[Matt Wiser]

And more:


0630 Hours: Cuban 214th Tank Regiment, along U.S. 281, near Rangerville, Texas.

Colonel Herrera was on the radio to 2nd Army Headquarters. And he did not like what he was hearing. The Americans had launched what was likely to be their final assault, but so far, had only hit selected areas of the front. General Perez told him that there had been a major attack at the junction of the Army and 3rd Shock Army, and that both the Cubans and Russians were giving way. “How long can you continue to delay?” Perez had asked. And Herrera replied, “Most of the day, Comrade General. If you want me to make a stand, however....there's nothing between us and Brownsville.”

“That's what I was afraid of, Colonel. Continue to delay. And keep at it as long as possible. There's several ribbon bridges between you and Brownsville, and right now, all traffic is headed south. Keep delaying the Americans as long as you can.” Perez said.

“We'll do just that, Comrade General.” Herrera replied.

“What's your supply situation?” Perez asked.

“Adequate at the moment, and we've even helped ourselves to the contents of a few wrecked supply convoys. The only thing we're short of is any kind of air-defense assets.” Herrera told the General.

“Keep it up, Colonel, and let us know if your position becomes untenable. Out.”

Herrera put down the radio and went over to the map. He turned to his deputy. “Fernando, we're in for it. This position is good, but we'll be falling back before too long.”

The deputy looked at the map. The intelligence officer had finally noted the identity of the American unit they'd been facing: it was part of the 49th Armored Division, and the Cubans knew that this division, having been rebuilt since its mauling during the initial invasion in 1985, was out for blood. “With what we know about this American unit, Comrade Colonel, we certainly are in for it.”

Herrera paused. “What's the unit?”

The deputy looked at the map,then at Colonel Herrera. “The 49th Armored Division, Comrade Colonel.”

Herrera noted that. “I see, well..... We're to continue this delaying action as long as we possibly can. Tell Major Murayev to have the outposts he's put out fully alerted.”

“Right away, Comrade Colonel,” the deputy replied.

Herrera looked at the map again. From what General Perez had told him, the Army was beginning to fall back-and it might soon be in need of a rearguard. Nothing different than what he'd been doing the last couple of days, he knew. “Get our regimental reconnaissance out between our positions and Murayev's outposts. And make sure they're doing things blatantly: I want the Americans to see them, and call down fire. As the fire drops, they're to pull back. And have our own guns ready to fire. Three rounds per gun, then get moving before that Firefinder radar zeroes in on us. We'll pull back to position Foxtrot on my order. Is that clear?”

Heads nodded. “Yes, Comrade Colonel!” the chief of staff said.


To the north, Captain Nancy Kozak's people had been up for over an hour. Her people had had a breakfast of MREs, and were now ready to move. But her company team had no orders as yet, and her battalion commander was still waiting on brigade. One of her tank platoon leaders, though, had noticed something: some activity around a burned-out house on the east side of the road, and more movement near a bridge on a local road that intersected the highway. When she received the report, Kozak suspected another ambush, and requested artillery fire on the suspect locations. That request was not granted, and soon, she found out why. F-111s came over, four of them, at medium altitude, and each plane unloaded two dozen bombs on the Cuban position to her front.

Colonel Herrera and his regiment only had a minute's warning of the incoming raid, and the order to take cover had been given. Unfortunately for the Cubans, they had no remaining heavy air-defense weapons, and the F-111s had a free ride, each dropping two dozen five hundred-pound bombs on the Cuban positions. Several tanks and APCs were hit, along with two more of his 2S1 122-mm howitzers, and his motor-rifle battalion took many casualties. Picking himself up after the raid, Herrera turned to his chief of staff. “It could've been a lot worse.”

“How so, Comrade Colonel?” the man asked.

“We're still in shape to fight. Four F-111s? Not enough. If they'd hit us with B-52s, though....Get the men ready to fight, and have Murayev get one of his battalions in alongside our motor-rifle battalion, quickly!” Herrera said.


0650 Hours: Gulf Front Headquarters, San Benito Community College.


General Malinsky looked at his map, and his operations officer was changing dispositions in front of his eyes. The Americans had struck all along the front, striking hard at selected points. The Cuban 1st Army had been hit by II MAF, and had been forced to give ground-almost to the F.M. 106 road and the Laguna Atascosa, and 28th Army had to do the same: they'd been hit at the boundary between their army and 4th Guards Tank Army-by elements of XVIII Airborne Corps, and had to fall back to avoid being outflanked. Suraykin's Army had been hit again at the Rio Grande Valley Airport, and the 38th Tank Division was in its own fight for survival.

As a staff officer came up with a message form, Malinsky took a look at 8th Guards Army: they had been hit at the junction with 3rd Shock-and 3rd Shock and the Cuban 2nd Army had also been hit hard. The Americans had unleashed both VIII and XII Corps, and Malinsky's left flank was now in trouble. And he had no reserves left, simple as that. He'd told his commanders just that-and they'd have to scrape together whatever could be found to fill that role. Then the staffer came up. “Yes?” Malinsky asked.

“Comrade General, the Americans have landed Marines on the coast.”

“Show me,” Malinsky ordered.

The staffer pointed to the eastern terminus of Highway 4. “Right here, Comrade General.”

Malinsky nodded. “The most likely beach, and there's not much we can do about it.”

“I'm afraid so, Comrade General. Marshal Alekseyev's reserve is moving to contest the landing-out of range of naval gunfire-it should be noted.”

Malinsky nodded. “I'd rather we had that tank brigade, but that's not likely. All right: be prepared to withdraw, but not until I've spoken with Marshal Alekseyev.” He turned to Isakov, his chief of staff. “Send that advance party to the Rancho Viejo High School at once, and get a new headquarters ready.”

Isakov looked at the map, then at his Front Commander. “At once, Comrade General.”


0705 Hours: 369th Coastal-Defense Missile Battalion, Boca Chica Beach, Texas.

Captain Kokarev peered out the observation slit of his bunker. What he saw both amazed and dismayed him. The Americans had put Marines ashore, and they were busy cleaning out the remnants of the penal battalion that had garrisoned the beach. Of the guard company, they were nowhere to be seen, and had either taken to their heels, or had been caught by the naval gunfire and wiped out.

Now, the Americans were landing follow-on waves of Marines and their heavy equipment, even as the remnants of the penal battalion were cleaned up. And those Marines were moving inland. Kokarev turned to his deputy, whose left arm was in a sling-he'd been wounded during the bombardment of the battalion's positions. “How many do we have who are fit to fight?” Kokarev asked.

“About two hundred, Comrade Captain,” the deputy responded. “Not counting some wounded who can still hold a rifle.”

“Any heavy weapons left?” Kokarev wanted to know.

“Nothing. Just our rifles and some hand grenades. That's it.”

“That's it, then. We haven't been relieved, and our orders are clear in the event of a landing: fight as infantry if our missile launchers are knocked out.” Kokarev reminded his deputy.

“Fight with what?” the deputy asked. “A couple hundred rifles and some grenades aren't going to hold the Americans for very long.”

“We'll do our duty, that's what we'll do. Enough of this defeatist talk. Get to the men, and I'll be right behind you.” Kokarev ordered.

The deputy turned to leave the bunker, then he turned and faced Kokarev again. “I'm not dying on this beach. If you have any sense, you'd come to that realization.”

“You are talking treason. I remind you of your duty.” Kokarev sneered.

“My duty now is to these men. And you know what that means.” the deputy shot back.

Kokarev went for his AKM rifle, but the deputy was quicker with his pistol. The man stood over the corpse and spat on Kokarev's body, before picking up some white cloth that a medic had used to get his arm in the sling. Returning to the men, he threw his pistol away, and they waited for the Marines to come. Shortly thereafter, the first Marines did arrive, and the deputy formally surrendered the 369th to a very astonished platoon leader, whose company commander had told his men to expect a tough fight on the beach.


0715 Hours: Soviet Headquarters, Brownsville.


Marshal Alekseyev frowned as he studied the operations map. Clearly, this was it, Powell's final assault, and the Americans weren't holding anything back. And as expected, there had been a Marine landing, and all contact with the coastal defenses had been lost. Three battleships had been bombarding the beach defenses, and though a penal unit along with some provisional infantry units drawn from engineers, chemical defense, and air defense troops, had been holding the beach, they had been overwhelmed by the bombardment and then by the Marine landing. Now, it was up to Andreyev's grouping to try and contain the landing, before the terrain permitted a Marine breakout inland. What was now also possible was a helicopter assault not only on the Brownsville airport, but also at Port Isabel, to seal off South Padre Island.

Now, he'd just gotten off the phone with Malinsky, and had authorized the Front Commander to begin pulling back his more exposed units. That included both 28th Army and the Cuban 1st Army on the right, and 8th Guards and 3rd Shock on the left. The Cuban 2nd Army was still hanging on, but soon, they'd be pulling back as well. And Malinsky had already begun to set up a final headquarters in the town of Rancho Viejo, just north of Brownsville proper. Alekseyev knew that very soon, Suraykin's 4th Guards Tank Army was going to be cut off, if that thrust coming down from the Rio Grande Valley Airport wasn't held, and things would go from not only bad to worse, but to downright catastrophic. He noticed General Chibisov coming next to him. “Pavel Pavlovitich?”

“Comrade Marshal, this just in from General Petrov. An-124s have made their supply drops. Four aircraft. First aircraft now in. Twelve scheduled, seven arrived.” Chibisov reported.

“I see. Does Petrov have a schedule for getting the Hall government out?” Alekseyev asked. “The Ambassador has been on me twice this morning, asking for their evacuation.”

“Petrov says their aircraft-An-74s and Il-62s, will be here around 1300. He also wants to know if you have those who need to get out from your own headquarters right away. Mi-26s can land here, and can fly out Dudorov's people, for example.” Chibisov said.

“Good, Chibisov. Have the Mi-26s get here as soon as they can. Dudorov and his key personnel are first on the priority list.” Alekseyev decided.

“Speaking of Dudorov, he's identified the Marine unit that's landed. The 24th Marine Regiment, Fourth Marine Division.” Chibisov noted.

“I see. Not the first time they've done this-I believe that division did land during their Gulf Offensive last year. So I'm not surprised.” Alekseyev commented. “It's nearly time.”

“Comrade Marshal?” Chibisov asked.

Alekseyev turned to Colonel Sergetov. “Issue the order: all female service personnel to be evacuated. Gather them up as soon as possible. The headquarters guard battalion can spare a company to protect them, correct?”

“That is so, Comrade Marshal,” Sergetov replied. “Shall I issue that order as well?”

“Do so, Colonel. And have my table set for breakfast. I'll have our prisoner as my guest for the meal, and inform her of what I'd like her to do. Either way, she returns to her own lines today.” said Alekseyev.

“General Dudorov has prepared the safe-conduct pass, as you know, Comrade Marshal. I'll get it from him, with your permission.” Sergetov replied.

“Do so, Colonel. I'll sign it in her presence. Now, once the women leave, I'll inform Moscow. Like it or not, the Defense Council is going to know that this is very likely to be the last day. Unless Major Sorokin has managed to brief any members besides Marshal Akhromayev.” Alekseyev said.

“Unfortunately, Comrade Marshal, I have not heard from the Minister. I believe he is quite busy.” Sergetov said.

“One other thing-for both of you: Chibisov and Sergetov; both of you speak fluent English, correct?”

The two officers looked at each other, then nodded. “Yes, Comrade Marshal,” Chibisov responded.

“Good. This afternoon, you'll both be putting that to use.” Alekseyev said.