[Matt Wiser]

The endgame approaches:

1000 Hours: Soviet Headquarters, Brownsville.

Marshal Alekseyev looked out the window of his office, and and the sky was full of American aircraft and helicopters. A steady stream of aircraft flew in and out of the Airport, while helicopters came in and landed at various locations, unloading troops and supplies, then heading off. Apache and Cobra gunships flitted overhead, providing cover, while American fighters and attack aircraft circled overhead. It was clear the Americans were not taking any chances.

He also took a look at the city, and from this vantage point, he could see some American columns pushing in, with crows of civilians lining the streets. To the Marshal, it reminded him of films of cities liberated from the Hitlerites during the Great Patriotic War, and he realized all to well that to the Americans, this was their equivalent. Shrugging his shoulders, he went back to the Operations Room, where most of the staff was there, waiting, along with Chibisov and Sergetov. Alekseyev motioned to the two to follow him, and the trio went down to the foyer, and out the front door. “This reminds me of something, Comrades, from reading about the campaign in the west, in 1944.” Alekseyev said.

“What is that, Comrade Marshal?” Sergetov asked.

“Paris, 1944. I am in the position similar to that of General Dietrich von Choltitz, who was the commandant of the city when the French and Americans arrived. All we can do is wait for the Americans to arrive and formally take possession of the city,” Alekseyev said.

Both Chibisov and Sergetov nodded, as an OH-58D Kiowa Warrior and a pair of AH-64A Apaches flew overhead, scouting along the river. So far, there had hardly been any shooting from across the river, which Alekseyev was glad to hear, and hopefully, cooler heads on that side of the river will prevail. Given how determined the Mexicans were in the final days, he frankly didn't expect that to happen, and that when he arrived at whatever senior officer POW camp the Americans sent him to, he'd find out that the Americans had invaded Mexico. And given what the Mexicans had done since 1984, he honestly didn't blame the Americans one bit for wanting to settle those scores in a very serious and direct manner. His thoughts were interrupted by a pair of Humvees coming up to the perimeter. Fine vehicles, those Humvees, he thought, and captured examples had served the Soviets well, and some examples had even been sent to the USSR to help with the design of Soviet light transport vehicles. The occupants of the Humvees got out and began to set up a satellite antenna, and a tripod with what looked like a camera. Curious, Alekseyev sent Sergetov over to see who these Americans were. Clearly, they didn't appear to be military. Sergetov went over, spoke to the Americans, and then came back, with a confused look on his face. “Well, Comrade Colonel?”

“Comrade Marshal, you're not going to believe this..” Sergetov said.

“What?” Alekseyev responded.

“They're not military, but are reporters. One group is a TV news crew for one of the American networks-CBS, he said, while others are from either news services or newspapers.” Sergetov said.

“How did they get here ahead of the U.S. Army?” Chibisov asked.

“The correspondent for the CBS crew, Bob McKewon, said they asked local civilians which way to get here, and they simply drove onto side streets and not the 77-83 freeway, or any other main road. Those are crowded with military traffic as well as crowds of civilians.” said Sergetov. “He said it's the worst traffic jam he's ever seen.”

And General McCaffery's words about the military and the news media came back to Alekseyev. “Well, Comrades, they're here, and there's not much we can do about it,” he observed, noticing the camera being trained in their direction. Then a shout came from the east side of the perimeter. “They're here!”

A column of Humvees, a platoon of LAV-25s, and a platoon of what looked to be Cadillac-Gage Stingrays began to appear at the East Gate. The Americans slowly advanced, turrets swinging back and forth, clearly showing that they were not taking any chances. As they did so, another shout came from the West Gate. M-60A4-105 tanks and Bradley IFVs were approaching. These, too, were moving their turrets, not taking any chances. Both columns met in front of the Soviet Headquarters, and the respective commanders got out. The two talked for a few minutes, shook hands for the TV cameras, then both came to Alekseyev, saluting, a male captain in an airborne beret and a female mechanized infantry captain, still wearing her combat vehicle helmet.

“Captain Mark Hanson, 2-325 Airborne Infantry, 2nd Brigade, 82nd Airborne Division,”

“Captain Nancy Kozak, 3-144 Infantry, 3rd Brigade, 49th Armored Division,”

Alekseyev returned the salutes, as did Chibisov and Sergetov. “I am Marshal Alekseyev. We have been waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Marshal,” Hanson replied. “I have orders to secure the area for General Powell's arrival. He will be here shortly, once the area is declared secured. Though we're in different corps, Captain Kozak apparently has similar orders.”

“That I do,” Kozak said. She turned to Hanson. “Why don't your men take the east side, and we'll take the west? Marshal, are there any minefields or booby traps we need to know about?”

“Yes, we have some antipersonnel mines out, as an anti-guerrilla measure.” Alekseyev turned to Sergetov. “Go and bring those maps here, Colonel.”

“Right away, Comrade Marshal,” Sergetov said, and he went back in to get the maps.

Alekseyev noticed the news crews coming in closer and setting up their cameras. Before long, the network crews were on the air, live. He grimaced, but tried not to show it. Then Sergetov came with the maps. “Here are the maps, Comrade Marshal, Captains,”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Hanson said. “I've got an engineer platoon with me, they can get started. Fortunately, there's no mines that may be an immediate danger, but when civilians start to return...”

“Just like in Stalingrad,” Chibisov said. The two American officers looked at him. “It took months of work before many areas of the city were declared safe for people to return. I believe you've got similar issues in San Antonio and Houston, among others.”

“Unfortunately, that's true, General,” Kozak said.

Hanson and Kozak then studied the map further. “Like we said, I'll take the west side, you take the east side. Let's get these guys disarmed and ready to go north.” Kozak said, seeing Hanson nod. “How long until General Powell arrives?”

“When I tell battalion the area's secured,” Hanson said, “Which won't be too long.”


1015 Hours: 175th Naval Infantry Brigade, South Padre Island, Texas.


Major Lazarev watched as a C-130 transport flew over the island, dropping leaflets to the civilians still living there. Just a day before, anyone possessing such a leaflet could expect to be shot, but now, the Americans were getting ready to arrive on the island. He noticed that civilians were coming out of their storm shelters and homes, and many were shaking hands with each other, glad to have made it through the invasion and occupation, and now, he also noticed, some were coming out with long-hidden American flags-possession of which could have gotten the owner sent to a labor camp at the very least-if not summarily shot. Now, the Americans were coming back, and the local population was in a mood to celebrate.

He watched as several CH-46 helicopters came over and began to orbit, obviously searching for places to land. So, he would be surrendering to the U.S. Marines, it appeared. His chief of staff, and Captain Lieutenant Kamarov came to him. “Well, Comrades, it's just about time.”

“Would you rather have fought a useless battle, Major?” Kamarov asked. “I'm just glad that most of my crew has made it, and as far as I'm concerned, that's all I care about right now.”

“Understandable,” Lazarev said, watching as the first helicopters began to touch down, near the Queen Isabella Causeway. They soon lifted off, having deposited their Marines, and soon, more helicopters began to come in. A few minutes later, U.S. Marines began coming up Park Road 100, South Padre Island's main street, and civilians were coming out to welcome their liberators. The Marine point element came up to the 175th's headquarters, and Lazarev and the other two officers went to meet the Marines. “Major Lazarev, 175th Naval Infantry Brigade, Red Banner Northern Fleet,” he said, saluting the Marine Lieutenant who was leading his platoon.

“Major. Lieutenant Robert Greer, 2/23 Marines, 4th Marine Division,” the Marine said, returning the salute. “How many do you have here?”

“I have about 3,000 Naval Infantry, about five hundred sailors from various commands, and several hundred others-air defense, coastal defense, and rear services.” Lazarev said.

The Marine nodded, waving up his RTO. “How many civilians are here?”

“About 2,000, Lieutenant. Some were....relocated, but others were allowed to remain.” Lazarev said.

The Marine officer then spoke into his radio. And a few minutes later, a senior Marine officer came forward. By the eagle insignia, he was a Colonel. Lazarev saluted, and the Marine returned it, saying, “Colonel Sean Bradford, 23rd Marines.”

“Major Lazarev. We have all of our weapons assembled in one location, and have kept the heavy weapons separate.” Lazarev said.

“That's good, Major. Now, do you have any minefields? The beach, especially?” Bradford wanted to know.

“Mines were one thing my brigade was short of. But I can give you a map of my defenses: all of the minefields, such as they were, are marked.” said Lazarev.

“Show me,” the Marine Colonel said, and Lazarev and the other officers brought the Marine Colonel and several other Marine officers into the headquarters. And Lazarev's chief of staff pointed out the mine locations on the map-mostly around the buildings where the Naval Infantry had dug into. One of Bradford's officers took the map and headed out to inform the Marines now moving to take their Soviet opposite numbers into custody. “Major, you're probably wondering if you sat here, twiddling your thumbs, while the real action took place down at Boca Chica.”

“Colonel, the thought had occurred to me.” Lazarev said.

“Well...I guess I can tell you now. We thought a great deal about coming ashore here, and had a plan to do it. But the recon pictures showed your defenses, and so....Boca Chica it was. There was only a single battalion on the beach, and that was a penal unit.” Bradford said.

“A penal unit?” Lazarev was astonished.

“That's right. Now, if they'd been KGB, or maybe your airborne, it would've been a real brawl. Instead, most of them simply raised their hands, while the rest took to their heels,” replied the Marine Colonel.

“I can assure you, Colonel, that no such behavior would have happened here,” Lazarev said. “My orders were clear: defend this island at all costs.”

“And that's one reason we didn't land here. The other one is the demolitions: the Causeway and the Port Isabel oil refinery.” Bradford said.

Lazarev nodded. “I know the causeway was set with demolitions, but I know nothing about the oil refinery.”

“I doubt you did. Anyway,” Bradford said, “Be glad you and your men are alive.”

Major Lazerev simply nodded, and the party went back outside, as Soviet Naval Infantrymen, sailors, and others came out of their positions to be searched, and formed up to be taken off the island. He watched as a Marine officer came up to Colonel Bradford. “Sir, the causeway's secured. But getting all the demo charges off, it's going to be an all-day job.”

Bradford turned to Lazarev, then back to the officer. “All right, get some MREs and water for these men, they'll be here until the causeway's declared safe.” The officer nodded and went off to relay the order.

“Major, sorry about that. But no one's using that causeway until it's declared safe to do so. Don't worry: you and your men will be fed, and anyone who needs medical attention will get it.” Bradford said.


1050 Hours: K-236, The Gulf of Mexico:


“Captain to CCP!” the boat's PA system barked.

Captain Padorin got up from his chair in the wardroom. He'd been going over his patrol report so far, and wondered if the kills he'd made would balance out the fact that they had been in vain. That's for Caribbean Squadron to decide, he rationalized, but we did everything possible, and it wasn't enough. If Zirinsky was still with them, he might have caused trouble, but that was no longer any concern to Padorin. His only regret was that Zirinsky had not delayed his mutiny solicitation until after the pocket's liquidation: then it would be clear that the man had tried to mutiny in favor of a lost cause. But the Zampolit was not missed aboard the boat, and it was obvious that K-236 was a happy boat at the moment.

Padorin went into the CCP, where Shelpin was standing watch. “What do we have, Shelpin?”

“We have an ELF message for us, Comrade Captain,” Shelpin replied. “As per the order book, I have ordered the boat to antenna depth, and slowed to five knots.”

“Very good. I have the deck and the con,” the Captain replied. “Present depth?”

“Sixty meters, Comrade Captain,” the helm replied.

“Very well, Helm.” Padorin said.

The boat was soon at antenna depth,and after the ESM mast was raised and showed all clear, the radio antenna was raised. The message came in, and again, it was repeated. “What now?” Padorin asked. “That's the second time in a row they've repeated messages.”

The Starpom came into the CCP-he'd been off watch in his cabin. “Another message?” he asked.

“Right. Now we wait until decoding. Lower antenna, and up periscope.” Padorin ordered.

The periscope came up, and Padorin did a full sweep. “No contacts, down scope,” and the periscope went back down. Then the communications officer came in. “Yes?” Padorin asked.

“Comrade Captain, message from Caribbean Squadron,” the man responded.

Padorin took the message form, and this time, a smile came to his face. “Our search and rescue mission is canceled, Comrades.”

Everyone in the CCP, the Starpom and Security Officer especially, let out a sigh of relief. “What are our new orders?” asked the Starpom.

“Return to previous station in Yucatan Channel, and await further orders,” Padorin said. He turned to the helm officer. “Come left to one-four-zero.”

“Coming left to one-four-zero, Comrade Captain.” the officer replied.

“Make your depth two hundred and fifty meters, and make turns for ten knots.”

“Two hundred and fifty meters, make turns for ten knots, Aye, Comrade Captain.” the man said.

Once the boat was on its new course and at that depth, Padorin turned to Shelpin. “You have the deck and the con. I'll be in my quarters.”


1100 Hours: Soviet Headquarters, Brownsville


Marshal Alekseyev and his staff watched as the Americans went about the business of securing the perimeter, checking for mines, and closing up on the Mexican border. He was very impressed with how through and serious the Americans took their tasks, recalling the difference between that and prewar propaganda, which depicted American soldiers as pampered, spoiled, pushovers who were likely to surrender or run away. Now, that may have happened at times in the early days, but whoever wrote those words back then was dead wrong, by and large. Not to mention the fact that there were so many women serving-and in combat units. A female company commander? He'd encountered two in the last twenty-four hours, and he had noticed female soldiers in that infantry company positioned where he'd gone through American lines to meet with Powell. And there were more here: female tankers and mechanized infantry on the west side, and female paratroopers on the east side, and they were just as serious as their male counterparts. For his part, Chibisov commented on how the paratroopers appeared: in full combat gear, but wearing their maroon berets instead of their helmets. It was plain that the Americans wanted not just the Soviets, but any potential troublemakers, as well as the civilian population, to see that the 82nd had arrived, and that the airborne meant business. There had been some scattered shooting, but things went smoothly for the most part, much to everyone's relief. Then the airborne company commander came up.

“Marshal, This area is secured. I've notified General Powell, and his helicopter will be here in a few minutes.”

Alekseyev nodded. “Thank you, Captain. Were the minefield maps useful?”

“Yes, sir. The engineer platoon's pleased, and their company commander is as well. Fortunately, they're pretty easy to clear: either the MON series of Claymore copies, or some POM-Z stake mines. Finding and clearing any antitank mines, though...that's going to be tougher, he said.” Hansen responded.

Then four Humvees, two from the east-the 82nd's area, and two from the west-the 49th Armored's area, arrived. Alekseyev noticed the female mechanized company commander going to the ones from her division, and Captain Hansen going to those from the 82nd. He noticed that the lead Humvee in each had a placard with two stars on it: those had to be divisional commanders. And sure enough, two general officers, one in an airborne beret, and the other in a field cap came together, shook hands, and came up to Alekseyev and his staff.

“Marshal, Major General Robert Gregory, 82nd Airborne Division,” the airborne general said, saluting.

“Major General Wesley Clark, 49th Armored Division.” said the armor officer.

“Gentlemen,” Alekseyev said, returning their salutes. “Two divisions here?”

“Well, Marshal, both of our units were in kind of a race to be the first here, and for all intents and purposes, the first to the International Bridges. Just as your army in 1945 had a race to Berlin and the Reichstag, I believe.” Clark said. “Then there's the traditional rivalry between the airborne and everyone else in the Army,” he said, glancing at General Gregory, who nodded.

“I see.. and General Powell?” Alekseyev asked.

“He's on his way by helicopter,” Gregory said. “He ought to be here anytime, Marshal.” Then came the sound of helicopters. “That should be him,” he said, pointing to four UH-60s coming in close. The four helicopters made a circle, then flared and landed. After the helicopters shut down and the rotors stopped spinning, the occupants came out. General Powell and his staff came out of the first two helicopters, a number of MPs came out of the third, and a group of reporters came out of the fourth. The two American generals saw the reporters and shook their heads. “There's enough of them here already,” Gregory muttered.

“Tell me about it,” Clark replied. “But at least I've got Jan Fields over there,” he said, pointing to the CNN crew with Kozak's company.

“And the General brought Christiane Armanpour and her bunch with him,” Gregrory said. “Oh, well. Let's get on with it.”

Alekseyev watched as the two generals went to greet Powell, and some words were exchanged. Then both generals assembled their respective divisions' honor guards, while the reporters were shown where they could set up. Only then did General Powell come to meet Alekseyev. “Marshal,”

“General Powell,” Alekseyev said. “So it is time.”

“Yes, it is. Again, I'll say it for the record. Your forces put up the best fight they could. Even though the outcome was inevitable, your men fought hard.” Powell said.

“Thank you, General. If your Navy and Air Forces hadn't been as successful in cutting our supply lines, we'd likely still be in our positions that we had at the beginning of the month.” Alekseyev said.

“Probably so, Marshal. So far, things have gone smoothly. Some rough spots-like some guerrillas coming out and trying to take revenge, but those have been taken care of. And I'm curious: who did away with the ALA and PSD here? Some of my commanders have said that those offices-along with some KGB and DGI, were eliminated with precision.” Powell said.

“Let's just say, General, that some of my airmobile troops handled that bit of...housecleaning, for want of a better term,” Alekseyev said.

Powell took the hint. Obviously Alekseyev was referring to Spetsnatz, but still couldn't openly say it. “Well, whoever it was did a very good job.” Seeing Alekesyev nod, Powell said, “All right, let's get on with it.” He turned to the two generals and issued orders.

Two soldiers from the 82nd came forward and lowered the Soviet flag. None of the Americans saluted, though of course, the Soviets did. The flag was folded and presented to General Powell, who then gave it to General Clark, as a present to the 49th Armored Division. Then two soldiers from the 82nd, and two from the 49th, came forward. The pair from the 82nd had the American Flag, while the pair from the 49th had the flag of the State of Texas-recognizing the fact that the 49th had been a Texas National Guard Division before the war. A bugler sounded, and as he did so, the Stars and Stripes were raised, with everyone saluting. After that, the state flag was run up the other flagpole. Then Alekseyev walked over to Powell, removed his service pistol from his holster, unloaded it, cleared the chamber, and presented it to the General, and then saluted. Powell returned it, and only then did he shake Alekseyev's hand.

After he did so, and accepted Alekseyev's invitation to tour the headquarters, Powell went to address the media, and the soldiers from both divisions present. “Ladies and Gentlemen, it has been a long road from that dark day in September, 1985, when we all awoke to the news that not only had we been subjected to nuclear attack, but that the unbelievable had happened: Soviet and Soviet-bloc forces were on American soil. Despite the shock and panic of those early days, the wheels were set in motion so that we would not only resist, but would repel the invading forces. After the Battle of Wichita, the outcome was never in doubt, and two years ago, we started on the long road south, the road to victory. So many good men and women have given so much, and some have given everything they had: not just those in uniform, but those who fought a different kind of war, behind the lines, in the tradition of Frances Marion or Roger Mosby, a guerrilla war the likes of which has not been seen before on American soil. Despite the trials and tribulations, successes and setbacks, the goal has remained the same: the defeat of Soviet and Soviet-bloc forces in America. Now, four years after the outbreak of war, and two years after embarking on the long and bloody road south, that goal-at least in the lower 48, has been achieved. There are no more Soviet or Soviet-bloc forces fighting anywhere on the soil of the Continental United States. While much remains to be done, both here and in the Northern Theater, where we fight alongside our Canadian and British allies, but soon, all of the territories remaining under enemy occupation will be free. Again, it has been a long and bloody road, but this is the payoff. Thank you, and as General Douglas MacArthur said on the deck of the Missouri after a similar ceremony forty-four years ago, 'these proceedings are closed.'”