War with Russia

The Stinger teams appeared at the RV shortly afterward and, a couple of hours later, after another crazy motorbike ride through the forest on a different and very much longer route, in case they were somehow being tailed or monitored, they were back in the hidden bunker. As they entered, Krastiņš greeted them. “Mission accomplished. Well done. Losing a Hind to a Stinger will bring back unhappy memories of the Mujahedeen in Afghanistan in the 1980s. As expected, the Russians came back pretty quickly and gave Ligatne a good malleting.”

He stopped and looked troubled. “The bad news is that we’ve also picked up that a National Guard contingent, which was hiding out in the forest nearby, was attracted in by the shooting and caught the full force of Russian revenge. The Russians will think they were responsible, so that’s probably let us off the hook. However… those poor bastards…”

There was silence in the bunker. All knew that when the Russians exacted revenge, they did so with total ferocity.

There was a cough and Morland looked round to see that Bradley, the New Zealander, had entered the bunker unnoticed. For a big man, he moved with the agility of a gymnast.

“Boss, I’ve just picked up another data-burst transmission from PJHQ.”

The informal greeting in public like this was usually frowned upon in the Mercians, but somehow, here in the forest, it didn’t seem to matter. However, still shocked by what he had just heard, Morland was not in the mood for pleasantries. “And?”

“Message reads: GCHQ intercept of email from Russia Today states that Commander Western Military District accompanied by unnamed VVIP—possibly even the President—to visit Ligatne, site of recent success against Latvian insurgents. TV crews to be in position for arrival 270930 local May. VVIP party expected 271000 local May.”

“Got him!” said Krauja, her fists clenched. “That’s the President coming to gloat over the murder of another bunch of Latvians. If it’s him, they’ll want TV shots of him at the front line on Russia Today. Probably waving a rifle. They want to broadcast Russia’s victory to the world. Fucking bastards…”

Nobody said anything, while Krauja recovered from her outburst. She paused and then continued, her voice calmer. “Great work by your friend at GCHQ, Tom. The Russian General Staff forbid any use of email by their soldiers in case it’s hacked. But I’m guessing they’ve been caught out by their obsession with favorable propaganda, as Russia Today only use email, text and mobiles. All easily hackable. Appropriate somehow.”

“Right,” said Krastiņš, interrupting. “That’s 0930 tomorrow morning. We need to get to work. We’ve got to make a plan, give orders, rehearse, and infiltrate into position before first light.”

He spoke in Latvian to a Special Forces sergeant in the bunker. Then he turned to Morland. “Let’s meet in thirty minutes to start planning. We’ll need all the good ideas you can muster. And we need your people giving us any updates they can as to what the Russians are planning.”

The rest of the day passed in a maelstrom of planning, orders and rehearsals. The Mercian team, together with Krauja, Krastiņš and the Stinger teams, were to infiltrate back through the forest to set up another anti-helicopter ambush. Krastiņš was emphatic that the aim was not to kill the VVIP or Commander Western Military District, no matter how tempting.

“If he’s killed, he’ll become a martyr to the cause of glorious Russia,” explained Krastiņš. “Much better to humiliate him on TV. We’ll shoot down another helicopter and we’ve got to try to make sure he’s in the picture when it happens. Failing that, we’ll blow something up behind him and in camera shot. That way they won’t be able to edit it out. It’ll go viral in seconds and he’ll be humiliated in Russia. What’s more, we’ll have demonstrated that we can pick and choose what we do to him and that will encourage our people to keep resisting. This is all about perception and not actual sabotage.”

The sentiment was fully endorsed by PJHQ when Morland backbriefed them on the plan via the planned sked, followed by a direct order from the PM that neither the President nor the General were to be targeted.

The PM and CDS are doubtless terrified of a Russian revenge attack, Morland thought to himself. Left to his own devices and in the mood he was in, he would have given it to the President or whoever, and with both barrels. But Krastiņš was probably right. It was said that the President was almost a pussy-cat compared to other more extreme nationalists lurking and manipulating well out of the media limelight. A dead martyr President, killed live on TV, might bring them to the fore and that would be a catastrophe.