[Matt Wiser]

And the clock keeps ticking for the Russians and their Cuban lackeys:


2315 Hours: 4th Guards Tank Army Headquarters, Harlingen, Texas.

General Suraykin looked at the message form. So he was now a Colonel-General? Well, at least if he was killed, his family in Smolensk could expect a bigger pension, and his sons could expect to get into whatever Military College they chose, but that was the only good thing about his sudden promotion. He'd also found out that all of his divisional commanders had been promoted one grade, as had a couple of his senior officers: his operations officer and his intelligence officer. Shrugging that off, he went from his command vehicle to where his operations people had set up their maps and work space. There, he found his Chief of Staff, Golvoko.

“Congratulations, Comrade General, on your promotion,” Golvoko said.

“It's also an invitation to swallow a pistol and then pull the trigger,” Suraykin observed. “Moscow doesn't want who knows how many general officers going into American captivity when this is over.”

“I imagine that was foremost on their minds,” Golvoko observed.

“Yes. Now, what's going on with the 105th Guards Airborne, and 52nd Tanks?”

“So far, the airborne's holding. Though American helicopter gunships-those Apaches-have been active, ripping up the division's rear area and have eliminated most of their combat vehicles.” Golvoko said.

“Which means it'll be literally building-to-building and room-to-room,” Suraykin noted.

“Yes, Comrade General.” Golvoko said.

“And 52nd Tanks?” Suraykin asked.

“Holding, but barely. Even with 6th Guards Motor-Rifle supporting them.” Golvoko said.

“Not for long, Golvoko.” Suraykin noted. “If they go, that's an easy way to outflank the 105th Guards Airborne.”

“Move the counterattack force?” asked Golvoko.

“No, not yet. I want to know where to commit it, first. And even if we put out one fire, there's likely to be two more coming up, and that means trouble,” Suraykin noted.


2335 Hours: K-236, The Gulf of Mexico:

Captain Padorin led several officers into the torpedo room. And right behind them, with Security Officer Shelpin pushing him forward with a pistol in his back, was Zirinsky, the Zampolit. The torpedo officer and his men were there, and they had opened Tube six, one of the 65-centimeter tubes. Normally, they launched Type-65 torpedoes, or the 86R/88R ASW standoff weapons (NATO SS-N-16 Stallion), but now, they would also launch something else. Captain Padorin, the Starpom, Chief Engineer Guriev, and several other officers were present as Shelpin shoved Zirnsky to the waiting torpedo tube. Then the Captain spoke.

“Zirinsky, you have been charged with attempted mutiny, which is a capital offense. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Only that I did my duty. As the ship's political officer, it is my responsibility to relieve the commanding officer if he is failing in his duty to the State.” Zirinsky said.

“On the contrary, when you sound out other officers as well as warrant officers, that indicates a mutiny was your real plan. Do you have anything to say in response to this?” Padorin asked.

“I....I only wanted to know how they would feel if you were to be relieved, nothing more!” wailed Zirinsky.

Padorin turned to the other officers. “How many here were so approached by the prisoner? A show of hands, please.” And eight hands shot up.

Seeing this, Zirinsky turned pale. He was sweating profusely, as Paddorin asked the next question: “And how many can say truthfully that he was advocating or soliciting mutiny?” Again, all eight hands rose.

Captain Padorin then said, “Let the record show that these officers so reported that Zampolit Zirinsky was soliciting mutiny. This is a capital crime under Soviet Military Law, and based on the evidence, I find him guilty as charged.”

“NO!” Zirinsky wailed. Then he went into hysterics, sobbing uncontrollably. Shelpin then stuffed a rag into his mouth to stop his wailing, then nodded to Guriev.

The Chief Engineer then smacked Zirinsky on the head several times with a large wrench. He did so until blood came from Zirinsky's ears, eyes, and nose. However, he was still alive, if unconscious. “Shall I finish him, Comrade Captain?”

“No.” Padorin said. He nodded to the torpedo officer and his men. “Put him in that tube.”

The torpedomen did so, closing and sealing the tube when finished. “Tube ready, Comrade Captain.”

“Good.” Padorin said, nodding. “We're finished here. Back to your posts.”

The group broke up and returned to their duty stations. Padorin, the Starpom, and Shelpin went back to the CCP. As they did so, the officer of the watch shouted. “Captain in CCP!”

“Carry on,” Padorin said. He turned to the weapons officer. “Yuri, flood tube six, and open outer doors.”

“Comrade Captain,” he nodded. The Weapons Officer now knew who was in that tube. After a minute, he reported. “Tube ready in all respects, Captain.”

“Fire.”

And with that, Zirinsky left K-236. Padorin then entered in the log that the Political Officer had met with a tragic accident while in the engineering spaces, and his body had been disposed of at sea.


0005 Hours, 3 September 1989; Gulf Front Headquarters, San Benito Community College

“Congratulations on your promotion, Comrade General,” General Isakov told Malinsky.

“Full General. Hmph. I wish Moscow had just instead decided to send us a few more planeloads of supplies,” Malinsky said. “A lot of good those mass promotions do us. Now, what's happening with 28th Army?”

Isakov pointed to the map. “General Dimitriov reports that a division not previously known to be with XVIII Airborne Corps has now been identified: it's the 7th Armored Division, last known to be with VI Corps with Schwartzkopf's Fifth Army.”

Malinsky frowned. One of Schwartzkopf's best divisions down here already? “He's sure of that?”

“Yes, Comrade General. No prisoners, but his Spetsnatz company brought back a couple of bodies, and they had the shoulder patch of the 7th Armored.” Isakov said.

“Where was this?” Malinsky asked.

Isakov pointed to the map. “Right here, at the Rio Grande Valley International Airport, and near our old headquarters.”

“So. Either Powell's asking for help.....” Malinsky thought out loud.

“Or, Comrade General, he's had that division all along, and has only now committed it.” Isakov said, finishing the thought.

“More than likely, the latter,” Malinsky said. “What's Dimitriov doing to counter the penetration?”

“He's committed his last reserve: the 120th Guards Motor-Rifle.” Isakov said. The 120th “Rogachev” Guards Motor-Rifle Division was considered prewar to have been one of the best divisions in the entire Soviet Army. Its combat career in North America had been stellar, though it had been shot to pieces at Wichita, and had been rebuilt twice more since. Still, its reputation preceded it, and even now, it was one of the most respected units in the Army.

“They're in for a fight, Isakov,” Malinsky commented. “The 7th Armored Division is one of Schwartzkopf's best. And, as I recall, they were the first to receive the M-60A4 with the 120 millimeter gun.”

“Yes, Comrade General. They took the 249th Motor-Rifle Division apart, and could threaten Suraykin's right flank.”

“Warn Suraykin, if you haven't already.” Malinsky said.

“Already done, Comrade General,” Isakov said. “However, that puts whatever counterattack that Suraykin has in mind to support the 105th Guards Airborne in danger.”


0020 Hours: 8th Guards Tank Regiment, 20th Guards Tank Division, 4th GTA, near Harlingen, Texas

Major Krylov sat in his T-80K command tank. Normally, in the regiment, he would be in his command vehicle, directing the battle, but now, he decided to take over any counterattack his regiment mounted personally. Instead, his deputy commander would run things at the regimental command point, while he led his men into battle one more time. And this time, he knew full well from what the divisional commander had told him and the other regimental commanders, it would likely be their last battle.

Krylov had been commanding the regiment since the previous summer. Though the division had not seen serious combat since an attack in support of the failed Midland-Odessa offensive, he and his men were almost all veterans. Krylov had also made sure that his men conducted themselves in a manner befitting that of a Guards unit, and that their conduct towards the civilian population reflect that. It also ensured that his regiment had more guerrilla attacks that spring in support of the American Spring Offensive than any other in the division.

Now, his regiment was on standby to move out. An American breakthrough to the northeast was threatening the right flank of the Army, and threatened to split the 4th GTA from the 28th Army entirely. Though the Americans could see better in the dark than he or his men could, it was hoped that the factors of surprise and of numbers, especially if the full division was sent in, could restore the situation. For a while, anyway, or so the divisional commander hoped. And they'd be facing the M-60A4s-the hybrid of a tank with an M-60 chassis and an M-1 turret. Though slow, they were deadly, and his regiment had had a few encounters with them in the past year.

“Comrade Major,” his deputy radioed. “We're getting a warning order.”

“Very well,” Krylov called back. And he got his radio onto the division's frequency. And he didn't have long to wait.

“All Volga Units, this is Kuban Ten,” the divisional commander radioed. “Move out. Objective is the Rio Grande Valley International Airport.”

Krylov switched to the regiment's radio. “All units, this is Dagger One. Move out.”

And with that, the regiment's tanks cranked up their engines and began to move. The division was headed right for the Americans, and they wouldn't know what hit them. Memories of their past successes in 1985-86, where Krylov had been a company commander, came back. We may be down, Yankees, but you haven't won yet. Just you wait and see, he thought, as the 20th Tanks headed into battle one more time.