Colonel Stepan Kucherenko stepped out of his army limo in the interior entrance of Moscow Military District headquarters at Chapayevskskiy Lane. Normally the wartime STAVKA high command would meet in its own central headquarters.[1]

The district headquarters had been selected to attract less attention from the prying eyes of NATO intelligence.

Kucherenko had never spent much time in the district headquarters. As a staff officer in the operations directorate of the General Staff, he spent most of his time at the Ministry of Defense offices. It didn't matter, as at the security entrance, there was a young NCO assigned to escort the STAVKA officers to the proper meeting rooms. Kucherenko's task today would be to brief fellow staff officers of the Southwestern Front regarding the forthcoming operations.[2]

He knew many of the officers quite well, having attended the General Staff Academy with several of them. The hallways were filled with other officers scurrying to meetings. Many wore the camouflage battle dress of the air assault helicopter pilots, which had become fashionable in the late 1980s, when the uniforms had been first issued to aircrews in Afghanistan. Kucherenko disdained such affectations, even though he had served a tour fighting the Afghan rebels. Staff positions, even in the Soviet Army, attracted fops and political opportunists. Wearing battle dress at a time like this seemed not only tasteless, but provocative, since the NATO intelligence snoops might notice.

On his way to the meeting hall, Kucherenko ran into an old friend, Col. Yevgeniy Burlatskiy, who would be attending the briefing.

"So, Stepan Romanovich, it will be you giving us the briefing today. Nice to see you again."[3]

"Welcome back, Yevgeniy Pavlovich. I see your German comrades are giving us some serious trouble. How was Berlin?"

Burlatskiy grimaced. The situation in East Germany was for worse than anyone could have expected, even an astute officer like Stepan Kucherenko. It seemed certain that the deteriorating situation in Germany would lead to war.

The troubles had begun in the spring. A fire had started at a large GSFG (Group of Soviet Forces-Germany) storage area near the Saale rail yard. The local commander was convinced he could bring the fire under control and did not evacuate local civilian factories or the local elementary school. It was a costly mistake. In the afternoon, the fire reached the missile and ammunition reserves, setting off a huge explosion, which devastated several nearby factories and part of the school. Casualties were made worse by a large cloud of noxious gas. The Soviets claimed the cloud was created by dispersal of rocket propellant chemicals. Local residents were convinced it was from some sort of chemical weapons. Total casualties were 405 killed and nearly three times as many injured.

What ignited the troubles was the decision by the German Communist party to allow newspaper and television to run the story instead of suppressing it per usual policy. They realized that the underground samizdat press would cover it anyway, and the West German television stations as well. Running the story would give the party a bit of badly needed credibility with an audience weary of the numbing socialist press. The German Democratic Republic was coming down with a bad case of the "Polish disease" that summer, on the fortieth anniversary of the East Berlin riots of 1953.

The story captured nationwide attention and led to a series of protest marches outside the Saale kaserne, led by a coalition of unofficial antiregime groups.[4]

It is doubtful that the Soviets could have done much to defuse the situation. Even had they hung the offending officers at the gate of the garrison, the local citizenry wouldn't have been much placated. German patience had finally worn too thin. All spring, they had been subjected to the usual obsequious television and radio programs about the valiant Soviet soldiers protecting freedom-loving mankind during the Great Patriotic War. Heroes of Kursk! Heroes of Stalingrad! Liberators of Germany! For nearly fifty years, East Germany had been one big Soviet military camp, with German ambitions and dreams suppressed and ridiculed by the Russians and their Communist party puppets. The Germans wanted the Soviets out, and for that matter they wouldn't be unhappy to see the Americans go from the Federal Republic next door. They were sick of hearing of the threat from NATO, the military mischief of the Bundeswehr (the West German Army), and the heinous machinations of American politicians. After fifty years, they wanted to forget about World War II, and they wanted the Russians and Americans to forget about it too. The Germans were ashamed of having acted so passively for the past decades. It was finally a time for action.

No one expected what happened. The Americans had long dismissed the East Germans as the most passive of the Warsaw Pact states. The German economy was relatively prosperous. The Germans had long accepted the sacrifice of political freedom and honor for well-stocked shops. At least they were better off than the Poles and the Czechs, who usually had neither. The East German Army was rated by NATO analysts as the best trained and best motivated of the Warsaw Pact armies. The Soviet military shared this opinion. The East German NVA (National Peoples Army) was the only Warsaw Pact army to figure in Soviet war operations plans. Soviet plans assumed that the Germans would fight in any direct confrontation with NATO. The Poles and the Czechs would be expected to fight, but in peripheral theaters like Denmark or Austria. What happened in the summer had shattered these preconceptions.

The demonstrations and public meetings spread through East Germany. The Wildner regime responded in the reflexive socialist fashion, using police and tear gas. This infuriated most East Germans, who had been promised a more humane regime as part of recent reforms. It was not the escalating scale of the demonstrations that worried the Soviets; it was something more serious. In early June, a bomb was set off in a restaurant in Dresden frequented by Soviet officers. Sixteen officers were killed and nearly fifty more injured. For the first time since the Soviet occupation of Central Europe in 1945, the Soviets were facing a serious terrorist threat in Central Europe. A group calling itself the National Committee for a Free Germany (NKFD) claimed responsibility. The name of the group was particularly insulting; it was the same as the organization of German prisoners of war formed by the Soviets in 1943, which formed the basis of the communist East German state. Neither the Poles nor the Czechs had ever resorted to violence during the disturbances there. The Soviets began suspecting outside agitators, namely West Germans. Bombings and shootings of Soviet officials and soldiers continued through June, and Soviet troops were confined to their base areas. In two separate acts of sabotage, two large ammunition dumps exploded on 21 June. German police arrested at least seven members of the group, and found that two were West German citizens who had been providing arms and explosives to the NKFD terrorists through hideouts in West Berlin. On 27 June, the commander of the 2d Guards Tank Army and his chauffeur were ambushed outside of Fuerstenberg.

The East German militia proved incapable of counteracting the rising violence. General Rostislav Belov, at GSFG headquarters in Zonsen-Wunstorf, called in his staff people to begin planning a martial law crack-down patterned on the successful Polish operation a decade earlier. They were unprepared for the German response. Their "colleagues" in the East German Army stated categorically that they doubted the army would be any more effective than the police. The army had just inducted the usual semiannual crop of draftees, many of whom weeks earlier had been on

the protest lines themselves. Calling out the troops might backfire. They might support the protestors and cause a tragic escalation in the civil violence. After consulting with a high-ranking delegation from the Politburo in Moscow, the GSFG commander informed his colleague in the East German Army that they would be expected to "perform their socialist mission" or the Soviets would be obliged to call in Czech and Polish troops to assist in suppressing civil disturbances. The thought of Polish or Czech troops being used in East Germany infuriated the German officers even further.

The GSFG staff had been surprised by the German Army's response. The East German Army was the one Warsaw Pact army most thoroughly integrated into the Soviet command structure. But the close contact between the two forces came at a price. The Germans were utterly contemptuous of their Soviet counterparts. The East Germans viewed themselves as real soldiers, and the Soviets as country bumpkins. They were appalled by the slovenly Soviet maintenance practices, the disgusting food, and the ignorance and backwardness of the common soldiers. The Germans boasted that they spoke better Russian than a lot of the Soviet Central Asian troops!

The East German soldiers were well educated, listened regularly to West German television, and had a less provincial view of the world outside the bloc than average Soviet troops. Few of the young German soldiers enjoyed soldiering, but they took pride in a job well done. This was an attitude alien to most of the Soviet troops. The tragic fire at Saale was symptomatic of the Soviet forces' casual attitude toward safety. The Soviet Ground Forces recruited mainly out of the rural areas. Any Russian kid with brains got a posting with the Air Force, Navy, or some technical branch. Serving with the motor rifle troops or tanks was two years of backbreaking work, poor food, humiliation, and confinement. As a result, there were a lot of non-Slavic ethnic troops in the ground forces, more than 40 percent. Thousands of miles from home, with no chance for leave in the local towns, they were a sorry bunch.

Like the community around them, the young German troops were fed up with the Soviet presence in their country. They quickly grew tired of the endless lectures about maintaining fraternal relations with their brothers-in-arms, the Soviets. The dim German view of the Russians was exacerbated by the sheer number of Soviet troops in Germany. In Poland, Soviet troops were hardly ever seen in the major city, only in a few towns in the western provinces. Even in Czechoslovakia, the Soviet presence was confined to a few regions. But in Germany, it was hard to escape the thousands of kasernes and bases of the GSFG.

Having had martial law duty foisted on them by the Soviets, the East German military treated the matter with uncharacteristic casualness. All orders were dutifully conveyed, but it didn't take long for the average soldier to understand that the officers had little sympathy for their forthcoming "socialist duty." Martial law was declared on 15 July and a curfew was imposed in most cities. The new situation was enforced without enthusiasm, and large public protests were met with ineffective army actions. A pattern of small-scale mutiny began, compounded by large-scale desertion by troops stationed on curfew duty. What was especially alarming was that the soldiers were deserting with their weapons. With Soviet troops largely confined to the kasernes, the NKFD terrorists began striking at strategic targets, especially military rail links into the bases. This was not amateur high jinks: Military-grade high explosive was being used. Soviet investigations found that it was Soviet explosives used in the attacks, but the Soviet press pointed an accusing finger at West Germany as being behind the NKFD activities. The propaganda campaign became so shrill that the West German government withdrew its ambassador from Berlin in late July "for consultations."

The situation continued to degenerate. Enraged by the halfhearted response of the East German Army to the martial law crisis, the GSFG commander, General Belov, decided to employ Soviet troops for crowd control for the first time. On 29 July, special Interior Army (security force) regiments brought in from the Ukraine were used to confront a large "peace" rally in Leipzig.

The Soviet troops were taunted by the crowd, and bottles and rocks were thrown. The Soviet soldiers did not have shields, tear gas, or any of the usual riot gear paraphernalia. They carried ordinary assault rifles. After nearly twenty minutes of abusive behavior by the irate German crowds, shots rang out. A Soviet investigation stated that German provocateurs had begun sniping at the Soviet troops from rooftops. But many Soviet officers present knew that the situation had simply gotten out of hand, and isolated soldiers had fired for fear of losing their lives to an angry mob. Several dozen Germans were killed.

East German troops on the outskirts of the city, on hearing of the massacre, mutinied. With many of their junior officers in the lead, they headed into the center of the city to settle some old scores. Sporadic street fighting broke out in a confusing battle between Soviet Interior Army troops, German police, and German soldiers. It was not clear who was fighting whom, but it was obvious that the two regiments of Soviet troops were inadequate to pacify the city. A motor rifle division from neighboring kasernes was rushed in the next morning to prevent any further fighting. The German troops did not give up easily, but they did not have an adequate supply of antiarmor weapons. In two days of street fighting, the Soviets finally managed to restore a measure of order in the city at a considerable cost in human life.

Kucherenko had read the report on the Leipzig crisis. He was appalled. Kucherenko was no bleeding heart, nor was he particularly sympathetic to the Germans. He had grown up on a steady diet of Russian propaganda about the German horrors against the Russian people in World War II. But he was a skilled professional soldier and did not approve of actions that threatened to bring on an unwanted conflict with NATO.

Kucherenko was fond of military history, and the recent incidents reminded him of historical examples of the failure of colonial regimes. He didn't like to think of Soviet involvement in Central Europe as a colonial relationship, but he was hardheaded enough to admit that it was. To secure a stronghold in a colony, acquiescence of the local population was a cheaper route to control than purely military actions that aroused the locals. Recent Soviet actions in East Germany had enraged the populace and were rapidly turning their grudging acceptance of Soviet control into stubborn and irrational resistance.

What ignited the troubles with NATO was the Kremlin decision to restrict travel into West Berlin. Significant segments of the political leadership in Moscow were convinced, against the evidence, that the West Germans were provoking the disturbances. It was a comfortable myth to explain why East Germany had so suddenly turned violent. West German television was doing nothing to calm the situation. A television documentary in late July on Soviet brutality during the 1945 fighting in Germany was particularly shocking to the Russians. Two other matters triggered the action. Many in the Kremlin were convinced that West Berlin was serving as a staging area for NKFD terrorist actions. The Soviets were convinced of West German complicity in the recent bombings and assassinations of Soviet officers. Furthermore, the city was serving as a magnet for fleeing East Germans. As a gesture of goodwill in the early 1990s, the Soviets had acquiesced to reducing the barriers along the border. East Germans were taking advantage of gaps in the barriers to flee into West Berlin. The local GSFG officers were demanding permission to beef up border security using army forces. But a special Central Committee delegation that had visited East Berlin in late July urged caution. East Berlin was a powder keg of frustrations. The delegation members had been brusquely informed by East German party officials that Soviet military action in Berlin could result in outbreaks far worse than those in Leipzig.

The restrictions in transit consisted initially of rigorous searches of automobiles and trucks using the roads leading into Berlin. The Soviets also threatened to block air routes into Berlin unless some form of Soviet or East German "customs" inspection of incoming flights was instituted.

The action was intended as a calculated overreaction to the developments in East Germany. The Kremlin, with little subtlety, passed the word to West German leaders, as well as the U.S. and other NATO states, that the action was intended mainly to coax some reaction from the West German government to help dampen the situation. The Kremlin hoped for some restrictions of German television broadcasting, as well as more vigorous efforts to hunt down NKFD terrorists on West German soil.

The West German reaction was not what the Soviets had hoped for. The Germans did not consider the Soviet actions to be a simple gesture of concern, but further evidence of Soviet ham-fisted and brutal occupation policy. The German public was horrified by the brutality of Soviet troops in suppressing the disturbances in East Germany, and no German politician could argue for conciliation. The Bundestag (West German parliament), under considerable public pressure, mobilized two divisions and moved them up to the border opposite the two main roads into East Germany. At the same time, Bundestag representatives tried to make clear to Soviet officials at the embassy in Bonn that this should not be construed as a military threat, merely a substantive action showing how concerned the Federal Republic was about the deteriorating situation in East Germany.

August was a nightmare in East Germany. Rather than the disturbances subsiding, they continued. The Soviet forces began to slowly disarm the East German forces. Tanks and other equipment were called in for special overhaul, only to have certain vital parts become suddenly "unavailable." East German Army units were put through particularly vigorous training, using up what small inventories of live ammunition were on hand. But Soviet officers were shocked at the level of pilferage from stockpiles and were fearful of how much equipment had been squirreled away by dissident troops. During the second week of August, they would discover just how large this cache had become.

On 7 August, Berlin witnessed a large demonstration, ostensibly to show solidarity with the victims of the Leipzig catastrophe. The Soviets decided that the Germans would not be reliable enough to control the uprising, and used their own security forces. The problem was much the same as in Leipzig. The Soviet Interior Army forces troops were young recruits, many from Central Asia and the Caucasus. They were not well equipped to handle crowds, and were poorly trained. When confronted by large crowds, they panicked and began using their weapons. Although the German marchers were mainly from church groups, several clandestine resistance groups, army deserters, and NKFD terrorists were also in the city. When the Soviets tried using weapons to break up the demonstrations, they came under fire themselves. This led to a bloody melee, with the Soviets firing at the innocent crowds, not able to discern the riflemen in buildings nearby.

Although the kasernes for the German 1st Motor Rifle Division nearby were given close scrutiny by Soviet forces, no one expected any kind of concerted anti-Soviet action from them.[5]

The Soviets trusted that their informers would warn them well in advance of any likely disturbances. Unbeknownst to them, the division was a hotbed of anti-Soviet sentiment. The German political officers who normally acted as the main conduits for internal control were in feet some of the main instigators of clandestine anti-Soviet agitation. The informer network had been turned on the Soviets. The Soviets were told that the situation in the division was calm, and that the units were still loyal. On the surface, this appeared to be the case. But a clandestine organization had been building up since late July, with plans to attack the cordon around West Berlin and permit a massive escape of East German troops into the western part of the city. The group did not have sufficient arms to directly confront the Soviets on the battlefield, but felt they were armed well enough to get through the border defenses. They even had some armored vehicles ready to go.

When fighting broke out in the city on 7 August, and news of the massacres began to filter back to the kasernes, the 1st Motor Rifle Division insurgents modified their plans. They decided to open a breach on the southwestern edge of the inner-city barrier near Treptow Park, and keep it open by force if necessary to help in the escape of any civilians who could manage to reach the site.

The border breach by the German troops took place on Saturday night, 9 August. The Soviet officers were getting plastered, as is the Soviet Army tradition for Saturday nights, and in violation of the usual rules, enlisted personnel also had been provided with alcohol to keep up morale after the most recent Berlin troubles. German soldiers, dressed in Soviet officers' uniforms with faked passes, were able to move about 1,200 troops out of their kasernes, drive into the city past Schonefeld airport, and deploy opposite the inner-city barrier by about 0100 early Sunday morning. Soviet troops were either lured away or killed, and the engineers set about clearing a path through the minefields and barriers. A defensive perimeter was set up covering about eight city blocks. The leaders of the insurgency had already contacted other underground leaders and told them to prepare a demonstration for the following morning at the Soviet Memorial in Treptow Park. The underground leaders had no idea what the soldiers were planning. The troops also managed to set up an improvised radio station, which would be used to broadcast to the city at large once the action had begun.

The West German border police knew what was happening before the Soviets did. In the early morning hours, a small team of East German Army insurgents sneaked across the border and made contact with German border police. The police informed Bonn of the action, but it took some hours before the Federal Republic officials began to comprehend what was happening. Many West German officials felt it was a Soviet provocation. This action was bound to drag the Federal Republic into the East German crisis, but the results could not be predicted with any certainty.

On the morning of Sunday, 9 August, a rather large demonstration began. Soviet troops moved into the area with plans to disperse the group as soon as it was convenient. Special KGB Border Guards units had been brought in to replace the hopeless Interior Army forces.[6]

Soviet officers watching the disturbance were flabbergasted when they heard demonstration leaders announce over bullhorns that a breach had been made in the wall on the opposite street, and that people interested in doing so could flee into West Berlin without hindrance. The crowd itself was quite shaken by the news, but soon there was a rush, mainly by young people, down the streets toward the wall.

The demonstration turned into pandemonium. The Soviets began firing into the area, then tried to press their way into the crowd in an attempt to reach the wall. East German soldiers had set up cordons to prevent this. The Soviet troops were in fact outnumbered by the Germans, and when fighting broke out, the Soviets hastily withdrew. It took nearly two hours for the Soviets to regroup and move up reinforcements. Regular army units and tanks were then brought up, and the Soviets became aware that the West Germans were moving their own troops and police to areas opposite the breach in the wall. News of the action had reached people all over town, and it was proving nearly impossible to move troops through the city due to the enormous crowds in the streets.

The local commander, Col. Yuriy Shevchenko, had about a regiment of motor rifle troops and KGB Border Guards, and about twelve tanks. He was ordered to seal the breach at all costs. His units fought rear guards from the insurgents for nearly two hours, without being able to make much headway. The Germans were obviously well entrenched and well positioned, and Shevchenko simply didn't have the force needed to overcome them. More and more army units were brought up as the day dragged on, but some units were hit by sniper fire, and others were simply bogged down inside massive crowds, which showed little willingness to disperse. Some Soviet commanders were reluctant to use gunfire for fear of provoking more action, but other units were not so squeamish.

By Monday morning, Soviet units had managed to approach the breach on both sides and were firing their tanks into the no-man's-land. The fire was striking buildings on the West German side, which NATO officers had warned Soviet liaison officers in West Berlin would not be tolerated. On the West German side, huge crowds had gathered to see what was happening and to voice their support of their German compatriots from the other side of the wall.

Around 1100, the unexpected happened again. During a lull in the fighting, when West German and Soviet military officers were trying to negotiate a cease-fire, the West German crowds managed to surge forward into the barrier area, forming a human wall to protect fleeing East German civilians. A local Soviet officer, confused as to the identity of the civilians in the barrier zone, ordered his troops to open fire on them. West German police and soldiers, aghast at what was happening, returned fire against the Soviet troops.

For about two hours, there was sporadic firing across the barrier strip until the last elements of the East German Army insurgents began withdrawing. The Soviets tried to chase the fleeing troops across the barrier, only to encounter fire from West German police and soldiers on the opposite side. A cease-fire was arranged later in the afternoon as cooler heads prevailed.

The Kremlin was outraged by the West German role in the latest riots. Hard-liners insisted that all roads leading into Berlin be closed, and air routes suspended. Others pointed out that this was not simply an infringement on German sovereignty, but that it violated Soviet understandings with the U.S., Britain, and France. It was pointed out that the U.S. had tried to distance itself from West German actions, and had tried to cool down the situation. This was read by the hardliners as an American unwillingness to back the more strident German demands for Soviet troop withdrawals to defuse the continuing unrest. The hard-liners believed that the U.S. wanted to continue its gradual troop withdrawals begun in 1991 under the MBFR (Mutual Balanced Force Reduction) treaty. In the end, this line of reasoning prevailed, and the blockade was announced, beginning 15 August.

The Germans responded by threatening to challenge the air blockade. On the first day of the blockade, the Germans did indeed send in two military transport aircraft with fighter escort. The last flight was attacked by Soviet fighters, and the transport was lost. The Bundeswehr was mobilized and units began moving out of their kasernes toward the inter-German frontier. The Germans began to concentrate their forces opposite the two main roads into Berlin. They felt that their response would force NATO, and especially the U.S., to take a stronger line against Soviet actions, but the United States was extremely critical of the German move. Surprisingly, France backed Germany. Europeans were outraged by Soviet brutality in East Germany, and only fear of another European war led to restraint.

Although the U.S. refused to back the German actions, there was considerable fear in NATO that war was possible. The Soviets seemed unable to control the German situation. Demonstrations had begun in Poland and Czechoslovakia. Soviet control over the vital three Northern Tier Warsaw Pact states was being seriously questioned. The U.S. and NATO leadership was split on how to respond to threats of unilateral West German military action. It was unthinkable that the Germans could engage in military operations in East Germany without dragging in NATO. The Bundeswehr, although a very capable force, was significantly inferior in size and strength to Soviet forces in East Germany, to say nothing of reinforcements. The U.S. hard-liners argued that it was time to back the Germans and try to extract concession out of the Soviets as the price for forcing the Germans back away from the brink. A UN peacekeeping force in East Germany was suggested as an alternative to heavy infusion of more Soviet forces.

The battle for the Berlin air corridor began in earnest on 27 August, when the Germans resumed air flights due to food shortages in the embattled city. A Soviet attempt to shoot down two more transports was met by heavy German fighter activity and the loss of several Soviet fighter aircraft. One of the transports was shot down on the outskirts of Berlin by a surface-to-air missile (SAM). The Germans responded by bombing the SAM site, as well as several others that had been firing. Air battles continued for four days. On 1 September, a German Hawk missile battery shot down a Soviet MiG-29 Fulcrum fighter that had followed a flight of returning German fighters into West German airspace. The Soviets responded by sending a squadron of Su-24 Fencers strike aircraft to attack the Hawk site. They mistook an American Hawk site for the nearby German site. The forces of U.S. Army-Europe were put on war alert. France announced that it would abide by its NATO obligations, and in the spirit of the 1991 Franco-German military pact, would begin moving its forces forward into the Federal Republic.

The critical issue for the Kremlin leadership was the attitude of the U.S. The Americans were discouraged by the German crisis, especially in the wake of improving USSR-USA relations following the MBFR treaty in 1991. But the new Democratic U.S. president was an unknown quantity.

The Soviet ambassador in Washington requested an urgent meeting in the last days of August. The Soviets came back from the meeting deeply troubled and uncertain of U.S. intentions. The president had spent much of the meeting in monologues about how a new treaty was needed to prevent the use of tactical nuclear arms or chemical weapons in a European context. The Soviets had expected a certain amount of discussion about this, due to the current treaty negotiations on these issues. And they knew that these subjects were a personal hobbyhorse of the new president since the election. But they were bothered by the amount of attention given them. They were concerned that this indicated that the Americans viewed the war as being inevitable, and that the Americans were hinting that they would not go nuclear if the Soviets did not.

This is not what the U.S. government had intended to say, but the new president, not at all experienced in international diplomacy, had conveyed the wrong impression. State Department officials visited the embassy the following day in the hope of clarifying the U.S. position. But by this time, a special Kremlin adviser was on his way back to the USSR with a firsthand report for the General Secretary. He was not optimistic. The American position was that the Soviet Union should withdraw all but four divisions from East Germany in return for U.S. withdrawal of all its ground forces from continental Europe.

The Kremlin meeting of 9 September brought together the top party and military leadership. The situation in Germany had not improved, and the Polish situation continued to deteriorate. The Polish Army was nearly useless, and the Czechoslovak Army was little better. There was considerable concern on the part of the top military leadership that NATO planned to exploit the Warsaw Pact dissension in an operation aimed at severing East Germany from Soviet control.

The U.S. proposal about joint U.S.-Soviet troop reductions was taken as a sly American attempt to further weaken Soviet control in East Germany and to pave the way for a German reunification.

Although the U.S. had not yet mobilized, most European NATO states were either at or near war alert. Furthermore, the KGB indicated that the U.S. was beginning clandestine efforts to recall American-owned merchant shipping under flags of convenience, and reestablish them under U.S. control. Most American warships were behaving as though it were peacetime, but there seemed to be an attempt to get a large number of ships to sea. The Americans were making very conspicuous efforts to keep their strategic forces at low readiness levels, and were curtailing their bomber flights. Some of the more astute Communist party officials became concerned that the KGB was "cooking" the intelligence to suit the biases of hard-liners in the KGB leadership.

Another European war seemed quite possible. What concerned the Kremlin leadership was that NATO was growing in strength while the USSR was weakening. Warsaw Pact strength continued to drain away in the infuriating string of disturbances, hooliganism, and anti-Soviet actions of the Germans and Poles. The Soviet Army had never placed great reliance on the Warsaw Pact armies. But Soviet logistics lines ran through Poland and Germany, and the growth of Central European anti-Soviet terrorist groups threatened these vital links.

The Soviet Defense Minister was instructed to present a list of military options. The suggestion that Berlin be seized was dismissed. Such an action would certainly lead to U.S. mobilization and increase the likelihood of a European war with NATO at full strength. Regional options were discussed, but were discarded as being too byzantine and inconclusive. Marshal Ogarkov finally described the most obvious choice: a conventional attack aimed at seizing West Germany before NATO was fully mobilized. The Soviet General Staff expressed their measured belief that the Soviet forces now available in Germany and Czechoslovakia could push to the Franco-German border in seven days. The war would inevitably lead to involvement of American, British, and French troops.

The plan lacked any real strategic rationale. The main impetus was concern over NATO mobilization and the growing pessimism of the Soviet leadership over whether there could be any solution to the current crisis short of war. The gradual U.S. withdrawal from leadership in NATO over the past few years, while long sought by the USSR, was now seen as a major problem. The Europeans, and especially the new Franco-German coalition, was pushing for panEuropean goals at the expense of both the U.S. and the USSR. If the Soviet Union hesitated while NATO gradually mobilized its strength, by early winter NATO might have enough force to seize East Germany. A lightning war before NATO was fully prepared seemed like a lesser evil than waiting until NATO inevitably struck across the German border.

This viewpoint was far from being unanimously held by the Kremlin leadership. Many Ministry of Foreign Affairs officials felt that the hard-liners were exaggerating NATO cohesiveness in this matter. But Mikhail Gorbachev had given over control of the Foreign Ministry to a new generation of nationalistic Russian conservatives as the price for support of his domestic programs. The KGB and the Soviet Army would not trust the Foreign Ministry in matters of arms control and arms reduction unless they were securely in the hands of officials sympathetic to their viewpoints. And the military was certainly not going to accept further cuts in its forces unless there were assurances that arms control treaties would not include concessions like those found in the INF (Intermediate Nuclear Forces) and MBFR treaties. The Foreign Ministry was now populated by officials who tended to have an instinctive distrust of the U.S., and who viewed American actions as a smoke screen for NATO preparations. Their biases tended to warp their interpretation and reporting of discussions with the U.S. government and cast a decidedly pessimistic view of U.S. intentions in the crisis.

The Soviet Army leadership was not happy about the prospects for war. They were aware, more than any element of the Soviet government, of the weaknesses in the Soviet armed forces. But they were deeply dismayed at what was taking place in Germany. And they were terrified by the prospect of trying to fight a conventional war against a NATO that had had months to mobilize. They warily leaned toward the notion of a preemptive strike against NATO. Soviet operational doctrine favored offensive actions, and the General Staff still thought the Soviet Army had some distinctive advantages.

The KGB was likewise divided about future plans of action; they were not worried so much about the military threat as the domestic political repercussions of the German crisis.

Gorbachev's policies of domestic reform had led to a steady increase in consumer goods, personal liberties, and other benefits for the average Soviet citizen. The problem was that this had nurtured a real sense of growing expectations. The average Soviet worker was coming to expect the situation to continue to improve, even though work discipline was as bad as ever, and productivity had stagnated. The strikes in the Baltic had occurred not only in the Latvian and Estonian areas; the shipyards in Leningrad were just as worrisome, and the strikes were now spreading south to auto factories in the Urals and to the industries along the Black Sea. The KGB was troubled by the curbs that Gorbachev had put on their internal activity, and were convinced that further internal disintegration was inevitable. War would not cure these problems, but would create conditions under which the national consciousness could be refocused back to national concerns and away from the lassitude and decadence of the past few years. Thus the KGB officials tended to support the plan to preempt NATO.

The mood at the Kremlin conference was somber. There was an underlying anxiety about the survivability of the Communist system when faced by the rigors of war. The more perceptive party and army leaders wondered to themselves which was the more appropriate historical model for the current crisis. Were they facing another 1914? Was the Soviet Army merely an immense, rotted anachronism about to be shattered by the professional armies of NATO? Would the Soviet Army suffer the fete of the Tsarist army in World War I, precipitating a revolution that would overthrow the regime? Or was the Soviet Union embarking upon another Great Patriotic War as in 1941-45? Such a war would be a horrible experience to be sure, but one that would cement the nation together and demonstrate the vitality of the Soviet system in the face of dire adversity. Certainly most leaders looked back on the Great Patriotic War as one of the few bright spots in Soviet history. The melancholy nostalgia engendered by the legends of that war was one of the few consolations for the Soviet leaders when facing the grim realities of another European war.

By the end of the three-day conference, the Kremlin leadership had convinced itself that the army's plan, code-named Operation Buran (buran meaning "blizzard"), would preempt a likely NATO attempt to seize East Germany. There was no longer any discussion of whether NATO actually planned such an operation. It was taken for granted as the consensus view of the leadership. The only issue now was when to attack, and how to restrict the war to the conventional phase. The army urged that Operation Buran be launched as soon as possible, preferably by the end of September.

Colonel Kucherenko reached the meeting room and found the staff officers of the Southwestern Front already seated and anxious. The upper elements of the armed forces knew that something was about to happen, and greeted the occasion with a mixture of apprehension and professional excitement. Soviet tactical commanders may not compare well to their NATO counterparts, but the higher staff officers were a different story. They were intelligent, widely read, and well educated. Their training and approach were based on the pattern of the much-touted German staff system from earlier in the century. They knew that much was expected of them.

Operation Buran was familiar to them, since it was simply a variation on a well-rehearsed war plan code-named Burya (storm). The older Burya plan was typical of the elegant operational plans of the Soviet General Staff. It offered an elaborate set of preconditions for the war and a subtle attempt to place the NATO opponent in the weakest possible position.

The original Burya plan was based on a complex coordination between the Ministry of Defense and the Foreign Ministry in the months preceding a planned attack against NATO. The plan suggested that a major objective of Soviet foreign policy would be to keep the NATO forces at a low state of readiness. This could not be easily accomplished using traditional maskirovka (deception and concealment) techniques such as camouflage of troop transports, false radio traffic, and the like. In the modern age of satellite surveillance, it was very hard to mask large troop movements. Instead of trying to mask the buildup itself, the plan was to mask Soviet intentions. The USSR would stage a provocation that would lead to the partial mobilization of Soviet and NATO forces. The war plan left the matter of the provocation open, since it presumed that initiation of the plan had been provoked by some specific crisis. Ironically, the usual provocation used in most staff war games concerned Berlin or the inter-German border. In the wake of the provocation, the Foreign Ministry would make concessions to NATO that would restore calm between NATO and the Warsaw Pact. In a few months, the USSR would find something else to take offense at, leading to another partial mobilization, probably followed by NATO counteractions. This cat-and-mouse game would continue for six months to a year. Characterized by rising and falling tensions, and a string of minor crises, it was aimed to lull NATO into a sort of complacency. The final crisis and troop mobilization would be the real one. By this time, NATO would probably be tired of the incessant games, and regard the latest Soviet mobilization as mere bluster. NATO would be conned away from mobilizing its own forces, viewing evidence of Soviet mobilization as just another futile gesture connected with a new phase of belligerent Soviet foreign policy.

The Burya plan had three variants, called Red Burya, Yellow Burya, and Blue Burya. The variants had different presumptions about Soviet forces and NATO readiness. Red Burya presumed that Soviet forces would have two days to mobilize and that NATO would make little if any preparation to receive the attack. This was the ideal situation. Yellow Burya presumed that the Soviet forces would have four days to mobilize, and that NATO would begin mobilizing one to two days before the start of the Warsaw Pact attack. This situation was viewed as being more realistic by many Soviet staff planners, since many felt that the GSFG with reinforcements could not be expected to fully prepare for war operations in less than four days. Blue Burya presumed that preparation time would begin four days before the operation, but that NATO would see through the diplomatic ruse and begin mobilizing itself two days or more before the Soviet attack.

The modified variant of the Burya scheme, now code-named Buran, most closely resembled the Blue Burya plan. It assumed that NATO mobilization would be more thorough than under ideal circumstances. The main diplomatic objective of Buran was to keep the U.S. from mobilizing its forces and beginning its major reinforcement of Europe until the last minute. The plan assumed that European NATO forces would be mobilized, even though perhaps not fully deployed forward.

Kucherenko found that the staff officers from the Southwestern Front clearly understood the basic elements of the new Buran plan, and so began to review the major tasks at hand.

First, the staffs must be prepared to mobilize their forces rapidly and with the minimum of observable traces to Western observers. The forces would have to be prepared for combat action, and then moved, at night, to staging areas on the border. Separate staff elements would be assigned to maskirovka tasks, which included both false radio traffic to suggest that the units were conducting normal routine business, and concealment plans to hide as well as possible all movements forward.

Second, the plan required that high priority be given to the neutralization of NATO tactical air forces and tactical nuclear delivery systems. For army staff officers, this meant that the army had to play its part, through the careful use of air defense forces, to blunt any NATO air attacks. It also meant that army rocket and artillery assets and special forces would be used to attack NATO air bases and nuclear storage areas. Soviet forces were to be prepared to operate in contaminated areas resulting from strikes on storage areas, although no actual use of Soviet tactical nuclear weapons was presumed. Possible Soviet use of chemical weapons should be kept in mind, and troops would be issued stern warnings about remaining prepared for the use of chemical weapons.

Third, the foremost objective of the army forces would be the neutralization of NATO tactical defenses by skillful use of fire and maneuver by Soviet armed forces. This would be accomplished at the following norms. The initial NATO defenses would be overwhelmed and breached in two to three days of fighting at depths of fifty kilometers. It was presumed that divisional forward detachments, such as independent tank regiments, would be committed on B+2 or B+3 to begin the exploitation of breaches in NATO forward defenses. By B+3, the Soviet Armies would begin to commit their Operational Maneuver Groups (OMGs), in the form of reserve tank divisions, to further exploit any successful penetrations by divisional forward detachments. Front OMGs, in the form of Unified Army Corps (UACs), would be committed at the discretion of front commanders when the forward detachments and OMGs had successfully ruptured the NATO defenses. The OMGs and UACs would be the shock forces that would spearhead the Soviet forces' deep penetration, followed by additional Soviet units for the encirclement and destruction of NATO armies.

The Southwestern Front would launch its attack out of assembly areas in the Bohemian Forest in western Czechoslovakia, into Bavaria. The first echelon would consist of 1st Army and 4th Army, each with two motor rifle divisions and one tank division. Each army had about 1,000 tanks, and more than 1,500 other armored vehicles of various types. Front reserves, or second echelon, would be the 38th Army, which would be in place by B+2 with three more divisions. Additional reinforcements would be available under some circumstances. These nine Soviet divisions would face from five to six partially mobilized NATO divisions — the U.S. 1st Armored Division, the German 4th Panzergrenadier, the 1st Mountain and 10th Panzer Divisions, and the French 3d and 5th Armored Divisions.

The 4th Army, the southernmost of the attacking armies, would drive toward Munich with the Alps on its left flank and the Danube River on its right. Operations from Czechoslovakia into Austria would be conducted by a separate Czech-Soviet Army. The objective of the 4th Army would be to defeat the German 4th Panzergrenadier and 1st Mountain Division in the initial defensive positions. The French 3d Armored Division could be expected to be encountered defending the approaches to Stuttgart and would probably be dealt with by a left hook by the neighboring 1st Army on B+3. The largest city in the area, Munich, would be dealt with by B+3.

The 1st Army would advance on either side of the Schabische Alps. Its right boundary with the neighboring 8th Guards Army was a line running roughly through Nurnberg to Stuttgart and then Karlsruhe on the Franco-German frontier. On B+4, in conjunction with an influx of reserves from the 38th Army second echelon, the 1st Army would swing southward into the Wurtemberg region, cutting off any retreating NATO forces from the 4th Army attacks and securing the entire Franco-German frontier in the operations zone of the Southwestern Front. Elements of the U.S. 1st Armored Division could be expected to be encountered around Nurnberg. But the main opposition was expected to come from the 10th Panzer Division and the French 3d and 5th Armored Divisions.

The staffs from the Southwestern Front were handed envelopes containing more explicit details of the operation. B-Day was scheduled to be 30 September, only a week off. The basic concepts were pretty well understood from previous staff war games using the earlier Burya plans. The attack on this front was clearly not the main one, given the relatively modest forces involved. This was in large measure due to the terrain. The main Soviet blow would come up north in the Fulda Gap region in the 2d Western Front zone of operations. But the fighting on this front would be quite intense, given the fact that German divisions would be in the initial defensive positions.

The terrain was not the easiest for mechanized operations. The initial attack would be launched out of a hilly region across an area that was heavily forested. More to the point, there were very few major east-west roads. What roads existed were likely to have heavy concentrations of trucks and logistics support equipment on them, which would make ripe targets for attacking NATO aircraft. If the Germans prepared their defenses well, infantry forces with antitank missiles could substantially delay any force moving through this region. It was also a major headache to plan logistical links across the Sudeten Mountains into Czech Bohemia. The handful of mountain roads would funnel most of the supply trucks into congested arteries that would make juicy targets for NATO fighter-bombers. The staff would have to put special emphasis on providing heavy air defense coverage in the mountains to keep out the NATO aircraft.

The aim of the first day's operation would be to clear the hilly and forested areas along the border. A difficult area would be the Rachel National Park in the 4th Army sector. Beautiful scenery, lousy battlefield!

The second day's operation would be to reach the eastern bank of the Danube River in the 4th Army sector by afternoon, in anticipation of a major river crossing operation that evening. The 1st Army would reach the Danube the following day. The Danube was a significant natural obstacle, and defenses along the river could be expected to be substantial. Breaching the Danube would be the most significant single event of the offensive. If the river could not be breached in enough depth, the attack on this front would be seriously compromised. Some of the staif recalled problems they had encountered in previous war games. In several recent war games, the 4th Army had failed to penetrate the initial border area for more than two days, and had serious problems with supply routes.

One of the officers expressed surprise that so little use was being made of other Warsaw Pact armies. Kucherenko related a popular joke to underline his lack of confidence in the use of the Warsaw Pact forces. "A Polish soldier stumbles across a magic lantern by the shores of the Vistula and the genie grants him three wishes. 'For my first wish,' says the soldier, 'I want the Chinese Army to invade Poland!' The genie complies. Months later, the invasion over, the genie asks the soldier for his second wish. He says again that he wishes the Chinese Army to invade Poland. The genie, a bit bewildered, complies with his wish. Several months later, the genie returns and asks the soldier for his third wish. The soldier asks again that the Chinese Army invade Poland. The genie, unable to restrain his curiosity any further, asks the Pole why he wished the Chinese to invade his country. Ah, but don't you see,' he said, for the Chinese to invade Poland three times, their army would have to pass through Russia six times!'"

It was a well-known tale, but the officers laughed anyway. The Poles and Czechs were being used in the overall operation, but in less critical areas, such as Denmark and Austria.

The meeting broke up into small groups as each front, army, and divisional staff group huddled together to discuss the plans and to prepare questions for Colonel Kucherenko. The briefing packet was not very explicit about the current disposition of NATO forces, but Kucherenko explained that additional details would become available over the next few days.

As the meeting broke up late in the afternoon, Kucherenko and his colleague, Colonel Burlatskiy, finally had a chance to chat. Buriatskiy would be with the staff of 1st Army in its attacks toward Nurnberg. Kucherenko asked Burlatskiy's opinion about the likely course of the war in his sector.

"So, Stepan Romanovich," Burlatskiy replied, "I see you've favored our 4th Army with a real plum assignment." It was all too obvious that Yevgeniy Burlatskiy was being sarcastic.

"Yevgeniy, you know that we don't have any additional forces ready for you since the bosses cut our forces in Czechoslovakia two years ago. I know the terrain is bad. But you people will have much more artillery than average, and more air support."

Burlatskiy was not satisfied. "Stepan, I do not mean to be rude. But you STAVKA boys with all your computer models of our Great Patriotic War battles forget one thing. It's not the 1940s. It's the 1990s. Your expectations for our advance through Germany are grossly unrealistic. We'll be lucky to fight our way out of those forests in a week."

Stepan Kucherenko was disturbed by his friend's pessimism, all the more so because he respected his judgment. Burlatskiy was no hack or careerist. He came from a long line of military officers and took great pride in his profession. Like many staff officers, Burlatskiy was an avid student of military history. His particular interest was the impact of technology on modern warfare. It was Burlatskiy's conviction that the general Soviet view of modern warfare was too heavily flavored by its Great Patriotic War experiences. There was too much of a tendency to regard the current battlefield as a repeat of the 1943-45 battlefield, just with more firepower.

Burlatskiy explained to Kucherenko that his opinion was quite different. He believed that the heavy diffusion of antiarmor weapons to the infantry and the artillery raised the specter of World War I rather than World War II. Artillery in World War I was the primary killing arm, and coupled with the machine gun, dominated the battlefield. The tank came along and eventually changed the balance on the battlefield. The tank could not be easily stopped by machine guns or artillery. The balance of power on the battlefield shifted from weapons like artillery and machine guns, which favored the defense, to mobile weapons like the tank, which favored maneuver and the offensive. This became very evident in World War II. But since then, the infantry had become very heavily armed with potent antitank weapons, especially guided antitank missiles. In World War H, artillery was almost useless against tanks in the traditional indirect fire mode. But now, with submunition ammunition and guided artillery rounds, the artillery also weighed in against the tank. The tank was far more threatened than in the past war. And if the tank and its other armored offspring were threatened, offensives were threatened. Burlatskiy suggested that the new NATO technologies might favor the tactical defender and drain much of the mobility and maneuver out of the vaunted Soviet tank armies. His opinions would prove to be all too accurate, much to the consternation of the Soviet Army.

Under what circumstances would the Soviet Union attack NATO forces in Central Europe? As this fictional account suggests, the most likely cause would be a global situation that posed a

direct threat to the USSR. A collapse of the Central European buffer states, especially East Germany, is one of the more plausible possibilities. The Soviets would fear that the collapse of East Germany could cause a domino effect in the other Northern Tier Warsaw Pact countries (East Germany, Poland, and Czechoslovakia). The scenario also suggests that other forces could be at work in precipitating a Soviet decision. War is not always a rational affair. Distortions in intelligence, misperceptions about U.S. and NATO intentions, and internal troubles could bias Kremlin decision-makers into favoring war as a political option.

The decision to initiate a war with NATO would not be taken lightly. The Soviets would have to consider the very real likelihood that the war would spill over into unacceptable areas. Certainly, the possibility of the war escalating into a strategic nuclear exchange with the U.S. is a real impediment to any Soviet consideration of using conventional forces in Europe. But there are other concerns as well. How would British or French leaders respond to Soviet air attacks on their countries? Would they contemplate using nuclear weapons if their countries were threatened by invasion? Would the U.S. use its tactical nuclear weapons if the collapse of West Germany seemed imminent? What would the limits of a "conventional" war be? Would the war spread to a confrontation between U.S. and Soviet naval forces in the Pacific? Would the Soviet Union confront NATO conventional forces in the Balkans, or in Turkey? Is a regional war in Europe possible without the great risk of a global war like World War II?

Another source of anxiety for Soviet war planners is China. There is an old Russian joke from the 1970s: What two languages are taught in Soviet schools? Why Hebrew and Chinese, of course. Hebrew for those who are leaving, and Chinese for those who are staying. It must seem absurd to most Americans or Europeans that the Russians are fearful of Chinese ambitions against them. Yet concern over the Chinese threat has remained a staple of Soviet strategic thinking since the 1960s. The Russians regard the Chinese in much the same way that Americans regard the Russians — that is, a more primitive society, and therefore one more likely to resort to war since they have less to lose.

This thinking has a direct impact on any Soviet war plans for a confrontation with NATO. The enormous Soviet force structure is based on the notion that it should be adequate to deal with any combination of enemies. That is, it should be able to handle both China and NATO simultaneously. The Soviet Union has about eighty divisions in war-ready condition, and a further one hundred thirty divisions that could be brought up to strength in about a month. In contrast, the U.S. has eighteen war-ready divisions, and about ten divisions that could be brought up to strength in a relatively short period. The twenty-eight U.S. divisions have more troops than average Soviet divisions, but not that much more combat power.

In a confrontation with NATO, a substantial portion of the Soviet armed forces would remain in Asia, opposite the Chinese frontier, to deter any Chinese attack. To Americans or Europeans this may seem a bit imprudent. Why maintain a large force opposite the quiet Chinese frontier, when they could be used in an actual war? Yet the Soviets did precisely that in World War II. A surprisingly large portion of the Soviet Army remained stationed in the Far East, to counter any actions by the Japanese. Even in the grim days of 1941-42, the Soviets left 2,000 to 3,000 precious tanks in the Far East. Soviet perceptions of the threat against their country are very different from U.S. or European assessments.

From a Western point of view, the very large size of the Soviet Ground Forces, more than two hundred divisions, seems excessive for legitimate needs. The Soviet Union alone has about 53,000 tanks. This compares to about 15,000 for the U.S. The disparity in forces between the

USSR and NATO leads many to conclude that the Soviet Union plans to use these forces in an offensive fashion against NATO.

Yet in the forty-some years since World War II, there have been very few threats of the use of Soviet conventional forces against Europe. Through all the years of cold war, NATO forces have been badly outnumbered and badly outgunned. Although NATO may feel that Soviet advantages in the total number of most conventional weapons lead to the temptation to use them, Soviet perceptions on the issue differ. For staff planners like the fictional Colonel Kucherenko, these perceptions reside in the back of his mind, shaping the way he plans for the confrontation with NATO.

NATO forces in Central Europe have about 13,000 tanks, and about thirty tank and mechanized divisions. With reinforcements, that could be brought up to more than 15,000 tanks in a month. The Soviet Union and the Northern Tier Warsaw Pact states have about 17,000 tanks in place, and fifty-five tank and mechanized divisions. This is not substantially more than NATO at full mobilization. However, the Soviets also have well over 23,000 more tanks in European Russia and in nearby areas that could be brought to bear in a confrontation with NATO. This works out to a 1:2.6 ratio in favor of the USSR.

There is little debate that the Soviets have more tanks than NATO, more artillery, more troops, and a general numerical superiority. The so-called "bean count" favors the USSR and the Warsaw Pact. But do these disparities really matter? A historical example might help explain Soviet perceptions of this situation. In 1941, when the Germans invaded the USSR, they used about 3,000 tanks. The Soviets had more than 25,000 tanks and armored vehicles. Many of the Soviet tanks were old, but then too, so were many of the German tanks. Although grossly outnumbered, the German panzer divisions smashed their far larger opponent. By the end of 1941, the Soviets had fewer than 3,000 tanks facing the Germans in European Russia, and the Germans had more than 2,000. The Soviets saw an enormous inventory of modern weapons swept away at very modest losses for the Nazi invader.

This historical example is not given to suggest that numbers do not matter, or that 1991 is the same as 1941. Numbers can matter, but they should not be seen as a clear, reliable indicator of combat power. In the victorious years of 1944–1945, the Red Army had more tanks than the Germans, but the disparity was nowhere as great as in 1941. They then had about a three-to-one advantage rather than the eight-to-one advantage of 1941. But the Soviets marched to victory in 1945 as they had failed to do in 1941. The crucial difference between 1941 and 1945 was that the Soviets had learned how to employ their tanks. Still, it took a significant numerical advantage to overcome the highly skilled Germans.

A similar picture could be portrayed in regard to other key types of weapons: aircraft, artillery, and antitank weapons. These historical patterns of Soviet inferiority in the tactical use of modern weapons are a contributory factor in the bloated size of the Soviet armed forces. What to a NATO observer seems an unnecessarily large number of weapons, to a Soviet military planner seems like a prudent total to balance a traditional Western advantage in the employment of high-technology weapons. Do these Western advantages still exist? Is the disparity as great as in 1941, or is it more similar to 1945? Has the modern Soviet Army managed to narrow the gap? Or indeed, is there no qualitative gap at all? The following chapters will examine how the Soviet armed forces are likely to perform against NATO at a tactical level with these quantity-versus-quality issues in mind.

In spite of poor tactical performance against Germany in World War II, the Soviet Union eventually prevailed. Why was this so? German apologists have long suggested that it was simply a matter of mass: The Russians had more troops, more tanks, more airplanes. The Germans claim to have been outnumbered but not outfought. There is a measure of truth to this. The Soviets certainly did enjoy significant numerical advantages. But there are some subtle issues that are important to understanding the way the Soviets fight wars.

To begin with, the argument that the Soviets won because of superiority in the numbers of weapons seems a bit disingenuous to anyone familiar with the USSR during World War n. It is usually assumed that the Soviet Union was an economic powerhouse like the U.S. or Germany.

It was not. It had to import most of its advanced machine tools from the West. Its military trucks were little more than old license-produced Ford Model AAs with a coat of green paint. Not only was the Soviet military economy heavily dependent on the West for technology, but the Germans managed to gut most of the major industrial facilities. Soviet military industries were located mainly in areas of European Russia that the Germans managed to capture in 1941. The Soviet Union evacuated much of the factory equipment, but they were forced to reassemble the machinery in the Ural Mountains, often without adequate buildings.

In spite of these horrendous problems, the Soviets were able to out-produce the Germans in many key weapons categories, such as tanks and artillery. They carefully shepherded what modest industrial resources they had. They stopped or greatly curtailed production of locomotives, warships, automobiles, tractors, and many other types of equipment in favor of the raw essentials of war: tanks, artillery, small arms, aircraft, and ammunition. There is an old military adage that tactics are the realm of the armchair general and logistics the realm of the professional soldier.

The Russians demonstrated a greater appreciation of the industrial underpinnings of modern war than the Germans, and this contributed greatly to their eventual victory. In contrast, German war industries were poorly directed, and suffered the additional disadvantage of a concentrated Anglo-American bombing campaign.

But piles of weapons do little good if poorly used, as the 1941 debacle revealed. It took the Soviets three years of bloody fighting to learn the tactics of modern mechanized warfare. The fighting in 1944-45 showed that the Soviets had learned these lessons well. It has long been assumed that the victories of 1944-45 were attributable to sheer brute force, of masses of men and machines overcoming the small, emaciated skeleton of the German Army. But over the past decade, military historians in the West have finally begun to pay closer attention to how and why the Soviets managed to develop an effective fighting machine from the wreckage of 1941. The German-inspired myths of the 1950s have gradually given way to a more sophisticated understanding of the roots of the Soviet victory. The conclusion of this new generation of historians is that the Soviets, although less skilled than the Germans at the tactical level, became proficient masters of the operational arts. It was this skill, as much as advantages in equipment, that gave the Soviets victory in 1945.

Tactics refer to the war-fighting techniques of small units, running the gamut from an infantry squad of a dozen men to a tank division of 10,000. The Germans were masters of these skills, arguably finer than most other Western armies, including the American and British. Operational art refers to the war-fighting techniques of large formations, from armies (two or three divisions) to fronts (two or three armies). Operational art is the bridge between tactics — the way that armies fight — and strategy — the aims for which armies fight. The Russians perfected their skills in the operational art in the later years of the Great Patriotic War, and were able to circumvent their shortcomings in the tactical skills.

The Soviets became masters of operational techniques ignored or poorly used by the Germans. For example, recent studies on Soviet operational art point to Soviet interest in maskirovka (deception) as an essential war-fighting skill. Soviet front commanders would cleverly hide real units and create fictitious phantom divisions. These deceptions would confuse the Germans as to the real situation confronting them. Expecting an attack by the phantom divisions, they would move their own forces to repel an attack in the wrong sector. In the "quiet" sector, where there appeared to be few forces, the attack would develop. German forces would be hit by massively superior Soviet forces, outnumbering them eight to one or ten to one. At these ratios, superior German tactical skills didn't really matter.

It was not that the Soviets actually enjoyed an eight-to-one or ten-to-one advantage over the whole front, but their skills in the operational arts permitted the Red Army to mass and employ its mediocre units with overwhelming force and with the greatest possible effectiveness.

The great debacle of the German Army Group Center in Byelorussia in the summer of 1944 is a classic case. Although little known in the West, this was one of the greatest defeats of the German Army in World War II. The Soviets managed to convince the Germans that the offensive would come in the Ukraine. It did not. It came in the poorly prepared Byelorussian region, leading to a massive loss of troops and equipment.

Among students of Soviet military affairs, it is now even becoming a cliche that the Soviets are masters of operational art. There is still a feeling that their tactical skills may not compare to those of their NATO counterparts, but that at higher leadership levels, the Soviets are likely to excel. What does this imply for Soviet operations in Central Europe against NATO?

The Soviets have obvious advantages over NATO in several key areas. The Soviets enjoy a unified command system: What the Soviet Union wishes, the rest of the Warsaw Pact does. NATO is a voluntary alliance of bickering democratic states. Although the U.S. has often dominated NATO, in the past decade, European countries, especially Germany, have begun to increase their role in NATO leadership. But NATO actions still require a consensus. In times of peril, issues such as mobilization of the NATO armies can ill be afforded lengthy debates or dissension. But debate and dissension are likely.

NATO strategy, or operational doctrine, is subject to the internal needs of host countries, especially Germany, and not to actual military requirements. NATO's forward defense policy is largely a result of German unwillingness to voluntarily sacrifice any of its population and terrain at the outset of a war. To make matters worse, the Germans are not keen on the establishment of border defensive works or minefields to slow a Soviet advance due to a deep-seated aversion to actions that suggest that the separation of the two Germanies will continue. And the disposition of NATO forces, and particularly the weaknesses of the Northern Army Group with its heavy concentration of the more poorly equipped NATO forces, is due more to historical peculiarities of occupation policy in the late 1940s than to any coherent military strategy.

Yet Soviet operational skills cannot be taken for granted. The Russians did display considerable capability in high command during the later years of World War II. But it took two costly years of fighting for the Soviet commanders to acquire these skills. Will Soviet military commanders, unbloodied for forty years in a conventional land war, display the same skills as combat veterans from a half-century ago? Will staff officers and military leaders, like the fictional Colonel Kucherenko, be able to translate the academic skills of the staff academy into real war-fighting abilities?

This is a very difficult question to answer. The evidence is contradictory. The picture presented in some writings by Soviet emigres suggests that many Soviet officers suffer from the same kind of careerist malaise that is widely criticized in NATO armies. Perhaps it is even worse than in the NATO armies. In the Soviet Union, the armed forces are a good career. They mean prestige, a decent salary, and more importantly, access to critical goods in a society bereft of even the most basic consumer goods.

The Soviet Union is a superpower that cannot manage to provide its citizens with a reliable supply of toilet paper. But a Soviet officer can count on adequate housing, and his family will have access to restricted army food stores. The housing may not be the best by Western standards, nor the food as palatable, but by Soviet standards, it is a comfortable life. The emphasis then is on what can be extracted from a military career, not what skills will make the officer a more proficient warrior. Soviet emigre writing is very critical of the decay of professional interest in Soviet military officers. All of the well-managed staff academies and war games will do no good if the officers are more concerned with the trappings of the office than with the skills required to engage in combat on the modern battlefield.

One is also inclined to wonder if the Soviet military is able to manage a war any better than the Soviets manage (or mismanage) their economy. Soviet military art has some of the same underpinnings as Soviet economic management. Marxism-Leninism leads to an infatuation with "scientific" rules and norms for human activities that are often more complex and subtle than the academic tools used to study them. To their credit, the Soviets have engaged in extensive historical operations research to determine issues such as the number of rounds of artillery ammunition needed to destroy a partially entrenched infantry company in a defensive position. The reduction of the uncertainties of the battlefield to a set of simplified numerical norms may be useful to logistical planners needing to know how much ammunition to prepare for war. But how useful are they to real war fighting? Will they lead officers to place undue influence on stagnant rules and guidelines and discourage personal observation and judgment? And can they respond to changing technology and the changing pace of modern warfare? One is tempted to conclude that the Soviet military leadership is not dissimilar to other elements of the Soviet bureaucracy, and with similar tendencies toward institutional thinking that does not respond quickly to a changing environment.

In many respects, the Soviet infatuation with the use of military history, and in particular the lessons of the Great Patriotic War, reinforces the usual tendency of military bureaucracies to fight the last war. The modern Soviet Army is the ideal blitzkrieg army of 1945. Its shape and composition represent the perfection of World War II-style mechanized combat.

As a result, the Soviets have been slow to adjust to a changing battlefield in a number of areas. For example, Soviet planners have noted the high attrition of tanks and other weapons in modern wars, like those fought in the Mideast in 1967 and 1973. This has reinforced the Soviet preconceptions stemming from the World War II experience that overwhelming reserves of equipment are needed. Yet the lesson drawn by the Israelis is not that more reserves of equipment are needed, since that equipment is often miles away and not accessible to the field commander. Rather, their conclusion has been that combat support has to be enhanced, since many tank casualties can be dealt with if adequate recovery and repair equipment is handy. The Israelis were losing up to 75 percent of their tanks in the first eighteen hours of fighting in 1973. Yet they found that about 70 percent of these losses were due to mechanical failures or minor battle damage that could have been repaired relatively quickly, and the tank returned to combat. The Israelis responded to the growing lethality of antiarmor weapons on the battlefield by enhancing combat support. The Soviets have not followed suit, and Soviet divisional combat support remains weak. The Soviets have less than half the number of armored recovery and repair vehicles per tank than comparable NATO armies, and the systems tend to be less capable. Although the Soviets have paid considerable attention to tank recovery, the emphasis has been on correcting the errors of the World War II experience, and not on examining whether a far more fundamental change in attitude toward divisional combat support is required by the changing realities of modern warfare.

Combat support is not the only area where Soviet thinking has changed very slowly. The Soviet incorporation of novel technologies is another example. Helicopters add considerably to the combat power of land forces. They are useful for scouting, the transport of raiding parties, rapid resupply of forward units, and antitank fighting. The Soviets have recognized the usefulness of helicopters, especially after the experience of Afghanistan. Yet they have been slow to integrate helicopters into their tank and motor rifle divisions. Divisions are supposed to have a helicopter unit, but over the past few years, the Soviets have been tending to pull the helicopters out of divisions and consolidate them in special helicopter units at the call of army and front commanders. Undoubtedly, army and front commanders can put helicopters to good use, but so can divisional commanders. A divisional helicopter reconnaissance unit can fulfill a vital role in a fast-paced battle. The Soviets still rely on ground vehicles for this role, whereas their American counterparts have an extensive assortment of helicopters, which is much more effective.

To some extent, these shortcomings are not purely an issue of doctrine. The Soviets have real economic constraints on the type and quantity of equipment they can incorporate into their divisions. When you have two hundred ten divisions, even a small program such as adding another two dozen recovery vehicles to the divisional tables of equipment becomes a major, and expensive, program. The Soviets would probably like to add squadrons of helicopters to their divisions. But building up an inventory of helicopters large enough to satisfy the requirements of a large force structure takes years to accomplish. For example, at the current rate of acquisition, it takes the Soviet Union more than two decades to replace all of its tanks with new models. Any major change in doctrine that requires the adoption of new equipment takes decades to accomplish, even given the prodigious production rate of the USSR's massive military industries. The Soviets may excel in novel tactical concepts, but it is often difficult to translate these into practice due to the sheer size of the Soviet military establishment.

The operational plan depicted in the fictional scenario illustrates current tendencies in Soviet operational planning. Needless to say, the Soviets don't publish their actual plans for operations in Central Europe. But careful reading of open-source Soviet military literature can provide a close approximation of Soviet plans. The scenario is based on an unclassified study prepared by the U.S. Army's Soviet Army Studies Office, based on open Soviet sources.[7]

The plan depends on mass and speed to overcome the NATO defenses. Students of World War II military history will not find it terribly different from campaigns of 1944-45, even though the tools of the trade have changed in fifty years. An important ingredient in the plan is an attempt to mask Soviet formations, so that opposing NATO forces are uncertain of how large a force they face, and where it is concentrated.

The Soviets' plan would be to concentrate three or more divisions against a single NATO division. Once a breach in the NATO defenses is secured, a mobile force would be inserted into the breach to exploit it before NATO could react. Soviet operational plans stress the use of fire and maneuver. Artillery, air attacks, and direct mechanized attack shatter the defender with fire. Once the fire has sufficiently weakened the opponent, or should the opponent leave a position weakly defended, the highly mechanized Soviet forces would use their mobility to pour into the breach. Fire acts to shatter the enemy where he is; maneuver aims to exploit the points where the enemy no longer is, or no longer is strong.

Modern defensive doctrine aims to minimize the damage caused by the breach by having mobile forces available to counterattack the rupture. The Soviet forces must not only be able to defeat the initial forward defenses of NATO, but to shatter any defenses erected behind the initial defensive positions.

For this reason, the Soviets place great stress on forces used to exploit the breach and fend off counterattacks. In recent years, this type of force has come to be called an operational maneuver group, or OMG. The OMGs are not a specific type of unit, such as a tank division or motor rifle regiment. Rather, they are forces used for the exploitation role at different levels of tactical combat. For example, when a Soviet motor rifle division confronts a NATO unit, it might use an independent tank regiment as its maneuver force. In the case of an army, the OMG might be a tank division or an independent tank regiment reinforced with other units. At the level of a front, the OMG might be a formation tailored to front exploitation, like one of the new Unified Army Corps.

In the era of glasnost and perestroika, Plan Buran may seem to some readers to be a throwback to the neolithic age of the cold war.[8]

Surely, Soviet pronouncements of a new defensive doctrine have heralded an end to the sort of offensive operational planning illustrated by Plan Buran?

At the time this book was written, the effects of perestroika have been very modest. The Soviets have indeed proclaimed an interest in a new defensive doctrine. However, the Soviets have publicly announced a defensive doctrine for decades, while the Soviet military has continued basing its strategy and operational art around offensive operational planning and tactics. "Defensive doctrine" seems to be a case of political semantics, not military policy.

Soviet claims about a defensive restructuring lack credibility because the Soviets have not provided any evidence of what type of actions they are undertaking under the rubric of perestroika. For example, they have not provided copies of current staff training, showing a new defensive orientation compared to past training. They have provided no indications that they plan to trim back the production of weapons such as tanks and self-propelled artillery. There is no evidence that the tank and motor rifle divisions are being reorganized to make them more "defensive."

There have been cosmetic changes, which sometimes can create a false impression of real change. The Soviets' pathological obsession with military secrecy appears to be slowly easing.

They are allowing Western observers to visit Warsaw Pact exercises, and to inspect new weapons to a degree that would have been unheard-of five years ago. But at the same time,

Soviet censorship of their military press has not changed at all in regard to issues of military strength, unit organization, and military technology. The Soviets still do not publish an accurate military budget, and have admitted as much. They have never made any serious effort to publicly describe the size or composition of their armed forces. Military censorship is still so extreme that the designation of old weapons is secret and unprintable, even thought they are known in the West. A recent Soviet book on tank technology skipped all mention of the T-64 tank, first in service in the mid 1960s, to say nothing of more recent tanks such as the T-80. The Soviet military remains one of the most secret organizations in the world today. Military subjects that are considered routine and openly published in the West are forbidden subjects in the USSR. Soviet military secrecy breeds mistrust and is a major complicating factor in arms control agreements.

This is not to totally discount the effects of perestroika on the Soviet armed forces. For the Gorbachev economic reforms to succeed, it will be necessary to trim back extravagant Soviet military spending. The Soviet Union currently spends in excess of 15 percent, and perhaps as much as 21 percent, of its gross national product on defense. In contrast, the U.S. spends about 7 percent, and most European countries spend around 3 to 4 percent. Gorbachev undoubtedly seeks to channel some of this funding back into the ailing civilian economy.

The cuts announced by Gorbachev in December 1988 are the first steps to accomplish this task. Plans were to remove 10,000 tanks from the force structure (about 20 percent), and about 500,000 troops (about 10 percent of the current force). Furthermore, Gorbachev promised the reduction of six divisions from East Germany, Czechoslovakia, and Hungary. The reduction in tanks will probably involve thirty-year-old T-54s and T-55s, not new tanks. Nevertheless, reducing the Soviet inventory of tanks by 20 percent implies reducing the number of Soviet tank and motor rifle divisions by comparable amounts. Even with these changes, the Soviet Army will remain a massive force with substantial numerical advantages over NATO. An operation such as the fictional Buran would still be possible even after the 1988 cuts come into effect.

Further cuts, which would be sufficient to dampen Soviet offensive capabilities, will probably await a NATO/Warsaw Pact conventional arms control agreement. The Soviet military does not appear happy about the cuts promised by Gorbachev in 1988. Dissension with the Gorbachev plan probably accounts for the dismissal of the head of the Soviet General Staff, Marshal Akhromeyev, in December 1988, although the Soviet press claimed that Akhromeyev retired due to his health.

There is reason to suspect that perestroika will eventually lead to even greater changes in the Soviet military, the sheer size of which, even after the promised cuts, demands an exhausting share of the Soviet national effort. Soviet officials, in private, have suggested to Western officials that the USSR may be reconsidering the traditional notion that the armed forces must be configured to resist all possible combinations of enemies.

This could foreshadow an eventual reduction in the number of divisions, and in the amount of equipment acquired for the Soviet Army.

Such changes will probably take a decade. Nikita Khrushchev attempted to make sweeping changes in the Soviet military in the early 1960s, alienating the military leadership. This was a contributory factor in his eventual ouster. Gorbachev has most likely learned a lesson from this, and reform will come more slowly. For the more perceptive military leaders in the Soviet Union, reform is welcome. There is concern that the Soviet Army is falling behind NATO in

technology. Some military leaders appreciate that a sound economy is the basis for a sound defense. For these leaders, perestroika is seen not as an attempt to diminish the military, but to strengthen its vital economic and technological roots.

It is unlikely that the Soviet Army of the mid-1990s will be so radically different that an operation such as Plan Buran will be impossible. Even with force reductions, the Soviets are likely to maintain a substantial conventional force in Central Europe. What will prevent Plan Buran from ever happening is the Soviet conviction that it will not succeed. As is suggested in the following chapters, the Soviet armed forces, for all their power, cannot be certain that their elegant operational plans will function properly in the turmoil of a real war.

"Comrades, take your seats."

The aircrews of the 1st Squadron/69th Attack Helicopter Regiment (1/69 AHR) had been milling around in the ready room of the Chaloupky Airfield for fifteen minutes. The airstrip was too small to have a regular meeting hall, and this building had been taken over from an agricultural spraying operation. The squadron commander, Maj. Aleksander Frolov, tried to get his pilots to settle down. As the usual chatting ended, Frolov began the briefing.

"Pilots, as you know, our squadron has been held in reserve by the 1st Army for special missions. Our comrades from the other squadrons of the 69th Attack Regiment have already seen extensive combat in the fighting."

This was a bit of an understatement. The 69th Attack Regiment had been committed since the first day of the war. The Mi-8 transport helicopters from the regiment's 3d Squadron had been flying repeatedly back to Chaloupky to get spare parts, ammunition, and crews.[36]

The 2d Attack Squadron, equipped with Mi-24M Gorbach helicopters like the 1st Squadron, had seen the brunt of the fighting.[37]

The crews from the 3d Squadron reported that the attack boys were down to six helicopters from their original twenty-one Mi-24Ms. They had seen heavy fighting and had lost many helicopters to gunfire, missiles, and accidents. The pilots of the 1st Squadron were eager to learn everything these pilots could tell them about combat conditions. What were the main enemy threats? Were they encountering enemy helicopters? How strong were the enemy air defenses? Unfortunately, the transport pilots knew little of the real details of the past two days of fighting. Frolov could see that his men were anxious for action, but concerned over the heavy losses suffered by friends in the other squadron.

"We will have our first mission later today," he continued. "We will be supporting an air assault mission over the Danube River near the town of Irlbach. Our troops will be seizing a bridgehead on the south bank of the river. We will provide fire support and cover. Captain Dmitri Panchev from the front aviation command group will provide us with the details."

Although each army had an aviation staff, it was the front aviation group that had to approve the allotment of helicopter units for any large-scale heliborne operation. Panchev had been standing in the front of the room, fiddling with a large briefing board. He wore the camouflaged flight suit of assault helicopter pilots, but most pilots guessed he was just another weenie staff officer.

"Comrades," he began, "the operation will start at 1600 this afternoon. We plan to deploy the 123d Air Assault Battalion over the river just before sunset. This will give them the cover of the night to establish the bridgehead. We will be using the front's 14th Helicopter Transport Regiment to ferry the battalion into action.[38]

You will be supporting them. The assault will be launched from a forward base at Dorfl. Your squadron will move forward to Dorfl at 1400, refuel, and prepare for the mission. Your helicopters will be armed here at Chaloupky before you leave. You will carry a full load of S-5 or S-8 rockets, and antitank missiles as well. You will not carry a flight technician on board, only the pilot and weapons officer. We do not expect heavy opposition. However, our intelligence has learned that the Germans have been moving more of their own PAH-1 attack helicopters into the region.[39]

So don't focus only on the ground. Make sure your high flight keeps an eye out for enemy aviation. I'll turn you over to your Air Direction officer, Captain Kurasov."[40]

Captain Vasily Kurasov stood out among the assembled pilots if for no other reason than his age. Forty-five years old, a combat veteran of Afghanistan, he commanded the attention of the helicopter pilots who were a decade younger. Several of the pilots in the 1st Squadron knew Kurasov from lectures he had given to attack pilots during refresher courses for the helicopter units of the Central Group of Forces. He was an experienced and talented pilot, and was widely respected by pilots in the regiment.

"Comrades, I envy you. I'll be stuck on the ground later today with those chuchmyek riflemen, while you boys will be flying overhead!"[41]

The assembled pilots laughed at the racial slur. The aircrews were mostly Russians or Ukrainians. So were most of the elite air assault troops Kurasov would be accompanying into the drop zone. However, the pilots looked down their noses at all ground soldiers, even the elite DShB, as though they were ordinary motor rifle blockheads.

"Pilots, the first part of the mission is the most straightforward. Right out of tactical exercises. Even you nitwits from Leonov's flight should be able to manage this."

Senior Lieutenant Dmitri Leonov looked around sheepishly as the rest of the squadron pilots burst out laughing. He didn't think the remark was so funny. He was the flight leader of the 2d

Flight, and he had already lost one of his four helicopters. During the low-altitude training flight the day before, a Mi-24 had run into power lines. Fortunately, the crew survived. Earlier in the morning Kurasov had flown in on a reserve Mi-24 that would be turned over to Leonov's wingless crew. Kurasov was not the type to humiliate his junior pilots, but he knew how tense these greenhorns were. A joke at Leonov's expense seemed a small price to pay.

"All right, settle down," said Kurasov. "The objective is the area here, on the south bank of this turn on the Danube. The terrain is very open. The 14th Transport Regiment will be dropping the 123d in three areas, marked on these maps. Our reconnaissance from yesterday afternoon shows very few enemy concentrations in the area. That's why we selected it. We will be carrying out a ground reconnaissance this afternoon; it will be completed by 1400 and we will forward your commander the results. Unless something major turns up, we propose to conduct the attack as follows. The first three flights will each cover one of the three drop zones. Captain Nalepka, you and the 1st Flight will cover Landing Zone Kanada to the west. Lieutenant Leonov, your 2d Flight will cover the center Landing Zone Peru. Do a good job there, Dmitri, that's where Fm landing! Lieutenant Reiter and the 3d Flight will cover Landing Zone Afrika to the north. Lieutenant Dudarek's 4th Flight will be in reserve and cover any targets of opportunity we discover. We expect that the landing zones themselves will be clear. This is a secret so keep your mouths shut: We have a special spetsnaz team in there to look over the place. We expect that the main targets will be enemy convoys and other activity along autobahn A92, and along the roads that border the drop zone, like Route 8 and Route 11. You should aim to eliminate anything on these roads, or beyond them away from the landing zones.

'The attacks should be conducted in two passes. On each pass, empty one rocket pod per pylon. Save your cannon ammunition for later. The transport helicopters will follow you about ten minutes after your first attack. Pull back over to our side of the river. Once my team lands, we will give you directions from the ground. Captain Panchev will provide you with maps of the area. The enemy has few forces in the landing zones, but there are heavy concentrations here around Straubing to the west, and Deggendorf to the east. So be careful. Are there any questions?"

Most of the pilots wanted to ask about why the 2d Squadron was suffering such heavy losses.

But they were afraid that asking such questions would display cowardice, or a lack of confidence in the equipment. Lieutenant Leonov, having been mocked earlier, was not so reluctant.

"Comrade Captain, as you know, our 2d Squadron has suffered heavy losses against the Germans. Can you tell us what has been causing these losses? Do the Germans have any new weapons?"

"We at the front aviation command group have been getting a lot of reports back from our forward attack squadrons," answered Kurasov. "Losses have been heavy, but we think that we are finally breaking through the thick crust of the German defenses. As far as specifics… I have to warn you pilots again to keep your eyes out for power lines. Your 2d Squadron lost two Mi-24 helicopters to power lines in one day. Flying low is a good tactic to limit your losses, but it requires real attention.You must instruct your gunners to keep watch for these. On the maps we're handing out now, the main power lines are clearly marked. But remember, there are apt to be smaller telephone and electrical lines elsewhere, like along road and railroad tracks.

"Now, regarding artillery. This is a sensitive subject. We have had real problems coordinating the helicopter attacks with the artillery boys. The forward artillery observers and the Air Direction officers have sometimes been working at cross-purposes. We've had several accidents

where helicopters were called in for fire support when an artillery fire strike was occurring. This is especially a problem with the BM-21 Grad rocket knuckleheads. They have bad dispersion problems. We have lost a number of helicopters to friendly fire from this. You get the picture. Incoming artillery, incoming helicopters, and boom… no more helicopter. You do not need to worry about this on the assault today. The enemy defenses appear to be very modest, so there will be no artillery preparation before the landing. I don't want to worry you needlessly about this. Frankly, there's nothing you guys can do about it.

"Now, as far as weapons are concerned. If you encounter enemy tanks, there's a good chance there will be Gepards.[42]

We've had a lot of complaints from the forward squadrons about the radar warning receivers— there is so much radar activity out there, they are always going off. A lot of flights are turning off their Syrena receivers.[43]

Officially, I cannot recommend this procedure. But I can inform you of the problem. If you turn off the Syrena, you will have to keep a very sharp eye out for Gepards. They can hit you from 2,000 meters. Don't try to duel them with missiles. Those of you on Mi-24Ms, use your 30mm guns. The missiles take too long to get to the Gepard, and their guns will hit you before your missile gets there. The Gepards have proven very dangerous. Our electronic countermeasures have not been entirely successful.

"But don't ignore the ordinary guns. The Germans have a lot of 20mm AA guns with optical sights. You'll run into these when you attack bridges or other targets like these. Your Syrena warners won't do any good. Look for the tracers.

"Now, the missiles. The Germans are using an improved Stinger, what they call Advanced Stinger.[44]

It didn't give us much of a problem the first day, since our multispectral flares seemed to work. But it seems as though they can adjust the seeker to filter out our new flares. Yesterday was a bad day. We've been taking a lot more hits to Stingers since the first day.

I can't recommend much new on this beyond what you should already know. Don't waste your Hot Brick.[45]

Turn it on when you're in the battle area, not too soon before. A lot of helicopters have been keeping them on, and they've been wearing out fast. Then when you need them, they're worn out. Use your flares only in the combat areas. Don't go wasting them on the approach. Don't shoot them off every time you see a flash on the ground. This is not peacetime. There's going to be a lot of activity under you, and a lot of weapons going off. Not every flash is a Stinger!

"Finally, keep your eyes open for enemy helicopters. Yesterday one of our squadrons lost almost an entire flight of helicopters to German PAH-1 helicopters. They are very small and hard to see. They popped up and fired antitank missiles at the flight, and hit three helicopters. I know all you hotshots have been waiting to gun down enemy helicopters with your cannon. But remember, what you don't see can kill you. Those lousy little PAH-1s don't have a gun, but their missiles can be deadly."

The crowd of pilots rustled a bit as the maps were passed out. But they listened intently to Kurasov. Their lives depended on his advice. Mikhail Reiter from the 3d Flight raised his hand.

"Comrade Captain, we've heard there are American Apaches in our sector."

"That's correct, Lieutenant. Last night, one of our tank units was hit by an Apache unit.[46]

I don't know if you will encounter them today. The enemy seems to be committing them mainly at night. These things are much worse than the PAH-1s. They're a lot more like our new Mi-28s. They have a good cannon. But at night, they have radar and FLIR sights, and operate as easily as in the day. And their missiles are a lot worse. The Hellfire is faster than the TOWs and HOTs. If your laser warning receivers go off, take evasive action. The Americans have been using Hellfire air to air. They also have Stinger air to air. Don't mix it up with these people unless you have to. You are out there to support our riflemen.

You're not out there to become 'helicopter Kozhedubs.'[47]

Look, I have to leave in five minutes for the staging area in Germany. Captain Panchev from the front's command group will stay here and answer any more questions. Good luck, chums!"

The pilots were sorry to see Kurasov go. He was a real helicopter pilot. Panchev was just a staff officer twit with no flying experience in attack helicopters. He was just a lousy truck driver, hauling riflemen around in Mi-17s (an improved version of the Mi-8). He parroted the official policy lines, which were boring and possibly dangerous in the circumstances. Kurasov had the balls to buck official policy and express his opinions about useful new tactics and maneuvers.

After twenty minutes of milling around, Dmitri Leonov collected the other three pilots from his flight and left for the field to prepare the helicopters. The 2d Flight had consisted of four Mi-24 helicopters, at least until they lost number 34 yesterday. Yevgeny Kunayev was the pilot of number 34 and was ferrying the aircraft forward to Chaloupky when he ran into the power line. The line caught on the rotor head assembly, and the helicopter slammed into the ground. Fortunately, they were flying slowly, and Kunayev and his weapons officer got out of the wreck. Kunayev was the least experienced pilot in the flight, a pilot third class. Leonov's wingman, Mikhail Popov, was a pilot first class, as was the other pair leader, Pavel Demichev. Leonov himself had won the distinction of "sniper" pilot due to his performance.

The flight operated in two pairs, and tactics stressed that the wingmen follow the maneuvers of the leaders. Leonov led the first pair in number 31, with his wingman, Popov, in number 32. The second pair leader, Demichev, in number 33 was saddled with the hapless Kunayev in number 34. However, with number 34 now a heap of tangled wreckage in a forest clearing east of Klatovy, Kunayev would be getting a new helicopter. As the four pilots walked out to the flight line, they could see Kunayev's machine already sitting there. It stood out from the other three Mi-24s because of its different paint scheme. The three helicopters were finished in a pale sand color with camouflage patches of dark green. The new helicopter, number 57, was painted in the alternative scheme of gray and green. It was an older Mi-24V, fitted with a chin machine gun instead of a side-mounted twin 30mm cannon.

The pilots walked to their helicopters to look over the arming and fueling process. Each helicopter had six hardpoints on its stub winglets. The four inner pylons were for rocket pods, either the older S-5 57mm rockets, or the larger S-8 80mm rockets. For this mission, the larger rockets were fitted. On the outboard pylons were pairs of Drakon (Dragon) radio-guided antitank missiles. There were four per helicopter. The three original helicopters, all Mi-24Ms, had two 30mm cannons stacked one on top of the other on the right side of the fuselage. These were more powerful than the 12.7mm rotary cannon on number 57, but the whole helicopter had to be aimed to fire the guns. The older 12.7mm turret could be traversed by the front gunner, and so was a bit more precise and agile.

The seating arrangement in the Mi-24 was in tandem style. The weapons operator sat in the front cockpit, behind a panel of armored glass. Behind him, and slightly above, sat the pilot. The whole cockpit was enclosed in an armored titanium tub that would protect the crew from most small arms fire. There was a cargo compartment behind the cockpit. It was large enough to accommodate eight riflemen, but usually was used to transport additional ammunition and a flight technician. For short-range missions, the helicopter could land behind friendly lines, rearm, and carry out an additional attack. For the current mission, this was impractical due to the ranges involved. The objectives were about twenty-five kilometers from the forward airstrip, so the added weight of another crewman and stores would reduce the range and loiter time of the helicopter. It would be better to have a bit of added fuel in case the helicopters had to stay in the area, providing gunfire support for the assault group.

Leonov was not keen on the idea of having to wait until early afternoon before moving forward to the staging area. There would be little to do, since inspection of the aircraft would take only an hour or so. He was anxious to get into action and get it over with. At times, the waiting seemed worse than going into battle. The long interlude between the briefing and the attack was due to the time required to prepare the transport helicopters and assault teams. The briefings for the assault group would be considerably more complicated. The most time-consuming missions involved regular motor rifle troops. Then the procedure had to include special training on debarking off the helicopter, proper loading and unloading procedures, and a few drills. At least today, the attack would involve regular air assault troops who were already familiar with helicopters.

He found his gunner at helicopter number 31. Warrant Officer Aleksander "Sasha" Bershko was sitting in the front cockpit, fiddling with the main gun sight. Leonov signaled to him, and they got into the rear cargo compartment with the new maps to review the mission.

At about 0800, the air raid siren blared out. So far, the field had been lucky. The Soviets had dispersed their aviation units to small civil airstrips, such as Chaloupky, to make it more difficult for NATO to eliminate key airfields. But now it was going to be their turn. Leonov and Bershko jumped out of the rear cargo compartment. Leonov looked around to see where the other crews from his flight were located. He signaled them to evacuate the runway area. The 2d Flight was not on the actual runway, but in a flat grassy clearing at the outskirts of the airstrip. The main runway was occupied by an assault regiment of Su-25K ground attack aircraft.[48]

The helicopters did not need the runway to operate and so were based away from the tarmac.

No one had bothered to dig air raid shelters or slit trenches at Chaloupky. Most of the time had been spent handling the overload of equipment and stores brought into this tiny provincial airport. Leonov and Bershko ran a few hundred feet into the field and hid in a depression. The area around the helicopters was littered with ammunition, rockets, and fuel. One good hit, and the whole mess would go up. The first flight of enemy aircraft appeared to the northwest. It looked like Tornados. They were moving very fest, and very near the deck. To his relief, Leonov saw them pass over the north end of the airfield by more than two kilometers. Probably hunting another target. But as he got up to head back, he saw another flight of aircraft coming directly over the airfield. He hit the dirt.

Four Tornados came screaming over the field at about 100 meters. There was little to stop them. Four ZU-23 23mm towed antiaircraft guns were positioned around the airfield, but they were too slow to track the aircraft at such close ranges. A battery of S-125 Pechora missiles had been brought in, but the aircraft were too near the ground for them to be effective. As they passed over the field, the large dispenser under the Tornado's fuselage sprayed out submunitions. It looked as though the aircraft were seeding a field. As the submunitions tumbled, small parachutes emerged from each one, and they gently floated to the ground. As the submunitions hit the tarmac, the runway erupted in a staccato of explosions.

The Tornados had dropped several STABO runway cratering munitions. Each bomblet is small, about thirty-seven pounds. But the charge can blast through reinforced concrete, and leaves a deep crater. One of the aircraft had delivered a load of fragmentation munitions and bunker-busting charges near the main hangars. These blanketed the parked Su-25K attack aircraft, bursting in a furious succession of small explosions. The Tornados left as abruptly as they came, the four 23mm guns futilely firing after them. In less than a minute, the airfield had been ruined. The enemy mission had been well planned.

Leonov got up off the ground and surveyed the airfield. It was hard to see the main building complex, since the whole field was enveloped in clouds of dust and smoke. To his utter amazement, the helicopters still stood in front of him, apparently undamaged. The NATO squadron must have based the attack on reconnaissance from a day or so before the helicopters arrived. The attack had concentrated on the aircraft regiment, and had left the other corner of the airport, where the helicopters were located, unscathed. The Tornado pilots had dumped their whole load in a single pass. But they must have noticed the helicopters. They'd probably be back to finish the job.

As the dust settled, it became evident how much damage the Tornados had done. The runway was a complete mess, with big, jagged slabs of concrete strewn about. The hangar area, the center of the attack, was burning furiously. Most of the Su-25K looked like they had been hit. Several were crumpled to the ground, their landing gear shattered by explosions. The large collection of fuel drums nearby was aflame, and there seemed little prospect of putting the fire out with the limited amount of equipment on hand. The base commander called the local fire department, but the fire chief acted as though he didn't speak Russian. It took several minutes to find one of the Czech Air Force personnel at the base to arrange for the fire trucks.

Leonov warned his men to stay away from the runway. These submunition systems usually mixed in delayed-action bombs or mines with the main runway cratering bombs. There was no telling what sort of munitions still remained on the field, waiting to explode. It seemed heartless not to run over to the hangars and help the Su-25 regiment, but Leonov didn't want any of his men needlessly wounded. The rest of the squadron, including its commander, Major Frolov, gathered around the helicopters. Frolov echoed Leonov's warnings. Stay away from the runway! Frolov attempted to contact the control tower to get instructions about the disposition of his helicopters, but telephone communications, including the field phones, were useless. He sent runners over to the control tower.

About a half hour later, the runners returned in a civilian jeep with some of the staff from the regimental HQ. They agreed that the Tornados might be back to finish off the helicopters. So it was decided to fly them into a small clearing about two kilometers from the airfield to await developments. Frolov asked whether the Tornados had been busy over the forward airfield at Dorfl. The staff said an attack had been made, but the air defenses and local fighter cover had forced back the attack, with few casualties to the helicopters. The helicopter regiments had been pretty lucky so far!

The crews had already cleared most of the ordnance-handling equipment and refueling trolleys away from the helicopters. They decided to take some of the technical staff along with them in the cargo compartment in case further work needed to be done on the helicopters. Fortunately, most had been completely armed before the air strike had hit. Leonov put

on his flight helmet and adjusted the seat belts. A runner from the staff came over to each aircraft, warning them not to overfly the main runway for fear of detonating any MUSPA bombs on the field. Leonov nodded, and prepared for takeoff.

"Red Two, this is Red One, do you hear? Over."

Popov, in helicopter 32, responded affirmatively, as did the second pair.

"Red Flight, this is Red One. We will take off in pairs. I will lead. Wait for my instructions over the landing area. Over."

The big Isotov turbines behind the canopy whined loudly as Leonov prepared for takeoff. The Mi-24 is a massive helicopter, but its engine matches its bulk. In such cold October weather, the Mi-24 would have no problems lifting off, even with a full combat load. Leonov signaled to the ground crew and lifted his helicopter off smoothly. Popov got his helicopter off the ground seconds later, and fell in line behind him. From the air, the airfield was a bigger mess than he imagined. It looked as though the whole Su-25 squadron had been hit. Most of the aircraft seemed to be burned or broken. He switched his attention to the mission at hand and turned the big helicopter to the northwest.

It took no time to arrive at the new base, and he waited for the instruction of the 1st Flight commander, Capt. Sergei Nalepka.

"Kontsert One, this is Blue One. We will land in order. We'll go down into the northwest corner. Red One, put your chickens down in the north-east corner. Green One, you land near mat farmhouse. Yellow One, you put your birds down in the southwest corner. Over."

The helicopters followed in order, about eighty meters from one another. Formation flying in such proximity was one of the more dangerous aspects of combat flying. But the crews were well trained, and the mission went without a hitch. Fortunately, the ground was damp. Otherwise, the helicopters would have kicked up a great deal of dust in the farm fields, making it increasingly more difficult for the later helicopters to land.

Before he had wound down the engine, Leonov had seen Captain Nalepka running toward his helicopter. He opened up the side cockpit door and removed his helmet. Nalepka, as experienced as he was with helicopters, still instinctively crouched as he ran under the big rotor blades.

"Dmitri, Major Frolov's in the back of my chopper. He's a bit concerned about us losing touch with the main attack group at the forward airstrip. He wants one of our boys to fly down there in advance to act as liaison. You're it. Misha Popov will take your flight down there this afternoon. Tell Kurasov and the command staff what happened, and give him these notes from Frolov about communicating with us. We will set up a temporary ground station here."

Leonov nodded. He turned back into the troop compartment, pushing aside the small curtain that divided the cockpit from the rear section. He signaled his flight technician in the back.

"Stefek, we're heading down to the forward strip ahead of the squadron. You get off here and help out the other crews."

Leonov's flight technician opened up the side cargo doors and jumped out. After securing the doors, he ran to the right side of the cockpit and gave Leonov the thumbs-up sign to let him know he was clear. At that signal, Leonov gave the rotors power and lifted off again. He heard the solid clunk of the main gear retracting and pushed the controls forward. The Mi-24 responded well and soon reached cruising speed. Leonov kept the helicopter at an altitude of about 100 meters. He was familiar with the terrain in this area, all the way to the border. It was very rugged countryside, covered with thick woods. He got on the intercom.

"Sasha, keep your eyes out for enemy aircraft. Let me know if you see anything. I'll keep us well over the treetops until we arrive in Germany."

It took the helicopter only four minutes to reach the Czech-German border. The flight was uneventful. The roads below were clogged with traffic. There was some air activity to the north, but little evidence of hostile aircraft. Dorfl was just across the Czech border, in a valley below a large reservoir. It proved easy to find, and Leonov radioed ahead for permission to land. This was quickly approved, although he did notice that his Khrom Nikel IFF set was interrogated as he made the final approach to the staging area.[49]

From the looks of it, the landing site at Dorfl was not the main airstrip for the attack, probably only a forward base for the helicopters of the 69th Attack Regiment. He saw the long tadpole shapes of Mi-24s at the edge of the clearing, and landed well away from them.

After doing a quick post-flight check, Leonov opened up the cockpit door and climbed down out of the helicopter. A small truck arrived to tow the helicopter to the shelter of the woods. The Air Direction group was located in a small mill building. When he arrived, he did not see Captain Kurasov. One of Kurasov's men, a young lieutenant, was the only member of the team there. Leonov dutifully conveyed the instructions from his squadron commander, then walked out to talk to the pilots from the other Mi-24 squadron of his regiment.

The pilots were out near their helicopters, most of which were covered with camouflage nets. There were only six left of the original twenty-one. The pilots seemed exhausted. The big Mi-24s showed evidence of their recent combat experiences. Many of them had patches from small arms fire, and several had evidence of more extensive damage that hadn't been fixed. Leonov found a friend, Sr. Lt. Roman Shurko, near number 54. Leonov was taken aback by Shurko's appearance. Normally very prim and neat, the small pilot looked like he hadn't slept or shaved for three days, which it turned out was close to the truth.

"Hey, Roman Ivanovich! The 1st Squadron's here to save your ass."

Shurko did not look amused. It was a bad joke in the circumstances. Leonov tried to make amends.

"Can I give you a hand?"

Shurko was up on the engine platform with a couple of ground crewmen looking at the rotor head assembly. He climbed down to talk to Leonov.

"Hello, Dmitri Mikhailovich. Sorry to be so abrupt with you. But we've been having problems keeping these helicopters in operation. We're supposed to be getting a few new machines later today out of the front reserves.[50]

So what are you doing here?"

Leonov explained his squadron's mission and began questioning Shurko about the past few days' operations.

"Fm the last survivor from our flight. We were on a fire support mission the first day when Lavarev's bird was hit by ground fire. It plowed into the woods. Nobody got out. Yesterday, while we were carrying out a rocket pass, my wingman's bird just blew up in midair. No warning, no smoke, no nothing. The goddamn artillery had laid in a Grad rocket strike

at the same time and in the same area we were operating. Then Vasily Abramovich's machine was hit on the way back by a Stinger. He was lucky. The missile really smashed up his engine, but he managed to crash-land it in a pasture. Some of our troops were nearby.. they pulled him and his gunner out. He ought to be here later in the day.

"You know, Dmitri, we've been doing a good job. But we've really paid the price for it. It's about time you guys are finally being brought in. It's a tough situation out there. The ECM doesn't work as well as it should, and I really don't think the countermeasure flares are worth a shit. Stay low and move fast. That's all I can tell you. Once they get you in their sights, you don't have much chance."

Leonov was a bit taken back by his friend's pessimism. With a few hours to kill before the squadron arrived, he assisted Shurko in repairing and checking the aircraft. At about 1430, the 1/69 AHR arrived over the field and landed. Fuel trucks were quickly sent out to tank them up. Leonov rejoined his unit.

The attack was launched at 1530. The four flights of helicopters made an impressive sight in combat formation. Their light-colored camouflaged fuselages stood out sharply against the dark fir trees on the mountains below. The big Mi-24s stayed up high near the ridges. Not too high to be silhouetted against the sky, but high enough to avoid the inevitable humps and bumps of the mountainous terrain. Fortunately, during the final approach, the valley fed right into the landing area, and the helicopters were able to make a smooth transition to low altitude.

The helicopters made the final approach to the landing zone in two waves. Three flights were in line, up front, with Dudarek's flight in the second wave behind. The flights were several hundred meters apart to prevent the helicopters from running into each other. Nevertheless, it would be necessary to make tight turns exiting the target area to prevent collisions.

As they approached the landing zones, the pilots tensely awaited enemy fire. There was none. They had taken them by surprise! The landing zones had a small number of farmhouses and other buildings. The roads were quite visible beyond the landing zones, and had a fair amount of traffic. Leonov called over the intercom and told his gunner that he would trigger the rockets. On the approach, they had been flying at an altitude of about 300 meters, at a speed of 200 kilometers per hour. On the attack, Leonov popped the helicopter up to get a better view, then nosed it down into a dive for the firing ran. He rotated the switch for rocket pods 1 and 4. The S-8 rockets hissed and whined in succession as they cleared the pods. It took several seconds for the rocket salvo to hit. Leonov could see his first salvo spatter the road, with one salvo hitting a large track. He pulled his helicopter back around in a 180 degree turn, and the second pair began their firing pass.

This was a classic Soviet ground attack maneuver, sometimes called the "wheel of death." The idea was to continue to revolve around the target, giving it a continuous stream of bombs or rockets. As the second pair cleared the target, Leonov and his wingman, Mikhail Popov, made another firing pass. The 1st Flight leader, Captain Nalepka, radioed the squadron.

"Kontsert One, this is Blue One. Let's make a final firing pass with cannon. I want all flights to wheel around and go down the road west to east. After that, pull back to the north and let Bison land."

The final firing pass was more destructive than the first. By paralleling the road, it was possible to put more rounds on target. By this time the German track convoys were a shambles. Trucks were scattered pell-mell on either side of the road, and many more were smashed and burning in the center of the highway.

At the end of the cannon pass, the three flights pulled back over the Danube. The first wave of the transport helicopters was right behind them. Several flights of armed Mi-17 transport helicopters went in first. As they orbited the river, Leonov could see why it had been chosen for the crossing. The river was not particularly wide at this point, and the banks on both sides were open, with little tree cover.

Kurasov's Air Direction team had been in the first wave. Kurasov was using the code name Indyuk One for the main Air Direction center. He reported that the helicopters had landed without encountering enemy troops. After all the apprehension about Stingers and Gepards, the attack had gone almost unmolested by the enemy.

By 1630, the flight was securely landed. It was an eerily attractive autumn evening. There was thick cloud cover at about 4,000 meters, and the setting sun had burned through near the horizon. It bathed the clouds in a pale salmon pink, a curious contrast to the dismal gray of the day preceding. It looked as though the weather would clear up that night. The 1st Squadron headed back to Dorfl for refueling and to await further missions.

Leonov and his gunner decided to sleep in the rear compartment of the helicopter. It was cold, and smelled of aviation kerosene. But it was better than a muddy tent. At about 0400, Leonov was woken up.

"OK, my fine princesses, time to get going. We're back in business."

It was his friend Shurko. Leonov was still in his flight suit. He put on his boots and numbly stumbled out into the cold night air. There were faint lights coming from a building several hundred yards away. He could barely see other members of the squadron making their way there, cursing as they stepped on cow turds or slipped into muddy puddles.

In fifteen minutes, the pilots from the 1st Squadron and the survivors from the 2d Squadron were gathered together, and Major Frolov began the briefing: "Comrades, we will be taking off at daylight for the bridgehead at Irlbach. The air assault battalion there has been subjected to a strong enemy counterattack. It doesn't look like our troops on the eastern side of the Danube have managed to reach the river. We have to try to give the bridgehead some fire support. If the situation gets bad enough, we may have to extract them.

"The enemy reacted very quickly last night. They must have been expecting an operation like this. They threw an armored unit against the bridgehead from Deggendorf in the east and Straubing to the west. They overran Landing Zone Afrika near Stephans-posching about two hours ago. We lost contact with Kurasov's team in Landing Zone Peru about thirty minutes ago. We don't know if they have been overrun, or if it's just because of the enemy radio jamming. The artillery boys have their hands full trying to cover the attack on the eastern bank of the river. This map here shows you the main artillery areas. We will have to avoid these on our approach. We will come in from the southeast and send in one flight from 2d Squadron about ten minutes in advance to do a quick reconnaissance. When we receive word back, we will provide each flight with instructions about their objectives. The air assault boys are very weak in antitank weapons. Our primary objective will be to eliminate enemy tanks. We have no word on enemy air defenses, but you will have to be careful. The enemy is fighting for the river on both sides. The east bank yesterday had few enemy troops. Today, there will be plenty. Supervise the arming of your aircraft. We will lift off about 0530. Questions?"

"Comrade Major, could you please explain the attack approaches? If we attack parallel to the river, won't that expose our left flank to enemy fire?" "Lieutenant Dudarek, you are quite right. We will be attacking westward, not southward like yesterday. The main enemy attack seems to be from the east, from Deggendorf, against Landing Zone Kanada. Kanada's rear is protected by a wooded area. But the enemy may be attacking from the west as well. Our communications with Kurasov were interrupted by jamming, and we didn't get a complete situation report. However, the lead elements of the main attack assure us they will reach the opposite bank of the Danube this morning. So the air assault boys have been told to hold the bridgehead on the west bank at all costs. We're being sent in to help them do that. If that's all, let's get to our aircraft and get ready. It's going to be a busy day!"

Leonov stumbled out into the dark. He was a bit more awake than before the meeting. But the bright lights of the meeting hall had deprived him of night vision: The farm field now looked totally black. He thought about wandering back into the building for a flashlight, but then he noticed that the ground crews had begun to turn on the position lights on the helicopters. It looked like a feeble attempt at Christmas decorations. The little red and green lights on the stub winglets flickered in the distance, outshone by the main position lights on the top of the fuselage. Leonov trudged forward.

It took about thirty minutes to prepare the helicopters for action. The weather was finally changing for the better. It wasn't so overcast, and there were large clear patches with starlight shining through. The sky to the southeast was beginning to turn a dirty pink as the dawn arrived.

Shurko and the remnants of 2d Squadron took off at the first signs of dawn. They would perform the first scouting mission. As the landing zone had been narrowed, Major Frolov ordered the squadron to make a linear approach, with the four flights following in succession. Each flight would be separated by about three minutes. Once the firing passes had been made, the flights were to pass over the east bank of the Danube and circle around for another firing pass. Each helicopter had four Drakon antitank missiles, and they would probably fire one per pass.

"Kontsert One, this is Orkestra One, over." It was Roman Shurko over the battlefield. The 1st Squadron was already airborne and heading for the bridgehead. "We are in sight of the bridgehead. The enemy has overrun Landing Zone Peru. Our boys are around Landing Zone Kanada, mostly on the outskirts of Irlbach. The enemy has about a dozen tanks. We have already been fired on by at least one ZSU.[51]

We will try to eliminate the ZSU before you arrive. Out."

Leonov could see Captain Nalepka's 1st Flight about a kilometer in front of him, silhouetted against the dawn sky. The squadron was approaching the objective at treetop level, very fast. The sun was still not fully up, and the forest below looked black. The crews were using low-light television due to the darkness. In the distance, Leonov could make out three Mi-24s pulling to the right and over the river as they exited from their firing runs. There should have been four. Who had been hit?

Nalepka's flight was staggered in two pairs, with the wingmen slightly behind the pair leaders. The squadron had slowed down a bit to permit more accurate sighting. Nalepka's flight began firing off countermeasure flares about four kilometers from the landing zone. The flares dropped away in patterns of four, brilliantly white against the dirty pink dawn sky. They didn't do any good. Before the helicopters reached firing range, two Stinger missiles came leaping up from the ground. The helicopter on the fer left was hit near the rotor, suddenly lurching and felling to earth. The second Stinger missed, but kept coming toward Leonov's flight. Leonov felt helpless as the smoke trail of the Stinger came closer and closer. Before it reached the incoming flight, it exploded harmlessly several hundred meters in front of them. The three remaining helicopters from Nalepka's flight began firing their Drakon antitank missiles. A stream of heavy tracer fire began to spray into the formation. Two more helicopters were hit, and pulled off to the right, in flames. The damn Gepard was still there!

Leonov checked to make certain his electronic jammer was switched on. He would take care of countermeasures while his gunner steered the antitank missile. He got on the intercom and told Sasha to try to pick out the Gepard. He instructed his flight not to use flares. They didn't seem to work, and they only attracted attention. He could be reprimanded for this, but he would take the risk. About four kilometers from the landing zone, they zoomed over the last bit of woods and finally were over clear pastures. The scene ahead was confusing. There were a great many flashes and explosions from the fighting below. A slight mist from the river made it hard to pick out targets. The tanks revealed themselves by the occasional blast from their guns. The Gepard seemed to be down near a clump of trees. Sasha triggered the first Drakon missile and guided it toward the Gepard. He had indeed picked out the right target. A stream of 35mm tracer came up out of the trees toward the helicopters. Steaming red fireballs.. they seemed like harmless fireworks. The tracer fire hit the left side of the flight, raking Yevgeny Kunayev's helicopter. The Mi-24 number 57 toppled over to the right and crashed into the ground in a large fireball. The Gepard turned its attention one aircraft inward, hitting Pavel Demichev's helicopter. That was its last victim. Both Leonov and Mikhail Popov's helicopters had targeted the Gepard with Drakon missiles, and they slammed into it nearly simultaneously. Leonov made a hard turn to the right, with Popov following shortly after. No Stingers so far. They swung around to the tail of the formation, behind Roman Shurko's flight.

The next two flights went in, losing two more helicopters to Stingers. There seemed to be two or three Stinger teams, but it was impossible to locate them. It took them time to reload, however, so it was possible to evade them if the flights went in fast enough. In the process of the attack, the squadron claimed eight tanks and the Gepard. It was very hard to tell. The battlefield was awash in smoke and dust. Leonov and Popov made a firing pass without incident, claiming two more tanks. The Stinger fire abated, probably because they were running out of missiles. Two more flights went in without resistance. On the final flight, Mikhail Reiter radioed that he had spotted reinforcements coming in from the west. Another armored column.

Leonov was over the east bank of the Danube when he noticed something moving in the tree line about three kilometers to the west of the landing zone. Then he saw the flashes. Enemy helicopters! The enemy was making a major counterattack from the west, with helicopter support. He radioed a warning to Dudarek's flight, but it was too late. The two surviving helicopters of 4th Flight were hit solidly on the side by antitank missiles. Leonov could now make out two enemy attack helicopters. Apaches! He and Popov broke out of the circle heading toward the enemy helicopters. He steered his helicopter toward the lead aircraft. As he was about to squeeze off the first round, he saw the helicopters fire at least two missiles. Much to his chagrin, the helicopters simply dropped into the forest in a fast vertical descent. His Mi-24 was approaching too fast to follow them, and he turned aside, trying to evade the oncoming missiles. The first missile struck the tail area of Mikhail Popov's helicopter. It spiraled into the forest in flames.

The second missile struck the stub winglet of Leonov's helicopter. It shook violently from the impact. At first, Leonov could not determine where he had been hit. But the helicopter was responding strangely to the controls. Looking back into the troop compartment, he could see jagged holes in the side of the fuselage. Fragmentation from the explosion had apparently damaged the left engine as well. He was getting warning signs of an oil leak. He decided to try to make it back to friendly lines. The enemy helicopters did not follow. They turned their attention to other Soviet aircraft.

Leonov crossed the Danube again, but there was little evidence of Soviet forces. The Germans began firing small arms at his helicopter. He could hear the pitter-patter of rifle fire cutting into the rear fuselage. The main line of fighting became evident about four kilometers east of the river. Judging from all the flashes and fires, an intense land battle was going on. Leonov passed over the main battle area, only to be hit by more small arms fire. This time the right engine simply gave out. A quick landing was called for. He spotted a large open pasture, littered with several destroyed armored vehicles. The landing gear refused to retract, so he tried to slow down his speed to about fifty before impacting.

The helicopter skidded for several hundred meters before hitting a low stone wall. The impact sheered off the remaining stub winglet, and the helicopter smashed over onto its left side. The rotor blades hit the ground, shattering off in large, frightening pieces. The helicopter finally came to rest.

Leonov and his gunner were strapped in, but were still smacked about by the abrupt landing. Leonov's door was above him, and proved hard to open, but he finally struggled free. Sasha was trapped in the front cockpit. His canopy opened to the left side, which was now jammed against the ground. He took a wrench from the tool kit and began punching a hole through the Plexiglas canopy. Leonov helped him pull away the Plexiglas, and Sasha Bershko wiggled out of the cockpit. They jumped down off the wrecked helicopter and began walking away. A small fire had broken out in the engine, but there seemed little danger of an explosion.

Just then a Soviet BTR-80 troop carrier pulled up and several riflemen came running forward. A short Kirghiz private ran up shouting "Stoi." Leonov put his hands up, but in an irritated voice shouted, "Yestem sovyetskim letchikem." The soldier lowered his assault rifle and signaled him to follow.

Leonov wondered what had happened to the rest of the squadron.

Helicopters are a relatively new innovation in land warfare. Although they first saw action in World War II (in very small numbers), it was not until the advent of turbine-powered helicopters in the 1960s that they really caught on. American use of the helicopter in Vietnam cemented its place in the modern arsenal. Soviet experience with the helicopter in Afghanistan has shaped their own interest in this new technology.

Like most novel military technologies, there is considerable controversy over how the new machines should be used. In many respects, the turmoil over helicopter doctrine today resembles tank doctrine in the 1930s. There are many varying viewpoints, and little consensus on key issues. As was the case with tanks in the 1930s, recent combat experience with helicopters has been mainly in peripheral regions, not entirely resembling the nature of warfare between two well-equipped forces. For example, in the case of both Vietnam and Afghanistan, only one side had helicopters, and the opposing side was not well equipped to deal with them. The question remains how helicopters would fare in a war against a first-rate opponent.

The Soviet tendency has been more conservative than the American. The Soviets came into the helicopter business later than the United States, and there are many organizational differences. In the U.S., helicopters are the property of the U.S. Army. They are viewed as an integral part of the ground forces. In the Soviet armed forces, helicopters have remained in the Air Force. They are attached to the Ground Forces for operations, but are trained and equipped by the Air Force. As a result, there are striking differences in the configuration of combat helicopters and the way they are deployed.

In the U.S. Army, attack helicopters are deployed at divisional level. United States armored and mechanized divisions have large organic helicopter units. A typical U.S. division will have more than one hundred fifty helicopters, consisting of about forty-five attack helicopters, forty-five transport helicopters, and sixty-five scout and utility helicopters. In contrast, only a small percentage of Soviet divisions have any helicopters at all. And the few divisions that do have organic helicopter units have only about twenty helicopters, mixed between attack, transport, and light utility helicopters.

The difference between the U.S. and Soviet approach can be traced to two main sources — the Soviet tendency to hoard scarce, high-technology systems at higher echelons; and the cost and maintenance burden posed by helicopters. Since helicopters are air force assets, the Soviets tend to place them under the control of army or front aviation command groups. The Soviets have argued that this allows the army and front commanders to better concentrate these valuable weapons, in much the same way that fixed-wing tactical air support is concentrated. In some respects they see an analogy to the debate over tanks in the 1930s. Then, tanks were usually deployed in small quantities, so-called "penny packets," where their firepower and shock value were diluted. They tended to be subordinated to the infantry for local actions and were not available to higher echelons for grand mobile operations.

While this argument certainly has some merit, it is not particularly illuminating. The U.S. Army not only has divisional helicopter units to provide support in small-scale tactical operations, but it also has larger, independent formations, attached at corps level, for use in large-scale operations by higher echelons of command. The Soviet tendency to argue in favor of concentration above divisional level to some extent masks certain Soviet problems in the combat use of helicopters.

To begin with, helicopters are exceedingly expensive weapons. An attack helicopter will typically cost four or five times as much as a main battle tank. So a battalion of attack helicopters attached to a division costs nearly as much as all of the tanks in a division. For the Soviets to contemplate equipping each division with such precious equipment mandates a major escalation in the cost of each division. It is doubtful that the Soviet Ground Forces will be able to afford this luxury for some time. Instead, an attack regiment (roughly the same size as an American attack helicopter battalion) is attached at army level, to be shared by its three divisions as the situation warrants.

Exclusion of helicopters from the divisions is probably also based on the difficulty and cost of maintaining an aviation branch distinct from the Soviet Air Force. Although helicopters can operate from grass strips, in peacetime they usually operate from paved runways, with prepared hangars and extensive support equipment. For the Soviets to allot helicopters to army divisions would necessitate a major expenditure to build up airfields adjacent to army bases to better integrate the forces. For reasons of economy, it is cheaper to keep the helicopters under air force control, operating out of air force bases and facilities. Expansion of existing air bases is a cheaper alternative to the dispersion of helicopters to a large number of new air bases.

The Soviets also suffer from serious problems in maintaining modern military aircraft. This is in no small measure due to the use of a short-term conscript force. The bulk of ground crews are enlisted personnel who enter the Soviet services with no experience in aviation repair. In the U.S. and much of NATO, teenage boys have access to motorbikes, automobiles, personal computers, CB radios, and other equipment that familiarizes them with the basic concepts of machinery and electronics. Soviet society is far poorer in these consumer products, and Soviet teenagers are more apt to be technologically illiterate when they are drafted into the service. Furthermore, the skills learned in the service are quickly lost as the Soviet NCOs return to civilian life after two years of duty.

The backbone of U.S. Army aviation is a large pool of experienced NCOs and warrant officers. The U.S. can deploy helicopters in the division because it can organize the critical manpower needed to keep the infrastructure running. The Soviet Ground Forces, with low priority in the Soviet manpower pool, has a harder time recruiting suitable personnel for a sizable aviation branch than does the more elite Air Force. The Soviets have tried to alleviate the problem by an emphasis on maintenance simplicity in their helicopter designs. Western operators of civil versions of Soviet military helicopters have found them to be very suitable for use in remote areas due to the ease of maintenance.

On the other hand, Soviet helicopters, like most Soviet aviation products, tend to have much shorter operating lives than comparable NATO designs. For example, the rotor blades of the Mi-2 Hoplite utility helicopter have a retirement life of 1,000 hours. In contrast, the German Bo-105 has a blade life ten times as high, some 10,000 operating hours. The overhaul schedule for the rotor head is 1,000 hours for the Mi-2, and 10,000 hours for the Bo-105. The difference in engine overhaul schedules is less dramatic, but still significant—1,000 hours versus 3,500 hours. The problems are not entirely technological. When queried about the reason for the short blade life, a Soviet engineer indicated that blades were manufactured at factories separate from the helicopter plants where the main incentives are to increase the quantity, not the quality, of blades. Although the designers felt that the blade life could be extended, to do so would lead to a large surplus of rotor blades, endangering the bonuses of the management of the rotor plant. Therefore, the helicopter plant was discouraged from designing more durable rotors. This problem is endemic in the centrally planned economy, which tends to favor quantity of output over quality.

The relative lack of durability of Soviet helicopters also affects the training of pilots. American helicopter pilots who have met their Soviet counterparts in international helicopter sporting events have been favorably impressed by their training and their capabilities. What has shocked the Soviet pilots has been the age of their American counterparts. American helicopter pilots are a good deal younger. The reasons for the difference are easy to trace. American pilots get a great deal more flying time, and therefore build up flying experience much quicker than the Soviets. The Soviets, although as capable as the American pilots, take a longer time to gain experience, due to the restrictions on the number of hours they are allowed to fly. This is directly related to the low durability of Soviet helicopters, and to the high cost of training.

In a wartime situation, these tendencies are likely to have an effect in several areas. To begin with, the Soviet helicopter forces are likely to be the most capable during the initial phases of the war. The relative quality of their forces is likely to drain away faster than that of NATO helicopter units due to the lower durability of the equipment, and to maintenance shortcomings in the ground crews. Furthermore, the Soviet tendency to hoard helicopters at upper echelons of command, and under air force control, implies that Soviet use of helicopters in supporting ground forces will be less flexible than in NATO forces, where there are stronger organic links between the ground and aviation elements. The U.S. Army troops expect helicopter support, since they train regularly with it. Divisions expect scout helicopters to provide divisional reconnaissance, for example. But in the Soviet case, the helicopters are farther up the chain of command, and are less likely to be available for support missions at divisional level. For example, the Soviets still tend to rely on ground units, not on helicopters, for reconnaissance.

Soviet helicopter design is also affected by the orientation of the helicopter forces. Attack helicopters are a good example. A comparison between the AH-1S Cobra gunship and its Soviet counterpart, the Mi-24V Hind D, makes this very clear. The Mi-24 is much more massive than the AH-1S Cobra. The Hind weighs about 10 tons, fully loaded. The Cobra weighs about 7.5 tons fully armed and loaded. The armament load of both helicopters is similar. The difference in weight stems from design factors. The Hind is designed as a fast fire support aircraft, with greater horsepower. It usually fires its weapons during a fast pass, much like a fixed-wing aircraft. The Cobra design places less emphasis on speed and more emphasis on maneuverability in the ground-hugging environment. On antitank missions, the Cobra will usually fire its TOW antitank missiles from a hover. The Hind is not well designed for this role and has difficulty hovering due to the configuration of its stub wings. The mission for the Hind places emphasis on the artillery fire support role in which hovering performance is less important. Typical attack profiles for the Hind call for a fest approach at low altitudes, a pop-up maneuver close to the target, followed by a diving pass and weapons release. Indeed, Soviet helicopters have been used to drop bombs, a practice virtually unheard of in U.S. helicopter units.

The design differences between the American and Soviet helicopters have an odd history. The Mi-24 Hind and its mission closely resemble the notions held by the U.S. Army in the 1960s before the Vietnam experience. Had the American AH-56 Cheyenne helicopter program succeeded, the aircraft would have been very similar to the Soviet Hind. According to Soviet sources, the Mil design bureau was heavily influenced by the Sikorsky entry in the Cheyenne program. Like the Sikorsky S-67 Black Hawk, the Hind has a troop compartment in the center of the aircraft. This allows the Hind to transport eight troops or additional supplies. However, it also makes the helicopter a good deal bulkier than its American counterpart, the AH-1S Cobra.

The next generation of attack helicopter, the American AH-64 Apache and Soviet Mi-28 Havoc, exhibits a greater convergence in design philosophy. The Mi-28, like the AH-64 Apache, places greater emphasis on tank fighting, and so would be better suited to the standoff and hover role. This has real advantages in an area full of antiaircraft defenses like the scenario depicted here. A helicopter that can stand off two or three kilometers from the target and hide in the trees is far less vulnerable to air defenses than one that continues toward the target during the firing pass.

The fictional scenario also illustrates two of the major questions about the nature of helicopter fighting in a future war: the vulnerability of helicopters to air defenses and the probability of helicopter versus helicopter fighting. Although the U.S. lost many helicopters to ground fire in Vietnam, the losses per sortie were so low that they never seriously compromised the use of helicopters in the fighting. In contrast, in 1986-87, the Soviets began losing so many helicopters to the mujihadeen once the Stinger missile appeared, their support missions were seriously curtailed. The presence of man-portable antihelicopter missiles like the Stinger will force attack helicopters to use standoff tactics like those described. A helicopter with a long-range antitank missile can remain masked behind trees, nearly invisible to enemy missile gunners. Furthermore, an infrared seeking missile like the Stinger, or the Soviet SA-16, has a harder time tracking a helicopter flying near the ground, due to the presence of extraneous heat sources such as burning vehicles, building smokestacks, and the like.

The other approach to lessening the threat of the missiles is infrared countermeasures. There are two approaches to this. The simplest is to drop infrared flares, designed to emit heat at the same frequency as the sensitivity of the antihelicopter missile's seeker. These lure the missile away from the helicopter. The other approach is the so-called "Hot Brick" systems, which emit a heat signal that confuses the missile seeker. The problem with these approaches is that newer missiles have multispectral seekers, which look for emissions in several frequencies. The countermeasures may jam one but not the other. The Soviets adopted both approaches in Afghanistan. They proved very effective against old anti-helicopter missiles like the SA-7 Grail but not very effective against the Stinger. The best defense against these missiles may prove to be tactics rather than technology, tactics such as low-altitude flying and standoff weapons attacks.

The proliferation of helicopters on the battlefield also will lead to encounters between helicopters. This already happened in 1982 in the fighting between Israel and Syria in Lebanon, and in the Iran-Iraq war. Helicopters do not have to worry much about fixed-wing aircraft, since they tend to operate so close to the ground and can easily outmaneuver a fixed-wing aircraft. But there are very good chances of running into other helicopters. There has been some talk of special antihelicopter weapons. The first type to be adopted by NATO and the Warsaw Pact is a simple adaptation to carry antihelicopter missiles like the Stinger. Although they were normally designed to be launched from the ground, it has proven fairly easy to design a system to launch them from helicopters.

Many helicopter forces have been slow to adopt specialized weapons for helicopter dogfighting, however. The reason is that existing helicopter weapons may prove adequate for these chance encounters. During encounters with Syrian Gazelle helicopters, the Israelis used TOW wire-guided antitank missiles to shoot down at least one Syrian helicopter. Many attack helicopters also have turret gun systems, which can be used in dogfighting. Reportedly, an Iraqi Mi-24 Hind shot down an Iranian F-4 Phantom jet fighter that was chasing it, using its turreted gun!

One of the most interesting aspects of the helicopter dogfighting controversy is the role of the new Soviet Kamov Hokum helicopter. Many Western analysts see the Hokum as a helicopter fighter, designed primarily to attack NATO helicopters. The Hokum has yet to enter service, and its intended role is not at all clear. It remains to be seen whether the Soviets really think it is worthwhile to invest so much money in a specialized antihelicopter aircraft when existing attack helicopters can perform this function. It is also not clear how survivable such a helicopter would be, since the helicopter role implies that it would be operating over NATO lines where it would be vulnerable to missiles and other air defenses.

In spite of these new threats to the helicopter, the Soviets remain deeply committed to heliborne warfare. The main attraction of the helicopter is the mobility it offers to ground forces. In the transport role, the helicopter offers an alternative to paratroop forces, and paratroop operations are always very risky. The wind can scatter the attacking force, or they can be dropped into the wrong landing zone. Heliborne landings have the classic advantages of paratroop operations— surprise and deep penetration — but the helicopter can reduce the risks of the landing itself. In the fictional scenario, the Soviets used a helicopter force in an operation that probably would have involved paratroops in World War II.

Soviet interest in this type of operation has increased dramatically since the Afghanistan fighting. Afghanistan favored the use of helicopters, as did Vietnam, due to the rough terrain.

The Soviets found that they could move combat units rapidly to counter the elusive Muslim guerrilla forces only by helicopter. In mountainous terrain, road traffic is forced to use narrow mountain roads, which can be easily ambushed. Helicopters have fer fewer problems operating in such conditions.

During the Afghanistan war, the Soviets began using their airmobile units for the first time in combat. Prior to this fighting, the Soviet Ground Forces had planned to use normal motor rifle troops to carry out airmobile operations. However, Afghanistan convinced them that specially trained units, more familiar with airmobile tactics, were more effective. Airmobile units also have to have a different organization than regular motor rifle troops. Airmobile units do not have armored vehicles or motor vehicles to provide fire support and logistical support during most missions. So the units have to be more self-contained, with additional antitank weapons, mortars, and other fire support to make up for the lack of other weapons. The Soviets also found that airmobile tactics require a higher caliber of troops than the run-of-the-mill motor rifle troops. So fer, Soviet airmobile troops are part of the DShB branch of the elite VDV Air Assault Force. These units have fer stricter training demands than normal motor rifle troops and also have higher priority in recruitment. In the Soviet Army, the airmobile units are elite formations, intended for specialized, high-risk operations. It would not be surprising to see the number of Soviet air assault (paratroop) divisions decrease over the next few years, while the air assault (heliborne) and other airmobile units increase.

At the moment, Soviet helicopter units are in a period of transition. There are a number of different types of helicopter units in service, some on an experimental basis, as the Soviets try to determine which style is the most effective. Divisional helicopter units, when they exist, tend to have eighteen to twenty helicopters. Usually there are three flights of four helicopters each, equally divided among Mi-24 attack helicopters, Mi-8 transport helicopters, and Mi-2 utility helicopters. In some units, there are eight Mi-8 transport helicopters instead of the usual six. The more common formations are the helicopter regiments under army or front jurisdiction.

Transport helicopter regiments, like the fictional 14th Helicopter Transport Regiment in the scenario, are used to transport airmobile forces. They will typically have two or three squadrons of medium transport helicopters (Mi-8 or Mi-17) and one squadron of heavy (Mi-6 or Mi-26) transport helicopters. These will number about fifty-two helicopters, with as many as a dozen spares.

The picture regarding attack helicopters is somewhat more complicated. There appear to be several different types of attack helicopter regiments, varying in the number of squadrons. The typical attack helicopter regiment, like the fictional 69th Attack Helicopter Regiment in the scenario, has two attack helicopter squadrons and one transport helicopter squadron. Some attack helicopter regiments at front level will have four attack helicopter squadrons, or three attack and one transport squadron. There is also a variety of other specialized helicopter formations.

Senior Lieutenant Ivan Dushak adjusted the harness that strapped him into his MiG-29A fighter aircraft. He had flown this particular machine, number 21, several times before. It was pretty much trouble free in the hands of a good ground crew and had the red operating proficiency badge on the nose as a result. The high walls of the ready revetments blocked what little sunlight was available in the early morning hours. Dushak took a small flashlight from his flight suit to check the notepad he had strapped to his right leg. It was securely in place. He turned his attention to the cockpit instruments and began going through the engine warm-up procedures. He checked to make certain the inertial navigation system had been turned on. It would take several minutes of warm-up time to operate properly. The airfield support battalion brought a truck to tow the aircraft out of the revetments before the engines were started. As his aircraft was towed into the open, he felt exposed. The NATO air forces had been attacking Soviet airfields relentlessly, and the last thing he wanted to happen was to lose his aircraft on the ground. He hoped that his wait until takeoff would be brief.

Dushak's MiG-29 was one of eight from the 1st Squadron of the 176th Proskurovskiy Guards Fighter Aviation Regiment being prepared for this particular mission. Two flights, each with four fighters, would be escorting a strike group against an improvised NATO airfield near Ingolstadt. The Germans and Americans had converted a length of Route 16 to the west of Ingolstadt into an airfield from which they were flying A-10 attack aircraft. The A-10s had been hitting at Soviet ground columns during the fighting for the Danube bridgeheads for the past day or so. The army was demanding that they be stamped out. The proximity of the Ingolstadt field allowed the A-l0s to make many sorties each day, and they had been wrecking the pontoon bridges and engineer equipment as fast as they were erected. The bitter complaints from the front commander had led the Air Force to allot two squadrons of the prized Su-24 attack bombers to the mission. The Su-24 was a two-seat strike aircraft with very sophisticated navigation and electronics. It resembled the American F-111 strike bomber. The Su-24 was not usually assigned to simple tactical strike missions, unless they had high priority. The strike force would be rounded out by a flight of Su-22s configured for the ECM jamming role. The Su-22s were sometimes called "Zubr" (Bison) by their crews due to their rotund shape and arched fuselage. Laden with jamming pods, they would be sluggish and vulnerable.

Dushak's fighter regiment had been brought into Milovice two days before from its normal operating base outside of Lvov in the Ukraine. Fighter losses in the past few days of air fighting had been heavy. It wasn't only the NATO fighter planes, it was also the damn SAM missiles like the Hawk and Patriot. The missiles were forcing the Soviet aircraft to operate at low altitudes, where NATO radars couldn't find them in all the ground clutter. But it was dangerous to fly below 1,000 meters. The terrain along the border was mountainous, and it was easy to run into a hill if you weren't careful. And at low altitude you attracted the attention of everybody with a gun. Modern jet aircraft are rugged, but at high speeds, even small damage can be lethal. A single bullet, in the wrong place at the wrong time, can bring down a multimillion-dollar jet. A bullet down the air intake, impacting the turbine blades, can lead to a catastrophic engine failure. A ruptured hydraulic line can lead to a loss of control. Such losses to small arms fire are not very common. Jet aircraft have been known to absorb more than a hundred small-caliber bullets and fly safely back to base. But when flying at low altitude, the "golden bullet" that can wreck your plane is always a worry.

Modern air defense missiles are another matter. Missiles like the Hawk or Patriot are so large that if they lock onto your fighter with their radar, your chances are not good. Electronic jamming is possible, but difficult. And the warheads on these missiles are so large that they nearly ensure an aircraft loss if they explode close enough. They are a major worry on a strike mission like this, since so many aircraft provide a juicy target. By staying at low altitudes, the strike group can stay under their radar cover. Without radar acquisition, the missiles are useless. It's a trade-off. If you go in high, you can avoid small-caliber gunfire and Stingers, but then you are out in the open against the Patriot and Hawk batteries. In view of the losses of Soviet aircraft to Hawks and Patriots in the past few days, this attack mission would be going in low.

Either way, the flight could be attacked by enemy fighters. The main problem in this area was F-16s, which were present in abundance and were a real menace. The F-16 was smaller than the MiG-29, but its performance was similar. Some were armed with the deadly AMRAAM radar-guided missile, but many still had only Sidewinders. The Sidewinder used infrared homing, and fighters were usually within visual range before the infrared seeker could lock onto the target. This limited their attack envelope. The AMRAAM was a different matter entirely. It was radar guided and didn't require illumination from the enemy fighter's radar like the older Sparrow. These were undoubtedly the most lethal weapon in the recent fighting, and more than one Soviet squadron had been massacred by AMRAAMs. Some F-16s had been modernized to fire these, but the F-15 was the primary AMRAAM platform. The F-15 was bigger than the F-16 or MiG-29. The F-15 pilots preferred to kill their adversaries at long range with the AMRAAM rather than mix it up in a messy dogfight at close range with the smaller MiG-29.

Dushak checked his own panel to make certain his missiles had been properly mounted. He carried the usual weapons load. There were two R-72 radar-guided missiles on the inboard pylons. These were like the NATO Sparrow missiles. You illuminated the enemy aircraft with your RP-29 radar, and the missile homed in on the radar reflections from your target. They were good missiles, with good range. But you had to keep your radar locked onto your target the whole time — from missile launch to missile impact. If you had to break off the engagement due to the presence of enemy fighters, the missile would not hit. It also meant you could engage only one target at a time. With the AMRAAM, the missile had its own little radar and didn't need the aircraft to radar illuminate the target. And you could engage several aircraft at once, which was not possible with either the NATO Sparrow or the Soviet R-72. The other four missile pylons on the MiG-29 had R-60 infrared missiles slung from them. The R-60 operated like a Sidewinder, homing in on infrared energy from the target aircraft. It could even be launched from head on, picking up the leading edge of the fuselage and wings that had been heated by air friction. The main problem in dogfighting with the R-60 was that it had less range than the Sidewinder. The Soviet Air Force had the old K-13 with good range, but its seeker was not very sensitive. There was the new R-73 infrared missile with performance similar to that of the R-60, but it wasn't common yet, and Dushak's squadron had to make do with the older R-60s.

For real dogfighting, the MiG-29 had a 30mm autocannon in the left wing root. This was a very destructive weapon: A few solid hits could destroy most modern fighter planes. The gun was linked to a laser range finder, which told the pilot if the enemy plane was in range. Through the computer and heads-up display (HUD), it told the pilot how much elevation or deflection was needed. The HUD in the MiG-29 was a real advance as far as Dushak was concerned, especially over the old sights in the MiG-23. The HUD is an optical data system that is located in front of the pilot. The main element is a tilted glass panel that has data from the aircraft computer projected onto it. The main attraction of the HUD is that it allows the pilot to keep his eyes looking forward, through the canopy, and still be able to get vital information. In older fighters, you had to look down into the cockpit to get information from the various flight instruments. This was very distracting in a dogfight: You could lose your grasp of the situation while you were looking at the dials and gauges.

By the time Dushak's MiG-29 had been wheeled out of the revetment, the sun was creeping its way up the southeastern horizon. Dushak noted its position. The sun could be an ally in any dogfight, and a fighter pilot had to remember where it lay. Attacking with the sun at your back was one of the oldest dogfighting tricks. Even in the age of computers and missiles, it was still an excellent tactic. It is hard to see into the sun, and this blind spot can be exploited by a skilled pilot. Dushak had used this tactic often during peacetime training. He was about to find out whether peacetime training was anything like the real thing.

The warrant officer who headed the flight crew signaled to Dushak that everything was ready.

He started the engine and closed the cockpit canopy. It made a solid clunk, and he locked it shut. He had already adjusted the aircraft radio to the mission frequency and was awaiting further instructions. Dushak's flight would be using the radio call sign Shashka (Sabre); the other MiG-29 flight would use Molot (Hammer). The Su-24 squadron was using the call sign Kirka (Axe), and the countermeasures flight was using Pika (Pike). Dushak's aircraft was Shashka 3; the flight leader, Sniper Pilot Nikolai Vlasov, was Shashka 1; his wingman, Pilot 3d Class German Burlakov, was Shashka 2. Dushak was the second pair leader, and his wingman, Pilot 2d Class Sergei Kostenko, was Shashka 4. Sergei "Seryozha" Kostenko was a younger pilot than Dushak, twenty-eight years old. Dushak had flown on MiG-23 fighters in the 1980s, before transitioning to the new MiG-29 in 1991. Kostenko had flown the MiG-29 ever since he had been a combat pilot.

Dushak had a lot of problems with Kostenko as his wingman. The younger pilot was much more aggressive than Dushak. The Air Force had been trying to encourage pilots to show more initiative and daring, but Dushak felt that Kostenko carried this a bit too far. Dushak had been trained in the old-fashioned way, which placed more stress on central control from the GCI (ground-controlled intercept) handlers. Kostenko made it no secret that he wanted to be assigned to "free-lance" squadrons, which were used for offensive fighter sweeps. He was very unhappy with the escort missions and air defense patrols that the squadron had been assigned since the outset of the war. Kostenko seemed to imply that Dushak was cowardly for not engaging in more aggressive maneuvers during the missions. Dushak had spoken to the regiment commander about Kostenko, but was left feeling mat the commander had more sympathy for Kostenko than himself. "New equipment requires new approaches, Comrade Lieutenant Dushak," the commander had said. Times and tactics were changing with the arrival of the MiG-29.

The day before, they had been flying an air defense mission over Czechoslovakia when a NATO air strike was occurring to the north at the Mimon airfield. The GCI told them to remain patrolling their sector, that other regiments were covering Mimon. Kostenko had badgered Dushak to move the patrol circuit a bit farther north so that they might engage any stragglers coming into their sector. Realizing that this would complicate the patrol patterns of other flights, Dushak had told Kostenko to shut up and stay in formation with him. They had an uneventful flight. But wars are not won by uneventful flights.

Dushak could see that they had prepared the rest of the flight. Captain Vlasov's plane, with a blue "04" on the air intake, was at the head of the flight. Looking in his rearview mirrors, Dushak could see Kostenko's plane behind him. The flight was all set up in a nice little row. He was hoping they would get off the airfield fest before the damn NATO people figured out an operation was planned and bombed the hell out of the base again.

Milovice airfield had already been bombed at least seven times since the beginning of the war. The runway had been cratered badly, and ground crews had spent the whole night repairing the damage. The German Tornados that had struck the airfield early the previous morning had dropped several delayed-action bombs with the usual cratering load. They had to be meticulously removed before the runway was declared safe for operations. Fortunately, runway 2 had not been hit as badly, and would be used for this morning's operation. The NATO attacks had not put the runways permanently out of action, but they had raised havoc with the ground support. So much fueling and support equipment had been destroyed, and so many men killed, that they were lucky to get two sorties a day out of the field. Dushak listened for instructions from the control tower. He could see the sixteen aircraft of the Su-24 squadron already taking off. The MiG-29s were fester and would catch up. The Su-22 countermeasures aircraft were already airborne and waiting to join the Su-24 formation. They were intended mainly to protect the bombers, and flew in pattern with the sleeker Su-24s. The control tower finally told Shashka flight and Molot flight to begin taxiing to the runway approach. The runway was wide enough to accommodate two fighters at once, so they would take off in pairs in quick succession. Dushak had made certain that the engine intakes were set to the protective position. The MiG-29 has large doors that cover the main intake while the plane is on the ground and during takeoff, because the aircraft is so low slung that it risks sucking small debris off the runway. A pebble or other bit of junk, slamming into a jet engine turbine blade at high speed, would ruin a very expensive engine, and could lead to the loss of the plane. The air is drawn in through special intakes on top of the fuselage. Dushak admired the practicality of this design. In his old squadron, he had seen a MiG-23 eat some junk on takeoff and auger in shortly afterward due to engine feilure. It was a hell of a way for a well-trained pilot to die.

The runway approach widened, and Kostenko pulled his plane over to the right side of Dushak's MiG. Molot flight took off first, banking to the right to join the attack group. The first pair of Shashka flight took off, and Dushak almost lost sight of them in all the heat shimmer from their engine exhaust. Dushak and Kostenko trailed behind shortly after, the aircraft bouncing about badly due to all the air turbulence caused by the previous flights.

Takeoff was exhilarating, even in this crummy weather. The cloud cover was low, about 500 meters. The plan was to proceed to the Czech border over the clouds, at 2,000 meters, then drop back down on the deck to 500 meters when they reached Germany. The Shashka flight would stay a bit high and to the right, while Molot would be on the southern side and slightly to the rear. As his MiG entered the clouds, the sides of the cockpit became smeared by rain rashing over its surface. This lasted only moments, and the flight burst out of the clouds into a clear blue sky above. They had left the dreary world of Milovice airfield behind and were now in their own environment, skimming so close to the clouds that their aircraft cast shadows on them.

The Su-22 countermeasures planes stood out like a sore thumb. They were painted in the usual three-color camouflage scheme of tan, brown, and green. The Su-24s looked elegant as usual in a blue-gray finish with bright white underbellies. The MiGs were in dogfighter colors with a blend of two grays. But it occurred to Dushak that when they went back down on the deck, the Su-22s would blend in, and the MiGs would look out of place. Kostenko was trailing behind Dushak's aircraft about a hundred meters back, and off his right tail. He looked at the rearview mirrors and spotted him bouncing up and down a bit. The air seemed wonderfully clear, but there was a lot of turbulence at this altitude.

Dushak began looking down at the Syrena radar-warning panels. The MiG-29 has several panels and antennas at the front and rear of the aircraft to pick up hostile radar emissions. They are designed to warn if the aircraft is being illuminated by an enemy fighter's radar, or, worse yet, by the radar seeker in an AMRAAM missile, by little flashing lights that go off, and a loud buzz in the pilot's earphone. The problem with the radar warner is that it often goes off from stray reflected microwave energy. Over the battlefield, there are so many radar emitters that the Syrena is screaming every few minutes. It's like the story about the little boy who cried "wolf!" too often: After a while, the pilot begins to ignore it; some simply switch it off. The problem in all modern fighter planes is that there is just too much information for the pilot to sort out and absorb. One wag describes it as like trying to take a drink from a fire hydrant. At some point, it becomes vital to ignore all the spurious junk coming in over the electronic sensors and just concentrate on what is happening outside the airplane. It's stressful trying to decide when to ignore the black boxes and when to give them special attention.

Dushak noticed the lead flight beginning to dip into the clouds ahead of him. It was business time! At high combat speeds, it takes no time at all to cross two or three European borders. He

nosed his plane back down into the clouds, and in a few moments he reentered the dingy world of ground-pounding missions. So far there had been little sign of enemy fighter aircraft. Allegedly, there was an An-74 airborne warning aircraft in this sector acting as an airborne command post. But he had not heard any transmissions from it to the flight. NATO had been jamming it and sending in aircraft to shoot it down whenever they had a chance. More likely it was sitting on the ground in need of electronics repair.

They dropped down to 500 meters. It was impossible to keep a steady altitude, since the terrain below was so mountainous. The leading flight of Sukhoi bombers was trying to follow terrain contours and keep the strike force down below the higher mountain ridges. Dushak didn't like this kind of flying. It was fine for the bomber boys, but it was a bit claustrophobic for fighter jocks. Enemy fighters could jump them from above, and they'd have a hell of a time maneuvering out of these chasms.

The flight passed to the south of Regensburg, not far from the scene of the current ground fighting. They gave the bridgehead area a wide berth, since there would be enough artillery shells in the air to make mincemeat out of their flight. The terrain shifted abruptly as they reached the Danube. It went from mountainous forest to flat pasture land in hardly ten kilometers. Now they were in the open, with no mountains to hide them from the prying eyes of radars.

At that moment the Syrena radar warning started going nuts. It was blinking from three quadrants at once, indicating several different illumination bands. Dushak bent his head down to look into the RP-29 radar display. There was no evidence of enemy fighters ahead. His radio crackled: "Shashka and Molot Flight, this is Kirka Leader. Do you have crows? Over."

("Crows" was the nickname for enemy fighters; the Soviet fighters called friendlies "falcons.") It was the strike leader in one of the Sukhoi bombers! He must be getting the warnings too. He didn't have an air intercept radar, however, so he didn't have as good a chance to pick up enemy fighters beyond visual range.

"This is Shashka Leader. No crows. Over."

Captain Vlasov hadn't spotted any enemy fighters yet either: "Molot Leader, no crows here. We've got strong signals south. I'm swinging my cone. Over." The Molot MiG flight was going to bank off to the south. The RP-29 radar has a limited cone of view forward. It was possible the enemy fighters were outside of this visual range.

"Crows to the south! Crows at 9 o'clock. Break!" Before he could determine what to do, Dushak saw a missile impact against one of the Sukhoi bombers on the left side of the flight. It hit near the cockpit and blew off the whole nose — a frightening sight. The plane began an uncontrollable tumble, spewing burning fuel behind it. There was no way the crew could have survived. A second missile impacted another Sukhoi near the tail. The plane shuddered, and a big chunk of tail went sailing; it smashed into a trailing Sukhoi, which dropped off to the left.

The crew of the first Sukhoi punched out with their ejector seats.

"This is Kirka Leader. Molot Leader, engage the crows. Shashka, you stay with us." The flight of four MiG-29s on the left banked southward to engage the enemy fighters. They peeled off in a fast climb, afterburners glaring. In a moment, they were in the clouds. The Sukhois dropped even closer to the ground. They had terrain avoidance radars and so could follow the ground contours a lot closer than the MiGs.

Dushak hated this kind of flying. Being tied to a bunch of turkey bombers made the fighters vulnerable to ambush. Over the earphones, he could hear transmission from Molot flight. "Break into pairs. Molot Four, stay with your wingman. Watch it, Molot Three." The transmissions were confusing. It was not at all clear who was winning or losing, or even if Molot had found the enemy. Fortunately, they were only about sixty seconds from target. No SAMs so far.

The target was difficult to spot; the road was covered with trees on either side. They were running parallel to the highway. The German air defense crews began firing 20mm cannons at the flight, but they were not very accurate. The red fireballs spit into the air over the flight. The aircraft were traveling at well over 500 kilometers an hour, so the fireballs whizzed right by. Several miles ahead, there was an obvious change on the road. The Germans had built a detour around the new airfield. The airfield seemed to have few aircraft, but there was equipment nearby.

"Shashka Flight, this is Shashka Leader. Break to the right and clear the target area." They banked to the right and gained altitude, not wanting to run into any stray bombs. The Sukhois began dropping their bombs with parachute retarders.[60]

Dushak caught a glimpse of the bombers as the munitions separated and snapped behind when their retarders blossomed. Shashka flight was almost into the cloud layer by the time the bombs hit.

The Syrena began going nuts again. The flight was in a three-g turn,

and Dushak found it difficult to move his head to look into the radar. As they pulled out of the turn, they saw two aircraft go by at high speed, followed by at least three others. "Shashka Flight, tallyho. We have crows! Break and fight in pairs."

Where the hell are they? Dushak pulled his MiG up over the clouds. To hell with the SAMs. It was time to get a little altitude and figure out what was going on. Kostenko followed, narrowing the gap between himself and Dushak's MiG. As they broke through the cloud cover, they could see a dogfight already in progress. The problem was, who was who? They all looked like MiG-29s! There seemed to be about six aircraft — a pair chasing a lone aircraft to the south and another pair chasing a lone aircraft some distance away. They all had the distinctive twin tails of the MiG-29. To his horror, Dushak saw one of the aircraft from the southern pair fire a missile from its wing tip. MiG-29s don't have wing-tip missiles! The missile went up the tail pipe of the lone aircraft, ripping off the right engine and the right stabilizer. The pilot punched out safely.

"Shashka Three, you take that pair that just hit Molot. Me and German will take the other pair." Dushak nosed his aircraft down to bring it closer to the cloud base. It was possible the crows ahead hadn't yet spotted him and Kostenko. The range was less than five kilometers. The radar was tracking the target, as was the little Sh-1 infrared tracker. Dushak told Kostenko to switch his radar into dummy load position so it wouldn't emit and be picked up by the enemy's radar warning receivers. The Sh-1 IR tracker would continue to follow the enemy aircraft. It was purely passive, unlike radar. The Sh-1 picked up the infrared energy of the hot engine exhaust of the enemy planes, but gave off no signal, so it wouldn't warn the enemy. It worked reasonably well, except in clouds. Then the radar would automatically turn back on.

As they approached the enemy fighters, Dushak suddenly realized that they were F-18 Hornets. Or to be more precise, CF-18 Hornets of the Canadian Air Force. They flew out of a field near Bad Sollingen or somewhere farther west. He was surprised to see them this far east. He uncaged the seeker on the number 4 R-60 infrared missile. He got a tone on his headset, and launched. The strong infrared signature from the tail pipes made it an easy lock-on. It was hard to see the flight of the missile because its white trail was lost against the bright white of the cloud base below. Moments before the missile impacted, the Canadians suddenly pulled up and to the left. They had been spotted! The missile adjusted its flight path, but the turn happened so last that it did not impact, but exploded a short distance to the right of the trailing aircraft. The enemy fighter shuddered slightly, and some debris came spewing back. But the missile caused no lethal damage. The R-60s were just too damn small.

The Canadians pulled up in a fast banking climb with the MiGs in fast pursuit. The turn was pushing six g's, much too much to permit a missile launch. The range had closed to two kilometers. The Canadians pulled a snap roll, aiming for the cloud bank. They seemed to be trying to break off the engagement by running away in the clouds. Dushak and Kostenko followed, but somewhat higher up. As they entered the cloud bank, the RP-29 radar switched from dummy load back to active, emitting to take over from the blinded IR tracker.[61]

The radar picked up the Hornets below in the cloud bank, heading west, about two and a half kilometers ahead. Dushak and Kostenko both prepared a missile. Before they could fire, the Canadians made a sudden hard bank, in an attempt to turn on their attackers. Dushak decided to make a firing pass on the Canadians before they could turn squarely around to face them. But with the action taking place so near the cloud cover, he couldn't get the missile to signal lock-on. The high sun reflection off the clouds was confusing the missile seeker. He prepared to use the gun. The pipper in the HUD display tracked the target. Dushak slammed the controls around trying to get the pipper to line up in the center of the target dial. It started to do so and Dushak squeezed off a burst. Missed! The Canadians were still pulling around, Dushak trying to swing his aircraft into them. He failed to get a suitable position, and the Canadians swept under them at very high speed. Dushak instinctively pushed the throttle forward and pulled the stick back, trying to get altitude. Where would he find the Canadians?

Shashka 1 and Shashka 2 were not having as much luck. They approached the other three aircraft, assuming they were two CF-18 Hornets chasing a MiG-29. Unfortunately, it was three CF-18s. The Canadians got on the tail of the MiGs, and Shashka 1 made a fetal error. He tried to make a level turn at high speed to push enough g to prevent the Canadians from getting missile lock with their Sidewinders. He succeeded, but the MiG-29 lost energy in the turn faster than the CF-18. One of the Canadian pilots pulled in close enough to Vlasov's MiG to get off a lucky shot. It clipped the wing root. At such high g, the damage from the 20mm cannon burst was lethal. The main wing member was damaged, and the pressure shattered it. The plane spun out of control with a crumpled wing. Vlasov did not manage to escape. His wingman, German

Burlakov, was only a pilot third class. Pitted against three enemy fighters, he stood little chance. He managed to evade the Canadian who had downed his flight leader by making a sudden upward climb. But the other two Canadians were following close on his heels and launched two Sidewinders. One impacted in the tail pipe. The plane held together for several seconds, allowing Burlakov to eject.

Shashka 3 and Shashka 4 now found themselves at about 1,500 meters in a clear blue sky. They headed in the direction of the Canadian aircraft, but their radars picked up no sign of them. There was no warning sign from the Syrena and they could see nothing overhead. The first sign they saw of the enemy fighters was the glare of their tracers as they came sizzling by from down and to the left. The Canadians had managed to maneuver into their blind spot below and behind them. The CF-18s roared overhead. Kostenko's MiG had taken a hit in the outer wing panel, and Dushak's had taken at least one hit in the left air intake. The damage was not serious. Dushak and Kostenko tried to follow the Canadians into the climb, but then noticed the other three Canadian CF-18s coming up towards them. It was time for a fast getaway.

The MiGs had an altitude advantage and Dushak planned to use it. He nosed his aircraft down and aimed directly at the approaching Canadian formation. He radioed to Kostenko to release IR flares from the tail dispenser to distract any heat-seeking missiles. The rate of closure between the two groups was tremendous, more than 1,100 kilometers an hour. Dushak aimed at the left-most Canadian fighter with his cannon, and as they reached the 1.5 kilometer range, he fired. Although his burst failed to impact, Kostenko got a solid hit on the right tail surface of one of the Canadian planes. Although Dushak and Kostenko were pulling away too fast to see it, the tail eventually ripped off, and the Canadian pilot punched out.

The two MiG-29s headed to the ground at breakneck speed trying to evade their more numerous tormentors. Luckily for them, the Canadians were at the outer limits of their fuel endurance and had begun to head home. Dushak and Kostenko were under the cloud bank, approaching Mach 1. Dushak could feel his heart pounding, and he was soaking wet from his own sweat. His mouth had that metallic tang you get from too much adrenaline. His first concern was that they had escaped safely. But as he calmed down, he began to worry about the Sukhoi squadron they were supposed to escort. What had happened to them? Well, at least his formation had pulled the Canadians off the bombers. But at some cost: They had lost six fighters. The Canadians also must have lost some aircraft, judging from the odd five-plane formation they had encountered.

Dushak checked the fuel status. The high-speed fighting and the heavy use of afterburner had really eaten up fuel. They were already over the Czech frontier, only ten minutes from base. Dushak was glad to be alive; Kostenko was itching for a little revenge. "Shashka Three, this is Shashka Four, we have pigeons at 3 o'clock low." "Pigeons" was slang for slow flying, vulnerable enemy aircraft. It was remarkable that Kostenko had seen them — a flight of four fighter-bombers, hugging the ground to their right. "Shashka Four, we have to be careful. Lefs confirm they're pigeons and not falcons before hammering them. Leave off the radar. Let's hit them with missiles."

The MiG-29s gracefully banked down. The enemy aircraft hadn't seen them yet. As they got closer, it was obvious they were hostiles. The peculiar bent wing and chevron tail of the F-4 Phantom are unmistakable. Dushak radioed Kostenko and told him not to use the Khrom Nikel identification system. They were apparently West German aircraft, and they had spotted the MiGs coming down on them. The four aircraft broke up into two groups of two. They jettisoned their payloads and began to pull up, trying to get some altitude for maneuver. Dushak took the right pair. The range was 1,500 meters, almost close enough for the gun. After the experience earlier, Dushak decided to salvo two R-60 missiles to have a better certainty. He heard a good clear signal of missile lock-on and fired two missiles. Kostenko had reacted slightly faster, and three missiles were tracking the two Phantoms.

Dushak's two missiles struck the rear of one of the Phantoms, in two nearly simultaneous explosions. The blast severed the left stabilizer. The airplane began a peculiar bucking motion, obviously brought about by the loss of the tail surface. The plane began to go out of control and the crew ejected. Kostenko's single missile impacted in the rear of the aircraft's tail pipe. There was a sharp blast, followed by a spurt of debris. The second Phantom continued flying, although obviously damaged. Kostenko had closed on his target and began firing with the 30mm cannon. The Phantom was probably flying on a single engine, as its speed had dropped considerably. It was unable to maneuver, and Kostenko hammered its left wing with cannon fire. Large pieces of wing panel flew back, and Kostenko shifted the gun toward the fuselage with a quick jerk of the stick. Hydraulic fluid or fuel began to burn, and the crippled plane nosed over. The crew ejected safely before the plane splashed all over the pasture below in a fiery smear of light and smoke.

The other two Phantoms had headed back to Germany and neither Kostenko nor Dushak could see any evidence of them. With fuel beginning to run low, Dushak ordered the pair home, and they were soon over Milovice air base. As they approached the base, it was obvious that it had been subjected to another attack. There were plumes of smoke from the repair hangars, and a pall of dust over the runways. The tower was not responding to radio calls. The usual secondary airfield for the regiment was Kbely, outside Prague, but that strip had been smashed up badly the day before and was probably not operating yet. Dushak radioed Kostenko to follow him to the Klecany-Vodochody strip north of Prague. There was a chance it had escaped today's fighting.

As they approached the airstrip, they received word from the tower that the runway was indeed open, but was still pitted from earlier attacks. They were told to be careful and use their parachutes to slow the taxiing. Dushak headed down first. They weren't kidding when they said the runway was pitted! The strip of concrete was decorated with a complicated pattern of little earth mounds where the craters had been filled. As Dushak set down his MiG, he heard a loud bang. The right tire had burst on landing, largely as a result of unobserved battle damage. The plane began skidding uncontrollably. He could do nothing to stop the skid, and the plane headed for the side of the runway. It crashed into a small stand used for landing light array, then plowed into the soft field beyond. The nose gear collapsed, bringing the aircraft to a sudden, jarring halt.

Dushak's heart was pounding wildly. As a trained pilot, he knew he'd escaped this mishap, but his other senses had been preparing for the worst. Some ground crewmen in their usual black coveralls and black berets were running to the aircraft. It suddenly occurred to him that he had better exit the plane before a fire broke out. He sprang the release on the canopy and unfastened his harness. The ground crew was shouting to him, but with his helmet on, he couldn't hear. He removed it as he got out of the cockpit. "Comrade Pilot, get out quickly! Enemy bombers!"

Before he could crawl down from his awkwardly tilted perch, Dushak heard the deafening roar of fighter-bombers immediately overhead. A group of about six F-16s screamed over, dropping cluster bombs and Durandal airfield-cratering bombs. The concussion from a nearby Durandal heaved Dushak out of the cockpit, hurling him against the ground below. He had broken a collarbone, but was otherwise all right. He staggered to his feet and began running away from his wrecked aircraft toward a nearby clump of sandbags.

The airfield hangars took a heavy pounding. Kostenko's aircraft had been taxiing near the hangars, but Dushak could see no signs of his wingman or his aircraft. He hoped he had made it safely before the attack began. No more planes would be flying from this field today!

There is a cartoon, popular on many American army bases, showing a couple of Russian tankers in a cafe in Paris, their tank parked outside. Their feet are up on the table, and they are sitting back, having a mug of beer. One tanker says to the other: "Tell me, Ivan. Who did win the air war?"

The Soviet armed forces are not as preoccupied with tactical air forces as the U.S. Although the Soviets have a large tactical air arm, the so-called Frontal Aviation of the Air Forces, it receives a smaller chunk of the Soviet budget than is the case with the U.S. Air Force and U.S. Army. Some of this has to do with historical experiences, and some of it is due to budget and technology constraints.

The Soviet Air Force in World War II was heavily oriented toward supporting the ground troops. The aircraft produced in the greatest numbers during the war was the II-2 Shturmovik ground attack aircraft. The Soviet Ground Forces did not put as much dependence on tactical air support as did U.S. forces, since air superiority over the battlefield was usually in question.

Although the Soviet Air Force could attain local air superiority in 1943, the Germans still managed to contest control of the air right into 1944. In contrast, the U.S. ground forces enjoyed air superiority almost from the outset in the European theater. The Soviet Ground Forces came to depend more heavily on artillery for fire support than on air forces. The Soviet Air Force accounted for less than 5 percent of the German tanks destroyed during the fighting on the Eastern Front. In contrast, Allied fighter-bombers accounted for nearly 20 percent of the tanks knocked out in the Normandy fighting, and almost 50 percent in Korea in 1950. More importantly, Allied tactical air forces had played a vital role in smashing German logistics and supply efforts.

From 1945 until the late 1960s, Soviet tactical air forces received little priority. In the late 1940s and early 1950s, the accent was on strategic air defense. Fighters like the MiG-15, MiG-17, MiG-19, and MiG-21 were configured primarily for the antibomber role. The Il-10, successor to the Il-2 Shturmovik, ended production in the late 1940s and was not succeeded by a dedicated ground attack plane for more than a decade. In the post-Stalin period, the Soviets began shifting to the view that the battlefield in Europe would go nuclear, and so dedicated conventional attack aircraft would be of questionable value.

When the Soviets finally began to pay more attention to ground attack, they introduced a thinly rehashed fighter design, the Sukhoi Su-7, for this role. The Sukhoi Su-7B was viewed as a "frontal fighter" capable of being used as either a fighter or a light bomber. It was mediocre in either role. But the Soviets noted the critical role of air power in the 1967 Mideast war, in Vietnam, and in the 1973 Yom Kippur war. In the late 1960s, a major program to rejuvenate Soviet Frontal Aviation began. A new generation of MiG fighters, the MiG-23/27, was developed clearly for the tactical air role. The Su-7 was modernized into the more successful Su-17/ 20/22 family. And the Soviets began deploying attack helicopters in their Air Force for close air support.

Soviet tactical aircraft design has been heavily influenced by trends in the West. The Su-7 and the Su-17/22 Fitters were inspired by American strike fighters like the F-105, even though technically they have little in common. The MiG-23/27 Flogger emulated the highly successful F-4 Phantom. Like the Phantom, the Flogger was an attempt to develop a single aircraft capable of being employed in the fighter and fighter-bomber role. The Su-24 Fencer was a clear counterpart to the F-lll/FB-nL This highly capable strike aircraft represents the high-technology end of tactical air support. It is a deep penetration aircraft, with an elaborate and sophisticated navigation system. On the lower end of the technology spectrum, the new Su-25 Frogfoot is a counterpart of the U.S. A-10 ground attack aircraft.

The MiG-29 Fulcrum, which is the centerpiece of this fictional scenario, is a Soviet attempt to come to grips with the new generation of American fighter aircraft. The MiG-29 was developed in the early 1970s as a counterpart to the F-16 and F-18. In terms of size, it is closer to the F-18, and shares a very similar configuration. The Soviets also developed a counterpart to the larger American F-15 Eagle in the form of the Su-27 Flanker.

A bit more is known about the MiG-29 Fulcrum than many other new Soviet combat aircraft as a result of glasnost. In 1987, the Soviets displayed the MiG-29 at a Finnish air base, and in 1988, they took the unprecedented step of displaying it at the biannual Farnborough Air Show in England. This gave Western aircraft designers and pilots a chance to see it firsthand. While Western pilots were not allowed to fly it (at least as yet), they were able to get some sense of its capabilities.

The aerobatic performance of the MiG at the show was spectacular. Although some of the attraction was due to its novelty, its performance did put it in the same class as the F-16 or F-18. Instantaneous and sustained turn rates appeared to be comparable to Western fighters, but not necessarily any better. What made the performance especially remarkable was the nature of its design. Although it seems to offer performance approaching the best of Western fighters, the technology in many respects is of an earlier generation. The Soviet aircraft designers have shown an intriguing ability to push older technologies to the limit in order to extract performances and capabilities that Western designers obtain through the use of new technology.

One of the big surprises was that the MiG-29 does not use fly-by-wire flight controls. Fly by wire was pioneered on the F-16, and represents an important advance in this area. In the past, flight controls were directly linked to the pilot's controls. The pilot moved the stick or rudder pedals, and the control surface moved. In a fly-by-wire aircraft, the controls are linked to a flight computer and flight sensors. The computer takes the movement of the stick or pedals and then subtly manipulates one or more control surfaces to get the desired result by consulting, almost instantaneously, with the flight sensors. Such a system permits more precise control and makes the aircraft simpler to fly in a combat environment, where extensive maneuvering is necessary.

In addition, it permits the designer to select aircraft configurations that are more maneuverable. Aircraft that are inherently stable are not particularly maneuverable, even though they are easy to control. Aircraft that border on aerodynamic instability can be very maneuverable. Such designs have not been used in the past, since they would be too taxing on the pilot. But with fly by wire, the computer keeps the control surfaces moving to ensure stability and, when hard maneuvering is required, it takes advantage of the aerodynamic instability of the design and provides complex changes in the flight control surfaces that a human could not manage.

The Soviet designers, recognizing the limited possibilities in their industry for mass producing the high-tech items needed for fly by wire, developed a more conventional flight control package and aircraft design, which permits maneuverability approaching that of Western fighters. The designer in charge of the MiG-29 project, Mikhail Valdenberg, stated that computers were used only where absolutely indispensable. Understood in the context of traditional Soviet defensive rationalizations, this means that the Soviet aviation industry could not produce sufficient flight computers to equip the MiG-29 with more sophisticated controls. The MiG-29 does employ a stability augmentation system, rate dampers, and automatic leading edge devices and flaps, which are only several steps away from true fly-by-wire controls.

How close the MiG-29 comes to Western fighter performance is not clear, and probably won't be until pilots who have flown the F-16 or F-18 get a chance to fly the MiG-29. What is clear is that the MiG-29 is more demanding of its pilots than comparable Western fighters. Fly-by-wire controls free the pilot's attention from many aspects of flight control; the plane cannot be maneuvered in a way that would lose stability. This means the F-16 or F-18 pilot can push the plane to its very limits without fear of losing control. The Soviet pilot, on the other hand, must be extremely careful to avoid maneuvers that stray from controlled flight regimes or the angle-of-attack limits. To do so would risk losing control of the aircraft. During cruising this is no problem. It becomes tricky when the fighter is engaged in maneuvering combat, where he can least afford to divert his attention. This is why the angle-of-attack indicator is red-lined at a modest 25 degrees, which places some limits on maneuvering. The matter of flight controls is so serious that in the MiG-29 cockpit the alpha/load indicator has a more prominent position than even the Syrena radar-warning receiver.

In view of its sizzling performance, other aspects of the MiG-29 design proved to be a bit surprising. The cockpit of the Fulcrum is a 1960s configuration with hints of 1970s technology. The instrumentation resembles that of the F-4 Phantom generation. The dials and instruments are straightforward analog systems. There are none of the digital displays or multifunction displays found on later Western fighters. The radar display is small and is covered by a viewing hood, which suggests that the Soviets have not yet managed to field sunlight-readable displays. This is awkward for the pilot, since he must bend forward to read the radar display. This may seem like a frill, but the interface between the man and the machine is proving to be increasingly important. Pilots today face a data overload. They not only have to fly the plane, they have to keep track of whether enemy radars are searching for them, whether someone is interrogating them with an IFF system, and whether all the complicated electronics systems are functioning properly. In peacetime flying, this can be managed. But in the confusion and stress of modern air war, this data overload can have fatal consequences. Ignore the radar warning system at the critical moment, and seconds later a missile will impact against your aircraft. Advanced displays are not gold-plating. They are an attempt to simplify the pilot's tasks by making the flow of data more coherent and easier to understand. Western fighters have an advantage in this regard.

The MiG-29 is typical of contemporary Soviet weapons design that accents machine performance but often takes shortcuts in the interface between man and machine. Another example: the pilot's seat is nearly vertical, while Western designs use an angled seat, which allows the pilot to better cope with high-g (gravitational) forces during combat maneuvering. The MiG-29 is stressed for nine g's, but its pilots are not. Although pilots can be trained in straining maneuvers to help them cope with high-g forces, their endurance can be enhanced by design features such as inclined seats. A pilot in an inclined seat will be more willing to push his aircraft into hard (and personally painful) eight-g and nine-g turns, knowing that he will not black out.

Other aspects of the design show that the Soviets have paid less attention to detail than the Western designers. The MiG-29 canopy configuration does not permit the pilot to "check his six," meaning he cannot swing his head around to check the six o'clock position directly behind him. On the early MiG-29s, there was a radio strip antenna in the upper canopy

that obstructed upward vision. Designs like the F-15, F-16, and F-18 were purposely built to allow the pilot to see behind him and in all other directions with a minimum of hindrance. The Soviets originally fitted the MiG-29 with crude automobile-style rearview mirrors to give the pilot some rear vision. On the newer production MiG-29s like the one at Farnborough, they have adopted Western-style curved mirrors, which reduce obstruction. But mirrors are not as beneficial as good cockpit design to give the pilot a clear picture of the environment behind him. Also, the helmet for the MiG-29 pilot is outdated compared to Western designs and is about twice as heavy. The trend has been toward lighter and more comfortable helmets, to encourage pilots to keep their heads moving, surveying the sky around them. The Soviet helmet is heavy due to the padding needed to protect the pilot against the high levels of cockpit noise — it seems no attention has been paid to reducing the helmet's size and weight. Combined with the restricted space under the canopy, the helmet inhibits the pilot from moving his head rapidly, and often, to check for hostile aircraft.

The buzzword in fighter combat these days is "situational awareness." It is fighter jock talk for the special skill needed to prevail in the modern dogfight. Situational awareness means knowing where you and your plane are, where the enemy planes are, and the status of your fuels and weapons. More than that, it implies an intellectual or instinctive ability to understand the dynamics of fighter combat. It is somewhat comparable to the instincts of a great chess player, who can see several moves ahead and who knows the likely responses an opponent will make to his own moves. Likewise, situational awareness implies a sharp foresight into how an enemy will respond to a pilot's actions. At the heart of this concept is a clear picture of the existing environment — where the enemy is, what he is doing. Good aircraft design cannot give the pilot situational awareness, but it can make it easier for a pilot to better hone his abilities. Soviet flight instrumentation and cockpit design inhibit situational awareness compared to Western designs.

Another feature of the MiG-29 design that proves rather surprising is the nature of the surface finish on the aircraft. The fuselage design is elegant and smooth, especially in the forward areas where it is most critical. Many control surfaces are made of advanced honeycombed or composite materials. But toward the rear surfaces, the finish is often very rough. There are exposed rivet heads where Western aircraft would use flush fasteners. On close inspection, it can be observed that the front screws that hold inspection panels in place have unusual blue lines painted across them. The explanation for this is indicative of continuing Soviet problems in keeping high-tech equipment in service: the blue lines are used to ensure that ground crews properly reattach the panels to the aircraft. If the blue line on the screw head does not match the edges of the blue line on the panel, they are not tight enough. Western fighters avoid the problem by using specialized fasteners. The Soviets use an older fastener technology and, combined with doubts about the skills and experience of their ground crews, it can lead to some concern about aircraft maintenance.

Overall, the impression created by the MiG-29 induces respect for what the designers were able to accomplish using such mediocre technology. The MiG-29 is testimony to Soviet design ingenuity, which has long been a trademark of Soviet aircraft design. The MiG bureau has turned out a remarkable aircraft considering the raw material they have used. In World War II, Soviet fighter designers pushed plywood fuselage construction to the outer limits, approaching the design qualities of German fighters using aluminum. But the MiG-29 design also highlights the fact that the Soviets are still behind in many aspects of aerospace technology. There appear to be continuing bottlenecks in the mass production of advanced electronics, and the fighter designers have adopted less desirable configurations knowing that better components would not be available.

Details of the MiG-29's weapons are less well known. The MiG-29 is usually armed with four R-60 missiles, better known by their NATO code names as AA-8 Aphids, and two R-72 (AA-10 Alamo) missiles. The R-60s are a new infrared guided missile, replacing the old R-3S (AA-2 Atoll). The R-60s are not as capable as current models of the Sidewinder missile, such as the AIM-9L or AIM-9M. Their seekers are not as sensitive, they do not have as much range, and their warheads are a bit suspect. As suggested in the fictional scenario, the Soviets may have to launch two at a time to ensure a kill. A recent incident in southern Africa confirms the problems with these missiles. A small British Aerospace-125 business jet carrying the president of Botswana was accidentally attacked by an Angolan MiG-21, which fired two R-60s. One missile struck the right engine pod, blowing it off. However, the damage was not sufficient to cripple the aircraft, which landed safely.

Details of the newer R-72 are lacking. The missile comes in both radar-guided and infrared-guided versions. It is more comparable to the American AIM-7 Sparrow and offers longer range (and a bigger warhead) than the R-60. The problem with the R-72 and other semiactive radar-guided missiles, is that the aircraft must continue to illuminate the target with its radar until the missile impacts. This is difficult to do in high-speed dogfights, as a wildly jinking enemy aircraft can break radar lock if it can escape the limited cone of the radar's emissions.

Radar missiles are not really intended for dogfighting; they are intended for long-range engagements beyond visual range. They favor aircraft with big, powerful radars that can locate an enemy aircraft before they themselves are detected. In the fictional scenario, the Canadian CF-18 Hornets discover the attacking Soviet flight first and engage them with Sparrow missiles. The Soviets do not see the Canadians, since the Canadians are attacking off axis, from the side where the Soviet's radar cannot see them. The MiG-29's radar warning receivers (RWR) do pick up signals. But RWRs are notoriously fickle and a regular source of false alarms.

The new generation of radar-guided missiles, like the U.S. Air Force's AMRAAM, will mark a revolution in fighter weapons. The AMRAAM contains its own little radar in the nose. The fighter no longer has to continue to use its radar to guide the missile to its target. This will enable small fighters, like the F-16, to fire multiple radar-guided missiles at different targets nearly simultaneously. The AMRAAM represents a growing trend to extend the range of dogfights and the lethal envelope of the fighter plane.

By the time of the Vietnam War, most aviators were expecting that dogfights would take place primarily with missiles. However, the early generation Sidewinders and Sparrows were fickle. Their electronics took a beating, and they often worked poorly as a result. Missiles accounted for the majority of air-to-air kills in the Vietnam fighting, but they were expended at far higher rates than expected. As a result, there was a backlash against all-missile armament, and renewed interest in air combat maneuvering with a gun. The best evidence of the revival of classic dogfighting is the establishment of special air combat maneuver courses such as the well-known "Top Gun" program.

In spite of the backlash against missiles due to the Vietnam experience, newer generations of missiles have overcome many of the reliability problems. During the Falklands War, British Harriers shot down eighteen Argentinian fighters, using twenty-seven AIM-9L Sidewinder missiles. Israeli F-16s during the 1982 Lebanon war shot down thirty-five Syrian fighters with forty-seven AIM-9L or AIM-9P missiles, and five more with 20mm guns. These recent conflicts suggest that missiles will remain the primary weapon in air-to-air combat, although the gun will remain an important supplement. New weapons like AMRAAM will continue to extend the range of dogfights. The majority of dogfights in past wars have been within visual range. The availability of weapons like AMRAAM will increase the percentage of engagements that occur beyond visual range.

Besides the aircraft and missiles, the other key ingredient in fighter combat is the pilot. Indeed, a good many pilots would argue that the pilot is the key ingredient in dogfighting. How do Soviet pilots stack up against NATO pilots? This question is nearly impossible to answer due to the lack of information and lack of evidence of Soviet pilots in actions.

NATO judgment of Soviet piloting skill has been influenced by Soviet performance in World War II and, indirectly, by the performance of Soviet-trained pilots in the Mideast and Asia.

Soviet pilots in World War II, on average, were not very good. German pilots were so contemptuous of Soviet pilots that high scores won by German aces on the Eastern Front were considered equal to scores only a fraction as large won fighting against the better trained British or American pilots in Western Europe or the North African campaign. And Soviet-trained pilots in Korea and the Mideast have not done well. The embarrassing performance of the Syrians in Lebanon in 1982, when they lost more than seventy aircraft to the Israelis without extracting a single loss from their opponents, rebounded on the Soviets, staining them with the taint of Syrian ineptitude. Western views of Soviet pilot quality are further soured by negative judgments about Soviet tactics. The Soviets have fevored ground control of fighters, particularly when they are used in an air defense role. NATO fighter tactics place greater emphasis on individual pilot initiative.

This combination of historical factors and recent experience with Soviet-trained pilots has created many myths about contemporary Soviet pilots. Here are some of them: Soviet wingmen are helpless without their leader. Soviet pilots are good at interception, but they are totally dependent on ground control and do not train for maneuvering engagements. Soviet training is so rigid that pilots will not display initiative in combat.

The myths about Soviet pilots contain a grain of truth, but miss several key points. Some pilots, especially Soviet PVO air defense pilots and foreign pilots trained by the PVO (like the North Vietnamese), tend to place the accent on interception and ground control. This is natural, since their main role is strategic bomber interception, not tactical fighter combat. It is often forgotten that there are two Soviet Air Forces, the PVO, which controls air defense missiles and air defense interceptor fighters, and the VVS (Air Force), which controls tactical fighters (such as the MiG-29) as part of their Frontal Aviation branch.

Soviet writing in their air force magazines suggests that they have appreciated many of the shortcomings attributed to them by NATO. They mouth all the right words about requiring greater pilot initiative, and the need for more attention to "free-lance" or "free-hunt'' offensive fighter sweeps. It is not clear if Soviet tactical training is yet up to the task of preparing Soviet pilots for these roles. As in other branches of the armed forces, Soviet aviation training leans toward the staged and the stereotyped. Missions, even training missions, are meticulously planned without much accent on dynamic tactical environments and the unexpected. Soviet air combat maneuver training does not appear to be comparable to American Top Gun-style training. A study prepared by a fighter pilot at General Dynamics suggests that Soviet pilots display good basic airmanship, but are not as well trained as American pilots in adapting to the changing environment in tactical situations.

The Soviets have often tried to overcome qualitative disadvantages in men and machines with greater numbers. This is true of aircraft as well. In the NATO environment, the Soviets are likely to have some numerical superiority in fighters and tactical aircraft over NATO. But these advantages are not as great as in many areas of ground equipment. It is not as easy to translate numerical superiority in aircraft into superior combat power; the key link would be the ability to sustain air operations. Maintenance is absolutely critical. In Korea, the Chinese and Korean air forces had marked superiority in overall numbers. But American fighters displayed sustained combat power because they were well maintained and could be sent on missions more often than their adversaries.

The Soviets appear to have shortcomings in sustaining air operations. Their ground maintenance force suffers the endemic problems brought about by a reliance on a conscript force without an adequate middle level of professional, nonofficer technical personnel. Maintenance is slow because the officers must closely supervise the handling performed on the aircraft. This problem may be addressed in new reforms, but it is likely to linger well into the 1990s.

Like the Soviet Union itself, the Soviet Air Force is a curious blend. The most advanced technology coexists with outdated technology, advanced tactical thinking with outdated training. The capabilities of the Soviet Air Force can be exaggerated by concentrating on one aspect, or underestimated by concentrating on the other. Soviet pilots are well trained and courageous; their planes among the world's best. But in the arena of air combat, a little bit better training and a little bit better technology often make the critical difference between victory and defeat.

Senior Lieutenant Pyotr Chazov surveyed the field where his motor rifle company was bedding down for the night. His troops had done a good job concealing their armored vehicles along the edge of a neat Bavarian pine forest. The sun was setting, and you could hardly see the silhouettes of their BMP armored vehicles against the dark pines. His troops weren't as sharp as the platoon he had had under him in the Panshir Valley fighting in Afghanistan back in 1988. But they had become remarkably battle hardened in only a week of war. They had overrun a German mechanized infantry unit during the forest fighting on the third day, which had given them a lot of needed confidence. Some of them were even becoming a bit cocky. His company had been pretty lucky so far — no air attacks. Still, he hollered over to Sergeant Aksai to get his two Igla antiaircraft missile teams into position in case any NATO attack helicopters did show up.[62]

Chazov's company had seen hard fighting. They had lost a third of their vehicles during the forest fighting along the Czechoslovak border. Two BMPs were blown up near the border by mines, and a third was lost in an ambush to a German Milan antitank missile. They had crossed the Danube two days before without too much trouble, and had been assigned to the western flank of the Straubing bridgehead. The neighboring BMP company under Lieutenant Dudkov had been roughed up tar worse. Earlier in the day, they had been ambushed by a German Leopard 2 tank unit, losing most of their vehicles. The remnants of Dudkov's company were put under Chazov's command. This brought it back up to its normal full strength of ten BMP armored infantry vehicles.

His company had started the war with a full complement of the newer BMP-2 Yozh. The Yozh was well armed, but it had real limits when feced with enemy tanks. Chazov hoped that if he ever ran into Leopards he would have some T-80 tanks to help. His regiment had a single tank battalion with T-80s to support the three BMP battalions.

Chazov's 3d Platoon was equipped with older BMP-1M Korshun-Ms from Dudkov's company. [63]

The old Korshun-Ms had a low-pressure gun in the turret instead of the 30mm woodpecker autocannon on the Yozh. It was derisively called a "sparrow shooter" by the troops. It was slow to fire, maybe three rounds a minute if everything worked right. But the autoloader in the turret was finicky, and if the gunner wasn't careful, it would catch on this clothing and mash him up against the gun breech. The Korshun's gun fired a little PG-9 rocket-powered grenade, much like the RPG-7 antitank rocket launcher, which was supposed to be able to destroy a tank. But NATO tanks now had reactive armor and Chobham armor, so it didn't work worth a damn. Its warhead just wasn't big enough to get through the new armors. To give the old BMP-1 some tank-killing power, a Fagot missile launcher had been lashed on the roof.[64]

This was a smaller cousin of the Konkurs missile on the BMP-2. The Konkurs missile could be fired from within the turret, however; with the Fagot, the gunner had to open up his hatch and aim the missile from outside. Needless to say, the old Korshun-Ms weren't too handy when facing tanks.

Dudkov's company had found this out the hard way earlier in the day. His company was moving through some hilly pastures outside the village of Mitterharthausen in support of the day's regimental attack. They were separated from the regiment's T-80 tank battalion by a small woods on their right flank. Pyotr Chazov's company was to their left behind some low hills. Before Dudkov had even reached his objective, about four German Leopard 2 tanks came spewing out of the woods, going full tilt. It was a fearsome sight. The Leopards could move at nearly forty miles an hour, even on rough ground. And they could fire on the move. Dudkov's old BMP-1s had to stop to fire. It was a completely unequal contest. Dudkov's BMPs outnumbered the tanks two to one, but the tanks could open fire from 2,000 meters, far outside the range of the BMP's little "sparrow shooter." At that range, only the Fagot missile could be used. Two BMPs from the 1st Platoon stopped to fire their Fagots. They managed to launch them all right, but the Fagot missile takes nearly fifteen seconds to travel 2,000 meters. The Leopard 2 crews were well trained and they saw the white puff of smoke when the Fagots were launched. They swung their boxy turrets at the two offending Korshuns and fired. The 120mm gun projectiles took only two seconds to travel 2,000 meters, long before the Fagot missiles arrived. The high-explosive rounds hit the Korshuns squarely on the sides. The explosions blew the turrets high in the air and ignited the ammunition and fuel. The Korshuns went up in fireballs. None of the eleven crew in either vehicle survived.

The remaining eight Korshuns tried to hide behind small hills until the German Leopards were close enough to be in range of their sparrow shooters. Dudkov knew he was supposed to keep radio silence before the attack and use flag signals. In the confusion, he violated orders and radioed the surviving vehicles to dismount their infantry. Only one platoon seemed to hear the orders. The Leopards closed to about 500 meters and the Korshuns started firing. Two of the Leopards were hit almost immediately. There was a big flash on the front of their turrets and for a moment, it seemed like they might have been stopped. But then their turrets started traversing, looking for new victims. The lousy little PG-9 rounds had only scorched their laminate armor. The Leopards waded into the Korshuns, firing the whole time. Each time the 120mm gun fired, the ground shook. The tanks were engulfed in a cloud of flash and dust, kicked up by the guns' blasts. But the Leopards had an uncanny ability to see through all this smoke and debris, and still were able to hit the Korshuns with precision. It was a massacre. One after another, five more Korshuns were blown to bits.

Dudkov had managed to reach the regimental tank battalion on radio moments before his own Korshun was gutted. The tank battalion commander, Major Gaipov, responded by sending a platoon of three T-80s to rescue Dudkov's company. They surprised the Leopards and managed to hit two of them in the rear. The surviving infantry watched with glee as two Leopards were left smashed and burning. The other two turned away from the remaining Korshuns and began a losing battle with the Soviet tanks.

Chazov heard Dudkov's radio calls. He sounded frantic. Moments later, he saw the smudges of oily fires over the rise to his right. He continued forward with his company, but a few minutes later his battalion commander, Major Barchuk, radioed him to halt his attack. The ambush had badly disrupted the attack, and one of the other companies had taken stiff losses as well. He was to take his company back to the site of Dudkov's ambush and pick up the survivors.

Chazov left one platoon facing toward the German positions in Geiselhoring and led the other three vehicles back to Dudkov's company. It was easy enough to find the site of the ambush from the billowing plumes of sooty black smoke. Chazov raised Senior Sergeant Vasilev on his radio. Vasilev, the highest ranking survivor from Dudkov's company, was badly shaken up and incoherent. Chazov realized that Vasilev was incapable of leading the survivors. He ordered one of his sergeants to take over command of the remnants of the unit. A couple minutes later, the three surviving Korshuns came up the hill with several soldiers clinging to the rear deck of each. The Korshun was too cramped inside to carry anybody except its own crew. Survivors from the knocked-out vehicles had to be carried on the outside.

The attack on Geiselhoring on 7 October had been a failure. The attack had continued, minus Barchuk's battalion on the left flank. The two remaining BMP battalions, supported by some of the tanks, didn't have the strength to overcome the well-entrenched German defenders. Chazov's company was ordered to take up night defensive positions near a woods five kilometers from Geiselhoring. He was told over the regimental radio net to expect orders at about 1900.

Chazov had his hands full. His company was well positioned for the night, but the morale of the men hadn't been helped by the day's fighting. His own two platoons were in good enough spirits, but the remnants of Dudkov's company were another matter. Chazov called the company zam-polit, Junior Lieutenant Sudro, to his vehicles and ordered him to take over the battered Korshun company. Because one of Dudkov's companies had managed to dismount before their BMPs were destroyed, there were more troops in the company than spaces in the BMPs. Sudro was ordered to sort through the survivors and cull out those who were most obviously shell-shocked. Chazov would worry about them later. He didn't expect the Germans to launch a night counterattack, but he had to keep his men on their toes for such an eventuality. At about 1800, a villiys came down to pick him up for a regimental officers' meeting. He left Lieutenant Sudro in charge.

In the jeep was the commander of the 1st Motor Rifle Battalion, Major Barchuk, and the other surviving company commander, Captain Glebov. Glebov's company had lost four vehicles in the afternoon fighting, mostly to missiles. That left the whole battalion at only half strength, with Chazov's company in the best shape. Major Barchuk said that he expected the attack to be repeated the next morning.

When the officers from Barchuk's battalion arrived at the regimental command post, they saw the usual faces, with a few conspicuous absences. The battalion had suffered heavy losses in the past few days of fighting. The men looked exhausted. They had little chance to bathe or shave, and looked like they could care less. Few had gotten more than a few hours of sleep each night for the past week. There were three officers Chazov didn't recognize. They stuck out due to their clean uniforms. He noticed that one was wearing the branch-of-service collar insignia of the Chemical Warfare Forces. After a bit of milling about, the regimental commander, Colonel Rusak, ordered the men to sit down and he proceeded with his briefing.

"Comrade officers. As you are well aware, the attack against Geiselhoring was not successful.

It is the most essential road junction in our divisional sector. The divisional commander is insistent that we take that village by tomorrow afternoon, at all costs. We cannot expect any reinforcements. We are not the only ones who have had problems on this front. Several of our neighboring divisions have not kept their schedules either. Our artillery preparations have not been as effective as we expected."

There was a murmur of assent from the assembled officers. The artillery preparation against Geiselhoring had been piss poor. It did little more than bounce around the rubble.

'The front commander has ordered the use of chemical weapons to soften up the resistance to our advance."

At the mention of chemical weapons, the officers began to fidget. Rusak then turned to the visiting officers. "Captain Kasparov from division headquarters will continue this briefing."

Kasparov went up to a covered map board and lifted off its canvas cover. It was the normal 1:50,000 scale map of the local area. It was covered with the usual bewildering assortment of colored pencil symbols. Kasparov began.

"Comrade officers. Our artillery preparations have not proven effective in routing out the German troops in Geiselhoring. The Germans are well entrenched in the rubble. We believe they will receive reinforcements tonight. There are about three companies of infantry, supported by about ten Milan antitank missile launchers."

Ten entrenched launchers. Great! Chazov figured that meant two or three in his sector, or one for every three BMPs — not good odds for his men.

"We are planning a gas attack at 0515, followed by your attack at 0530. We will be using Agent AC. Do you remember what AC is?" Kasparov looked around the room. From the sheepish looks he encountered, he knew the answer. "Agent AC is a hydrogen cyanide gas, a nonpersistent blood agent. You inhale it, you die. Two good whiffs in a heavy concentration and you'll immediately become unconscious, You'll be dead in three to five minutes. It acts through the lungs and the bloodstream, not through the skin. So all your troops need to wear is their protective masks, not their slime suits."

There was a sigh of relief among the officers. The slime suits, officially designated "OP-1 chemical protective suits," were a real horror to wear. The chemical masks weren't so bad. At almost the same instant, there was a collective reflex by the officers to check their gas masks. Several of the officers patted the bag on their left thigh. But most of the officers realized they had left their gas mask bags behind in their vehicles. Lousy gas discipline, they thought. Most of the officers began to worry that their men might have lost or thrown away their chemical gear.

Kasparov continued: "I said that you didn't have to wear the OP-1 suits. But you had damn well better have them ready. If we use gas, NATO may use gas. You should make certain to refresh your memory about gas procedures. Are there any questions so far?"

Captain Savin from the 2d Motor Rifle Battalion started with a question that was on everyone's mind: "What if our troops have lost their chemical defense gear?"

Chazov remembered seeing a number of chemical defense bags left behind at one of the other battalions' bivouac sites two nights before. He had cautioned his own platoon leaders about this, but he wasn't certain how much good it had done.

Chemical defense gear is a prominent part of a Soviet soldier's kit. The Soviet infantryman has far less equipment than the average NATO soldier: no sleeping bag, a very small rucksack, and only one cartridge belt. He is issued a chemical defense mask in a canvas bag to be worn over his left hip. The ammunition pouch is worn on the right hip. The OP-1 chemical defense suit is rolled up and carried on his back under the rucksack. These are a real nuisance when riding and fighting in a BMP. The interior of the vehicle is so cramped that the soldier can't leave his rucksack or slime suit on his back. And there's no space on the floor. There's a bit of space behind, on a ledge formed by the fuel tank and the back of the two rows of seats. But this is supposed to be reserved for the Igla air defense missile launcher. There is a space in front, on the ledge over the tracks, but if the kit is put there, the vehicle firing ports can't be used. There are no provisions for stowing the kit on the outside of the vehicle. There is a rolled tarp around the back of the turret, but that isn't big enough for the whole squad's gear. If the tarp is filled up with rucksacks and chemical masks, it blocks the two top roof hatches. In peacetime this doesn't really matter. The men are seldom in the BMP for more than a few hours at a stretch, and they seldom use the firing ports. But in war, extra belongings and spare parts accumulate and fill up the vehicle.

Most of Chazov's squads had loaded a lot of the more useless kits (meaning the gas masks and suits) into the tarp and put it on the rear roof. This wasn't the safest thing to do, but it got the junk out of the way. In some of the other companies, the chemical gear had been thrown away.

Kasparov had anticipated this problem. "You know as well as I how often we've drilled chemical defense into those blockheads! Those troops know that discarding state property is a punishable offense!"

Captain Savin interrupted: "Comrade Captain, I know that, and you know that. But we are at war. The troops have other concerns. What am I going to do? I can't send my company into action without masks. I mean if they stay in the BMPs they are all right. But those fucking nyemtsi have been fighting like bastards and we'll have to fight this one dismounted!"

Kasparov calmed down a bit. "Look, if the agent works as the front leadership expects, you ought to be able to roll into that town mounted up." Several of the officers looked very agitated. Chazov stood up.

"Comrade Captain, the front commanders haven't seen what those towns look like after our artillery finishes with them. The streets are all full of rubble. The nyemtsi are down in the cellars or in bunkers. We can't drive our BMPs over all that crap. It'll rip the tracks off. Besides, in close quarters the nyemtsi will start shooting at us with those damn panzerfaust. Have you seen what a panzerfaust does to an infantry squad shut up in a BMP? Burnt strawberry jam splattered all over the insides! Even if the gas works, we'll have to fight this one dismounted!"

The regimental commander, Colonel Rusak, was surprised by Chazov's outburst and by the surly attitude of his company commanders to the divisional staff officers. In peacetime this wouldn't be tolerated. But it wasn't peacetime. Rusak knew that several of these company commanders were decorated veterans of Afghanistan and had little patience for book-learned tactics.

Colonel Rusak got up. "OK, look boys, let's calm down. Comrade captain is here to get you prepared for the attack, not to instruct you veterani on tactics. We'll discuss the tactics for tomorrow's attack once he's finished briefing us on the chemical aspects of the attack."

Captain Kasparov returned to the center. "Look, Agent AC is nonpersistent. It evaporates really fast. It's lethal only in thick clouds. We're going to really have to plaster that town with bug spray to build up concentrations high enough to gas those nyemtsi. By the time you get into the town, the concentrations will be really low. You shouldn't have any problems. Watch out in the cellars. The gas will not disperse in confined areas. But it won't be bad up on the surface."

Savin interrupted again: "Can we count on a napalm strike before we go in, like we used to do in Afghanistan?"

Kasparov looked over to the two other officers who had accompanied him from headquarters. One of them, a stocky KGB security officer named Kaminskiy, nodded negatively: "You know as well as I do that getting tactical air support is very difficult." Everyone nodded in agreement. "Besides, we used to use a napalm strike to burn off persistent agents, not blood agents like AC. We really don't need it. As long as you don't breathe this stuff, you'll be all right. Well have a medical team at regimental headquarters for any of our own casualties."

"What about NATO? If we use this stuff, won't they?" asked Savin. Kasparov looked back at the KGB major, who got up and walked to the center of the room.

"Comrade officers, we at front headquarters feel that gas will give us a critical advantage in tomorrow's attack. You know we are behind schedule. This situation is the same along much of the battle line. We feel that the shock of the gas attack will help us breach the main enemy defensive belt. I am not supposed to mention this. It is very secret and you should tell no one.

We will be using other secret weapons tomorrow as well. Also, if you manage to secure your objectives, we plan to push a divisional mobile group through your sector to exploit our success. You can see how much depends on you. Overcome the resistance at Geiselhoring, and gain your objectives. The lead will then be taken by a fresh unit. You must keep these details in confidence from your men. But I thought you deserved to know. We at Front HQ expect that tomorrow will give us the breakthrough we've all been waiting for. The enemy is badly weakened. And tomorrow you will see a real demonstration of the power of the Soviet Army!"

The officers felt a bit cheered by the major's pep talk. Doubts would creep back in later. But for now, it was the matter of planning the details of tomorrow's attack with Colonel Rusak.

Chazov returned to his company at about 2100. It was already dark. The sentry was alert and issued the proper challenge. He was a soldier from Dudkov's old company who Chazov didn't recognize. He looked like a Tatar. "Is everything all right, soldier?"

"Yes, exactly so, Comrade Lieutenant!" the sentry replied.

"Soldier, let me see your gas-mask bag." The young soldier looked sheepishly at the sack and reluctantly unslung it from his shoulder. Chazov took it, and was surprised by its weight. Much too heavy for a gas mask! And a bit too much clanking noise for a gas-mask bag. Chazov unfastened the strap and spilled the contents out onto the ground. From the dim light of his flashlight he could see at least four RGN concussion grenades and two more RGO fragmentation grenades. There were four 30mm BG-15 grenades for the squad grenadiers, an extra clip of 5.45mm ammunition for the private's AKS-74 assault rifle, and a couple of boxes of 5.45mm ammunition. The tools of a good infantryman. But no gas mask.

"Soldier, where is your gas mask?"

"I lost it, Comrade Captain, when our BMP burned."

Probably a lie, thought Chazov. "Soldier, you know you must keep your chemical protective gear with you at all times!"

"Yes, exactly so, Comrade Captain!" Chazov didn't see any more point in berating the private. Maybe he did lose it in the BMP fire.

Chazov returned to his BMP-2. His two platoon commanders, Lieutenant Shepel and Lieutenant Khalkin, were there waiting for him along with his zampolit, Lieutenant Sudro.

"Well, gentlemen, how's Dudkov's bunch doing?"

Pavel Sudro, the senior of the trio, answered. "Well, they've lost all three platoon commanders. The highest ranking trooper left is Senior Sergeant Vasilev. You know, that guy you talked to on the radio. He's a real makaroniki.[65]

He's completely gone… useless. There's a young squad leader, a Ukrainian kid named Burak, who seems pretty decent. He took charge of the platoon that dismounted during the fighting and he kept them together. The other soldiers seem to have confidence in him. There's about fifty of them, so I gave some of the extras to the 1st and 2d platoons."

Chazov asked, "Can't we shift one of our sergeants over there?"

"Pyotr, we need our guys," Khalkin replied. "I really don't think we can spare anyone, especially with Dudkov's leftovers. A lot of those guys are really demoralized. Our sergeants are going to have to sit on them. Besides, there's no real hotshots in our platoons. You know what they're like. They're not a bad bunch, but taking care of a new platoon? No chance. We have our hands full as it is."

Chazov nodded in agreement. "Sorry, Pavel Aleksandrovich. You're stuck with them." Sudro shook his head.

"Now listen," said Chazov. "The brass from Front HQ are planning to gas those fucking nyemtsi tomorrow before we attack. They're going to dump a big load of insecticide on the town using a few salvos of Grads. They want to soften them up. This isn't going to be like fighting the dushmani with gas.[66]

The nyemtsi probably have gas masks. If we catch them by surprise, we might panic them.

That'll make our job easier. The main trick is to keep our troops calm. We'll be using Agent AC. It's not persistent. It's only lethal if you breathe it in. The gas boys tell us most of it will be gone by the time we reach the town. So we only need masks. You two, check out your platoons and make sure everybody has a mask,

I'll go with Sudro and check the situation with Dudkov's old bunch. Also check on the slime suits. We'll meet back here in an hour."

As Chazov had feared, a lot of Dudkov's troopers had thrown away their gas masks. Fortunately, one of the platoons had thrown most of the masks into the compartment behind the engine in their BMPs where spare Fagot missiles are carried. Out of the fifty-four troops, Chazov counted forty-four gas masks and only twenty OP-1 protective suits. The divisional chemical officers had told him earlier in the evening that he could expect no additional gear from them. All the units had the same problem. But he had scrounged a half-dozen masks and some slime suits from one of the divisional artillery units. Khalkin's and Shepel's platoons were in much better shape. Both had a full load of gas masks and about ninety percent of their OP-1 suits.

The three officers met near Chazov's BMP at about 2200 to plan the attack. The BMP has a chemical filtration system to protect troops inside from chemical weapons. Chazov decided that the squad without gas masks would remain inside the BMPs during the attack. The extra two squads of men from Dudkov's old outfit would ride to the dismount point up on the roof of the BMP, wearing their masks. It was risky, but better than leaving the extra troops behind. It was going to be a tough fight, and Chazov needed all the men he could get. He decided against having his troops don the OP-1 suits. There were not enough to go around, and he didn't want any trouble over that. The troops without the suits might act gun-shy of entering the town. Besides, the OP-1 suits would make the attack very difficult to carry out.

The OP-1 slime suit consists of a chemically impregnated set of long johns, which is worn under the normal uniform. On top of this is worn a coverall made of rubberized fabric. It's called a slime suit because when you decontaminate it with caustic soaps, it feels slimy to the touch. There are also clumsy rubber mittens for the hands and a hood to go over the helmet. The suit works well to keep out chemicals, but the outer rubber coverall is impenetrable to moisture, so sweat does not evaporate. This is acceptable for an hour or so if the troops are riding in vehicles. But strenuous activity can lead to rapid heat exhaustion and unconsciousness. Troops wearing the OP-1 suit would have a hard time carrying out an attack on foot on a hot day. The face masks would soon steam up, and the men would have a hard time seeing. Heat prostration would set in rapidly, and the soldiers would be useless in forty minutes.

It was risky either way. Wearing the suits would cause all sorts of problems. Not wearing the suits would cause problems only if the Germans retaliated with gas at some point during the fighting. Chazov hoped that his company would be warned by division HQ if such a retaliatory gas attack was expected, so he'd have time to get his troops into protective suits or into the BMPs. There's damn little certainty in war.

The attack on Geiselhoring was scheduled to begin at 0530. In the autumn, the area has early morning mists, which would help hide the attacking Soviet forces. The gas attack would not be preceded by normal artillery fire. The artillery officers hoped to catch a lot of German troops in their sleep, not wearing protective gear.

In Geiselhoring, at least, this was not to be. The first salvo of BM-21 Grad rocket projectiles began slamming into the town at 0515. Or at least near the town. Multiple rocket launchers like the BM-21 Grad have bad dispersion problems at long ranges, and this attack was no exception. Many of the rounds fell to the south of the town, where they killed a lot of the livestock abandoned when the civilians fled two days before. As soon as the first rounds struck Geiselhoring, Chazov started to move his company out of the woods and toward the town, five kilometers away. The plan called for the regiment's tanks to lead the attack, about 1,000 meters in front of the BMPs. There would be one tank company attached to each BMP battalion. If resistance was light, the BMPs were to proceed right up to the edge of town and dismount their troops. If any heavy antitank fire was encountered, the BMPs would dismount their troops 2,000 meters from the town, outside the range of the Milan antitank missiles. The tanks would suppress the Milan sites with gunfire, supported by the woodpeckers on the BMPs.

Major Barchuk's BMP battalion, to which Chazov's company belonged, had only two companies left. Chazov's company was the best equipped, so it was directed toward a built-up area at the southern edge of the town. Captain Savin's understrength company was to his left, aiming for the road on the southern edge of the town. An understrength company of six T-80M tanks was right in front of Chazov's company. He warned his troops to stay away from these tanks during the fighting. The T-80Ms were covered with reactive armor, and if the reactive armor went off near infantry, it could kill unprotected foot soldiers nearby (see Chapter 3).

To his right, Chazov could see the other battalions forming up for the attack. The area in front of the town consisted of fairly flat farm fields, and there was little cover for the infantry except for a few irrigation ditches. The main German positions were in the rubble at the edge of town. More troops could be expected inside. The day before, they had knocked out the four Leopard tanks supporting the infantry company in the town, but who knew what reinforcements the Germans had managed to scrape up the night before. Maybe they had even abandoned the town last night! Fat chance.

The tanks moved forward at a top speed of about thirty-five miles per hour, with the BMPs bouncing a thousand meters behind. The BMP-2 could easily keep up with the T-80s, but it was a rough ride. The torsion bar suspension was stiff, and every time a bump was hit, the soldiers' heads slammed against the low steel roof. The rough ride, the stench of diesel fumes, and the smell of the rubber chemical masks made many of the soldiers nauseous. They each had a small periscope in front of them to see outside. But the ride was so rough it was hard to keep an eye on the periscope long enough to see what was happening. The soldiers were bunched up in the back of the vehicle with no room to move. It was dark except for a small electric light bulb at one end of the compartment, which did little more than create strange shadows. The inside of a BMP on an attack run was no place for someone prone to claustrophobia.

An element of fear was added by nagging memories of the BMPs that had been destroyed in previous skirmishes. The soldiers knew that at any moment a Milan antitank missile might come slamming into the vehicle, incinerating the crew. In four days of fighting, they had seen plenty of examples of what happens when a BMP is hit with an antiarmor missile.

The BMP is so full of ammunition and fuel that a solid hit nearly anywhere leads to a catastrophic fire or explosion. Seldom does any of the crew survive. The German troops had begun calling the vehicles "Ivan cookers." After a few kilometers, the troops were very anxious to get out of the BMPs into the open air. It was hard to keep the men calm. Chazov realized that it would be especially difficult to control the troops with the added fear of gas mixed in.

The men from Dudkov's old company were riding on the back roof of the BMPs behind the turret. They were very vulnerable to artillery, but it was better than walking the five kilometers.

It was a real adventure trying to hold on with the BMPs going thirty-five miles an hour. But in a way, the ride was less draining for the troops on the roofs than it was for those canned up inside. They could clearly see the ruins of the town in the front of them and the waves of BMPs and T-80 tanks advancing to either side. Reality was far less frightening than the frenzied imaginings of the troops cramped together inside. The town was obscured by mist and by a cloud of smoke from the gas attack. No German positions were visible. If they were still alive, they were holding their fire.

When the first wave of tanks got about 1,500 meters from the town, eerie flickers of Milan missiles could be seen racing through the mist. If the Milan was coming right in your direction, the small tail flare was nearly impossible to see. But the missiles fired at neighboring units could be seen skimming a few feet over the ground. At least two T-80Ms in front of Chazov's company were hit. There was a big flash as the missile and reactive armor went off almost simultaneously. At first it was hard to tell the results. Some German units still had the old Milan 2 missiles.

These couldn't get through reactive armor. But some had the improved Milan 2T, which had a fifty-fifty chance of burning through reactive armor. So much flame and dust were thrown up when the missile hit, it was difficult to tell if the tanks had survived. As the smoke cleared, Chazov could see that the crew of one tank was bailing out. Their coveralls were on fire. The tank erupted as an internal fire reached the ammunition under the turret and cooked off. Chazov watched in horror as the turret flew up in the air, somersaulting like a carelessly tossed skillet.

He hoped his men hadn't seen it. Obviously, there was going to be a fight for this town.

Chazov ordered his company to prepare to dismount. They were still more than two kilometers from the town, but he didn't want to risk losing any BMPs to the missiles. The mist would cover the advance of his infantry. He warned the BMP-2 gunners to be careful not to fire too low, for fear of hitting their own men. While climbing out of his BMP-2, Chazov noticed that the neighboring BMP companies on either side were following suit.

His troops were deployed in a standard skirmish line, as they had practiced so often in peacetime training. They advanced at a slight crouch, Kalashnikovs at the hip. The line was a bit ragged, but then this was no parade ground. German small arms fire could be expected in another 500 meters. There was one real advantage to the Soviet style of training: It was very simple.

Even troops scared witless could remember the basic drill. Chazov's men seemed relieved to be outside of the BMPs. They were moving forward without hesitation.

Chazov heard the whine of incoming artillery rockets overhead. He instinctively hit the ground. Afghanistan had taught him the sound of artillery rockets. The dushmani loved those Chinese artillery rockets! The rounds must have passed overhead, but he did not hear the usual groundshaking crunch of their impact. Instead there was a series of loud bangs, more like grenades than normal artillery. It suddenly occurred to him why. The Germans were firing gas rounds back.

Shit!

Chazov couldn't have known it, but NATO intelligence had expected a Soviet gas attack along this front. The day before, several reconnaissance drones had spotted Soviet chemical troops preparing decontamination facilities in the rear. Soviet communication nets started behaving in a peculiar fashion, and Soviet artillery units were obviously receiving an unusual munition. Soviet deceptive measures, maskirovka, had failed them. Local German and American artillery units were supplied with chemical munitions and authorized to use them if the Soviets attacked first. Troops along the front were instructed to don their protective gear at the first signs of a Soviet attack. The German garrison in Geiselhoring expected the early morning attack and had donned their suits at 0300. The NATO forces decided to use a nerve gas in hope of forcing the Soviets to don full protective suits as well. This would slow them down a bit.

The first salvo of gas projectiles burst among the BMPs behind the advancing wave of infantry.

A few also seemed to hit in front. But in the mist it was hard to tell. One soldier in the company carried a small gas testing kit. But it was manual, and you had to be inside the cloud of gas to tell what type it was. By that time, it would be too late. Chazov was a bit confused. The troops had stopped moving forward and were crouched near the ground, looking around aimlessly.

Chazov signaled to his radioman to bring the manpack radio over to him. He called back to Sergeant Aksai in the command BMP. "Any word from division about a German gas attack?" There was a lot of static on the line, probably NATO jamming. He could barely hear Aksai even though he was only 500 meters away.

"Comrade Lieutenant, the divisional warning net said they've been hit by a nerve agent attack. They instruct all units to don protective gear immediately." Nerve gas!

Chazov instructed Sergeant Aksai to warn the other platoons. "Everyone with OP-1 suits, don them immediately and withdraw to the BMPs for further instruction. Everyone without suits, back to the BMPs immediately and get inside. BMPs to start up vehicle overpressure and filtration systems. Keep all doors and hatches closed except in absolute emergencies."

A second salvo of artillery rockets struck the regiment. A few landed right in the midst of the BMPs, some of the others nearer to the troops. There was panic everywhere he looked. Some of the soldiers broke and ran with no regard for their equipment. The worst affected were those without chemical suits. A few from Sudro's platoon got about halfway back to the BMPs when they encountered the first mists of nerve gas. After a few gulps they collapsed to the ground, shuddering with uncontrollable twitches as the gas attacked their nervous system. Some troops kept calm and hurriedly put on the outer OP-1 coveralls. There was no time to strip, and don the undergarment and then the coveralls. The outer coveralls would have to do. Pretty soon, Chazov was surrounded by a platoon of bugeyed Martians. The slime suits came in a pea green and rusty orange color, not the usual drab khaki of Soviet military uniforms. Chazov led his remaining men back to the BMPs at a slow pace to prevent premature exhaustion. It took a lot of courage to do this under the circumstances. Some soldiers tried to run ahead, but the exertion soon forced them to stop.

About a hundred meters to the north, Chazov could see the effects of the gas. A squad from Sudro's platoon had been very near to one of the first nerve gas rockets that exploded. Many of them didn't have suits, but they probably wouldn't have done them much good anyway. The concentrations were so high that their exposed skin absorbed fatal doses. The nerve agent acted as an extreme nerve stimulant, causing convulsions and difficulty breathing. Most of the squad had fallen on the ground, where contamination by the aerosol was even worse. Some soldiers threw off their gas masks in panic, and inhalation of the nerve agent brought death even quicker. The screams, twitching, and convulsions scared the surviving soldiers. Even the units in suits were near panic when they arrived back at the BMPs.

A few soldiers without suits had gotten back to the BMPs before the main group. They had quickly climbed into two of the BMPs, where the overpressure and filtration system could protect them. Lieutenant Khalkin was at the fore of the main group and had seen this. Now he was in a quandary. Since the soldiers with OP-1 suits had walked through areas contaminated by the nerve agent, there was probably agent on their boots and on the protective suits. If these exposed troops entered the BMPs, they would contaminate the unprotected soldiers. Khalkin blocked the entrance to one of the BMPs and tried to direct the contaminated troops to those BMPs without unprotected soldiers inside. The voice emitter on his gas mask made it very difficult for him to communicate with the troops. There was some pushing and shoving. The soldiers were in a near panic and, with their suits on, could barely hear Khalkin. Enemy artillery soon settled the matter.

The nerve gas attack was followed by a conventional artillery barrage. It wasn't particularly heavy, only a few dozen rounds in the battalion sector. But the enemy artillerymen had chosen the worst (or best) possible moment to strike. With most of the Soviet infantry still out of the BMPs, the battalion was hit by a barrage of antipersonnel ICMs. Dozens of small explosions began going off all around.

The fireworks caused by the burst of the ICMs finally broke the last vestiges of control that Chazov had over his men. Those who survived the ICM attack packed into the BMPs, the unprotected soldiers be damned! There was a mad scramble to get in as fast as possible. Chazov managed to climb onto the roof of his BMP-2 command vehicle and enter through the turret hatch.

Once inside, many of the men began to calm down. But there was a hellish scene inside two of the BMPs. BMP 412 had four soldiers of the 3d Platoon inside without OP-1 suits. When seven soldiers with suits came charging in during the artillery barrage, these four soldiers were pushed into the left tunnel leading to the driver's station. The nerve agent on the suits and in the outside air began to affect the unprotected soldiers. The vehicle had a medical kit with atropine injectors as nerve agent antidotes, but the troops were in such a panic that no one thought to use it. Two of the soldiers began to vomit and suffer convulsions. They were forcibly shoved away from the back compartment, where the protected troops were sitting. After a few minutes, one of the sergeants remembered the atropine kits and injected the contaminated soldiers. They were unconscious but still alive. A measure of calm was finally restored. In BMP 417 the driver and gunner were without suits, and they suffered much the same fate as the four soldiers in BMP 412.

Chazov's command vehicle, BMP 410, was crowded, but everyone had suits. He began making radio calls to the neighboring BMPs to check their status. The gas masks used by officers and radiomen have small voice devices to permit them to issue commands and to use radio equipment. But the sound quality is lousy. Of the ten BMPs, two were unresponsive. Through the periscope, Chazov could see that their rear doors were open. They were probably contaminated. They were near the impact point of some of the nerve gas rockets, and their crews had probably been killed by gas before they could get their suits on. Once the artillery fire stopped, Chazov sent two sergeants from the command vehicle to check them out. The eight other vehicles were in varying states. The two nearest BMP-2s were fairly intact, with nineteen troops between them. Three more vehicles had only six men each. BMPs 412 and 417 had a total of twenty-two soldiers, of whom six were contaminated. This added up to sixty-six of the one hundred twenty men who had started the attack. At least two squads, about twenty men, had been killed outright by the gas. About twenty-five more had been wounded in the subsequent artillery barrage. Left in the open with nerve gas on the ground and in the air, they soon became comatose. The other men were missing and presumed dead. Chazov tried to get the BMPs to send out parties to help the wounded, but the troops were in no mood to budge from the security of their armored vehicles. And Chazov was in no mood to threaten them. As the sun came up, the insides of the vehicles started to bake. The suits became unbearably warm, and it became tiring to move.

Chazov was unable to raise the other battalions on his radio. The frequencies were being jammed, or the sets were inoperable. He used the telescopic sight of the woodpecker autocannon to try to find out about neighboring units. There was no evidence of any Soviet vehicles to his immediate right except for some burning tanks and BMPs. There were several BMPs to his left, but little sign of action. Fortunately, the German's Milan missiles were out of range. Sergeant Vrobel volunteered to walk over to the neighboring company. Chazov told him to take it easy and walk slowly. There was no sense getting heat stress.

Chazov realized that his unit wasn't fit for further action. The vehicles would have to be pulled back soon and decontaminated. The troops inside would eventually be overcome by the heat, even just sitting and waiting. They might become uncontrollable and do stupid things like try to take off their masks to cool down. It was imperative to reach regimental or divisional command and find out what provisions were being made for decontamination.

Chazov tried raising regimental HQ on the radio, but there was too much jamming. He finally managed to get through on one of the alternate nets. The radioman on the other end told him to keep his unit in place and await further orders. Chazov asked about provisions for decontamination. They were cut off by another burst of jamming before he got a reply. He started to think about sending one of the vehicles back to HQ for further information. Before he could decide, the Germans started getting active.

It was a sight Chazov dreaded. From over the town he saw the glint of helicopter rotors. It wasn't clear if it was just a scout helicopter or an attack helicopter. He let the gunner get back into his seat, and moved over to the commander's seat in the turret. His gunner took the helicopter in aim but it was a bit too far to engage. From the corner of his eye Chazov caught the bright flash of a missile tracing flare. A HOT antitank missile, fired by an unseen second helicopter, hit BMP 412. It exploded against the turret, causing a gaping hole. Secondary explosions started from burning 30mm autocannon ammunition. The fire licked up against three stowed Konkurs missiles, which blew up, igniting the fuel tank in the back. In seconds, the whole vehicle was engulfed in flames. No one could have survived. These damn BMPs burned like torches!

The BMP-2 on the right caught sight of the helicopter. It was a tiny German PAH-1, armed with six HOT missiles. The woodpecker on BMP 416 began hammering away at the chopper, but it scooted out of range to the safety of the town. If the situation wasn't bad enough, Chazov spotted some German infantry sneaking out of the town toward the Soviet lines. The Germans had the luxury of modern chemical suits. They were charcoal coated, with permeable surfaces that permitted sweat to evaporate. It was no picnic to run with heavy weapons in such a suit, but it was a lot more practical than the Soviet rubber suits.

Chazov decided it was pointless to keep his vehicles here. There was no evidence that the rest of the regiment was continuing the attack. His BMPs were waiting like sitting ducks for more helicopter attacks. Those damn PAH-ls could wipe out his company without even needing to reload. And the German infantry were probably tank-hunter teams, armed with Panzerfaust antitank rockets.

Ignoring his previous orders, Chazov signaled to his troops to begin a staggered pullback to the woods they had occupied the night before. The company was useless as a combat force. It was down to seven BMPs and less than fifty men. The vehicles were too badly contaminated to permit normal combat operations. The troops were too frightened and exhausted to fight.

Sergeant Dobrovolskiy's BMP led the way and continued on to regimental HQ to check on the matter of decontamination equipment. The company waited in the woods for nearly an hour before Dobrovolskiy returned, bringing back three decontamination kits. One kit contained soap and bleach to clean up the troops. In peacetime practice, personnel cleanup had always been done in a prepared facility, with showers. Here, there wasn't enough water or equipment. It all had to be done laboriously by hand. At least once out of the vehicles, it was a bit easier to cool down.

Chazov still found it very difficult to control the men. Ignoring the usual precautions, some of the soldiers simply removed their OP-1 suits without rinsing first. It was dangerous, although by then most of the nerve agent had evaporated. Everything was done in such a hurry that it wasn't clear which suits had been cleaned and which ones had not. There were two canisters of a special caustic agent to wash down the BMPs. But to wash out the insides, it would be necessary to get back into the suits, which were now in heaps scattered along the edge of the forest floor. No one dared touch them for fear they were still coated with nerve agent. Chazov, Dobrovolskiy, and Khalkin had taken the trouble to scrub their suits before removing them. So the three men were given their suits and assigned the laborious task of cleaning out the insides of the BMPs. They managed to clean two of them before water and caustic agent ran out. The rest of the troops were sent to dig in and prepare defensive positions at the edge of the woods. He hoped that the woods hadn't been hit by chemicals. If the Germans decided to use chemicals again, they were done for.

This fictional account of the attack on Geiselhoring highlights the temptations for the Soviets to use chemical weapons, as well as the enormous risks. This scenario shows the most likely conditions for the use of chemical weapons. The tempo of a vital operation has been thrown off by determined resistance. Conventional means to smash the resistance in built-up areas has proven to be a failure. Something out of the ordinary seems necessary. Chemical weapons are seen as a panacea in such a situation. They hold the allure of providing the shock needed to break a stalemate.

The first use of chemical weapons could be expected to have enormous psychological impact on unprepared defenders. Soldiers who have proven very resistant to conventional weapons might break and run when the added horror of chemical weapons is unleashed on them. It is not inconceivable that this could have a decisive effect on the outcome of a war. Such an expectation would be the main reason for employing chemical weapons.

Other factors support such a decision. Soviet troops train regularly with chemical weapons and simulated chemical weapons. Soviet military leaders might expect that their troops would perform well in chemical warfare conditions since they are familiar with it, better than NATO troops would perform under these conditions. Soviet officers could harbor the illusion that they have a decided edge on the chemical battlefield. The Soviet Army has substantial stockpiles of a wide variety of chemical weapons, allowing the front commander to choose chemicals tailored to a particular task. But the main attraction is the surprise effect.

As the scenario of the attack on Geiselhoring suggests, many of these expectations may prove to be dead wrong. Indeed, the use of chemical weapons could prove to be a major mistake for an attacking force. The use of chemical weapons forces both sides to engage in time-consuming and complicated chemical protective measures. Troops have to be adequately supplied with chemical suits, decontamination equipment, and additional medical support. Tasks that normally take thirty minutes would take hours in a contaminated environment. Chemical contamination is a glue that slows down the tempo of operations. If it does not have an immediate and decisive effect on its first use, then it backfires on the attacker. The Soviets as the aggressor would be far more dependent on the speed and tempo of operations than NATO would be as the defender. These points are worth examining in detail.

The Soviet Army, like most modern armies, has been interested in chemical warfare since World War I. The Tsarist army suffered monstrous casualties in World War I, largely because it was technically unprepared.

In the wake of these horrors, the new Red Army of the 1920s made a determined effort to prepare for the use of chemical weapons. It has maintained this interest through the present.

Although chemical weapons did not have a decisive impact on the Western Front in World War I, they proved more effective in the East. Russian troops were so ill prepared that gas attacks by the Germans were far more successful than comparable attacks against French or British troops. The Russians suffered at least 50,000 dead and more than a half million injured from German gas attacks in World War I. Chemical weapons had not changed greatly by the time of World War II. The main types of chemicals were blister agents like mustard gas, which burn out the inside of the lung and can cause severe skin burns and blinding. Neither the Allied nor Axis forces used chemical weapons during World War II.

Blister agents were not suitable for the more mobile style of war waged in Europe. In addition, both sides were deterred from using chemicals since both were well stocked with such agents. The trigger for their use in World War I had been the expectation that they would be a major surprise and have a decisive effect. In World War II, surprise could not be expected, greatly diminishing the incentive for first use.

Although World War II did not see the use of chemical weapons, it did see the development of several revolutionary new chemical agents. The most lethal of these were the new nerve gases. Blister agents like mustard gas require heavy contact to have any effect. Simple precautions like a gas mask and adequate clothing can prevent most detrimental effects. But nerve gases can attack through the skin as well as the respiratory system. A gas mask alone is inadequate. Full body protection is needed, with no skin exposed to the air. The amounts of agent needed to kill are far smaller, only seventy to one hundred milligrams — a small drop of liquid. It took decades to develop medical treatment for these agents and to devise protective equipment. Without these, nerve gas would be as dangerous to the side that used it as to its opponents. By the 1960s, chemical protective suits and medical treatments were available.

The Soviet Army began a major program of chemical warfare modernization beginning in the mid-1960s. Soviet units are amply provided for waging chemical warfare, with both the weapons and the protective equipment. And there is strong evidence that they have experimented with chemical weapons in a number of circumstances, notably in Afghanistan.

Soviet motor rifle and tank divisions have an extensive infrastructure for chemical defense. Each division has a chemical defense battalion, and each of its four component regiments has its own chemical company. In total, about 500 soldiers in each division, about 4 percent, are devoted to chemical defense tasks. The division has a wide range of equipment for chemical defense, ranging from mobile decontamination facilities to individual protective suits.

Soviet equipment since the 1960s has been designed to fight in a chemically contaminated environment. All the standard combat vehicles are fitted with chemical protective equipment. Armored vehicles have a system of air filtration to remove chemical contaminants from the air breathed by the crew. The vehicles are also fitted with an overpressure system to keep contaminants out of the vehicle. Soviet tanks have had this feature since the mid-1960s. In contrast, American tanks did not have such a system until the mid-1980s, and only a tiny fraction of American armored vehicles have been equipped.

The Soviet Army has a number of specialized vehicles to operate in chemically contaminated areas. In the mid-1960s, they introduced the first chemical scout vehicles. These armored vehicles are sent into contaminated areas to conduct surveys of the type of chemical agent present and the degree of contamination. They are equipped with sensors that can detect all common chemical warfare agents. Each Soviet regiment has four of these, and there are more at divisional level. There have been three generations of these vehicles since the 1960s, the most recent being the RKhM tracked chemical scout vehicle that is fully amphibious. The Soviets also use a full range of manual testing equipment. By themselves, these chemical scout vehicles are not very threatening. But they are indicative of the sophistication and breadth of the Soviet chemical effort. In contrast, the U.S. Army has been talking about such a vehicle for the past few years, but has none in service. At the moment, the U.S. Army relies entirely on manual chemical testing kits.

The individual Soviet soldier is provided with a chemical protective suit and a chemical mask.

As the scenario has depicted, the standard Soviet suit, the OP-1, is no joy to use. It is clumsy, slow to don, and dangerous to the user in many circumstances. But it is better than nothing.

This is one area where NATO has a clear advantage. In the mid-1970s, the British Army came up with a new semipermeable material for chemical suits. It allows sweat to evaporate, but does not allow chemical agents to enter. This is a major breakthrough, since it means that the soldiers can operate in a more normal fashion. The Soviets' rubberized suits can be debilitating in hot weather, or even in cold weather if a lot of exertion is called for, although they are reusable once they have been washed. The main disadvantage of the new NATO suits is that they must be replaced fairly often, since certain chemicals can break down their filtering abilities. The Soviets have continued to use washable, rubberized fabric for the time being, in spite of its disadvantages. They have shown little interest in the NATO permeable suits, probably due to the high cost of the NATO-style suits, as well as a certain backwardness in Soviet textile technology.

The same applies to chemical masks. The no-frills approach reigns here as well. The Soviets rely on cheap masks with replaceable filters. There are none of the clever features used on NATO face masks. For example, certain NATO face masks have a small opening that permits the soldier to drink water from his canteen. While this may seem to be a luxury, the main problem of all suits, even the permeable ones, is that they invariably lead to the soldier heating up and sweating. Combine the normal stress of combat, sweating, and the resultant dehydration, and you get a debilitating heat exhaustion. A few mouthfuls of water become a medical necessity, not a luxury. Also, Soviet officers and radiomen receive face masks with voice emitters, but the rest of the troops receive chemical face masks without emitters since they are cheaper to manufacture. As a result, under chemical warfare conditions, it is virtually impossible for the troops to communicate with one another. This is another impediment to the smooth functioning of a combat unit.

The problem faced by the Soviets is that their army is so enormous, all these little economies are necessary if everyone is to be provided with equipment. They feel that mediocre protection is better than none at all.

In the area of chemical weapons, the Soviets probably have the world's largest stockpile. The U.S. estimates that the Soviet military has on the order of 500,000 tons of chemical agents, ranging from simple blood agents, like the Agent AC previously described, to sophisticated nerve gases. Delivery methods are ample, ranging from chemical hand grenades to large bombs capable of carrying more than a ton of nerve gas. The usual Soviet method for delivering chemical agents on the battlefield is artillery. This includes conventional artillery cannon, as well as artillery rockets and missiles. The cannon would be used to attack targets up to 30 miles from the battle line; the missiles could be used to attack vital targets like airfields and command posts up to 250 miles from the battle line.

It can be argued that much of this Soviet equipment simply points to a prudent concern about defending Soviet troops in the event of chemical attacks. This is not plausible for a variety of reasons. The Soviet buildup in chemical weapons and the related protective equipment came at a time when NATO showed very little interest in chemical warfare. If NATO had had any serious interest in chemical weapons between the 1950s and 1960s, this would have been manifest in defensive measures like chemical defense suites on armored vehicles.

Soviet interest in chemical warfare has been long-standing, but the surge of effort in the mid-1960s is probably due to refinements in Soviet doctrine. At that time Soviet military planners were making revolutionary changes in their war plans. The Soviet military leadership had previously assumed that all wars with NATO would inevitably turn nuclear. Compared to tactical nuclear weapons, chemical weapons were little more than an interesting curiosity. Soviet strategists began arguing that the enormous strategic nuclear arsenals created a stalemate.

Neither the U.S. nor the USSR would dare use tactical nuclear weapons on a European battlefield, since there was the risk that it would escalate to strategic nuclear exchanges against the American and Soviet homelands. Because of this stalemate, a war in Europe would likely be nonnuclear.

Due to this radical rethinking of Soviet military doctrine, weapons planners began looking afresh at chemical weapons. Chemical weapons have certain attractive features to an invading force, primarily an enormous psychological advantage against an unprepared defender. And in the early 1970s, NATO was certainly unprepared. The Soviet Army began an extensive training program for its troops. Soviet soldiers became accustomed to using chemical weapons and working in chemically contaminated environments. They began training with chemical decontamination gear to an extent unprecedented in NATO. And the Soviet Union began acquiring new chemical weapons and chemical warfare systems.

The presumption that chemicals would be used on a conventional battlefield became so prevalent that it seeped into the marrow of Soviet tactics. This is manifest in many small ways. Soviet books and magazines aimed at officers provide guidelines for operating in a chemical environment. To take but a single example, Soviet publications instructing Soviet officers on the standard methods of notating tactical battle maps provide extensive details about how to mark up different types of chemical contamination.

Soviet Army defectors have made it clear that the Soviet Army regularly includes in its war games and staff exercises plans to use chemical weapons against NATO. This is not particularly surprising in view of Soviet force structure, tactical doctrine, and training.

In spite of the enormous scale of Soviet preparations for the use of chemical weapons in a conventional war, doubts must still linger in the minds of Soviet planners. Chemical warfare seems like an intriguing technical solution to battlefield requirements in the calm of peacetime. But in the confusion of war, it threatens to unleash a host of devilish problems.

The scenario of the attack on Geiselhoring highlights some of these. To begin with, peacetime preparations do not always prove adequate in war. The Soviet Army might start a war with chemical defensive measures in place. But a few days of war would disrupt these. Unless chemicals were used from the outset, chemical defense preparations might begin to dissolve. Soldiers would lose or misplace their chemical protective gear. Chemical defense companies would be stripped of their personnel to serve as replacements in more critical combat functions. Decontamination trucks would be given less priority for fuel or rail transport in favor of ammunition and other essentials.

Some of these problems could be avoided by the use of chemical weapons right from the outset of the fighting. In such a case, the carefully prepared chemical defense equipment would be in place and ready to go. However, this would come at an enormous cost.

That cost would not be borne by the troops of either NATO or the Warsaw Pact, but by the civilian populations near the battlefield. Modern chemical agents are so lethal that full protective equipment is essential. It would be impossibly expensive to equip the population along the German border with this type of equipment. As a result, any chemical attack would cause massive civilian losses of a magnitude that might prompt the NATO countries to respond in kind against East German or other Warsaw Pact cities, and could very well lead to a cycle of escalation eventually culminating in a nuclear exchange. The basic premise of any Soviet attack on NATO would be to limit it to the conventional level. Any action that might eventually trigger the use of nuclear weapons would have to be avoided.

For this reason, it seems likely that the use of chemical weapons would be curtailed until their effects would fall mainly on military targets. Chemical weapons are too indiscriminate to use when military and civilian targets are mingled, as they would be at the outset of a war. Once the war broke out, however, it is likely that the civilian population would soon flee, which would remove a major constraint in the Soviet use of chemical weapons.

Another major constraint on Soviet use of chemical weapons would be concern about the performance of Soviet troops in a chemical environment. It is one thing to practice chemical warfare in peacetime; it is quite a different matter to actually use it in wartime.

Soviet peacetime training is notoriously contrived. Their war maneuvers smack more of military choreography than military training. Simple drills, like donning a chemical suit or scrubbing down a vehicle, are realistically rehearsed, and rehearsed quite often. But more elaborate exercises are needed to simulate the real pressures of war. Such exercises would include an attack under simulated chemical conditions, followed by prolonged exercises while still in chemical gear, culminating in the decontamination of the men and equipment some hours later. Full-blown exercises of this kind do take place. But the results often give Soviet officers reason to pause before using chemical weapons.

Soviet protective gear is so uncomfortable that troops have discovered ways to circumvent it during peacetime practice. According to former Soviet soldiers, it is common for them to detach the air hose leading to the filter can. This would render the mask useless in wartime, but in a peacetime exercise where no real gas is present, it makes it easier to breathe. Decontamination exercises are similarly unrealistic. The drill is often practiced on old worn-out vehicles. Usually only the outside is scrubbed down, ignoring the difficulties and dangers involved in cleaning out the interior of a contaminated vehicle. Soviet officers are undoubtedly aware of the problems with these staged exercises. The more professional officers must have doubts about how these procedures would be carried out in a real war.

As unrealistic as these peacetime war games may be, they do impress the average Soviet officer with the exhausting and time-consuming nature of chemical defense. This could be a major disincentive to the Soviet use of chemical weapons. Any Soviet attack against NATO must be based on the idea of a rapid offensive across the German plains before NATO could adequately mobilize. The use of chemical weapons would slow the pace of the Soviet advance by obligating the use of protective gear. After an attack was made, the vehicles and troops would have to be arduously decontaminated before another attack would be possible. This would disrupt the momentum of the attack and slow the pace of the advance, which is extremely undesirable from the Soviet perspective.

The Achilles' heel of the Soviet Army is its rear areas. The troops at the front may be well provided with chemical protection gear, but many of the rear area troops are not. Support troops who bring forward critical supplies, ammunition, and food are not as well prepared for chemical warfere as the fighting branches. The Soviets do not appear to have developed protective shelters that would enable command facilities to function if NATO retaliated with chemicals. Soviet command vans are usually provided with filtration systems. But the vans cannot sustain the command elements in the presence of persistent chemical agents like certain nerve gases. They have no beds, toilet facilities, or decontamination features. Chemical attack of their rear support areas would be a nightmare for Soviet military leaders. Tanks without frequent resupplies of gas and ammunition are useless scrap metal. Infantry without food and ammunition has no attacking power.

An essential element in any Soviet plans to use chemical weapons is an assessment of NATO's reaction. In the 1970s, NATO was ill prepared to handle a Soviet attack. By the 1980s, NATO had managed to make important strides in chemical defense. The permeable suit developed by Britain is one of the best examples. But there are a host of other examples as well. The U.S.

Army has developed and fielded a number of protective shelters for command centers that could be used in a chemical environment. This shows a much more realistic appreciation for the difficulties of operating in chemical contamination than the Warsaw Pact has demonstrated. NATO planning for chemical warfare in many ways has concentrated on its more mundane aspects, such as logistics and command and control. This must force the Soviets to wonder whether NATO is better prepared to fight a protracted war in chemical conditions. The Soviets might do pretty well in a short war in which chemicals are used primarily against fighting troops, but in prolonged warfare, chemical weapons could threaten many of their support troops and their logistics network.

Soviet military leaders are not unaware of the many problems associated with chemical warfare. In the mid-1980s, these anxieties became more manifest. The Soviets again began to talk seriously about arms controls to limit chemical weapons. In an unprecedented move in 1987, they permitted NATO observers to tour a portion of their main Chemical Weapons Proving Grounds at Shikany. The officials were permitted to see a selection of Soviet chemical weapons and were given limited details of the types of weapons the Soviet Army possesses.

Some NATO hard-liners have argued that this was nothing more than a small concession by the Soviets in hopes of putting NATO off guard. The NATO democracies are subject to public pressures. If there is a popular consensus that chemical weapons should be banned, then there will be little incentive to continue funding NATO chemical defense modernization. The Soviets used this type of maneuver to influence American efforts to deploy a new generation of chemical weapons in the early 1980s, with considerable success. Nevertheless, the Soviets may have come to realize that chemical weapons are more trouble than they are worth. It is questionable whether they could have a significant effect on a conventional battlefield so long as both sides are prepared.

Arms control agreements on chemical weapons, however, are extremely unlikely at the present. Verification would be next to impossible, short of a radical change in Soviet attitudes toward secrecy. Unlike nuclear weapons or missiles, chemicals are easy to conceal. Chemical projectiles look no different from other projectiles. They differ only in their contents. For NATO to verify that all chemical weapons had been destroyed, it would be necessary to allow inspection of virtually every Soviet military facility and every artillery and bomb stockpile. Important strides have been made in getting the USSR to accept intrusive verification, notably the 1987 INF Treaty. This is the first treaty to contain significant verification provisions, allowing American officials to inspect Soviet facilities for treaty violations. It allows the U.S. to visit several dozen facilities in the USSR and other Warsaw Pact countries. But a chemical arms control treaty would require inspections at virtually all Soviet military bases. It seems doubtful that the Kremlin or the KGB would stomach that, at least for now.

Although the fictional scenario presented here depicts the use of chemical weapons, other shock weapons might appear on the battlefield in the not-too-distant future. One of the more likely is laser weapons. They have received a lot of attention in the context of strategic defense and "Star Wars." But whereas the technology for Star Wars is probably a decade in the future, tactical laser weapons are practical today.

Lasers emit a beam of intense, coherent light. At the moment, they are used mainly for range finders and weapons designators. Current laser range finders and designators can blind a person if they happen to hit him in the eyes while the laser is operating. Armies are very careful with lasers during peacetime training.

It does not take a lot of imagination to calculate that lasers could be turned into weapons capable of blinding enemy troops. The existing lasers use very modest power sources. More powerful lasers could be expected to cause considerably more optical damage, and could be powerful enough to damage optical sights like the FLIR and passive night vision sights on tanks.

No army presently talks about developing weapons to blind enemy troops. The outcry from the public would be intense. But such weapons have been under development for at least fifteen years. Although the U.S. Army refuses to talk about laser weapons in any detail, some information on laser protective measures is available. The U.S. Army obviously expects the Soviet Union to be developing laser weapons, and has already begun developing countermeasures. The U.S. Army has spent about $30 million on research and $120 million on laser defensive systems, according to public testimony to the U.S. Congress in 1988. For example, the Stingray program is developing optical filtration and other systems to protect the M2 Bradley infantry fighting vehicle from enemy lasers. For individual protection, filtered eyeglasses are being developed. Special laser hardening techniques are being developed for optical sights.

There may be the same inhibitions against using laser blinding weapons as against using chemical weapons. Both the NATO and the Warsaw Pact countries may be unwilling to be the first to use such systems, since they will inevitably result in the other side retaliating. But there are also the same attractions in using laser weapons as there are in using chemical weapons. Lasers, like chemicals, are shock weapons. The first combat use of such a weapon would probably cause considerable panic among the troops. The affected troops would be defenseless. Lasers are likely to add a new horror to the already lethal modern battlefield.