or human shields, and at the first opportunity those who wish to leave Lithuania will be safely escorted to the Russian border. If you resist, you will be treated like barnyard animals and caged up. Is that clear?”
“You will be executed by firing squad for this, Palcikas!” Stepanov cried as his hands were secured behind his back by plastic handcuffs. “You will be executed for this!”
“This is not treason—this is a revolution, Colonel,” Palcikas said simply. “We will show you the difference. Now, where is Colonel Kortyshkov? I wish to pay my respects to him as well.”
“Go to hell, Palcikas!”
“No doubt I will see you all there,” Palcikas said. “Where is Kortyshkov?”
“We will not cooperate with you, Palcikas! You’ve never dealt with OMON before. We don’t crack like you Lithuanian tit-suckers.” A deranged smile ran across his face; then: “We don’t bleed like you Lithuanian faggots do, either—”
A lifetime’s worth of rage finally burst from Palcikas’ heart, and before anyone could stop him he had grabbed Stepanov away from his guards, lifted him in his left fist, and had flattened him with a single punch from his right. His nose shattered, dazed and bleeding, Stepanov collapsed onto the floor in a heap.
“Secure him in his own stockade,” Palcikas ordered. “Find who is second in rank and bring him to me.” Stepanov and his officers were led away.
“The arsenal was stocked for World War Three,” one of Palcikas’ officers reported a few minutes later. “We’ll be able to keep the battalion armed for at least three days. We even have a few more rounds for the tank.”
“Have the armorers and ordnance disposal teams check it out before distributing it,” Palcikas warned. “Every captured weapon and round has to be checked—they could have sabotaged it while we were surrounding the place. Get on that right away.
Zukauskas relayed the orders to the unit NCO, then added, “We also have almost a hundred MSB and OMON soldiers that say they want to defect, including two officers. How do you want to handle these men?”
“The same as the others. They can join us if they meet my conditions,” Palcikas replied. “We’ll accept only men with Lithuanian names and who kept their Lithuanian citizenship. If they swear loyalty to me in front of the other captives, we’ll separate them from the others and give them preferential treatment. But we can’t afford to give them a rifle in here— too many chances for cold feet and second thoughts. First chance we get, we’ll bus them out to Trakai and screen them, but in here they’ll have to be locked up.”
“Yes, sir,” Zukauskas said. He relayed that order as well, then commented happily, “It’s even more promising than I imagined, Colonel. Ten, twenty, even thirty percent of every unit we’ve encountered want to join us. I could only pray that we’d ever find this kind of support. There are many that I’d trust with my life right now, men that I know.”
“I know, Vitalis,” Palcikas said. “I recognize many as well—some of the officers captured here are from my hometown, and some had relatives that died during the Denerokin riot. But we can’t be too careful. There will be time to recruit soldiers from the prisoner ranks, but for now we secure our objective and prepare for the Soviet counterattack. Third and’ Fourth battalions still are engaged with Black Beret forces.”
A few moments later another soldier ran up to Palcikas, saluted, and said, “Sir, Charlie Company guards report a single fixed-wing and two heavy rotary-wing aircraft inbound. Negative identification. Alpha and Bravo companies report engaging security patrols but expect to be set up for antiair operations soon. Charlie Company reports ready for antiair and antiarmor action. Our company stationed near the parliament building is reporting considerable air activity near the City of Progress. They are investigating, but they believe it is the Byelorussian Army aviation units, possibly the heavy attack squadrons from Smorgon.”
“Make sure the antiaircraft artillery is deployed as planned as soon as possible,” Palcikas said, remembering the power of the attack helicopters that had slaughtered so many civilians just last week. “I need the report from Third and Fourth battalions as soon as possible. They are the key to this entire operation. If the Soviet helicopters attack before they get into position, we’ll lose our left flank. There won’t be anything to stop the Commonwealth from overrunning our position then.”
Dominikas Palcikas paused, scanning the faces of those around him. They showed shock, apprehension, and fear when they heard “Byelorussian Army.” The horrors of the Denerokin massacre were still too fresh on their minds as well.
“You men listen to me, and listen well,” Palcikas said. “You have done the impossible tonight, but the job isn’t done yet. You have marched a considerable distance through occupied Lithuania; successfully mounted attacks on dozens of Soviet military and Commonwealth bases; and occupied the strongest and most important Commonwealth facility in all of the Baltic besides the Baltic Sea Fleet headquarters itself. Our exploits tonight will go down in history as the most sweeping and successful raid by a Lithuanian army since the siege of Minsk by the Grand Duke Vytautas himself. What the Commonwealth used as a base of operations to slaughter our innocent, peace-loving people, we now control.
“We are not some rabble protest group throwing stones at soldiers and dodging rubber bullets. We are not revolutionary hotheads who want nothing but to see everything burn just for our amusement. We are liberators. We are protectors. We are the right arm of the free Lithuanian people, holding the sword of liberty in defense of our country for the first time in centuries. We are the Grand Duke’s Iron Wolf Brigade, and we have been blessed by God and christened in the fire and blood of the ones that died at Denerokin to carry the sword.
“We anticipated the arrival of the Commonwealth Army. We prepared for it. We occupy or destroyed all the Soviet aviation and infantry-support infrastructure in Lithuania, so when their counterattack comes it will be blunt and cannot be sustained. We knew the aviation units would begin the counterattack; in the same way, we know where the infantry and armor units will begin their counterattack, and we have aligned the Second Regiment against them.”
He paused, staring each one of his officers and senior NCOs in the eye, and concluded, “I don’t want you looking defeated. Look at what we’ve accomplished You all know our operations plan for this evening; you computed the expected losses, recommended where the units be deployed, suggested what equipment to bring. Your estimates were perfect. Our goals for this one evening are being met and exceeded. So it will be with the rest of our plan. Get your heads up, get your men together, and execute the plan that we have prepared. If you truly believe that what you are doing is right, for yourself and for your country, then you will prevail.”
THE NATIONAL MILITARY COMMAND CENTER
THE PENTAGON, WASHINGTON, D.C.
12 APRIL, 2120 ET (13 APRIL, 0320 VILNIUS)
Via MILSTAR, the satellite military communications network, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Wilbur Curtis, National Security Advisor George Russell, CIA Director Kenneth Mitchell, and Secretary of Defense Thomas Preston heard the report from Hammer Three at the same time Colonel Albert Kline, commander of the Amphibious Task Force of the 26th Marine Expeditionary Unit aboard USS Wasp, got the message.
“Jesus, what a mess,” Russell said. Despite his outburst, he found himself undecided about what to do. “Tom, what are you going to recommend?”
Preston, the grizzled old veteran of the White House Cabinet, rested his chin on his fist, considered the words, then said, “My impulse is to yank them out of there back to the embassy and see how this thing rinses out. But I hate to leave my boys out there with their dorks hanging out. Wilbur?”
“I agree with you, sir,” Curtis replied instantly. He had a phone to Camp Lejeune cocked in one ear, waiting for General Kundert to get on the line. “I’ve got a call in to Vance to get his opinion, but my impression is to finish the raid on the research institute.”
“I agree,” Mitchell replied, “but I’m sure not for the same reason.”
Curtis turned an angry stare at Mitchell. “I get it,” he said. “You want to be sure Luger’s dead, don’t you? Only the Marines can tell you that. You probably instructed them to bring back evidence—what? His tongue? His vocal cords? His fucking head?”
“Don’t get dramatic, General,” Mitchell said, rolling his eyes. “Business is business.”
“We’re trying to rescue the man, not recover his body,” Curtis said irritably. He knew Mitchell was locked into a different version of this Lithuanian mission, one in which Luger was a heavy liability and worth far more dead than alive. “The forces are in place, Tom,” Curtis said to the Secretary of Defense. “The aircraft are over the target. At least let them give it a try. The on-scene commanders can call the abort if they feel it’s hopeless. The AC-130 gunship has completed its sweep of the Super Stallion loading zone—let’s divert him over Fisikous to help the Marines.”
“I’ll need the President’s okay on that.”
“The tilt-rotors will bingo if they have to stay in the air to wait for word from the President,” Curtis said. “Let’s get them moving toward the objective. Let the on-scene commander call the shots.”
