War with Russia

“That’ll be our opportunity, Dave,” continued Howard. “In his quest for dominion. What do the Russians call it… Derzhava. He’s failed to take account of the reality of war; that there will always be completely unexpected turns of events that mean his intention to settle for one thing will become unrealistic and he’ll have to settle for something else. He thinks he can apply his professed A2/AA—anti-access/area denial—strategy to lock us out of the Baltics. But he’s not thought through the second- and third-order implications of that. Not least the fact that people in the Baltics won’t settle for it. And it’s my guess that most of the Russian speakers there will be outraged by what he’s done and join the opposition. They may have been getting hot under the collar with the internal politics of some of what was going on over there. But that’s the very point. It’s politics, and when push comes to shove, I’ll wager they much prefer living in an imperfect Western democracy than under the President’s boot. Look at the numbers of Russian-speaking Ukrainians who’ve been fighting the Russians there.”

Admiral Howard nodded to himself as he spoke, the Ivy League professor considering an intriguing hypothesis. “That’ll be our opportunity. We’ll find a way to unlock the door rather than try and bash it down. And I’ll tell you right now, my thinking is that we should start considering an attack somewhere other than the Baltics… like Kaliningrad. That’s what he’ll least expect. And that’s the way to ensure that the President’s hubris turns inexorably to nemesis.”

McKinlay nodded. He was also instinctively in favor of getting onto the front foot with offensive action, and Kaliningrad, the old, East Prussian port city on the eastern Baltic—once called Königsberg and now a tiny Russian territorial enclave, sandwiched between Lithuania and Poland—was a tempting target, particularly if the Russians became bogged down in the Baltics. Indeed, Kaliningrad was the key to the Baltics.

“I like that idea, SACEUR,” said McKinlay, “and you’ll remember that when we war-gamed a Russian attack on the Baltic states, we concluded that the most effective NATO response was to kick the Russians hard between the legs in Kaliningrad. Losing a bit of Russian territory will make the President look very stupid. If we can do that, we might just persuade him to pull out of the Baltics. Rather than go head to head against the Russians and almost certainly start a nuclear war, it would be much better to look for the indirect approach… and it could offer the politicians the option of a land swap down the line.”

Howard nodded in agreement and McKinlay continued, “The good news is that the maritime element of the NRF is in a position to respond. We’re only talking about five frigates and destroyers and they’re in the Mediterranean, so it’ll take eight days to get to the Baltic. On top of that, the Brits are getting Queen Elizabeth and an amphibious task group ready to deploy to the Baltic.”

“Now that’s more like it!” Howard was instantly enthused. “That will tie in well. If the Brits wait for the NATO force to arrive, we’ll have a useful package. It would be even better if they came together and waited for the US. We’ve got a carrier group based on the Theodore Roosevelt heading across from Norfolk, Virginia. They’ll be off Copenhagen by the first of June. 6th Fleet is making best speed from the Red Sea and will be on station in the southern Baltic by the fifth of June.”

“OK, Sir. Are you happy to give the executive order to get them moving? As for an attack on Kaliningrad, we’d better get the staff thinking about it right now, even though it will take time to put sufficient forces together. I’ll talk to the Chief of Staff and ask him to start framing the problem.”

“Go for it, Dave. Do it now.”

0440 hours, Friday, May 26, 2017

Somewhere in the forest, Gauja National Park, Latvia

MORLAND STRETCHED HIS cramped legs and wiggled his toes in his boots in an attempt to get the blood circulating in his chilled feet. He was lying prone under a camouflaged waterproof poncho, which covered his shallow trench overlooking a track that led down the slope to a rickety hunter’s footbridge over the River Gauja. Another poncho beneath him gave minimal protection from the damp and cold seeping from the earth up into his body. He lay behind a Latvian 7.62 General Purpose Machine Gun—known universally as the GPMG, or more familiarly as the “gimpy.” It was Belgian-made, but exactly the same weapon Morland had been trained on as a cadet at Sandhurst and still, after fifty years, the main British infantry section heavy machine gun. The GPMG was made ready with the first round of a belt of 200 in the breach. The remainder of the belt was coiled neatly on the poncho to the left of the gun.