At that time they heard dense explosions from the northwest, a savage area bombing rare in modern aerial warfare.

The lieutenant was still wallowing in the morning’s engagement. “Less than thirty seconds, and the whole tank company was gone.”

“The enemy losses were heavy, too,” Kalina said. “I observed the aftermath. There were about the same number of destroyed vehicles on each side.”

“The ratio of destroyed tanks was about 1 to 1.2, I think. The helicopters were worse off, but it wouldn’t have gone over 1 to 1.4.”

“In that case, the battlefield initiative should have stayed on our side. We have a sizable advantage in numbers. How did the battle end up like this?”

The lieutenant turned to eye Kalina. “You’re one of the electronic-warfare people. Don’t you get it? All your toys—the fifth-generation C3I, the 3-D battle displays, the dynamic situation simulators, the attack-plan optimizer, whatever—looked great in the mock battles. But on the real battlefield, all the screen in front of me ever showed was ‘COMMUNICATION ERROR’ and ‘COULD NOT LOG IN.’ Take this morning, for example. I didn’t have a clue what was happening in the front and flanks. I only got one order: ‘Engage the enemy.’ Ah, if we’d only had half our force again in reinforcements, the enemy wouldn’t have broken through our position. It was probably the same way all down the line.”

Kalina knew that in the battle that had just ended, the two sides had sent perhaps over ten thousand tanks into battle along the front, and half as many armed helicopters.

At that point they arrived at Arbat Street. The popular pedestrian boulevard of yesteryear was empty now, sandbags walling off the entrances to the antiques shops and artisans’ places.

“My steel darling gave as good as she got.” The lieutenant was still stuck on the morning’s battle. “I’m sure I hit a Challenger tank. But most of all, I’d wanted to take down an Abrams, you know? An Abrams …”

Kalina pointed to the entrance of the antiques store they had just passed. “There. My grandfather died there.”

“But I don’t remember any bombs getting dropped here.”

“I’m talking about twenty years ago—I was only four then. The winter that year was bitterly cold. The heating was cut off, and ice formed in the rooms. I wrapped myself around the TV for warmth, listening to the president promise the Russian people a gentle winter. I screamed and cried that I was cold, hungry.