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Old 03-05-2015, 08:22 PM
Matt Wiser Matt Wiser is offline
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And the next:


0630 Hours: West of Russeltown, Texas:

General Andreyev watched as Colonel Suslov's desantniki deployed, quickly and quietly. Except for a company from 3rd Battalion posted as a rearguard, the entire 234th Guards Air Assault Regiment was going to mount this attack. He wanted to make sure none of the KGB troops managed to escape, and so his men went into position. Colonel Suslov would decide, though, when to attack: it was his regiment, after all. Then, the green flare shot into the air, and machine guns and SPG-9 recoilless rifles opened fire, along with the First Battalion's mortars. Then Colonel Suslov stood up, and shouted “URRAH!” and paratroopers charged the missile site. Metis (AT-7) missiles reached out to the APCs, killing the two BMP-2s and a BTR-70, while RPGs killed a BRDM. Then the desantniki were in the missile site itself, and a brief, but vicious, firefight ensued. A few minutes later, Colonel Suslov called the General. All clear.

General Andreyev went forward, with the Regimental command group, and found Colonel Suslov and the First Battalion's paratroopers checking the bodies of the KGB troops. “Well done, Comrade Colonel,” Andreyev said. “Any prisoners?”

“Not yet, but we're still checking. But the warhead van is intact, as ordered,” Suslov said.

“Excellent, Colonel,” Andreyev said.

Major Dimitry Polyakov, the Regiment's deputy commander, came up to his two superiors. “Comrade General, Colonel, First battalion has three killed and four wounded. No casualties from the other battalions.”

“Good, Major,” Andreyev replied. “How serious are the casualties?”

“No word yet from the Regimental Surgeon, but he's busy,” Polyakov said.

A shout came from the warhead van. Several paratroopers had found a KGB lieutenant alive, though shot through both legs, where he'd crawled underneath the van. They hauled him in front of the General. “Comrade General, your orders?” Asked Suslov.

Andreyev turned to the Regimental Intelligence Officer. “Find out where the rest of the warheads are. Do whatever it takes. And check the officer bodies: they may have a map or two somewhere.”

“Right away, Comrade General.” the intelligence officer replied. He had the paratroopers check the bodies, while he began questioning the KGB officer. A few screams later, and the man began talking. The Intelligence Officer came back to the General and Colonel Suslov. “Comrades, he talked. He says the warheads are in their storage vans.”

Andreyev and Suslov nodded. “Where are they right now?” Andreyev asked.

The intelligence officer opened his map. He pointed to the intersection of FM 2893 and FM 1575, north of Indian Lake. “There, Comrades.”

“Verify that,” Andreyev ordered.

The intelligence man went to the warhead van, and began rummaging through the cab. He came back with a map. And even though it was contrary to regulations, the KGB troops had marked their positions on the map. One of which showed the warhead storage. He took it to the KGB man, and it didn't take long to confirm the information. “I believe he's telling the truth, Comrades,” the intelligence officer reported.

“All right,” Andreyev said. “Colonel, get the regiment ready to move as soon as possible.” Seeing Suslov nod, he went on, “And put some of your best men on that van. We're bringing it with us.”

“Comrade General.” Suslov said. “And the prisoner?”

“Dispose of the Chekist. Do it quietly, though.”

The intelligence officer nodded, and drew his combat knife. He simply went over to the KGB man, and slit his throat.

Seeing that, Andreyev nodded. “Let's get moving, Colonel. We're only half finished.”

“The missile?” The OTR-23 was still intact.

“Use some of the KGB's own RPGs on it. Then let's go.” Andreyev said.


0655 Hours: Brazos Santiago Pass


Captain Romonov sat on the bridge of the Boiky, waiting for a pilot to take his ship into the Port of Brownsville. He did so with a heavy heart, knowing now that his ship would never sail again. And it was becoming likely that the Boiky would have to be scuttled. Still, the ship had one final part to fulfill: getting the wounded ashore. His Exec came up to him. “Comrade Captain, there's a corvette coming out from the pass. We've exchanged blinker signals, and it's got our pilot aboard.”

Romonov nodded. “Very well, Nikolay. Signal him to come alongside.”

“Comrade Captain,” the Exec said, “We...”

BOOM! An explosion sounded forward, and both Romonov and the Exec ran to the bridge wing. A fountain of water was coming back down, a kilometer away, and pieces of debris were also raining down. “Mother of...that was the corvette!” the Exec yelled.

“Not anymore,” Romonov observed. “Where's the minefield?”

Going back inside, both officers went into the chart room. They quickly found the minefields, and the safe-transit lane. “That Grisha was in the transit lane, Comrade Captain.”

“And you know full well what that means, Nikolay. The Americans have mined the transit lane,” Romonov pointed out.

“That could've been us, easily,” the Exec said.

“Very much so. Launch one of the ship's boats to check for survivors, though I doubt there are any,” Romonov said.

“Orders, Comrade Captain?”

“Blinker this to shore, and request relay to Naval Headquarters, Brownsville. 'Corvette carrying pilot sunk by suspected American mine. Unless further orders received, Boiky will run aground at South Padre Island to become a battery.'”

“Right away, Comrade Captain.” the Exec said.


0715 Hours: Gulf Front Headquarters

General Malinsky put the phone down. It had been General Trimenko. Powell had renewed his attack, only a few minutes earlier. He'd opened with a heavy artillery barrage, and American aircraft were roaming the sky overhead, seeking out targets. Just as expected, Malinsky thought. At least Anton is up north in Alberta, he thought, and isn't in this mess. Then General Isakov came to him. “Comrade General,”

“Ah, Isakov. Powell's coming, as expected.”

“Yes, Comrade General. At least Third Shock Army and the Cuban 2nd Army have completed their withdrawal from McAllen and Edinburg,” Isakov reported.

“And the East Germans?” Malinsky asked.

“Pulling back, and they're under heavy pressure, Comrade General.” Isakov said, pointing at the map. “General Metzler reports he's leaving the 40th Air Assault Regiment to fight a rearguard. Here, at the town of Elsa.”

Malinsky looked at the map. “That leaves him without a reserve, correct?”

“Except for an independent tank regiment that's at half strength, yes, Comrade General.” Isakov said.

Then there was the other issue. “And the Cubans?” Malinsky asked.

“The Cuban 2nd Army is back in contact, and all four of its divisions, along with its tank brigade, have moved to their new positions,” Isakov said. “Their phone lines were down-presumably by guerrilla action, and their radios were being jammed, but the message got through.”

“Good. And that Cuban regiment in Hidalgo?”

“Still fighting, Comrade General.”


0740 Hours: Hidalgo, Texas.


Major Mendoza was with his regiment's command group at the north side of the International Bridge. His regiment's support echelon, along with his wounded, had already crossed into Mexico, along with what remained of his artillery battalion. They would set up across the river and continue firing in support, but with only two guns left now, there wasn't much they could do, he knew. And American counter-battery fire or aircraft could deal with those two guns very quickly, once they found the new firing positions. Now, his Second Battalion, or what was left of it, was congregating just north of the bridge.

Captain Raul Gomez, the acting commander of 2nd Battalion, came to him. “Comrade Major, 2nd Battalion's here, or what's left of it.”

“How many left?” Mendoza wanted to know.

“About two companies' worth, Comrade Major, and no heavy weapons left.”

Mendoza knew that with no heavy weapons, the battalion didn't stand a chance. And he'd seen what the M-60A4 could take: with that M-1 turret, and side skirts with reactive armor, an RPG didn't do much. And the Bradleys also had some reactive armor installed on them, he knew. “All right, Captain. You've done all you can. Get your battalion across the river.”

Nodding his head yes, Gomez went back to his shattered battalion, while Major Mendoza turned to his deputy. “What's with Third Battalion, Gonzalez?”

“They're in worse shape, Comrade Major.” Responded Captain Gonzalez. “They're getting hammered. And American helicopter gunships are now in the air.”

“It's light enough,” Mendoza observed. “Pull them back, as best they can. And get First Battalion ready to fall back. Once they get here, we're crossing ourselves. And signal the engineers: if we're overrun, blow the bridge.”
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