[Matt Wiser]

Things are winding down....



1920 Hours: 76th Guards Air Assault Division/47th Tank Brigade, east of Brownsville, Texas.


General Andreyev was actually pleased. His division and the 47th had managed to extract themselves from their previous position, and had established new positions on high ground, about halfway between Brownsville and the coast. One battered air-assault regiment, the tattered remnants of another, and one full-strength, supported by the 47th, which had been reduced by half, but was still formidable, despite American air attacks and naval gunfire. Now, he hoped, they were out of range of those blasted naval guns, and could meet the advancing U.S. Marines on more equal terms. Andreyev turned to his chief of staff. “This position's good, Anatoly. High ground above the beach and tidal flats, no sand or marsh, just nice, firm ground.”

“Yes, Comrade General. Though I expect they won't come forward until dawn.” the chief replied.

“Quite so; they'll have to get those wrecked tanks out of the way that block the road,” Andreyev observed.

“There is that, Comrade General. And we still have two days' worth of ammunition: we can still make it hot for somebody,” said the chief.

Andreyev looked at his map. “And Glavchenko's brigade?”

“One battalion, here, Comrade General: right in the middle, between the 234th and 236th. What's left of the 235th is in front of us, with the rest of the 47th. Division artillery is at half strength, as is Glavchenko's own artillery.” the chief noted.

“Divisional reconnaissance?” Andreyev asked.

“Our reconnaissance has patrols out in front, as does both the 234th and 236th. They do report that the Americans are consolidating their positions, and there is some patrol activity, but they do not appear to be preparing to resume their advance at night.”

The General nodded. In their position, he'd do the same: get more supplies and some reinforcements up from the beach, clear those wrecked tanks-even if it meant shoving them into the marsh, if necessary, and wait until dawn. Then have as much air strikes as possible to prepare for the attack to resume. And hopefully, he thought, when they do fire their naval guns, all they'll be doing is hitting empty positions; just like the Fascists did to us: hit an empty sack, and our own defense is intact-and waiting. He checked his watch: “They'll move in what, ten to twelve hours?”

“I would expect that, Comrade General. Not until then.” the chief said.

“Good. Now, let's have something to eat. It has been a long and trying day, and tomorrow will be no better.” Andreyev said.


1945 Hours: U.S. Third Army Headquarters, Edinburg, Texas.


Commander Carlisle went into the gym, freshly showered and wearing her flight suit, fresh out of the laundry. Powell's naval liaison didn't have anything available for her, so she made do. Major Dixon was by her side, and the first thing she noticed was the crowd of reporters there, as well as staff officers, and liaison officers from not just the other services, but from the other Allies. There were British, Canadian, Australian, South Korean, and Taiwanese officers there, as well as observers from several other countries, such as Israel, South Africa, Brazil, and a few others that had been minor combatants. Major Dixon had explained that even if they couldn't contribute much in the way of equipment or manpower, these countries had done their part, and had earned a spot at the end. She also noticed that the reporters were in two areas: one for American and Allied media, and one for those from neutral or ex-neutralist countries. And the reporters from the Allied media were sneering at those from the neutralist countries, especially those from newspapers or other outlets that had championed the neutralist cause in their editorials.

The Commander did recognize some of the reporters there: CNN's Christiane Armanpour was there: covering this war had made her a star reporter, and she'd been there almost from the beginning. Jan Fields, also of CNN, was there as well: her constant presence with units such as 3rd Armored Division or the 7th Infantry Division, not to mention a live broadcast from the front lines at the Battle of Wichita, had made her a household name-along with an Emmy Award. The other networks had sent their DOD correspondents, though: CBS' David Martin was talking with a PAO, while ABC's Bob Zelnick and NBC's Jim Michelweliski were glaring at each other: Zelnik had been in the Pentagon on Invasion Day, and had picked broken glass out of his producer's arms after the bomb had gone off, while Michelweslki had been on vacation, and had never made it on the air that day. The reporters from the wire services: AP, UPI, Reuters, were also there, chatting amongst themselves, while the big papers, like the Los Angeles Times, Chicago Tribune, Philadelphia Inquirer, the Boston Globe, and the East Coast Times-Post, were also there, glaring at the TV reporters-the old rivalry between the broadcast and print media was still there. And there were the allied reporters: the BBC, CBC, ITN, two different Australian channels, KBS from South Korea, The Times of London, Sydney Morning Post, and on and on. There was just so much.

The other side, the neutral or neutralist reporters, were somewhat subdued, though some were able to exchange pleasantries with their Allied counterparts-especially those from Swedish or Swiss media, though those from West Germany, Italy, Holland, Belgium, and even France got more hostile looks than warm smiles, though the West German networks like ZDF or Deutsche Welle were more welcome, but the newspaper correspondents were not so well regarded. Old stories about atrocities in North America being “wildly exaggerated,” or editorials urging the Americans and Canadians to accept Soviet peace offers were still not forgiven or forgotten, and the American media people-not to mention the PAOs, made sure of that.

Major Dixon pointed to where the staff officers and Allied liaison officers were gathered, “Over here, Commander,” and the two walked on over. Several shook her hand, as her story had spread, and a PAO came by: the reporters had sniffed out her story, and Jan Fields of CNN and a couple of print reporters wanted to have interviews. “After this is over,” Carlisle said, and the PAO nodded. He went off to speak with some of the media, and Dixon told her, “Now that you've said you'll talk with 'em, they'll make sure you keep those appointments.”

“I know, Major,” Carlisle replied. “What's taking so long?”

“Who knows? This is the first time something like this has been laid on since the Germans surrendered to Eisenhower, back in '45.” Dixon replied. Then he noticed General McCaffery coming into the gym. “I think it's time.”

McCaffery came to a microphone; “Ladies and Gentlemen, General Powell and Marshal Alekseyev will be here momentarily. Remember; there will be no questions, so don't bother asking. Though there may be a statement from both, that's not a given.” McCaffery then looked at a side door. “They're here. It's showtime.”

Commander Carlisle watched as General Powell walked in with his senior staff officers, and sat down at the table set up in the middle of the gym, right where the center of the basketball court would be. Then Marshal Alekseyev and his officers-she recognized Chibisov and Sergetov, though the airborne officer was somebody she hadn't seen, came in and sat down, and a hush set in. While Alekseyev was calm, as was Chibisov, Sergetov looked nervous, while the airborne officer was stiff as a board. Then she caught his eye, and Alekseyev gave a slight nod. And she returned it. And then General Powell adjusted the microphone, and began to speak.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here now to conclude hostilities in the Continental United States. While this surrender does not apply to Soviet and Soviet allied forces in Mexico, nor does it apply to the war at sea, to paraphrase Winston Churchill, 'it is not the end of the beginning, but it is the beginning of the end.' I have given Marshal Alekseyev the terms of the cease-fire, and he has accepted them totally. I will read them for the record, and after that, we will sign the document.”

And Powell read the terms of the cease-fire. It was obvious: Soviet and Soviet-allied forces were to lay down their arms, release all prisoners held in the pocket, disclose all land and sea mines as well as demolitions, turn over all KGB or ALA/PSD personnel, halt the airlift, and reveal any stocks of nuclear, biological, or chemical weapons. Soviet and Soviet-allied wounded would be cared for, and all would be treated as prisoners of war under the Geneva Conventions. “The cease-fire takes effect at one minute after midnight, Central War Time, and U.S. Forces will move forward to take the surrender, and reestablish civil law and order, at 0800 Central War Time tomorrow. Marshal Alekseyev, you do understand these terms?”

Alekseyev stood. “I do, General.”

“Are you prepared to sign?” Powell asked, and Alekseyev simply nodded. Powell then turned to General McCaffery: “General, show him where to sign.”

General McCaffery stood, and showed Marshal Alekseyev where to sign. He did so, and then returned the document to General Powell, who signed on behalf of the U.S. After he did so, Powell asked, “Marshal Alekseyev, do you have any kind of statement to make, for the record?”

Alekseyev nodded and stood. “Thank you, General. With this signature, the Socialist Forces in Texas are delivered into the hands of the victor. It is my hope, and earnest wish, that the victor will, despite being flush with victory, treat them with generosity, despite what has happened in the past.”

Powell then stood up. “Thank you, Marshal. You may return to your headquarters to make the necessary arrangements on your side. And I will see you tomorrow morning. And this concludes our business.”

The Soviets stood up to leave, and they were escorted out. As Powell stood up, there was applause from the media. Then Powell went back to the microphone and had a further statement: “Ladies and Gentlemen, in four hours or so, the shooting stops on this front. So many good men and women have died, or been seriously wounded, to make this event happen. Let us pause for a moment of silence in their memory.” Following the moment of silence, Powell went on. “Due to the fact that there may be those in the pocket who wish to continue fighting, despite the Marshal's signature, there is a news blackout on this until 0800 Central War Time tomorrow. He has indicated to me privately that certain elements within the pocket need to be put under his firm control, and that there are no unpleasant events before U.S. forces arrive. So: no civilian communications in or out until then. I know you want to share this with America and the world, but everything needs to go smoothly on his end to make this work out. Now, I'll take exactly two questions.” He noticed Christiane Armanpour “Yes, Christiane?”

“General, first, my congratulations on achieving this victory. Now, when the Marshal said there were those who wished to continue fighting, did he mean the KGB or ALA?”

“He didn't say exactly, but we can assume that there are such elements present. Those with everything to lose if they come into our hands. He needs time to deal with them, in one way or another. One more question. Yes, Joe?”

“General, Joe Galloway from AP. I'd like to add my congratulations. Will you be going into the pocket tomorrow?”

“Yes. I will be there to meet the Marshal at his headquarters, and watch as the Soviet flag is lowered, and the Stars and Stripes are raised. And then we'll be busy for quite a while as we try and get some sense of normalcy restored. This won't be like Oklahoma City or Waco: it'll be more like Dallas or San Antonio after things wrapped up there. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a very important phone call to make. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.” And with that, Powell and his staff left the room, to the applause of the media.

Dixon turned to Commander Carlisle. “Well?”

“Just like that?” she asked.

“Yep. Just like that. Let's get you over to the Officer's Mess, and get you something to eat. I'll find you a bunk someplace, and you can get some sleep. You can see those hyenas in the morning.”

“Major, lead the way,” said Commander Carlisle.


2015 Hours: Gulf Front Headquarters, Rancho Viejo, Texas.


General Isakov, Malinsky's chief of staff, came into his office, what had been the principal's office at the high school. He found Malinsky taking a nap, sitting back in his office chair. “Comrade General?”

Malinsky had long since developed the habit of waking when he was called, no matter how deep his sleep was. “Oh, Isakov. It's you.”

“Comrade General, Marshal Alekseyev is here. He has come from a meeting with General Powell.”

Malinsky stood up. “Well, Isakov. I think we know what that meeting was about. You disagree?”

General Isakov shook his head. “No, Comrade General. I think the Marshal had no choice. The only question was when.”

General Malinsky nodded. “Let's not keep the Marshal waiting,” he said.

Isakov nodded, and waited for his general. Both went back to the Operations Room, where they found Marshal Alekseyev, General Chibisov, and Alekseyev's aide, Colonel Sergetov. “Comrade Marshal,” Malinsky said.

“Malinsky,” Alekseyev said solemnly. “It is done. The cease-fire goes into effect at one minute after midnight, local time. American forces will move in beginning at 0800.”

“Comrade Marshal....” Malinsky said. “We have done all that we can do. Any further fighting only gets good Russian boys killed.”

“I'm glad you agree. Remember that meeting, not that long ago, with the Army commanders and yourself? The only one who really opposed any kind of termination of the war was that brute Starukhin.” Alekseyev reminded Malinsky.

“Yes, Comrade Marshal. And I was wondering whether or not someone would either shoot him, or he would shoot anyone who disagreed with him.” Malinsky said, remembering that meeting.

“My thoughts exactly, Malinsky. Now, to business. Are there any KGB, ALA, or PSD units in the vicinity? They're the ones most likely to cause trouble. They must be....neutralized, before Powell's forces arrive.”

“The only KGB were those assigned to checkpoints, Comrade Marshal. I can assure you that they have been all dealt with. And I have instructed all Army commanders to secure any ALA or PSD personnel-by force if necessary. Though most appear more concerned with saving their own skins than causing trouble.”

“Good. Now, whatever chemical warheads left in your ammunition dumps are to be handed over to the Americans. And one other thing: have your chief of medical services ready to go forward.”

“May I ask why, Comrade Marshal?” Malinsky wondered.

“The Americans have indicated they will take care of our wounded. They need to know how many, and what kind of conditions they'll find when they arrive.” Alekseyev said.

Both Malinsky and Isakov nodded.”When does he leave?” Isakov asked.

“Right away. Send him to the 77-83 highway junction: the same one that had so much blood spilled on both sides. The Americans will receive him, and he'll be taken to meet with General Powell's senior medical officers.” said Alekseyev.

Malinsky turned to Major General Mikhail Levechenko, his chief of medical services. “You do know what you'll need to do?”

“Of course, Comrades,” Levchenko replied.

“Good. Go at once,” Aleksyev said. “Now, we'll be returning to headquarters. Inform your army and division commanders, by whatever means are necessary. If you can't contact anyone by radio or land line, send reliable staff officers to inform them.”

Malinsky nodded. “Understood, Comrade Marshal.”



2040 Hours: 76th Guards Air Assault Division/47th Tank Brigade, along Highway 4, east of Brownsville, Texas.


General Andreyev went outside his command post, and peered through his binoculars, to the east. So far, the Marine lines were quiet. And visibility was good, so good that he could see almost to the beach. The Americans were still unloading, he could see, even at night, and no doubt they were landing troops and additional supplies. Come morning, he knew, they'd resume the attack, and maybe, just maybe, he'd give them a bloody nose before his forces were overwhelmed. Then he noticed his chief of staff coming with a message form. “Anatoly? What have you got there?”

“Comrade General.....” the chief of staff said, “It's over.”

Andreyev was surprised. So soon? But he knew from talking not only with General Chibisov, but Marshal Alekseyev, that the end would be coming. “When?”

“One minute after midnight, Comrade General. The Americans will come beginning at 0800.” The chief replied.

“That's it, then.” Andreyev said. “Get all secret materials together and destroy them the best you can.”

“Yes, Comrade General.”

“Has the 47th been notified?” Andreyev asked.

“Yes, Comrade General. Colonel Glavchenko was relieved, but he mentioned some of his staff and at least one battalion commander were more....distraught.” the chief said. “But Colonel Glavchenko was firm, and two of those officers went out from the command post-and shot themselves.”

“I'll bet there's going to be a lot of that: especially those who were supposed to leave but weren't able to do so.” Andreyev commented. “All right. Recall all of our patrols. Tell our men to fire only if fired upon.”

“Right away, Comrade General.”

Andreyev looked at his chief of staff. “One other thing: I realize there may be some of our officers and men who do wish to continue the fight. If they want to make a run for Mexico, release them from their duties. I, however will stay, and share the fate of the men.”

“I'll relay the message, Comrade General, but I don't think hardly anyone will take the offer.”