[Matt Wiser]

And more:


0046 Hours: K-236, The Gulf of Mexico


As K-236 dove for the deep, Captain Padorin was standing next to the sonar room, checking the display. Then he turned to the weapons officer. “Yuri, running time?”

“Less than a minute, Comrade Captain,” replied the weapons officer, checking his stopwatch.


Up above, the ASW Group was busy: not only were they working to prosecute and kill whoever had attacked them, but the Americans were also busy fishing sailors from the water as the frigate Clark had been rapidly reduced to a burning wreck. Her captain and executive officer had both been killed, and it had fallen to the ship's damage-control officer, the highest ranking survivor, to order Abandon Ship. Most of the crew who had survived had left the ship, and had either been picked up by boats launched from other ships, or by helicopter. Only a few were still aboard, making sure there was no one left behind who was still alive.

Aboard the destroyer Scott, a sonar operator checked her display, and then she yelled into her headset. “Torpedoes in the water! Two torpedoes bearing two-one-eight!”

The ships began taking evasive action, and also streamed their Nixie torpedo decoys. If these were Type-65s, they had a fair chance of decoying the torpedoes, even though they were wake-homers. And two ships, Scott and the Farragut-class destroyer Dewey, counterfired torpedoes down the bearing of the incoming weapons. Then the Type-65s found their targets.

Clark never had a chance: one torpedo exploded beneath the hull, just aft of amidships, and the explosion blew the frigate in half. Those who hadn't left the ship were killed, and both halves of the frigate quickly sank. Of 206 crew, 122 either went down with the ship or died of injuries later.

The second Type-65 found the Knox-class frigate Valdez, exploding just past the stern. The big fish's warhead blew the stern off the frigate all the way to the helicopter hangar, and caused extensive shock damage to the rest of the ship. Though the frigate was doomed, she managed to stay afloat long enough for the other ships in the group to conduct rescue operations. Still, of a crew of 282, 74 were lost.


“Two hits, Comrade Captain!” the sonar officer reported.

Padorin turned to the weapons officer. “Well done, Yuri.” The weapons officer nodded as Padorin turned back to the sonar officer. “Any incoming torpedoes?”

“No, Comrade Captain. There were two torpedoes-Mark 46s, apparently-but they've run out of fuel.” the sonar officer said.

“Let's get beneath the layer some more,” Padorin decided. He turned to the diving officer. “Make your depth two hundred and fifty meters, and make turns for ten knots. New course: one-five-zero.”

K-236 settled on the new heading, and slipped away from the hunt taking place astern.


0100 Hours: Cuban 214th Tank Regiment, along U.S. 281, near Rangerville, Texas.

Colonel Herrera woke up with a start. He'd been sleeping in his command vehicle, and unknowingly echoing General Suraykin, he silently thanked whoever it was that had given him a sleeping bag. It was a lot better than just a blanket, and much more comfortable. Herrera looked around at first, then decided to check on things before getting some more sleep. He walked over to the command point was, and found his executive officer keeping watch. “Major.”

“Comrade Colonel, I didn't see you.” the executive officer replied.

“Not to worry Fernando. I just decided to check on how things are before going back to sleep. Anything happening, or are they asleep just as we are?” Herrera asked.

The executive officer shook his head. “Nothing going on, Comrade Colonel. They're asleep, it looks like.”

Herrera went to an observation point, and peered out in the distance with a starlight scope. He knew full well the Americans could see farther with their thermal sights than he could see himself, but what he saw verified the executive officer's report. Herrera went back to the command point, nodding. “Maybe you're right, Fernando. Still, make sure the men on watch are alert.”

“Yes, Comrade Colonel,” the exec replied.

“I'm going to get some more sleep. Wake me if anything develops.” Herrera said, walking back to his command vehicle.

The exec nodded. “It will be done, Comrade Colonel,” the man said.

Herrera nodded, and climbed back into his command BTR-60. The driver was on watch, but the rest of the vehicle's crew was asleep on the ground. He got back into his sleeping bag and went back to sleep.


0120 Hours: Soviet 105th Guards Air Assault Division/41st Independent Tank Regiment, Harlingen, Texas.


Major Butakov peered outside the window of his command post. It was strange, not seeing the tracer duels that had been an hourly occurrence at night, ever since his regiment had arrived and taken up its positions. The occasional crack of a rifle, though, showed that it was still dangerous, for snipers were still active-on both sides, and on occasion, someone's bullet found a target. Other than that, it was eerily
quiet, with no artillery fire, no sounds of tanks or other armored vehicles moving about, in fact, hardly anything at all. And that made him uneasy. Then he crawled into a room away from the shooting and found his regimental staff, still at work. “So, anything new, either from Division, or from the 41st?” he asked his staff.

His deputy replied. “No, Comrade Major, nothing. But so far, it's like this all over the front, and not just with Division. It's happening everywhere along the line, from what Division has said.”

“They're up to something. I can feel it.” Butakov said, and he saw his chief of staff-along with his deputy, nod. “But what?”

“That, Comrade Commander, we don't know. Without any prisoners....” his intelligence officer said, his voice trailing off.

“I know. They're probably resting up, and getting ready for the morning. They'll be coming down both Highway 77 and Highway 83, and they'll be out for blood,” Butakov said. He turned to his supply officer. “How much is left?”

“Comrade Commander, we have one unit of fire for all regimental weapons. That's all we have. When that's gone,”

“When that's gone, so are we,” Butakov said, and the supply officer nodded. “Talk to Division again. See if we can't get some airdrops close to our position in the morning. Find out if those Air Force blockheads are willing to do whatever it takes to keep us fighting.”

The chief of staff nodded. “Yes, Comrade Major.”

A runner then came into the command post. “Comrade Commander, Colonel Chesnikov wants to see you right away.”

Butakov nodded, and went to follow the runner. Both managed to get to where the command point for the 41st Tank Regiment was, and Colonel Chesnikov was there, sitting beside his T-80. “Comrade Commander, Major Butakov,” the runner said as he reported.

Chesnikov stood up. “Major, Glad to see you still alive,”

“And you, Comrade Colonel. May I ask why I'm here?” Butakov asked.

“You may. How soon can you be ready for all-around defense?” Chesnikov wanted to know.

“Not that long, Comrade Colonel,” was the reply.

“Good. Now, I've got my channel to Army headquarters, and they're worried about the possibility we may get outflanked. It's not likely, but possible, nonetheless. Just be ready in case we have to conduct an all-around defense.” Chesnikov said.

Butakov nodded. “We'll be ready, Comrade Colonel. But whether or not we'll have a lot to fight with...”

“I know, Major. My regiment's in the same position. We've shot off half of our ammunition, and haven't been able to restock from regimental supply due to those aircraft and helicopters. With this lull, maybe we can. If not...my orders are to fight with what I've got left.” said Chesnikov.

Butakov understood what that meant. Fight to the last round, then, and only then, one could give up. Not before. “Is there anything else, Comrade Colonel?”

“No. Just watch the right, and the rear. If it appears we're being pocketed, call it out on the radio. Don't worry about code, just do it in plain language. Get it out-fast.” Chesnikov said.

Butakov saluted and headed back to his command post. And this time, he barely made it back, for twice, snipers took shots at him and they'd barely missed.

0200 Hours: Brownsville/South Padre Island International Airport.

General Petrov woke up from a fitful sleep. He'd been camped out in his office, sleeping on a cot, and had been asleep for four hours, when a staff officer came in. “Comrade General, this just came for you,” the man said as Petrov woke up.

“What is it?” he asked groggily.

“Comrade General, I suggest you read the message,” the staffer said, handing Petrov a message form.

Petrov took it and read it by flashlight. “All right. When do they expect to be here?”

“Comrade General, perhaps a second message will tell us. All we were told was to expect some Mi-26s in from Mexico this morning.”

The Mi-26 was the largest transport helicopter in the world-just beating out the American CH-53E for that honor. And it could carry 85 troops or plenty of supplies. Oh, there'd been numerous helicopter flights into and out of the pocket, mainly Mi-8s or Mi-17s, but no heavy lift like the Mi-6 or the Mi-26. Now, for whatever reason, there would be the heavy lifters coming in. And Petrov knew that those would be easy and tempting targets for American fighters, no doubt about it. “Very well,” Petrov said. “Notify our Frontal Aviation comrades in Victoria and Monterrey. See if they can't get some fighter sorties to cover the helicopter lift.”

“Right away, Comrade General.”

“And one other thing,” Petrov said.

The staffer stopped. “Comrade General?”

“Specialists are priority for those going out via the helicopter lifts. Is that clear?” Petrov asked.

“It is, Comrade General,” the staffer responded.

“Good. Now, unless there's an attack, I'm going back to sleep. Wake me at 0400 if there's no attacks,” Petrov ordered.

“Yes, Comrade General,” the staffer said, closing the office door behind him.

Well, now. Thank you, Lukin. We never did know why the helicopters weren't used earlier, but now.....but it's not going to be enough. Another 'too little and too late' item we should've done from the start. At least some of those who need to get out of here will get that chance. Now, will this be our Saigon, or will it still turn out to be a bloodbath in the sky, Petrov thought.