[Matt Wiser]

And some more:


1915 Hours: Headquarters, 4th Guards Tank Army, Harlingen, Texas

To General Suraykin, it was obvious that the front lines were coming closer to him. Artillery fire was falling nearby, and the warehouse where his command vehicles were parked shook from the concussion. Aircraft could still be heard overhead, and even attack helicopters were in the area, for a battalion from the 105th Guards had reported an attack by AH-64s, and had lost nearly all of their combat and support vehicles. Still, his forces were holding, if only just. Then General Golvoko, his Chief of Staff, came to him. “Comrade General.”

“Yes, Golvoko?”

“Message from 24th Tanks; 'General Markov killed in action. Division's Executive Officer, Colonel Duzhov, now in command.'”, Golvoko reported.

“He's the first division commander to fall in this fight, Golvoko,” Suraykin observed. “Nor will he be the last.” He'd seen worse: at Midland-Odessa, that fight had eaten divisional commanders like a wolf ate rabbits.

“Any further instructions, Comrade General?” Golvoko asked.

“Just remind Duzhov to hold fast as long as possible, and use whatever resources are available to counterattack if the opportunity permits,” Suraykin said.

“Yes, Comrade General,” Golvoko said. “I've been lighting a fire under the Air Force: they'll try some night attacks with Su-24s, though how successful they'll be, even they're not sure.”

“At least it's something, Golvoko,” Suraykin said. “Think again, of the infantrymen and tank crews out there in the dark. Just the sound of friendly aircraft at night will help their morale.”

“Quite so, Comrade General,” Golvoko agreed.

“Now, has XVIII Airborne Corps committed all of their units?”

Golvoko went to the map. “We're still not sure. Though aviation elements from the 101st Air Assault Division are in action, none of the three air assault brigades have been identified. And for certain: not a sign of the 82nd Airborne Division, anywhere.”

Suraykin scowled at that report. With two elite divisions not in combat, that meant that whoever commanded XVIII Airborne Corps could use those two units to either block his retreat, reinforce the units fighting in Harlingen, or worse, coordinate with some other action-an amphibious threat was what General Malinsky had told him-that could seal the end of the campaign very quickly. “Keep trying to pin them down, Golvoko. If that means sending what's left of our Spetsnatz company on a deep reconnaissance mission, so be it.”

“With no helicopters available, Comrade General, they'd have to try getting in via gaps in enemy lines, and they'd have no way back,” Golvoko reminded his army commander.

“I know. But if we have to, so be it,” Suraykin said. He turned to face Golvoko. “Put them on a four-hour notice for an operation.”


1940 Hours: K-236, The Gulf of Mexico

Captain Padorin and several of his officers were enjoying a meal in the wardroom. Though the boat kept Moscow Time, as did all Soviet submarines, he considered it a very late dinner. A quick check of a clock showed what local time was, and he knew his opponents would also likely be enjoying their own meals right now. Though talk had been muted previously, that was no longer the case, once the subject of their conversation had finished eating and left.

“So our dear Comrade Zirinsky has spoken to all of you?” Padorin asked.

Heads nodded, The group not only included the Starpom, Chief Engineer, and the Security Officer, but the weapons officer, and two other engineering officers. One of the latter spoke, “Captain, I may be out of line here, but the man's an example of what's gone on in Moscow; common sense has given way to ideology.”

“You're not out of line, I assure you,” Padorin responded.

“If Moscow had had any common sense, we wouldn't have been in this war, anyway,” the Chief Engineer reminded everyone, and everyone nodded. Even the Security Officer.

“Zirinsky's spoken to me twice, and not only my assistant, but the officer-in-charge of the torpedo room,” the weapons officer said.

“That's it, then.” the Security Officer said. “He's spoken to a majority of officers on this boat. Some more than once, at least.”

“And the subject is the same: mutiny,” the Starpom reminded everyone.

“Being a devoted political officer is one thing, Comrades,” Padorin said. “And we've all served with Zampolits who care for the welfare of the crew-both officers and enlisted. Zirinsky, however, is something else entirely.”

“An old-school Commissar from the days of the Great Patriotic War,” the Starpom commented.

“Exactly,” Padorin said. He turned to Shelpin, the Security Officer. “Has he spoken to any of the warrant officers-other than the weapons and helm?”

“No, Comrade Captain. I'm very sure of that.” Shelpin replied.

And Captain Padorin knew that anything Shelpin said could be considered accurate. “All right. Let's wait until he does something very stupid. Like trying to second-guess a combat-related decision. Then he'll find himself in the Gulf of Mexico, via a torpedo tube. Whether or not he's alive when placed in such tube is up to him.” Padorin decided. “And the patrol report will note that he died of a sudden illness, and was buried at sea.”


2000 Hours: The junction of U.S. 77 and U.S. 83, Harlingen, Texas

Colonel Romanenko's headquarters shook under the relentless artillery fire. The Americans weren't fooling around, and after an initial probing attack had been repulsed by his paratroopers, the Americans were following an old dictum: ammunition is cheaper than human life. And now, both 105-mm and 155-mm shells were falling on his positions, and those of the two adjacent regiments. And Romanenko noticed one thing almost immediately: the American gunners were firing without fear of Soviet counter-battery fire. The shortages of ammunition, along with the elimination of both direction-finding stations and of counter-battery radars, meant that American gunners could throw shells into the pocket without fear of Soviet or Cuban artillery fire in response. Though shells for his own 122-mm and 85-mm guns were plentiful, he was low on Grad rockets and mortar rounds. Not to mention that though drop zones for supplies had been marked, no drops had occurred near his positions. Lovely.

“Major,” Romanenko said to his chief of staff, “Get me General Gordonov at divisional headquarters.”

“Right away, Comrade Colonel.”

A few moments later, the chief of staff handed him the phone. “General Gordonov, Comrade Colonel.”

“Yes, Colonel?” the divisional commander asked.

“Comrade General, is there any chance of a supply drop tonight? We're running low on Grad rockets and mortar rounds. And we can use some more small-arms ammunition.”

“The Air Force says it's impossible. No air drops again until first light,” Gordonov said. “I don't like it any more than you do, but there it is.”

“I understand, Comrade General,” Romanenko said.

“Now, have you identified those in front of you?”

“Yes, Comrade General. They're the 29th Light Infantry Division. We don't have any prisoners, but found their patch on several bodies.” Romanenko told his divisional commander.

“All right: just hold on, Colonel. General Suraykin at 4th Guards Tank Army is hoping to move a tank division for a counterattack at your location.”

“Comrade General, I suggest you inform the Army Commander that may not be a good thing to do. We've spotted AH-64s in the area, looking for armor to shoot up. And if they don't, they're finding our positions and putting rockets, gunfire, and those Hellfire missiles on us. They're very unpleasant,” Romanenko said.

“Apaches or not, that counterattack may have to go in anyway. Do your best, Colonel.” And with that, the divisional commander hung up.

“If those Apaches really get involved here, we're in for it,” the chief of staff observed. “We're down to only ZU-23s and maybe a few Strelas for anti-air defense.”

Romanenko nodded. He also knew the other two regiments were in the same dire straits he was. “At least they can't use their A-10s at night.”

Unknown to Romanenko, several A-10s were out over his regiment. Using their AGM-65 Maverick missiles, and carrying flare pods in lieu of some ordnance, they were out looking for any reinforcing armor or other traffic headed to the front. And one pair of A-10s found his regiment's supply dump.

A very large explosion rocked the headquarters, throwing Romanenko and his staff to the floor. Picking themselves up, men were asking “What was that?” Then a staff officer went outside. “Comrade Colonel!”

“Yes?”

The officer pointed just to the south, maybe half a kilometer from their location, where several explosions were still going off. “We'll need those supply drops,” Romanenko observed. He turned to the Chief of Staff: “Get that request off to the Air Force for drops at first light.”


2010 Hours: Soviet Headquarters, Brownsville.

General Alekseyev and Colonel Segetov were briefing their courier, Major Arkady Sorokin. “You do realize, Major, just how important your mission is?” Alekseyev asked.

“I do, Comrade General.”

“Good. When you get to Moscow, first brief Minister Sergetov. There's several other ministers, candidate Politburo members for the most part, who need to be briefed on this as well,” Alekseyev said.

“Why not Marshal Akrohmayev?” Sorokin asked.

“Right now, it's the political leadership who needs to know first. They got us into this mess, and those Party bosses in Moscow need to know what the consequences of that are,” Alekseyev said. “Though the Marshal was not in favor of going to war. He's the only voice of sanity on the Defense Council. And he's been urging a way out ever since last year,” Alekseyev told the Major.

“It's similar to what German officers at Stalingrad reported,” Sorokin reminded his superiors. “You will recall that a number of German officers were flown out as couriers, and though generals like Manstein, von Richthofen, and Milch, were more than willing to listen, Hitler, and those in his court, were not.”

“Yes, and this may go the same way. Still, we have to try. And I'll be frank, Major. If General Suraykin doesn't hold out, Malinsky's front may very well come apart. And then it's all over. Without an American airborne or amphibious attack. If he does hold, then Powell could unleash the Airborne and Marines.” Alekseyev said. “Either way, it's over in a few days, unless there's a massive infusion of supplies, and that's not likely to happen.”

Then Colonel Sergetov handed the Major his orders, along with a packet.. “Major, here's your pass out of here. The packet holds copies of key documents, including reports on the convoys and supply by air. Compare what was promised and what was actually delivered, and emphasize that in your briefings in Moscow. There's also some photographs, and a few videotapes, showing conditions in the perimeter, especially those in the hospitals.”

“I've seen them; calling them bad would be an understatement, Comrade Colonel.”

“All too true, sad to say,” Alekseyev said. He handed another paper to Sorokin. “Give this to General Petrov. He's to give you any information he has on the actual airlift operation proper. Then get yourself onto a plane out of here. Havana if at all possible, but if Mexico City proves to be necessary, take the chance. Right now, the airlift is problematic at best, with attrition on bad days being two out of three. A good day has only one in three not getting in.”

“Understood, Comrade General. If you have private messages for family, I will take them with me,” Sorokin said.

“Better. I'll have the staff do so as well. Pick them up before you leave.” Alekseyev told the Major.

“Certainly, Comrade General,” Sorokin said.

“Good. Your final staff briefing here is at 0500 local time.” Alekseyev said. And as Sorokin nodded and got up to leave, Alekseyev had one more thing to say. “Major: good luck. Not only tomorrow in getting out, but when you get to Moscow.”