[Matt Wiser]

And another:


2110 Hours: East German 40th Air Assault Regiment, Elsa, Texas


Colonel Fiebig was hunkered down in the basement of the Elsa City Hall. Built to withstand hurricanes, the basement's Emergency Operations Center was perfect for his purposes. Now, as American artillery fire rained down, he prepared for the attack that would soon come. As long as the phone lines laid to battalion HQs worked, and survived the barrage, things would be favorable. His Regimental Executive Officer had set up an alternate command post in the police station, so even if Fiebig was taken out, the defenders would still be able to fight in a coordinated fashion. His Operations Officer came over to him.
“Comrade Colonel, they're coming. The barrage is lifting in some sectors, and our outposts report tanks and armored vehicles approaching.”

“Show me.” Fiebig said, motioning to the map.

“Here, Comrade Colonel. An attack is developing along Highway 107,”

“From La Bianca, it seems. That Panzer Regiment was overwhelmed within what, fifteen minutes?” Fiebig asked.

“I'm afraid so, Comrade Colonel. A second attack is coming here, from the south, along F.M. 88, and another attack from the north: a platoon-sized outpost was at the F.M. 88/F.M. 1925 junction, and they reported armor approaching. We've been unable to raise them,” the operations man said.

“So we're facing a brigade-sized force at least?” Fiebig asked him.

“Apparently so, Comrade Colonel.”

Fiebig looked at the map again. Though his men had deployed for all-around defense, he was shorthanded. If he had three battalions instead of two, he might have a real chance. Instead....”Very well. Our main defenses are in the center of town anyway. Have all units fall back to their main positions. And have Captain Buheler ready to counterattack as soon as he receives the order.”

“Yes, Comrade Colonel.” And the operations man went off to issue the orders.

The East Germans fell back, and the American armor advanced, though cautiously. They knew they were facing East German airborne, and from previous battles, it was well known that they didn't quit until they had no choice. San Antonio the previous year, and Alice earlier that summer, had proven that.


2130 Hours: 234th Guards Air Assault Regiment, near Indian Lakes, Texas.


General Andreyev was waiting for the recon company to open the attack. He'd received word that all units were in position and ready, but everyone was waiting for the recon boys to start things off. He'd left when to their discretion, and the recon company was the best in the regiment. Contrary to Western thinking, the recon were expected to use their heads, especially in something like a raid, and he had full confidence in the recon company to let them start things off. As before, Colonel Suslov insisted that the General remain with the Regimental Command Group, while he led the attack personally with First Battalion. Andreyev looked through his binoculars: the facility was well lit, and it was obvious that there was no fuel shortage for the KGB. Good, he smiled. Let them get “fat, dumb, and happy,” and we'll teach them a lesson they wouldn't forget-if they lived, that was. Then there was a tap on his shoulder. It was Major Polyakov, the 234th's Executive Officer.

“Comrade General, everything's ready, and it's time. All we need is the recon to start things.”

“True, Major. But they won't start on the dot. Like I said at the briefing: the recon will start anytime after 2130. Wait a few minutes, and then we'll see,” Andreyev said.

As it turned out, they didn't have to wait that long. A minute after Polyakov made his comment to the General, small-arms fire erupted across from the facility entrance. Sure enough, it was M-16s, and as Andreyev observed through his binoculars, the KGB reaction force mounted up in their trucks and rolled out, still under fire from the recon company.

“All right....let the reaction force fall into the trap, and as that's being sprung, we'll go in,” Andreyev told the Major.

A few minutes later, heavy firing to the north showed that Third Battalion's mission was being accomplished. Andreyev nodded to Major Polyakov. “Time, Major.”

Polyakov nodded, and fired the signal flare. The desantniki from First Battalion opened fire, sending RPGs into the guard towers, while the paratroopers swarmed the compound. The remaining KGB troops, including warhead techs, were dumbfounded, and many hardly had a chance to go for their weapons before they were killed. It was all over in less than ten minutes. Though a few of the KGB troops had tried to escape, they went right into the embrace of Second Battalion, and none survived. The few survivors from the reaction force who tried to return met a similar fate, and it was all over. Another flare signaled that the facility was secured, and Andreyev led the Regimental command group forward. Colonel Suslov was waiting outside the command post, a prefabricated structure. “Comrade General, the facility is secure.”

“Well done, Comrade Colonel. Your losses?”

“Four killed, seven wounded. And the KGB troops were wiped out to a man,” Suslov reported.

“Make sure those who are dead are dead, Suslov. Don't take any chances,” Andreyev replied.

“Yes, Comrade General,” Suslov said, motioning for his radioman to come so that he could inform the company commanders. After he did so, he led Andreyev to where the warhead storage vans were parked.

“We've checked the vehicles, and all have warheads. There's three dozen here. Some are artillery shells, while the rest are warheads for various rockets,” Suslov told the General.”

“Make sure we've got all of them, Colonel.” Andreyev said. His orders from General Alekseyev were precise on that matter.

Suslov nodded. He sent his intelligence officer into the command post, and a few minutes later, came out with the warhead inventory. Counting the warhead Andreyev's men had recovered earlier, there were thirty-seven warheads remaining in the stockpile. A visual check of the serial numbers verified that all were now accounted for.

“All warheads accounted for, Comrade General,” Suslov reported. “Your orders?”

“Assemble the Regiment, and prepare to move. We're returning to Brownsville. General Alekseyev wants the warheads delivered to his headquarters.” Andreyev said. “How soon can we be ready to move?”

“Twenty minutes, Comrade General.” Suslov replied.

“Make it so, Comrade Colonel.” Andreyev said. “If this had been an American facility, I'd be recommending you for the Red Banner.”

“I hadn't thought of that, Comrade General,” Suslov replied. “The satisfaction of settling some scores with the KGB will be the reward in this case.”

General Andreyev grinned. He, too, had some issues with the KGB, not just prewar, but during the war, and now, this revenge was sweet. “Exactly so, Comrade Colonel. Have the regiment ready to move in twenty minutes.”

“Comrade General.”


2155 Hours: Soviet Headquarters, Brownsville.


General Alekseyev reviewed his map again. The East Germans had managed to reform yet again, though they had been roughly handled yet again. General Metzler had managed to get the 11th MRD and 9th Panzer into Malinsky's line, and Third Shock was on their left. The Eighth Guards and 28th Armies were also in position, as was the 4th Guards Tank Army and the Cuban 1st Army on the right. They had an open right flank with the Laguna Atascosca National Wildlife Refuge, but just as the marshes and wetlands gave the Cubans a problem, so it would also give the U.S. Marines a problem, as their amphibious “end-arounds” likely wouldn't work in that kind of terrain. But further south, at Laguna Vista, and just north of it, that threat would return, as the terrain would support such an operation. And on the far left, the Cuban 2nd Army had been reeling all day, with one division and an armored brigade annihilated, and another division badly mauled. Alekseyev still wondered, though, as did Malinsky, if Fidel Castro or his brother Raoul had ordered General Perez, the 2nd Army commander, to sacrifice a unit or two as “Martyrs of the Revolution.” General Chibisov came up.”Comrade General, we have word from General Andreyev.”

“Yes?”

“Mission successful. Second objective accomplished. Returning to Headquarters.” Chibisov reported.

“Execllent, Pavel Pavlovitich,” Alekseyev said. “That's one thing we don't have to worry about any longer.”

“Yes, Comrade General. And when Andreyev's men arrive?”

“They'll guard the warheads here. When they arrive, no one is to go near the warheads. Anyone, and I mean anyone, who does so, will be executed,” Alekseyev replied.

“The Cherepovets is ready for her final mission, Comrade General. When do you anticipate loading her?” Chibisov asked.

“When it's obvious that General Suraykin cannot hold his position. We need time still to load the warheads on the freighter, get him out into the shipping channel, then scuttle.” Alekseyev said. “That's what Admiral Gordikov told me. And that's several hours at least.”

Chibisov nodded. “Of course, Comrade General.” Changing the subject, he reported, “The destroyer Boiky has been neutralized, Comrade General. There was an air strike earlier this evening, and they left her a blasted and burned wreck.”

“To be expected. They did shoot down an American reconnaissance aircraft earlier this evening, did they not?” Alekseyev asked.

“Yes, Comrade General, and captured the pilot. The pilot is en route here, for further interrogation,” Chibisov said.

“Have Dudorov conduct it himself. Our practices in the past have been very counterproductive in that regard, and I'd rather have someone I know handle him.”

“Her, Comrade General. The pilot is female.” Chibisov said, matter of factly.

“They've been doing that for what, three years now? And we're still surprised when we encounter American women in combat. Old habits die slowly, I imagine.”

“Yes, Comrade General. One other thing. General Belgin has identified several points for bridge construction. Work has started on a couple, and there's two more which will be started by dawn.”
Chibisov said.

“Good! Even if we don't get the supplies-and Petrov says the Americans are throwing everything they can at those roads-at least we can evacuate those who need to leave-and not just our wounded, once the airlift is no longer possible,” said Alekseyev.

“There is that chance, Comrade General.”


2210 Hours: Brownsville/South Padre Island International Airport.


General Petrov watched his engineers get to work with a vengeance. They knew that not only the supplies they needed depended on the airlift, but also the best chance for the wounded to leave. There was some heavy equipment available, and he'd even found some in Brownsville itself: prewar, the bulldozers and other heavy haulers and movers had belonged to several construction companies. His chief engineer officer came up to him. “Comrade General, we'll have this field operational again before dawn.”

“Good, Comrade Colonel,” Petrov said. “How goes it with the unexploded ordnance?”

“We've managed to clear that with a specially modified bulldozer, and what we can't clear a sharpshooter with a rifle shoots. The method may be crude, but it works,” the engineer said.

“If it works, use it,” Petrov agreed. Too many other Soviet officers were afraid to try new ideas, and he suspected that was one of the reasons-among many-that they were losing the war. Why hadn't those in Moscow seen how bad things were and cut their losses? He'd wondered that since the American offensive in 1988-which had retaken Central Texas, and pushed as far south as Corpus Christi and San Antonio. He'd barely escaped the latter with his life-and he'd been wondering ever since. Still, he was a professional to the end.

“Comrade General, one other thing?”

“Yes?” Petrov asked.

“What about the aircraft wreckage?

“Just dump it someplace out of the way, so that the ramp area is clear. And don't dump it where we've got supply drop zones marked.” Petrov replied.

“Yes, Comrade General.” And the engineer went off to get his men going again.

Petrov looked around. There weren't that many, but there were enough wrecked planes that made him question whether or not the airlift was a good idea. But, as the VTA commander had told him, the Americans had kept Denver alive during that siege, and the Defense Council felt the same could be done here. He shook his head. Now I know what Gen. Wolfram von Richthofen must have felt during the Stalingrad airlift. And history's repeating itself.