Red Storm Rising (1986) (12 page)

They were a thousand miles offshore, heading northeast at twenty-five knots. The crew was decidedly unhappy, though they’d all been through this before. What should have been a three-week layover at Norfolk had been cut short at eight days, a bitter pill after a long first cruise. Trips and vacations had been interrupted, and some minor maintenance work supposed to have been done by shoreside technicians was now being done round the clock by her own crew. McCafferty had announced his sealed orders to the crew two hours after diving: conduct two weeks of intensive tracking and torpedo drills, then proceed to the Barents Sea for further intelligence gathering. It was important, he told them. They’d heard that one before, too.

Toland hoped his uniform was properly arranged. It was 0630 on a Wednesday morning, and he’d been up since four rehearsing his presentation, and cursing CINCLANT for an early-riser who probably wanted to get in a round of golf that afternoon. He would spend the afternoon as he had for several weeks, sifting through endless intel documents and copies of Soviet publications in the Intentions cubbyhole half a building away.

The Flag Officers Briefing Room seemed a different world from the rest of the tawdry building, but that was hardly a surprise. Admirals liked their comforts. Bob made a quick trip to the nearby head to eliminate a distraction caused by too much wake-up coffee. By the time he came back, the flag officers were filing in. They exchanged greetings, but there were no jokes, none of the banter one would expect this early in the morning. The officers selected their leather seats by order of rank. Those few who smoked had ashtrays. Each had a note pad. Stewards brought in several pots of coffee, cream, and sugar on silver trays, then withdrew. The cups were already in place. Each officer poured himself a cup as part of the morning ritual. CINCLANT nodded to Toland.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Approximately a month ago, four colonels in the Soviet Army, all regimental commanders in mechanized divisions, were court-martialed and executed for falsifying data on their unit training and readiness reports,” Toland began, explaining the significance of this.

“Earlier this week
Kraznaya Zvesda,
‘Red Star,’ the daily newspaper of the entire Soviet military, publicized the execution of a number of privates in the Soviet Army. All but two were in the final six months of their enlistment period, and all were charged with disobeying the orders of their sergeants. Why is this significant?

“The Russian Army has long been known for its tough discipline, but as with many aspects of the Soviet Union, not everything is as it seems. A sergeant in the Soviet Army is not a professional soldier as is the case in most armies. He is a conscript, just like the privates, selected early in his enlistment term for special training due to his intelligence, political reliability, or perceived leadership ability. He is sent to a tough six-month course to make him an instant sergeant, then returned to his operational unit. In fact he has about as little practical experience as his subordinates, and his superior knowledge of tactics and weapons-use is a matter of increments rather than the more dramatic differences between sergeants and new recruits in Western forces.

“Because of this, the real pecking order in Soviet ground formations does not necessarily derive from rank, but from time in service. The Soviets induct their troops twice a year, in December and June. With the usual two-year term of service, we see that there are four ‘classes’ in any formation: the lowest class is in its first six-month period and the highest is in its fourth. The young men who have the actual status in a Soviet rifle company are those in their final six-month term. They typically demand and get the best—or at least the most—food, uniforms, and work details. And they typically obviate the authority of the company NCOs. In fact, orders come directly from the officers, not the platoon and squad sergeants, and are usually carried out with little regard to what we consider conventional military discipline at the sub-officer level. As you can imagine, this places an enormous strain on the junior officers, and in many ways forces the officers to live with some things that they clearly do not and cannot like.”

“You’re saying that their military formations operate under the principle of organized anarchy,” observed the commander of Strike Fleet Atlantic. “Their Navy sure as hell doesn’t.”

“That is true, sir. As we know, their seamen are in for three years instead of two, and their situation, while similar, has many differences from that of the Soviet Army. And it would seem that this situation is ending in the Soviet Army as well, that sub-unit discipline is being quickly and vigorously reestablished.”

“Just how many privates got themselves popped?” asked the general commanding 2nd Marine Division.

“Eleven, sir, listed by name and unit. That information is in your handout. Most were in their ‘fourth class,’ meaning the last six months of their enlistment period.”

“Did the article you read make general conclusions?” CINCLANT asked.

“No, Admiral. There is an unwritten rule in Soviet publications, both military and civilian, that you can criticize, but not generalize. What that means is that individual screwups can be identified and castigated at length, but for political reasons it is unacceptable to make general criticisms applying to a whole institution. You see, a critique that pointed to an all-pervasive condition would
ipso facto
critique Soviet society as a whole, and thereby the Communist Party, which oversees every aspect of Soviet life. It is a thin, but to them a philosophically important, distinction. In fact, when individual malefactors are named, the system as a whole is being criticized, but in a politically acceptable way. This article is a signal to every officer, NCO, and private soldier in the Soviet military: the times, they are a changin’. The question we’ve been asking over in Intentions is, Why?

“It would appear that this is not an isolated case of changing times.” Toland flipped on an overhead projector and set a view graph in place. “Within the Soviet Navy, surface-to-surface missile live-fires are up seventy percent from last year, not quite an all-time high, but as you can see from this graph, pretty close to it. Submarine deployments, mainly those for diesel subs, are down, and intelligence reports tell us that an unusually high number of submarines are in the yards for what appears to be routine but unscheduled maintenance. We have reason to believe that this situation is connected with a nationwide shortage of lead-acid batteries. It appears likely that all Soviet submarines are undergoing battery replacement, and that regular battery production is being redirected to militarily important segments of the Soviet economy.

“We have also noted higher levels of activity by Soviet naval surface forces, naval aviation units and other long-range aircraft formations, again with increased weapons exercises. Finally, there has been an increase in the time-away-from-port days of Soviet surface combatants. Although this number represents a small increase, operational patterns are different from what we’ve become accustomed to. Instead of sailing from one point to another and just dropping the hook, their surface combatants appear to be running more realistic exercises. They’ve done this before, but never without announcing it.

“So what we are seeing in the Soviet Navy is an extensive stand-down accompanied by increasing tempos in the actual exercises that are being run. Matched with what we’re seeing in the Soviet Army and Air Force, it appears that their military readiness is being increased across the board. At the same time that they are proposing reductions in strategic nuclear weapons, their conventional forces are rapidly improving their ability to engage in combat operations. We in Intentions regard this combination of factors as potentially dangerous.”

“Looks kind of hazy to me,” an admiral said around his pipe. “How are we supposed to persuade somebody that this means anything?”

“A good question, sir. Any of these indicators taken in isolation would appear entirely logical in and of itself. What concerns us is why they are all happening at once. The problem of manpower utilization in the Soviet military has been around for generations. The problem of training norms, and integrity in their officer corps, is not exactly new either. What caught my interest was the battery thing. We are seeing the beginnings of what could become a major disruption within the Soviet economy. The Russians plan everything centrally in their economy, and on a political basis as well. The main factory that makes batteries is operating three shifts instead of the usual two, so production is up, but supply in the civilian economy is down. In any case, Admiral, you’re correct. Individually, these things mean nothing at all. It’s only when taken in combination that we see anything to be concerned about.”

“But you’re concerned,” CINCLANT said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Me too, son. What else are you doing about it?”

“We have an inquiry into SACEUR to notify us of anything they think is unusual in the current activities of the Group of Soviet Forces in Germany. The Norwegians have increased their surveillance in the Barents Sea. We’re starting to get more access to satellite photography of ports and fleet bases. DIA has been informed of our data, and is running its own investigation. More bits and pieces are beginning to show up.”

“What about CIA?”

“DIA is handling that for us through their headquarters at Arlington Hall.”

“When do their spring maneuvers begin?” CINCLANT asked.

“Sir, the annual Warsaw Pact spring exercise—they’re calling it Progress this year—is scheduled to begin in three weeks. There are indications that in keeping with the spirit of detente, the Soviets will invite NATO military representatives to keep an eye on things, and Western news crews as well—”

“I’ll tell you what’s scary about this,” Commander, Naval Surface Forces, Atlantic, grunted. “All of a sudden they’ve started doing what we’ve always asked them to do.”

“Try selling that to the papers,” Commander, Naval Air Forces, Atlantic, suggested.

“Recommendations?” CINCLANT asked his operations officer.

“We’re already running a pretty active training schedule ourselves. I don’t suppose it would hurt to beef that up. Toland, you said that what tipped you to this situation was this battery thing in the civilian economy. Are you looking for other economic disruptions?”

“Yes, sir, we are. That’s DIA’s brief, and my contact in Arlington Hall is also asking CIA to run some additional checks. If I might amplify on this point, gentlemen, the Soviet economy is centrally managed, as I said earlier. Those industrial plans they have arc fairly rigid. They don’t deviate from them lightly, since those deviations tend to have a ripple effect throughout the economy as a whole. ‘Disruption’ may be too strong a word at present—”

“You just have a nasty suspicion,” CINCLANT said. “Fine, Toland, that’s what we pay you for. Good brief.”

Bob took his cue and left. The admirals stayed put to talk things over.

It was a relief to leave. Much as he liked the attention, being examined by senior officials like a tissue culture on a petrie dish could make you old rather quickly. He walked through a covered walkway back to his building, and watched the late arrivals wander about looking for parking places. The grass was greening up. A civilian crew was mowing while another was fertilizing. The shrubbery was already beginning to grow, and he hoped they’d let the bushes expand a bit before they trimmed them back again. Norfolk could be pleasant in the spring, he knew, with the fragrance of azaleas on the salt-laden air. He wondered how pleasant it would be in summer.

“How’d it go?” Chuck asked.

Toland stripped off his jacket and allowed his knees to sag theatrically in front of the Marine. “Pretty well. Nobody snapped my head off.”

“Didn’t want to worry you before, but there’s people in there been known to do that. They say CINCLANT likes nothing better for breakfast than fried commander garnished with diced lieutenant.”

“Big surprise. He’s an admiral, isn’t he? I’ve done briefs before, Chuck.” All Marines thought all sailors were wimps, Toland reminded himself. No sense giving Chuck more encouragement for that view.

“Any conclusions?”

“CINCLANT ops talked about increasing training schedules. I got excused right after that.”

“Good. We ought to have a packet of satellite shots later today. There are some questions coming in from Langley and Arlington. Nothing firm yet, but I think they might be stumbling onto some odd data. If it turns out you’re right, Bob—well, you know how it works.”

“Sure. Somebody closer to D.C. will make The Discovery. Shit, I don’t care about that, Chuck, I want to be
wrong!
I want this whole friggin’ thing to blow over, then I can go home and play in my garden.”

“Well, maybe I got some good news for you. We got our TV tied into a new satellite receiver. I talked the communications guys into letting us tap into Russian television to catch their evening news. We won’t learn anything hard, but it’s a good way of catching moods. Just tried it out before you got here, and found out Ivan’s running a film festival for all of Sergey Eisenstein’s classics. Tonight,
The Battleship Potemkin,
followed by all the others, and ending on May 30 with
Alexander Nevsky.”

“Oh? I have
Nevsky
on tape.”

“Yeah, well, they took the original negatives, flew them to EMI in London to make digitalized masters, and rerecorded the original Prokofiev score on a Dolby format. We’ll be making tapes. Your machine VHS or Beta?”

“VHS.” Toland laughed. “Maybe this job has a few bennies after all. So, what new stuff do we have?”

Lowe handed him a six-inch file of documents. Time to get back to work. Toland settled in his chair and began sorting through the papers.