Landmark 2c. US Oil and Gas Production
Craigen wasn't sure what time it was. All he knew was that it was late, and that he was bone tired. Cluster meetings were now held in an industrial building converted into an impromptu operations center. Despite the late hour, traffic continued unabated as convoy after convoy arrived delivering an endless supply of clothes, blankets, food, medicine, and other desperately needed equipment to the refugee center that had sprung up near the checkpoint on the Ukrainian border.
The arriving convoys were matched by departing convoys. Every available car, truck, minivan, or bus was loaded with an endless stream of men, women, and children seeking safety from the carnage the Russians were inflicting on the Ukrainian coastal cities. An incredible number of wounded people came in, and ambulances drove recklessly over the shoulders of roadways trying to get critical patients past stalled clusters of vehicles that clogged the main routes. The local medical aid stations were utterly overwhelmed. How many people will die on the road trying to make it back to the hospital in Chişinău?
Craigen decided to walk the mile back to the PIRA campsite. He found the walk through the mud and ice along the roadway relaxing after the non-stop activity that had begun the moment his team arrived. It hadn’t let up. When the darkness was not pierced by convoy headlights, he navigated by moonlight. A few light snowflakes were falling. It was cold. He shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets and kept trudging forward.
“The Cluster confirms massive escalation of Russian violence. There are reports of significant bombardment of civilian populations.” Craigen briefed the Response Team as they sat around a table made from a large wooden cable reel that had been salvaged.
"Well, no kidding!" Thibido spat contemptuously. "Did they tell you anything at that meeting we didn't already know?"
Craigen turned on Thibido with a growl. “Knock it off, Scooter! We’re all worn out. Your sarcasm isn’t helping me any.”
Thibido looked away.
"It doesn't make sense, Rattle." Kedzierski brought over some sandwiches and a bowl of rich stew. The Response Team operated on the principle that "adequate" shelter meant any shelter the team members would use themselves. The same policy held true for meals. So, when they were on a mission they operated out of tents and ate the same meals they served to the refugees. There were several food collection points, and supplies and donations were pouring in from all over the world. So at least they were eating well.
“What doesn’t?”
“Why is Putin doing this?” Kedzierski wanted to know. “What could he possibly gain by unleashing all this horror on innocent civilians?”
“I dunno.” Craigen blew the steam from his stew before digging in. She always talks about Putin, not the Russians, Craigen observed. She blames him for all the suffering. To her, this is personal. “Thanks Curly.” He gestured towards the bowl with his spoon.
“As I was saying,” Craigen shot a sharp look at Thibido, “the situation is dire, and the Cluster’s worried that this checkpoint is being overwhelmed. They’re considering closing the border.”
“What?” Kedzierski dropped the ladle into the pot with a clatter. “They’re still coming. People will die if they close that border!”
Craigen raised both hands as if he were warding off a blow, “Hold on, hold on. I just said they were considering closing the border. Right now, it looks like they’re not going to. They seem to think the international sanctions are working. Best case scenario, we’ll be seeing an end of this war soon.”
“That's exactly what I was wondering about, Rattle." Kedzierski returned to the question Craigen had ignored. "If Putin was interested in his country's safety, why would he risk so much? He's collapsing his own economy!"
“Actually, it’s not an economic question at all. The Russians fear the encroachment of NATO on their borders,” offered Bolanger. “America’s been pushing this for decades. A confrontation was inevitable.” Bolanger was originally from Quebec, and she was younger than most of the team members, so her opinions tended to be less favorable of US interventions in other nations.
As if to cheer on a potential conflict between the two women, Thibido held up his cell phone, wagging the headline from some news agency in their direction. "Well, talking about international sanctions, take a look at this… looks like there's been a shakeup in the US administration. They're gonna use the Defense Production Act to start producing American oil again. Drill, baby drill! Whoowee! Russia just committed economic suicide!”
“Are they going to win a war by destroying the earth?" Bolanger snapped, her disdain apparent. “Even Zelenskyy says that Europe should move towards a green economy to prevent wars.”
Craigen watched Bolanger’s face turn red. She crossed her arms and gritted her teeth. He’s been divorced enough times to know the signs. Now Scooter’s gone and offended her.
Thibido wouldn’t let it go. “Oh, so what? Does the oil from Iran or Venezuela burn cleaner than American oil? Why are we on our knees begging these evil dictators to ramp up production, when we’re sitting on the biggest oil reserves on earth?”
“Maybe if we transitioned to a green economy, we wouldn’t even be in this mess!” Bolanger fired back.
Craigen had to put a stop to this right now. Thibido was winding up for a retort, but Craigen cut him off. “I said, that’s enough of that Scooter! Not everyone shares your worldview.”
“Aww, Rattle, she's baggin' on America…"
Craigen cut him off again, this time with just a look and an angry hand gesture, like a karate chop aimed across the table in Thibido’s direction. It seems like I have play the referee more often, Craigen rubbed his tired eyes, they're wearing out.
"Let's just take a break for tonight," he suggested. "We've got a big day tomorrow."
The hectic pace at the Palanca refugee camp continued unabated as days stretched into weeks. I think the choir's finally found its rhythm, Craigen mused while standing in a tent, holding a pile of heavy boxes in his arms. He was waiting for Kedzierski to clear off some shelving and unload him. He turned his head at the soft sound of a woman's voice.
“Hello,” Bolanger gave her warmest smile, “I understand you speak English?”
Craigen watched his protégé provide more aid and comfort with a few kind words than an entire convoy of relief supplies. "Yes, a little bit." The girl Bolanger was talking to was little more than a teenager. She looked Asian, and she was definitely cold and hungry …and all alone.
Bolanger directed the girl towards a cot and showed her the shelves where she could store the few meager belongings she'd brought with her. "What's your name, hon?"
"Jun." She looked terrified. Her eyes darted around the tent, assessing the other women and girls. She met Craigen's gaze for the briefest of moments before she looked away.
I probably better get out of here. Craigen knew he appeared menacing to most people. That was a benefit in most situations, but this wasn’t one of them. But he was still holding a load of heavy boxes, and he couldn’t leave until he’d set them down.
"Jun," Bolanger repeated. "That's a pretty name. Where are you from, Jun?”
“I’m an exchange student from China. I attended university in Odesa.”
A shudder ran through Jun's frail frame, and Bolanger instinctively reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Oh my goodness, you're soaking wet!"
“Our car ran out of gas.” She said meekly. “We had to walk, and it started raining…”
“Oh honey, we have lots of clothes here. Let’s get you into something dry. You need shoes too…”
At the mention of shoes, something delicate in the young girl’s heart broke. She hugged her knees and began to sob uncontrollably. Bolanger just wrapped her arms around Jun’s shuddering frame and held her, rocking gently and stroking her hair. Minutes later, she was still weeping inconsolably. This job is about a lot more than just delivering supplies. As he slipped quietly out of the tent, Craigen thought he’d never been so proud of a teammate.
Craigen learned a long time ago that the best support he could provide for his team was to just give them regular opportunities to talk over their experiences. Usually, all he had to do was ask a couple of general questions and then pay close attention to the answers. Once people realized you were really listening, they often poured out all the pain they were carrying around inside. Dee needs this from us now.
"She told me that the Chinese consulate kept telling all the students that there wouldn't even be a war in Ukraine," Bolanger explained later that night. "Then, even after the shooting started, they said it wouldn't escalate. By the time Jun and her friends decided to leave, it was almost too late."
“What happened to the other students she was traveling with?” Thibido wanted to know. He was also an old operator, and knew when it was time to talk things through.
“Oh my goodness, that’s the worst part.” Bolanger’s hand trembled slightly as she pushed an auburn lock behind one ear. “She said the Russian jets fired a machine gun at the road with the refugees, and her car…" Bolanger couldn't finish the sentence. She covered her mouth with one hand to suppress the emotion.
After she regained her composure, she continued, “She said her car got hit, and all her friends were killed. There was snow on the ground, and she didn't have the right kind of shoes. So she took them off of one of her dead friends…"
Kedzierski was sitting close by, and she took Bolanger’s hand in hers. Then she folded her into an embrace as Bolanger wept bitter tears.
“You OK, Dee?” Craigen asked when it seemed appropriate.
Bolanger nodded and sniffed, “Yeah Rattle, I’m good. I’ve had tough deployments before.” Her eyes held Craigen’s expectantly. She needed his approval.
Craigen nodded. “You really impressed me back there. You made more of a difference in that girl’s life than you’ll ever know.”
The rare word of praise made Bolanger choke up again, but she just nodded back. PTSD is par for the course around here… I’ll have to keep my eye on her.
Thibido even offered her a friendly pat on the shoulder. “The Rattle’s right, Dee. Dis da hardest part of the job, and you’re crushin’ it.”
How does this happen? Not for the first time, Craigen was a bit bewildered by the team dynamic, but whatever was happening made him happy. A couple of weeks ago they were at each other's throats. Somehow my choir is back in tune.
Bolanger smiled nervously, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. She made an obvious effort to change the subject. “Jun’s furious with the Chinese government.”
“Why?” Asked Kedzierski.
“She said she’d always been a true believer, a patriot.” Bolanger explained, “She said they taught her to hate Westerners, and she is ashamed because she’s always spoken ill of us.”
“I’d be angrier with Putin,” Kedzierski frowned, “It was his planes that fired on innocent civilians.”
“That’s the point Raquel,” Bolanger was the only one who called Kedzierski by her first name. “She said the Chinese government must have known what was going on, but they did nothing to help her. They didn’t care. She says the men who saved her were Ukrainian soldiers. She watched small teams of them shoot at tanks to keep the route clear for refugees. She never imagined such bravery.”
"Oh, dat’s da way to do it, yah!” The normally laconic Thibido chimed in, his feuding blood up. “Ole Putin seriously miscalculated da big fight in dat little dog.”
“Jun told me that she sees the truth of it now.” Bolanger continued, “First the Ukrainian soldiers saved her, then the Americans helped her escape. She’s ashamed of the things she’s said about the West.”
“Where’s she going to go?” Craigen asked.
“She has some distant relatives in England. She’s hoping they’ll take her in.”
“Not going back to China?
“No.” Said Bolanger flatly. “She knows the Chinese government lied to her. Just like the Russians, they put power before people. To her, Putin is just a symptom of a far deeper evil. She’s never going back.”
"That man will be imprisoned for war crimes," Kedzierski prophesied coldly.
"If one of 'em oligarchs he's ruined doesn't put a bullet in his head first," Thibido added.
"Don't start back up again, Scooter," Craigen growled and pointed an accusing finger. “That's not what PIRA is about. What we really need to be doing is praying for his soul.”
Perhaps it was the perpetually overcast sky, or the way the icy fog settled and lingered for days on end. Perhaps it was because Craigen didn't work regular shifts, he just worked whenever he was needed. Whatever the reason, Craigen had completely unaware of the hour when he called the PIRA Headquarters to report on the latest Cluster meeting.
“Do you know what time it is, Rattle? This better be important.” The Chief Operations Officer reminded him bluntly, his slurred voice thick with sleep.
“Sorry Chief, the Cluster meeting started late and ran long.” Craigen was exhausted too. “I’ve been running on fumes.”
“What’s up?”
“More of the same. Refugees keep pouring across the border. There’re a lot of rumors floating around here that I needed to talk to you about. How’s the war going?”
“The Ukrainians have really taken the fight to the Russians. But nobody believes they can hold out forever. We think the resistance could collapse any day now.” There was an undertone of discouragement in the OPS Officer’s voice. “I was going to call you about it tomorrow. But I guess it’s already tomorrow for you there.”
“Are they still talking about closing the border?” Craigen asked.
“No, not at all,” that rumor was squashed. Then the Operations Officer elaborated, “In fact, the only thing salvaging the deteriorating Ukrainian military situation may be the dismal performance of the Russian military. It’s giving us some hope for a positive outcome.”
“Did NATO enter the war?” Craigen was worried about the fight escalating into something far worse. “No, they haven't done that either,” a second rumor squashed. “Instead, they’re trying something different. It's the oil. America has committed to opening up all the pumps and flooding the world markets with cheap oil. It will take some time, but that decision changes the whole equation."
“We saw something about that in the news.” Craigen felt invigorated for the first time in weeks. “Does that mean a change of mission, Chief? What do you want us to do?”
You are the Chief of the PIRA Operations Center. You make the call:
Choose Option 1: If the Russian economy collapses, we think the Russians might just give up and pull out of Ukraine. We need you to start making plans to push forward into the port city of Odesa. We don’t know what kind of mess you’re likely to come across, so be ready to conduct a lot of assessments.
Choose Options 2: Despite the collapsing Russian economy, Putin has vowed to fight until the end. He’s made public statements that he will escalate the violence if he feels there is an existential threat to his country. In our estimation, Putin will view the increase in oil production as an act of open warfare by the United States. The danger is too great. You are ordered to evacuate now and return to the United States.