After fighting the first good Gulf War, I warbled my way into getting orders to the Naval War College in Newport. That involved a ten-minute sat-phone call with my then detailer John, who was a little taken back at the cost – $10 a minute. I made it easy for him, by trading the cost of the phone call for an extra year as the CAG-5 AI in Japan. I did both of us a favor – he had another year trying to find someone who would take my place, and I had another year to actually get to live in Japan since I had already been deployed for most of my then two-year tour. It was classic trade-bait, and it worked out well. I got to really experience the wonders of that country and region, and then reap the intellectual rewards that Newport offered, and time to process the lessons-learned from both attacking and defending the Heartland.

As a proto-typical Poly-Sci Naval Intelligence Officer, I had studied the various regions of the globe while an under-grad at the University of South Alabama. I was enamored with my PhD mentor, role model, and drinking buddy Miles, who years later told me over too many beers that he envied my decision to go into the military – a course that he had eschewed back in the 60s since he was loath to go to Vietnam. I had taken all of his classes, and was a slavish devotee to his version of Kissinger’s real-politick. Miles was not only a good friend, but also both a spiritual and idealistic soul; he ultimately resigned from dispensing college-level pedantry, and entered the priesthood.

South (as we fondly call it) was founded in 1963 as a token expansion of the state university system that was dominated by Alabama and Auburn. The first President was Dr. Frederick P. Whiddon, who at the age of 30, was the youngest university president in the country; if there was ever an under-dog, South was it. Whiddon’s first budget was $509,000 and a single classroom building. Through pure dent of will, he persevered. His first big break came when he was offered the opportunity to build upon the bones of the soon-to-be de-commissioned Brookley AFB, which was a political payback when LBJ took revenge on Mobile and Baldwin County who had voted for Goldwater (in his heart you know he was right) back in 1964. That process took five years, and fueled the growth of what is now a wondrous seat of higher education. His youth and symbolic fight drew a slew of young 30-something PhD’s to Mobile, and one of the foremost minds that migrated there was Miles. He was the one who introduced me to MacKinder’s concept of the Heartland.

One of the reasons I write these pieces (as we call them, as in piece of work), is that I find the process to be fun – it’s not easy, but always an intellectual work-out for the meat computer. I always try to tease, tantalize, entertain, and educate. So why invoke the Heartland as this week’s theme? If you can read a map, a good serious chunk of it is Ukraine (style point – it is called Ukraine, not The Ukraine – as in a state of mind and imagination). Ukraine is the flavor-of-the-month, and I got very close to getting involved with and maybe burned by it a few years ago. Now, game on:
In 1904, Sir Halford Mackinder, a British geographer, summarized his theory of the Heartland[1]thus:
“Who rules East Europe commands the Heartland;
who rules the Heartland commands the World-Island;
who rules the World-Island commands the world.”

His view was that “…any power which controlled the World-Island would control well over 50% of the world’s resources. The Heartland’s size and central position make it the key to controlling the World-Island.”[2]The Heartland lay at the center, stretching from the Volga to the Yangtze Rivers, and from the Himalayan Mountains to the Arctic Ocean. Mackinder’s Heartland was the area then ruled by the Russian Empire and after that by the Soviets, minus the Kamchatka Peninsula.[3]He also called it the Pivot Area of the world.

Let’s see – Genghis Khan built the Mongol Empire in Asia and then was intent on conquering and controlling the Heartland; Hitler tried to capture it to nourish and sustain the Third Reich but couldn’t resist the Soviet’s resistance at Stalingrad, the Russians are contesting its control after the fall of The Berlin Wall, and the Chinese are focusing their Belt-and- New Silk Road Initiative (BRI) schemes upon it. That tells me that for at least the past 1000 years, there is a there there, and there still is.

Mackinder was trying to warn British leadership that an over-reliance on Seapower was not enough going forward, and that improved transportation would lead to great extraction of wealth from the Heartland – sounds like what the BRI is trying to accomplish.

As a student of history and servant of the geography of our planet, I am always interested in why people fight over what one would otherwise consider obscure parts of the planet – like Israel, Cuba, Kashmir, and now Ukraine.
Ukraine is the center piece and jewel of the Heartland. Before and after the Mongol occupation, its vast steppes and clear blue skies were dominated by the famed Cossacks – the swashbuckling cowboys of the World-Island. It is a vast country, the granary of the former Soviet Union; and if you believe the statistics, it holds within its borders 70%, yes 70% of the arable land of the world, along with a bunch of extremely rare and valuable mineral deposits. Kiev, the capital, is also home to one of the three anchors of Eastern Orthodox religion, along with Constantinople and Moscow. If you ever get the chance to go to an Eastern Orthodox service, do it. The liturgy is sung, not spoken, and hauntingly beautiful. I had the opportunity to attend one in St. Petersburg and it still resonates in my soul since I am a Finn and therefore, part Russian. Kiev is a well-spring of music and culture, as well, just ask Mussorgsky.

Ukraine was also the seat of high-tech research and development and manufacturing of the Soviet Union, as well as a nuclear power in its own right during its demise. We encouraged them to give up their nukes – financed by Nunn-Lugar, and now look what’s happened to them. It’s sad, and I know that it is a situation that will not be resolved in my lifetime – it is what it is. I was in extremis in nearly getting drawn into that flame, once upon a time.
My SDVOSB partner at that time was a gregarious fellow, who enthusiastically sought out opportunities and never met one he didn’t like. He had shit going on in Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan, and then – Ukraine. I still don’t know the whole story of how this happened but he called me up one day and said that we had to go meet Vlad. Vlad was a former Ukrainian Army officer now a US citizen who had immigrated to the States back when the Soviet Union dissolved, and had set up shop in a compound north of Baltimore, just within the 695 Beltway south of Towson. My partner was most insistent that we meet. No harm in meeting, so I agreed to do so.

Our initial encounter was breakfast at the Ritz Carlton in Pentagon City. There were four of us – me, my partner, Vlad, and this strange Russian guy, Sergei. We had a nice breakfast, paid for by Vlad, and enjoyed a wide-ranging discussion of the art of the possible. Vlad still had family and strong ties in Ukraine, and was a very engaging and charming guy, who told stories and laughed heartily – I liked him instantly, but was a little wary of Sergei, an equally charming but reserved guy who we later figured out was probably an FSB, or Ukrainian secret service plant.

While eating breakfast, I noticed a Navy flag officer striding through the restaurant, headed right by our table – it was my former roomie on the Indy who I hadn’t seen in almost 20 years – Big Wally. I excused myself and hustled up to greet him. We had our moment, and then I sat back down to figure out what to do next – it was puzzlement.
I learned later that my partner had met Vlad via a business associate and fellow retired Navy Captain, Ken. Some of you out there may have known Ken-san – he was an outgoing guy and extremely likeable guy, who was making a living as a personal leadership coach sort of like Tony Robbins, and was successful in his niche market. He sadly passed several years ago in his late-50s – a warning to us all.

Vlad was most insistent that we come see him up in Baltimore, so Ken and I coordinated a visit, where we would get the pitch. Vlad was an entrepreneur, and had several businesses, including an auto repair shop behind a tall chain-link fence, upon which sat his three-story and many-roomed personal residence. He had his retainers hanging around – no doubt former countrymen; Lada and Skoda mechanics who were moonlighting as body-guards – all armed. Vlad was a big-time operator, no doubt. I thought at the time that I could have been in Jersey, meeting with a mafia don – he was the Godfather.

I arrived a little late, and after parking at a designated spot in the compound, I was ushered by his henchmen upstairs. It was lunch time, and there was a sumptuous buffet feast of Eastern European delicacies, accompanied by an old-world booze cart and a uniformed waiter, who mixed the drinks strongly. I was starting to get the picture, but still not sure of the reason why we were really there.

Then, the show began. In a well-prepared PowerPoint presentation, Vlad unveiled stunning panoply of technologies that he wanted us to bring to the US government. There were advanced weapons, the Antonov version of the next Air Force tanker, space launch rocket engines, access to unlimited sources of titanium, and a mind-blowing cure-all for cancer – the best of Soviet science now in the hands of the Ukrainians. However, I kept thinking through my now semi-addled brain, why us?

I was gob-smacked about what I had seen. The next scene in Vlad’s drama was for me and Ken to travel to Ukraine, financed by him, to see it all for ourselves. We drunkenly agreed to that, but my spidey senses were tingling – something was not quite right, and there was still this issue of the Sergei guy.
Nevertheless, we went through the motions, got visas, and Vlad booked our flights. I was starting to get excited about visiting a new, strange, and exotic place, but then the cruel reptilian part of my brain voted its opinion on my going – not only no, but hell fucking no. I invented a BS excuse for backing out, and waited for what was next.

Ken did go, and was amazed at the experience – the music was good, the food was great, the drinks were strong, and the women were hot. His Ukrainian handlers put him up in a room on an ornate hotel barge on the Dnieper River in Kiev. From there, he was transported around the country to see all of their tech goodies. They showed him in person everything that we had seen at Vlad’s in Baltimore, and then some.

All meals and drinks were free – and there were blondes, brunettes and red-heads galore. Good thing for him that Ken was single – I might not have survived. They were great hosts to him, but who the fuck were “they” anyway, and why us? Were we “tech pirates” preying on their supply chain, or were they just the next group of common rogues and vultures feasting off the remnants of the still-twitching carcass of the former Soviet Union?

It never amounted to shit, and I still don’t know who “they” were or why exactly we were selected for the VIP treatment. I found out later on from Vlad that Sergei, the Russian guy at that first breaking of bread, had been arrested by the Ukrainian version of the FSB – whereabouts unknown.

Vlad called me about six months later to tell me that he had also gotten jacked up by the Ukrainian version of ICE upon arrival in Kiev on one of his regular flights back, and spent 48-hours in a purgatory cell in Boryspil International Airport before being suddenly released with no explanation. I still wonder what might have been different if I had gone on that trip, since I had enjoyed a slightly higher public persona than Ken; I suspected it might have been a set-up.

Looking back, I made the right choice by bailing but I also wonder “what if?” I remember how much I treasure my trips to Russia, and really wanted to see the rich and vastness of Ukraine for myself. I love adventure, absolutely hate the idea of being thought a wimp, and dream of the entrancing exoticness of it all – I’m sure it would have been hypnotic; the Heartland.

I remain your faithful servant…

Copyright 2019 Point Loma
www.vicsocotra. com

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[1]Mackinder, Democratic Ideals and Reality, p. 150, source Wikipedia.
[2]Ibid.
[3]Ibid.