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conflict. In practice, their work helped keep the Ukrainians militarily weak and under Moscow’s thumb. Weapons sought by Kiev were deemed contraband, while Russian arms shipments to Donetsk, Luhansk, and other rebel-held cities easily evaded the OSCE’s inspectors.
    The Russian general smiled, remembering the carefully crafted English-language quip his president had used at a recent meeting: “So the West thinks OSCE stands for the ‘Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe,’ eh?” Russian Federation President Gennadiy Gryzlov had said with a wolfish grin. “How very high-minded of them. Fortunately for us, we know that it really stands for the ‘Organization to Secure Our Conquests and Empire.’ ”
    It was the kind of darkly ironic gibe Voronov greatly enjoyed.
    Since the tank, motor-rifle, and artillery brigades of his 20th Guards Army were based closest to Ukraine’s eastern border, Voronov acted as Moscow’s de facto satrap for the rebel-controlled regions. He made sure that the Kremlin’s carefully expressed “wishes” were obeyed to the letter. If necessary, separatists who balked were discreetly eliminated by special hit teams under his orders—as were other Ukrainians still living in those areas who were too stupid to understand who now ruled them.
    As the senior Russian commander in this region, he also made a habit of periodically inspecting the OSCE’s arms control posts. These inspection tours added up to long, dreary hours spent flying from place to place, refueling when necessary, but his visits kept the monitors on their toes. And that was useful. Arms and ammunition they confiscated were arms and ammunition his own troops would not have to face when the day finally came to finish the job and reconquer all of Ukraine.
    For now, President Gryzlov seemed content with the status quo, but the general suspected that would soon change. The NATO powers, led by the United States, were increasingly weak. Just last year the Americans had effectively stood aside while Russia first destroyed an S-19 spaceplane with their vice president aboard, and then blew their prized Armstrong orbital military station into a million pieces. And if anything, their new president, a woman of all things, seemed even less likely to get in Moscow’s way.
    Voronov’s sly grin slipped.
    Poland was the one real remaining obstacle. It, too, had a new president, Piotr Wilk. But this Pole, a former air force commander,seemed made of sterner stuff than the American, Stacy Anne Barbeau. His sympathies plainly lay with Ukraine’s democratic regime. And he was already proposing a program of significantly increased defense spending to boost Poland’s military capabilities. If left too long to his own devices, Wilk seemed likely to make trouble for Moscow.
    Which gave Voronov all the more reason to keep a close eye on this particular arms control post. Sited at the busiest border crossing between Poland and Ukraine, it was just the place the Poles might use for clandestine shipments to Kiev.
    â€œThe Starovoitove arms control station is in sight,” the helicopter pilot reported. He reduced collective and pulled back on his cyclic joystick to begin slowing the Ansat. He keyed his mike. “ Opekun flight, clear us into the landing zone. Acknowledge.”
    Another voice crackled through their headphones. “Understood, Lead. Guardian flight complying. Out.”
    Two narrow-bodied Ansat-2RC light helicopter gunships flashed past and descended, spiraling into orbit ahead at low altitude. The pilot and gunner aboard each helicopter were using their nose-mounted infrared sensors to scan for potential threats. If anyone was concealed in the surrounding forests, their heat signature would stand out against the cooler vegetation.
    Voronov looked through the windscreen. They were coming up on the Bug River, a shallow, meandering waterway that marked the