Arctic Wind

Chapter 14 Panic

“They simply are not showing up for their duty,” said General Ilianovic. “Over the past week over eight thousand young men have refused to come in as they were ordered. We sent people to their homes, but the parents say they are not there. We search the houses and we still can’t find them. Our quotas are being ruined,” he pleaded.

“Have their families arrested,” Borodin ordered.

“We have, but they still remain away. We even go to their extended families and get the same story. We have no idea where they are,” Ilianovic said.

Borodin slammed his fist on the table. “They have to be somewhere, damn it all!”

“I agree, but right now we are up against a stone wall. It is happening everywhere, in the cities and in the country. We believe those fliers being distributed are the cause, but we cannot even get them stopped. It is getting serious,” said Ilianovic.

Borodin let out a sigh. The pamphlets were everywhere and they had only caught a handful of people handing them out. He had to find the Patriarch and get it stopped. Until then, they needed people to fight the war. “Very well, if your young men and women aren’t willing to fight, the parents will take their place. Order in all men up to the age of forty and as young as sixteen. Reduce their training time by a week and get our numbers caught up. Anyone refusing to enter service will be arrested and tried as a traitor. Get those quotas filled!” he ordered.

Borodin turned to Pusko. “What’s this I hear about our missiles not hitting their targets?”

“It is true. Right now we do not know why. I ordered a look at the software. It’s also affecting our artillery and tanks. I told our forces to go back to the old way of visual sighting for the time being. It didn’t affect all of them. Our missile boats scored hits on ships in the Black Sea. I understand one large carrier was hit and is burning.”

“At least there is some good news. What about the other ships?” Borodin asked.

“We can’t verify it. Our air and fleet units have been decimated. I am trying to get a reconnaissance satellite up to overfly the area. We may know more then. Until then, we don’t dare send more planes. They are being shot out of the sky,” Pusko said.

Borodin got angry. He pointed his finger at Pusko. “Look, I don’t want to hear excuses. Our forces are falling back across the entire front. We have Americans in Georgia and on our eastern shores. I was just told the Japanese are involved and are taking back the Kurils. Even the Turks have invaded! We need to deploy forces to stop this incursion now! To not send in planes because they are afraid they might get shot down is absurd. We need the information on what we are up against. Get what you need in the air and don’t take no for an answer!” he demanded.

Pusko saw the anger in his president. He tried to ease the tension. “Of course I am trying to get things back in order. I share these with you because I am frustrated as well. My people are already at work on these things. Like you, I demand answers. Unfortunately they are slow in coming. You know I am totally with you on this,” he said softly.

The plea had its effect. Borodin’s eyes softened. “You are right, my friend. I know it is not of your doing. It just seems as if the Americans and the Europeans are too far ahead of us. We cannot lose this war. So we must do everything in our power to get our forces back on the advance. We know we outnumber them both on the ground and in the air. What if we sent huge forces at them like the Germans did in the Ardennes in 1944? We have the ability to sustain such an effort, unlike the Germans did. Might that work?” he asked.

“It could,” Pusko said with some thought. “We can draw back our forces in the oil fields and along the eastern and northern borders. If we concentrate our effort in one big push, it would cause them to expend their reserves, which means our forces would eventually be able to finish our objectives.”

“How long would it take?”

“At least a month to get everything in place. But once ready, there would be no stopping it.”

“Then let’s make the plans. We need to end this once and for all time,” said Borodin.

The meeting was ended and everyone filed from the room. The overhanging through on everyone’s mind was that Germany had lost the Battle of the Bulge. If this didn’t work, it would be the end of Russia as well.

Hustvedt knocked on the door and entered the stateroom. Jeffers was reading a book, but tried to get up when the Admiral entered the room.

“No, lay back down. I just wanted to stop by before we left. You feeling better?”

Jeffers stretched some. “I’m pretty sore right now. These cuts are starting to itch and I decided I don’t like pain medications. So I’m taking ibuprophen and toughing it out. One of the guys in the band brought over some books, so I’m getting my mind off my misery,” he said as he waved the book in front of him.

Hustvedt chuckled. “Well, I brought something to cheer you up.” He handed over a set of papers.

Jeffers looked them over. “TAD to USS Iowa? What for?”

“To take over as the department head for the ship’s deck department,” said Hustvedt.

Jeffers’ eyes opened wide. “Will it count?”

“Hustvedt laughed. “Yes it will. You should receive PCS orders to that position within a few days. Roger promised he would make sure you got your tour and here it is. Their man was killed when the ship was bombed, so you go take his place. You’re done here anyway. Our command will detach and independently operate in the Black Sea until Richardson and the other forces link up somewhere in the Ukraine. Once that happens, we’ll all probably be leaving this glorified cesspool. So get over there and get this tour over. I have a feeling we’ll be at this a while, so make the most of it. Then go on for an XO tour and get a command of your own. That’s the pecking order and you are on your way,” Hustvedt said. “In the meantime, keep in touch. I appreciate all you’ve done and would love to serve with you in the future,” he said extending his hand.

Jeffers took it. “Thanks, Admiral. It’s been fun.”

Hustvedt winked at him. “Just take care of yourself. We’ll be seeing each other,” he said as he turned and left the stateroom.

Jeffers sat back and stared at the opposite bulkhead. Life was going on. He had lost a friend, but made many more. Now there was another opportunity provided by a previous friend. He would make the most of it.

It was a slow process. The drones were used more often, preventing casualties for the Allied forces. A section of streets would be cleared, then occupied, and another section would be targeted. But the results meant that more Russians were killed than the Allies. In many cases, streets would be cleared with no Allied casualties at all. The platoon actions were working well and they were being expanded outside the city to pockets of resistance. Once again, technology was being used to take up the slack for the dirty job of clearing the enemy out of all the buildings. The heat weapons would get troops to try and move out of the way. When they did, they were exposed. The sound weapons would often clear a group out before the troops could get set up. But one of the most effective tools was what the troops called the Punisher. It was a grenade launcher that could be set to explode at a predetermined distance. This let the user hit targets behind walls or around corners. Nearly every kind of shell now had a digital component that helped. There wasn’t anything much to stop the Allied troops.

Master Sergeant Ricks called his top sergeants together for an early morning brief before the day’s operations. “Listen up, people. There are five new targets we have been assigned just outside the city,” he said as he pointed to the locations on the map. “The first is the rail yard near Podgorze. They have stockpiled material there on a train. The second is in the Institute of Environmental Sciences. They have occupied the dorms and some of the other buildings on campus. The third is the media center around Television Krakow where they are controlling broadcasts. The fourth is a wooded area just south of there where there is an encampment and the final one is up here to the east, where there is a wooded area with a small lake. This one is kind of segregated from the others out in farm country. There are about five hundred people using the lake as a rest area of sorts. Let’s get in there and break things up. The idea is to keep them on the move. No rest, no mercy. Just keep the pressure on. Any questions?” he asked.

Petyr raised his hand. “Master Sergeant, I know that last place. Once we get in there and block this road in, there’s not much of a way out except through these woods. We might want to use the grenades in these woods and drop them from higher up. I don’t much fancy going in down low with pistols,” he suggested.

“I agree. Why don’t you and your group lead this one? Any other questions? Then we kick off in thirty minutes. Get going,” ordered Ricks.

The men got up and left the room except for Petyr. He walked up to Ricks. “Dale, there’s something else we might try. Looking at the map, we are only five miles or so from our lines,” he said.

“Yea, so?”

“Ever think about taking prisoners?” Petyr asked. “I mean, several have thrown up their hands to our guys before. I have a feeling they are scared to death of these things. We might turn this into an advantage. If we go in today and the situation presents itself, let’s see if we can march these guys over the line?”

Ricks shrugged. “Sounds like a good idea, but we have to be careful that they aren’t pulling a fast one.” A puzzled look came over Petyr’s face and Ricks had to explain. “I mean, they may try and trick us,” he said.

“Still, it might work. The guys are getting tired of shooting people. If we could do it, I’d like to try,” said Petyr. “We even have a way of linking our speakers so that someone can make a big broadcast.”

Ricks nodded and slapped him on the shoulder. “Then give it a try. If any of them do surrender, we can arrange for them to get a free pass across our lines to some waiting troops. Nice idea,” he said. “But to make this work, we need more than just a platoon. I’ll get a few more to join in. If nothing else, we will scare them to death. I’ll come up once it’s arranged.”

“I’ll see you then,” Petyr said before heading off to his people.

***

As described, the lake was surrounded by trees and gave perfect cover for the men encamped inside. A kitchen unit had been set up and smoke rose from some of the tents. A number of men were in the small clearing about to get their first hot meal in a long time. Tents were all around the perimeter and there were about twenty trucks and armored vehicles near the lake. Small fires had been built near groups of tents to supply some warmth. It wasn’t much, but for troops who had been out in the cold for over a month, it was almost a paradise.

Suddenly the drones descended from over the trees and began coming up along the roadway. They swarmed in dropping grenades along the stacked supplies and on the mobile kitchen. The soldiers panicked and began running everywhere for cover. Anyone going for a rifle was shot. Several headed into the trees were turned back when they found grenades going off ahead of them. Very quickly the soldiers were herded into the center of the compound when a voice seemed to come from all the drones at once, “Keep your hands in the air. If you are peaceful, we will not kill you,” the voice said in Russian. Near one of the trucks, a man held up a rifle. A single shot from a drone which was directly behind him caused him to flop to the ground. One of the officers came out of his tent brandishing a pistol and screaming at the men to get to their rifles and fight. A single drone dropped down and went over to him. The man aimed the pistol and fired several wild shots. The drone operator moved in a little closer and shot the man between the eyes. Blood spurted from the hole in his forehead and he stood for a moment before crumbling to the ground. The rest quickly abandoned their weapons and raised their hands.

In the drone center, Petyr turned to Ricks. “Okay, you want them to walk or ride?”

“Let’s let them ride. It’s the best chance they will make it across alive,” said Ricks.

Petyr keyed his microphone. “Thank you for being so reasonable. Please do as we say and tonight you will be warm and fed. Do the trucks work?” He saw many of the men nod. “Good, leave your weapons and get in the trucks. Have the drivers go to the main road and turn right. You are to drive through the lines until we tell you to stop. We will be with you. As long as you do as we say, you will come to no harm. Now get everyone in the trucks.”

The soldiers did as they were told. They rushed to the trucks and climbed into the back until all were packed to overflowing. Some then climbed up on the running boards or held onto the sides as best they could. As the trucks moved out, a set of drones moved with them, some on each side and back and one on the top. They drove down the old dirt road past the farmhouse and turned right onto the paved main road.

In the center, Ricks was on the phone with the colonel in charge of the sector. “Yes, sir, there will be twenty trucks filled with Russian soldiers. They have surrendered to our drones and are headed your way. I have drones with each truck so you will be able to tell who they are. I may also have some of our guys keeping the forces opposing you in their holes as they pass. Just please don’t shoot these guys,” he said. After hearing a response, he said, “Yes, sir,” and hung up. He turned to Petyr who was seeing the last truck off. “All set,” he said.

Ten of the drones surged ahead of the trucks looking for anyone who might want to stop them. Along the way they saw several sets of troops moving along, but not very interested in much more than trying to keep out the cold. The guards at a checkpoint were eliminated along with several men manning machine gun positions beside the road. It was like a set of offensive linemen making way for a quarterback.

On the road, several of the men in the trucks were looking out at the drones. They were holding steady just a few yards away going as fast as the trucks were. One of the men sitting in the cab of a truck waved at the drone flying just a few feet away. He was surprised that the drone began tilting back and forth in response. He got the attention of the others who also began waving. They began to feel like their ordeal really was over.

***

After everyone had left the camp, Petyr and three others remained behind to make sure no one was hiding in the area. After several sweeps, they were satisfied and began making their way back out via the road. Petyr took his time. He wanted to see the house Freda had grown up in. It was a typical, colorful country farmhouse that looked undamaged by the war. As he came up the road, he saw someone come out of the house carrying a bucket. It was a female, and she made her way to the pump for the well.

Petyr gasped. It was Freda. Taking the controls, he rapidly moved his drone toward the farmhouse.

Freda had begun pumping the old pump to get water for the family. They had watched the Russians move away and she figured it was safe to go outside. The bucket was half filled when she heard a strange buzzing sound. Turning toward it, she saw the drone moving quickly towards her. She dropped the bucket and began running toward the house when she heard a voice.

“Freda!” Petyr almost shouted through the speaker of the drone.

She made it to the door and turned when she heard the voice. She was clearly frightened as she watched the flying apparition come closer to her. It was coming slowly now. She started to dart into the house when she heard it again.

“Freda, it’s me, Petyr.”

A puzzled look came over her face. “Petyr?”

“Dearest Freda, I thought you and the family were dead.”

Now she recognized the voice and her face turned to an expression of joy. “Petyr, it is you!” she said. She raised her hands to reach out, but didn’t know what to touch.

“Better not touch. I am flying this by remote control,” he said. “Is the family there with you?” Petyr asked.

Suddenly the door burst open and Rudy charged out with a large broomstick in his hand. Only Freda prevented him from beating the drone into pieces. “It’s Petyr!” she cried out.

Rudy stopped and stared at the machine.

“Hello Rudy,” Petyr said through the drone.

Sasha came out next, more out of curiosity than anything else. “So cool,” he said. Soon the whole family was out looking at the strange machine, smiling up at him.

“Our tenants here moved away, so after the building was hit, we decided to all come here,” explained Freda. “Since the Russians came a few days ago, we have been afraid to come out.”

“I saw our home. But I also saw one of your dresses and it looked like there was blood on it,” Petyr said.

“Freda helped one of the neighbors who was hurt. I couldn’t get the stains out,” said Petyr’s mother. “We had to leave so quickly there wasn’t time to really get everything, so we left it along with a few other things,” she said.

They spoke for only a few minutes before Petyr called things to a halt. “Look, I have to go back now. We are nearby and I hope when I can, to come home and see you. I’m just so happy to find you all alive,” Petyr said. “I’ll try and come back every so often to look in on you. Good-bye everyone,” he said.

They all waived at him as the drone lifted higher in the sky and disappeared in the distance. Petyr sat back in his seat and felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Ricks standing behind him.

Ricks saw the tears in the young man’s eyes and just smiled down at the boy. “Nice family,” he said. “I’m glad they’re alright.”

“You were right. I shouldn’t have given up hope,” Petyr said as he wiped the tears on his sleeve.

“Always listen to your sergeant,” Ricks joked. “Your prisoners have just crossed to our side of the line. You just saved over 500 people from being killed. The colonel was so impressed, he ordered the other units to do the same. We may run out of room at these POW camps,” he grinned. “Now, get your people back together, we have a job to do.”

Petyr smiled up at Ricks. “Thanks, Dale,” he said before turning back to his console and calling up his platoon.

Ricks looked at the boy with pride. It was nice to see good things happen to really good people.

The Osprey flared out and positioned itself over the helicopter pad aboard the ship. After touching down, the rear of the plane opened and several people got out along with several pallets of blow up mattresses. Lieutenant Commander Rod Jeffers walked toward the superstructure and was met by an officer in a working uniform.

“Lieutenant Commander Jeffers?” he inquired.

Jeffers nodded and extended his hand. “That’s me,” he said with a grin.

“Russ Sampson, the XO,” Sampson said shaking his hand. “Sorry we had to bring you over early, but we were told you understand Russian, and we have over 400 of them aboard.” He ordered some of the men to carry Jeffers’ baggage to his stateroom.

“Is there a problem?” asked Jeffers.

“Not such a big one, but I’d rather one of our own translated instead of using one of them. You never know what’s really being said. Besides, I need a First Lieutenant. The guys aboard are doing a great job, but I need a quarterback,” Sampson said as they made their way forward. Just aft of turret two they entered a passageway and headed toward the starboard side to the XO’s stateroom. “Come in a few and take a seat,” the XO said as he motioned Jeffers to the chair beside his desk.

Jeffers sat down and the XO took off his heavy jacket. “Rod, I appreciate you coming in to help out. Our First Lieutenant was killed during one of the bombing runs a few days ago. Have you had any experience as a first lieutenant?” the XO asked.

“Not much, but I worked closely with ours aboard the Kings Mountain. I was the gunnery officer aboard,” Jeffers said.

“Well, then you’ll have to learn quick. This ship is all steel and nothing but. Just keeping up with the rust is a full time job, not to mention all the boats onboard. You also have the unrep gear and ammo handling gear along with a couple acres of teak to keep clean. Needless to say, the Captain likes his ship to look good and you are the man to keep him happy. You also have the responsibility for your people. One of my pet peeves is the number of people coming to mast. Usually it is Deck Department that keeps my day busy on that note. I need you to make sure your people stay out of trouble,” he said pointing his finger at Jeffers. Then he softened a bit. “Naturally, I know you can’t control all these people, but do what you can. You know the drill. Talk to your officers and chiefs. They’re a good bunch and can fill you in on the details. Being a department head, you won’t be standing watches on the bridge, but I figure your days will be busy. Go over your watch quarter and station bill. That will tell you how many people you have for any one thing and where they go during the day. Do you have any questions?” the XO asked.

“Too new to ask, XO. But if I have any, I’ll come to you,” said Jeffers.

“Good. The CO wants to see you when you get settled. Your stateroom is just up the passageway. Get yourself set up then go see him. He will probably be on the bridge,” the XO said, extending his hand again.

“Thanks, XO. I’ll check in with you later on,” said Jeffers. He then turned and left the stateroom and made his way down the passageway where a sailor was depositing his belongings.

“Two guitars and a banjo?” the young man asked.

Jeffers nodded. “Yea, it gives me something to beat my people with,” he joked.

“Then I’ll stay out of your way, sir,” the man said with a grin.

“Thanks for the help.”

“No problem, sir. The head is just down there to the left and the wardroom is back past the XO’s stateroom. Go aft of the wardroom and up the ladder three levels and you will get to the bridge,” the young man added.

“I appreciate it.” Jeffers entered the largest stateroom he had ever “owned.” There were two closets, a set of drawers, a bed with more storage, desk, safe, and two chairs. There was a small television on the bulkhead at the foot of his bed. To the right was a sink and cabinet. All was standard Navy and all made of steel. The best part was there was only one bed. Not sharing a stateroom was so much nicer. He spent a few minutes hanging up his uniforms and unpacking the rest of his things, then made his way to the bridge.

On the starboard side of the bridge he saw a man sitting in a chair. Only one man could sit in that seat. He walked up and introduced himself. “Captain, I’m Rod Jeffers, your new First Lieutenant,” he said formally.

Rhodes’ face broke into a smile. He put down the message traffic and extended his hand. “Good to see you, Rod. Admiral Hustvedt had some pretty nice things to say about you. Glad to have you aboard. Are you settled in?”

“As best as I could. I am anxious to get to the Deck office and talk to some people,” Jeffers said.

Rhodes saw him wince slightly as he pulled back his hand. “I heard you were hit. Will you be okay?”

Jeffers smiled. “The stitches are still in, but I was told you needed me here right away.”

“Well, don’t let that get in the way of healing up. When the time comes, you will be needed. Your people are doing a good job. Just keep my ship sparkling. This long period of time at sea isn’t doing the old lady much good, but when we get the time, I want to make sure we set her straight. Just come to me or the XO if there’s something you want to try that’s new or different. I prefer no surprises,” the CO said.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Captain,” said Jeffers. He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost lunchtime. I’ll get below and see where these guys sit,” he said.

“Good. We can talk more once you get settled in. Glad to have you with us, Rod,” said Rhodes.

Jeffers made his way to the wardroom. It was a large space that spanned the full width of the superstructure. There were portholes on either side and three quarts of the space was filled with two long rows of tables covered in a white tablecloth. There was a single short table at one end between them. Chairs were along each side of the tables and a number of officers were already there standing behind a seat. Jeffers went in and was introducing himself around. When the XO came in, everyone got quiet. The XO introduced the new First Lieutenant then a prayer was offered. Everyone sat down and the mess attendants began bringing in the soup.

Jeffers found himself sitting opposite several Russian officers. He said hello to the Russians, in English, and then when he received a cold reception, ignored them. Their conversations with each other began almost immediately. Jeffers concentrated on his soup. It was chicken noodle and wasn’t too bad by most wardroom standards. At least the cooks knew to lay off the salt. He was talking to another officer beside him when he began overhearing the Russian conversations. They were now feeling at ease and not too worried about someone overhearing.

“The soup is awful. I can’t wait till we get back home,” said one.

“Shut up, you fool, we don’t know this new man. He may be a spy,” said another.

“I doubt it. See. He sits with a stupid look on his face.”

“Americans don’t even teach our language in their schools. It is safe. Don’t forget to get the knives today. This should get us enough for at least twelve people. I got with Oslevic just a few minutes ago. He will meet us in their cafeteria. We will start in the engine rooms. If we can open the gears, we can lock up one of the shafts or possibly shut down their electric power. Oslevic says he knows how to do this. From there, we can gain control of the ship.”

“Good. Once we do this, we can sail her into Sevastopol. We will be heroes of the Republic.”

“Never mind that, we can get home,” said one.

“What time did you tell them,” the first asked.

“Tonight at around 11 pm. One hour before their shift changes.”

“Good. We must be ready.”

They were interrupted when another officer leaned in and started trying to talk to the men. Despite their reluctance, they began answering general questions about where they were from and what home was like.

After lunch, Jeffers waited until they had left before grabbing the CO of the Marine Detachment and going to see the XO.

***

At 11 pm, the four officers entered the messdecks and sat down at a table. The area was mostly empty except for a few cooks preparing midrats, or midnight rations to give the oncoming 12 — 4 watch a little something to eat before going up. No one paid any attention to the men sitting there. In a few minutes they were joined by one of the enlisted men. A few more minutes and they were joined by several men trying to appear as if they were just waiting for something to eat. After handing out something to the others, the men got up and began sauntering up the port side and going down the armored hatch just forward of the turret three barbette. Gathering at the foot of the ladder, they were able to see the entrance to “Broadway,” the passageway that runs from turret three all the way to turret two. It connected all of the engineering spaces. No one was seen.

Using hand signals the men began to separate and enter the four engine rooms. Easing down the metal ladders they came down onto the metal mesh deck and began making their way to where they could see men standing in front of the engine control console with its myriad of wheels and gauges. They had only gone about five feet when the Marines sprang from their hidden positions around the engines and behind the electric switchboards. The M-16s and shotguns pointed in their direction forced the Russians to raise their hands. Not a word was said as the dejected looking Russian sailors slowly made their way back to Broadway where the rest of their men were standing under Marine guard. The Marines escorted them to the wardroom where the Captain was waiting. He was standing there with several other officers and the Master at Arms force. Jeffers was standing beside him.

“Gentlemen, you just tried to perform an act of espionage aboard my ship. I am afraid I cannot let that go unpunished,” the Captain said. Jeffers then translated it into Russian. The look on the four officers’ faces was priceless. The one who had warned the others turned and gave them a “dumbass” look.

“Fortunately, I am not going to take my revenge on all of your crew, but you will have to be restricted in your movements for the rest of the time you are aboard. The enlisted men will be moved to the ship’s gym up forward in the ship. There is only one way in or out and you can sleep between the machines. However, for the officers, I cannot trust you to remain under a house arrest, so I have a special place for you where you will not be able to have any conversations with your crew.” He stopped and let Jeffers translate again. “My plan is to get you and your crew off this ship as soon as I can. Until then, you are restricted to the two areas I put you. Hopefully there will be no more such incidents,” he said.

Once again, Jeffers translated, then stopped once more. “Captain, may I say something to them?”

Rhodes grinned. “Sure.”

Jeffers turned to the men. “That had to be the stupidest thing you could do. You realize there are over 1,500 men on this ship. Even if you had taken an engine room, there would be nowhere to go. The officers are supposed to be smarter than this, and you enlisted — well, I understand how you feel. My mother told me about what it is like in her home country. My grandfather bragged of how rugged the Russian people were. He would be ashamed of this effort simply because if it had played out, a lot of you and your crew would be dead with nothing to show for it,” he said. Then he looked at one of the officers. “And keep in mind that the person with the stupid look could be the worst enemy you ever encountered,” he said angrily, pointing his finger at the man. He turned and looked at the Captain.

“You done?” the Captain asked.

Jeffers smiled. “Yes, sir.”

Rhodes nodded. “Captain Bollander, take these men and secure them in their spaces. Put on a double guard. I don’t even want them to think before I know about it.”

The men were escorted from the wardroom and everyone let out a long breath. Rhodes turned to Jeffers. “You’re a handy guy to have around. What did you say to them?”

Jeffers told him. “I insulted their officers and consoled the enlisted about their stupidity. It will wound their pride. Most of the enlisted guys wouldn’t do this on their own. But they are scared to death of their superiors. One word from them and when they get home things could go bad for them and their families. I doubt anything else will happen, especially since word will get around fast on what happened.”

“I believe you’re right. Anyway, the officers won’t be getting out of the brig until we offload them,” the Captain said. He turned to the others. “Nice work, people. Now let’s get some shuteye. We will be at our target about 0900. It’s time to sink some trains and bridges,” he said.

Slowly, the men left the room and went to their staterooms. Jeffers looked at the few things he hadn’t unpacked and decided it could wait until tomorrow. It would be his first gunshoot.

Major Vasiley was disgusted. It had taken a month to get replacement bombers and pilots. What had come looked as if it came from the third world country. The pilots were mostly around twenty and totally wet behind the ears. Most had fewer than ten hours flying the SU-34. That meant they barely knew how to get the thing off the ground. Not that that mattered. The aircraft that had been ferried in were barely complete. Vasiley had inspected his new aircraft the minute it arrived. It looked nice, with a new blue camouflage paint job, but in the cockpit, wiring was hanging from under the instrument panel. In a few places he could see holes in the side of the aircraft where the rivets had not been completed. All along the body were rivets which had not been ground down to be flush with the surface. It was much like some of the old planes from the Great Patriotic War — everything rushed to get equipment into service.

“How do they expect me to go up and win air battles with something like this?” he asked his maintenance chief.

“They are all the same,” the chief told him. “Number 27 flamed out when it was landed. It turned out the engine hadn’t even been installed properly and disconnected itself from its own fuel line. It’s a wonder the thing didn’t come out and slide along the runway,” he complained.

“Vasiley spit on the ground. “First they tell me to kill our own people. Now they want to kill us by putting us up in inferior equipment. These new pilots won’t know what to do when something goes wrong. They’ll end up digging a deep hole in the ground,” Vasiley said in disgust.

“They’re also scared to death,” said the chief. “My guys had to clean out four of the aircraft where they had vomited their guts out. And this was a routine flight,” he said.

“I can’t let this happen,” Vasiley said.

“What can’t you let happen?” asked Colonel Chenik, walking up beside the aircraft. He was their commanding officer.

“Did you see these planes? My son could build better with those little plastic blocks. It will take at least a month to get the aircraft ready and another month to train these new pilots. If they go up it will be like a death sentence,” Vasiley snarled.

“Yes, I saw. And I agree with you. If the Americans don’t kill them, these planes will. I was about to go to the wing commander. You want to come along?” asked Colonel Chenik.

“Yes, indeed!” said Vasiley.

The two men made their way to the administration building and went into the office of General Giorge Fedinko, commander of the bomber wing. They were immediately escorted into his office. Fedinko sat in a huge overstuffed chair resplendent in his formal uniform. He looked up from the papers on his desk.

“What do you need, Colonel?” he asked sternly.

“General, the aircraft they sent us are in a terrible state of disrepair. Most are barely able to fly, and the pilots are going to need a lot more training to get them ready to take on the Allies. The Major and I fear we will need at least a month to get everything up to some acceptable level,” the colonel reported.

Fedinko gave him a withering look. “These squadrons have been down for more than a month. Our forces need us in the air and on the job tomorrow. It’s your responsibility to make that happen. If you can’t do the job, I will find someone who can,” he growled.

“General, you were a bomber pilot like the rest of us. You know that sending these fresh pilots out right now will almost mean sure death. With the state of these aircraft, we may find that tomorrow night we will be down for another month,” pleaded Vasiley.

The general rose from his chair, his face beet red. “Yes, I was a pilot and I always followed my orders. We had to overcome many things in my career, and you will have to do so as well. We also knew the risks. It makes no difference how much training they have. This will give them hands on experience in combat, which is much better than playing around in a simulator. The first mission will be tomorrow morning. If you need to work on the aircraft, I suggest you have your lazy aircrews work all night. Better yet, you work alongside them. These new pilots will need to know their aircraft anyway. Now get out and never come complaining to me again!” Fedinko screamed.

The two men came to attention and saluted before turning and leaving the room. Vasiley looked up at his superior. “This is murder, and that man is an idiot. He forgets I have been up against the Allies and it will take more skill that I have to win a victory.”

“I’m afraid you’re right, but we have to get these guys as ready as we can. Why don’t we take them up with the few planes that are acceptable, and get at least a little training in. You up for that?” the colonel asked.

Vasiley nodded. “Not that these few hours will make a difference. At least I can give them an idea of what to look for,” he said with a sigh.

They found six aircraft in good enough shape to fly. Vasiley took three up at a time. The first three had difficulty using their radios and came back down. The second three achieved altitude but when they began aerial combat maneuvers, two of the places simply fell apart leaving two smoky plumes to mark the place where their pilots had died. Getting the one pilot left on the ground was a chore. His brother had been one of the pilots killed. Upon landing, Vasiley went to the colonel’s office and closed the door. The discussions lasted nearly three hours.

“Patriarch, we are hearing from a number of Army units that have been called back to reform. I understand there is general mistrust in the ranks for the senior leadership. We were able to spread some of your words to those units,” said a young monk.

“Ahhh, so it is true the things we have heard,” said the Patriarch.

“Yes, and they have confirmed the terrible losses by our forces. One sources told us that the Army has lost another 250,000 men just in the past month. The men and women are scared. They long for a change. Many are vowing never to return to the front,” the monk relayed.

The Patriarch nodded in understanding. For two months he had been forced to hide in basements and in one case a cave, to evade the Russian government. It had stiffened his resolve immensely. “Father, get word to our brethren in the services. Tell them God is hearing their voices. We urge them to let their consciences help them decided what to do. Tell them that God is always with those who desire righteousness and good. They have the blessings of the Patriarch of Moscow and all Rus,” he said calmly.

“Holy Father, if you are captured…”

The Patriarch held up his hand. “Be at peace, my son. Our cause is the cause of our Holy Father. I will not rest until his will is done,” he said.

The morning brief was not going well. “We can’t just keep throwing men and equipment into this. Production cannot keep up with our losses,” said the Defense Minister. “I don’t care what the generals say. We are bleeding like a butchered cow. I have pushed the production facilities to the breaking point, and we still are losing up to 100 aircraft a week. I won’t even go into the tanks. We are now bringing back some of our older models just to keep up. Then there are the people. No one is making their enlistment quotas. Now even the older men are refusing to leave their homes. If we cannot stop this hemorrhage, our efforts will be catastrophic. Now you want us to pull all our forces together for a giant push to the Channel. We are doing it, but it means leaving our eastern shores vulnerable. I have also stripped our forces from the oil fields and northern areas. Everything will go. I have also cut the rest and rebuilding of our already hard worked divisions and ordered them back to the front. We will make this big thrust, but it had better work,” he said firmly.

“It must work!” demanded Borodin. “The rest will work itself out in time. The American incursion on our east coast is a feint. Nothing more. The forces in Georgia and Ukraine must use what they can to stop the Turks and the other Allies.”

“That is easy for you to say,” shouted another minister. “In one month they have taken Baku on the Caspian Sea. Their forces are already on the other side of the Caucasus Mountains and moving west! By the time they reach Stavropol we won’t have a force left to engage them. And what about the Spanish and Italians? They are already in Moldova! The Moldovan government sent a message saying they do not have the forces to stop them and will remain neutral. At this rate, the forces will join up within the month. I have heard that their General Richardson is making plans to liberate Kyiv!”

“It won’t make any difference! Once our forces get through France, there will be no supplies to maintain their efforts,” countered Borodin, his anger rising.

“And what of our supplies,” said the Transportation Minister. “Our people are still in the dark. I have reports of people freezing to death each day. I have no fuel to run the trucks for the general population and the food shortages are getting dire,” he said calmly.

“It will just be for a short time more,” said Borodin. “The priority is our armed forces. We Russians can take whatever it costs in order to achieve a victory,” he said.

The Minister looked him square in the eyes. “You have been saying that for four months now. It has been a terrible winter so far and we still have another month of it. Now even our army is having difficulty getting their supplies through. You are correct. This big push of yours had better work,” he said with a hint of warning.

Borodin slammed his hand on the table. “Enough! I have heard enough bickering. We will all get behind this effort and that is an end to it!” he demanded. “Anyone not doing his part will find himself in a gulag in Siberia. Go back to your offices and make this happen!” he insisted before turning and storming out the room.

The Ministers looked at each other and gathered their papers. As they began leaving the room one of them murmured, “Now I know what it was like in the Fuhrer’s bunker.”

Several nodded at him as they silently left the room.

The cold was so bitter no one dared venture out of a building. With the fuel almost gone and the electricity still off, school had been cancelled until everything was restored. In most homes, the families had resorted to purchasing a wood stove to provide some heat. Several old buildings in the city had been ravaged to obtain wood for burning. In many cases, windows were taken out and flue pipes shoved through the openings, then anything nonflammable was used to seal it back up. There were no cars on the road and even the trains had stopped running. It was a surprise when the residents heard a train making its way down the tracks. The long blast of its horn echoed between the buildings in the driving snow. Many residents peered out the window in hopes that some relief was finally arriving. Instead they saw a train loaded with military vehicles headed south. Upon closer look, the tanks and equipment looked different. Only when they saw an American flag flying from one of the cars did they realize what was happening. It also came with another realization. Russia was losing the war.

Aboard the train, General Harold Bryant looked out his window at the stark houses and countryside. He couldn’t imagine how people lived in this wasteland. At the same time he was thanking his stars that it was the dead of winter. Since using the LCACs to come across from Sakhalin Island, they had only encountered very weak resistance, mostly soldiers who didn’t want to be there anyway. It had been a stroke of luck about the train. He had expected to have to travel the 800 miles from Sakhalin to Vladivostok by truck. But sitting in the rail yard on one town were ten locomotives and hundreds of cars set aside because there was no fuel to run them. He then found out that the train service hadn’t been on line in over a month. To the army, fuel was not a problem, so he decided to replicate what the Russians had done in southern Poland. Within one day everything was packed onto the rail cars and they began moving out. It would take one more day before reaching Trudovoy on the outskirts of Vladivostok. By then, he hoped the second surprise would be waiting. It would be fun working with the Koreans again.

“It’s a massive buildup,” said the intelligence briefer. Using a pointed, he pointed to the various places where they were seeing assets being moved. “They are still bringing in troops, tanks, planes, artillery and almost every other kind of military supplies. They are using mostly rail lines,” he said pointing to specific main lines heading toward the western front. “Over the past week they seem to be moving people and equipment from the east coast and the northern territories to these locations. Just yesterday they began moving some equipment and troops from around their oil rich provinces.”

“It goes with what we believe. They are going to mount a massive attack along the Polish border to break through to France and the Channel,” said General Pol. “With these numbers, they could well do it. Our forces could never withstand such an attack,” he said.

“How well, I know it,” said Hammond. “If they break through across here, it will cut off the supplies for the Spanish and the Italians. That would leave Richardson holding the bag. Her supply lines are getting pretty long,” he said.

“I wonder why they are ignoring the army on their east coast?” asked Dortmund. “They must know it would let us take Vladivostok.”

“Yes, but I am figuring they don’t really care about that as much. Remember, this is over in Siberia. Even they don’t like going outside over there in the winter,” said Hammond. He thought for a second. “How soon before they reach their objective?”

“First thing tomorrow morning. The Koreans have been massing troops and tanks along the border ready to move in. From what we are seeing, they may not even realize that General Bryant is halfway there,” said Dortmund.

“The power’s still out, right?”

“Yes, sir. Their fleet can’t even move because they are out of fuel. It would be nice if they just surrendered, but I doubt they will,” said Sir Richard.

“Well, when they find two armies surrounding them, they may think again,” said Hammond. “Now let’s get back to the current problem. We need to start pounding away at those assembly points. Every time they make a move, we hit them. I also want to hit every train line again from Moscow westward. They can’t make a war if we break their toys,” he said. “Remember the Battle of the Bulge? Well, when the allies opened up with their air power, everything kind of folded up. In this case, the Russians are trying to make their own kind of bulge, except this time, we know what’s in the Ardennes. It’s time to break them. I also want drone strikes everywhere their army has a heat source. That usually means mobile kitchens or showers or some kind of barracks. We’re going to make their army’s life miserable. At least more miserable than it already is. Let’s make them all want to go home,” Hammond said.

“That will go along with one other thing in my brief,” said the Intelligence briefer.

Hammond grinned. “Oh! Sorry, we kind of got away from ourselves. What else do you have?” he asked.

“No problem, sir. You just need to know that evidently the Russian Patriarch is raising some hell, no pun intended. We just found out he is communicating with troops in the rest areas and offering assurances that God would look favorably on those who resist the government.”

Hammond got a surprised look. “Well, isn’t that interesting. You think some of the front line troops might be hearing the same thing?”

“I believe it is inevitable, sir.”

Hammond nodded. “Not too bad,” he said.

The entire base turned out to see the bombers take off. Each had been fitted with long range external tanks in addition to their bombs. General Fedinko made his way to the control tower to watch. On signal, the bombers began moving at the far end of the field. One by one, the bombers rose into the sky. The base mechanics had worked up until an hour before to make sure each aircraft would be able to fly. They stood by the now empty hangars and watched them take off.

The bombers rose into the sky and circled the field until all had moved into their positions in the formation. On signal, the formation turned and made one more run over the base.

General Fedinko watched through his binoculars as they began making their last overflight. Suddenly he saw the aircraft begin dropping their bombs on their own base. One plane moved around sharply and dove toward the control tower.

Major Vasiley carefully lined the tower up in his sights. He keyed his radio. “General, I know you are listening. No one should send his people to almost certain death without their approval. You no longer have our approval.” He triggered the bomb release and watched as six bombs dropped free. Banking sharply he saw each of them strike the area around the tower. One struck directly on the glass control center. Climbing back to altitude he called out. “Vulture leader, mission accomplished.”

Colonel Chenik called out to his group. “Radio silence. No one speaks except for me. Form up on me and follow my lead,” he said as he banked his aircraft toward the Allied lines.

“What the hell is this?” asked one of the watchstanders. Several of the people came over to look at his sector. “Sir, it looks like this flight of planes is bombing their own air base,” she said loud enough for all to hear.

Several watched as miniature explosions were seen all along the runways. They also saw the control tower explode and topple to the ground. “Admiral, you better come see this,” the supervisor called out.

Hammond turned and walked back to the table. It was obvious something had happened. There was a cloud of dust all around the air base. He also saw the flight of planes headed toward Poland. “You said something about bombing their own base?”

“Yes sir, they just took off and circled, then they made a run over the base and dropped their bombs,” said the first watchstander.

Hammond turned to a technician. “Would this thing be able to see if these aircraft are carrying weapons?”

“No, sir. We can see them, and define a shape, but the ordnance is under the wings and we wouldn’t be able to tell,” the technician said.

“Get a couple of our fighter squadrons in the air to intercept. Tell them don’t shoot until you verify they are unarmed. They may be trying to defect. If so, they are to escort them to the Warsaw airport. Land them at the civilian airport, not the air base. You got that?” Hammond ordered.

Five minutes later two squadrons of F-35 Lightnings lifted off and made their way toward the incoming Russian formation. It would take an hour to get there, but the outcome might be worth the wait.

***

Colonel Chenik was worried. They were getting close to the battle lines and he knew from experience that the Americans would come out of nowhere. He constantly scanned the skies for a hint of where they might be. He had tuned his radio to the international distress frequency and hoped there would be time to explain. Until then he had to remain silent. The Russian Air Force would be listening as well and if they got to his formation before the Americans, they would pay a heavy price.

The radio crackled to life. “Russian bomber on my starboard side, this is US fighter. We see you are unarmed. Please follow me,” the voice said. Suddenly Chenik saw an F-35 lift up from below him and take a position to his side. The pilot held up a sign that read, in Russian, “defect?” Chenik nodded his head. He saw the pilot say something and very shortly their force was surrounded by the American fighters. The American motioned for Chenik to follow him and took a position in front of Chenik’s plane. For the first time in months Chenik felt relaxed. Vasiley had been right. The Americans seemed to somehow know what was going on. He also seemed to know that the Americans would not fire if they saw they had dropped their bombs. He had now saved the lives of forty good young men and women. It had meant going against his government, but he was sure it was well worth it.

Major Sean Pennick was amazed. He was flying in his B-1 bomber along with the rest of the 9th Bomber Squadron on the way into Russia. That was normal. What wasn’t normal were all the rest of the Allied aircraft in the sky with them. Before today, most of the action he had seen was on the squadron level. They flew in to a specific target, dropped their loads and went home. Today he looked out of the cockpit into a sky filled with aircraft. Below them were German Tornadoes. To the left were French Mirages. To the right were Spanish F-18s. The British were high and to the right, and the Italians low and to the left. High above, he could see the contrails of the B-52s. Today Ivan was going to get pounded.

Checking his link, he could see the others around him and saw the distance to the target. Supposedly it was some major assembly point deep inside Russia. In front of them was a line of fighters. Although they knew that the new cloaking system worked like a champ, it was good to know they were taking no chances. In the brief they explained that the assembly area was massive and that each group was assigned a certain section. His was a tank farm that was supposed to have about a thousand tanks in it. He was carrying 96 GBU-39 Small Diameter Bombs. Each had been set up to attack one of the tanks. There were fifteen planes in his squadron that day. That meant they had the ability to take out 1,450 tanks in his squadron alone. That’s why after the raid, they had permission to move along a specified corridor and look for targets of opportunity. It would be a fun day.

Pennick looked over at his copilot, Captain Jay Sweeney. “Take it a minute so I can stretch out some,” he said.

“My airplane,” came the reply.

Pennick stretched in his seat. Despite the comfort built into the seats of the aircraft, long flights were hell on the rear end. Moving around in his seat he tried to limber up again. It was no use. He reached back and grabbed a bottle of water and drank down about half of it. “I’m getting too old for this shit,” he said as he put the bottle back into its holder and sat back into the seat. He keyed the mike. “How soon to target?”

“One more hour, Major,” said the Offensive Systems Officer (OSO). “By the way, we just passed into Russian airspace.”

“More good news,” the Major said. “Well if your butt can take it, so can mine. Is the targeting set up through the link?”

“All set, Boss. I have been updating it for the last hour just to have something to do. We’ll be dropping seventy this go round. That will leave us with another 26 to play with. I expanded out towards the corridor and see a bunch of things that way. We’ll be home in time for supper,” said the OSO.

“Just as long as I can sit in one of those hot tubs for about an hour,” said Sweeney. “It will take that long to get the wrinkles out from all this sitting.”

There were chuckled from the rest of the crew. “Well, let’s get back to business,” said Pennick. “Keep an eye open for the bad guys. Maybe we’ll get home anyway,” he said.

The hour passed uneventfully. No enemy fighters rose to meet them. It was about as exciting as watching paint dry. The closer they came to the target, the more things got exciting. Pennick went through the checkoff list and got everything ready. The OSO was busy counting down the miles and times while the Defensive Systems Operator or DSO kept his eyes glued to his instruments. Despite the fact that there were no enemy fighters, the men on the bomber were sweating.

“Systems lock. Launch sequence start. Bomb bay doors opening in ten seconds,” said the OSO. Now the bomber was on autopilot and the bombs would be dropped automatically by the computer. The doors opened and the men inside could hear the rush of air as the doors changed the aerodynamics of the aircraft. “Bombs away,” said OSO.

The bombs were dropped individually in a rapid succession. As they left the plane, they nosed down toward their target and a set of wings spread and stabilized the bomb. Inside the seeker, the computer matched a target with the target designation fed to it by the link. Once correctly identified, the bomb nosed down even further and plunged into its target, a T-14 main battle tank. The warhead penetrated the top of the tank’s turret before it exploded, sending the turret high into the air after igniting the ammunition inside. By the time Pennick and his squadron had left the area, there was not a tank left untouched. Most were burning fiercely.

“Okay, folks, let’s go hunting,” Pennick said to his crew. The squadron broke up and made their way along a corridor where the supplies and equipment were coming in.

In the command center the people were almost cheering with each strike. There were two large groups going after the two largest concentrations of equipment. In two adjacent sections of the room the cameras from Eyeball had been focused on the two staging areas. Each hit was graphically displayed for the command team. Once the bomb runs were complete, a damage assessment was done to see if there would be another strike.

“My god, this isn’t warfare, it’s like being in a slaughterhouse,” said one of the men.

Hammond overheard and turned to him. “Yes, and that’s why we are showing that warfare on this kind of scale can no longer be afforded,” he said. Hammond pointed to the destruction. “How many people do you think have been killed? A few hundred? A thousand? If those tanks had crews in them it means we have killed over five thousand people in that one run alone. They didn’t stand a chance. With the kind of technology we have today, we can see everything that goes on anywhere. There’s not much of a way they can hide anything. With this new cloak, they can’t see us coming. Even if they did, they couldn’t lock onto us. It’s like Patton said about the so-called push button warfare. There’s no honor, no heroes, just people living and people dead. If we’re lucky, this will be the last war. But I doubt we will be that lucky,” he said sadly. He caught himself and looked at the young man. He gave a slight grin. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to vent.”

The young officer smiled back at him. “It’s all right, Admiral. I don’t mind and that’s something a guy has to do sometimes,” he said.

Hammond placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Well, I keep hoping and praying that in the future people will be too afraid to start something like this to ever do it again. If we have the patience, this war will be over soon. Then we’ll see if humanity is smart enough to let that happen.” Hammond turned back to the board. Now targets were being hit along the corridors they had specified. He turned to the air watch officer. “Are the runs set for tomorrow?”

“Yes, Admiral.”

“Good. We won’t need to hit these again. Go for the secondary targets and send out the orders,” Hammond said. He watched a little while longer before he gave the young man a wink and turned and left the room.

Anton Bugayev was in a bind. The Russian forces had been driven out of Krakow and surrendered. In the north, the Russian army was being forced back to the border with Ukraine and Belarus. He was receiving no orders and the Polish State Police had his photograph and were looking for him. Transportation was still nonexistent. On his last meeting with the Russian army officials, Bugayev sensed the fear and panic going through the units. There was nothing more he could do in Poland. He had planned on joining in on the crowds of people exiting the cities for the countryside, but since the Russians had capitulated in the area, those people were on the way back to the cities. He would stand out going the opposite direction. His only hope was to travel the roads at night.

Two days out he found a deserted farmhouse. In the barn were the remains of a long departed Russian Army unit. They had obviously used the place for an encampment, and had been removed forcefully. Bullet holes riddled the house and bard, but in the barn he found rations and even a sleeping bag and backpack. That day had been the first in a week that he had slept warmly. Before he left, he found a pistol and some ammunition along with a good pair of gloves and a clean scarf. Despite the extra clothing, that night’s hike had been miserable. The bitter wind had cut almost through every layer and even his joints felt as if they might seize up.

The next day he slept in an old shed beside a field. There was no fire, but the combination of the sleeping bag and an old horse blanket he found allowed him to thaw out and sleep. Each day he became angrier at his situation. When he had asked to be sent home by the army, they had said he didn’t have a priority, especially since they were too busy trying to get themselves out. Bugayev felt isolated and betrayed. Yet, there was one thing still burning inside him. Over the past months he had been able to find nearly all of the men who had been with him that night the police had arrived. Those still working for the Russian cause were allowed to live. But seven of the men he had taken the satisfaction of murdering. Only two of the men he had not been able to find. Bugayev had determined he would finish that job at some time. It may take a few years, but he would get back and finish his mission. That hatred drove him onward.

Just before dawn on the fourth day, Bugayev came upon what once was a small store. The building had been hit by some sort of artillery and one side had collapsed inward. The roof was at an angle and no windows were intact. Finding an entrance, he made his way past a few remaining shelves until he saw the door to a room in the back. It was a small space with no windows, but on one side was a metal bed with a dirty mattress. Making sure the door was secured, he spread out his sleeping bag and crawled inside it. Although some light seeped in through some cracks in the wall, the room remained relatively dark and within a few minutes he was sound asleep.

“Pete, how would you like to take a trip to Berlin?” asked Ricks just prior to the morning brief. The drone units had been moved into the Ukraine to help out the Spanish and Italian forces.

“What is going on in Berlin?” asked Petyr.

Ricks grinned. “Well, it seems they want us to go up and develop a tactics manual for future drone operations. The Commander in Chief also wants a detailed briefing on how these things are working. Your government seems to think you are the expert on these matters so they asked if we wanted to go. You up for a trip?”

Petyr’s face lit up. “Sure. When?”

“Like now. Our orders are being typed as we speak. Go pack your stuff and meet me in front of the barracks in about thirty minutes. We’ll be driving there,” Ricks said. “And by the way, we will be stopping in Krakow for a day or two along the way. You think your parents can find room for us? If not, I guess I can find a place in town,” he grinned.

The realization hit Petyr like a breath of air. Seeing his family again would make be wonderful. There was so much he wanted to say and do. “We’ll find room,” he said before rushing out the door towards his barracks. In thirty minutes Ricks pulled up to the entrance with a Humvee. Petyr threw his things in the back and climbed into the passenger side.

“Buckle up,” said Ricks as he put the vehicle into gear and moved off.

The roads were not as they once were. On occasion there were potholes made by the ravages of war. But it was early March and the roads were at least mostly dry now. Civilian traffic was still sparse in the newly liberated areas, but life was returning to the countryside. All along the way Petyr provided a travelogue of where they were and the history of the area. It was obvious that Petyr was proud of his homeland. Ricks noticed a change in him as they got closer to his home. He talked less as the anticipation built up.

By five that evening the Humvee turned down the dirt road leading to the house he remembered seeing in the drone monitors. They pulled up beside the house and stopped. Mr. Polski came out of the door along with Petyr’s father. Ricks was the first out and smiled and said hello. There was a sudden gasp from behind the men. Freda rushed past the men and threw her arms around Petyr as he came around the back of the vehicle. He twirled her around in his arms before kissing her passionately. Only after Ricks gave a cough did Petyr step back. By now the whole family was out, welcoming both men. Petyr became surrounded by his mother, sister, brother and Freda. It was a while before they finally escorted the men toward the door.

Ricks held up a hand. “If you can help, we brought a few things for the family,” he said. Mr. Polski and the two boys translated to the others and they all went to the back of the Humvee. It was loaded with boxes of food and a few pieces of equipment. Everyone grabbed something and they all went inside. As the food was put away, Ricks brought the men into the small living room. He opened up some of the equipment.

“This is something that will generate electricity for you and your family. We are handing these out to all the farms to use until the main power comes back on,” he said. “Tomorrow morning we will hook it up and you will have electricity at least during the day,” he said. Ricks then pulled out two plates. When they were uncovered, they glowed like an electric bulb. “This can provide light at night,” he said. The men began talking about the equipment, asked lots of questions and wondering how it all worked.

In a small room in the back, Petyr sat with Freda holding her hand. “For a long time I thought you were dead. I never felt so sad and alone. Then when I saw you on my screen, it was all I could do not to get in a vehicle and come to you. I can’t live my life without you. It was almost unbearable,” he said softly to her.

“Petyr, you know I feel the same way. With the Russians gone, we will be able to start our lives again. The war can’t last that much longer,” she said.

Petyr took a breath. “I don’t know. We are doing well, but Russia is a big country and they have a lot of people and equipment. It may be a while yet,” he sighed.

“Then we can be patient and wait. The time will come. Then we will make a family together. I am told the university will make special places for anyone who served. So our plans are the same, just delayed,” she assured him. “Where are you going when you leave us?”

“Berlin. They want me to help design operations of the drones I have been flying. I don’t know how long I will be there, but maybe we will be able to visit again on the way back,” Petyr said.

Freda snuggled up to him. “That would be nice,” she said.

They heard Petyr’s mother calling everyone to dinner. “Let’s go eat, then you bring your things in here with me. Camille is going to sleep upstairs.”

Petyr gave her a look. She smiled back. “We may need some practice for those children,” she said before leaving the room.

Like in the Korean War, Richardson had the Iowa, North Carolina and the Wisconsin patrolled along the coasts. As a result, the Russians pulled back inland by at least 25 miles or suffered the consequences. It was unfortunate that the Crimea was only about 23 miles wide. It meant that until they surrendered, the Russian Army was going to be hit almost constantly. LCDR Jeffers found himself stationed as the Officer of the Deck during General Quarters. The Iowa took some getting used to. On the Kings Mountain, he felt as if the ship would turn on a dime. The Iowa was slower, almost stately as she made her turns. It took a lot to make 58,000 tons move in a different direction.

The good part of it was that he was there to watch every gunshoot. Jeffers had thought the Kings Mountain was the ultimate warship, but now he was being swayed. Nothing could compare to the immense firepower of the Iowa’s 16-inch guns. The fact this was nearly 100 year old technology was even more impressive.

Today, the Iowa was off a small town called Yakovenkove. The Russian Army was in a headlong retreat along the center of the Crimea and was currently near Hornostaivka, just 13 miles inland. Wisconsin was already shelling the road near Ivanifka, five miles east of the town. The remotely piloted vehicles were not in use. The cloak would not permit their operation. However, the targets were clearly visible from spots one and two. On the Iowa, Master Chief Skelly had his eyes on a long column of trucks making its way along the road.

“Target in sight, Captain,” Jeffers reported. Up forward the big 16-inch turrets had already turned and the barrels were pointed toward the column. “The weapons officer is requesting batteries released.”

Rhodes scammed the ship’s starboard side to make sure the range was clear, then ordered, “batteries released.”

All nine 16-inch guns roared out almost at once. Jeffers saw the black shapes of the projectiles briefly as they sped away from the ship toward their target. Almost immediately the guns lowered to loading position as more shells and powder were loaded into the breeches. A little over thirty seconds later a second salvo left the ship. Jeffers was watching as water suddenly erupted just three hundred yards from the Iowa’s starboard side. “Counterbattery, starboard side,” he called out as he began scanning the shoreline to try and get a glimpse of where the fire was coming from. The second splash was only 100 yards from the ship. This time, Jeffers saw a puff of smoke coming from a clump of trees near a brick home with a pointed metal roof. Jeffers called out, “I have it,” as he took a bearing from the gyro repeater on the starboard side. “The target bears 003 in that clump of trees,” he said.

Rhodes hit the bitch box. “Secondary Plot, Bridge, counterbattery bearing 003 in a clump of trees. Engage with the secondary battery,” he ordered.

“We have the target, engaging now,” came the reply.

In the starboard 5-inch mounts the men suddenly had something to shoot at. The crews slammed the round and its propellant into the trays and the rammer was shoved home. Nearly all the mounts fired at the same time giving off a loud crack which was actually more disturbing than the 16-inch’s boom. Jeffers saw sand and debris begin rising all around the area as round after round was flung at them. He saw a flash and flame as the gun’s ammunition was hit. He also saw what looked like the remnants of a gun and its carriage flung into the air. “They got him,” Jeffers reported.

The 5-inch stopped firing and the Weapons officer reported target destroyed. Meanwhile, the 16-inch guns were still firing at the primary target. Most of the trucks in the convoy were now either burning or overturned. The men in Spot One could see people running everywhere trying to get away from the devastation. It had only taken about ten minutes. Rhodes called main battery plot. “Do we have any more targets?” he asked.

“Skelley says everything’s been given the once over. He says there isn’t much left to shoot at but people,” came the reply.

“Very well, cease fire,” he ordered. The big guns fell silent. Turning to Jeffers, Rhodes said, “Let’s take the ship offshore so that they can’t take any more pot shots at us.”

Jeffers said, “Aye, Captain. JOOD, come left to 200. Increase speed to 15 knots.” As the order was relayed, the ship made its way away from the shore. “Captain, I’d like to take us out at least ten miles. That would be far enough away to keep from getting hit and still close enough to respond to call for fire.”

“Make it so,” said Rhodes. He called Main Battery Plot again. “Weapons Officer, is that the last that you see in our sector?”

“Yes, Captain. They’re not seeing anything else up top. I plan on keeping a watch up there scanning the area just in case,” the Weapons Officer said.

“Good plan. I’m going to stand us down to Condition Two to let everyone get something to eat. Let me know if you find anything,” Rhodes said.

“Will do, Captain.”

“Officer of the Deck, stand down from general quarters. Set Condition Two. Tell the cooks to feed the crew as quickly as we can,” he ordered.

With general quarters relaxed, the regular watch came up to the bridge and people began moving around the ship again. The regular OOD relieved Jeffers and they reported to the Captain.

Rhodes got up from his seat and walked out with Jeffers. “Rod, you seem to be fitting in pretty well. Are things going well in the department?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. I’ve got a few things of my own going on now and I’m sure Boats Patnaude will keep me from getting too far out of line,” Jeffers said.

Rhodes chucked. “You know, when I was still an enlisted man, Boats was my superior. I liked working for him then and do now. He still lets me know if I need to do anything,” he said with a smile. “But you’re right. Just listen to what he says and you’ll do fine. I saw your suggestion for a display board. I like the idea. Have you got what you may need?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get with the engineers to hang it once we’re done. If nothing else it will be impressive,” said Jeffers.

“That it will. Keep handy in case we have a call for fire. We may go back to GQ at any time,” Rhodes said as he entered his sea cabin behind the bridge.

Jeffers made his way down to his cabin to take off his heavy coat and cap. The wardroom was already filling for lunch. It seemed a little more open now that the Russian sailors had been sent over to the LSD. Jeffers had gotten to know a few of the enlisted sailors. They were like most other sailors. They worked hard and seemed to enjoy pitching in. Some actually didn’t want to go. He remembered the faces of a few when they saw the first gunshoot while aboard. None had ever seen anything like what the ship could do. After that several seemed to take some pride at being aboard.

Lunch was about halfway over when the general quarters alarm sounded again. Jeffers quickly donned his foul weather gear and went to the bridge. It would be another afternoon of shooting.

It was Sasha’s turn to get up and light the stove and the fireplace to start the day. Everyone took turns so that his mother could sleep a little later and wake up to a warm house. The sun was just peeking over the horizon as he placed the wood into the stove. The small stuff was always first, followed by larger blocks on top. After making sure the flue was open, he opened a small port, struck the match and lit the kindling on the bottom layer. He had actually put some paper in under the kindling just in case. Within a minute the flames were licking at the larger blocks. Next, he went to the ceramic stove that sat almost in the center of the house. He opened the fire box and checked inside. As usual, there were still embers burning from the night before. Like the stove, he placed a handful of kindling over the embers and began to blow on them. Almost immediately the kindling caught. It was only a matter of feeding the larger sticks and then larger wood into the box until the flames reached the perfect height. Soon the heat began permeating through the ceramic and warming the whole house.

Sasha headed back to his room when he noticed something strange. Standing beside the couch were two artificial legs. He was staring at them when he heard a voice.

“Good morning,” said Ricks, lying on the couch.

Sasha almost jumped. He looked over at Ricks. “Sorry. I did not mean to stare,” he said in broken English.

Ricks sat up on the couch. The layers of blankets that had kept him snuggly warn through the night were pushed back and Sasha saw the stumps of Ricks’ legs as they swung around. Ricks shook his head. “No, it’s okay. It is not often you see such things,” he said.

“Did you sleep well?” Sasha asked.

“The best I’ve slept in a month.” Ricks reached down and grabbed a leg, inserting it into the pin and wrapping the plastic membrane up the stump. After finishing with both legs he saw Sasha staring at his efforts. “I lost these in the Korean War,” he said to the young man.

“What happened?”

Ricks smiled. “It’s a long story,” he began. Quietly he told Sasha about the mission to rescue the school children and how the North Koreans were holding them as hostages while they were shooting at the American forces with a gun on an upper floor. As he was telling the story, Rudy came down tucking in his shirt. He too sat down to listen. For some reason, Ricks related every detail, telling them on the young Marine lieutenant named Dickson who had been killed during the mission, how they had been getting the children out when the North Korean’s opened fire. In the middle of telling the story, Ricks realized he had never told anyone what had happened that night. It was like putting down something old and reaching for something new. He began feeling refreshed.

“Then the explosion happened on the floor above us. All I remembered after that was the ceiling falling. I woke up in the hospital looking at my wife’s face,” he said with a smile. “For a little bit I felt sorry for myself, but then my wife, Su Lynn, told me we were going to have a baby. Well, a guy can’t feel sorry for himself when he’s going to be a father. In just over a month, I put these on and I’ve been walking on them ever since,” he concluded.

“You are still in the Army?” asked Rudy.

Ricks nodded. “Yep, and I can still get around with my troops. So I always tell people never to let things get you down. There is a way to make things happen,” he said, slapping Rudy on the arm.

“That’s a good story,” said Mr. Polski, leaning against the doorpost. “I would believe that you have many more. Did you get a medal for that effort?” he asked.

Ricks blushed slightly. “Yes, I got the Silver Star and the Purple Heart. The big one, I got for an earlier action,” he said shyly.

Petyr’s mother came out of her room like a breath of fresh air. “Good morning,” she said as she passed through the room. “I hope you slept well, Mister Ricks,” she said in Polish. The boys translated for her.

“Very good, Ma’am. Thank you for your hospitality,” Ricks said.

“Good. Now I will fix a nice breakfast,” she said as she breezed into the kitchen.

The door opened from the third room and Petyr came out. His hair was mussed and he looked like he had just thrown on some clothing. He came over and plopped down next to Ricks. “Hi,” he said rubbing his eyes.

Ricks took a sniff and turned up his nose. “Pete, you need to wash up,” he said quietly. Sasha broke into a wide grin.

“What do you mean?” asked Petyr.

“Dummy,” said Sasha. Rudy poked Sasha in the arm.

Ricks almost laughed. He leaned in close. “Because you smell like a brothel. We can tell you were busy last night,” he whispered.

Petyr’s eyes went wide. He jumped from the couch and made his way outside where he grabbed a work bucket and filled it at the pump. Grabbing a rag, he took the bucket back into the bedroom and closed the door.

Sasha sat back and laughed hard. Even Ricks sat back and chuckled. Rudy got a disgusted look on his face and left the room. In a few minutes, Petyr came out looking much better. He had put on a clean uniform and had combed his hair. A few minutes later, Freda came out, brushing her hair and trying to look as if nothing had happened. It only fueled the fire for Sasha. He started to say something more when Mr. Kursov called him onto another room. They came back and Sasha sat down in a chair to sulk.

The rest of the day was a blur. The warm house and good conversation kept everyone in good spirits despite the war still raging just miles away. Later in the morning, the men went outside and set up the electric panel. A metal stand was driven into the ground and set in a position so that the panel would have sun all day. The panel was attached and the heavy insulated leads were run to where the electric cables were attached to the house. Following the instructions, the leads were bolted on.

Inside the house, the women were working on lunch when they heard the refrigerator come on. The overhead light also came on. Camille went over and felt along the heating strips on the baseboards of the house. They were putting out heat. Just to be sure, Freda went over to the electric stove that hadn’t been used since the Russians had invaded. Upon turning on an element, she felt it began to get hot. As the men came in, she exclaimed, “We have electricity back. Everything is working!”

With the electricity back on, Mrs. Kursov threw open the rest of the shutters and sunlight poured into the rooms. She began humming and singing tunes while she worked. It was the first time Anton Kursov had seen her happy in a long time.

In the late afternoon, after hours of telling stories and sharing experiences, Ricks stood and stretched. He called over to Petyr. “Pete, why don’t we walk back to that lake you were telling me about? I need to stretch out a bit,” he said.

Petyr grabbed his heavy jacket and led Ricks outside. They had driven the Humvee into the barn and Ricks went inside to get his gloves. The wind was still very cold but the two could tell there was a thaw in the air. In the barn, Ricks could see Mr. Polski liked keeping things neat and orderly. A number of farm implements were mounted on one wall from axes to scythes and other implements. Ricks felt of the edge of one of the tools and was pleased to see it was sharp as a razor. Being from a farm himself, he appreciated someone who knew how to take care of their tools.

The walk to the lake was pleasant. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the air was clean and crisp. Coming up on the trees, Ricks could see the evergreens swaying in the wind. The lake itself was beautiful, although the scene was marred by tons of leftover equipment where the Russians had left it. A number of boxes of stores had been opened and gone through.

“My father and Mr. Polski said they came up here and gathered what they could use. The food was the most important thing,” Petyr said.

“Yea, survival at its best. It was a good thing we were able to get those troops out of here,” Ricks said, remembering the joy on Petyr’s face when he found his family alive. Boxes and equipment were stacked everywhere. There was still more food, some fuel and lamps, even personal gear. They rummaged through the leftovers until it began to get dark, then made their way back toward the house.

***

Anton Bugayev started early for the evening. He was getting tired of only traveling at night. The cold seemed to almost never go away, but it was the only way to get across the border undetected. Today he started before dusk. The evening sky remained clear and blended from a blue to various shades of orange and red. After only thirty minutes walking he saw a house in the distance with lights burning inside. He wondered if there might be a chance to get a hot meal and be warm for a change.

Making his way slowly along the ditch on the side of the road, he looked for any sign of danger, but seeing none, he continued on. Bugayev decided he would simply knock on the door and ask for help. With refugees all over the country, the people may take pity on him and let him in. His hands fingered the small P-96 pistol in his coat pocket. It was his insurance in case he ran into trouble. The trusty pistol had been by his side for the last ten years. He made sure it was well maintained and fully loaded.

Coming up to the house, Bugayev could see people inside through the clear glass. Taking a deep breath, he walked up to the door and knocked. To his utter amazement, Bugayev found himself face to face with Anton Kursov.

A look of shock and fear crossed Krusov’s face. “What are you doing here,” he almost spat.

Instantly the 9mm pistol was in Bugayev’s hand. Aiming it directly at Kursov he poked it into the man’s stomach, forcing him back inside the house. Camille saw the man with the gun and let out a high pitched scream before Bugayev slammed the door.

Ricks and Petyr stopped in mid stride. “That was Camille,” said Petyr as he began to run toward the house with Ricks right behind him.

“Stop at the barn,” called out Ricks as the two men neared the house. Dashing into the open door, Ricks found what he was looking for, two broad axes that had been hanging on the wall behind the door. “Okay, now we’re armed. Before we go in we need to see what we’re up against,” said Ricks. “Let’s go by the kitchen window.”

Ricks and Petyr made their way in a wide circle so that they could see in the window but were too far away to be seen from anyone inside.

“I know that man,” said Petyr. “He was the one I told you about who was setting up those demonstrations.”

Ricks nodded in understanding. “He’s carrying some sort of pistol. Let’s move in a little closer.”

Inside the brightly lit room Bugayev stood in front of the whole family. The evil smile on his face was accentuated by the pistol in his hand. “Isn’t it amazing how things work out,” he said. “I have been looking for you a long time. Now that I have you, I want to enjoy the moment,” Bugayev said.

“What would you want with us? Look around you. The war is over here. You lost,” said Kursov.

“Possibly, but the man who betrayed me to the enemy should be made to pay,” hissed Bugayev.

“Betray you? I was picked up along with the rest and interrogated for hours. Only after a long wait was I told to go home. When the war started no one cared to question me anymore,” said Kursov. It was a lie, but it fit.

Bugayev shook his head slowly. “No, that isn’t possible. I have found all but one of our party and they all said they were innocent, even when I shot them.”

The revelation that Bugayev had murdered the others was a slap to Kursov. It meant his folly would now strike at his own family. An angry look came over his face. “You killed those who supported you? Who worked for you? They were willing to give their all for Russia and now you have repaid their loyalty with this? Look what has now happened. The Allied armies have pushed Russia back almost to our borders. All the killing has come to nothing! Now you want to kill some more. This is not the Russia I remember. The Russia I knew had a soul, despite the Communists. You are nothing more than evil and hate, still trying to get your way. Very well then, shoot me and leave this place. Take out your revenge on me,” shouted Kursov, stepping forward slightly and puffing out his chest. He fully expected the bullet at any time.

Bugayev laughed. “Brave words, but no, I do not kill you. First I kill each of your family as you watch. It will be slow so you can feel the pain I felt at the hands of my captors.”

Around him the two families clung together. Mrs. Kursov took Camille and Sasha in her arms while Mr. Polski placed an arm around his son’s shoulders.

Bugayev looked from side to side at the family before him. “The question is who shall be the first?” he said slowly as he moved the pistol in an ark. His eyes focused on Freda. “You will do,” he said as he squeezed the trigger.

The pistol fired, but not before Anton Kursov sprang like a coiled spring in front of her. The bullet struck him in the upper left chest, spinning him around and knocking him to the floor. Mrs. Kursov let out a scream and rushed to his side. Rudy grabbed the back of a wooden chair and was about to throw it at Bugayev.

Bugayev hadn’t heard the door open, but as he was about to dispatch Rudy he felt a blast of cold air on his back. He had just begun to turn when an axe appeared out of nowhere, chopping its way through his upper arm and burying itself in the side of his chest. Petyr had swung the axe like a baseball bat. The blow knocked Bugayev over onto the kitchen table where he collapsed onto the floor. The severed arm lay on the floor, still gripping the pistol in its now dead hand.

Petyr placed his foot on Bugayev’s back and pried the axe from his side as if removing it from a tree. He watched the ever spreading pool of blood spreading over the wooden floor in a widening circle. Bugayev stared up as Petyr leaned over him. Just before his eyes fluttered shut he heard him say in a voice sounding like death itself, “You were wrong. I was the one who turned you in.”

Petyr turned to the others. “Get some towels and bandages. Mr. Polski, can you get a tourniquet on this arm? I want to keep this man alive,” he ordered.

The rest of the family jumped into action as Petyr went over to his father. He was lying on the floor being tended to by his mother. He knelt beside him and smiled. “You saved Freda’s life,” Petyr said. “I think I understand a little now. In many ways, I am proud of you, Father.”

A very pale Anton Kursov looked up at his son and smiled. “And I have always been proud of you, Petyr. You were right. I was foolish, and you have brought pride and honor to our family,” he said. He placed his hand over his son’s and grasped it.

“Now I need to get you to the hospital.” Petyr said.

They heard the Humvee pull up outside and Ricks came through the door. “Let’s get these two in the vehicle,” he said.

Kursov was eased into the front seat while Bugayev was lifted into the very back of the vehicle. Petyr and Mr. Polski junped in the back seat. Ricks shoved the Humvee into gear and sped down the highway toward Krakow.

The Osprey eased over the fantail and slowly positioned itself over the deck of the Iowa. Once the wheels touched down, the back of the plane lowered and two passengers got off. Captain Rhodes greeted the two and escorted them back to his cabin. As they left, the Osprey shut down its engines.

For Hustvedt, the Iowa reminded him of his old ship, the North Carolina. The strength of the ship could be felt almost immediately and they were greeted by members of the crew as they made their way forward. Using a critical eye, there wasn’t much that could be said was wrong aboard the ship. The ever present rust was almost nonexistent, and the decks were clean and neat. Even when the party entered the skin of the ship there was little wrong. The decks were spotless and nothing seemed out of place. Rhodes led them to the port side and up to his inport cabin. “Come in. I had some sandwiches brought in since you probably didn’t eat on the plane,” said Rhodes.

Claire Richardson looked around the cabin. “This brings back memories. The last time I was aboard Hammond was in command,” she said as they made their way to the table. The three sat on one end and selected a sandwich. Chips and tea were at each place.

“Then welcome back,” said Rhodes. “Now that you’re here, you mind telling me what you have up your sleeves? The message was rather cryptic and you mentioned a special mission.”

Hustvedt took a bite out of his sandwich and began. “Well, Captain, as you know we have just about taken the Crimea and a big chunk of the Ukraine. General Richardson has noticed that the troops are getting a little tired of the operation,” he began.

“Captain, this war has been fought totally different from anything previous,” said Richardson. “The use of the drones has pretty much taken the real danger out of going forward. We have been killing the Russians by the thousands with few casualties of our own. When that happens, we are finding that our people grow weary and sick of just killing, and to tell you the truth, I am too. More and more of our efforts are going toward trying to get the enemy just to give up. I already have over 250,000 prisoners.”

The numbers shocked Rhodes. Being at sea kept them away from such things. “My soul, that’s a little astounding,” he exclaimed.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, our estimates are that the Russians may have lost over two million people in this,” said Hustvedt. “Between that and our keeping the population cold and dark, these people are suffering,” he said.

“That brings us to this operation,” said Richardson. “Captain, I want to take Iowa into Sevastopol harbor and see if we can get the city to surrender as a whole.”

Rhodes sat back in his chair. He had a sharp vision of the Iowa being pelted with every gun imaginable before even getting into the harbor. “That’s a huge risk,” he said slowly. It was obvious he wasn’t thrilled at the idea.

“I know it is. We don’t really know what might be up against us. But if we go in under a white flag and talk to the local commanders, it might just work. Of course the Wisconsin and North Carolina will be just offshore. The Queen Elizabeth is out there too, just in case,” Hustvedt explained.

“Who will be going ashore?” Rhodes asked.

Richardson spoke up. “Just two of us. I will go and I would like to take Lieutenant Commander Jeffers along as a translator,” she said.

Rhodes looked skeptical. “Just two of you, with no escort, into an active war zone. Ma’am, I wouldn’t do that on a bet.”

“Most sane people wouldn’t,” Richardson chuckled. “But the way things have been going, I wouldn’t be surprised if they jumped at the chance. They have the Spanish and Italians to the northwest and we are coming in from the east. These guys have to know what’s about to happen,” she said.

Rhodes sat back. Yes, it was a gamble, but the harbor is wide and deep. There would be plenty of room to turn tail and run if the shooting started. No cloak would be able to hide them, that was for sure. Besides, unless they were shooting huge guns, there wasn’t much they could do to the ship. He rubbed his hand down his face. “Well, I’m in. I’ll get you there and back and will sit in the harbor with my guns cocked if they do anything stupid. But maybe we need to ask Jeffers if he’s in on it,” he said. “I can’t order a guy to do what you’re asking,” he said as he reached for the phone and had Jeffers come to his cabin.

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door and the sentry announced the First Lieutenant. As Jeffers stepped into the cabin his face broke into a smile.

“Rod! How are you,” exclaimed Hustvedt.

“Just fine, Admiral. It’s good to see you both again,” Jeffers said shaking their hands. Rhodes had him sit and they explained the plan to him. He listened intently, then let out a breath. “You make me wish I didn’t know Russian,” he said.

“I know, Rod, but this is important,” said Richardson. “I have other translators, but they don’t have the background and understanding you do, so I’m asking if you will do this with me,” she said.

Jeffers’ smile widened. “Of course you know I will,” he said. “When do we go?”

“Actually, we go in tomorrow morning. A message will be sent to them letting them know we will be coming in under a white flag. We are offering to negotiate aboard the ship or ashore depending on their wishes. Hopefully that will mean a free passage at least,” said Richardson.

“What about you, Admiral? Are you coming too?”

Hustvedt grinned. “No, I am going aboard my old ship to be there just in case. If somebody does start shooting, I’ll make them wish they had never pulled a trigger,” he said.

“Well, I guess we’re both in then,” said Rhodes.

Hustvedt slapped him on the shoulder. “Good. I had a feeling you wouldn’t turn us down. Now I have a request. Could I address your officers and chiefs in the wardroom?” he asked.

“Of course. When would you like to do it?”

“Why not now. I’ll have to leave to get to the North Carolina soon anyway. So if you don’t mind?” Hustvedt asked.

Rhodes asked Jeffers to take care of it and Jeffers left the room. That was when Hustvedt told him the reason for the assembly.

The wardroom was filled with men sitting and standing. The conversations and speculation filled the air. Suddenly the aft door opened and someone shouted, “Attention on deck!”

The room fell silent as Hustvedt, Richardson and Rhodes entered the room. The head table had been cleared and the officers took a seat. Once seated the rest of the room took their seats.

“Officer and Chiefs of the Iowa we are privileged to have Vice Admiral Hustvedt and General Claire Richardson with us today. Tomorrow morning we are going to be included in a special mission to see if we can get the city of Sevastopol to surrender. I’ll brief you more later, but the Admiral asked if he could address you before he left. Admiral,” he said as he turned to Hustvedt.

Hustvedt stood and placed a package on the table. “Ladies and Gentlemen, than you for letting me come aboard today. It’s nice to be around battleship sailors again,” he said. There was a chuckle from the men in the room. “I came here today to not only talk about this special mission but to also single out someone for some of the bravest actions and most brilliant work I have been privileged to witness. Lieutenant Commander Jeffers, could you please come forward.”

Jeffers, obviously caught by surprise, looked at the people around him before standing and making his way to the head table. As he got there, he was asked to come to attention.

Hustvedt pulled out a blue document holder and a smaller blue box. “Many of you may not know it, but Operation Arctic Wind was authored by a virtually unknown officer who was told to write something up as an exercise just to get some experience. That exercise became one of the greatest operational plans since the Normandy invasion in 1944. The author of that plan is standing before you today. “The Secretary of Defense takes pleasure in presenting the Defense Superior Service Medal to Lieutenant Commander Roderick Jeffers for his amazing intellectual skills in conceiving, and planning Operation Arctic Wind during the War with Russia. Your keen grasp of the tactical and strategic mission of the Allied Forces, their abilities and the execution of what has become the largest amphibious operation since the Second World War reflects great credit upon yourself, the Navy and the Department of Defense of the United States. Your expert planning and execution of Operation Arctic Wind has been instrumental in the success of Allied efforts. From the Secretary of Defense. Congratulations,” said Hustvedt, as he opened the smaller box and pulled out the yellow, blue and white ribboned medal emblazoned with an eagle. The wardroom broke into applause as Hustvedt pinned the medal on Jeffers’ chest.

After a respectable time Hustvedt motioned for quiet once more. Jeffers turned and began to go back to his seat when he heard, “Not so fast, Commander.” Hustvedt motioned for him to return, then called the wardroom to attention. Everyone stood.

“The Secretary of the Navy takes pleasure in presenting the Navy Cross to Lieutenant Commander Roderick Jeffers for services set forth in the following citation. For conspicuous gallantry, extraordinary skill and supreme courage while serving on the staff of the Commander Allied Black Sea Expedition. After several missile strikes, Lieutenant Commander Jeffers, with little regard for personal safety, did take command of the USS America upon the death of her commanding officer and incapacitation of the ship’s executive officer. Despite being wounded and surrounded by flames from several missile hits, his quick actions allowed him to regain control of the ship and prevent the America from colliding with the aircraft carrier, USS Enterprise. He continued to pilot the ship, alone, helping firefighting teams in their efforts to extinguish multiple fires aboard the ship from incoming missiles while providing medical aid to the ship’s executive officer and other crewmen. Despite being wounded a second time from enemy missile fire, Jeffers maintained his vigilance for two hours as the ship’s personnel battled raging fires to get to the bridge. Despite fires which threatened to consume him, he maintained his post and brought the ship to safety. His actions bring great credit upon himself and the Naval Service. From the Secretary of the Navy.”

The medal was a cross of gold with a blue and white ribbon. Hustvedt pinned it on Jeffers’ shirt, then shook his hand. Jeffers couldn’t hear the shouts and applause from the others in the wardroom. He simply looked down at the medal on his chest. It was the second highest award in the United States, only below the Medal of Honor. He was stunned. Then he saw Hustvedt pull out another blue box and pin on the Purple Heart. He went back to his seat in a daze. His shipmates were congratulating him and patting him on the back, but it didn’t really register. Jeffers didn’t consider that he had done anything spectacular. He had just done his job. His emotions were mixed. During these same actions he had lost his best friend. Even now, he couldn’t bring himself to play his guitar or banjo because of it. Yet others called him a hero.

After some more talking, the meeting broke up. Jeffers walked to his stateroom and closed the door. He took off the medals and placed them back in their boxes. They were just trappings to be pulled out on special occasions. As he turned around he saw himself in the mirror. The face looking back at him looked older. There were a couple of scars still healing, but it was still the same eyes, nose and mouth from before. In his mind, he didn’t want any special recognition. He just wanted to be a naval officer like all the rest. Jeffers hoped things would not change.

After putting everything away, Jeffers heard flight quarters sounded. He grabbed his helmet and jacket and went aft. He wasn’t really needed, but it was a part of being the First Lieutenant. When he got there, Hustvedt said goodbye and re-boarded the Osprey. The engines came to life and the aircraft lifted into the clear afternoon sky.

Jeffers turned to see Boats Patnaude staring at him. He walked up to him. “You look like you need to talk,” he said.

“No, Boats, I’ll be okay.”

“Bullshit. Don’t forget I been around for a while. This bothered you, didn’t it?” he asked.

“A little.”

Patnaude smiled. “That’s because you’re a good man, Commander. You don’t want to be better than anyone else and you don’t seek glory. And you know what? That makes you one of them top one percenters,” he said. “I’ve seen too many people just go for the glory. They usually end up being a pain in the ass. So don’t change, Rod. Just keep doing your job. I’d rather have ten people like you to work with than a thousand of the others,” he said. “Come on.”

Patnaude led him back forward to the Deck Office across from the post office. They sat and talked for a couple of hours. Along the way, Jeffers began to feel better about things. He even shared the loss of his friend. Boats shared a few sea stories of his own. By dinner Jeffers felt exhausted. This time he accepted the congratulations and the support around the wardroom table. He was one of them and they were happy to be around him.

After dinner, Jeffers checked on a few things and made sure the eight o’clock reports were ready, then went to his stateroom. He took off his uniform and crawled in between the sheets. Cracking open a book, he read for a while till he was interrupted as the Captain came on the 1MC.

“This is the captain. Tomorrow morning we are going into Sevastopol harbor to take General Richardson in to discuss their surrender. We’ll be going in alone, but the Wisconsin and North Carolina will be just outside the harbor just in case. Guys, I won’t make this sound pretty. We don’t know what they might do when we get in there. We know their fleet is basically gone, but they can still shoot at us. The plan is to go in and launch my gig with the general aboard, then wait. If they start shooting at us, we can shoot back, but not till then. So it’s going to be a little tense for a while. I don’t know about you, but I am definitely going to say my prayers tonight. For all the Catholics, maybe ask our Father Danner for a little help. I know he’s up there looking out for us and a little extra help wouldn’t hurt. So get some good sleep tonight, and while you’re at it, thank God for the redheads.” The 1MC clicked off.

Jeffers was sorry he had missed Father Danner. It seemed as if everyone he met had something good to say about the man. Even Patnaude shared a few of the hair-raising escapades involving Danner. He sounded like a lot of fun. Jeffers put the book down and turned out the light. Just before going to sleep, he said a little prayer of his own.

It had been a late night. Upon arrival at the hospital, both men had been rushed to surgery. Mr. Kursov had been lucky. The bullet had lodged in the muscle near his shoulder. After only a few minutes the bullet was out and he was bandaged up and made ready to go home. Bugayev was a different matter. After two pints of whole blood, with the doctors pouring over his arm, the decision was made that there was no use in trying to save it. A flap of skin was pulled over and sewn to the other side. They were hampered slightly when a squad of police entered the recovery room and handcuffed and shackled Bugayev to his hospital bed. They took the arm, with a pistol still in its hand, and wrapped it up.

Erich Bolin looked down on the still unconscious man. “You won’t get away from me this time,” he said. He turned to the others. “No one leaves this room. I want eyes on him twenty four hours a day. If he tries anything, you are to further restrain him. Gag him if you must, but no one gets to him and he sees no one except the medical staff,” Bolin ordered. He had already seen the Kursov family and the American soldier. Those statements alone would get Bugayev a life sentence. He had other ideas on that.

After getting his father into the Humvee, the Kursov’s, Polski and Ricks made their way back home. The family was waiting. Mrs. Kursov was particularly happy to see her husband alive and well. She had spent several hours cleaning the blood off the floor and now the house was once again spotless.

Freda had rushed to Petyr’s side, but she could see something had changed in Petyr. He had become introverted and didn’t smile much when he returned. Ricks saw it too and pulled her aside.

“Freda, Petyr is going to be a little different for a while. He nearly killed a man tonight and that does things to a good man. He needs to understand it was something that had to be done. But most of all, he needs to know you still care about him. So just be patient with him tonight. He’ll come around,” Ricks told her.

Freda nodded. In a few minutes, she led him to the bedroom and helped him get undressed. Remembering how he had helped her when her mother died, Freda simply pulled him to her side and held him.

***

Driving in the Humvee toward Berlin, Petyr didn’t say much, and Ricks let him be with his own thoughts. After three hours into the drive, Petyr turned to Ricks. “Why didn’t you come in with me?” he asked.

Ricks grinned. “Because you didn’t need my help. I could see what you were going to do, and frankly, I didn’t want to be around you while you were swinging that axe. You didn’t notice, but I moved around to swing from the other side of you missed,” he said.

“I’ve never done anything like that before,” Petyr said.

“A man can do a lot of things when he is protecting his family. That’s what you were doing. That was even what your father was doing when he jumped in front of that guy. He could probably see it in his eye when he was going to pull the trigger and he knew who would get hit. Your father did it for you and for Freda,” Ricks said.

Petyr thought about that for a minute. His father really was trying to protect the family, even if it meant getting killed himself. The idea made him feel warm all over. Ricks saw the slight smile cross Petyr’s face. The kid will be alright, he thought.

The days were taking their toll on O’Bannon. It seemed as if there was always too much going on needing his personal attention. So when his Chief of Staff, Jim Butler, came in with a pale look on his face, O’Bannon cringed. “Okay, I can tell something’s wrong,” he grunted.

“Sir, Bob Kelso of CNN is on line two. I would have sent him over to the Press Secretary, but this is too deep even for me,” Butler said.

A curious look came over O’Bannon’s face as he reached over and picked up the line. “Good afternoon, Mr. Kelso. What can I do for you?” he asked.

“Good afternoon, Mister President. Something has come up with several of us and we need to talk to you about it,” Kelso began.

“Glad to help. What do you need?”

“Sir, we are getting information concerning former CIA director Harmon and some sort of investigation. In particular, it has something to do with something called Eyeball,” Kelso said.

O’Bannon’s eyes shot wide. He looked up at Butler who nodded in response. O’Bannon’s worse fears were coming true and he wasn’t sure of how to deal with it.

“You still there?” came the voice on the line.

“I am, Bob, you just stunned me, that’s all. Can you tell me what you know?”

“Well, sir, we are getting information leaked to us that Harmon was fired over this system and that you have directed the FBI in probing several senators and congressmen who recommended him. It makes it sound like a vendetta of some sort. Personally it sounds a little fishy, but as of now, I have it along with the Washington Post, CBS, NBC, ABC and the AP. Because of the way it is coming across, this news might be a little beyond our agreement, especially when you were named. We have gotten together and decided to call you first,” Kelso said.

O’Bannon thought for a moment. “Bob, I am going to be frank with you. There is an investigation, but not through my office. I asked the FBI to check into something Harmon did while in office and they did so, uncovering enough that the Attorney General appointed a special prosecutor. I have nothing to do with what the prosecutor is doing and don’t know anything more of the matter. What I do know is that it is touching on one of the most secret efforts the United States has ever achieved. Quite frankly it scares me that word about this program may have gotten out.”

“Is it based out of the CIA?”

“Yes, but being used by the Department of Defense.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Mister President, this is putting us in a difficult position,” Kelso said.

“Think about it from my perspective. This is something we never talk about. At the same time, I gave you a promise to answer your questions. I want you to trust me and this even makes me feel insecure. Can you answer one question for me?” asked the President.

“Sure.”

“I know you can’t give your sources, but are they from a government agency like the CIA or Defense, or even my staff for that matter?”

Kelso thought a second. “Mister President, our sources are not from any of those agencies. I’m not sure I would go any further than that,” Kelso said.

The President let out a sigh. “Well, at least it’s not coming from the people I’m working with. Let me think a second,” O’Bannon said as he placed the receiver on his chest. Butler stared at the man and could tell he was grinding through some options. The President put the receiver to his ear again. “Bob, how many media outlets are involved at this time?”

“Only the ones I mentioned, Mister President, although there could be more at any time. We’ve kept this to ourselves so far,” said Kelso.

“I tell you what. Can you all come to the White House tomorrow by 9 am? I would like to give you a little something that may help you understand my concerns,” said the President.

“Yes, sir, but I hope it’s not just another explanation.”

“No, but I thought you might like to see what it’s all about,” the President said.

The morning dawned clear with a calm sea. During the night a message had come through saying the Mayor of Sevastopol would meet with Allied representatives aboard the ship when it arrived. Nothing was mentioned of the military commanders. As the sun came up, Iowa separated from the two other battleships and made her way toward the harbor entrance. The southern tip of the Crimea was heavily populated. Yalta, on the other end of the peninsula, had already fallen. Odessa, Ukraine, had been taken the week before. Now Sevastopol was surrounded.

Iowa sailed slowly past an old abandoned and recently shelled runway on the tip of land going in toward Sevastopol. The crew could see the remnants of an old early warning radar station beside it. Turning northeast, they passed more abandoned military areas, some sprouting old antennas and gun emplacements. The beaches looked rocky and uninviting. Aboard the ship all eyes scanned the shore looking for missile or gun emplacements that might open fire on the ship, but none were seen.

Iowa soon saw her destination. The mouth of the harbor had a concrete breakwater with a quarter of a mile opening. There was a small lighthouse on one end. What concerned them most was the old fortress guarding the harbor. Painted white, it had multiple openings in the side, but no one could see what was inside it.

Rhodes turned to Jeffers conning the ship. “I sure hope those prayers to Father Danner did some good,” he said. Entering the harbor, Iowa made her way just inside and then stopped. They would not anchor. That would give them time to get back underway quickly.

Most of the harbor was surrounded by high rise housing and shoreline establishments. Marinas sprouted along the shore along with shipping terminals and tourist attractions. On the right side was a huge monument with two soldiers, one holding up a rifle. They began to notice that along the shoreline, people were already coming out to watch.

The motorcade drove to the north entrance where the Secret Service and Pentagon security forces had everything set up. The media got out of two black Suburbans, were met by General Black and some staff members and ushered into the Pentagon. They stopped in a small conference room and asked to sit. One minute later the President came in. He went to the head of the table.

“Gentlemen, thank you for meeting with me today. Bob, I appreciate you getting this set up,” the President said. “Gentlemen, Bob told me about your concerns and they are my concerns as well. I have a feeling what you have been getting is politically motivated. So I decided to do something that is grossly irregular. I am going to show you what this is all about. When the war started, this system had just been placed online. Mr. Harmon failed to act on the early warning this system provides which could have saved countless lives. That is why I asked the FBI to investigate. But now you need to know why this can never be revealed to anyone. Never. This agreement I have with you on media coverage works both ways. I am now showing this to you and only you so that you fully understand why I must ask you not to let this get out. I feel once you see this you will agree with me that it is something too vital to our national interests. Do you agree that this is a fair request?” he asked.

The men around the room nodded. “We agree,” said Kelso.

The President smiled. “Okay then, but prepare yourselves. You will not believe your eyes.”

The door opened and the men were led down the corridor to an outer office full of security. They were then led into a darkened room. In the center of the room on a huge table was Eyeball.

“Oh my God,” exclaimed Brad Freeman from CBS. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Yes it is,” said Roger Hammond as he stepped in from another door. “This is Poland, Belarus, Russia, Slovakia, Ukraine and points west. This image is from one of the cameras. The computers alert us to any and all movements of troops, planes, equipment, supplies or anything else going on in Europe. From there, we can move in for more graphic detail,” Hammond said as he motioned to a technician. The three dimensional image zoomed into one of the battle areas where the true value of Eyeball could be seen. The men watched as planes flew into and out of the area, saw tanks advancing along with ground troops and even some sort of flying bugs in advance of the Allies engaging enemy troops.

“Are you telling us this is real time?” asked one man.

“We are maybe about a second behind. It takes time for the light to get to the satellite and then back down to us,” said Hammond.

“I never thought something like this was possible,” said another man.

Hammond chuckled. “Neither did I,” he said. “And that’s why I flew all the way here to give this brief myself. You don’t know this, but when this war started the Russians had six to one of everything we and the Allies had. When they asked me to take the job, I told them that in order to have any chance, we needed to use every bit of the technology we possessed to even the playing field. This,” he said spreading his hands over the table, “is the biggest piece of that technology. It has allowed us to see every move the Russians have made from the battlefield to the supply lines. It allows us to stop them before they get things started and to hit them where they are the weakest. They have no idea we are watching. Several of you have gotten a little miffed because we have not been sharing our casualty numbers. Part of that is because of this and because no one would believe us. I will now share those numbers with you. To date, the Allies have lost 10,560 troops killed and another 16,010 wounded. Most of those losses were at the start of the war. But because of this, we know that the Russians have lost two million some odd killed and another eight hundred ninety thousand wounded.”

Several of the men gasped at the numbers. “How could it be so high?” asked Kelso.

“I’ll show you,” said Hammond. He looked at the operator. “Take it to the front so they can see the drones.”

The image zoomed in further and the men could see the drone units going across the landscape. In several instances, troops in front of them simply fell over dead as they passed by. Allied assault troops followed the drones in and continued, unhindered, on their way. “Eyeball is linked to our Link 16 system and everyone on the ground can see where the bad guys are. We coordinate things all the way to the ground level. Of course, the troops and fliers have no idea where the Link is getting its information, but they know it is accurate,” said Hammond. With a motion, the operator moved the image back to a broader area.

“This is why I am asking that no one ever know about what you are seeing here. If it got out, our enemy might find a way to counter it or to down our satellites. It would mean our casualties might climb almost as high as the Russians’. I want to get our people home and safe. This is helping me do that,” Hammond said.

Hammond stopped talking and let the men see the marvel in front of them, then said, “Take it to Sevastopol.”

The image shifted to the city on the Black Sea. “This is what we are watching at present.”

The men saw an American battleship entering Sevastopol harbor with two more battleships patrolling offshore. “Who is that?” asked Freeman.

Hammond smiled. “That’s my old ship, USS Iowa. They are going in to see if the Russians will surrender the city.” He pointed to a large group to the east. “Those are the Americans and the Turks.” He pointed to the northwest. “Those are the Italians and Spanish. The city is surrounded and we are hoping we can all stop here,” Hammond said. “If they fire on her, all bets are off.”

The R-44 crew was freezing. With the electricity out throughout the country there was nothing to power the electric heaters on the ship. Men huddled around in heavy blankets and multiple layers of clothing. Very little maintenance was doing since there was no way to effectively work in the engine rooms or lower spaces. It was miserable. When the orders came to sortie against the American ship, the crew just looked up with cold, tired eyes. Even Captain Potemkin had given up trying to make sense of it. But he had a job to do, even if it meant killing his crew. Barking out orders, the crew finally went below to fire up the ship’s main engines.

Knowing there was only a few hundred gallons of fuel in the ship’s tanks, the crew climbed down into the ship’s engine rooms and stared at the huge diesel engines. A team went over to the diesel generator and with a few adjustments, it started and the lights came on throughout the ship. A few more switches and the ship’s heating systems came on. At least they would be warm when they met their deaths.

After priming the fuel and lubrication pumps, the engineering crew hit the starter on one of the main engines. Nothing happened. The engine turned over, but the cylinders did not fire. While several men began checking the engine over, the second engine was made ready. Once again, the engine would not start. Now men frantically began checking the fuel systems to make sure fuel was getting into the engine. The glow plugs were checked to see if they were working. Everything was looked into. After fifteen minutes the generator began spitting, lost revolutions and finally died. Once again, the lights went out throughout the ship. Working with flashlights, the men finally figured out what had happened. Water was in the fuel tanks. The last of the usable fuel had been used by the generator. Now there was no way to get underway. A tired, but happy crew settled back in their blankets. At least they knew they would remain alive.

Five trucks scurried through the streets of Sevastopol trying to get to the high ground above the harbor. There was already an old battery of guns there, but they hadn’t worked in ages. Instead, they were dragging Sprut anti-tank guns, a 4.9 inch weapon that had armor piercing rounds available. These were the last pieces of artillery the Army commander had. They had been salvaged from the battlefields several times and looked beat up, but they were available.

On the way up the hill, one of the drivers looked back to see smoke pouring from one of the wheels of his gun. He tried to slow to a stop, but as he applied the brakes, the wheel came off the gun, causing it to dig into the ground. This broke the pin on the tongue of the truck mounting and the gun flipped over the side of an embankment, striking a house and causing the wall to collapse on top of it.

Another driver was racing along a dirt road. The ruts and potholes had the entire gun carriage bouncing like a rubber ball. The pin holding the trailer to the truck was just a piece of steel the driver had salvaged when the original pin was lost. As the pounding intensified, it too snapped. The tongue of the gun carriage immediately dug into the ground. With the truck going nearly 50 miles per hour, it flipped the gun over landing with a bang on the gun itself. When the driver stopped to see what could be done, he found the gun and its mechanisms scattered across the road.

Three of the guns made it to the old gun emplacement. Men piled out of the trucks to plant the pads to stabilize the guns, then turned them toward the huge ship coming into the harbor. Ammunition was brought forward and they quickly found that one of the guns was a different variant from the others and used different ammunition. The other two were quickly loaded and on orders from the General in charge, prepared to fire on the ship.

The breeches were closed and the men stood back. The young officer in charge ordered the guns to fire. On the left gun, a sergeant pulled the lanyard only to see the firing mechanism spring off the gun and land on the ground. The securing mechanism had shattered. On the right gun the lanyard was pulled and nothing happened. It was reset and pulled again. Once again, nothing happened. Carefully, the breech was opened. There were no marks on the powder casing. Upon careful examination, the firing pin was bent and jammed in the breech.

The dejected gun crews could do little else than to watch as the ship came to a halt within range of their guns. There wasn’t another piece of artillery they could get. The tanks that had been assigned were still at the front.

At six different positions around the harbor, rocket launchers were aimed at the American battleship. In each case, the trigger was pulled and nothing happened. Two of the missiles were found to be duds. Another two missiles were later found to have broken leads to the firing squibs. One missile went off only after the operator had become disgusted that it seemingly didn’t work and had pointed it toward their own troops. It bounced off the road several times before striking a tree. The last missile caught fire in the tube. The operator threw it to the ground and watched it burn.

Inside the white fortress, one old piece of artillery remained usable. Ammunition had been found and the gun loaded. No one really wanted to be around the old piece when it went off, but one man finally volunteered to pull the lanyard. The old powder went off with a fizzle and they saw the projectile come out of the barrel and hit the ground thirty feet away. The officer in charge saw it was a hopeless effort. He ordered his men to put the ammunition away and watched as a small boat with a white flag left one of the piers and made its way toward the ship.

The men made their way back to the small conference room and sat down. Most were too stunned to speak at first. What they had seen seemed surreal. It was well beyond description. Bill Kelso finally broke the silence.

“Mr. President, we cannot let this get out,” he said. “Now, for the first time I understand what you are going through and the things you must endure to keep things such as this a secret. Some would shout this achievement to the hills, but if you do, you have already lost the advantage. I can’t understand with so many people using it, how can it possibly be kept a secret,” he rambled along.

“Bill, we keep it a secret because almost all the people working with it understand the importance of keeping it so. To let people know about this would mean someone else finding a way around it. When that happens, people get killed, things are changed and we find ourselves in the middle of a war that we cannot win,” said Hammond. “I came here today because it is that important to me to keep Eyeball away from the general public. I don’t want to see young American and Allied lives wasted because someone who doesn’t understand decided they knew better than we do and this was something that everyone should know. You all know how everyone wants their moment of fame. Well, if they go to you and it goes public, we could well lose this war. We have worked very hard to use the technology we have to level the playing fields. In this case, it has tilted the field in our favor. Let’s not give that away,” he said.

“Can you share this thing about Harmon? That seems to be the center point of all this,” said Freeman.

“I’ll tell you what happened with me,” said the President. “Eyeball was up and operating just before the Russian attacks on our forces. Mister Harmon and others at the CIA saw the launches some ten minutes before they struck. Harmon made the decision not to warn us, but instead to call someone else, who also did not spread the warning. As a result, a few thousand of our people were killed who did not need to. If they had a warning, our ships would have had time to prepare and respond. But that did not happen. I found out a day later in a briefing. He actually told me that I could not tell him how to use the system, that only Congress had that authority. That is when I fired him and called the FBI to find out who was undermining both the Presidency and the security of the United States. I was later told of a special prosecutor and do not know anything more. I personally consider Harmon’s acts treason, but until we hear from the prosecutor, I will bide my time.”

“Now it makes sense,” said Dan Harley of NBC. “My primary source is on the staff of a member of the Senate Intelligence Committee. The senator is in the opposing party. I got another bite from a staffer of a congressman on the House Armed Services Committee, also in the opposing party,” he said. It was obvious he was getting angry. “Those sons of bitches were trying to use me to undermine this nation! They would give away our greatest asset just to satisfy their political aims. My god, what has all this come to?” he exclaimed.

“It’s not just you, Dan, it’s all of us. We can talk later to see if we are hearing from the same people. I think we can all agree this must stop. As Americans, we cannot let this get out. The question is what do we do about it?” Kelso said.

“Gentlemen, on my part, I would turn your information over to the FBI, but I understand your need to protect your sources,” said the President.

“No, it may be we have gone too far on that side. We must protect sources when we are trying to get to the bottom of a real problem, but we cannot let the media be used to destroy the nation we serve. We also cannot allow ourselves to become immersed in traitorous activities. Edward Snowdon hurt a few, but didn’t actually help anyone. In this case it would mean we would have the blood of our youth on our hands. I can’t let that happen. I think maybe the major media leaders need to meet and help solve this problem,” said Kelso. He turned to the President, “Mister President, I truly appreciate what you have done today. It has opened our eyes to a whole new world as far as how you and the government works and how much you depend on people like us. I know you probably will catch hell for sharing this with us, but I assure you on my part, I will never reveal Eyeball or anything else I have seen or talked about today. Thank you for sharing this confidence with us,” he said.

The other men in the room spoke up to pledge their secrecy and support. President O’Bannon thanked them, then turned to Hammond. “Roger, I appreciate you coming all the way here to be a part of this. Is there anything more you would like to say to these gentlemen?”

Hammond blushed slightly. “Only a couple of you have met me before. I appreciate your efforts to control when and how things get out about this war. My whole aim is to get it over with so we can all go home with the fewest casualties and some of the greatest stories our people can tell their grandkids. From what I understand, your people with our troops are doing a great job. After today, I feel much better working with you,” he said.

Kelso smiled, “Admiral, how are we really doing? Off the record, of course.” The others chuckled.

Hammond smiled at them. “Well, our troops should have the last Russians out of Poland by the end of the week. I fully expect the Ukraine to be next, but not before we take Vladivostok.”

“Vladivostok?” came the gasp of the men at the table. “We’ve advanced that far?” asked Freeman.

“Yes, we thought the incursion into eastern Russia might bring some of their troops east in response. It turns out not to be the case. As a result, our troops have now surrounded Vladivostok and all oil supplies from the east have been cut off. Once Vladivostok is taken we may move westward,” said Hammond.

“How far might we go?”

“As far as it takes.”

General Markus Leftvorno was upset. He had expected to have his artillery, rockets and the Navy to attack the ship as she entered the harbor, but for some reason, nothing had worked. Now he was forced to meet with the Americans to discuss a surrender. The city’s mayor had insisted. Even his staff had felt that to continue the fight would mean a slaughter, both of his troops and the local population. Word from Moscow was to begin burning everything so that there would be nothing left for the Allies to benefit. No one he talked to went along with that notion. For all practical purposes, his career was over.

They had scraped together five gallons of fuel to get the general, his aide and the mayor to the ship. Mayor Anatoly Trodenko and Colonel Ivan Sovatich sat opposite from him in the back of the small boat. All were looking at the monstrous hulk of a ship sitting in front of them. The huge guns pointed skyward as they approached, but there was no doubt their crews had them already loaded and ready in case anything happened. Some sort of stairway had been lowered down the ship’s side for them. The boat made its way to it and a crewman hooked onto it to steady the boat as they got off and went up the side of the ship.

As they reached the top of the stairs, the general saw two lines of immaculately dressed sailors standing on either side of the top of the stairs. Immediately, a whistle was blown and the men saluted. Leftvorno returned the salute as he walked down the line. There to greet him was an officer in dress blues who welcomed them aboard and ushered them up a ladder to a spacious cabin. The cabin was well lit and warm. They were greeted there by a female wearing the uniform of a three star general and another officer.

“Welcome aboard USS Iowa,” said Richardson as she extended her hand. Leftvorno wasn’t sure of the protocol in such matters, but shook her hand anyway. She invited them to sit at the table. Tea was offered but turned down.

“General, I asked for this truce in the hope that we might save lives. As you know, the Allied armies have advanced to surround Sevastopol and now sit on its outskirts. Our fleet is sitting off your harbor. Throughout this campaign, you and your people have fought well and bravely. We do not wish to prolong the suffering of your troops or the civilian population. Although we are ready to enter the city by force, I am sure you know what outcome that will bring. I hope we might come to an agreement where the fighting ends and we can bring food, supplies and power back to this city,” Richardson said.

All the while, Jeffers translated her words. They noticed the glances between the men. The general looked slightly angry while the others more contrite.

“You are enemies of my country,” Leftvorno said in a huff. “We have enough men and supplies to drive you out of the Crimea. Already we are expecting reinforcements from Moscow.”

Richardson gave him a tired look. “General, we both know that is not the case. No supplies are on their way. Right now we estimate you have around five thousand people defending the city. We saw your artillery on the hill and the gun in the old fort. We also know you deployed some rockets. We know what remains of the fleet is sitting cold in their berths. The rest we destroyed at sea weeks ago. We have the survivors of those ships aboard one of our vessels even now. I am in command of over two hundred thousand troops, not to mention the fleet in the Black Sea. Do you really want us to come in here and tear everything apart? Sevastopol is a beautiful city. It would be such a shame to level it,” she said.

The mayor spoke up. “I do not wish this either. We must come to some sort of agreement, if nothing else to save my people,” he almost pleaded.

“Mayor Trodenko, nothing would please me more. But I must be assured that all fighting will cease. Once done, I have a container ship loaded with food and fuel to bring in and electrical generators to return the city’s power. I would much rather my troops help with that than using their weapons,” said Richardson.

“But we have our orders,” said Leftvorno.

“From a government thousands of miles away, which cannot give you the support to get the job done, much less provide for the citizens of this city,” said Richardson.

“I will not let you kill half my people in this insane determination to commit suicide,” Trodenko nearly shouted.

“Perhaps we might hear your terms,” the colonel said calmly. His remark seemed to anger Leftvorno, but he kept quiet.

“I will offer you the same terms I offered the North Koreans when I entered Pyongyang,” said Richardson. “All fighting must cease. If you and your men desire to go home, I will provide food and fuel to get back to Russian territory. If you decide to stay, you will remain in your camps and we will provide food and fuel to stay warm. You will be held responsible for your people, but we will need to make sure they no longer take up arms against us. All weapons will be collected and placed in a safe place. If you desire, your people can work alongside ours to help bring food and supplies into the city. I know we are planning on having the sailors we return to you help us out. Once done, you can all sit out the remainder of the war here in safety and relative comfort,” she said.

“You do not send us to a camp?” asked the General.

“What would be the use? There is no place to go since I already offered to transport you back to your own lines. Wouldn’t it be better to keep your troops together and help out the people of Sevastopol?” she asked.

Jeffers turned and asked for permission to add something of his own. Richardson nodded.

“General, I would like to share something with you,” he said. “My mother and her family are from Russia. They are very proud of their heritage. My grandfather often related to our neighbors of the things Russians had accomplished over the years. They left Russia in the nineties when my mother met my father and they got married. I was raised feeling that pride they felt. Although they all eventually became American citizens, their feelings for Russia never changed. I have to ask myself, if my grandfather were still alive, what would make him proud here in Sevastopol? What can we do here that would make Russian citizens proud again? I am an American, so I cannot make that decision. With all that is happening right now, what would make my grandfather proud?” Jeffers concluded.

The general smiled at Jeffers. “You are proud to be an American?”

Jeffers nodded. “Yes. And because of my grandfather, I am also proud to be part Russian,” he said earnestly.

The three smiled at Jeffers. Leftvorno slapped him on the arm. “You speak well, Commander. Too bad you are on the wrong side,” he said with a wink.

“May we have a few minutes alone, please?” asked Trodenko.

“Of course,” said Richardson. She and Jeffers got up and left the room. Once outside the door Jeffers went to the adjacent pantry and listened in at the pantry door.

“The young man is right. What shall we be proud of?” Trodenko asked. “The Allies have swept across the Crimea as if on a holiday. Do you really think your meager forces can stop them?”

“Yes, but we are at war!” shouted Leftvorno. “My job…”

“Your job?” asked Colonel Sovatich. “Just three months ago you were a major and I had just finished military school. We have done our job despite the fact we were abandoned down here, simply because our illustrious President is fixated on the rest of Europe. I for one do not want my name associated with a massacre. That, I can be proud of. We fought as best we could. Now, for once, let our people know we are looking out for them. Let them feel like their lives matter more than just a strip of land. This war is over for us. Let the others fight it for a while. If you want to leave, so be it, but I’m staying here to help out. I’ve had it with my government and with our leadership,” he argued.

“Some may consider that treasonous,” said Leftvorno.

“It’s common sense,” said Trodenko. “Did you not see the guns on this ship? They alone could lay waste to this city. There are two more like her outside the breakwater. You and your men, along with many innocent people will be killed. The government talked about taking care of all Russian speaking people, well, it is time to start doing it. All we have seen so far is death, starvation, cold and suffering. This can change that,” he said tapping his finger on the table.

“Look,” said Sovatich, “even the guns you sent to shell this ship for some reason didn’t work. Neither did the rockets, a helicopter, two tanks and our remaining navy. The few ships remaining all had problems and couldn’t respond. I don’t know why, but nothing seemed to work. Out of all that, nothing! I have a feeling we will keep running into problems like that. We really have no choice.”

Ledtvorno hung his head. The man was right, there really was nothing more he could do. His people had little food and barely enough ammunition to last a week. The thought of surrender was almost more than he could bear, but he had to face the fact that he would be leading his men to their deaths. The young man had touched a nerve. That would not be something to be proud of. He looked up at the others and nodded. “We will do it. We will also stay and help the people of this city as much as we can. I will take responsibility,” he said softly.

Richardson and Jeffers were called back into the room. After a few minutes the three left, but not before another ship entered through the breakwater. They stopped to watch a moment. This was more like a transport ship than a warship, but all along her decks were cheering, shouting Russian sailors. They noticed that a number of the Iowa’s crew were on deck waving back. Perhaps this was an omen of good things to come.

“Sevastopol has surrendered?” screamed Borodin. “Get some troops down there! I want a new commander in place today! We cannot lose control of the Black Sea,” he shouted to the people in the room.

“It is too late for that,” said one general. “Everything we have is being thrown at the Allies in Poland. Even that will probably be over in the next week,” he said. “We have done everything possible to make this happen, yet our supplies and troops can’t even get to the front anymore. They attack our trains, truck convoys, our ships, everything!” he exclaimed. “It is as if they are watching everything we do.”

A man came rushing into the room and handed Pusko a message. He quickly scanned it. “We just received word that Vladivostok is surrounded. The commander says it is the Americans and the Koreans,” he said numbly.

“The Koreans? They aren’t even in this war,” Borodin wailed.

Pusko sighed. “It seems we underestimated how much support the Poles and Americans would get,” he lamented.

Borodin pointed a finger at Pusko. “You told me this would be over in a month. You told me there was nothing the Allies could do to stop us. You told me it would not impact the rest of our people. Now you say we have lost? That is unacceptable. How many are carrying arms right now?” he demanded.

“A little over two million carrying arms,” said one of the men.

“Well, two million is a lot of troops! Pull them from everywhere we can. Let the internal security forces deal as best they can with disturbances within our borders. Get them to the Polish border and tell them to move!” Borodin shouted.

“The way our people have been killed, it may not be enough,” said the first general.

“Then we will make it enough,” Borodin said angrily. “How many tactical nuclear weapons do we have ready to move?”

The men in the room grew pale. It had now come to this. None thought this was the way to go. “Bringing nuclear weapons into this will surely bring retaliation from the Allies,” said one man.

Very well, we have chemical and biological weapons, do you propose using those?” Borodin asked.

“Definitely not! We would be killing our own people almost as fast as we kill the Allied troops. Besides, our equipment is not that good,” said Pusko.

“Then ready the tactical weapons.”

“It will mean our people will have to march through the areas we just obliterated. The residual radiation will make some sick and others will eventually get cancer,” said another.

“I don’t care about long term effects. Once we get across Europe and this is over, we can take care of the after effects,” said Borodin.

“There are over 5,000 warheads we can use for this. Most are artillery rounds, while some are for our bombers. They range in strength from two kilotons to twenty kilotons. Once we start using them, our people could march through the next day and be relatively safe. We will immediately start issuing protective gear and dosimeters to each soldier. That will let us know what to expect later on,” said Pusko. “We can start on a broad front, then narrow the area and use them as needed to keep the Allies out of the way,” he said.

“Then do it!” demanded Borodin. “You have one week before we begin operations. Get the troops in place and equipped by Saturday or we start regardless,” Borodin said as he turned and stamped out of the room.

The generals looked at each other. “You realize they will respond with weapons of their own,” one man said.

“It is the end of us all,” said another.

“Show some backbone!” demanded Pusko. “The Allies are as frightened of these things as we are. They probably will never use them. In the meantime, our troops will be able to get behind their lines and move out.”

“You realize this leaves the rest of our nation without Army support. We won’t be able to protect the rest of our borders.”

“Give more arms to our internal security forces. They will have to make do until this is over,” Pusko said. “Make the plans and get them executed. I will be attending the latest graduation from the academy day after tomorrow, then will be back for your reports,” he said as he left the room.

The men looked back and forth at each other. This had to end. Russia was bleeding to death and they simply wanted to open the wounds further. Somehow, they needed to make it stop.