The Bear and the Dragon - Tom Clancy [121]
"If we have the money for it, and if Chelyabinsk hasnt been retooled to make fucking washing machines!" Russia had cannibalized its defense infrastructure even more quickly than America had. Now there was talk of converting the MiG airplane plants to automobile production.
Would this never stop? Bondarenko thought. He had a potentially hostile nation next door, and he was years away from rebuilding the Russian Army into the shape he wished. But to do that meant asking President Grushavoy for something that he knew he couldnt have. To build a proper army, he had to pay the soldiers a living wage, enough to attract the patriotic and adventurous boys who wanted to wear their countrys uniform for a few years, and most particularly those who found that they enjoyed uniformed life enough to make a career of it, to become sergeants, the middle-level professional soldiers without whom an army simply could not function, the sinews that held the muscles to the bone. To make that happen, a good platoon sergeant had to make almost as much money as a skilled factory worker, which was only fair, since the demands of such a man were on the same intellectual level. The rewards of a uniformed career could not be duplicated in a television plant. The comradeship, and the sheer joy of soldiering, was something to which a special sort of man responded. The Americans had such men, as did the British and the Germans, but these priceless professionals had been denied the Russian Army since the time of Lenin, the first of many Soviet leaders whod sacrificed military efficiency in favor of the political purity the Soviet Union had insisted upon. Or something like that, Bondarenko thought. It all seemed so distant now, even to one whod grown up within the misbegotten system.
"General, please remember that I am your friend in the government," Golovko reminded him. Which was just as well. The Defense Minister was—well, he spoke the right words, but he wasnt really able to think the right thoughts. He could repeat what others told him, and that was about it. In that sense, he was the perfect politician.
"Thank you, Sergey Nikolaych." The general inclined his head with the proper respect. "Does that mean that I can count upon some of these riches that Fate has dropped into our lap?"
"At the proper time I will make the proper recommendation to the president."
By that time, I will be retired, writing my memoirs, or whatever the hell a Russian general is supposed to do, Bondarenko told himself. But at least I can try to get the necessary programs drafted for my successors, and perhaps help choose the right man to follow me into the operations directorate. He didnt expect to go any further than he already had. He was chief of operations (which included training) for his army, and that was as fine a goal as any man could ask for his career.
"Thank you, Comrade Minister. I know your job is also difficult. So, is there anything I need to know about the Chinese?"
Minister Golovko wished he could tell this general that SVR didnt have a decent pipeline into the PRC anymore. Their man, a second-deputy minister, long in the employ of the KGB, had retired on grounds of ill health.
But he could not make the admission that the last Russian source inside the Forbidden City was no longer operational, and with him had gone all the insights they needed to evaluate the PRCs long-term plans and intentions. Well, there was still the Russian ambassador in Beijing, and he was no ones fool, but a diplomat saw mainly what the host government wanted him to see. The same was true of the military, naval, and air attachés, trained intelligence officers all, but also limited to what the Chinese military wished them to see, and even that had to be reciprocated