The President had not finished, though. “And, of course, just in case any of you are in any doubt, I will not hesitate to send a missile strike into Warsaw or Berlin the moment NATO attacks.”

“Yevgeney Sergeyevich,” he said, looking at the Foreign Minister, “how confident are you that the Americans wouldn’t take our use of tactical nuclear weapons as a pretext for an intercontinental strike?”

“A difficult one, Vladimir Vladimirovich,” came the reply. “On the one hand the Americans won’t risk Armageddon for the sake of a European city or a purely European military target. But, on the other, any use of tactical nuclear weapons on NATO forces, at sea or on land, will inevitably result in American casualties on a massive scale. That’s because of the preponderance of Americans in the force. If any Americans are nuked, then all bets are off. They’ll certainly respond with tactical battlefield weapons and I certainly wouldn’t rule out the American use of intercontinental ballistic nuclear missiles.”

“So the message is to keep any usage strictly limited to the Europeans,” the President said briskly.

Komarov, however, was not fooled by this effort to be decisive and positive. If they were even discussing firing nuclear weapons then something had gone very wrong with the President’s plan. It wasn’t meant to be like this. A month ago he had sensed the tectonic plates were shifting. Now it was clear that they had shifted. The question was: how far and to whose benefit?

2200 hours, Saturday, July 8, 2017

Forest south of Pravdinsk, Kaliningrad, Russia

EIGHTEEN HOURS LATER, an hour after sunset, Morland and the team moved out of their lying-up position. They’d all had more than enough rest, a few mouthfuls of water and something to eat; in Morland’s case some dry biscuits and a can of cold meat from a ration pack he’d managed to find space for in his daysack. Not much, he thought, but better than nothing.

The night was clear and the light drizzle that had fallen as they lay in their hide had cleared. However, the moon had yet to rise and, even when it did—as a waning crescent moon—it would shed little light. They needed luck tonight and the lack of moonlight felt like a good omen. Lukša was once again lead scout and with Sergeant Wild now bringing up the rear as tail-end Charlie, they moved slowly and carefully, following the route they had already recced to the edge of the Drop Zone for American Special Forces. Occasionally they stopped to listen; each time moving into all-round defense and taking up fire positions as a standard drill while they did so. They were listening for danger ahead and off to the sides—sounds they might not hear as they moved through the forest—and also behind, for anyone following them. But all remained quiet.