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Old 03-27-2015, 09:36 PM
Matt Wiser Matt Wiser is offline
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Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Auberry, CA
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And the campaign keeps going:


1700 Hours: Gulf Front Headquarters, San Benito Community College.


General Malinsky noted the updates on the map. Right now, the Americans were regrouping, and preparing for the next round. He'd just had an update from General Suraykin: the 105th Guards, though badly handled, was still holding, and the 41st Tank Regiment had reinforced the paratroopers. Though the real problem at the moment was the situation around the Rio Grande Valley Airport, where the 20th Tank Division's destruction-and that of 28th Army's 120th GMRD-had opened up a serious gap in both armies. So far, the Soviets were holding, though both 4th GTA and 28th Army had committed their final reserves, and if a new fire got started, there wouldn't be much around to put it out. Then Isakov came over. “Isakov, you have something?”

“Yes, Comrade General. There's a developing situation on the left flank. Both 3rd Shock and 8th Guards are in the same position as 4th Guards Tank and 28th Armies: the Americans have hit at the boundary between both. Both VIII and XII Corps have mounted a joint attack, and right now, there's not much either army can do at the moment.”

“Let me guess: all reserves committed?” Malinsky asked.

“That is so, Comrade General,” Isakov replied.

Malinsky checked the map again. “Both will have to fall back, and hopefully, by doing so, they can shorten their lines and pull units off the front, and thus reconstitute a reserve,” he noted.

“I'm afraid so, Comrade General. That has consequences for the Cuban 2nd Army on our extreme left, it should be noted,” Isakov reminded his front commander.

“That's obvious: look at 49th Armored Division's attack down Highway 281. If the Cubans pull back, and do so without it becoming a rout, we still have the highway. If not....it may not be a motorway like the 77-83 is, but still...it'd be a straight run to Brownsville if the Cuban defense folds.” Malinsky said, gesturing at the map.

“The Cubans are still giving ground grudgingly, Comrade General, and that's not likely to change,” Isakov observed.

“Still....we'll have to shorten out lines there and consolidate. With no Front level reserves, there's no other choice.”

“Understood, Comrade General.” Isakov said.

“Notify Marshal Alekseyev, and then get in touch with all army commanders. See if we can't get this done without the Americans noticing too much. If they do...they'll have so many aircraft and helicopters overhead and they'd turn an orderly withdrawal into a massacre.” Malinsky reminded his chief of staff.

“I'll notify the air force, Comrade General. Hopefully, they can cover the withdrawal.”


1715 Hours: Brownsville/South Padre Island International Airport:



General Petrov scanned the sky with his binoculars, waiting for the next inbound transports. He'd heard from General Lukin, on the satellite phone from Monterrey, and things there were still in flux. A big problem on that end was similar to what had been happening in Cuba, namely, supplies being loaded willy-nilly aboard aircraft without anyone checking to see if the cargo was what the pocket needed. Lukin himself had ordered useless items removed, and more food, ammunition, and medical supplies loaded. And when a political officer tried to upbraid Lukin, Lukin had put Petrov on the phone-and Petrov gave the Zampolit a blast of invective that shut the man up. Now, Petrov had some second thoughts: maybe I should have sent Lukin to Monterrey or Havana, to take charge at the supply hubs. Too late now, he knew. He turned to his air-operations officer. “What's the ETA on the latest transport stream?”

“Eight aircraft with escorts are due at 1740, Comrade General,” the man replied. “There were twelve, but one turned back with engine trouble, and three were...intercepted en route.”

“Shot down, you mean,” Petrov said.

“Yes, Comrade General.”

Well, Petrov thought. This afternoon was shaping up to be a decent one. The latest group had come up from Mexico, and to his surprise, even included two Libyan aircraft. One was an Il-76, belonging to Libyan airlines, the other was a Libyan Air Force C-130! He'd had a laugh at that: The Libyans had ordered sixteen of the Lockheed transports in the 1970s, and had paid $100 million for the aircraft. Eight had been delivered before an embargo had been slapped on the North African country, and the other eight impounded at the Lockheed factory in Georgia. Now, he'd bet, those eight had been seized and were now flying in USAF markings, no doubt. But he did appreciate the irony. But the transports coming in from Cuba, though, that was different: fifty percent weren't making it. “All right, just get everything ready. Get those planes unloaded fast, get their passengers aboard, and get them out. We've got an hour and a half of daylight left, so let's make full use of it.”

The operations man nodded. “Yes, Comrade General. Passenger priority?” he asked.

“Wounded if at all possible, then specialists. If we're getting passenger aircraft, then it's the reverse.” Petrov said.

The operations officer nodded and went off to relay the order. Petrov resumed scanning the sky, and, to his surprise, spotted two An-2s coming in. Whoever was flying them certainly had guts, he thought. Both biplanes came in and landed, and he saw that both had Cuban markings. He went over to see the pilots. “Where are you from?”

“Monterrey, Comrade General, via Villa Hermosa,” the lead pilot replied. “We've brought some supplies-not much, but it's things like medicine in my aircraft, and bottled water in the other.”

Petrov nodded. One good load, and one...questionable. “Where did the water come from?”

“Cuba, Comrade General,” the second pilot replied.

“Good. At least we won't have to worry about Montezeuma's Revenge with that load,” Petrov said, and everyone around laughed. He smiled at that: there hadn't been much of that. “You men,” he motioned to some ground crew, “Get these two unloaded immediately!”

The ground crewmen went to work with a will, and soon, both biplanes were unloaded. “How many can you take out?” Petrov asked.

“Twelve in each,” the lead pilot said.

Petrov looked over at the passenger area. He went over to where an officer was checking passes. “I want twelve on the specialist list, and twelve walking wounded to those An-2s, Now.”

“Immediately, Comrade General!” the man said. And very quickly, both groups were in the aircraft. “Get to Monterrey as quick as you can, and then get back in the morning. I know you won't make it back before dark.” Petrov said to the Cuban pilots.

“We will, Comrade General.” and both pilots went and mounted their aircraft. Both An-2s gunned their engines, and were in the air. Petrov watched as both headed southwest, and to safety. As they did so, he noticed an An-22 coming in from the east, with no escort. As the plane came in, he saw a pair of fighters approach it, then a missile launch. The An-22's pilot apparently never saw the missile, for it struck between the two port engines, and the explosion blew the wing off between the engines. The big plane spun to the left, with the port wing shredded and ablaze, and then crashed to the east of the field. A huge fireball erupted on impact, and the two American fighters orbited briefly to check their kill, then flew off.


1725 Hours: Cuban 2nd Army Headquarters


General Perez looked at the message form. About time, he thought. Front Headquarters had ordered a gradual withdrawal, and his forces would pull back. He turned to his chief of staff, wondering how they'd be able to do this with all the American air activity overhead. “Luis, we're to pull back. Send an advance party to the Rangerville area, and find a suitable location for Army Headquarters.”

“Right away, Comrade General,” the chief replied. “And where will the main body of the Army fall back to?”

“Our left flank is the Rio Grande. The right flank-where 3rd Shock Army will be, is the Arroyo Colorado. Take a straight line from the F.M. 3067-F.M. 800 junction: that's where our line will be.” Perez said.

The chief did so. “Not much in the way of roads there, Comrade General, and most of what there is not in good shape,” the man pointed out.

“I know. The Americans aren't giving us any choice,” Perez said. “Now, how is the 214th doing along Highway 281?”

“So far, they're delaying the Americans, a minor skirmish here, an ambush there, though they did lose the ribbon bridge at the end of F.M. 506,” the chief replied.

“That was to be expected. Did the engineers save the bridge segments, or did they have to destroy the bridge?” Perez asked.

“That, Comrade General, I have no information. Other than that the enemy did not get the bridge intact.”

“Good. Not the place I'd put a bridgehead into Mexico if I was on the other side, but if the chance came up....” Perez' voice trailed off.

The chief nodded. “Quite so, Comrade General. We've also gotten this: the latest weather report.”

“And?”

“No change, Comrade General. No storms in the Caribbean or the Gulf of Mexico-nothing that could grow into something major.”

“And clear weather means enemy aircraft will be very active, Luis. Wonderful.” Perez said. “All right, inform the divisional commanders, and let's do this.”


1740 Hours: Soviet Headquarters, Brownsville.


Admiral Gordikov came into the operations room. He knew that things from a naval perspective were just about finished, and what he would be reporting would only add to that. With total naval supremacy in the Gulf, the Americans could do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, and to whomever they wanted. Though if he'd been in command on the other side, he would have had his battleships shell South Padre Island, even if it was just a demonstration shoot. It would have reminded the Soviets of the fury that could descend upon them at any time, and that there was nothing the Soviets could do about it. He found both Marshal Alekseyev and General Chibisov. “Comrade Marshal, General,”

Alekseyev turned. “Yes, Admiral?”

“Comrade Marshal, I've just gotten this in from South Padre Island. Four battleships were spotted just offshore, out of range of our coastal defenses, not an hour and a half ago.” Gordikov reported.

“Did they bombard the island?” Alekseyev asked.

“No, Comrade Marshal, they did not.”

“Why would they not shell the island?” Chibisov wondered.

“I doubt it was for lack of ammunition, Comrades,” Gordikov said. “Though I believe it was simply a demonstration. They were saying, 'We're here, we're going to shell you whenever we please, and there's nothing you can do about it.'”

Alekseyev noted the island. And the Boca Chica area east of Brownsville. That, too, was threatened with an amphibious landing. “And nothing so far from here?” he said, pointing to Boca Chica on the map.

“Nothing so far, Comrade General.” Gordikov admitted.

Chibisov asked, “What about that submarine, the one you've previously mentioned?”

“He's under orders to wait for an extraction, Comrades. I've checked with Caribbean Squadron in Cienfuegos myself,” Gordikov reported. “Who they're to extract, I have no idea, and I was not told who.”

“Probably GRU or KGB assets,” Alekseyev snorted.

“That's very likely, Comrade Marshal,” Gordikov said.

The operations officer came in. “Comrades, there's been a new development on Malinsky's extreme right.”

Alekseyev turned. “What is it?”

“Comrade Marshal, there's been a heliborne assault at the Port Isabel-Cameron County Airport, just south of the Laguna Atascosa Wildlife Refuge. No word on who, though. It could be U.S. Marines,” the man said.

“Or they could be the 101st Air Assault Division,” Chibisov said. “Any other information?”

“No, Comrade General, none at all.”

“All right,” Alekseyev said. He turned to his senior air officer. “Get some reconnaissance up there before daylight ends. I need to know who that enemy is.”

The air force man nodded, and went to get a flight sent that direction. Alekseyev turned to Gordikov. “Your Naval Infantry is all on South Padre Island, correct?”

“Not all of them, There is a battalion responsible for security at the Port of Brownsville, and another at Laguna Vista, charged with coastal defense. Then there's base personnel at the South Padre Island Coast Guard Station.”

“That battalion at Laguna Vista is now Malinsky's. Order them to move to the airport, and engage the enemy,” Alekseyev ordered.

“Yes, Comrade Marshal. And there's one other thing: I've ordered the remaining ships at the Port of Brownsville scuttled. A couple of tugs, some barges, two freighters from a convoy that came here a month ago and were damaged by air attack, and a damaged Koltin-class destroyer in the same condition.” Gordikov said.

“And the missile craft and corvettes at South Padre Island?” Chibisov asked.

“Comrade General, they may have a chance at getting out: they may not be large enough to set off the mines the Americans have laid. Even so, it's a final death-and-glory ride into the waiting arms of the Americans. I've talked with the squadron commander: he'd rather do that than have his ships scuttled.”
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