February 16, 1998
As conditions in the area deteriorate and the flow of components grinds to a halt, workers at the Red River Army Depot halt conversions of M113 ACCVs to the M115A1 standard.
The 6th (my 5th Guards) Tank Division is withdrawn from garrisons on the outskirts of Tianjin, China north into Manchuria in an attempt by 36th Army to achieve sufficient troop density to maintain control of surviving industrial and natural resources.
Unofficially,
The disperesed units of the mobilization-only 158th Motor-Rifle Division, spread along over 200 kilometers from Sarajevo to the Sava River, come under coordinated attack from the remnants of the Jugoslav National Army and Territorial Defense Forces, in no small part thanks to the efforts of advisors (and communications provided by) the Third Battalion, 6th Special Forces Group. The attacks succeed in pinning down the Soviet "occupation force", preventing supplies and reinforcements from moving between garrisons and allowing the Jugoslavs to concentrate forces and pick off the garrisons one by one. The first to fall is the 151st Tank Regiment in Sarajevo, whose commander surrenders at nightfall, begging for humane treatment of his surviving troops. Unfortunately, the assurances he receives from the JNA commander are ignored by his Territorial Defense co-belligerents, and as midnight nears Sarajeov is once again the scene of a bloody massacre the likes of which the Balkans are famous for; the American Green Berets are unable to control their allies and are resigned to "taking a walk away from the unit for a little while".
As the departure date for a reinforcement convoy to Africa arrives, naval authorities are distressed to discover that only half of the planned 20 ships (freighters and tankers, as well as the ships carrying the 30th Marines) have arrived at the sailing port of Hampton Roads, that there is only one escort (the frigate Lockwood) ready; another (the destroyer Richard S. Edwards) back in the yard for repairs to its complicated and troublesome 1950s steam plant, which the remnants of the late-war modern navy has a difficult time finding skilled operators for, not to mention the 750 tons of No. 4 fuel oil she needs for the voyage.
A 15-year old boy from the village of Dorodzan slips away to get help in the predawn hours, after the band of Soviet Army deserters have drank themselves into a stupor.
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I love the smell of napalm in the morning. You know, one time we had a hill bombed, for 12 hours. When it was all over, I walked up. We didn't find one of 'em, not one stinkin' body. The smell, you know that gasoline smell, the whole hill. Smelled like... victory. Someday this war's gonna end...
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