[Matt Wiser]

The saga continues on...


2230 Hours: East German 40th Air Assault Regiment, Elsa, Texas


Colonel Fiebig's headquarters shook under the American artillery fire. The initial attack had hit the East Germans' empty positions, but as the Americans probed ahead, a hail of fire met them. Now, the American had halted, brought up their artillery, and began shelling East German positions. His intelligence officer pointed to the map.

“Comrade Colonel, the attack is developing just as we anticipated. They're coming in on three sides, but leaving a way out to the east.”

“A way out? Ahh. They expect us to fight a delaying action, and when we move east on Highway 107, we'll be cut to pieces. Not what I have in mind, Comrade Major.” Fiebig replied.

“They've done it before: McAllen, Edinburg, and further north. Alice was like that, if you'll recall, Comrade Colonel.” the intelligence man reminded the Colonel.

“Yes, and at Alice is where we lost the Third Battalion,” Fiebig retorted.

“True, Comrade Colonel, but this time..” The intelligence officer was interrupted by a large explosion outside. Then the operations officer came up to Fiebig.

“Comrade Colonel, that was the police station across the street. The alternate command post doesn't answer.”

“How'd they find that out?” Fiebig wanted to know.

“It can't have been any of the civilians; we haven't allowed any of them to leave town,” the operations man replied.

The intelligence officer thought for a minute. “There was some reconnaissance aircraft overhead today. They were low enough to have seen some of the wires leading into the building, Comrade Colonel.”

Fiebig nodded. He turned to the ops officer, “Find out casualties, and start looking for another command site. We may have to move ourselves, even if we're not bombed or shelled.”

“Yes, Comrade Colonel.”

“And you, Major,” the Colonel said. “When will they come in force?”

“Before first light, Comrade Colonel. They know attacking into the sun isn't a good idea, so they'll come in the predawn hours,” the intelligence officer said.

“Perhaps. Or they'll wait until it's fully light out.”


2250 Hours: Gulf Front Headquarters, San Benito Community College.


Malinsky stood in front of his operations map. So far, things were stabilizing, and he'd been pleasantly surprised. He half expected Powell to unleash his more aggressive corps and division commanders, but no. Though Powell was much more aggressive than the Soviets expected, he was keeping things firmly in hand, it appeared. That did fit the Powell the Soviets knew-someone who was not rash, and was concerned for the lives of the men and women under his command. Though if the opportunity for bold action should present itself, Powell was not above taking those opportunities-witness the Second Battle of Houston in 1988. And Malinsky knew that if the East Germans-or the Cuban 2nd Army-collapsed, Powell would turn those quickly to his advantage. Then General Isakov arrived. “Comrade General,”

“Good evening, Isakov. I see you've made it.”

“Yes, Comrade General. It was more of an adventure than I would have preferred, but the rest of the staff has now arrived,” Isakov said.

“And enemy aircraft made it quite the adventure?” Malinsky asked.

“Quite so, Comrade General,” Isakov said. “A-10s, A-7s, even old A-4s-where they found those, the air force people have no idea, but we were bombed and strafed several times. And we took casualties, Comrade General.”

“Which shows the Air Force has totally lost any kind of even local air control,” Malinsky observed. “A very painful lesson indeed.”

“Yes, Comrade General,” Isakov agreed. “I've been able to keep up, however, with some developments. The Cuban 2nd Army and the East Germans, especially.”

“Those two are the two formations I'm most worried about,” Malinsky admitted. “The East Germans are in the worst shape, and they're getting ground down with each hour, it seems.”

“Given that they have managed to keep themselves in the fight, even after all that's happened in Germany, I'm surprised. But Metzler's Political Department has kept things under control, however,” Isakov said. “However, it's the Cuban 2nd Army that should give us the most concern.”

“Correct. One division has been overwhelmed, and another division badly mauled trying to relieve them. Not to mention a whole armored brigade being annihilated trying the same thing. That leaves the Army spread thin. And I'm also wondering if Fidel Castro's telling his commanders something: the Cubans still have some communications with Havana, the liaison officers say.” Malinsky said.


2310 Hours: Soviet Headquarters, Brownsville

General Yuri Dodorov, Alekseyev's Chief of Intelligence, sat in his office. It had been a while since he'd handled an interrogation personally, but with the end approaching, handing this chore over to those who usually handled such things was probably not a good idea, so he decided to see to this one personally. And the way things were going, this prisoner's time in captivity was likely to be short, and in a few days, maybe a week at the most, she'd be back in the cockpit. Fortunes of war, he mused. He did remember several times interrogating high-ranking American officers, including the commander of the 2nd Armored Division back in 1985, when that unit had been caught too spread out and badly mauled. One general to another had been his approach, although the results were mixed. Now, the captive was one of the Americans' female pilots, and a naval one at that. Then the door knocked. It was his aide. “Comrade General, the prisoner is here, as instructed.”

“Thank you, Vassily Petrovich. Wait outside, please.” Dudorov replied.

Nodding, the aide stood aside as a guard entered, followed by the prisoner, still in her flight suit. The guard saluted and left, and the aide did so, closing the door on his way out. The woman stood in front of Durdorov, waiting for him to get things started. And she didn't have long to wait.

“I am General Dudorov. Please, be seated, Commander. I have your name and rank from those who captured you. It's a pity, though,” Dudorov said.

Commander Carlisle sat down, with a confused look on her face. “A pity?”

“Yes, the sailors who captured you are now more than likely dead. Their ship was bombed after you left, and it's now a burning wreck,” Dudorov said.

“They were sailors, and took a sailor's chance,” she replied.

“That is one way of saying things: I assume that if you were in a different branch of the service, it would be the same.”

“Something like that,” she responded. “I should tell you that under the Geneva Convention, all I can give you is name, rank, number and date of birth. You should have that already, so that's all you're going to get.”

Dudorov nodded. “Normally, I'd be telling you that we have people who can get whatever information is desired, by whatever means necessary, but that's a waste of time. All I want to know is when is the final offensive going to occur, and will there be a Marine landing? There had to be a reason you were photographing South Padre Island, after all.”

Commander Carlisle sat there, motionless. Then she said, “That destroyer may have had something to do with it.”

“That's all? I think not, Commander,” Dudorov responded.

“General, you can think whatever want. I don't know anything about a landing, nor the final offensive. If you're interested in those, watch CNN.” Carlisle said.

Dudorov knew she was right. Someone with that knowledge would not be risked over enemy territory, no matter what. He knew that this would be a waste of time, but handing her over to the interrogation specialists, who would not hesitate to use physical and....other means to get what was desired was not a good option. Not with things going the way they were. And he had an idea. Something that General Alekseyev might approve. “Wait here. I'll be back. “ And Dudorov got up and left his office. His aide was outside.

“Comrade General?”

“Find a vacant office-this used to be a faculty office building, after all. When I return, see that she's taken there, fed, and made comfortable. She may be useful to us later on.” Dudorov said. “And see that there's a guard on her door at all times. Only General Alekseyev, myself, or someone so designated by either of us is to have access to her. Is that understood?”

“Exactly so, Comrade General,” the aide responded.

“I'll be seeing General Alekseyev, Carry on, Major, and when I return, I expect you to carry out the orders I've just issued.”

Dudorov then went to the Operations Room. General Alekseyev was there, along with General Chibisov. “Comrade General,” Dudorov reported.

“Ah, Yuri,” Alekseyev said. “Anything from our guest?”

“No, Comrade General, and resorting to any physical methods would be a waste of time. And as we've found out, they're counterproductive in any event. I wonder if our Vietnamese comrades ever discovered that in 1965-69? As far as I know, she has no knowledge of when the final offensive will start, nor of any amphibious landings.”

“You're sure of that?” Alekseyev said.

“Yes, Comrade General, I am. Someone with that knowledge would not be risked over enemy territory. I imagine our Air Force Comrades would not risk someone with such knowledge on a routine mission, and in any event, we'll know soon enough.” Dudorov reported.

“Quite so, Yuri. Quite so,” Alekseyev agreed. “And what do you have in mind for your prisoner?”

“Sending her to a POW compound at this stage might not be the best. She may be useful in some other capacity, as the end approaches,” Dudorov replied.

“How so?” This from Chibisov.

“We'll have to wait until things develop. Until then, she'll be treated well, fed, and made as comfortable as possible. Only General Alekseyev, myself, or anyone designated by the both of us, and you, General Chibisov, will have access to her.”

“Sensible, Dudorov.” Alekseyev said. “I'd like to speak with her later.”

Dudorov nodded. “Of course, Comrade General.”