Arctic Wind

Chapter 11 Change of Direction

“We must do something they do not expect,” insisted General Ivan Morchenko, the new leader of the Russian attack force. “We made the mistake of allowing our lines to become static. We must do like the American General Patton and make sweeping movements which keep our enemy off balance and allow maximum advances. This means we must utilize our mechanization to the fullest. Our troops don’t walk, they ride. Our tanks continue moving all the time, only stopping when a replacement unit relieves the first. Once relieved, they return to an area nearby to refuel and rest before going back to the front. This also means our air forces must continually support our tanks and troops. There will be none of the daylight only efforts. We must all be available twenty four hours a day. We will need this since I propose we sweep down through Slovakia to this point and then continue westward. They will not be expecting this. It means traveling rapidly through these mountains, but if we do this right, we can come up here and completely surprise our enemy by attacking his flank. This will allow the forces along the front to renew their advance, join up and then sweep west. The allies will not be able to counter this kind of move. They are too heavily concentrated along the current front. With your approval, I begin moving men and equipment under cover of darkness tomorrow night. The trains and trucks are ready to move,” Morchenko concluded.

“What do you think?” asked Borodin as he turned toward Pusko.

Pusko was nodding his head. It was a daring plan, and if it worked, they would be able to move even more rapidly across the continent. The schedule could be reestablished and time made up. “I recommend approval, Comrade President. General Morchenko has thought this through well. It will allow us to make up for a number of things including the shortages of materials inflicted on us by the American missiles. More importantly, we will return to our planned timetable for the completion of the operation,” he said emphatically.

Borodin nodded. “Then it is approved. It is vitally important that you are successful, General. To fail might mean ruin for us all,” he said.

“The tanks and people will begin almost immediately, Mister President,” he said as he saluted and began gathering his briefing papers.

Borodin took Pusko’s arm and led him out of the room. “What of the protests we have begun to see?” he asked in a low voice.

“They have been dealt with,” Pusko said. “They were crowds of only about one hundred or so and the troops were able to round them up before they got too active. They are being held in the Lubkaya Prison for now. We can decide on their fate when our operations are over,” said Pusko.

“Good. I don’t have time for protesters. They will think better once the power comes back on. It has already taken too long, but that is not a priority for now. I am assured things will be back up in a week or two,” Borodin said. The electricity had already been off for a month in the dead of the Russian winter. “Just keep an eye on Morchenko. He had better get results quickly or we may have to make additional changes,” he said as they exited the grand hall.

The day before Christmas dawned cold and miserable. Many of the older families had been able to resurrect old wood and coal burning stoves they had from many years past. As many of the older residents remembered, during the Stalin era, this was the only source of heat many ever knew. Families sat huddled in a single room around the old stoves bundled in all the clothing they could carry. Some of the older men chuckled that they had it far better than the people in the cities. None of them had these kinds of stoves.

The austerity measures imposed upon them by the government were indeed, like the old Soviet days. Meats, cheese, canned goods, bread, all were severely rationed. Fuel for automobiles was not available. The only house in the village with lights was the government building, which had a generator to run the center as well as the phone service. Many in the town grumbled that while the people froze, the government officials still sat in shirt sleeves and watched television. The only benefit had been that the mayor of the town allowed the people to charge their cell phones in an outdoor kiosk each day. After the fall of the old Soviet government, the cell phone had become a staple in most people’s lives. The mayor found that with those, at least the grumbling fell mostly silent.

Despite the fact that there was no electricity across Russia, the mail service continued on. Yevgeny Kolchin got in his official vehicle and began making his rounds. Kolchin was the friend of nearly everyone in the town and today he was dreading his job. It wasn’t most of the mail, but specific pieces. There were over three hundred people in the small village, and there were fifty of the letters. He had seen them before. They were all in much finer envelopes than the normal mails. All were from the Military Headquarters in Moscow. Unless he was mistaken, they announced the death of someone in each family. One by one, he made the deliveries. They all knew something was wrong when he came to the door. His normally cheerful face was glum and somber. He made sure to hand this envelope to them separate from the others.

Some cried, some fought back the tears. The worst was with the Namirov family. They received three — one for each of the three sons the mother had borne. By the time he made the final delivery, he almost swore he could hear the whole town weeping from the streets. Only after the last delivery did he break down himself. His beloved Vednoye had sent fifty one young men to the services. He had delivered fifty letters. He sat down on the fender of his truck and wept openly.

“Admiral, there’s a Colonel Sanders and Master Sergeant Ricks to see you,” announced an aide.

Hammond was sitting behind his desk going over a mound of reports and requests that he had to weed through each day. It was the worst part of his job and he often longed for the day when he could go back to sea and leave the command to someone else. The second worst job was the train of people wishing to seek an “audience” with the Supreme Commander about some something or another. It was endless. At least this was a welcome visit. “Send them in,” he said as he looked up from his desk. Sanders he hadn’t met before, but Ricks was a sight for sore eyes. He quickly got up and came around his desk to meet them.

The two men came in and saluted stiffly. Sanders extended his hand. “Colonel Harland Sanders. Good to meet you Admiral,” he said. “I believe you two have met.”

Hammond slapped Ricks on the arm. “Good to see you again Master Sergeant,” he said with a grin.

“Same here Admiral. When the Colonel said he was coming over, I couldn’t pass up the chance. How’s the family?” asked Ricks

“Just fine. Tough being away, but I’ll manage. What’s this I hear that you and Su Lynn are expecting again?” Hammond asked.

Ricks was beaming. “Yep. We just found out a couple weeks before this all started. She’s fine and the boys are doing well. One of these days we will need to get the families together so the boys can get acquainted.”

“That would be nice. Now what brings you two over here from Poland?” asked Hammond.

“Sir, the enemy is changing a few things and we need your permission to change along with them,” said Sanders.

Hammond sat back down and leaned back in his chair. “Alright, shoot.”

“Admiral, up until just a few days ago we were tearing them up. Every night we could go in and find all kinds of targets, but I think they are wising up on us,” said Ricks. “We have noticed that now the tankers are sleeping in their tanks. They don’t get out even to go to the bathroom. The rest of the ground troops are covering their positions so that we aren’t getting a good infra-red image. The rear positions are now over five miles from the front. They are bringing meals up to the tankers during the day, and we might get some there, but it looks like they are taking all kinds of precautions against us getting in a good shot. We want to make some changes,” Ricks said firmly.

“What kinds of changes?” asked Hammond.

Ricks grinned. “You’re gonna like it,” he said. “I want to modify some of the drones. We take off that plastic pistol and replace it with this,” he said while producing a small Styrofoam mount with four screws. “With this, we can let the solenoid that pulls the trigger instead pull the pin on a grenade. The spring pops the grenade out of the holder and it falls directly into a position. You see, we can dimly make out some of the foxholes those guys have dug into. I can’t see the person, but the position gives off a faint change in color. I fly over and position the drone right over the hole and just drop it. There’s a good chance the grenade will land on top of whatever covering they have and just go off. Ought to scare the hell out of them. We also noticed that the tanks are left running for the heat. In a lot of cases, they leave the top hatch open for some ventilation. Same idea. We drop the grenade right down the hole. We get the same results, a lot of dead enemy, but we only make one trip. It will mean we can’t hit as many targets, but we might just kill a few more of them,” Ricks said with a knowing look.

“You agree, Colonel?”

“Yes, sir. They might think they are getting away with something, but we have a few tricks up our sleeves. This grenade thing is the first, but I am also looking into dispersing some small mines the same way. There’s one that we can drop and even if they try and move it, the slightest movement will set the damn thing off. My armorer says it might just be enough to take the track off one of their tanks. They usually try to move out just before dawn. If we drop a bunch around each tank, they won’t go far. We can even get some of the people trying to bring in the food. That will mean that their only option is to change out tanks and crews during the day by rotating the tanks every couple of days for refueling and refit. That costs time, people and fuel,” said Sanders.

“What about our people when we go through the area? They will be stepping on these same mines,” said Hammond with concern.

“Not a problem, Admiral. These things can be set to go inert or just explode at a predetermined time. We drop them, wait till their tanks move over them or until about mid-morning then they either all go off or go inert, then we move in. We can rotate positions and times to keep them guessing and to coordinate our own attacks. We’ll know where they are. There will be a busted tank or a bunch of dead guys,” said Ricks.

Hammond nodded thoughtfully. “I like it. Let’s try it out in your sector. If it works, get the word to the others and take it across the whole line. Start with the grenades, then talk to me when you have the mine thing ready to test. My only concern is that our own people might step on one of these things in the tall grass. I trust you have written all this down,” said Hammond.

“Yes, sir, even the plans for whittling out this foam. It’s the only thing we could come up with and keep us in the running,” said Sanders.

An officer came into the room and saluted. Hammond looked up from the others. “Sir, it looks like something is getting ready to happen down south. You may want to come see in the planning room,” the officer said.

Hammond nodded and got up. He looked over at Ricks and Sanders. “I have to go.

Guys, keep doing the best you can do,” he said with a weak smile.

Ricks had already noticed that his friend was starting to look tired and haggard. He could not imagine trying to do his job. He took Hammond’s hand and leaned forward. Hammond turned his head to listen.

“Roger, take care of yourself. Don’t forget to take time out to shake some of this off. It’s what I would tell my people,” he said. He felt the handshake tighten.

“Thanks Dale. You do the same. One of these days maybe we can just sit back and swap stories like regular people.” Hammond stood back and slapped him on the shoulder with a wink and a smile.

Ricks grinned. “Aye, aye, sir,” he said.

After bidding the two goodbye, Hammond left the room and headed down the hallway to a guarded door. He looked at the soldiers guarding the door and showed them his identification and security cards.

The guards stood back and Hammond went through the doors and down a hall into a darkened room. In the center of the room was a huge square table. On it was a three dimensional image of the entire battle front. Consoles lined the walls manned by intelligence personnel and a number of high ranking officers were around the table. Hammond turned to the watch officer. “Okay, what’s the new development?”

The watch officer shifted the image to just inside Slovakia. Just east of the city of Presov, four military trains were traveling not two miles apart to the west. Although covered with netting and tarps, there was no mistaking the large outline of tanks and trucks. This was made even more evident when the image zoomed in and followed one of the trains. It looked for the world like a model train Hammond had played with as a boy.

“Admiral, it looks like this is just the first shot. Just south of Lviv, there are two more groups just like this one on the way. By my count, that makes three whole divisions of tanks, artillery, and personnel. In Smolensk, there are even more trains being set up. We know they aren’t coming to the front since they have taken the train lines headed southwest across the border into Slovakia. In Smolensk, there is a big stockpile of equipment and supplies. We first thought it was headed this way, but a lot of it was loaded on these trains. The question now is, where are they going?” the officer said.

“How much equipment is still to be loaded?” asked Hammond.

“They have only loaded about half of it so far,” reported one of the intelligence officers. “Since they started this move, nothing has gone across the Polish border. I believe this is an effort to get at our flanks,” he said.

“I believe they will push on through Bratislava and toward Vienna,” said General Keuster, the German intelligence liaison. “It’s a straight shot to Vienna. Keep on going and they achieve the same results, just going a more southern route. With their army holding our nose up here, we just don’t have the forces to stop them,” he said.

Hammond looked at the area. “How fast are they going?”

“These are moving about 80 miles an hour. It looks like they have cleared the rails all the way,” said the watch officer.

“Yes, but all the way to where? There are rail lines going up into Poland and the Czech Republic as well. If they head upward through Prague, they can achieve even more. What are you seeing?” asked Hammond.

“Sir, there is not a train on the line between where they are and the Austrian border. The rest have freight traffic,” he said.

“So it looks like they have cleared the lines so they can get there as fast as they can,” questioned Hammond.

“That’s the way it looks to me,” said Keuster.

“Okay, we go on that assumption. Where are the Italian and Spanish divisions now?” asked Hammond.

“The Italians are in Graz, in Austria, and the Spanish are near Munich. They sent two divisions each, including one armored division each. The rest are not on the way as yet,” the General said.

“At that pace, the Russians could be in Vienna within three hours. Get those Spanish and Italian troops to the Austrian border as fast as you can. “I doubt the Russians will come across the border by train, but somewhere in there they will disembark and head west. That will give us a little time. Contact General Matthews and have him try and sortie some bombers to try and break up their party. Then call the staff together. We’ll need to take care of this new threat,” ordered Hammond.

President O’Bannon sat is his chair in the briefing room and listened to the members of the Joint Chiefs as they laid out things that had happened the day before and the plans for the day. It was starting to sound the same as every other day. There wasn’t much progress in Europe. The Allies had been able to push the Russians back and to frustrate any temporary gains, but until the main push began, there wasn’t much anyone could do but watch. One good note had been that because of the use of the technology Hammond brought into play, casualties were light on the Allied side. People and equipment were being used sparingly so that when needed, everything would go at once.

As the last of the briefers finished, O’Bannon began his usual questions. “Carrier status?”

“The Kennedy made it back and is in drydock as we speak. Initial estimates are that she will be out for at least three months. Stennis is almost finished along with the Washington. The rest are down hard,” said the CNO.

“What about Lincoln?”

“Newport News sent a team and they are working day and night to get her off the bottom. It’s still up in the air,” the CNO said.

“The invasion is just a month away. So you’re telling me we won’t be able to support those landings and a crossing?” the President asked.

The CNO gave a smile. “Actually, we can. Our submarine assets have been whittled down by about ten, but they are still sinking ships. On the aviation side we will have the Nimitz, Roosevelt, Washington, Stennis, Truman and the Enterprise. In addition, we are presently turning our amphibious assault ships into carriers. They are smaller, but can add a little more weight. On that side we have the Wasp, Essex, Kearsarge, Boxer, Bataan, Bonhomme Richard, Makin Island, the America and Tripoli. As you recall, the Iwo Jima was sunk in Norfolk. She’s a total write off.”

“So we have six front line carriers and nine LHAs. With the scope of this operation is that going to be enough?” asked O’Bannon.

“I’m hoping the Lincoln will be ready, but that should be enough to cover the bases. Of course, we are supplementing with the battleships. They will be ready on time,” said the CNO. “They will be supplemented by the British carriers Queen Elizabeth and Prince of Wales plus an assortment of cruisers, destroyers and frigates. The French fleet will be available for sorties into the Baltic as weather permits. The other Allies are providing ships, but that is the bulk of our naval assets,” he concluded.

“What about the Air Force?”

General Foote nodded. “All in place and ready. We have lost about thirty of our front line aircraft since this started. I called up the Warthogs and a few others, but most of our operations are currently being accomplished by the Predators and other drones. They are stealthy and can get in a little more effectively than using manned aircraft. The Supreme Commander just asked for an all-out effort against a column ducking down through Slovakia. They will be on it within an hour. They are on trains and running through mountains so they won’t be the easiest to hit, but we’ll take care of it. According to the current plan, we will begin going in and striking targets just before D-Day. It will be an all-out effort. We will punch holes in the lines along with the Army’s localized drones and the armored spearheads will follow. Just keep in mind, because of the wide area of effort in the planning, we will be spread pretty thin. I won’t be able to hit all the targets, but between all of us, we should keep things pretty much covered. The only thing we have to worry about is their fighters. They have a ton of them and could overwhelm us. I am placing our hopes on our stealth capabilities and the new panels being set into the skin of our aircraft. We’ll keep our fingers crossed,” he said.

“How is that working out, by the way?” the President asked.

Foote chuckled. “My guys are having wet dreams with the idea they can’t be seen. From what I understand the Navy is going all out too.”

“He’s right. I’ll have those panels on my ships by the time they sail next week. Admiral Hustvedt himself flew out in one of the trackers and tried to find one of the equipped ships. They never found a thing on radar. He only found the ships when his pilot visually saw the wakes. That would put him well within a missile envelope. That young friend of Hammond has made a lot of friends in the Navy,” said Johnson.

“Mister President, we are all ready for the kick off. You and I discussed a few other things the other day and I’m glad the NSA and CIA are here to maybe cover this,” Black said.

“Yes, I talked over a few things with our intelligence people and they can now brief on their plans,” said the President turning to look at a couple of people at the end of the table.

Patricia Reed had been with the NSA for nearly twenty years. Starting as an analyst, she had worked her way to a Deputy Director position. She looked forward to sharing her part. “Mister President, Joint Chiefs, most people don’t know that since this started, the United States has been under a cyber-attack as well. We have been getting a lot of stuff coming in from Russian sources. Luckily, we have so far been able to prevent hacks and viruses. The latest was directed at the Pentagon internet and computer systems which would allow a dump of military data to a place in St. Petersburg. I won’t go into details, but right now they think they have successfully hacked into the system and are retrieving data. In reality, we are controlling the data they receive. The same is going on in one of the Navy systems. On a more positive side, our people are now into their military hardware programs. It seems that once a week each command’s computer systems call into the central computer system to receive any updates in programming for their onboard computers. We also are locked into their central command headquarters where they issue command orders for each commander down to the unit level. It’s like a central messaging system. Right now, we are doing nothing. But twenty four hours prior to D-Day, we will be taking over those systems and recalibrating their computers and command orders. The nice thing is, they will be able to send out orders and changes, but we will be intercepting them and making small changes to throw them off. We are hoping they will think it is a human error on their part. Our work will not happen all the time and things should appear as normal,” she said. “Since they started this mess, they will get to feel the pain of what we can do to them.”

“Are you limited to these two areas?” asked General Foote.

Reed grinned. “No, sir, there are others, but you know we aren’t supposed to share everything we can do,” she said with a wink. The people in the room chuckled.

“Now how about the CIA?” asked the President.

Todd Graham stood. “As many of you know, last week, the Russians shot down the KH-14 over that part of Europe. They also tried to intercept our Eyeball system in place. We were successful in stopping that intercept. Under the President’s orders, beginning one day before the kickoff, we will target and destroy every Russian satellite over the Earth. This means their communications, weather, tracking, spy satellites and any other piece of hardware in space will be destroyed. That alone should give the Russians a few things to think about. We estimate it will reduce their communications effectiveness by about eighty percent. It will also piggyback onto the NSA efforts, because we will hit the communications satellites after the updates and orders have been transmitted. This will force them to transmit updates via high frequency radio or single side band. That will be much more difficult for them to do and will make it easier for us to disrupt,” he said.

“Isn’t this a violation of treaty?” asked one of the men.

“We are in a war. Treaties don’t mean much when people are pulling triggers. If someone pushes the point, we have all the data that shows the Russians violated it first, and that we are justified in our actions,” said Graham.

The president held up his hand. “I do have a finding. My decision. It’s my hope that these two efforts will be beneficial to our forces over there. These agencies are also conducting operations on their own, but the commanders in Europe are aware of their efforts. You need to know about these two in your planning. Now, are there any questions?”

“What about the extra fallout and space debris all these hits will make?” asked General Black.

“Without going into details, we shouldn’t have any. There should be no bits and pieces flailing around that might hit our own systems,” said Graham. There were nods around the table.

“Quick question about our Link 16. I am relying heavily on its remaining operational. Are we prepared to protect those assets?” asked the CNO.

“We have a special team of people watching for any incursions into that system in particular,” said Reed. “Now that the patch has been issued to convert the Eyeball data into the military data systems at the fleet level, we should be able to keep it running indefinitely.”

“On our side, the Eyeballs are protected and we have systems to protect the other military satellites. The data is transmitted via laser and that should make hacking and interference efforts almost impossible,” said Graham.

“Famous last words,” said Black.

Graham smiled and nodded. “Yea, I almost hated to say that, but in this case, we have been working to protect our systems against such things for years. I have people on the consoles who can make changes in a moment’s notice. If something does get through, we will be there to stop it,” he reassured the group.

Additional questions were asked around the group, but the general consensus was that the United States would be ready. The President looked around the table one last time. “Very well. The operational plans are a go. Everything is being turned over to the Supreme Commander. It will be his decision on when to ultimately kick this thing off. I continue to urge everyone to put all your efforts into supporting the Supreme Commander. He needs all the help he can get. Our job is to see that he has what he needs. Thank you all for your hard work,” he said as he rose from the table. O’Bannon went around the table and thanked everyone there.

It looked almost like wrinkled turd floating on the water. In this case, the turd was going about ten knots and there was a wake behind it. The patrolling frigate hadn’t even noticed it until the lookout sighted what looked like an American flag flying over a blank sea. A helicopter was sent to investigate. Sure enough, the pilot radioed back that something with an American flag was making its way toward the entrance to Hampton Roads. There appeared to be some sort of railing with a single human being on the top of the wrinkled mass in front of the flag. As the helicopter flew over, the figure, dressed in blue camo, waved up at them. As the helo got closer, another figure came out of a hatch behind the flag and ran forward on the rolling deck. They unfolded a small banner. It read “USS Texas.”

Norfolk exploded with the news. Immediately tugs were dispatched and an admiral’s barge got underway. As the submarine rounded the point, cars and trucks stopped along the shoreline drive to see the ship everyone had been told was at the bottom of the sea. She sailed slowly past the battered Eisenhower and past the hulk of the Iwo Jima. Media helicopters swarmed overhead. By now the tugs had been attached and the pilot was standing beside Captain Jacobs. Within 30 minutes, USS Texas was moored port side to pier ten. A brow was placed from the pier to the ship and an army of naval officers descended on the ship. The first was the Commander of Submarines, Atlantic.

Admiral Hendrick practically embraced Jacobs. “My God, Frank, we all thought you were dead,” he exclaimed.

“We almost were, Admiral. Come on down to the wardroom and I’ll fill you in,” Jacobs said as he ushered the Admiral down the hatch.

On the way, Hendrick noticed the damage to the control room, periscopes, shorted equipment and other things not normal on a submarine. Sitting down at the head of the table he looked at Jacobs. “Frank, this is more damage than I have ever seen on a submarine. Fill me in on what happened.”

“Short version, we had just finished sinking the sub after the Kennedy when my sound man heard a torpedo in the water. He said it was a 46. We immediately began maneuvering to get out of the thing’s way, but except for one time, it stayed with us. Even the one time it lost us, it found us again in short order. Just before it looked like the thing would hit us, I ordered the planes full down. It was just enough that the torpedo missed the tail and hit the sail. You see the damage. I lost communications, periscopes, snorkel, just about everything. We were at about 250 feet when it hit. The water coming into the control room was like a waterfall. It seemed to come from everywhere. My damage control team jumped on it. I was afraid somebody up there might drop another one, so I ordered everything to stop and just made like a hole in the ocean. It took us four hours to get all the leaks stopped. When we got underway again the noise of all that damage made a racket in the water, so I had to keep our speed below five knots. I doubt you noticed, but the pressure hull is dented. So I could not go below about 150 feet without leaking again or maybe even breaking apart. By the time I felt like it was okay to surface, there wasn’t anybody who might hurt us or help us.” Jacobs gave out a sigh. “It’s been a long trip home. My people have listed all that needs fixing, but I figure just redoing the hull will take a year.” He chuckled. “At least I brought her home,” he said.

Hendrick sat back and looked at Jacobs. The story was written in the lines of his face. He could tell the man had almost single handedly willed his ship back home when others might have abandoned the vessel and allowed it to sink. He nodded at the man. “Yes, Frank, you brought her home. You need to know that Texas was the first to strike a blow to our enemy. You already have a higher kill ratio than any other sub in the Atlantic. You really did save that carrier, despite the idiot that had her going around at 27 knots. I’ll be sending a team aboard to take statements and debrief. Then as soon as a space becomes available, USS Texas will move into a drydock. This ship needs saving, Commander, and we’re going to do it. Once the team is done, you and your crew will be relieved and sent home on 30 days of leave. Then I want you back with me to get her ready for sea again. I need you and your men out there, Frank. You’re the best team I have,” Hendrick said.

Jacobs brightened at those words. “Thanks, Admiral. I have some recommendations for the crew. They were the ones who saved the ship.”

“I’ll see to it. Now get some rest. From what I see, you more than deserve it,” Hendrick said.

When the admiral left, Jacobs looked around at his command. The ship’s sail was gone with only jagged fragments where it was attached to the hull. All along the top of the hull the plating was dented and scarred. Holes were in several places along the hull where fragments had penetrated the outer hull. In the area where the periscopes had been even the pressure hull was dented so that the openings were at different angles. Rust was everywhere around the small foothold where his hull technicians had welded supports for someone to stand topside without falling overboard. Even the place for the flag had been jury rigged. Jacobs wondered if she could ever be fixed. There was a shout behind him on the pier. He turned to see his wife and two children running toward him along with some other families. He scooped them into his arms and hugged them hard. His wife was crying.

“Are you coming home, Daddy?” asked his young son.

Through tears of his own he said, “Yes, Christopher. Daddy’s home.”

USS America was huge. Just finding his stateroom was a challenge, but eventually Rod Jeffers got all his gear from the car to the small ten by fifteen foot space that held a single bed, desk, sink, bookshelf and closet, all made of metal. A second door led from his stateroom to a shared bath. He was lucky. Most of the officers shared a stateroom with at least one other person, but because he was on the Admiral’s staff and a Lieutenant Commander, he had been given this one.

The drive from Washington had been uneventful. Fewer cars were on the road because of changes the President had made. There wasn’t gas rationing, but the gasoline tax had been tripled. New tolls had been placed on roads so that driving was discouraged and the use of public transportation encouraged, even for the wealthy. Now the Rolls would be used only on a rare occasion. He had already made arrangements for it to be placed in a special parking area where it would be watched after.

When everything had been put away, he decided to look around some before turning in. It was already 2100 hours and except for the constant hum of the blowers circulating the air, the ship seemed quiet. Like most ships, the passageways were clean and neat. All piping was labeled and there were stenciled numbers on the bulkheads indicating compartment and frame numbers so that anyone familiar with a ship’s numbering system would know where they were and what the space was.

Going down some ladders he entered the vast hangar deck where the ship’s aircraft could be kept and maintained. Because of the new blackout regulations, the huge hanger doors were closed so the lights inside were on. People could be seen going back and forth doing some task or another. There were no aircraft aboard. They would come on only after the ship got underway, but pallets of supplies seemed to be everywhere. Some of the bustle in the hangar deck was centered around getting those supplies into their proper spaces.

The wardroom was huge. Tables seemed to cover most of the floor except for a small area where several officers were watching television. Each table was topped with a fitted blue plastic cover adding at least some color to the bright white painted space. Metal side tables were attached periodically along the bulkhead near the wardroom galley. Someone had covered them with a fake wood vinyl coating that barely resembled anything natural. It was pretty sterile.

Making his way back to his stateroom, he entered a passageway and heard the distinct sound of a guitar playing. Stopping for a moment, he could hear the slow delicate melody of Vivaldi’s Guitar Concerto in D Major. A smile came to his face. This was not something the average sailor, or officer, would be playing. He had to meet this person.

Stopping at the door where the music was coming from, he knocked. The music stopped and the door opened.

“Rod!” cried the voice of the man standing in the doorway. Rod felt two hands grab his arms as the young man pulled him into a hug. “My God, where did you come from?”

Evan Chambers had been a fellow officer aboard the USS Kings Mountain. The two had become instant friends when they discovered their common passion for guitars and music. Although Evan had been in another department, they had spent many hours playing together in their off hours. To see him here brightened Jeffers’ day.

“You know, there is only one person I know who would be sitting alone playing Vivaldi. I had to see if it was you. I’m on the admiral’s staff. What are you doing aboard?” asked Jeffers.

“I’m a damage control assistant. I had been approved for department head school, but with the war, they decided to send me here,” Chambers said as he ushered Jeffers into his stateroom. The two sat down. It was then that Chambers noticed Jeffers’ rank insignia. “Wait a minute. When did you put these on?”

Jeffers grinned. “Got deep selected. I guess they really are hard up on officers. I just got aboard tonight,” he said, changing the subject.

“Well, I hope you brought your stuff. There are a few of us that get together and play every so often. You’d probably enjoy it,” Chambers said. He paused for a minute, then eyed Jeffers seriously. “You know, there is a rumor going around about some hotshot lieutenant up in the Pentagon that’s got all the admirals running around jumping through hoops. I hear he’s responsible for everything we’re doing these days. That wouldn’t be you, would it?” The fact that Rod Jeffers began turning a bright shade of red told him the whole story. Chambers’ face changed to one of astonishment. “My God it is you. Damn, Rod, I always knew you were smart, but all this?”

“Look, all I did was rough up a plan for Admiral Hammond. He said it was just a training thing, then all of a sudden it became this monster. I had no idea,” Jeffers said.

“Admiral Hammond. The Supreme Allied Commander in Europe?” Chambers sat back in his chair. “Holy shit.”

“He wasn’t the commander then. That came later. It’s been pretty hectic the last few months,” Jeffers said.

“I can imagine. So you’re getting underway with us. That should be interesting. At least we can entertain ourselves like we did on the Kings Mountain,” said Chambers.

“Yes, we can,” Jeffers said. He was interrupted when a call came over the general announcing system.

“Lieutenant Commander Jeffers, 417.”

Jeffers reached for the telephone in the bulkhead and dialed the number.

“Rod, you better pack a bag for a two day trip. You and I are going to Europe tomorrow morning at 0800 to do some briefings. Dress blues the whole time. I’ll need the finalized plan and that PowerPoint you did up. Place everything in a secure bag. Can you get everything ready?” asked Admiral Hustvedt.

“Yes, Admiral. I’ll get it ready. Do I need to arrange transportation?” asked Jeffers.

“No, it’s all set. Just meet me down on the pier at 0730. The plane is just over at the airfield. If you think of anything else we need to take, bring it along,” said Hustvedt.

“No problem, Admiral. I’ll see to it.”

“Good. See you in the morning,” the admiral said as he hung up the phone.

Jeffers turned to his friend and gave a shrug. “Duty calls. Got to go to Europe to give some sort of briefings. I need to get a few things together,” he said as he turned toward the door. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m awfully glad you’re here, Rod. Let’s get together when we can,” Chambers said to his friend.

Jeffers gave Chambers a wide grin. “You can count on it,” he said as he squeezed Chambers’ arm. As he made his way to the flag offices he realized that going to Europe might mean seeing Hammond again. That would make the next couple of hours spent getting things together would be well worth it.

“I need the electricity back on!” demanded Borodin. “It has been two months and nothing appears to be happening. I have people freezing to death and you are giving me excuses!”

“What more can I do, Mister President? Every time I get a plant online, we get hit by one of their smart weapons. If it is not my generating plant, it is the distribution yards. There is not one hydroelectric plant online. The dams are gone, and those can’t be replaced for years. Even our nuclear sites were hit. I dare not try and put those back online for some time. I have gotten some coal plants back online, but the mines are down because we cannot supply power to them,” said Ivan Rosenco, head of Unified Energy Systems, Russia’s dominant energy producer.

“I don’t want to hear of problems, only solutions!” demanded Borodin.

Rosenco knew there was no arguing the point. Borodin was in a rage and not thinking about anything but getting something done. When he and the others had thought the war up, they had not counted on the American weapons to be this effective. He sat back in his ruffled suit and glared at Borodin. “It is obvious that whenever a grid comes up, the lights go on and we get targeted. In order to get around their smart weapons, we are operating what few plants I have without using lighting. No electricity can go to the homes because we won’t have any for industry. So you have a choice, power to keep the people warm or power to run the war. You can’t have both! Right now we are directing power only to essential industries so that war production can continue, but even that is becoming an issue. I just lost one plant even though we were in pitch darkness. So now we are distributing diesel generating units to cities so that we can get some minimal power back on. Our industrial plants have their own generation systems now when the power goes out. There is nothing more that can be done!” he nearly shouted.

Borodin pressed a button on his desk and an armed man entered the office. “It is a shame you are not competent enough to do your job. I consider you have harmed our nation and its people.” He turned to the man with the rifle. “Arrest this man and place him under heavy guard. Get him out of my sight!” he demanded.

Rosenco laughed. “Getting rid of me won’t do you any good. You need me to keep this system going. You will lead us to ruin!” he shouted as the guard poked the gun in his ribs and shoved him out the door.

Borodin watched them leave. Rosenco was only one man. He would find someone who could get the job done.

The flight of ten B-1 bombers skirted through the hills and valleys in Eastern Slovakia. The course had been planned out and set into the navigation systems, but Captain Jack Pruitt didn’t like being this close to the ground. This was all mountainous terrain and although the plane’s equipment was supposed to easily handle this, it almost always scared the crews to death. The target was the rail lines in a small town of Bzenica almost in the center of Slovakia. To Pruitt, the whole mission was a screwed up mess. There was no fighter cover, no real intelligence on the target and thrown together in the last minute to satisfy some idea that hitting a rail line in a far off town would end the war. The plane took a sickening lurch upward to skim over one of the myriad of mountains ahead. What came next was equally bad, the downward weightless phase as the aircraft dropped back down on the other side. He heard someone in the crew throw up violently behind him.

“Damn!” cried his co-pilot, Jim Springer beside him. “I told that son of a bitch not to eat a big lunch. You have to clean up any mess you make!” he announced.

Behind the two men, the bombardier-navigator lifted his head out of a bag. He looked dreadful as he grabbed a paper towel and wiped his face. “Screw you Springer,” he said with a shaky voice. Glancing at his gages he called out, “Twenty miles to target. We’ll be turning left soon.”

Within a few seconds the aircraft banked to the left sharply following a valley between the mountain peaks. Pruitt looked out of the cockpit to see that the other bombers had also made the turn. At least being the lead aircraft meant he didn’t have to worry about hitting one of the others.

“We follow the river below all the way in. You should be able to see the train tracks below us,” said the navigator.

“Why don’t we just drop the load here and be done with it,” said Springer.

“Patience, my boy. We mustn’t doubt the wisdom of our superiors,” said Pruitt sarcastically.

Now the plane’s movements were left and right as it glided through the valley between the mountain peaks. True to his word, Pruitt could see both the river and the train tracks running beside it. They passed several small villages along the way. There was also what looked like a major highway running along the same path. Maybe they could take out both at the same time, Pruitt thought.

Up ahead of the aircraft, Pruitt saw a sharp bend in the river. There was a small farming town several hundred yards from the tracks. As they got closer, he saw a train traveling at speed along the track coming towards them.

“Target in sight. Ten seconds to drop,” said the navigator.

Inside the bomb bay, the weapons were already targeted. Suddenly the doors opened and the bombs were ejected into the air under the aircraft. Each weapon located its assigned target and maneuvered to hit it.

On the ground, several farmers heard a rumbling from the large bomber’s engines as they came closer. They couldn’t see them yet, but knew something was coming. Suddenly one of the men shouted and pointed down the valley. They watched as the large planes zoomed forward along the valley, seemingly following the river. Since they were not coming directly toward them, the farmers remained in place, simply watching things unfold before them. There was another shout as one of the men noticed something falling from the planes. Several of the men later related that it seemed that each of the small dots they saw seemed to go in different directions. They watched as an entire stretch of earth along the river seemed to erupt before them, throwing the men off their feet as a deafening roar pierced the air. It was followed by the sound of screeching metal and a loud metallic crash.

Getting up from the ground, the men made their way to trucks and tractors so they could see what happened. Minutes later the road they were on abruptly ended. Looking out over what used to be a peaceful green valley, there was no longer any road or train for over a mile. At the head of the destruction, smoke rose from a train that had run off the tracks and piled up along the side of the destruction left by the bombers. The train had been traveling at high speed. It was evidenced by the way the cars had accordioned up into a huge pile of rubble. Most intriguing was the fact that piled high along the rubble were what looked like wooden tanks, now crushed, splintered and burning. It appeared only a few of the tanker cars in the train had fuel. That was now burning as well. The rest of the cars looked empty. The farmers shrugged their shoulders and made their way toward the train to see if there were any survivors.

After dropping their bombs, the B-1s pulled upwards and reversed course to begin heading home. As his plane turned, Pruitt looked back to see the destruction they had caused. He too noticed the train and now burning tanks. What the hell, he thought.

“They are fake!” shouted a technician watching the results of the bombing run. The watch supervisor went over to look at the display. “See the way the tanks have broken up? These over here are burning. There’s one on its top. The bottom is hollow and unpainted,” the technician pointed out.

“Oh hell,” expounded the watch supervisor as he grabbed a phone and dialed a number. After two rings there was an answer. “Sir, those tank trains we were watching are fake. They’re carrying wooden dummies,” he said.

“I’ll be right in,” said the man on the other end of the line.

Two minutes later Grant Thompson walked into the watch center and stared down at the laser display. It only took a moment for him to see what had happened. “What would make them put fakes on this train?” he asked out loud.

“It only makes sense it’s a decoy for something,” said the supervisor.

Thompson’s eyes widened. “What other trains are on the tracks right now?” he asked.

“There’s a coal train headed up towards Trencin, an agriculture train headed east from Lucenec, a couple of slow freight trains headed north toward Lubotin. Another slow train headed toward Lipany. This isn’t counting the other faster trains we are watching coming in from Lviv,” the supervisor said.

“You’re sure the ones going up north are freight?”

“Yes. The shape of the cars themselves are telling us along with their slow movement. No tanks on those trains,” he said.

“How fast are they going?” asked Thompson.

“Only about forty five miles an hour,” the supervisor said. He made adjustments to the screen and the imaged changed to a slow moving train heading along a track deep in a mountain valley. The tops of each car had a roof with a walking platform in the center. There was actually a person walking along that platform going between the cars. The men watched the train for a moment.

“That’s a freight alright,” said Thompson. “Take a look all along the tracks and make sure they haven’t stashed some military equipment along the way. We need to find out what’s going on.”

“We’ll find them. May take us a couple of hours,” the supervisor assured him.

“Good. Better let the people know up the line what we found,” said Thompson. “At least the people in Vienna can sleep a little better tonight,” Thompson said.

General Claire Richardson, Hustvedt and Jeffers had gone over the briefing three times since settling aboard the Gulfstream G650 in Norfolk. They only stopped when a crewman brought in a meal. Jeffers got up to move to another part of the plane but Richardson stopped him. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“I thought you and the Admiral would want to eat together,” he said shyly.

Richardson let out a laugh. “No, we’re all working on this thing. Have a seat with us and just talk,” she said as he sat back in his seat across from the two. It was obvious he was a little uncomfortable sitting with the high hitters. “We’ve been working together for a while now and I don’t really know a thing about you, Rod. Tell me a little about yourself,” she said cordially. Hustvedt nodded and sat back chewing on his sandwich.

Jeffers shrugged. “I’m from a small town in Tennessee. My family was farmers until my father started a steel manufacturing company. We make parts and specialized equipment. My brothers all went into the business, but I took a different turn and went to the Academy. I just wanted to go to sea,” he said.

“None of the others in your family ever thought about being in the military?” Richardson asked.

Jeffers shook his head. “No, but we had relatives who fought in all of the wars. I even had one relative who walked from Eastern Tennessee to fight in the Battle for Kings Mountain back in the Revolution. It kind of gave me a kick to be stationed aboard the Kings Mountain as my first ship. Since then I’ve decided to make this my career,” he said.

“You’re like a lot of young men and women coming in right now. It’s almost like they get this urge and act on it,” said Hustvedt between bites. “It hit me the same way,” he offered.

“Me too,” said Richardson. “I started out when women were just getting into the military in a big way, so I knew I had a chance. My family was the same as yours. Most were into a family business. When I told my father I was going to be a Marine he thought I had lost my mind,” she chuckled. “But, he pinned my colonel eagles on my collars before he died. Something like that means a lot.”

“You know, I checked your record before you came onto my staff,” Hustvedt said to Jeffers. “I know Roger Hammond endorsed you, but I even talked a minute to Captain Davis. It seems like you leave a very positive impression with your superiors,” he said in encouragement. “Now what’s this I hear from Davis that you figured out the Venezuelan strategy before anyone else?”

Jeffers was blushing now. “It just seemed to make sense. When you put what happened into a time sequence along with the idea that someone wanted to accomplish a task, then it just made sense. I guess I was just the first one to get it,” he said meekly.

Richardson chuckled again. “When you figure everyone in Washington was running around with their head up their ass, what you came up with was remarkable to say the least,” she said with a smile. “Now tell me how you came up with this plan,” she said.

Jeffers thought for a minute. “Well, I needed a model, so I had them break out the original documents for Overlord. It turns out there are a lot of notes written in the margins. When all that was going on, Stalin was desperately trying to get the Allies to begin a second front so that it would take the pressure off his forces. The idea was to stretch the German military machine too thin. That way it would be much easier to make our advances. If you think about it, that’s what we have now, only the Russians are the aggressors. Look at the mass of the Eurasian continent. There’s a lot of land to fill. Because we are attacking on one front, they can throw everything at us and keep pushing on. So we pull the same thing that was done in 1944. We stretch them out over several fronts so they can’t concentrate forces. We also look at their assets. By attacking where we do, we are cutting off major sources of oil and natural gas. Just like with Hitler, we strangle them until they can’t do much. I was also guided by what Admiral Hammond said. He said we had to use the advanced technologies we have to make a difference in people and materials. He was right. That’s what has kept the Russians at bay so far. I’m not sure that will last forever, but while it does, we use it to our advantage. Once I came to those conclusions, I just replicated the planning of Overlord as it applied to us and added things that came to mind. You gotta remember I was doing this as a project for Admiral Hammond, not for some Allied advance. I just let my ideas fly and wrote it all down. I might have been too scared to come up with all this if it really meant men and women going in harm’s way,” he said.

Richardson sat back and admired the young man. He had used his training and knowledge to put together a masterpiece for a project and was humble enough to let you know that it was just something he dreamed up. She smiled at the man. “Maybe that’s the way we should do things in the future. People get conservative when they think people might die getting the job done. They stop taking chances and as a result, we get the same old thing all the time. Mounting this objective will stretch us as well as the Russians, but with other nations involved, we can make it happen. I understand you thought I was the one to lead the southern incursion. Mind telling me why?” she asked. The smile on her face told Jeffers it was okay.

“Every army needs a Patton,” he said. “In Korea you and the First Marines swept through Korea like spreading butter. Admiral Hammond told me one night he could sit on his ship and see your lines change every day. He told me you were so flexible that it really didn’t matter what the bad guys did, you always got around them. Down south, we need someone who can get around those mountains and move through their oil fields. That’s also their breadbasket. I figure it will be like closing a set of pliers. I don’t know anyone else that we have right now who could do it. And I’m not doing this to suck up,” he emphasized.

Both Hustvedt and Richardson laughed. “Actually, she was the first person I thought about too,” said Hustvedt. “I guess you have to live up to our high expectations,” he said to Richardson.

“Oh you make a woman feel wanted,” she quipped. “But at least you got me out of a desk job and back on the playing field. I guess I really have Hammond to thank for that.”

“Yep. He added his recommendations early on. Nobody else was even considered. I thought Black would shed a tear when he heard it. Of course the President had the final say,” said Hustvedt.

Richardson grinned. “Nice to have friends in high places.”

Hustvedt turned back to Jeffers. “Davis told me about you and a guy named Chambers getting people together to play music. You play a banjo?”

Jeffers’ smile broadened. “Yes, sir, been playing since I was about five. My whole family gets together and plays during the year. Lieutenant Chambers plays the guitar. You know, he is the only guy I ever came up against that could pick it like a banjo. Some of the guys on the ship would get together with us and play. Chambers could tear that thing up. When I got aboard the America I was walking down a passageway when I heard a guitar playing a piece he always played. Turns out he was transferred aboard for his second division officer tour. Looks like we will be playing again pretty soon,” he said with some joy.

“I love bluegrass. Let me know and I’ll come up and see just how good you two are,” said Richardson. I may even bring out something I play,” she said.

Jeffers leaned forward. “Don’t tell me you play too. What instrument?”

Richardson smiled. “I used to play the meanest fiddle you ever heard. It’s been a while, but with a little practice I’ll give a hard lick to the old Orange Blossom Special.”

The small border crossing had been quiet since the borders had been closed. Barricades were up along the highway from Slovakia to Poland ever since the small country had been annexed by Russia. Several cars were parked across the roads and men could be seen in the lit crossing posts casually drinking coffee and smoking. Not far away just before the river was the only set or train tracks from Slovakia to Poland for 100 miles. A small barricade had been set up at an old short steel bridge over a creek. Several railroad ties had been placed between the steel sections of the bridge to derail anything that came along. On occasion, the border guards would patrol the tracks just to make sure everything was in place. In the dead of the winter, the guards almost never ventured out of the crossing post buildings.

Anton Bugayev and three other men made their way along a narrow tree lined road toward the crossing. It was nearly midnight and all the local villagers were staying warm in their beds. An earlier look had told Bugayev that at most there would only be four guards at night. The phone and electric lines had been buried long ago but Bugayev knew which junction boxes to hit in order to cut off the crossing from the outside world. Snow was falling and the four men made their way just behind the tree line so that even if someone came along the road, they could be behind cover. They didn’t have much time.

Upon reaching a spot just under the crossing station, the four men climbed a snow covered embankment until they were at some bushes against the crossing fence. Peering through the bushes, they could see the four guards in the station house. Two were seated in chairs while one perched against a desk and the other stood looking out of the windows toward the highway barriers. The road toward Slovakia was well lit, but there wasn’t as much light on the Polish side. The men were no more than ten feet away. Using silenced pistols, the men pointed them through the brush and took aim. The silenced shots pierced the thin windows and killed all four men in their place. Bugayev bolted over the fence and added another shot at close range to each of the guards before dashing to a small junction box outside the office. He pried off the cover and used his knife to sever the telephone lines inside.

Bounding back over the fence, Bugayev and his men ran toward the train tracks and the small bridge. By the time they reached the old bridge, the others were gasping for air. Bugayev looked at the makeshift crossing barricade. The wooden ties had been stretched between the bridge girders and simply left there. Getting his men together, they began grabbing one end and simply shoving the wooden ties off one side of the bridge. In the distance, Bugayev could hear the rumble of a train approaching. Urging his men forward, they shoved off the last tie and ran back to the other end of the bridge. They stood to the side a little down from the edge and watched as the now fast moving train sped past them in the dark. The lights of the crossing dimly showed the train as it sped past. Onboard were battle tanks covered with some sort of wooden roof. The train seemed to stretch for miles and it took several minutes before the end went past. Bugayev and his men began making their way back to the car they had parked about half a mile up the old road. About half way there they heard a second train speed by. The men reached their car and climbed inside as a third passed. In just a few minutes they were on the main highway headed north. As they drove along, the fourth train seemed to travel with them as the tracks led along the highway. Bugayev stepped on the gas. Despite the snow, he and his men had to reach the outskirts of Krakow to make sure everything was ready.

The G650 landed at Tegel Airport and taxied to a small military terminal on the far side of the runways across from the main terminal. A car was waiting for them. Three very tired people entered the car and were driven to the Bundeswehr, the German defense headquarters. It was quite a ride through Berlin. Jeffers looked out of the windows in wonder at the sprawling city. He was particularly impressed at the mixture in architecture from old Germany to new modern glass structures along the way. They passed the Tiergarten, a massive park in the city, where people were walking back and forth almost as if nothing were happening in the world. Upon entering another district, the car turned left and followed a river until they came to a huge stone structure, several stories tall surrounded by a fence. The car pulled in through a gate where they showed their IDs and were checked on a list before the car deposited them at a set of doors. A young German officer met them.

“Welcome to Germany. I have been asked to escort you directly to the Supreme Commander’s office. If you will follow me please,” the young man said with a smile. He gave some orders in German to the driver. “He will be taking your bags to your quarters. If you need anything, please get it.”

Jeffers already had his briefcase and laptop with him. With a wave, the driver drove off. The three followed the officer into the building.

Inside the bustle was almost like it was at the Pentagon. People were going everywhere. Entering an elevator, they were whisked up three levels and entered a paneled area. Two doors down, they entered a set of heavy wooden doors.

“Claire! It is good to see you again,” said General Dortmund standing in the room. He shook her hand and slapped her arm.

“The same here. I was hoping I would see you again, Helmut. Let me introduce you to Admiral Chris Hustvedt and Lieutenant Commander Rod Jeffers,” Richardson said.

Dortmund’s eyes opened wider. “Well! I certainly wanted to meet this young man,” he exclaimed, shaking Jeffers’ hand. “This plan of yours has even my people in awe. It is good to meet you.”

“I’m just happy to be helpful, General,” said Jeffers.

“Some of our Kriegsmarine officers have been anxious to meet with you as well, Admiral. We are very glad you have come. I regret that Admiral Hammond isn’t here to greet you, but we have a small crisis going on and he asked me to bring you to the war room. I hope you don’t mind,” said Dortmund.

“Lead the way,” said Richardson.

The four made their way to the war room while Dortmund briefed them. “It seems we had an incursion onto Poland last night that was somewhat unexpected. You are about to see where all the decisions are made, but I must caution you. What you are about to see is highly classified. You all have the clearance to see this, but you cannot discuss what you see with anyone. It is some technology which even I do not believe is real. It must be witchcraft,” he said with a wink.

They were escorted into the darkened room where people were issuing orders and trying to counter the threat. Rod Jeffers could not believe his eyes. The three dimensional images filled the middle of the room. He could see everything, from aircraft making their attack runs to tanks on the ground. Hammond was standing in the far corner surrounded by military men and women. They almost appeared to be talking at once. Seeing the three, Hammond grinned and made his way to them. He gave Richardson a hug. “I am so glad you are here. I need some sane people around me,” he joked as he shook Hustvedt’s hand. Then he turned to Jeffers. “Rod. It sure is good to see you again,’ he said, shaking his hand and placing the other on his shoulder.

“Same here, Admiral,” Jeffers said smiling. “Looks like you have a problem.”

Hammond gave a sigh, “Yes, take a look at this,” he said as he led them to where he had been standing. He gave a quick brief of what had happened so far. “They got to the outskirts of Krakow before the train was finally stopped. They disguised it to look like a simple freight train and we bought it. Then when they couldn’t get farther, they simply pulled up to a siding and the tanks and equipment rolled off the damn thing. The first thing they did was scamper into these towns and are now in between the buildings. I’m having a hard time getting at them with air power and most of my armor is over here on the front. We have some light units moving in, but they can’t do very much. My other troops and equipment are down here in Vienna. It’s going to take some time getting them back up here,” he said.

Jeffers was looking at what looked like a mass of tanks and vehicles just outside Vienna near the Slovakian border. “What are your advisors saying?” he asked.

“They want to put them on trains and get them to Krakow. It’s going to take a couple of days,” he said.

An intense look came over Jeffers’ face. Richardson noticed it. “Tell us what you’re thinking, Rod,” she said quietly.

“Slovakia was attacked the same time as Poland,” he said.

“That’s right,” said Hammond. “Now the whole country is in the hands of the Russians.”

“Yes, but I’m not seeing any major forces in this area. I see some up here near the Czech border, but this looks a little barren,” Jeffers said.

Dortmund looked along the western border. “You know, he’s right. There is this one brigade down here near Samorin and a few here at the crossing near Bratislava, but the rest are up here mostly near Trencin near the border.”

“If you remember, the Slovaks pulled their troops and remaining equipment into the Czech Republic. It looks like a lot of stuff is up here around Straznice and these other two towns. Do we know how much the Czechs and the Slovakians have?” Jeffers asked.

“Not much. Between them they might come up with a short division. Right now they are trying to be ready if the Russians decide to move on into the Czech Republic,” said Dortmund, warming up to the discussion.

“Then why move the Italians and Spanish at all? Why not coordinate an attack from Vienna and from the Czech Republic at the same time? If they both drive in together, they could then move back up these highways here and retake Slovakia. That would cut off these new troops and make a lot of people very happy. With the supplies cut off, these people near Krakow can’t go far. Then we set up our defenses along the eastern Slovakian border and hold on. Once the main operation gets going we might be able to get through and cut off all this,” Jeffers said, motioning toward the southern countries.

“Bloody hell,” said Sir Reginald Kensington, Commander of British Forces. “We’ve been looking at this for two hours and couldn’t see this thing staring us in the face. Let’s think about this. If we did this, it would be like driving a wedge across to Ukraine. These southern countries like Hungary, Romania and Serbia might give up on their Russian allies and come back to our side. At least that would be one of my worries if I were Russian. It might even mean they have to pull back some troops to reinforce their hold down there. It would go right along with our planning. Not bad, young fellow,” he said.

“How long would it take to get the Spanish and Italians online? If they knew the Czechs and Slovaks would be coming in from up north to join up with them, they might be ready in short order,” said Hammond.

“I’ll contact them and get it set up. You may need to call down to Prague and get things started,” said Dortmund.

“I’ll place the call right now. Get me the facts and figures in two hours. If we can do this, I want to kick off in forty eight hours. Get your staffs to kick this in high gear,” ordered Hammond.

The men started rushing from the room as Richardson looked at Jeffers. “Rod, you are frightening. I thought your plans were amazing, but what I just witnessed is quite unbelievable. There were times when we were hung up for days on a problem. You just found a very viable solution in a matter of minutes.” She turned to Hustvedt, “Chris, would you mind if I had him for a while?” she asked with a grin.

“Not on your life. He’s staying with his own kind. I want him with me when we make those landings,” Hustvedt said slapping Jeffers on the back.

Hammond sat back and looked at Jeffers. Even he had not realized the mind that his friend possessed. “Good job, Rod. I’m proud of you. Now let’s get to the business at hand. This afternoon we brief the NATO commanders. This will include most heads of government and military leaders. Admiral McKennon and General Bryant will be going over the Pacific area and you will go over the Black Sea incursion. My staff will go over the European offensive. I will wrap it all up. I trust you have your presentation ready,” he said.

“All set,” said Hustvedt. “We went over it several times on the way over.”

“Good. I hope you realize you will be playing to only the highest hitters in Europe. Even the King of Great Britain will be there. It won’t do to have you freeze up on me,” said Hammond.

“You know better,” said Richardson. “I just hope he can keep up.”

“Oh, he’ll keep up. You’ll find he will ask the best questions of them all. Now let’s go over it right quick so that we can add or take some things out before the show,” said Hammond getting down to business. Jeffers pulled out the laptop. He had never seen a king before.

The trains had been forced to stop at a major rail yard in Tarnow. The tracks had been switched for expected incoming trains and they led directly to a large terminal in the heart of the city. There, a large concrete loading dock stood empty. It was the perfect place. The trains pulled up and the tanks simply turned on the cars and drove onto the dock. They were followed by numerous trucks pulling artillery and carloads of troops disgorging from their transportation directly onto the trucks. Once empty, the train pulled away and a second pulled up, disgorging its military cargo in record time. Three trains later and the Russian mechanized divisions began moving down the four lane highway right beside the terminal toward Krakow. Local civilians could only stare as the Russians moved through their streets unopposed. One man tried to block the way with his truck loaded with groceries. The tanks didn’t even slow down. By the end of the day the truck was no more than a crumpled sheet of steel lining the road. In the end, only a small garrison of men remained. They went to the City Hall and took the mayor as prisoner. There had been no troops in the city to protect it.

“Pack it up! Training’s over. We have to get all this stuff to Krakow as fast as we can,” ordered Master Sergeant Ricks. “Get everything in the crates and make sure it’s got plenty of padding.”

The men were scampering around the large room, disconnecting equipment and sliding it all into designated spaces in the crates for shipping. Despite the fact these men and women had just completed boot camp, they responded with a sense of urgency that bode well for what was about to come. One of the men came up to Ricks.

“What do you need Private Kursov?” asked Ricks.

“Do we need to pack up all the training manuals? It’s going to take up a lot of room and if we’re going right to work, there might not be much need for them,” Petyr said.

“I agree. Just throw the things in an empty crate. We’ll let these guys here take care of them,” said Ricks. Kursov was one of the better young Polish soldiers of the bunch. He had a quick mind and seemed to grasp what was needed long before the others. He’d go far. “Just make sure the maintenance manuals go along. I’d hate to try to fix one of these things without them,” he said.

Kursov nodded and rushed away to finish packing the equipment. He couldn’t believe they were sending him back home. It might mean seeing more of Freda.

It didn’t take long before all the equipment was crated up and placed in a container. The people grabbed their packs and sprinted out to waiting buses. The trip was going to take a few hours, but the army wanted them there as soon as possible. They had no idea what had happened or why the rush, but they were on their way to war.

The train was being filled rapidly. A crane was placing the containers onto their special cars and there was a long line of passenger cars going along as well. Periodically, there was a car with an antiaircraft gun or portable missile system onboard. You could tell by all the bustle that people were in a hurry.

Colonel Sanders walked up to Ricks, who was supervising the onload. “Ricks, there’s been a change of plan. Now we’re headed to the Czech Republic. You can let the guys know when we get underway, but no one gets off the train between here and some place called Javornik. They’re setting us up in some school just two and a half miles from the border. We have to be there and set up by 0300 tomorrow morning. Get your people and equipment on the train ASAP and hang on. This thing is going to fly over there. We have over 250 miles to go and it’s nonstop. Any questions?” Sanders asked.

Ricks shook his head. “We’ll have everything onboard in about fifteen minutes. Looks like you and I are going to the front of the front this time,” he said.

Sanders smiled. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As promised, the men and equipment were loaded aboard with time to spare. There was an additional delay when parts of a German infantry unit were loaded aboard as well. After an additional thirty minutes, the train began picking up speed along the tracks. True to his word, the thing was going much faster than Ricks had expected.

Surprisingly, the train was quiet. Most of the men and women were simply sitting in their seats and wondering what was going to happen to them. After letting them know there had been a change in destination, Ricks began making his way to his seat in the front of the coach. He stopped for a moment beside Private Kursov. There was something about this young man. He could be intense when doing his job, but eager to help out and very capable in everything Ricks had thrown at him so far. He grinned down at the man. “Sorry about the change. Looks like we won’t be going to your home this time out,” he said quietly.

Petyr shrugged his shoulders. “My sergeant told me a long time ago to never make plans. I’ll get home when this is over,” he said.

Ricks sat down in the empty seat beside him. “Yea, but it would have been nice to see the family and that girl of yours. I remember my first time out. There were times I had wished I could just run away and get back to my family. You live in Krakow long?”

“All my life. My father and mother are both Russian, but I’m from Poland. We’ve lived in the same place this whole time,” he said with a smile. Thinking of home felt good.

Ricks chuckled. “Most Americans move around a lot. It’s not surprising to have someone who has lived two or three places by your age.”

“Did you do that?”

Ricks shook his head. “No, I was a farm boy. We lived on the farm all my life. But some of my friends in school moved around. Many of them were military brats.”

Petyr got a questioning look. “Brats?”

Ricks laughed. “It’s a term a lot of military use for children of military families. It’s not meant as something bad, just a pet name,” he said.

“I still have trouble with some English. I understand,” said Petyr. “Do you have any brats?”

Ricks chuckled again. “Yep. I have two little twin brats with one more on the way. I met my wife during the Korean War and things just happen that way,” he grinned.

“I hope to marry my girl when I get back. Then maybe we can have some brats of our own,” Petyr said. He changed his tone. “Do you mind if I ask a question?”

“Sure.”

“Some of the guys told me you were one of the highest decorated men in the American Army. They also told me you don’t have any legs. Is this so?” Petyr asked.

Ricks could tell by his look that he was a little afraid of the response. He reached down and pulled up his pants leg revealing the titanium prosthetic coming out of his boot. “I lost both of them toward the end of the war. As you can see, it didn’t stop me from doing my job.”

Petyr’s eyes widened. He had no idea. A look of admiration spread across his face. “I always thought something like that would send a person home,” he said.

“Most of the time it does,” said Ricks. “In my case, they made an exception. Of course that doesn’t mean I can’t kick your ass if you screw up,” he said with a grin. He was rewarded with a knowing smile.

“I value my life, Master Sergeant,” Petyr said.

“Good. And as far as the other goes, don’t worry about my decorations. Just do your job and you will be getting some of your own. It never works to think about what you have to do to get them. Just do your job as best you can and they will come,” Ricks said.

Petyr nodded as Ricks began to get up. Ricks turned back to him. “I’ll be counting on you Petyr,” he said softly.

Petyr’s face brightened. He called him by his first name. He looked up. “I won’t let you down,” he said.

Ricks winked and began making his way to the front of the car.

One of Petyr’s friends turned around in his seat. “One of the people looked him up on the internet. He was awarded the American Medal of Honor. It’s the highest award a guy can get!” he said.

The news didn’t surprise Petyr. Being around Ricks made him feel secure. There was something about him that not only got your attention, but commanded respect. He sat back and thought for a moment and decided that he would follow Master Sergeant Ricks wherever he wanted to go.

The auditorium was surrounded by security. Fighter aircraft were flying overhead and tanks had perimeters set up several hundred yards from the building. The only way to get in was if you had a special card and had a name on the list. Yet, there were only about twenty five men and women in the auditorium to hear the plans for the operation. The front row was the most telling. Seated were the Chancellor of Germany, Presidents of France and Italy, Prime Ministers of Belgium, Spain, Luxemburg, Poland and finally the United Kingdom. Seated with his Prime Minister was the King of England. Behind them were the military leaders of these countries and a few others.

Hammond had already greeted everyone, and now it was time to begin. He went to the podium at the head of the auditorium and nodded to one of his staff members. Images began coming up on the screens behind him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is time to begin. My name is Roger Hammond and I have been tasked with leading the Allied effort to bring victory against the Russian forces. It has been two months since this war began and up until this time, the Allied nations have held back on their front line units as we prepare to strike back at the Russians with a major effort. This effort is called Operation Arctic Wind. I will now ask my military commanders to come up and explain their part in Arctic Wind so that hopefully you will get a full picture of how massive this operation is. We will begin in the European sector with General Dortmund,” he said.

General Dortmund rose and began his portion, followed by General Ames for the air forces. Sir Richard Thomas briefed on the Naval Forces, then handed the podium to Admiral Hustvedt.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my part of this is an amphibious assault in the Black Sea,” he said. There were gasps in the room as he continued. “We will land the First Marine Division, Second Marine Division, and the Fourth Marine Division at a point near Poti in Georgia. The objective is to cut through Georgia to the Caspian Sea, a distance of four hundred miles, then turn north. The fleet units will remain in the Black Sea, to destroy or incapacitate their Black Sea Fleet and prevent further operations along the coasts. To do this we will have the American carriers….” The brief went on a few minutes until he turned it over to the commander of the ground forces in the Black Sea.

General Claire Richardson stood and went to the podium. “Admiral Hustvedt gave you the general outline, however I hope to fill in some of the blanks. We will not be going in alone. The 101st and 82nd Airborne will be dropped in the plains about here,” she said pointing to a place on the map. “At the same time we land, Turkish forces will begin their own incursion into Georgia. They will push forward with six divisions to link up with the Airborne and Marine units and drive on. Our objective is to move north along the Caspian and secure their oil fields. The Turks will then make sure the mountain passes are not available for the Russians to come south. This will bottle them up and make it easier for us to move. We will drive north as far as we can. It is hoped that this and a second landing will draw Russian troops from the west to coincide with the major effort by General Dortmund. The Marine assets will include…”

After her portion of the brief, Admiral McKennon and General Bryant got up. Their portion was a second landing on Sakhalin Island, crossing to the mainland, then driving toward Vladivostok. At the end, Hammond rose again.

“There you have it. Operation Arctic Wind. As someone said to me earlier, this combined effort should draw the Russian forces in three directions, taking pressure off their westward movement and then allowing us the chance to push them out of Poland and back into Russia. It will be up to your leadership to determine how far we eventually go. Now are there any questions?” he asked.

There was silence for a moment which was broken by the King of England. “Admiral Hammond, there is no doubt this is a bold and well thought out move, but I must ask of the cost. We all know the figures of what Russia has against us. I worry of the losses to our young men and women,” he said.

“Your Majesty, I too share that concern. From the beginning I have urged the use of our technological advancements to blunt that tide and so far, this has been successful. Yet every day we must send letters home to a worried family in Great Britain, France, Germany or the States. This is not what these young men and women had hoped when they thought of someday going to Europe. But they know what is at stake. We must end this evil that has befallen us and restore the democracy each of us in Europe and the United States has worked so hard to achieve. Because if we do not win, the outcome will spread. Even the United States and the countries of South America will eventually have to face it. So we take up arms and we do what we must to get the job done now, in this place. Of course, with God’s help, we will do our utmost to make sure our men and women are not wasted. We will use the tools we have to make the difference, so that when this is over, they and their families can live in the freedom they so richly deserve.”

There were nods around the room, then someone began to clap. It was taken up by the rest and lasted several minutes until the briefing ended.

King William came to Hammond and shook his hand. “I would not want your job,” he said. “But I can think of none other to get that job done.”

“Thank you for the confidence, Your Majesty.”

“Quite frankly, I haven’t seen such a complicated strategy before. I take it you are simply stretching their forces to the limits,” the King commented.

“That is correct, Your Majesty. Right now the Russians have a vast superiority in personnel and equipment. But considering the landmass they must protect, our forces have the advantage of making pinpoint strikes and causing a lot of damage and upheaval without fear of meeting those overwhelming odds. If we can pull their forces in three different directions, the odds against us are greatly reduced. This is where our technological superiority can make a huge difference,” Hammond said.

“That makes a lot of sense. How long did it take your staff to come up with this plan?” the King asked.

Hammond chuckled. It wasn’t the first time someone asked the question. “Your Majesty, it was essentially written over a two week period by a single officer. The staffs went through it and made suggestions to flesh it out a bit, but it is basically the same as when I received it.”

“One person did all of this? You must be joking.”

Hammond shook his head. He saw Jeffers putting his laptop away and motioned for him to join them. “Your Majesty, I think you should meet this young man.” Jeffers walked up from behind the King. He nearly had a heart attack when everyone turned to see him. “Your Majesty, I have the honor to present Lieutenant Commander Rod Jeffers, the author of Operation Arctic Wind.”

The King extended his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Commander Jeffers. Your work here is extraordinary,” the King said.

Shaking the King’s hand, Jeffers quickly got control of his feelings. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I never dreamed I might meet you in my lifetime. I hope I can be of service,” he said.

“You already have, Commander. I am impressed with the depth of your planning and organization. Are you on Admiral Hammond’s staff?”

“No, Your Majesty, I am currently on Admiral Hustvedt’s staff. I actually wrote this before hostilities began,” Jeffers said.

The King’s eves opened wider. “Before the hostilities began? It appears you are somewhat clairvoyant as well,” the King said with a grin.

“As someone who was in the service, you can understand I am trying to make sure his career path is a favorable one, so I asked if he could join Admiral Hustvedt and see his plan through at sea. I understand his service has been exemplary,” Hammond said. Jeffers’ face turned a bright red.

The King placed a hand on Jeffers’ shoulder. “Yes, I know what it was like as a junior officer. Prince George in now fifteen and has told me he one day wishes to be a part of the naval service. I look forward to that. Just keep doing your job. I expect you will do well in almost anything you try. I also expect you will one day be visiting Buckingham Palace. When you do, you can sit down with the Prince and tell him of some of your experiences. I look forward to that as well,” he said. He took Jeffers’ hand again.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Jeffers said softly.

“And you, Supreme Commander. If time permits, and you find you need time away from all this, please let us know and we will arrange some time at Balmoral,” the King said to Hammond while taking his hand.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I appreciate that,” said Hammond.

With a wink, the King turned and moved to some of the others in the room. Hammond turned to Jeffers. “You are stepping up in the world, Rod. You realize he wasn’t kidding when he said to come to the palace.”

“Admiral, you keep surprising me like that and I may not survive long enough to make it there,” Jeffers said with a long breath.

Hammond let out a laugh and slapped Jeffers on the shoulder. “You’re just getting started,” Hammond said as he led Jeffers toward the German Chancellor.

Patriarch Gregory was almost shaking. It had been a week since he had met with the Pope for their frank discussion on the war. He had been surprised at the compassion the Pope had expressed on the subject, and especially how he hoped the Russian Orthodox Church would not follow the direction the Catholic Church had gone with Germany during the Second World War. In the end, Gregory had promised to pray about it — something he always said when he wanted to put off a decision. Most times, things were forgotten or just put off indefinitely, but this time it was different. The question stayed with him, haunting his every moment. Even his dreams were about what the Pope had said.

It wasn’t just that. The Patriarch also knew the dangers of going against the government. It was something ground into every Russian, to obey or be crushed. He risked not only himself, but the church as well. Then another thought came to his mind. It was a simple Scripture. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall become the children of God.” It caused him to think about the trials his Savior had gone through, even unto the cross. Only then did his strength return to him.

It was a detailed plan. He had sent personal instructions to each of the churches along with a copy of his sermon. He urged his priests not to disobey, but to express dissatisfaction with the decisions of their government in starting this war. He gave the example to give support to each person forced into the war, but not for the ideals of those who sent them. By now, every church had its copy and would be ready when he stepped into the pulpit.

It was unfortunate that there was no power. The use of generators had to be rationed so a radio address was out of the question. The numbing cold of Moscow in winter was also within the walls of the church. People would be huddled closely just to keep out the cold.

His attendants came in the room to escort him out. Clad in his robes, they seemed especially heavy today. The ceremony itself seemed to last forever. The prayers, the incense, the reading of scriptures, were almost unbearable. He wanted to get on with it and have it over with. Then one of the young boys came up holding a candle. He looked so innocent, so frail. The wide eyes looked up at Gregory in awe. We must do this for the children, he thought.

Smiling down at the young boy, a peace came over him. He felt his body soften and his shoulders felt lighter. He walked up to the table and spread his arms.

“These are difficult times. We come together to seek the will of God, but often we do not hear His voice. Around the world, people are crying out in fear and pain, yet we do not hear His voice. A nation’s might has turned against others, yet we do not hear His voice. We see our youth spirited away from us, without our will, yet we do not hear His voice. We watch as the lust for power leads people to do things we would not do ourselves, yet, we do not hear His voice.

“It is time to listen. The voice is there. It is deep within each of us, telling us what is right and what is wrong. It causes us to question and to wonder at what goes on around us. It causes us to rise up in response. Our Lord taught us a great many things, but on that mount, he gave us insight into the rewards that small voice can provide us. In today’s times these simple promises are particularly poignant.

“People who are poor in spirit are becoming all too numerous today, yet, theirs will be the Kingdom. Let that voice be heard.

“All around us are people in mourning, yet, with that voice, they shall be comforted. Let that voice be heard.

“Our meek young men and women are being forced to take up arms in places we do not know and against people we do not hate, and yet, these young men and women shall inherit the earth. This is not their doing, yet within them that voice cries out. Let that voice be heard.

“Across the world there are people who hunger for the righteousness of that voice, to seek the truth and live in His grace. That voice promises satisfaction. Let that voice be heard.

“Even though many of our people cry out for mercy from those who oppress us and hopefully from those fighting in this war, the voice offers that if mercy is offered, it shall be obtained. Let that voice be heard.

“We know that our children are pure in heart. Their innocence is undeniable. Even though they must fight, we know that voice comforts them in time of pain and suffering. They shall see God.

“And now we must listen to that voice and raise it up. We must listen to what the voice says to each of us. We must give it strength. We must rise up, because that voice is one of reason, caring and the love shared with each of us through our risen Lord. Raise up the voice. Let the world hear it. For those who proclaim peace, are truly the children of God.

“Let the voice ring out! Though we may be persecuted, though we may be scorned, that voice must rise. It is the voice of all people seeking righteousness. It is the voice of moral reason. It is the voice of the living God, coming through each of us. Raise up that voice, for ours will be the kingdom of Heaven,” he shouted, ending his sermon. His hands were spread wide as he looked out over the people. “Go now, and let that voice speak to you.”

Murmurs spread through everyone there. Something had changed. Men and women had a new determined look upon their face. Many stood taller. Some cried. The rest of the service passed quickly and people filed out into the bitter cold, but something was different. Only time would tell of Gregory’s talk had any real effect at all.