being there to command them.
The MI-24s finished things off. The Russian doctrine for their attack helicopters wasn’t too different from how they used their tanks. Indeed, the MI-24—called the Hind by NATO, but strangely unnamed by the Russians themselves—was referred to as a flying tank. Using AT-6 Spiral missiles, they finished off a Chinese tank battalion in twenty minutes of jump and shoot, sustaining only two losses in the process. The sun was setting now, and what had been Thirty-fourth Shock Army was wreckage. What few vehicles had survived the day were pulling back, usually with wounded men clinging to their decks.
In his command post, General Sinyavskiy was all smiles. Vodka was snorted by all. His 265th Motor Rifle Division had halted and thrown back a force more than double its size, suffering fewer than three hundred dead in the process. The TV news crews were finally allowed out to where the soldiers were, and he delivered the briefing, paying frequent compliments to his theater commander, Gennady Iosefovich Bondarenko, for his cool head and faith in his subordinates. “He never lost his nerve,” Sinyavskiy said soberly. “And he allowed us to keep ours for when the time came. He is a Hero of Russia,” the division commander concluded. “And so are many of my men!”
Thank you for that, Yuriy Andreyevich, and, yes, for that you will get your next star,” the theater commander told the television screen. Then he turned to his staff. ”Andrey Petrovich, what do we do tomorrow?”
“I think we will let Two-Six-Five start moving south. We will be the hammer, and Diggs will be the anvil. They still have a Type-A Group army largely intact to the south, the Forty-third. We will smash it starting day after tomorrow, but first we will maneuver it into a place of our choosing.”
Bondarenko nodded. “Show me a plan, but first, I am going to sleep for a few hours.”
“Yes, Comrade General.”
CHAPTER 60
Skyrockets in Flight
It was the same Spetsnaz people they’d trained for the past month or so. Nearly everyone on the transport aircraft was a commissioned officer, doing sergeants’ work, which had its good points and its bad ones. The really good thing was that they all spoke passable English. Of the RAINBOW troopers, only Ding Chavez and John Clark spoke conversational Russian.
The maps and photos came from SRV and CIA, the latter transmitted to the American Embassy in Moscow and messengered to the military airfield out of which they’d flown. They were in an Aeroflot airliner, fairly full with over a hundred passengers, all of them soldiers.
“I propose that we divide by nationalities,” Kirillin said. “Vanya, you and your RAINBOW men take this one here. My men and I will divide the rest among us, using our existing squad structures.”
“Looks okay, Yuriy. One target’s pretty much as good as another. When will we be going in?”
“Just before dawn. Your helicopters must have good range to take us all the way down, then back with only one refueling.”
“Well, that’ll be the safe part of the mission.”
“Except this fighter base at Anshan,” Kirillin said. “We pass within twenty kilometers of it.”
“Air Force is going to hit that, they tell me, Stealth fighters with smart bombs, they’re gonna post-hole the runways before we drive past.”
“Ah, that is a fine idea,” Kirillin said.
“Kinda like that myself,” Chavez said. “Well, Mr. C, looks like I get to be a soldier again. It’s been a while.”
“What fun,” Clark observed. Oh, yeah, sitting in the back of a helicopter, going deep into Indian Country, where there were sure to be people with guns. Well, could be worse. Going in at dawn, at least the gomers on duty would be partly asleep, unless their boss was a real prick. How tough was discipline in the People’s Liberation Army? John wondered. Probably pretty tough. Communist governments didn’t encourage back talk.
“How, exactly, are we supposed to disable the missiles?” Ding asked.
“They’re fueled by a ten-centimeter pipe—two of them, actually—from underground fueling tanks adjacent to the launch silo. First, we destroy the pipes,” Kirillin said. “Then we look for some way to access the missile silo itself. A simple hand grenade will suffice. These are delicate objects. They will not sustain much damage,” the general said confidently.
“What if the warhead goes off?” Ding asked.
Kirillin actually laughed at that. “They will not, Domingo Stepanovich. These items are very secure in their arming procedures, for all the obvious reasons. And the sites themselves will not be designed to protect against a direct