The Soviet-Swedish War - Part II
Across Europe the morning of October 28, 1981, the feared scenario that leaders had gone to bed worrying about had materialized - the Soviet Air Force had launched precision strikes across southern Sweden, targeting military infrastructure with a particular focus on Karlskrona and her environs, and left perhaps as many as a thousand dead. As midday approached, American leadership was rustled awake early in the morning in DC and Secretary of State Katzenbach put on a plane to Brussels as a show of solidarity with NATO, but it would be hours until he touched down in Europe in the evening. It was immediately unclear what, exactly, Moscow intended to do next.
The uncomfortable truth was that Moscow didn't quite know either. Andropov had had to be talked into the "bloody nose" to begin with and was fuming at Ustinov and, to a lesser extent, Mikhail Suslov for assuring him that Sweden would fold immediately. The Baltic Fleet was now out of port, heading towards Gotland, and an even larger wave of fighters and bombers being fueled and armed to be put on standby in Estonia, Kaliningrad and East Germany. Sweden had very loudly refused to cooperate with Ustinov's vision of a quick strike that would leave them reeling and Moscow looking confident and triumphant, and now it was unclear how, exactly, the two sides would deescalate without grievously losing face. It was the USSR that had snuck a sub into neutral waters and had it run aground, after all, and according to Swedish claims being aggressively announced around the world it had been Soviet sailors who opened fire first while trying to destroy sensitive onboard equipment, and now the Soviet Union had dramatically escalated by bombing merely a day after the incident had begun.
Ustinov proposed an even more aggressive course of action. The Baltic Fleet would attack the Swedish Navy and sink it, under cover of air power that would strike at
Flygvapnet bases across Sweden, with particular focus on the Uppland Wing outside of Uppsala
[1] that was position to defend the capital at Stockholm and Sweden's chief international airport at Arlanda, roughly halfway between the two major cities, as well as strategic rail and air assets across Lappland, which were to close to comfort to Murmansk. Additional strikes would be concentrated on the island of Gotland, a major point of defense for the Swedish coast, and Ustinov was confident that a regiment of paratroopers could be put ashore there by November 1st at the earliest. Once Gotland was captured, the Soviets would offer its return as a trade for its forty men. Ustinov boasted that the Swedes were soft and would never threaten the physical safety of the captured sailors, and that continued attacks would bring them quickly to heel.
Andropov was less certain. His immediate successor at the KGB, Vitaly Fedorchuk (now Minister of the Interior), and the current chairman, Viktor Chebrikov, were more focused on internal matters but nonetheless had plenty of good contacts across Europe, particularly in France. Of the "Big Three" of Britain, France and West Germany, it was Valery Giscard d'Estaing who was thought of as the most sympathetic to the USSR and thus his Presidential administration, particularly after the hectic election in France earlier that year, that was most sluiced through with Soviet spies; that France was independent of NATO central command authority also left if more exposed to infiltration, as did the massive Russian emigre community in Paris. Andropov had thus over the last eighteen months, particularly after the election of the rabidly anti-communist "Sauerkraut Nixon" of Franz-Josef Strauss in Germany, come to regard his cadre of spies on French soil as a good barometer of NATO leadership's thinking. By the early afternoon of October 28th, his highest-level spy in France - code-named "Paul" and to this day unidentified but believed to be extremely close to Giscard - reported that French political opinion, even amongst the Eurocommunist
Parti Communiste Francaise, was firmly against Moscow's attack on southern Sweden. Giscard had apparently already spoken with both Denis Healy and Strauss multiple times over the morning and put French forces on high alert; the Royal Navy was scrambling to move assets to Denmark perhaps as early as the middle of the night.
The attacks on Sweden had badly spooked NATO, which had been watching events in Poland with trepidation as it was. The Carey administration was somewhat less concerned than their European counterparts - even the staunchly Polish-born, anti-Soviet Zbigniew Brzeninski was fairly confident that the action over the Baltic was neither a prelude to World War III or even a Soviet intervention into Poland, even though he was still of the mind that the latter was coming within the next ninety days - but nonetheless, Carey raised the alert level to DEFCON 3 and placed at least interceptors at RAF Lakenheath in England on standby. By early afternoon, after several hotline calls between NATO leaders and with much of the
Flygvapnet airborne in anticipation of a second wave, most NATO members had placed their ground and air forces on alert, and the entire alliance stood shoulder-to-shoulder with a clear message: that the USSR's attack on Sweden was an unprovoked act of aggression, and Stockholm may not enjoy the
military support of NATO, but it did enjoy its political and, if push came to shove, economic backing.
In Finland, caught between the two warring powers, the crisis struck on perhaps the worst possible day - October 26th was the day that Urho Kekkonen, the country's long-serving and fairly autocratic President, had finally announced his resignation, which would take effect no later than January. Kekkonen's physical and political decline had been clear for some years but it was not until he stared down his Prime Minister Mauno Koivisto, and lost, that it really came about that his resignation would be inevitable. Though he had been on leave since September and Finnish politics was swirling with speculation that he would leave, 10/26/81 had made it official that an era of Finnish history was ending and a newer, hopefully more pluralistically democratic one was beginning.
[2] This was important because Kekkonen had always been fairly pro-Soviet, or at least conscientious of Soviet demands in his management of foreign policy, hence the existence of the term "Finlandization." His imminent exit right as Northern Europe plunged into its most severe crisis since World War II created a huge gaping hole in terms of what both Moscow and Helsinki could expect; the Prime Minister Koivisto, and Kekkonen's chief rival and likeliest successor, was a Social Democrat but one thought to be fairly hostile to the USSR, who had recently referred to Soviet-Finnish relations as "nothing to boast about." On his second day as Acting President, Koivisto was suddenly handed a live grenade both in relations with Europe and with Finland's large, demanding neighbor, and he made the fateful decision within hours to announce that Finland's neutral position was "resolute" and that while Finland would not hinder Soviet activities "in any conflict," it would also not "abet them." For Koivisto, such a gamble had major upsides: it established him as his own man in contrast to Kekkonen, it presumed that Moscow didn't want any further escalations with neighboring states, and it got ahead of the nightmare scenario of Finnish politics - a repeat of the Note Crisis of October 1961, exactly twenty years earlier, in which the Soviets demanded security consultations. That said, the message seemed fairly clear to Andropov in a different way outside of the context of domestic Finnish concerns: Helsinki was a potential problem in case Ustinov wanted to send air strikes through Finnish airspace, though to what extent was unclear. Chebrikov was not a fan of such lack of clarity and immediately had KGB agents in Helsinki, who operated with much more openness and impunity than essentially anywhere outside of the Iron Curtain, start feeling out more pro-Soviet politicians and, critically, soldiers in Finland who were not on "the Koivisto Line."
The 28th was thus a day of deep, drawn breaths as the world waited to see what would come next. Soldiers on either side of the fence in Berlin and the German internal border tensed up; troops across Europe wondered if this was "the big dance" they had been dreading for years. Was Andropov really mad enough to launch another attack, having already made his point? Who, exactly, was in charge in the Kremlin? The answer arrived soon enough. Thanks to the reasonable anticipation that many fighters would need to come down to refuel relatively soon after being airborne much of the day, at 1530 in the afternoon NATO reporting stations frantically informed Sweden that Soviet contacts, some above radar level, were over the Baltic Sea again.
The second wave of airstrikes was coming.
[1] My dad's hometown
[2] This is not to say that Kekkonen was a dictator, because he wasn't, but mid-century European politics were
a lot more complicated than "Western = democracy, Eastern = communist" binaries. De Gaulle and the multitude of near-miss coups in France is another good example of this.