Arctic Wind

Chapter 12 Changes

Jeffers stared at the covered window wishing he could look out and see something outside the aircraft. He had expectations of spending the evening with Hammond and the others, however, with the incursion into southern Poland, Hammond and his staff were going to be busy, so the decision was made to return home that night. Now the G650 was at 35,000 feet and all the shades were down so that there was no light escaping from the aircraft. Just forward from where he was sitting, Admiral Hustvedt and General Richardson were sleeping in their reclined seats.

Jeffers wasn’t that sleepy. The events of the day had him too keyed up. Hammond had taken the time to introduce him to almost every leader of every Allied country. All had commented on his plan, but a little later, the King of Great Britain had pulled him aside to add a few words.

“I remember when I was just starting out in the military,” the King had said. “I know that all this attention can be a little overwhelming at times. I had quite a bit of it myself. But in the end, we get by. The attention I got was because of family. Yours is because of what you have been able to do for yourself. From what Admiral Hammond says of you, I am sure we can expect much more. In some ways I envy you,” he said.

“Envy me?” asked a surprised and still a little overwhelmed Jeffers.

The King nodded. “All the time I was in service I wanted to rise on my own achievements instead of relying on a few hundred years of tradition. In some ways, I was able to do that, but you will be able to go much further than I did. Of course it didn’t hurt having the Admiral as a friend, but I expect your abilities would have come out in the end. Just try to remember that we all are trying our best to serve the people at home. You appear to be what people call a nice guy. I find that the nice guys make more of a difference than some others. So keep being a nice guy,” he said.

Jeffers had already turned a darker shade of red at the compliments. He smiled at the King. “Your Majesty, I’m just a small town guy from Tennessee, but everything I’ve seen about you and your family tell me you must be pretty nice yourself. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have come to say this to me. As Americans, we sometimes don’t know how to really act around royalty, but we do appreciate people who are friendly and supportive. In many ways I wish we had been able to serve together. I’m sure there are experiences we could share,” he said.

The King smiled. “Sea stories amongst friends? I have been known to share experiences such as that. Just survive this war and I have a feeling we shall have such times in the future. Take care of yourself, Commander Jeffers,” he said as he shook his hand once more before turning away.

Jeffers smiled inwardly in his airplane seat. His Mom and Dad would never believe all this. Then he thought about Hammond. Jeffers could tell the job was taking a lot out of his friend. The hair was more gray and the lines in his face more evident. The smile was still there, but it didn’t come out as often as he remembered. It was as if all the strain was killing him slowly. It was too bad they hadn’t had the time just to talk. Jeffers felt it might have helped.

As he walked around that afternoon, many of the others around the room had been expressing their own ideas of what should be done. Some wanted to simply mass all their forces and press deep into Russia. Others had wanted to move inland along a broader front. Jeffers decided not to get involved in the discussion. They were wrong. They were thinking of tactics centuries old, when armies lined up and fired at each other. That was the older European way. Only General Dortmund and General Pol seemed to see what he was thinking. They were more than enthusiastic. Dortmund even asked when Jeffers had studied Rommel’s tactics. Jeffers had an image in his mind of the two of them sitting atop their tanks singing Panzerlied, and rolling across the land toward an enemy. He broke into a smile.

Jeffers decided he liked the Germans and Poles. They too had been nice guys and had welcomed him alongside while the others were more standoffish. Too bad he had served only in the Pacific so far. Germany and Poland were places he wanted to visit.

The thoughts let Jeffers relax. He felt his eyes grow heavy and adjusted his seat into its reclining position. Within a few minutes he too fell asleep.

Jim Butler knocked on the door then entered the Oval Office. President O’Bannon was making a late night of it. His desk was piled with papers to go through and there was never enough time in the day to get through it. The President looked up at his Chief of Staff. His tired eyes had the look of “not one more thing” in them.

Butler grinned. “I know you didn’t want to be disturbed, but there’s a call you may want to take. It’s on three.”

O’Bannon got a curious look. It wasn’t often his Chief of Staff was so cagy. He picked up the phone. “President O’Bannon.”

“Mr. President, this is Patricia Hammond. Have you got a minute?” she asked.

A smile crept on his face. “Patricia! It’s good to hear from you. How’s Steve?”

“He’s fine and everything here is doing well as can be expected. I just had something handed to me and I wanted to ask your opinion,” she said.

“Okay. I seem to have a few around. What’s troubling you?” the President asked.

“Well, I just had a visit from our party leaders out here. It seems they want me to run as the party’s choice for Governor,” she said.

“Well, now. That’s interesting. I believe your recent leadership got their attention. What did you tell them?”

“I told them I would let them know. I’m just not sure I should.”

“Why not?”

“Well, Steve, I’m happy here. I know my people and they know me. It takes a lot just to run this small city. I’m just not sure I could handle a whole state, especially California. There’s so much more to do. I’m not sure I could serve the people like I can here,” she confessed.

O’Bannon sat back in his seat a smiled. “Patricia, we’ve known each other a while now. I’ve watched you do your job. What’s more, the people of California have seen what you were willing to do to get a job done. They have seen you succeed. Right now, after Yost, they need someone they think will take up the reins and spur things on. They don’t need a politician, they need a leader. I think the party knows that. That’s why they came to you. I personally think you are perfect for the job. I wouldn’t have any reservations throwing in with you,” he said.

“But what about the people of San Pedro? Won’t I be letting them down?”

O’Bannon chuckled. “On the contrary. I would bet they are so proud of you they would parade from San Diego to the Oregon border just to get you elected. And remember, they are in California too. You won’t be letting them down. They will be with you every step of the way. Listen, Patricia. I’ve been in large scale politics a long time. It’s really people like you who get things done the right way. You know your constituents and your know how to work things out with the movers and shakers you always find in the legislature. You will do fine.”

“And Little Steve?”

“Hell, take him with you to work. They probably have a preschool somewhere near the capitol. You’re the Governor. You can set your hours and priorities. You know Roger will support you. Besides, he’s going to be busy for a while, so just keep going. He’ll catch up.”

“You make it sound like a breeze.”

“We both know that’s not the case, but it can be managed. Only don’t try to kick some legislator in the balls when he opposes your wishes.”

Patricia Hammond laughed on the other end of the line. “I’ll keep that in mind, but I’ll also keep them a little worried.”

“That’s the way to do it. Really, Pat. I’d go for it. You can do a lot of good for a lot of people. You could make a lot of people feel a lot better,” he said.

Patricia sighed. “Yea, you’re right. I guess I just needed to hear it from a friend.”

“Call them up and tell them yes, but let them know you’ll have some things in mind to change. That leaves your options open. It will also give them something to prepare for. I’m behind you Patricia.”

“Thanks Steve. Would you mind if I called for advice every so often?”

“Call anytime. If I see something, I’ll give you a buzz as well.”

“Thanks again. Sorry I bothered you.”

“No bother at all. Take care Patricia.”

“Good bye Steve.” She hung up the phone.

O’Bannon looked up at a grinning Chief of Staff. “How about we get hold of some of our friends to give her a hand. Then once she gets things started, we can make a trip to stump for her a bit. I may not be running, but I can help her when the time comes,” he said.

“I already lined up a couple of calls in the morning. I wouldn’t mind a trip to California before leaving this place,” said Butler.

O’Bannon nodded and looked around his desk. “You know, maybe I’ll just leave this for the morning too,” he said. “After that good news, I don’t feel like even looking at it.”

Javornik, Czech Republic

“People, it’s up to us to get this rolling. We have six hours to clear the way for the Czechs and Slovaks. I know this has been thrown together last minute, but we have to make this work,” Colonel Sanders said. “Take over Master Sergeant.”

Ricks stepped up. “Okay people, listen up. You know your assigned sectors. Get in there and clean house. If it has a uniform on, shoot it. If there’s a tank, try to get as many of the crew as you can. Get in there and get back. I want as many sorties as we can tonight. The Czechs and Slovak armies aren’t that big and they are going to need all the help they can get. Once we clear our sectors, we are moving up. If we get lucky, this will only be a small force guarding the border. I’m here to tell you we aren’t the only ones moving. The Spanish and Italians are going in on the Austrian border too. Let’s go make this happen,” he said dismissing the group.

The group turned in their seats and almost immediately, the first drones took off and headed toward the border. The launch point was only a quarter mile from the border and almost immediately targets that initially were only blips on a screen, came into view of the cameras.

Like in Poland, it was a slaughter. The Russians had dug foxholes every twenty yards with two men in each. The drone pilots could see which was on guard and which was trying to sleep in the bitter cold. One by one, the drones lowered toward their prey and the shots rang out. At one point, a group was huddled under a tarp. Corporal Petyr Krusov saw the group. Tonight he had a drone with a grenade. He flew the drone under the tarp and dropped it, then flew out the other side. Once clear of the woods, he pressed the “return” key and sat back to watch his drone automatically fly home. He raised his hand to indicate he needed another drone.

Ricks walked up behind Kursov. “You don’t mess around, do you? Enter in 5014 and let’s see how many more you can get tonight,” he said as he patted his hand on Petyr’s shoulders.

Kursov grinned and entered the code. His image changed to another drone and he took off again. This was another grenade drone. After ten minutes moving into a new area he saw his target. A squad of tanks sat together near a tent. Petyr could tell the tanks were running by the heat bloom at the rear. He saw the tank commander with his head looking out the hatch. Petyr watched as he ducked his head back into the tank. The hatch was left open. Moving the camera controller downward, he stopped only when the camera was pointed straight down. He lined up the center of the hatch in his viewer and dropped the grenade. It fell neatly into the tank. Petyr pulled back on the stick to veer away when he caught the puff of the explosion. Stopping for a moment, he moved the camera back to the tank. Smoke was coming out of the hatch.

“You are evil with that thing,” Ricks said standing behind him.

Giving the command to return, Petyr turned to see the smile on Ricks’ face. “I try not to think about it,” he said returning the smile. “You have another?”

“6856. But after that you’ll have to wait for the first one to get back. This one is a pistol. Let’s see if you can shoot as good as you drop.”

Once again, Kursov changed drones and took off. By now the Russians were running all over trying to escape the swarm of “bees” that was after them. Petyr could see the blips on his screen moving rapidly. His sector was almost void of people until he saw someone duck under something. The infra-red camera could be fooled if someone could get behind another object that was as cold as the outdoor area. He eased his drone over to the area where he saw the figure disappear. Moving around to come in from a different direction, he noticed that from the other side he could see some warmth. He fired a round into the warmth.

Suddenly the covering over the trench flew upward and several men desperately tried to get out from under the branches and blankets they had set up to form a makeshift shelter. As they struggled to get clear, Petyr shot each one, emptying the clip from the pistol on the drone. Once again he pressed the return button and watched the drone move up and away from the carnage he had created.

“Damn!” said Sergeant Nizewski, Ricks’ counterpart on the mission. “The man has almost a sixth sense.” He turned to Ricks who had joined him at the rear of the room. “You know, Kursov is a little different from the others. I noticed that most have that boyish enthusiasm at first. They look for that excitement not only from doing something grand and heroic, but just being out from their parents’ coat tails. But Kursov doesn’t have that. He thinks before he does things, not like these other guys,” he said tapping his temple with his index finger.

Ricks nodded. “I noticed that too. I also noticed that the others follow his example a lot of the time. He’s what we call a natural born leader. They don’t come around very often.” He saw Petyr turn and look back toward them. Ricks motioned for him to come to them.

Petyr got out of his seat, stretched, then made his way to the back of the room. Sergeant Nizewski motioned toward the canteen. “Take a break. It will take time to reload the drones and get them charged up. You’re getting pretty good at this. Just don’t get to liking what you’re doing too much,” he said.

Petyr shrugged. “They invaded my country and hurt my family. Until this is over, I will do what I have to do,” he said. “Tell me. Am I making a difference?”

Ricks looked at the young man with pride. He was on mission and resolved to get the job done at any cost. He remembered when even he needed to learn what that meant. He placed his hand on Petyr’s shoulder. “Corporal, you are more than making a difference. Some of these guys think this is just a game. I can tell you don’t think that way. What you are doing is opening the hole we need to help kick the Russians out of Slovakia. That will mean this little incursion into southern Poland will have to stop. It might even save your family and that young lady you miss from continued harm. Never think what you do is not making a difference to the war or to others. Now get something to eat and drink until I have another drone ready,” he said.

The weary look on Petyr’s face told Ricks and Nizewski the toll that the operations were taking on the 17 year old. He nodded. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said, as he made his way to the small canteen at the back of the room.

“He needs to stay in the army,” said Nizewski. “He would go far.”

Ricks shook his head. “He told me after this is over he was going to the university and get his degree, then marry his girl. I doubt you could change his mind,” he said.

Nizewski gave Ricks a look. “How come he confides in you and not me?” he asked in a grin.

“You are his sergeant. I’m just a curious American sent here to get you guys trained. Besides, I’m the fatherly type,” he said with a sly smile.

Nizewski grunted. He was nearly twice Ricks’ age. “I get all the hard work, is that it?”

Ricks shrugged. “I didn’t write the rules.”

***

Right on schedule, the people and equipment began moving through the holes in the lines made by the drone units. They were completely surprised when there was no opposition. The Czech border had been defended by only light forces since most of the efforts were being made to push through Poland. Once past the first five miles, the Slovaks welcomed the units with open arms.

Bratislava took almost an hour to secure. Light Russian forces used snipers to try and pin down the advance, but for the first time, a drone unit was sent out during the day. These drones were colored a light grey and were difficult to see. They easily found the snipers on rooftops and in windows and the advance continued on. By evening the Spanish and Italian advance began to meet up with Czech and Slovak forces. From there, the Spanish and Italians moved around from the south while the Czecks and Slovaks moved toward the northern part of the country. At this rate, within three days, Slovakia would become a nation again.

It was one a.m. when the G650 landed at the naval air station. Three very exhausted people exited the plane and got into a car to head back to USS America. Despite the sleep they got aboard, the jet lag was a killer. No one spoke except to get their things and start heading toward the ship.

Jeffers sat in the front seat with the driver. As they rounded the turn to drive along the head of the finger piers he was surprised at the number of ships in port. Where before, there had been plenty of space on the piers, now the piers were full. In many cases, the ships were parked two or three deep. Although the lights on the base were off, the full moon clearly illuminated the ships in their berths. The America was almost as big as one of the carriers at the far end of the base, but what caught Jeffers’ eye were several huge ships sitting low in the water opposite her on the next piers. They had huge turrets and tall towers climbing into the night sky. Each was a little different from the others. Directly opposite the America was one of these ships. Despite the fact that America sat higher in the water, this one looked much more like a warship. The outline looked familiar.

The car checked in through the gate and made its way down the pier. Jeffers stared at the tall bow with what looked like a platform at the tip. A huge anchor sat just beneath it. Just behind that he dimly saw the numeral 61.

A smile appeared on Jeffers’ face. The Iowa was here. He remembered her from San Pedro. That had been the first time he had met Hammond. Just having her and her sisters here made him feel better. Things were finally coming together and tomorrow would be the brief for all the captains. Within three days they would be at sea.

The car pulled up to the darkened brow of the America. Because it was such a short trip, there was little to carry aboard. Jeffers grabbed his overnight bag and briefcase. They said farewell to General Richardson who had a room at the senior officers’ quarters and made their way aboard. Within minutes, Jeffers was asleep in his bunk.

“Good morning, ladies and Gentlemen, this is Ann Kendrick with the morning headlines. The capital of Slovakia has been liberated from Russian hands. In a bold sweep early this morning in Europe, as Spanish and Italian forces joined with Czech and Slovak forces to launch an offensive to clear Russian forces from Slovakia. CNN’s Bill Masters has this report.”

The image shifted to people cheering in the streets of Bratislava. “The citizens of Bratislava are celebrating today after a dawn attack liberated the city. The light Russian forces in the city crumbled when heavy mechanized divisions from Spain and Italy moved across the border from Austria. There were few casualties from the military side, however when the Spanish and Italian forces entered the city they found that the local population had been through quite a lot during the occupation.”

The imaged shifted to an older women flagging down some of the forces and pleading with them. A translator spoke. “They are looting our museums and banks. Please hurry. It is the very soul of our country.”

Masters came back on the screen. “The Italian forces we were with immediately went to the national museum in Bratislava only to find that most of the art work was gone.” The scene changed again to one of empty walls, smashed sculptures and broken display cases. “Everywhere we went inside the museum we found someone had either taken or destroyed the exhibits. Even the storage areas had been looted. As we exited the rear of the building a Russian truck was still partially filled with art objects. It was obvious that the Russians had not had the time to finish the job. Shortly after we arrived, we also received news of something found at the city jail complex. Upon arrival, this is what we found,” he said.

The scene shifted, once again, to an inner courtyard littered with bodies. “The inner courtyard of the prison had been turned into a killing ground. Local citizens identified victims as the Mayor of Bratislava, his staff and City Council members along with other locals they say are involved with local resistance activities. The victims are as old as 84 and as young as 14.” The imaged returned to Masters. “It appears the Russians are doing the same thing the Nazis did at the end of World War Two, looting valuables from their occupied lands and killing prisoners. This is Bill Masters, coming to you live from Bratislava.”

“My God,” said Hammond after watching the report. “I didn’t think civilized people did such things anymore.”

Sir Richard closed his fingers together in thought. “There’s only two ways to get that stuff out of the country. It will go either by train or by truck. The air is not safe,” he said.

Hammond nodded. “I agree. Get hold of General Armstrong. I want every rail line and every road along the border bombed so that nothing can get out of the country. Notify the Slovak government in exile of what we are doing, then get the word to the troops that these treasures must be returned to the Slovaks. I’m not going to let Russia get away with this. Also let the air services know that the trucks and trains they target may hold the treasures of a nation. Do what we can to stop them, but do your best not to destroy those trucks. Finally, get the legal staffs on line. Begin procedures to identify who gave the orders and who is responsible. Then we catch them and bring them back to that same prison. I’m sure the Slovaks will know what to do with them.”

“I hope you’re right. The government is probably pretty angry right now,” said Sir Richard.

“Not as angry as I am. It’s one thing to make war, but another thing to be a common thief and murderer. I’ll talk to the government to share my thoughts on the matter,” Hammond said tersely. “Let’s also make sure our troops document every instance they find of such things. Call in the media too. It’s one more reason to get this job done,” Hammond said.

“You’re starting to sound like a politician,” Sir Richard chuckled.

“Only because they made me so. Our strike forces begin moving out in two days. Right now all I want to do is break out of this stalemate situation and teach people it is not smart to upset the good guys. Has the weather forecast come in yet?”

“Not yet. I expect it will be here within the hour.”

“That will give me just enough time to get something to eat, if I don’t get sidetracked again. You know, if this ever happens again, I may go hide somewhere,” Hammond said with a grin.

Sir Richard got to his feet. “I may hide with you.”

“This places our forces in the south in jeopardy!” screamed Borodin. “How could five divisions launch an attack on our forces from two different locations without intelligence knowing about it?”

“We knew the Spanish and Italian forces were in Vienna, but our sources told us they were on their way to Krakow. The Czech and Slovak forces were a complete surprise. The last we had seen from them was they were dug in along the border and holding their major forces in the rear. By themselves they weren’t a threat. But sending them in with the other forces was a stroke of genius. We had weakened our internal forces to support the incursion into southern Poland. They must have found that out and took advantage of it,” said Marshall Zuikov, Chief of Intelligence. “Either they have spies in our camp or someone made a good guess.”

“No one makes those kinds of guesses,” groused Borodin. He briefly glanced at a noise coming from the window.

“We are in a war, Comrade President,” said General Pusko, reverting to the old Soviet address. “Anything could happen, but we must assume the worst. I suggest we take a good hard look at our security procedures and make some changes. It will not slow us down and might do some good,” he said.

“Do it. I cannot have our operations curtailed because we have a security leak. This may be why our forces have been having difficulty gaining ground. As far as I am concerned, anyone caught can immediately be taken out and shot. We have no time for spies or traitors,” Borodin said. “Now what else do you have for me?”

“The CNN news organization has reported the looting of the Slovak national museum. They also reported the execution of many political prisoners and terrorists in Bratislava,” reported Zuikov.

Borodin laughed. “What does this have to do with the war?”

Zuikov paused a moment. The President’s reaction made him believe the reports he had were true. Borodin was involved with such actions. He continued on. “Only that such reports will stiffen the resolve of our enemy. You remember these same things happened in the Great Patriotic War. Resistance will also arise within our occupied countries if they think we are taking their so called treasures,” he emphasized.

Borodin nodded. “I see your point. We will send out a message that there will be no looting from here on. Anything else?”

Zuikov shook his head. “Nothing further, Mister President.”

“Thank you for your report. Keep me informed on your security measures and results,” Borodin said dismissing the Marshal.

After Zuikov left the room Borodin turned to Pusko. “What happened? No one was supposed to find anything. We were going to say the Allies bombed the museums.”

“It all happened too fast. We got all but the last truck out before tanks swarmed into the front of the building. We will blame the bank operations on looters. As far as the people that were killed, we had no hand in it. The local commander overstepped his bounds simply through frustration with the local underground. Over fifty of our troops were killed over the past two weeks in and around Bratislava,” explained Pusko.

“Then tell the commanders to be more careful about such things. If something like this happens, there can’t be any evidence. Our goal is to win the war. After that, no one will be investigating the victor,” Borodin said with a slight grin.

“I will see to it,” said Pusko.

The noise from the window grew much louder. “What is that?” asked Borodin.

Pusko shook his head. “Another demonstration. They seem to get louder and larger each time they assemble outside the Kremlin walls. I was told this time they are protesting for more food.”

“More food? The rations we have allotted are still more than what it was during the Soviet times. I am weary of all the whining our people seem to do these days. Don’t they know there’s a war on?” Borodin complained.

“It appears our people grew soft in the interim. I’m sure the police will break it up in short order,” Pusko said.

Outside the Kremlin walls, a line of police surrounded the crowd of over 2,000 people chanting and waving banners. They remained at the gates of the Kremlin despite the orders of the police to move on. Several groups on the periphery of the crowd turned and began throwing stones at the police line. A shot rang out. It was followed by many more. The people in the crowd began to run, trampling several of the older participants and a small child. Unfortunately, they were running toward one of the police strongpoints. Tear gas flew into the air and was thrown back by some of the protesters. Suddenly the rapid hammering of submachine guns rang out. When the smoke cleared, more than four hundred people lay dead or seriously wounded in the street. A number of onlookers were carrying cell phones. Because the government had made a point to maintain the telephone system, the images and videos soon spread throughout Russia and across Europe.

The hall was filled with Navy, Marine, Army and Air Force officers. The security to get in had been phenomenal. Two checkpoints, a search for devices, five security sweeps and photographic matches. No one would get in unless they were on one of the ships, in a squadron or commanding troops. The briefing had lasted two hours and each was told to expect a hand delivered message outlining what had been detailed within the next six hours. No one was to see it except the commanding officers, executive officers and operations officers — the very people in the room. After the last briefing was complete, Admiral Hustvedt took the podium.

“That’s the operation. There won’t be any deviations unless I approve them. The biggest part of this is security. Nothing is to get out. As a result, all leave and liberty is now cancelled. No one leaves the ships. No phone calls off the base either. I don’t even want your wives to know. That’s why I warned each of you to tell the families we were going to be busy for the next week. We get underway beginning with the submarines tonight and the escort vessels tomorrow morning at 0730. We will conduct this operation in total EMCON. No emissions except for encrypted satellite. The emissions panels installed on your ships will be operating all the time. You will still be able to receive information since we found that these same panels make superb receiving antennas, but no transmissions. If someone shoots a missile at us, no emissions and no weapons fire until I say so. If someone starts shooting at us, we have optics to target the intruder and will use naval gunfire. Our communications will be via Link 16. It’s all satellite. I believe you will find that we already have all the information we will need on the circuit. Don’t ask me where it comes from, just be glad it’s there,” he joked. “I will tell you, this is half the force we will be using against the Russians. There is a similar force in the Pacific. The target there is in the Russian Arctic, so be glad you only have a little snow to deal with. As we briefed, the transit will be at ten knots. I know this is painfully slow, but it also lets us transit below cavitation speed. We are using nearly all the assets in the Allied inventory to do this. Losing part of it to a submarine like we almost did with the Kennedy is unacceptable.”

“People, we have a job to do. It is a little different from what we have typically trained for, but we are going up against another superpower and have to take all precautions. We are all professionals. Let’s do this and get our people back home,” he said finishing the brief.

All the people in the room rose and stood as Hustvedt and his staff left the room, then they all began talking amongst themselves and moving toward the doors.

“He’s got to be shitting me,” Captain Donner of the USS America, quietly said to his Executive Officer. “I can’t use my defensive systems if someone is shooting at me?

“Captain, that’s not what he said. He said don’t do it till he said so. Besides, if these things do what they say, no missile will be able to lock in on us. That’s more than half the battle right there,” the XO said.

“If it works. I’m not sure I want to take that chance,” said Donner.

“We don’t have much choice. You heard the man. No exceptions. And with Hustvedt and his staff onboard, you won’t be able to go around him,” the XO almost pleaded. Donner scared him to death. He had a reputation of being hardnosed in the fleet, but as his XO, he realized he was just a plain old bully. He always wanted his way and didn’t care who he threw to the curb if things didn’t go right. His tour as XO had been a nightmare.

Donner grunted. “He may be onboard, but it is always a captain’s prerogative to protect his ship at any means. We’ll see,” Donner smirked, ending the conversation.

There was no way to stop it. Krakow was overrun by Russian troops in the first 48 hours. Polish defense elements were completely caught off guard by the train and truck crossing. Moving at night had allowed the Russians to come within forty miles of Krakow before they had stopped. By that time they were well behind Polish defense positions and artillery. Unfortunately, the Russians had moved enough troops across the border that they could hold the roadways and keep resupplied. Several of the Polish staff likened it to the Battle of the Bulge in World War Two. Only this time, the enemy had plenty of reinforcements and supplies.

The advance had been halted ten miles north of Krakow, when Polish units were finally moved into position and air assets were brought into play. But it was not the Poles who really stopped them. It was a concern that the Allied forces sweeping in from the Czech Republic and Austria might cut them off completely. A full division of men and equipment were rushed back across the border to hold northern Slovakia for the incursion.

Russian, Polish, German and then French aircraft battled mercilessly in the skies over southern Poland. Eventually, the Russians shifted back to their main push, but it had been costly. By that time, nearly a third of the assigned Allied aircraft had been lost. Russian losses were much worse. Some Allied units were surprised when they began seeing older Mig-21s appearing in some of the outer fringes of the battle.

In Krakow, the area surrounding the Kursov’s apothecary shop was nearly flattened. The shop and its building were riddled with shrapnel holes and the windows were boarded up. No one walked the streets. One of the plywood panels had been pried off the front of the shop. Looters had done the rest. The upper floor had been hit by a bomb or projectile. It had collapsed onto the next floor and one corner of that floor had also collapsed. Debris was everywhere. There was no one to clean it up.

“We found them,” shouted one of the watch standers. His table was zoomed into a small convoy of trucks moving rapidly along a highway. Hammond and the others came over to look.

“You sure it’s them?” Hammond asked.

“Definite. The satellite feed is being recorded. I backed it up to the time just before we entered the city and caught these trucks leaving the museum compound. I fast forwarded it and watched them come along this highway. They are currently on the R-1 near Nitra. That set of highways will take them straight into the Ukraine,” he said.

“Zoom it out some,” said Hammond.

Looking at the road, it wormed its way up into some steep mountains past a city named Nova Bana. North of the city was walled in by mountains as the highway went through a number of narrow valleys. Hammond pointed to a spot just south of the town of Vosnica where the road ran next to a steep mountain on one side and a river on the other. “Let the Slovakian government know where these guys are. If they have any assets in the area, maybe they can get some word to them and stop these guys somewhere along here. If they can stop them in the mountains, the Russians will have a rough time getting them out of the country,” Hammond said.

“On the way,” said one of the aides. Little did they know but the Slovakian government had left some of its army behind in various parts of the country. One area was in Kozarovce, just fifteen minutes away. Within minutes a small team of men boarded a truck and began making their way toward the area Hammond had pointed out.

The Situation Room was filled with the President and his staff. This was a special meeting for one specific purpose. They were to be briefed by the Supreme Allied Commander on the final stages of the Allied effort. The room was quiet. Almost everything hinged on what they were about to do being a success. Even the President sat quietly in his chair.

There was some activity in one corner as a staff member made the connection. Admiral Roger Hammond’s face appeared on the screen. “Good afternoon Mister President, ladies and gentlemen,” he said smiling.

“Good afternoon, Admiral,” said the President, returning the smile. “We are all anxious to hear your report,” he said. “I understand you were able to get a handle on that Russian incursion.”

“Yes sir. The line was finally drawn just ten miles north of Krakow, but it cost the Poles a lot to hold them there. We were able to do it without bringing in the troops we have been holding back for our little surprise.”

“That’s good news,” muttered Black in his seat at the table. Hammond could see the relief on his face.

“It is, and as you know, the main forces take off tomorrow morning, your time. Thanks to the Transportation Command, we now have all the assets in place to rock and roll,” said Hammond. “In three weeks, when the ships arrive, we all strike at once. I have already been working with the Turks. They will cross the border when our forces land. Once General Richardson crosses to the other border, they will come up and go through the mountains. She will wheel round and come in from the northern part of the Caucuses and we will stair step up to the Ukraine. They will turn off every pipeline leading to Russia while keeping the lines to Turkey open. In the Pacific, General Bryant will land and go inland, then move south along the coast. They too will disrupt oil coming from the peninsula into Russia. The ultimate goal will be Vladivostok. Once there, he will sit and hold. I got the word from the State Department that Japan and Korea are onboard. That completes the circle.”

“One thing, I hope, will work on our side. Everywhere we go we will restore power, heat, light and food to the people there. I have instructed my troops that they will be nothing but courteous and helpful to anyone they meet. We will keep the telephone lines open so they can call their relatives. The fact that they are warm and fed should go a long way. We have plenty of panels and quite a few battery trucks for overnight operations.”

“By the way, Mister President, my intelligence people have begun receiving images and video shot by some of their people of a massacre at a rally in Moscow. They were apparently protesting a lack of food. It appears several hundred were killed when the soldiers opened fire on them,” Hammond said. “It’s working.”

“Can you get those to me?” the President asked.

“Of course. We are now targeting roads and railways. The Russians are wising up to us hitting stations where the lights come on. I am told they are now telling people to use blackout curtains. Not that it matters since we can see the heat at the plant, but they are also bringing in portable diesel units which take care of small sections of the cities. We won’t be able to hit all those. But keeping them hungry should still do the trick,” Hammond said.

“It’s a shame we have to resort to such things, but keep it up,” said the President.

“The main thing is we are ready. Troops, ships, planes and tanks are in place. I have supplies for eight months of all out warfare and I anticipate our resupply will be as efficient as the initial set up. I am told that all our ready aircraft, ships, trucks and tanks have been outfitted with the Maxwell panels. That should shake a few things up, especially with the additional assets from the boneyard. From the very beginning I said we needed to use our technology to win this war. Even though we are bringing in some retired equipment, things like the Maxwell panels will be just the thing to get the job done without much risk for our crews.”

“It’s been a long a difficult two and a half months, but everything has come together very swiftly. I believe our Korean episode paved the way for this. People are thinking outside the box and a number of people are already trained on any older equipment we will be using.”

“The Poles are fighting a desperate battle to keep their nation whole. All of Europe is with us to see this happen. I appreciate all that you have done to make this work. Does anyone have any questions?” Hammond concluded.

“Are the new drones there yet?” asked General Armstrong of the Transportation Command.

“I understand they are being offloaded as we speak. Folks, the drones have been the winner of this war so far. We would not have achieved anything near what we have without them. These new drones will be able to be used during daylight and at longer ranges. I can use that. Send over as many as you can. So far we have lost only around eight percent of the drones we received. Most of that was due to either operator error or someone on the ground got lucky. The Russians are scared to death of the things. Keep them coming,” emphasized Hammond.

“Any more word on their navy? Everything I have says they have bottled their surface ships in port. If you go by my count, they may only have about twenty or so submarines left. I’m still a little worried about what might happen if they gang up on these fleets,” said the CNO.

“I agree. My people here, which includes the Germans and Brits, agree with your figures. I also know that five or six of those subs were damaged and have been seen near their homeports in the last two days. I really don’t anticipate seeing much of their surface fleet until we are within range of their shipboard missiles. I would hope our subs are on the prowl for the rest of them. My biggest fear is their air capabilities. The Maxwell panels should take care of a lot of that, but you can still bomb using your eyes, so I am stressing that we have to be ready for that. Luckily, that means getting a lot closer where we can shoot them down. Long range missiles are not a problem. It will be the close range stuff. We are ready for that,” said Hammond.

“How does it feel leading a bunch of Army troops?” asked the President with a grin.

Hammond broke into a wide smile. “These guys over here are great. They don’t mind if I ask a question. But basically, it’s the same as maneuvering a large fleet. You get your best assets in where they are needed and let them do their jobs. I have tried to get around to most units and at least say hello. In some cases, I have observed their training. Sometimes they have to douse me with salt water, but I get by,” he joked.

The people in the room laughed. A few questions later and the meeting was about to end when the President held his hand up. “Admiral, you are doing a magnificent job. You have my fullest confidence, and I can say it is the same with every leader in Europe. That makes my next task very enjoyable,” he said pulling out a box. “Early on you had some difficulties with senior officers who were more senior than yourself and appeared to have a problem with the authority we placed in you. Well, we rectified that. A box like this one was supposed to have been handed you before this meeting. Did you get it?”

“Yes sir, I did.”

“Good. This will be a joint ceremony,” the President said as he opened the box in front of him. He pulled out a small set of insignia. It was a set of five stars set in a pentagon. “On behalf of the Congress, we have reinstated the rank of five stars. Today we will make two of you. First,” he said as he walked over to General Black, “Our Chairman has been promoted to General of the Marines,” he said handing the insignia to Black. “You have now achieved the rank of Fleet Admiral. Put them on today,” the President said.

Hammond and Black looked down on the insignia they held. Not since World War Two had the five star rank been used. For the first time, Black was speechless. Hammond looked from the insignia to the camera. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say much. This means Black can still fire you,” the President quipped.

The room erupted in laughter. “Congratulations to you both,” said the President. He gave Hammond a wink and then shut off the transmission.

Hammond rubbed his fingers across the shining stars. One of his aides walked over and pulled off the Velcroed stars he had and attached some new cloth ones. Inside the box were new shoulder boards. He would have to get another stripe on his blues, but he didn’t wear those much anymore.

“Congratulations, boss,” said the aide.

Hammond placed a hand on his shoulder and left the room without saying anything.

Jeffers was bone tired. Between the trip to Europe and then the briefings, he felt like a train had hit him. He almost staggered to the wardroom to grab a quick meal before he took Admiral Hustvedt’s advice and crashed. The room was filled with officers. Most were complaining about not having one last night on the town or with families. Not wanting to participate, he found a nice quiet table in one corner of the room and sat down. He had only taken two bites when he heard a friendly voice.

“Damn, Rod, you look like shit.”

Looking up he saw the concerned face of his friend Evan Chambers. A smile returned to his face. “You’d look that way too if you’d been to Europe and back since yesterday,” he said.

Chambers sat down. “You’re kidding me.”

“No, I’m not. Met some interesting people and got to see my old boss, Admiral Hammond. What’s been going on here?” he asked tiredly.

“Same old thing. The Captain’s screaming at everyone to make sure everything’s ready and jumping down people’s throats of he finds the least flaw. He went through my damage control operations two days ago and finally gave us a go. I’ll be so glad to finally get underway I may go into a dance,” Chambers said.

Jeffers nodded. He had been hearing more and more about Captain Donner. None of it sounded good. But he was the CO and he could run his ship pretty much however he wanted. “I feel the same way. I figure once we get moving, things will settle down a bit. You all set?” he asked.

“Who, me? You know I’m always ready to go. I saw you over here and wanted to see if you wanted to join our little bluegrass group. We’re getting together in about twenty minutes to have a little jam session up forward on the hanger deck. But from what I see, maybe you need to pass tonight,” Chambers said.

Life came back to Jeffers’ eyes. “No, that sounds like just the thing I need. It will help me settle down some before I crash for the night. You want me to bring the banjo or the guitar?”

“The banjo. I’ve been telling these guys about you and getting somebody that plays a banjo is just what we’ve been needing,” said Chambers.

“The forward part of the hanger bay. I’ll be there. Let me finish this and I’ll come down,” Jeffers said.

Jeffers hurried through his meal and stopped off at his stateroom to gather the banjo. When he entered the hanger deck he could hear guitars playing. He found seven guys sitting on folding chairs playing a soft melody. Two played guitar. There was a fiddle player, a mandolin player, a bass player, and a fellow playing a Dobro. One other guy was sitting back not doing much of anything, but as the music played he produced a harmonica and joined in. Chambers saw him and motioned him to a chair beside him.

“Guys, this is Lieutenant Commander Jeffers, the guy I’ve been telling you about. I asked him to join us tonight,” Chambers said.

The group was made of a mix of Chiefs, a First Class and two officers besides Jeffers. “Mister Chambers, here, says you’re pretty good with that thing. Why don’t you show us what you’ve got,” said one of the Chiefs.

Jeffers gave a quick look at Chambers. “Can you guys keep up?” he asked.

The Chiefs chuckled. “We can probably make sure you’re covered up,” said another chief.

Jeffers finished pitting on his picks. “Okay. Hang on.” He immediately went into the Foggy Mountain Breakdown. Chambers knew what was coming and stepped right in. The bass player was next and pretty soon everyone was in sync and playing rapidly. The grins on their faces told the story. This was what they got together for. At one point, with a nod from Jeffers, the fiddle player took off. The bow seemed to fly in his hand as he improvised a part of the piece.

There were yells from the other part of the deck and people started to gather round and listen. As the tune went round and round, even Chambers picked up a portion. His fingers appeared to pick the guitar strings almost like playing a banjo. On the last cord the whole group broke out in a yell.

“Damn! That’s the best I’ve ever heard it. Mister Chambers you weren’t kidding!” exclaimed one Chief.

“Glad to have you with us, Commander,” said the First Class.

The crowd of sailors around them also broke out in applause. Jeffers looked up toward one of the catwalks and saw Admiral Hustvedt standing in a doorway. He looked down at Jeffers and nodded his approval.

“You guys know the Grand Ole Opry Song?” asked Jeffers.

“Sure! You lead off,” said the first Chief. Jeffers started the song and the Chief sang the lyrics. On the chorus, everybody pitched in.

Once again, the group seemed to blend perfectly and the song seemed to lift the spirits of everyone around them.

It went on for about an hour before the guys reluctantly called it an evening. Jeffers bid everyone a good night and made his way to his stateroom. He knew already he would have a great night’s sleep.

There were five primary Russian spy satellites in orbit that had worried planners. At 0330 Eastern Time Zone five Brilliant Pebbles satellites turned on their lasing systems. The Russian satellite was focused on the eastern United States. There was another mid-Atlantic, just as there were three over the Pacific. The target was over five hundred miles away, but that wasn’t a deterrent. Lasers had problems only when in the atmosphere. In space, there was nothing to propagate the beam. Upon signal from the ground, five lasers shot across space to hit their targets.

At first, there didn’t seem to be anything happening. The temperatures inside the satellite casings rose steadily to well over 1,000 degrees. The circuit boards began to melt. At the Russian cosmodrome where the satellites were monitored, technicians were amazed when all five of their satellites shut down at once. There was no warning and no indication of a malfunction. Checks were made to insure that the satellites were still in orbit. Tracking stations confirmed that they were. The stations also confirmed that there was no satellite within a hundred miles of the units.

Something had just happened. Satellites that far apart didn’t shut down all at once. They contacted the Russian Space Agency to make sure the sun hadn’t sent out a solar flair. The one major concern was that for the first time, there was no live intelligence being gathered on the United States and across the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.

They began pulling away from the pier early in the morning. Captain Doug Rhodes watched the evolution from the port bridge wing. One thing about the Iowa class, there wasn’t a way to see aft from the bridge because of the superstructure, so he relied on the pilot and his phone talkers to get him the information. It made no difference. The tugs pulled the 58,000 ton vessel from the pier before the ship’s engines began backing the ship into the channel. The tugs began pushing against the starboard bow while additional tugs pushed against the port stern. It took a while. That big a ship didn’t move easily. Once pointed toward the sea, the ship’s engines began pushing ahead.

Rhodes remembered the first time he had been aboard in the 80s. He had been a humble boatswain’s mate at that time. He had marveled at how big the ship was and how powerful she looked. That feeling hadn’t changed. Now he was the ship’s commanding officer. Something about the grand ship still made him feel reassured that she would get them through anything.

Sailors often say each ship has her own personality. Rhodes knew this one did. He felt it the moment he stepped aboard. It was a welcoming feeling; a feeling that made you feel warm and confident. Despite the fact the ship was nearing 90 years old, she still had the look of a warrior. She could still scare people to death and her guns could still be lethal to an enemy.

He looked up at the towers above him. Despite the darker gray Maxwell plates that had been installed, she looked rock solid. There were radars and antennas everywhere, just not moving. The emission controls clearly dictated that no ship give off any electromagnetic energy. Iowa could do that all day and still fire her weapons. The optics in the directors were some of the best in the world, despite their age. Because of that, the gun directors rotated back and forth providing bearing information to the navigator. He could hear the talkers relaying bearings to points the team had selected to make sure the ship stayed in the channel. The navigator reported they were in the center of channel, just as they should be. It was all normal, except that they were going to war. The ships from Norfolk would join up with ships from Mayport and other places, eventually even with the British and German Navies. It promised to be one of the largest fleets since the Second World War.

Glancing down on the decks below the bridge, he saw familiar sights. Boats Patnaude was still there in his helmet and ever present coffee cup. A number of other faces were the same. Many had been aboard with him in the 80s. Even Father Danner was still there. He had retired years before with at least nine rows of ribbons on his chest, including several “Vs” for valor, the first was awarded in Beirut with the Marines and the latest in Afghanistan. Danner didn’t mind going into the heat of anything as long as he could serve his people. Even now he was aboard going in harm’s way. True, the 80s crew was getting older and fewer could make the trip this time, but they were still there giving help to train a new generation about a battleship and its operation.

Two patrol aircraft crossed overhead. The overcast made them stand out in the sky. Earlier several anti-submarine patrol planes had made their way to sea. Both felt reassuring. The last thing Rhodes wanted was to get hit by a torpedo. Giving a sigh, he reentered the bridge and climbed into his seat on the right corner. The heaters on the bridge were working overtime trying to keep the bridge crew warm. Unfortunately, the cold winter breeze seemed to cut through Rhodes’ coat. Until they were at sea and the doors closed, the bridge would be pretty miserable.

The Iowa passed through the last set of buoys and the pilot walked up. “Captain, she’s all yours. I wish you the best of luck,” the pilot said.

“Thanks, Captain. We’ll see you when we return,” Rhodes said with a firm handshake. “Messenger, escort the pilot to the quarterdeck.”

The two left the bridge and everyone waited until they had seen the pilot safely aboard one of the tugs. With a toot of its whistle, it moved away.

“Officer of the Deck, secure from sea and anchor detail. What is the course to our assigned position?” Rhodes asked.

“083, Captain. At ten knots, we should get there within twenty minutes.”

“Make it so,” Rhodes ordered.

The wheel was turned and the ship slowly came left to its new course. Rhodes heard the metal door open and close behind him. Commander Sampson, his XO, walked up beside him.

“Well, we’re finally on the way. Everything is secure aft. I’m not sure about this ten knot restriction, but at least we won’t be burning fuel like crazy. The North Carolina is right behind us on schedule. Looks like the Wisconsin is next after that. It’s going to take forever to get the formation set,” he said.

“Yea, but I like the Admiral’s thoughts. Leave ‘em guessing. If we’re lucky, they won’t know we’re underway until we enter the Black Sea. Did you make sure all the electronics were turned off?” Rhodes asked.

“Every piece. I also put out the word to make sure everybody turned off their cell phone and put them away. We are now one hell of a big hole in the ocean,” said the XO.

“Good. I may go down to Strike and watch this thing come together,” said Rhodes coming up from his seat.

Sampson grunted. “Wish I knew where the information on the link came from. Nobody is radiating, but we have a detailed display. It’s witchcraft, I tell you,” he said with a grin.

“Yes, XO, and we are about to become a couple of wizards,” Rhodes said as he walked aft and entered the watertight door.

It wasn’t the job that bothered Petyr, it was the constant moving. It was rare that he got a full eight hours of sleep. After only one night in the Czech Republic, they suddenly found that there was little to do. The Russian defenses had almost evaporated. Then word came down to pick the best operators in the unit and ship them up to Zabierzow, just a few miles from Krakow. Petyr had been the first one selected.

The old Mercedes bus bounced along the road, swerving back and forth along the hilly terrain. The driver kept focused on the road before him and didn’t care one whit about passenger comfort. Already someone had gotten motion sickness. Petyr had noticed that there were aircraft overhead, and hoped they were ours. There were twenty people in the bus which was designed to carry thirty. It meant some could stretch out between the seats. Petyr kept beside the window and simply watched the scenery go by.

Master Sergeant Ricks got up from his seat at the front of the bus and began walking along the isle. It was difficult, mainly because the bus was swerving, but also because his legs just didn’t function like real ones. Ricks was used to having to improvise with them. He prided himself for being able to still outrun or outfight some of the best in the Army.

As he walked down the center aisle, Ricks could see some of the people were scared to death. He wasn’t sure if it was the driving or because they were getting so close to the front again. A few were talking with friends, some were trying to read, and others seemed to stare straight ahead. He noticed Petyr looking out the window and sat in the seat beside him.

“Getting used to your new rank?” Ricks asked.

Petyr smiled and reached over instinctively to rub the insignia. “I still can’t understand why this is happening so fast. I didn’t expect it,” he said with a blush.

Ricks chuckled. “Yea, but in a war we have to recognize talent a little faster than in peacetime. You’re good at what you do, Pete. Don’t worry about it, just keep doing what you’re doing,” he said. “Everything else okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s all been so rapid I guess I’m a little tired. Being home helps some. I remember this area of Poland. My family used to come camping here,” he said wistfully. Then he turned to Ricks. “Can you tell me what this move is about? All I know is we got thrown into this bus and told we were going back to Poland.”

Ricks sat back in his seat and shrugged his shoulders. “From what I make out, they are forming a new drone section. Evidently there is a new version we will be using where we can fly during daylight hours. I’m told it will have a range of about twenty five miles and can carry more ammunition. I’m sure they dreamed up a few more bells and whistles, but I guess we’ll hear more about that later. They are taking us to some place called Zabierzow. We’ll find out more when we get there,” he said.

With the name of the town, Petyr sat up. “Zabierzow? That’s just outside of Krakow!” he exclaimed.

“Really,” said Ricks. “I didn’t know that, but it makes sense. After Krakow fell to the Russians, I guess they will want it back. If these things work like I hear, we could help out a lot in that effort.”

Petyr sat back with a smile on his face. Home. They were going to be near his family and near Freda. Maybe he could at least use his drone to see that they were safe. “Maybe I could see my family,” he almost whispered.

Ricks saw the change in the boy. Petyr was much like he was when he joined the army. At first he was kind of lost, but after a while he got on mission and did his job. True, Petyr was better than most of the young men and women in the unit, but he still had a way to go. He couldn’t let something get in the way of the job they were doing. “Pete, you know we can’t use the equipment for personal visits with your family. If we did, there wouldn’t be any left for fighting. Just be patient. We are probably going to be in every section of the city. You’ll get the chance,” he said with a grin.

Petyr nodded. “Oh, I know, but it would be nice. Besides, then you’d get the chance to see my girl,” he said sheepishly.

“Wouldn’t miss it. Now tell me a little bit more about Krakow and how we might be able to get in,” he said. The rest of the trip was filled with information, planning and a growing friendship.

It was a little frustrating. Here he was, the Supreme Allied Commander and could not leave his military compound. All he wanted to do was go out in the city, have a nice meal and see a little bit of one of the most exciting cities in the world. But his security people said no. He was now a target and they couldn’t know all the spies and agents running around the city. He sat in a windowless apartment set up deep within the military headquarters compound near the suburb of Potsdam. It was a nice apartment, but it wasn’t something he wanted to live in for a few years. It was more like one of those sterile medical facilities you would see in the movies when there was a disease outbreak. Hammond was certain that the overhead lights would give him cancer.

Many would think the situation was pretty good. All he had to do was pick up the phone and almost anything would be brought in to him, from steak to lobster. But what Hammond craved was simple company away from his work. “Screw this,” he said to himself. He went to his closet and took out civilian clothes. If they can’t handle it, it’s their problem, he thought to himself. Putting on slacks and a shirt with a woolen sweater, he was about to call for his driver when there was a knock on the door. He was surprised to see General Moynahan standing there in his own civilian attire.

“Wanna date?” he asked with a grin.

Hammond laughed. “Looks like you and I have the same needs.”

“You bet. My people said no, but I’m the CO and I said yes. What do you say?” Moynahan asked.

“I say let’s go. Want me to call my driver?” Hammond asked.

“No, I have a car. I heard about a place that has seafood to die for. The GPS is plugged in and working. I think it’s time we escaped,” said Moynahan.

“I’m your man,” said Hammond.

The two men went out and jumped in the car. Hammond informed the guard where they were going and that if they wanted to come along, great, but don’t let him see them. The two jumped into a white Mercedes with a driver and swooped out the drive and down the street. Almost immediately Hammond began to relax. The city was teaming with people going back and forth. Shops were open and they passed several small beer halls overflowing with people.

After about ten minutes, the GPS told the men they had arrived. The Atlantik Fischrestaurant was on Potsdamer Strasse sitting almost right on the street. The driver pulled up and let the men off right in front. At first glance, it didn’t look much like any fine restaurant, but the outdoor covered eating area was packed. Moynahan led Hammond into the front doors and saw a gentleman who introduced himself as Mr. Yenel. “I called ahead and asked for a small table for two. The name was Albert,” Moynahan said.

Yenel smiled. “You are just in time. Although I thought…” His face suddenly changed to recognition as he saw Hammond. “Perhaps I better place you around the corner where you will be a little more private,” he said. Yenel led the men around the corner to a small table with two chairs. From there, they could enjoy the atmosphere without attracting much attention. After seating the men he leaned in to Hammond. “It is an honor to have you with us, Admiral. I hope you can enjoy your meal,” he said in a low voice.

Hammond smiled and shook the man’s hand. “Thanks, Mr. Yenel. I appreciate your help. Just being here is making me feel relaxed,” he said.

Yenel beamed with pride. “Is there something you were particularly interested in,” he asked.

Moynahan handed back the menus. Mr. Yenel, we would like to leave the meal to you for tonight. I think we would like a good German beer, then we can order wine later if we want,” he said.

Yenel grinned. “I hope you are hungry. I will bring your beer out in a minute. Let me know if you need anything,” he said before dashing away.

Hammond took a better look at the place. Though worn slightly, everything was neat and trim. The food at the other tables looked amazing and the others in the restaurant were all having a marvelous time. He leaned over to Moynahan. “Good choice,” he called out over the noise of the crowd.

Moynahan nodded. “Dortmund said come here. Said he brings his wife and family.”

Hammond nodded.

The beers were placed on the table in large mugs. Although he usually didn’t drink, Hammond took a good sip. His eyes opened wide as he looked at the mug and then at Moynahan. “This doesn’t taste anything like what I’ve had before. It’s even better than what I had in Kiel during our round the world trip,” he exclaimed.

“A lot of these places brew their own or it’s from the small pub next door that does. These basement brewers can turn out some amazing stuff,” Moynahan said.

In a few minutes the first course arrived. It was a hearty fish soup. The chunks of white fish in a tomato base with herbs melted in your mouth. The flavors made Hammond close his eyes and simply smile as it drifted across his tongue. He looked at Moynahan, whose face was screwed up into a look of sheer ecstasy. He glanced back at Hammond and uttered, “We will come back here again.”

Instead of a regular meal, the next course had a selection of a number of seafood delicacies. There were prawns, bluefish, sea bass, calamari, mussels, octopus, bonito, sturgeon, and red mullet. Each had been arranged almost like a sampler, but cooked to perfection. A salad was also brought and a loaf of hard bread to go with it. For some reason, it all blended perfectly with the beer. As Hammond finished his last bite a fruit salad was brought in for dessert. All along the way they were aware of people staring at them and talking to themselves, but no one interrupted their meal.

It had been a perfect evening. The two men put down their napkins and pushed away from the table and simply sat there for a moment. Mr. Yenel came up. “I hope everything was satisfactory,” he said.

“Mr. Yenel, I have never had such a wonderful meal in such a wonderful place,” said Hammond. “May we have our bill?”

Yenel waived them off. “It is all on us, Admiral.”

Hammond shook his head. “Mr. Yenel, I cannot accept your offer. My country says I cannot take such generous gifts. Please give me the bill and I promise I will come back again and again. You have done more for me tonight than I have experienced since I got here. This,” he said waving across the room, “has reminded me of home and what real people are like. It has let me see what it is really like in Germany. More importantly, it got me away from the things I must endure and let me be just a human being. For that, you have my everlasting gratitude,” he said.

Yenel looked down at the man who was shouldering the entire war effort, yet took the time to be around everyday people. He gave a wink and nodded. “I will return shortly,” he said.

An old man sitting at the next table turned and addressed Hammond. He patted him on the arm. “I wish I had known leaders like you when I was in the war,” he said. “Except for one of my generals, you would have made serving so much better,” he grinned.

“Which general was that?” Hammond asked smiling.

The old man’s face lit up. He patted Hammond’s arm again and gave a wink. “Rommel,” the old man said.

Hammond smiled again. “Then I feel I am in good company,” he said.

The old man laughed. “If I had known, we could have shared a few of the old stories. The young ones have no real idea, but we older men know what is going on. If I may, you are doing well, Admiral. Perhaps someday we will share a meal and tell a few tales. Maybe when they can’t hear I can sing some of the old songs,” he grinned.

Hammond looked at the old man and saw the deep wrinkles of his face and the stress the man experienced long ago. He had survived his war and knew a little about what the new generation was going through. “I would like that a lot, Herr…”

“Straub, Admiral. Erich Straub.”

Hammond took the old man’s telephone number then leaned in close to the old man’s ear. “Auf der Heide blüht ein kleines Blümelein und das heißt: Erika.”

The old man’s face took on a look of surprise. The song was one he had sung as a young man as he marched to war. Few sang it anymore, but the Admiral knew it. A tear came to the old man’s eye and he softly sang along just loud enough for Hammond to hear.

The old marching song had been sung by everyone in the old Wehrmacht. It was not a Nazi song, just a song about the girl back home. Hammond placed his hand on the old man’s shoulder. Looking down in his tear strained eyes he said, “Wir treffen wieder, meine camarade.” (We shall meet again, my comrade.)

The old man got to his feet and took Hammond’s hand. His face broke into a grin. “Maybe better than Herr Rommel,” he said with a sly grin.

Throughout all this, General Moynahan sat and watched in amazement. Not only had it been an amazing evening, but he was discovering a lot of what got Hammond his job. The languages impressed him, but he had a natural way of getting people to like him and do what he wished. He was now even bonding with some old German soldier. To be a part of it all was inspiring.

The bill was paid, but as Hammond left, the old man sprang to attention and clicked his heels together in the old way. The rest of the people in the restaurant saw him and got out of their seats and stood out of respect. They began to applaud. Hammond waved them down. “Please, thank you for letting me have a wonderful evening with you,” he said. They applauded again and didn’t stop until he got in his car and drove away.

Sergeant Erich Straub of the old Waffen SS watched Hammond leave. He was 98 years old, yet still felt the love for his Germany like the old days. He wondered if the young German soldiers felt like he did when he went into the SS in 1942. This Admiral Hammond had made him feel young again. He chuckled to himself. I wonder if he knows the Horst Wessel, he thought.

The ship had been underway for a week and the group had been able to play together for five of the days. They almost never got to have the whole band there. Watches took priority and sometimes, if a member had the mid-watch, you just had to get a couple of hours in the bag. In the end it made no difference. The group got together to play simply because it was fun. Jeffers had been pleased that there was so much talent in the group. All the basics were there and if someone didn’t know the tune, they picked it up quickly enough.

The surprise came on the second day underway when a young medical corpsman came up carrying a square case.

“Would you fellas mind if I tagged along?” the young woman asked in a Southern drawl.

One of the Chiefs looked over at her. “What’s that you got in the case?”

“It’s a little something my grandma passed down to me a few years back. Love playing the thing,” she exclaimed. Flipping up the latches, she pulled out a well-worn autoharp. Everyone could tell the thing had years of use and the way she handled it they could tell she cared for the instrument.

“That ought to fill in some parts real well,” said Chambers as he played a couple of notes on his guitar. “Hope you’re good with that thing,” he said.

“Pretty fair. I heard you fellas playing the other day and so I dragged it out,” she said as she laid the instrument in her lap and pulled out two finger picks and put one on her thumb and the other on her index finger. “What would you fellas like to play?” she asked.

Jeffers spoke up. “Why not play Wildwood Flower. That is perfect for the autoharp,” he said.

The young woman got a twinkle in her eye. “You’re my kind of man,” she joked as she lifted the instrument and placed the back of it against her chest.

She wasn’t good, she was perfect. The music flowed from the harp-like instrument as she used one hand to play the melody and accompaniment on the strings while the other pressed the appropriate keys. The men looked at each other and grinned. In just a few bars, they had joined in. Then she opened her mouth.

In between stanzas, other members of the group played a small refrain, shaping the music and sound throughout the piece. In the end, she gave a nod and everyone slowed to a stop. As usual, everyone expressed their pleasure at the outcome.

Jeffers asked, “What’s your name?”

The young woman blushed slightly. Her name patch had been covered up.

“My name is Angie Carter,” she said.

Jeffers and Chambers sat up. “You wouldn’t happen to be a member of the Carter Family?” asked Chambers.

She smiled. “Yes,” she said sheepishly. “This autoharp belonged to my great-great grandma Maybelle.”

“Dear Lord,” exclaimed Chambers. “I guess that means you can stay,” he said with a smile. Everyone around the area laughed since they all knew about the Carter Family. They were country music legends.

Jeffers started playing the banjo part for Nashville Blues and Chambers picked up. Like always, the others fell in. Even Carter was strumming along on the autoharp. A number of others were sitting around the group, tapping their feet and just enjoying the music.

The group was about to finish up the piece when a booming voice shattered the calm. “What the hell is going on in here?” yelled Captain Donner. The music immediately stopped and everyone jumped to their feet. “Who gave you permission to bring this redneck crap aboard my ship?” he demanded.

“Just playing a few tunes after hours, Captain,” said Chambers.

“Not on my ship. If you have time to do this, you can have time for more work. And I’m not sure I like officers and enlisted doing things together. This is to end at once,” he shouted before turning to Jeffers. “And who the hell are you?”

“Lieutenant Commander Jeffers, sir. I’m on the Admiral’s staff,” explained Jeffers.

“Well, Lieutenant Commander, you just keep your redneck hillbilly crap off my ship. You stay up with your people and leave my people alone!” he growled pointing his finger at Jeffers. “If I ever see you down here with my people again….”

“Attention on deck!” someone shouted.

Admiral Hustvedt walked casually up to the group. “Please be at ease. I just wanted to congratulate you on this fine band here, Captain,” said Hustvedt. “I’ve been listening from across the way and really enjoyed their playing,” he said as he turned to Petty Officer Carter. “And you play that autoharp superbly. Haven’t heard such good music in a long time.” He then turned to Donner. “Good idea having a group like this playing on your ship. You recall Hammond had one on his ship. It was probably another reason he got his star,” Hustvedt said jovially. “You people keep up the good work,” he said as he turned to leave. Then he stopped and motioned for Donner to follow him. “One other thing,” Hustvedt said more quietly and he pulled Donner in close when away from the others. “If I ever hear you berating one of my officers or any other in front of their troops, I will personally see to it that you are shipped back home, and the only thing you will command is a detachment in Diego Garcia,” Hustvedt almost spat. “Such displays of cruelty are counter to good order and discipline and can lead to the loss of a ship and good people. I need you and your ship, but I will not abide a bully. So you keep that in mind. Do you understand?”

Donner gulped. “Yes, sir,” he choked out.

Hustvedt looked at him hard. “Good. Now I think I will go back and listen to some more of that good old American Bluegrass,” he said as he turned and walked back toward the group. Within a few minutes another song was being played.

Donner made his way back to his sea cabin behind the bridge. He didn’t have to listen to that crap. By the time he got to his quarters he had already determined to give Chambers and the chiefs some extra duties. That would teach then not to mess with their commanding officer.

After a few more songs, the group broke up and headed toward their racks. Jeffers said goodbye to his friend and joined the Admiral who was waiting.

“You okay?” Hustvedt asked.

Jeffers smiled. “Oh, I’m fine, but I wouldn’t give much for the rest of the guys. Over the past couple of days I’ve seen the Captain go off on several people. From what I’m seeing, everybody is scared to death of him,” he confided.

Hustvedt nodded. “I’ve heard the same thing. I caught a glimpse of him heading your way and decided to keep my ears open. I’m hoping this will cause him to calm down a bit. I’m sorry he was taking out his anger on you.”

“I can handle those kinds of things, but did you see Seaman Carter? She looked like she would faint,” said Jeffers.

“I saw it. That’s why I said something nice to her. I never have been able to take a bully. He may be the worst I have ever seen. But that’s my problem. I’ll keep my ears open, and if you see anything, let me know,” Hustvedt said seriously. Then his face turned into a grin. “Boy, you sure do know how to pick that banjo,” he said with a smile.

The two talked together as they walked down the hanger deck toward the door that led back to their quarters.

Captain Rhodes looked at the message and smiled. Danner would get a kick out of this. He would also get a kick out of Hammond knowing he was aboard. Danner and the then Captain Hammond got along famously when he was aboard. It never dawned on Rhodes that Hammond knew that Danner would never have allowed himself to be away from his flock.

It was dark on the bridge. The ship gently rolled in the swells and the stars lit up the night sky almost as if it were daylight. Only dark shapes marred the sea’s surface. No lights could be seen. Yet there was no escaping the mighty forces transiting together. On one side of Iowa was the North Carolina. Further out was the carrier Nimitz and her escorts. Even further away was the Enterprise and Gerald Ford. Unseen were the transports, cruise liners, car carriers and other ships carrying several divisions of troops to go into battle. In the center of it all was the America with Admiral Hustvedt leading them. The sheer size of the force was far larger than anything Rhodes had ever seen.

Rhodes watched as his Junior Officer of the Deck walked to the window and lifted a stadimeter. Since there were no radars operating, it was the only way to make sure of the distance between ships. Seeing his officers reverting to the old ways of station keeping made him feel good. Doing it at night with relatively little light was remarkable.

A small gust of wind blew through the bridge as the outer door was opened and shut. Rhodes heard Danner request permission to say the evening prayer. Rhodes was glad it was Danner and not Mahew, the protestant chaplain. Mahew was from a denomination that still thumped Bibles and probably even used snakes. He had been a last minute addition before the ship left San Pedro. So far, none of the crew went to his services. Unlike Danner who drew in both protestant and catholic.

As expected, the prayer was short and Rhodes called Danner up. “Father Danner, it seems you are a highly sought after man,” he joked as he handed over the message.

Danner looked at the message under the red light of the Captain’s flashlight. Rhodes could see the chaplain’s face brighten as he read it.

“Wow. Isn’t this something. Maybe I should do a weather prayer kind of like Patton did at the Battle of the Bulge,” Danner said with a grin. “Or maybe the old Sheppard prayer, “Lord, don’t let me screw this up.”

Rhodes chuckled. “Either way, you might just make or break this effort.”

Danner rubbed his chin. “Hmmmm. I guess I better put on my prayer cap and churn something out,” he said as he folded the message and put it in his shirt pocket. “Goodnight Captain.”

“Good night Jim.”

General Claire Richardson was tired of going over the invasion plans. She knew them by heart. She just wanted all her staff and commanders to do the same. Only a couple of things had come up at the late staff meeting. One was a recommendation from a company sergeant to bring on a piece of equipment which really wasn’t needed, and the second was a concern about the noise the LCACs would make and how close they might need to be to the beach for a launch. No changes were made, but Richardson liked that they were getting input from all areas and levels of command. It told her they were ready and that they were a part of the plan, 100 percent. That could make or break any amphibious landing.

Needing some fresh air, she made her way to the flight deck and walked out into the cold breeze. The icy wind almost cut right through her heavy jacket, but it felt invigorating. Making her way to the opposite side of the island, the breeze was cut off by the island structure and she found several people standing and sitting along the deck. They were joking around and just watching the waves go by. Trying not to be noticed, she listened in.

“How many more days?”

“Maybe another week. For some reason these squids think they can only go at around ten knots. Not that I mind, but I’d just as soon get going. This waiting around is for shit.”

“Tell me about it. I really don’t like being on these ships. Too much brass and too many squids. Hell, just yesterday the Captain of this boat told Hogsworth that as far as he was concerned all us grunts could just stay in our compartments. Talk about welcome aboard.”

“Yea, he’s a walking turd. Always yelling at somebody and making people’s lives miserable. Makes me glad I’m a Marine.”

“Yea, I bet Richardson wouldn’t give people that kind of shit. She’s nothing but Marine, and Marines take care of their own.”

“No shit.”

“You hear the stories about her from Korea? Damn! Talk about kicking ass and taking names.”

“Yea, and that’s just what we’re going to do when we hit the beach.”

Nearby a door opened and a crewman came on deck. He walked over to the group. “Excuse me, guys, but the CO doesn’t really like people on the flight deck at night. Too easy to fall off. I don’t want to break anything up, but I know a place that’s safer and a whole hell of a lot warmer.”

One of the Marines spoke up. “The CO doesn’t like it, huh.”

“Probably throw a fit.”

“No problem, man. We’ve seen some of his fits. Where is this place you are talking about?”

“Follow me.”

The sailor led the group through the door and down a passageway headed aft toward the fantail. Going down a few ladders the group emptied onto the hangar deck and made their way to a refueling station on the starboard side. A set of vents from the ship’s interior brought a little heat to the area, making it quite pleasant. All the way under the dim red lights, Richardson stayed back so the Marines couldn’t see her. Only the last two recognized her, but she smiled and placed her index finger to her lips. They nodded and kept going.

When the door to the outside was opened, the lights in the passageway went off. Everyone went out onto the refueling station.

“Thanks, man. We appreciate it,” one of the Marines said.

“No problem. Saves us all a chewing,” said the sailor as he turned and went back inside.

“Nice guy,” said one.

“Yea, not bad for a swabbie,” joked another. They all settled down on pieces of equipment as they had before, but this time, another of the Marines saw Richardson and called out, “Attention on deck.” All the Marines jumped to their feet.

Saddened that she had been found out, Richardson motioned them down. “Have a seat guys, don’t mind me. I came out for the same reason you did,” she said.

“Sorry we didn’t see you before, Ma’am,” said one.

Richardson chuckled. “I didn’t really want you to. People tend to clam up whenever a general is around. I’d rather just sit and talk a while. What’s been going on?” she asked.

“Bored as hell, Ma’am,” said one. “I’d rather we were somewhere getting shot at than this.”

“Yea, the Gunny said it would get bad, but I never thought it would be this bad.”

“Yea, I guess we’re all a little anxious to get there and get going,” said Richardson. “For me, there’s only so many times you can go over things. I was hoping the Navy would do a few gunshoots in between for us to watch, but there won’t be but one unrep between now and hitting the beach, so I guess we just have to hang in there,” she said.

“Now that would have been cool. I’d love to see one of those battlewagons torch off. I’m told it’s impressive as hell,” said a younger man.

“Bud, you have no idea. In Korea, those things patrolled up and down the peninsula and cleared a path all the way north. I told them this time I wouldn’t go unless they came along,” she joked.

There were chuckles from the group. “How long before we get there, Ma’am?”

“Well, tomorrow night we pass Gibraltar. Three more days and we’ll pass through the Dardanelles. One more day and we hit the beach.”

“That’s good to hear. You going in with us, Ma’am?”

“You bet your ass, Marine. I’m not one of those that sits in the rear. You and I are going all the way through this. Think you can keep up with me?”

There were a few grunts and growls in the group. “Ma’am, I’ll share my foxhole with you,” said one Marine. There were laughs and jeers from a few.

“I may just take you up on that, Marine,” she joked. There was a howl from the group.

“Any of you guys from South Dakota?” she asked.

“I am, Ma’am.”

Richardson turned to see a vague figure in the darkness. “Where bouts?”

“Custer, Ma’am.”

That was a surprise. Richardson was also from Custer. “What’s your name, Marine?”

“Caraway, Ma’am. Kelly Caraway.”

Richardson reached out and slapped the young man on the arm. “Good to meet you Caraway. I’m from Custer too.”

“I know, Ma’am. My Mom told me to say hello if we ever met.”

Curious, Richardson asked, “Who is that? I had a bunch of friends there.”

“Mom is named Janice. She was a Meadows.”

“Well I’ll be damned. You’re little Kelly? Janice was my best friend in high school. How’s she doing?”

“Not too bad. She told me some stories about you after I went through boot camp. I’ll let her know we met.”

“You do that. If we get the chance to talk again, you’ll need to fill me in. It’s nice to meet someone I know,” Richardson said. “Now what about the rest of you? Tell me something about yourselves.”

The talking went on for more than an hour. After the young men loosened up, it was like old friends shooting the breeze. That was just what Richardson needed to slough off the tensions she had been carrying during the trip. It reminded on a similar night years before, when she and another young Marine talked on a night much like this. In the end, everyone shook hands and went their ways. Richardson went to her stateroom and slept like a log. The others went back and told their fellow Marines of their commander and how they would follow her to hell and back.

The demonstrations had gotten much larger and stronger. A mass of several thousand filled the Palace Square. They were bundled against the terrible cold blowing off the Baltic, but they held their banners high. Shouting “We want heat and we want food,” they began marching in an ever growing circle around the Alexander column until the square was filled with angry people. Police were called in to calm the crowd but they were shouted down, or in some cases, the police joined the crowd. A military vehicle came up and troops were unloaded. It made no difference. The crowd stripped the men of their weapons and shoved them into the center of the circle by the column. Using their bare hands, the people overturned the truck and set fire to it. For many, it was the first heat they had felt in almost three months. People took their time around the burning truck to share the heat, but they continued to circle.

Someone stood with a portable loudspeaker and the crowd got silent. A single woman stood before the crowd. “I am from a small town named Vednoye. The state has taken all of our young men for this war,” she said. “Just a month ago we received the notices. They are all dead! All but one gave their lives in this cursed war. Our leaders did this. They took them from us and forced them to fight against the Europeans and the Americans. I do not blame the Europeans, I blame our leaders for getting us into this! Now there is but one child of our town still alive. A whole generation of our people has been wiped out! We asked for this child to be returned. Our government said he would give his life for the glory of Russia. What glory is this? It is not our glory. In the Great Patriotic War we fought against the evil of Germany, but what evil is this now? Now it is the evil of Borodin!” she shouted. “He starves us. He leaves us to freeze. Thousands have frozen this winter because of the politicians. We starve. Our children don’t have enough food, and still they take our young people each day. We of Vednoye refuse to send our children. We will hide them, we will send them away. We will protect them! Take to the streets to end this suffering!” she shouted to the crowd.

As she spoke, the shouts and protests from the crowd got louder and stronger. Police on the scene became truly frightened. More police were called in and more troops barricaded themselves around the Hermitage. On cue, tear gas was fired into the crowd. Many of the canisters were simply flung back at the police. The crowd didn’t disperse. Now more armed troops arrived. They began gathering at each entrance to the square, filling it with soldiers. The people saw this and began tearing apart the iron fence surrounding the column, using the pointed ends to pry up the paving stones on the square itself. Some began striking the marble base of the column and smashing it into something to throw.

Concentrating on the street leading to the bridge over the river, the soldiers and police were assaulted with stones and pavers. Almost as one, the crowd surged toward the bridge, overwhelming the force, taking their weapons and moving down to the river. They began to cross the bridge. They got half way when the armored personnel carriers blocked the other end. They opened fire on the crowd.

The people at the head of the crowd were cut down unmercifully. The rest turned and tried to run, but the crowd was still surging forward. More were shot down before the noise of the firing caused the rest to panic. They fled back toward the square, but by now the troops at the square had bottled them in. They too began firing. People began getting off the main street and trying to find some sort of shelter. Some began making their way downriver on the ice which was thick this time of year. Others crawled into the sewers and into the military school on the street. Locked doors forced them around corners and into inner courtyards where they were trapped.

The police moved in. They continued to fire until there was little movement on the streets. By the time it was over, there were over five hundred killed or wounded. The police took their time getting the survivors to a hospital. At the head of the bridge was the woman still carrying the portable megaphone. She had been shot through the head.

From his vantage point atop the Hermitage, Ivan Teznarik packed away his video camera. He had already uplinked the signal to a satellite. He didn’t know where it would go. He just knew his controllers had told him to use his position with the museum to gather the footage and send it on. He met regularly with some of the dissident factions and relayed information back and forth. His reward was a photovoltaic panel he could use to charge his equipment and to run some small appliances. He also used it to charge batteries which would heat his blanket at night. Not a bad trade off.

Entering the museum offices from the roof, he made his way to his office and returned the camera to a safe before locking up and making his way home for the night. What he had seen was frightful. The people of Russia were getting angry and more violent. Because he was a historian, he knew the significance of it all. The only other time Russians had been this angry was when they had overthrown a Tsar.

The training for the new drones hadn’t taken that long. Most of the controls were the same. The few buttons and switches that were new had been easy to learn. The drones had more ammunition for the pistol, carried both the pistol and two grenades and had a microphone and speaker system so that things could be communicated. But the best thing was the small photovoltaic cell on top. It wasn’t much larger than a playing card, but with it, the drone could remain airborne all day.

Despite the fact that they were near Krakow, it had taken a week before Petyr could go anywhere near his home. Getting permission to strike out alone, he made his way toward the neighborhood he had known all his life. What he saw in the monitor was beyond description. The bombs and artillery had done their work. Images Petyr had seen of places like Berlin and Dresden at the end of the Second World War were something he never thought he would see in Krakow. The buildings were mostly burned out shells. Occasionally there would be something that appeared intact, but the bullet holes and other damage left no doubt that people were no longer in them. Only on a few occasions did he see someone scurry between buildings or duck into some sort of shelter.

As he rounded the corner and looked down his street, he took heart that it appeared his father’s store was still there. But as he got closer, he saw the holes in the walls, the boarded up windows and in one case where the boards had been torn away, he saw the demolished shell inside. The once orderly shelves were overturned and scattered across the littered tiled floor. The counter was splintered up and in pieces. No one was in sight. Raising the drone up to the second floor, he peered through a window, hoping to see some sign of life. All that met him was an empty room. The furniture was scattered about, but there was nothing that indicated habitation. The curtains that his mother had made were in tatters and there were a couple pieces of clothing scattered on the floor. Dust was everywhere.

Going higher still, he peered through a window of the third floor. The upper floor had collapsed inward and had crushed almost everything. Sticking through some of the rubble, Petyr saw the remains of a dress he remembered Freda had worn when they had sat together that first night. There was something that looked like blood on it.

A seething anger swept over Petyr. Turning the drone around, he quickly made his way to one of the main streets where he had seen some Russian activity. A personnel carrier was making its way down the street. The commander was sitting atop the small turret leaning on its gun. Below him, the driver had his head out of the hatch as he drove the vehicle down the street. Swinging his drone around, he picked up speed until he came up behind the vehicle and took aim at the commander. One shot later and the young man slumped down over the gun. The driver hadn’t noticed. Petyr pulled the drone directly beside the driver and pulled the trigger again. Suddenly the BMP swerved toward the rubble at the side of the street. Careening up a pile, the BMP struck a wall and flopped over. Petyr hovered over the vehicle until the doors in the back began to open. Maneuvering behind the vehicle, Petyr made a run at the opening. As he got close, he pressed the switch to release a grenade. It flew neatly into the crowded space before it went off. The two men who were able to get outside were shot with Petyr’s drone. Petyr immediately started heading back toward another vehicle.

Ricks had watched his new young friend and saw the same things he saw. He eased up behind him. “Pete,” he said softly.

Petyr turned and looked at Ricks. There was a wild look in his eyes that Ricks had seen only in a few people. It was a look of intense hatred and retaliation. That kind of look never did any good.

“Don’t stop me, Dale. I have to do this,” Petyr said.

Ricks placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I know, but remember we are here to do an important job. We do it because we have to do it, not because it’s fun. Always keep that in mind,” he said.

The look on Petyr’s face changed. First there was curiosity, then understanding. The craziness was gone and tears began to well up in his eyes. He nodded before turning back to the screen. His aggressiveness slowed a bit, but he continued his mission.

Ricks leaned in again. “We’ll talk about it when you’re done,” he said as he made his way to the back of the room. Colonel Sanders was watching the progress from his seat.

“Ricks, we need to get back to platoon like action. The link just doesn’t show us what’s out there that well. Section off some of the troops and let them go in on their own. Maybe we can clear some of these sharpshooters and small group elements out,” Sanders said.

“Wouldn’t hurt, Colonel,” said Ricks. “House to house fighting has always been the toughest. We might need to go in ahead of our troops for some close air support of our own. These things should be pretty good at finding out where the shooting is coming from. Might also find some hidden armor or artillery we can take out before the troops get there,” he said.

Sanders nodded. “Why don’t you take that young Polish sergeant you made friends with and get the ball rolling. I’d like this to be a joint effort. Besides, if anyone gets in the way, you might need someone who can speak the language.”

“No problem, sir. I’ll get the people together this evening and we’ll see if we can get things started tomorrow morning,” said Ricks. He already knew who might be on the team and Petyr Kursov would be at the head of the list.

At the end of the day, Ricks got his team of thirty together and went over the new mission. Kursov and Fedol would lead the teams and then work together to make sure things were covered adequately. Kursov met with his team and got a few things ready before starting to head out the door for a bite to eat and some rest. He had made ten separate runs that day and the stress of the work plus the knowledge that his family was dead had weighed on him terribly.

Ricks saw him getting ready to leave and went over to him. “Care for some dinner?” he asked.

Petyr looked at him with tired eyes. “Sure.”

The two walked around two of the buildings to the mess hall set up in an old mill. The place was packed with soldiers eating. The two went through the line and Ricks led him to a table in one corner of the room.

Petyr wasn’t saying anything. He looked at the tray in front of him and didn’t move. Ricks could tell he needed to talk, but the words wouldn’t come out. “Sorry about your family,” Ricks said.

The tears began to well up again. “They’re all dead. It looked like the place had been hit by a million bullets and a few bombs. Nobody could have survived it,” he nearly sobbed.

“You don’t know that,” said Ricks. “I watched with you. There were no bodies and it looked like somebody just up and left the place. So you can’t think the worst.”

Petyr looked up at him. “My mother would never leave her home. I also saw one of Freda’s dresses covered in blood. There’s no hope,” he said quietly, almost resigning himself to being alone for the rest of his life.

“A friend of mine thought he had lost his best buddy in a battle. Most of the guys had given up on trying to save him, but my friend kept going. Turned out his buddy lived and he proved them all wrong. So I guess it depends on your attitude. If you give up, they really are dead. But if you keep believing, they may turn up alive,” said Ricks philosophically.

“How do you know this?”

Ricks smiled and took his arm. “Because I was his buddy,” he said. “So until you see them in a grave, let’s just keep thinking they are alive somewhere. Remember, this is a war and anything can happen,” he said.

A smile returned to Petyr’s face. He nodded. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “Is that what you were talking about this afternoon after I knocked out the BMP?”

“Partly. Pete, I’ve seen some good people get hurt during a war. They lost friends and relatives and tried to take it out on the enemy. Eventually they became obsessed with the idea of revenge. In the end, it ate them up. When they realized what they had done they could not live with themselves. You’re a good guy, Pete. You need to always remember that if it weren’t for the war, you would not be doing things like this. That makes what you do the war’s fault. You aren’t to blame. Then when you finally go home, you can live with what happened and put it behind you. I don’t want to see a friend of mine go mental after this is over,” he said.

Petyr thought a few minutes. He was right. For that brief few minutes he had enjoyed killing. It made him feel bad. He looked back at Ricks. “What about the ones….”

“This afternoon? Well, let’s just chalk that one up to a learning situation and leave it at that. Doing this stuff for pleasure just isn’t you, Pete. My buddy Paul once told me that people might think he enjoyed what he was doing when he killed a man, but in reality he wanted the one who sent that poor son of a bitch into battle in the first place. For people like us, it is something we have to do, not something we enjoy. We’re all basically good people. We just have to understand the difference.”

Petyr nodded in understanding. “Thanks.”

Ricks raised his hands. “Don’t thank me, I’m just a whole bunch of experience thrown together with some duct tape. Besides, I have a sneaking feeling your family just relocated to get away from all the bombings. I’ll help you find them,” he said. “Now come on. We both need some rest before we try out these new tactics tomorrow.”

Petyr stood up. “I could use the rest, but you may need to help me lead this group. Remember, I never had any training in ground tactics.”

“Hell, I never thought about that,” said Ricks with a grin.

Patriarch Gregory had just finished morning prayers when a squad of men burst into the room. All of them were armed and looked like they meant business. The Patriarch smiled at the men and spread his arms. “How may I help you gentlemen?”

The leader of the group, a tall man with a scar across his cheek stepped forward. Patriarch, it has come to the attention of our government that you have been rallying the people against the state. As a direct result of your efforts, a group from St. Petersburg rebelled last night and caused a mass of casualties. You must come with us,” he demanded.

A quizzical look acme over the Patriarch’s face. “So I am the one rallying the people in St. Petersburg? Interesting, since I led mass from here last night,” he said.

“Nevertheless, you must come with us.”

Gregory gave him a stern look. “You realize I am the Patriarch of Moscow and of all Rus,” he admonished.

The man gave him an evil grin. “I don’t care who you are,” he hissed as he grabbed the Patriarch and shoved him out the door. The Patriarch fell in a heap on the marble floor. Several priests tried to help him but were shoved away.

When they reached the outside door, a crowd was gathering, wondering why a military vehicle was parked outside the cathedral. When the doors flew open there was an audible gasp from the crowd as they saw their Patriarch being manhandled toward a van. There was a trickle of blood coming from his mouth.

“They are arresting our Patriarch!” someone shouted. Now the crowd erupted, tearing down the barricades and rushing toward the van. More people in the square ran to their aid from seemingly everywhere. The driver’s door was pried open and the driver dragged from the vehicle. As the guards tried to open the van door to shove the Patriarch in, they were surrounded by the angry mob. They threw themselves at the guards. Overwhelmed by the numbers, the men were flung to the ground and beaten savagely before they could lift their weapons.

When they came to, the Patriarch was gone. The van was ripped apart and had been set ablaze. Their weapons were gone and even their radios were missing. One of the men tried to go into a local shop to call for help, but the shop owner yanked his own phone out of the wall and simply said, “It isn’t working.” The squad of men ended up walking back to their headquarters. After an extensive search of the area, the police were left with a dilemma — the Patriarch of Moscow and all Rus was missing.

Roberto Venusi pedaled his bicycle between the tightly packed buildings along the Naples streets. He needed to get to the Basilica San Franchesca di San Paolo where he had a small tourist shop. Last night had been quieter than other nights. For some reason, most of the sailors usually crawling around the city were not there. No matter, it had happened in the past when there was some sort of training or something going on aboard the American carrier. The Abraham Lincoln had become a fixture out in the middle of the bay sitting at a strange angle on the bottom. There had been barges next to the big ship for a couple of months, but even last night he could see the lights flickering around the ship. Many were making bets she would never leave where she was.

Rounding a corner, he turned his bicycle down the Via Partenope and rode along the waterfront. The sun was coming up and it looked as if it would be a beautiful day. He glanced out over the bay of Naples toward Vesuvius to see if there was any steam today. Suddenly he stopped the bike and stared toward the bay.

The American carrier was gone. Only the night before he had seen her out there, but now there was a flat sea. Straining his eyes, he looked out into the Mediterranean, but there was no sign of her. The Abraham Lincoln had vanished as if she were never there.

Hammond sat at the head of the table surrounded by his entire general staff. The go or no-go day had arrived and it was time to make the ultimate decision. “Alright, it’s time for the final check. Air assets?”

“All assets are in place and awaiting the orders. All bases are closed and crews standing by. We have enough supplies to operate at one hundred percent for eight months on hand with more in the pipeline. We’re ready,” said General Ames. “I’ll add that it is none too soon. The Polish, German and French air forces have taken the brunt of all this. Once operations begin, they will regroup and take a short break before rejoining the Allied forces when they are rearmed,” he said.

“I agree. Naval forces?”

Sir Richard looked up from the papers in front of him. “Ready in all respects. The Lincoln will follow the rest of the landing force when they transit the Bosporus tonight. The French and the HMS Prince of Wales are in position in the Norwegian Sea for strikes at Murmansk. The Pacific forces are in place and ready, and Admiral Hustvedt and his landing forces are outside Istanbul waiting for the go signal. Our submarine forces are in place, as far as we will ever be able to tell, and ready for unrestricted warfare. Anything flying a Russian flag will be hit. Naval air forces are likewise ready. I wanted to let the Lincoln have a couple of days to train up, but the air commander will have none of it. Quite right too,” he said with a grin. “Amphibious forces are ready to begin the assault once in position.”

“Ground forces?”

General Moynahan tapped the table. “Ready. Airborne troops and their equipment are ready to go on schedule. Assault troops are aboard ship and from what I understand, eager to get off of them,” he said. There were chuckles across the table. Current forces are maintaining their efforts, but the additional assault forces are in place behind them. Once the time comes, everything goes at once.”

“What about the drones?”

“They will lead the way along with the Predators and other allied versions. I also have the nonlethal systems in place. Between the sounds, the heat generating units and dropping all that slick stuff, the Russians should be kept off guard for a while,” Moynahan said. I also checked on our opposite numbers. There’s only about a division of troops guarding the Turkish border. Between them and the Caucuses there’s not much of anything. Our airborne troops should be able to get in without difficulty.”

“Good. Going back to the air forces, have you been able to get all the timing coordinated so that everything hits at once?” asked Hammond.

“Yes, sir. The bombers will loiter if they need to so that we all come together. It’s a little tough for those coming from the United States, but we have it worked out,” said Ames.

“Good. Admiral Hayes, your people have done an amazing job at the Transportation Command. Are you going to be able to keep the resupply up?”

“I’ll say yes to anything except if they use nukes. Of course, if they do, everything will be thrown into a cocked hat,” said Hayes. “Even then, my people have the equipment to keep going for a while. It should be a good buffer if nothing else,” he said.

“One thing I want to make sure we are clear on. Get the word to our troops that I want no incidents of harming civilians during this operation. Take the time to mark your targets and only go for the troops. I also don’t want to hear of anything that might smack as a war crime. We will treat all civilians with dignity and helpfulness. That’s why I ordered all that new equipment and have the engineers following the ground troops. We will not be the bad guys in this. We are doing this because we have been forced to and our goal is to bring back the peace. For every city and town we liberate, I want electricity restored and food brought in. I want doctors to treat the civilians along with the troops. We help the civilians get through the rest of this winter then continue on. Yes, I know there may be a few who will oppose us, but we can deal with that in a humanitarian way. It’s hard to hurt people who are trying to help you. Does everyone understand that?” Hammond insisted.

Moynahan grinned. “Been pushing that through to the troops since they got here. I will personally get involved if something comes up. I can’t speak for the others, but the troops on the ground know the score.”

“It’s the same for all of us,” said Sir Richard. “That message you sent spelled out things loud and clear. I know that the equipment you ordered to accomplish this will be going in right after the initial landings. The food will be the same as our troops eat. I even recommended that we let the civilians see that they are eating the same as the troops. It should make a difference.”

“Good. Have the Maxwell Panels been installed on all the equipment?”

“Everything,” said Ames. “I even have a small one on top of the Humvees. We’ve had to re-think how we do business, but this should make us invisible to their radars, missiles, aircraft, anything they might try and shoot at us. The word is to leave the things on and don’t turn them off. I did a test of my own. You can’t even lock onto a Humvee with anything once those things are installed. We’re going to clean house,” he said enthusiastically.

“Maybe, but I’m not going to count on all this. If it all works, great. If not, we are going to have to fight longer and harder than we have before,” said Hammond. “You all have done an amazing job of getting things together while keeping the Russians at bay. But now it’s all on us. We have the people, material and the support we need to do the job, but now we actually have to do it.” He turned to the meteorologist. “How does the weather look for all this?”

Colonel Jeffrey Standish scratched his chin. “Well, sir, considering it is the dead of winter and we are covering half the world, I would say the weather is pretty fair. On the day of departure the Black Sea area should be sunny with about a ten knot wind. Seas should be mildly choppy but not bad. Snow will be about a foot deep once ashore, which should not be an issue with our vehicles. In the Pacific, there will be overcast with a fifteen knot wind along the landing sites, but the waves shouldn’t be more than five or ten feet. The temperatures will be about minus five or so with a ferocious wind chill, but our troops have been provided with the gear they need to keep warm. Along the Polish frontier there will be clear skies with temps in the thirties. In all, the weather isn’t ideal, but given the season, it couldn’t get much better. Our only concern is in the Pacific where the weather can change at a moment’s notice, but the general outlook is favorable,” he said solemnly.

Hammond looked around the table. They had been working this out for three months and now the decision had to be made. “Gentlemen, now I feel like what Eisenhower felt just before D-Day. We have been planning and gathering for quite a while. We happy few are now truly a band of brothers. We know each other, we share all our confidences and we have sweat over the difficult tasks. We happy few must now make the ultimate decision. From what you are telling me, everything is in place, the scheduling is set and the weather is right to begin our push back into Russia. Our intelligence tells us that the Russian population is growing tired and weak from our efforts to shut down their power and food and blaming their own government for what has happened. Our radio broadcasts are keeping them informed of what has been happening and why. We have the technology we asked for to overwhelm our enemy. There is absolutely no reason not to launch Operation Arctic Wind and put the full force of our Allied forces against them. So, as the Commander of the Allied forces, I order you to go,” he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a message. “But to begin this operation I asked for a special prayer. It is my hope you will join with me,” Hammond said solemnly. He began to read.

Hammond didn’t read an additional phrase, “and thank God for the redheads,” which was a running joke between Father Danner and the crew of the Iowa. He knew the phrase was meant for him personally.

The men in the room all responded with their own “Amen,” and looked back at their Commander. “May God be with us in this task,” Hammond said.

The officers around the table got up and began making their way back to their staffs. The word went out within the hour and across half the globe, things began to move.

The operator was carefully watching his monitor for activity on the Russian satellite. After a pause, a special code suddenly appeared on the screen. “I have the code,” he called out.

As planned, after the code was completed, a button was pressed and a digital signal began uploading to the Russian satellite.

“Is it working?” asked a supervisor.

Without looking up from the screen the operator nodded. “I blocked the signal from Moscow and we are inserting our own. Just a few more seconds.”

In all it took three minutes to upload the data. The Russian code was still being sent for a few seconds after that, but it didn’t matter. As the data ended, there was another pause and the operator allowed the final sequence to be added. The operator sat back in his chair. “Done,” he said with a smile.

“How do we know they bought it?” the supervisor asked.

“The first sequence was the alert code. It told the satellite to accept the data. We inserted our own data at that point. The final sequence was the coded instruction to distribute it to the units. For all intents and purposes, the satellite will verify that it all came from Russian headquarters,” he said matter-of-factly. “Now every unit will sign in to the satellite and download their weapons control changes, and that will happen starting right about now,” he said.

Almost on cue the monitor screen began receiving requests for upload. The satellite system immediately began sending the changes to each unit requesting the data. From that point on, it only took thirty minutes for the whole process to be complete.

The operator turned to the supervisor. “You can let the powers that be know that it worked like a champ,” he said.

The supervisor grinned. “Good, because the next step is going to give them fits.”

“Sir, I have lost signal from another satellite. This one is a communications satellite number 1842.”

Colonel Michael Kerotin looked up from his station. “Is it a malfunction, or has it been attacked?” he asked.

“It looks like a malfunction. I am receiving a carrier signal, but nothing else.”

“How long has that one been up?”

“Since 1997, Colonel.”

“That’s a long time for a satellite. Switch to the backup,” he ordered.

Making some changes, the operator reported, “Communications returned, sir.”

“Good. I’ll report it up the line,” the Colonel said.

“I’ve lost a satellite too, Colonel,” shouted another operator.

“Weather satellite is down, sir,” called out another.

One by one, every satellite on the board began dropping offline. In a panic, Colonel Kerotin called headquarters to report that their entire space command was under attack.

“That’s the last of them, sir.”

“Not bad. Now everyone be ready to respond if they start launching. Our job now is to make sure they can’t get anything into space,” said the Brilliant Pebbles supervisor.

As darkness fell, people on the shore watched as a monstrous force of ships began making their way silently past the city towards the Bosporus. The city was dark and the ships showed no lights, but in the dim moonlight there was no mistaking the power going by. Carriers, battleships, cruisers, destroyers, transports, all of them were heading north with a purpose. The Turks had shut down the radio and telephone systems for the transit so that it would be difficult to warn anyone of the approach. People stood on the waterfronts and simply watched silently, some praying for the young men and women going in harm’s way.

Aboard the ships, a message had told each to place a masthead light on the bow and to show only it and a stern light. Even those would not be turned on until they were within the narrow straits. The passage was only a little over 16 miles long, but in some cases, the waterway was only a third of a mile across. A series of pilot boats was placed along the way to call out a warning if a ship was going too near the shallows. No radars operated. The entire route was in darkness with only a sliver of moonlight.

One by one, the ships eased through the narrow channel. Sailors and soldiers alike came topside to watch the passage. No one spoke except in a whisper, lest someone on shore would hear them. As they passed under a bridge, the sailors on the larger ships could see people looking down at them. Most worried that one of them would alert the Russians and things would come to a crashing halt. No one wanted to get caught in the narrow channel when attacked.

Aboard the America, Admiral Hustvedt sat in a chair on one of the bridge wings. He wanted to see if something went wrong, since this was where he felt the most vulnerable. Captain Donner didn’t help. Hustvedt watched him pace back and forth across the bridge. He was wound up tighter than a clock and when he came out to the bridge wing, Hustvedt could see he was sweating. Despite the Captain, Hustvedt could see that the bridge was being efficiently run. Bearing lines were taken when they could and the navigation team was doing a good job keeping the ship in the center of the channel. He liked the fact that they didn’t totally rely on the dim stern light of the ship ahead to navigate.

Glancing behind them, Hustvedt could just make out the silhouette of his old ship, the North Carolina. He longed for the days when he was in command. Those old battleships gave such a sense of security, especially when you were aboard. He took a moment to remember the faces of his crew, the smiles when they had gotten a job done and the pride they shared in their ship. It wasn’t like this one. The crew here was good, but the comradery was missing. About the only time he saw crewmembers get together was when that bluegrass band played. Not like the North Carolina. That crew had taken pride in the ship’s age, how differently the ship worked and especially when they shot those guns. Even the fact the ship had no air conditioning hadn’t dampened their spirits. They prided themselves as being in the “real” navy. He chuckled at the thought.

After an hour of transiting the Bosporus, Hustvedt finally saw the channel open up into the Black sea. Donner came out onto the bridge wing again, sounding much relieved. “Sir, we are out of the channel. I’m turning to 050 and coming to flank speed,” he said.

“Very well, Captain. Continue with your operational orders. I want to be on station by 0600,” said Hustvedt. “Your navigation team did a fine job. I’ll be down in flag plot.”

Leaving the bridge wing, Hustvedt made his way down and entered his darkened plot room. Looking at the screen he could see that about half of the force was already through the straits. He eased up to Jeffers and sat beside him. “Everybody making it through?”

“Yes, sir,” said Jeffers. The slower ones came through first and are going as fast as they can to the rendezvous. The faster ones will be out within the hour and will catch up. Iowa, Port Royal and the Freedom will be the last through and will head west instead of east as planned. They should be on station tomorrow and will transit at a slower speed. I did get a message that our submarines are in place. The increase in speed should cause any Russians in the area to come take a look. Our guys will be waiting,” he said.

Hustvedt nodded. “Good. I liked your idea of sending one to tail the Iowa group. Nice piece of insurance. Will we make it on time?”

Jeffers glanced at the clock. “Well, we started the transit just before dusk at around 4:30 pm local. Sunrise is not until about eight a.m. That gives us about fourteen or fifteen hours to cover the distance, so we’ll just barely make it. We knew we were cutting it a little thin,” Jeffers said.

Hustvedt nodded. “That should be fine. The bombardment alone will take over an hour. That will give us time to get forces ashore. My big worry is air strikes. Not ours, but theirs. I am just hoping we shake them up enough that they can’t mount anything for a few hours. That will give us the time to get ashore with enough forces to make this work.” They were interrupted when General Richardson came in the space.

“I see I’m not the only one not sleeping,” she said as she pulled up a chair. “How’s it looking?”

“Most of the fleet is through and we’re high tailing it to the jumping off site,” said Hustvedt. “Jeffers and I were discussing how tight the scheduling is.”

“Yes, it’s tight, but we can make it happen. I have already told my troops to station themselves in the aircraft and the LCACs by 0500. That way no matter when we kick off, early or late, our guys will be ready,” she said. “I plan on going over in the second wave. Once I get enough numbers, I plan on moving in. No use is slowing things up. When do the Turks kick off?”

“Just before dawn about 0700. Once the paratroops give the signal, they start moving in. A wave of those drones will help clear the way,” Hustvedt said.

“That helps,” said Richardson. “When are those drones coming ashore for my people?

“A little later on today. I want the supplies in first. This isn’t going to be another Guadalcanal.”

Richardson grinned. “I appreciate that,” she said. Glancing over at Jeffers she commented, “Haven’t you been in here all day?”

Jeffers smiled. “Most of it. I mean, it’s my baby and I want to make sure it’s not stillborn,” he said.

She laughed at the comment. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. This is going to work, just don’t burn yourself out before you see if it’s a boy or a girl,” she said.

“Who has the watch?” asked Hustvedt.

“Colonel Davis right now. He’s over reading the message traffic.”

“Okay, then you drag your ass to bed. I already warned you not to try and do it all yourself. I need you back here fit as a fiddle by 0300 so we can keep track of all this. So hit the bricks,” Hustvedt said with a grin.

“I never argue with my superiors,” said Jeffers as he stood and gathered a couple of things. “Good night,” he said.

Hustvedt and Richardson watched him leave. “Chris, he has his shit together better than half the people around here including the senior officers,” said Richardson.

“I agree. Roger Hammond told me he was flag officer material and I believe him. He is smart, gets the job done, has an uncanny ability to lead people and has the personality of the boy next door. Hell, I wish I could promote him myself, but he already got deep selected once. I doubt anyone could do it again. If I thought it would do him some good, I’d let you take him along just to get the experience,” said Hustvedt.

“Oh no, don’t do that. I need people around me trained to pound ground and shoot people. The way he goes at things, he would get himself killed,” she said, “in a most heroic fashion. We need him just where he is. But I will say he will be fun to watch after this is over with. Imagine what he might do in command of a ship or fleet,” she said with a wistful look in her eyes.

***

As Jeffers came up to his stateroom he saw someone standing opposite his door. It was his friend Evan Chambers. “What are you doing out here?” Jeffers asked in a low tone.

“Just wanted to talk a second, if you don’t mind,” Chambers said. He had a worried look on his face.

“Shouldn’t you be getting some rest?”

Chambers smiled a weak smile. “Yea, but I have something on my mind.”

Jeffers opened his door. “Come on in,” he said.

The two entered the room and Jeffers plopped down in a chair. “What’s up Evan?”

Chambers sat in the other chair. “It’s kind of hard to say. I’ve been worrying lately about what we’re getting ready to do and what might happen. It’s got me a little afraid,” he said.

“Yea, well, I guess that proves you’re normal. Everybody I know has gotten a little on edge. We just can’t let it get us down,” Jeffers said.

“No, it’s more than that. You see, ever since I came aboard, you are the only one of these jokers I really consider a friend. We’ve been together a long time and my fear is that you might get hurt. After you left the Kings Mountain, I felt alone. Yea, I had others I was friends with but you’ve always kind of been there for me and got me through things. Remember when I was an Ensign and you helped bail me out when my chief was having problems? Or the times you helped me with my surface warfare quals? You never seemed to resent having me around or when I bothered you. Although I have a brother and sister, you’re the closest thing to family I’ve felt in a long time. So you see, I’m not worried about what might happen to me. I’m worried I might lose you,” he said with some emotion. “You’re my best friend.”

Jeffers could see the emotion clouding Chamber’s face. He never knew that Evan felt this way. Yes, Chambers was his best friend. Fortunately, he made friends easily and never had to worry about not having friends around. Chambers was a little different. He was shy and cautious. But when he did make a friend, Jeffers knew it was for life. He stood and pulled his friend in for a hug, wrapping his arms around him and patting him on the back. They stood together for a moment before Jeffers said, “Thanks, man. But don’t worry about me. We’re both too stubborn to get killed. We’re going to be friends till the very end,” he said. Jeffers looked him in the eye. “Besides, I want you to be there to be an uncle to my children. I may even name my first boy after you.”

Chambers laughed. “Not if I name mine first,” he said.

Both men had tears in their eyes now and Chambers pulled him in for another hug, holding Jeffers tightly. “Once again, you pulled me out of a problem,” said Chambers with a forced chuckle.

“That’s my job. Besides, we have to stay around just to play our music and annoy your Captain,” said Jeffers. They both laughed this time. Jeffers placed his hand on the side of Chambers’ face. “Now go get some sleep. We’re both going to be busy tomorrow.”

Chambers looked visibly relieved. He nodded and turned toward the door. “See you in the morning,” he said as he left the stateroom.