[Matt Wiser]

And the day goes on....


1435 Hours: 4th Guards Tank Army Headquarters, Harlingen, Texas.

General Suraykin stared at his operations map. So far, the 105th Guards Airborne had made use of the 41st Tank Regiment, and so far, they had done their job well. The Americans had been pushed back, and that gave the 105th time to regroup, absorb its new supplies-such as they were-and evacuate the division's wounded. The 52nd Tanks was also holding, along with the 6th Guards Motor-Rifle, but they, too would soon be in need of help, and Suraykin knew full well they wouldn't get any. On the right, 24th Tanks was in the same condition, but was still hanging on, if only just. And much to his disgust, he'd had to commit 38th Tanks to plug the gap at the Rio Grande Valley airport, and so far, they'd held off the 7th Armored Division's efforts-though the neighboring 28th Army wasn't faring so well. He turned to General Golikov, his chief of staff. “If 28th Army's left flank goes, we'll have to order 38th Tanks to pull back, otherwise...”

“Otherwise,” Golikov finished for his general, “they'll have an open flank, and we could be rolled up.”

Suraykin nodded. “Exactly. All of our reserves are committed, and this is what I was afraid of.”

Golikov looked at the map again. “As was I, Comrade General.”

“I know. And now, if someone goes, there's not much we can do about it, except fall back everywhere. And that means as we do pull back, we'll be exposed to American aircraft and attack helicopters. And they can turn an orderly withdrawal into a massacre.” Suraykin reminded his chief of staff.

“Yes, Comrade General,” agreed Golikov. “We've had several of those since 1987,”

“Too many,” Suraykin said. “Now, get all of our remaining nonessential rear-services troops. They've got small arms, but find whatever antitank weapons you can, and deploy them not just along the freeway, but behind 38th Tanks as well. It's not much, but there's little else left.”

Golikov nodded. He knew full well that if it came to it, those rear-services troops would face American armor. And in all likelihood, they'd be brushed aside like so many flies. “Comrade General, if it comes to it, those men don't stand a chance.”

“I know, Golikov. I know. But we have no choice. Issue the order.” Suraykin told the chief of staff.

“Immediately, Comrade General.”


1450 Hours: K-236, The Gulf of Mexico.


Captain Padorin checked the plot. Yes, the Americans were still there, and blocking the way to the coast. His sonarmen had counted not just one ASW group, but there appeared to be another, not to mention the escorts for the amphibious force that was keeping him from any rendezvous with whoever Moscow wanted evacuated. Padorn looked at Shelpin, who was serving as officer of the watch. “I'm headed to sick bay to see about our guest. You have the con,”

“Aye, Comrade Captain,” Shelpin replied. As he left, Padorin thought, he may be KGB, but he's a born submariner. Padorin went to sick bay, not far from the CCP, and found the boat's medical officer coming out of his small treatment room (a cubicle would have been a more apt description). “Doctor?”

“He's going to be fine. A dislocated shoulder from his ejection, and some facial lacerations, but other than that, he's in good shape.” Captain 3rd Rank Pavel Noskov said.

“Can I visit him?” Padorin asked. “I'd like to know what happened.”

“Of course, Comrade Captain.” Noskov said. He took the captain into the small treatment room, where a corpsman was cleaning up. The pilot was still sitting on the examination table. “Major.”

“Doctor.” Major Volkov said. Then he noticed the other officer. “And you are?”

“I'm Captain Padorin. Welcome aboard K-236.” he said, putting out his hand. “Major...?

“Volkov, 159th IAP. Thank you, Comrade Captain,” Volkov said. “Glad you were here. I thought I was shark bait for sure.”

“Anything to help our Air Force comrades,” Padorin said. “What happened?”

“I was escorting transports into Brownsville. American carrier-based fighters jumped us. All four fighters-and six of eight transports, went down.” Volkov recounted.

“Did any others bail out?” Padorin asked.

“No, Comrade Captain. I was the only one,” Volkov said.

Padorin nodded sympathetically. “I wish we could go after the carriers, but we have another mission.”

“We all have our missions, Comrade Captain.” replied Volkov. “Is there any way to report on that massacre I saw?”

“Later tonight, we'll be able to listen for messages again, and send any out. I'll appreciate anything you have.”

“Thank you, Comrade Captain. Hope you don't mind having a passenger for a while.”


1500 Hours: Soviet Headquarters, Brownsville.


Marshal Alekseyev went to the phone. It was time for another conference call with the Defense Council in Moscow. And he knew that this time, it might just be the last. Malinsky had informed him of the need to put all nonessential rear-services troops in as ad hoc infantry, and Alekseyev had agreed. He'd ordered the same thing for those under his own command to be prepared on one hours' notice to be sent to the front. But there had been a little bit of good news, as the Air Force had increased its activity: not only were there more ground-attack aircraft, but also fighters from Mexican fields to assist in covering the airlift. So far, they'd helped out, but it wasn't enough. His own Air Force commander had told Alekseyev that he was running low on serviceable aircraft, and though there were pilots available, there weren't enough. And General Dudorov had even benefited: several MiG-25R missions had been flown over the front, and he'd had his first aerial photographs in days-though they had been air-dropped in. Now, the Defense Council was waiting on his report. “Comrade Marshal, the call has gone through: the Defense Council is on the line,” his communications man said.

“Marshal, are you there?” General Secretary Chibrikov asked.

“I am, Comrade General Secretary,” Alekseyev replied.

“Good. How goes it today?”

“So far, Comrade General Secretary, we're holding. Though we've had an enemy penetration to the east-at the Rio Grande Valley Airport in Harlingen, it's been contained. For the moment, that is.” Alekseyev reported.

“How bad was the penetration?” Marshal Akhromayev asked. He already knew from a call that General Chibisov had taken, briefing him on the day's developments.

“So far, it's manageable, Comrade Minister. However, the losses were serious: both the 120th Guards Motor-Rifles and 20th Tank Divisions were destroyed, for all intents and purposes. The 28th Army has taken a beating, as has 4th Guards Tank Army.” Alekseyev said.

There was silence on the other end. The members of the council were digesting the news that one of the Soviet Army's premier divisions had been destroyed. “Are you sure, Comrade Marshal?”Chibrikov asked.

“Comrade General Secretary, so far, there's nothing from any sub-unit of the 120th. The Rogachev Guards has given everything they had in their duty to the Rodina.” Alekseyev said gravely.

“I see. Their sacrifices will be long remembered,” Chibrikov said.

Then another and familiar voice came on the line. “Marshal, this is Chairman Kosov.”

“Yes, Comrade Chairman?”

“I would like to know when the Hall government will be leaving. They want to get to Moscow eventually, even if their first stop is Havana.” the KGB Chairman reminded Alekseyev.

“Comrade Chairman,” Alekseyev said, choosing his words carefully. “President Hall and his cabinet have not left, but their advance echelon has. About half of their staff has left this afternoon, and should be arriving in Cuba later today or this evening.”

“Good, Marshal. That's very good news indeed. When will the rest leave?” Kosov asked.

“Comrade Chairman, as you know, the airlift stops at dusk,” Alekseyev reminded his listeners. “They'll likely leave in the morning.”

“Thank you, Marshal. Foreign Minister Tumansky will be pleased as well to hear this.” Kosov said.

Marshal Akhromayev spoke up next. “What about the American amphibious threat? The GRU says there's a strong amphibious force in the Gulf.”

“Comrade Marshal, they've already shown themselves. There has been shore bombardment, even by battleship guns, and a U.S. Marine helicopter assault has seized Brazos Island,” Alekseyev reported. “They probably won't land today, but if they do, it'll be tomorrow sometime.”

“And your plans if they do land?” Akhromayev asked.

“I've positioned the last reserves available: 76th Guards Air Assault Division and 47th Tank Brigade. They're waiting outside the range of naval gunfire, and will meet the enemy in a meeting engagement when they do land. Any landing can be contained in that case,” Alekseyev said.

“Good, Marshal,” the Defense Minister replied.

“There's one thing, however, that can finish us, and quickly.” Alekseyev said.

Chibrikov cut in. “And that is, Marshal?”

“If, and I do mean if, the Americans coordinate an airborne or heliborne assault in coordination with the Marine landing or landings. If they do that, no matter what happens elsewhere, we're finished. And Comrade General Secretary, there's no way around that.” Alekseyev said.

Pugo, the MVD chief, chimed in. “And why haven't they done that?”

“Comrade Minister, it could be that they're saving the 82nd Airborne and 101st Air Assault Divisions for urban combat-here in Brownsville, and across the border in cities like Matamoros or Reynosa,” Alekseyev said. “However, it could be that General Powell is reluctant to risk the lives of two elite U.S. Army divisions in a risky operation. If Schwartzkopf was in command, he'd be more willing to do so.”

“You mean Powell may be saving those divisions for an invasion of Mexico?” Kosov asked.

“That is correct.” Alekseyev commented.

“Marshal, you will continue to fight, and fight. When enough ships are assembled in Cuba, the Navy will mount one supreme effort to supply you fully. And they will do so over the winter as well. In the spring, our armies in Canada will push south, and they will, I am sure, bring about final victory. We won't bother you any further today. You have a battle to fight and win. Good luck,” and with that, and without waiting for a response from Alekseyev, the connection was ended.

“Final victory...More useless blather.” Alekseyev commented.

“Why do I feel like it's 1945?” Chibisov asked. “Only this time, we're the Germans with a leader who refuses to see what's happening.”

“Not just the General Secretary,” Colonel Sergetov commented. “From what my father has said, it's the bulk of the Defense Council and most of the full Politburo members. Only the Defense Minister and the Minister of Agriculture-who sits on the full Politburo, see reason.”

Alekseyev thought for a moment. “And these are the people who got us into this mess! Sorokin will have his hands full when he gets to Moscow.”


1520 Hours: Cuban 214th Tank Regiment, along U.S. 281.


“Comrade Colonel,” Herrera's chief of staff said, “They're coming.”

Herrera nodded, and put his head out the top hatch of his command BTR. He scanned the horizon with binoculars, looking north along the highway, and he could see the lead American vehicles coming. Scout versions of the Bradley in front, with armor and more Bradleys behind. And there were helicopters up as well. So far, they were the OH-58 scouts, not the dreaded Cobras or Apaches. And it had been Cobras that had knocked out over two dozen vehicles from the Regiment earlier in the day.

He'd deployed his forces the best he could, and the Mexicans had eagerly set up their part of the defense. Herrera had also sent a platoon of T-55s to assist one of the Mexican battalions, though they were not under the Mexicans' command. The two Soviet air-assault battalion groups were also dug in, but they were ready to withdraw quickly should the need arise. “No heroics,” Herrera had told their commanders, and they understood. He'd also said the same thing to his own regiment's officers, and he hoped they understood.

In the American force, Captain Kozak watched from her Bradley as the battalion's scouts moved along the road. Highway 281 was a mess, and she'd heard that engineers from the division were coming to at least get the road somewhat serviceable; if it was going to support heavy traffic in the drive south, the road had better be in somewhat decent shape. Now, she was traversing her Bradley turret right and left, searching for targets. This close to the river, there was enough brush to give any ambushers cover. And this time, she'd put her company team into a Tanks lead formation: tanks in front, Bradleys behind. But her Bradley was just behind the tanks, along with the Company XO's Bradley. Then she saw it. One of the scout tracks sprayed 25-mm fire into some brush, and a vehicle exploded. Then a scout helicopter fired a missile into another bush, and another vehicle blew up. “Contact right!” the scouts called. And heavy, but inaccurate, fire came from the direction of the river. She called for artillery, and also for some air support, and the artillery fired promptly, dumping HE, WP, and ICM rounds on the enemy position. And a pair of Air Force A-7s responded to the call for air support, dumping 500-pound bombs and strafing. Only after the fire lifted and the A-7s pulled away did she move her force on ahead.

Colonel Herrera watched it all. The Mexicans, instead of waiting for the American main force to enter the kill zone, had fired on the scouts. And the Americans responded promptly. He watched as M-60A4 tanks blasted Mexican positions, while Bradley fighting vehicles covered them. The lead Mexican battalion made its stand, and even tried to counterattack, as several T-54s came out, but they were soon dealt with. The other Mexican battalion, positioned further along the road, but on the east side of the highway, was content to wait. They would not have long, Herrera knew.

“Good Lord, Captain!” Kozak's gunner said. “Those were antiques.”

“Those T-54s and old BTRs you mean?” Kozak replied.

“Yeah, L-T. But those guys charged us like they was on somethin', if you know what I mean, Ma'am.”

Kozak nodded. “Remember this, Sergeant: If it can still kill you, it ain't obsolete.” Just as she said that, a crash-boom sounded. A antitank shell hit one of her tanks, and the explosion simply scratched the paint on the turret. The tank traversed right, found the offending gun, and snuffed it out with a single fiery blast from its 105-mm gun. “That, though, was obsolete.” she remarked, referring to the antitank gun. And she traversed the turret again, surveying the battlefield. Burning Mexican vehicles, T-54s, BTRs, and trucks, along with knocked-out guns and dead Mexican bodies, littered the scene. And something in her said that there was another such fight coming. “All units, continue the attack. Be careful, though: there's more of 'em up ahead.”