Moscow's Military Machine

An elite officer corps, and all the conscripts an army could want

It is a ritual as regular as the seasons. On one day every spring and autumn, railway stations across the Soviet Union are festooned with patriotic banners, bands blare stirring martial rhythms, and local dignitaries make speeches praising soldierly virtues. Then, as crowds of tearful friends and relatives wave farewell, anxious young men climb aboard the waiting train: they are the current crop of 18-year-old Soviet draftees--about 1 million a year--heading off to begin their military service. After basic training and indoctrination at the camps, invariably hundreds of miles from their birthplaces, they will take a solemn oath to defend the motherland "with all my strength and in honor, without sparing my blood and without regard for my life."

With this vow, they formally become part of one of their country's most important institutions. The role played in World War II by what was then called the Red Army as savior of the motherland is still vividly remembered and celebrated. Military themes pervade Soviet literature, cinema and television. Beyond that, the might of the Kremlin's military juggernaut alone gives the Soviet Union legitimate claim to superpower rank. There is much pride but little exaggeration in the statement by Moscow's Defense Minister Dmitri Ustinov that "the Soviet military has everything it needs to fulfill worthily its sacred mission ... The Soviet Union has the military capability to complement its foreign policy."

In the critical area of strategic weaponry, the Soviets now enjoy, overall, what some experts call "essential equivalence" with the U.S. SALT II will not affect Moscow's numerical lead in several categories. The U.S.S.R. is ahead 1,398 vs. 1,054 in intercontinental ballistic missile launchers, 950 vs. 656 in submarine-launched ballistic missiles and an estimated 7,836 vs. 3,253 in megatonnage, an important measure of a nuclear arsenal's sheer destructive force.

Soviet conventional military muscle is equally impressive. While the U.S. and many of its NATO allies have been trimming their armed forces for the past decade, the Soviets have been expanding theirs. As a result, their 3.6 million-man active force is nearly twice the size of the U.S. military and second in the world only to China's 4.4 million. During the past decade, the Soviet tank force has grown by 35%, artillery by 40%, fixed-wing tactical aircraft by 20%. On average, one new medium-range SS-20 mobile missile system, with three warheads, is deployed every week. Twenty new warships are delivered to the Soviet navy every year, vs. twelve for the U.S. in 1979.

While Moscow's ever enlarging arsenal is expensive, its military manpower is relatively cheap, accounting for less than 30% of defense spending. By contrast, personnel costs devour 53.4% of the $131 billion U.S. military budget. Moscow's source of cheap manpower: conscription. Every Soviet male must register with his local draft board at age 17. A year later, under the Universal Military Service Law of 1967, he receives an official postcard that simply states, "You are urged to appear" at an induction center. Those who fail to do so without a legitimate excuse are subject to arrest and face up to ten years of hard labor. Understandably, draft dodging is very rare.

When reporting for service, the draftee is channeled into a military branch. Though he can indicate his preference, he must accept the draft board's decision. Generally, those with good records and the highest intelligence are sent to the air force, the strategic rocket forces or the navy. Non-Slavs, however, are usually excluded from these elite units. Says Rand Corporation Analyst S. Enders Wimbush: "Soldiers are clearly recruited in a way that reflects the worries of society. The average Russian citizen and Soviet decision maker have questions about the allegiance of the non-Slav, especially the Central Asian." Typically, ethnic minority draftees are sent to construction battalions, as are minor criminals, political dissidents and those who barely pass the physical and mental examinations. These battalions often work in remote, harsh regions of the country.

The Soviet navy demands three years of service; army and air force draftees spend two years in uniform. Although women are not being conscripted, an estimated 10,000 volunteers now serve in such noncombat roles as nurse and clerk. Only about 12% of Soviet males escape military service. Many of these fall below the armed forces' physical and mental standards; others are given hardship waivers to stay home and support infirm parents or wives. Some Western experts believe that it is relatively easy for university students to avoid active military service. Technically, however, every able-bodied male at a university or other advanced institution is supposed to take reserve officer training and become a junior lieutenant at graduation. After serving six months in uniform, they enter the active reserves and undergo frequent retraining. All Soviet males have some reserve obligations until age 50 and are periodically called back into uniform.

After two months of basic training that is similar to U.S. boot camp, the draftees join their assigned active units. They have already received extensive paramilitary preparation. Before draft age, all Soviet males are given 140 hours of military training at school or work. The armed services, moreover, sponsor voluntary organizations whose activities have military application. Among them are sports clubs that specialize in marksmanship, grenade throwing, navigating and parachuting.

The life of the Soviet draftee is not easy. Indeed, Soviet authorities often justify its harshness by citing the famed 18th century Russian General Alexander Suvorov, who said: "Difficult in training, easy in battle."

Suvorov would probably be pleased with today's Soviet military. The typical barracks is a long two-story wooden hut with beds so crammed together that they touch. The soldier's only token of privacy is a small wooden locker in which he keeps his uniform, two sets of underwear, shaving gear, a toothbrush and a few other permitted personal items, such as photos and letters. Latrines are often no more than a row of holes in the ground. Hot water is rare and usually saved for "sanitary day," when troops take their once-a-week shower. One hygienic measure that is rigorously enforced: draftees' heads are clean-shaven. Among other advantages, the young troops are easy to spot off base.

Cabbage, potatoes, macaroni, kasha (cooked buckwheat), bread, fish, tea and a bit of meat normally make up the draftees' diet. On special holidays, fruit and jam are added. The troops down their fare quickly. Reason: The last to finish must clean the mess-hall table. Soviet draftees have little chance for female contact. While they can leave base one day each month, many do not do so, because the nearest village is often beyond walking distance. Longer furloughs are granted only as a special favor or for emergency reasons. On rare occasions, a divisional command may organize "social evenings" and bring prostitutes onto the base.

Between 6 a.m. reveille and 10 p.m. lights out, the conscript normally has about two hours of free time. One familiar escape from boredom and routine is alcohol. Buying liquor, however, is difficult. Draftees earn a mere four rubles a month (about $6), enough for 13 bottles of beer or a third of a liter of vodka or a dozen packs of cigarettes. Because draftees are short of cash, the Soviet military has a theft problem. Auto parts, grease, rope, felt boots, heavy overcoats and other items in short supply for civilians are smuggled off base to nearby villages and sold or bartered for liquor. Soviet soldiers are as adept as their counterparts elsewhere in the world at concocting an alcoholic brew from such unusual sources as after-shave lotion, brake fluid, plane deicer and even shoe polish.

Less than 6% of the recruits decide to remain in uniform beyond their draft term. The backbone of the Soviet military, as in most nations, is its corps of 400,000 commissioned officers and 1 million noncoms. The gulf between draftee and officer is enormous. NCOs live with their families in relatively comfortable housing either on or off base, shop in commissaries carrying special food and goods and have one month of vacation each year. They earn comparatively high wages; the Soviet equivalent of a staff sergeant with ten years of experience makes 60 rubles ($90) a month--roughly what a high school teacher is paid.

Commissioned officers do even better and rank higher in prestige than lawyers and doctors. An army senior lieutenant with three years of service makes about 150 rubles monthly. A colonel's 500 rubles a month is roughly equal to the earnings of a factory manager; the 48 marshals and fleet admirals of the Soviet Union are paid 2,000 rubles monthly, about the same as a Cabinet minister. More important than salary, however, is the officers' access to luxuries unavailable to most Soviet citizens. Officers enjoy free annual vacations at exclusive resorts, top-quality housing and privileges at shops that carry scarce imported foods.

Potential career officers are recruited when still in high school. After passing a difficult written examination and two interviews, they enroll for five years in one of the Soviet Union's more than 150 military colleges. At graduation they become junior lieutenants. All eventually join the Communist Party and are expected to remain in uniform throughout their professional careers, even if repeatedly passed over for promotion. The best officers are sent to one of the U.S.S.R.'s eleven general staff colleges for up to three years of advanced training. Graduates of these institutes are much respected by their peers in the West. Says a West German defense expert: "In theory, strategy and tactics, Soviet military training is top grade." Especially admired are the senior commanders, such as Marshal Nikolai Ogarkov, 62, the Chief of Staff, and Fleet Admiral Sergei Gorshkov, 70, Commander of the Navy. Says Kremlinologist John Erickson, director of defense studies at the University of Edinburgh: "They are very able, very tough and on a par with the best military brains in the West."

In a special group, without counterparts in the West, are the estimated 100,000 zampolit, or political officers. Assigned to every unit down to the company level, they are responsible for indoctrinating the troops with Communist Party ideology. They give lectures on patriotic duties, recite editorials from the Soviet press, stage amateur theatricals and lead excursions to local war memorials and battlegrounds. One other important task: reporting on the political reliability of their fellow officers and the enlisted men.

In Stalin's day, political commissars could countermand the orders of line officers. This is no longer true, but the party still dominates the military. No professional soldier serves on either the Politburo or the Central Committee's powerful Secretariat. (Defense Minister Ustinov's primary military experience was managing defense-related industries.) Not that the military is without clout. There appears to be a symbiotic relationship between the military and the party leadership that Rand Corporation Expert Benjamin Lambeth sums up as a "mutual accommodation in which the military accepts the legitimacy of the party's supremacy in return for getting resources for force development."

The Soviet military faces some problems that could impair its capabilities in extended combat. One difficulty is mounting ethnic tension as more non-Slavic minorities join the ranks. Name-calling is common and fights are frequent. Another problem is the reluctance of Soviet officers to take initiative. They have been trained to prize iron discipline, they believe in conformity to a highly centralized command system, and--above all--they follow orders. But on a modern battlefield, communications can easily be cut and unit formations disrupted. Under these conditions, Soviet officers might not be able to take advantage of sudden opportunities and improvise winning tactics.

Despite these problems, the Soviet military is likely to become even more formidable in the '80s. If nothing else, it is gaining its first intensive combat experience since World War II in trying to quash guerrilla opposition in Afghanistan. Although it now appears that Soviet forces are having more trouble than they probably anticipated, Western military experts believe that the initial invasion was an impressive military operation. The Soviet forces, which were commanded by Marshal Sergei Sokolov, 68, demonstrated that they had mastered the techniques of airlifting enormous quantities of men and supplies, coordinating air and ground attacks, and controlling the action on a distant battlefield via complicated satellite communications systems. And, as the U.S. did in Viet Nam, the Soviet command is battle-testing its weapons and officers.

Assessing the Afghan invasion, Edinburgh's Erickson says, "If Brezhnev had asked the general staff back in 1973: 'Can you carry off such a campaign?' the answer would have been no. Now the general staff says, 'We can.' This is a development that the Western alliance can ignore only at its peril."

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