Arctic Wind

Chapter 3 Opportunities

Anton Kursov was starting to get tired of dealing with Bugayev. It seemed that every day there was a new task to be performed. The matter with the old bus driver had been a warning flag. Although he denied it, there was no doubt that Bugayev had shot the old man and made it look like a suicide. Kursov loved Russia, but he was no murderer, no matter what the cause. Now Bugayev wanted information on what was going on in some of the rural outskirts where the Polish Army and Air Force had bases. Since Kursov never left his store during the day except in a dire emergency, this meant he would have to use his own son to get the information. Otherwise, people would become suspicious. That bothered him. Despite his stern upbringing, Petyr had become a good, honest young man — someone to be proud of. And Kursov was extremely proud of his son. Brining him into all this placed his son into jeopardy. He would have to make sure everything was kept as “normal” as possible.

To make this work, he had enlisted several of the team members to receive deliveries so that Petyr would have to pass by specific areas or buildings on his way. It would mean longer delivery times, but his son never really complained.

Petyr came into the shop to pick up his packages for the day. He smiled at his father. “How many today, Father?” he asked.

“About twenty today. There’s a new one for a Mrs. Jankowski. She lives over in district six. The directions are on her bag,” Kursov said calmly.

A hurt look came over Petyr’s face. “But that’s about seven kilometers from here,” he complained. “I won’t get back for a while.”

“Our reputation is growing and it has to be done. Once you get your license next year, you will be able to use our car. Until then, you must pedal,” he said sternly. “Besides, your new girlfriend can wait.”

Petyr shrugged his shoulders and picked up the basket of bags. Going out the side door of the shop he saw Freda coming in from school. He waved at her. “Looks like I may be a little late this evening. One of my deliveries is seven kilometers away,” he said sadly.

“Seven kilometers!” Freda exclaimed. “That’s a long way to deliver medications,” she said.

He shrugged again. “I guess it has to be done. Do you have to cook tonight?”

Freda nodded. “Papa said he wants me to have more time for myself, but our timing is a little off. Are we still going to the park this weekend?” she asked.

Petyr’s face broadened. “As far as I can tell. Father said he would make the deliveries on Saturday if we wanted to go, but that means I must still do it for the rest of the week. I just hope I’ll be able to sit with you for a while tonight,” he said smiling.

“I’ll wait for you after supper,” she said with a wink.

Smiling broadly, he waved good-bye and began making his way down the street. The first few deliveries were in the neighborhood. Mrs. Kletchner rewarded him with some home baked cookies while Mr. Jenski tried to get him into a conversation about the suicide in the news. Each of the customers knew him well and it made the job go quickly in most cases. The ride to deliver to Mrs. Jankowski seemed to take forever, although Petyr was surprised to see a lot more planes at the air base as he rode by. It appeared there were more of the new sleek fighter planes parked along the runway and several were circling overhead as they got ready to land.

Mrs. Jankowski seemed a little cold when he knocked on her door. She grabbed the paper package, grunted and handed over the payment without saying a word. As the door was closing, he saw her throw the bag onto a small table at the entrance and keep walking. With a sigh, Petyr climbed back onto his bike and began the long trip home. By the time he returned, it was getting dark. He entered the shop and gave his father the pouch he carried with all the payments he had collected. Kursov could tell his son was tired.

“How was the trip?” Kursov asked quietly.

Petyr shrugged. “That delivery to Mrs. Jankowski was a killer. The only thing that broke up the ride was getting to see all the planes at the air base.”

Kursov eyed his son. “Really? What was going on?”

“There are a lot more planes there than I remembered. As I passed by there must have been over a hundred parked along the runway. There were even some coming in for a landing. I love watching them fly,” he said with the enthusiasm of most young men when watching the jets dart across the sky.

That was just the kind of information Kursov needed. He acted as if it were nothing. “Well, at least you will get to see them every so often. Mrs. Jankowski is scheduled to get a package at least once each week. I guess her doctor is watching how she does,” he said as he worked on another order. “Now get some dinner. If you hurry, she may be waiting,” he said with a slight smile.

Petyr grinned back and made his way upstairs where his mother gave him a hug. “Hard day?” she asked sincerely.

“Pretty tough,” Petyr said. “Father sent me on one run way out past the air base.”

“That far? Then you must be hungry. Call your brother and sister to supper.”

Petyr called out to his siblings who came bolting out of their rooms. Camille was just seven and she sprung into Petyr’s arms for her usual hug before sitting down. Sasha, thirteen, went straight to his seat. Nothing ever got in the way of him and his food. After a quick prayer, everyone began eating.

Sasha looked up between bites. “You going out to see Freda again tonight?” he asked with a sly look.

Mrs. Kursov gave him a stern look. “Sasha, mind your manners. You wouldn’t want him asking you about what you do with someone,” she scolded.

“But Mom, he’s been going down there for the last week. I’d say he was keeping her busy,” Sasha said with glee.

“It’s okay, Mom. He’s just jealous,” said Petyr with a laugh.

“She’s pretty,” said Camille. “Why don’t you bring her up here?” she asked.

“I will, someday. As long as Sasha behaves,” Petyr grinned.

“Are you two still going into town tomorrow?” his Mom asked.

“We plan to. We might also go down to the pool and get a little swim. We could both stand to get out some,” he said.

“He just wants to see her without clothes on,” Sasha said under his breath. He was smacked on the head for his troubles.

“Sasha!” he mother exclaimed as she whacked him. “You are getting disgusting. One more remark like that and you will go straight to bed!” she admonished. She turned back to Petyr. “You should go and have a good time. Never mind this one,” she said giving Sasha another glare.

Petyr shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll remember what he said when he starts dating.”

“Could I go with you?” Camille asked quietly.

Petyr smiled. “Not yet. I need to get to know Miss Freda a little more first. But we’ll take you with us sometimes. I think Freda would like to meet you,” he said to his sister.

Camille broke into a big smile. “That would be fun!” she exclaimed.

The rest of the meal was spent talking about school and other things, then while his mother went to take over from his father in the shop, Petyr did the dishes. Mr. Kursov sat down and talked to his children while he ate. By the time Petyr had finished, the rest of the dishes, his father handed over his plate.

“Your honey is down at the bench,” called out Sasha from the front window.

“Sasha!” shouted Kursov. But the look in his eye betrayed the fun of what was happening.

Petyr excused himself and made his way downstairs. True enough, Freda was sitting on the bench waiting for him. In the week they had been talking Petyr had grown quite fond of Freda. The prospects of taking her out for a day together thrilled him more than anything else. He sat down next to her on the bench.

“So I’m your honey, huh?” she quipped. Then she let out a laugh he had come to really enjoy. It meant she was okay with the idea. She turned and looked up at the window. “Hi, Sasha,” she called out.

They heard the window close with a bang. Now both were laughing.

“Sorry about that,” Petyr said as he took her hand.

“Sasha is like my brother. At that age, they think more with their hormones than with their brains. Maybe later we will take the two of them along,” Freda said.

“You’ll have to fight Camille first,” said Petyr. “She already looks at you like a big sister.”

Freda smiled and nodded. “I never had a little sister. That would be nice.”

As usual, they talked for a while until the store lights went out and the door locked. In a few minutes she slid closer and he put his arm around her. For a while, they simply sat and enjoyed the security they felt together, until she turned to him. “You think you could stand some company on your deliveries next week?” she asked.

Petyr looked at her with surprise. “Of course I could, but I thought you couldn’t.”

Papa said to take some time and go with you. I used to love riding. This might help me get back into some shape,” she said snuggling closer.

Petyr held her tight. Of all people, Freda didn’t need to get in shape; she was already perfect as far as he was concerned. But the thought of having her with him made him feel good all over. “You sure you can keep up?”

She elbowed him in the ribs. “You’ll just have to find out,” she said.

Petyr looked at her and smiled. “You make me very happy,” he said. There was some emotion in his voice.

Freda almost gasped. She looked him in the eyes. “I am happy too, especially when I am with you.”

A new look came over his face. He eased closer. When he felt he was safe, he closed the gap between them and he felt her lips against his own. The kiss lasted for several minutes. When they came apart, both took a deep breath of air, then let out a quiet laugh. She rested her head on his shoulder. “That was wonderful,” she said.

“Then we need to do it some more,” he said. They were in the middle of another wonderful kiss when they heard a voice above them.

“Ewwww,” cried Sasha.

This time both of them let out a laugh.

After a brunch together where everyone shared what was going on in their lives, Hammond and Jeffers led a minivan with Tim Maxwell and Dr. Harry Reid to the David Taylor Research and Development Center, located on the banks of the Potomac River in Maryland. It was a huge facility with some of the tightest security Maxwell had ever seen. They were stopped no less than three times before they got out of the van to be met by Dr. Thomas and a man wearing a short sleeve white shirt and khaki slacks.

“Admiral, this is Dr. Gregory Mason, the man who runs our RF research and the anechoic chamber. When I called him yesterday he volunteered to come see what you’ve got,” said Thomas.

The men shook hands and Dr. Mason led them into a large concrete building. “Were you kidding when you said this material absorbs RF energy?” he asked.

“I wasn’t kidding,” said Maxwell. “We found that once the material is grounded, all the radios and cellphones in the vicinity quit working. One of the guys brought in an old CB radio he had. At first it worked fine, then when we grounded the thing, nothing happened. We could see the indicator that it was transmitting, but a receiver in the next room quit getting a signal. That’s when I called the Captain — I mean, Admiral Hammond,” he said sheepishly.

The men entered through a heavy door into a room filled with monitors and equipment. On one of the walls was another heavy door leading to the chamber itself. There was already some equipment inside it.

“I took the liberty of setting a few things up,” said Mason. “There’s a transmitter antenna and a receiving antenna on the other side of the chamber. As you can see, I can change the position of the transmitting antenna to see how this may work from different angles. I can also interchange different transmitters using a variety of frequencies so that we can see just how much this material of yours can do.” Mason manipulated some dials and the men watched as the antenna moved to different spots in the room. “Now, let’s see this material you have,” he said.

Dr. Reid opened his briefcase and extracted a grayish sheet of resin covering some sort of cloth. There was a hole drilled in one corner with a bolt through it. “It’s not pretty, but I can’t dispute what it does. Quite frankly, I’ve never seen anything like it before,” Reid said.

Mason held up the plate and studied it. There wasn’t much to tell. “Let’s hook it up then,” he said.

The men followed Mason into the chamber and watched as he placed the plate into a holder in the middle of the room. “You say it works when it’s grounded?”

“Yes, sir,” said Maxwell.

Mason nodded and pulled out a wire, attaching it to the bolt. He led the wire back to a panel and plugged it in. “This will let me control when it is grounded,” he said. Once done, everyone left the room.

Mason and the others returned to the control room and he turned on both the transmitter and receiver. “Okay, leaving the plate ungrounded, let’s get the signal going.” He switched on the transmitter and immediately got a strong signal on the receiver set. He measured the received output. Then, looking at the others, he said, “Here we go.” He hit the switch grounding the plate.

Immediately the signal dropped to zero. Mason got a surprised look on his face. “Well I’ll be damned.” He then began moving the dials and watched as the transmitting antenna began moving around the room. The receiver readings remained at zero. The dial didn’t even flinch.

Next, he used other controls to turn the plate to different angles. Only when the plate was nearly end on to the transmitter did the receiver begin picking up a weak signal.

“Holy shit,” exclaimed Mason. He lit off another transmitter and tied it to the antenna. Once again, the signal was absorbed. Once more, he switched transmitters and hut the transmit key. Again, nothing happened. Mason flipped the switch ungrounding the plate. The signal came through measuring over 10,000 watts of power.

After shutting down the systems, Mason turned to look at a stunned Thomas, then back to Maxwell. “Young man, I need to see that formula, then I need to talk to you about a job.”

“As expected, they have begun their buildups. Unfortunately, they have begun too late. Even if they begin conscription tomorrow, they cannot get any sizable force together before we begin our operations,” said General Ivan Pusko, the Chief of the General Staff for the Armed Forced of the Russian Federation. He was sitting in a private meeting with the head of the Armed forces, the President of Russia, Alexi Borodin. The two of them had planned for the last six years in their bid to restore the glory of Russia. Both men had grown up in the Soviet Union and if they had their way, it would return. Painstakingly, over those six years, they had built back the military to levels close to where they were at the end of the 20th Century, when the Soviet Union had hundreds of ships, and thousands of tanks and planes. Now they were ready to make their boldest move.

Borodin took a sip of tea and set the cup in its saucer. “I heard from our intelligence service that the American President told them they would have to fight the next war on their own. It will just mean we will not lose so many of our troops. When do we begin placing our assets?” he asked.

“It begins on the 30th of next month. We give our people thirty days to reach their assigned positions and then wait for the final signal. Then, as we planned, everything begins. Our commanders are fully briefed and ready,” said Pusko.

“Good. I want everything to go at once. That means our submarines, ships, planes and troops hit their target together. I know it is difficult, but if you remember, the Americans boasted about their so-called ‘shock and awe’ phases when they attacked Iraq. It is time they came to know what shock and awe really is. We have the most powerful armed force in the world and I want this to be quick and decisive. Although I have no doubt of our victory, I would rather have it at little cost to us. Make sure everything is arranged accordingly,” he ordered, pointing his finger at the general.

“I have already anticipated this. Even you may be shocked at how quickly it can be done,” the general said with a grin.

Borodin chuckled. “I should have known you would read my mind,” he said. “Are there any troubles that you foresee?”

“The only drawback has been a few of the small pacifist groups who keep showing up at our bases. Up till now we have ignored them, but seeing them has a bad effect on the men,” he said.

Borodin thought a moment, then looked directly into Pusko’s eyes. “Then I would say the time is good to arrest them and make an example. If any of the troops say anything, they can be made an example themselves. We are too close to let these low class extremists become a bother. After the war, they won’t have anything to complain about anyway,” he said with a grin.

Pusko smiled. “I was hoping you might say that. I will begin rounding them up.”

Borodin smiled. “It’s people like them that caused the downfall of the old order. We need discipline for our people. That is what will make us great,” he said as he got up and made his way toward the door. He stopped and turned back to Pusko. “Have someone take photographs. I’d like to see what happens,” he said as he turned again and left the room.

Borodin was not one to listen to protesters. He had started out in the old KGB and had continued in the Federal Security Service after the Soviet downfall. From there he had access to files and materials which he would find beneficial. Some had speculated that he made his way through blackmail and intimidation. During the Chechen uprisings, he claimed to have fouled several Chechen attempts to blow up government buildings. When some buildings were attacked, he led the troops to track down the terrorists and bring them to justice, though few ever made it to trial. He seemed to always get the credit and the publicity for the events. At one time, someone had told a member of the media that Borodin himself had placed the charges and was using the event to feather his own nest. Shortly afterward the person disappeared and was never seen again. Eventually Borodin rose to a cabinet level under Putin. He became well known as a ruthless supporter of Russia and Russian culture. He garnered friends in the military and promoted stronger military presence across the globe. At the same time, his intelligence ties helped him get rid of those in government who opposed his ideas. After the death of President Wiclow, he ruthlessly gathered the support necessary to be elected President. Several months later he dissolved the Duma and assumed both the Presidency and position of Prime Minister. He had been running the nation almost as a dictatorship ever since.

Borodin walked into his office and looked out of his window. He could see the protesters chanting below. He was gratified as two vans pulled up and the police shoved the protesters inside. Within minutes they were gone.

Borodin chuckled. No one would slow him from what he was going to do.

“Our team was tasked with looking at what we may be up against. Thanks to General Best, Admiral Hustvedt and Colonel Meyers, we now have a very good idea of what might be thrown at us,” said Colonel Peterson. ‘Please follow along with your briefing sheets. I will give just the overview. The specifics are all on the sheets in front of you.” He turned on the PowerPoint presentation. Picking up a pointer he began rattling off the dire statistics.

“For the army side, we expect to run up against 35,000 tanks of various types from the T-72s to the T-90s. There are over 50,000 various armored personnel carriers, and there are an additional 25,000 other armed infantry vehicles such as BMPs. Lighter vehicles, including their version of the Humvee number over 20,000. Add to that the self-propelled anti-aircraft and artillery vehicles and we have about 200,000 vehicles to go up against. One interesting note is that they seem to have been going all out producing more of the anti-aircraft vehicles. The artillery has increased as well, but not at the rate of the anti-air assets. We were talking about this and it appears they want to counter our air attack forces to allow them to maneuver more freely. It seems they learned a little from the Iraq wars,” he said with a straight face.

“On the attack helo front, you can expect nearly 5,000 various Hinds, Havocs and Hokums. These things are armored and dangerous, but they have their weaknesses. You just have to survive long enough to kill it.”

“Now for the interesting part. Over the last three years the Russian Army hasn’t gotten smaller, despite the claims. They extended their length of service from one year to five. At the same time, they have not slowed down their intake. As you know, there is mandatory service in Russia. When it was just for one year we figured the troops we might go up against would be pretty green and not very effective. That has now changed. We estimate a standing army of a minimum of 5 million people” said Peterson. There were some gasps in the cluster of officers. Peterson looked at the faces in the room. He could tell the news he was giving them was causing great concern. He pressed on. “One thing we are noting is that it looks like what we can put up against this is around 1 million.” He pointed back to the graphs. “Current force dispositions are here in red. As you can see, there is a much heavier concentration on the western front. They are keeping these assets within 100 miles of the borders, which means they can attack anywhere within 24 hours. The Russian combat troops are armed very similarly to our troops, so that gives you some idea what will be coming at us from the Army side. For the air force, I will hand it over to Colonel Meyers.” Peterson took at seat as Meyers stood and began his part of the program.

“Air assets in Russia are also climbing. There are currently over 1500 fighter aircraft from the SU-27s to the MiG-31s. Intelligence reports there is a new stealth type fighter, the MiG-35 entering production. It is similar to the F-117, a little larger and more difficult to fly. We don’t know how stealthy it is, but we cannot sell them short. Strike aircraft number between 500 and 600 aircraft, mostly Sukhois. Their bombers number over 250. These include our infamous Bears as well as the Backfires, and a whole lot of Blackjacks, which are their equivalent of our B-1. If you look at their tactics, they plan on using the fighters to keep the air clear while the others do the dirty work. Keep something in mind, the Russian Air Force has more attack helicopters. There are another 10,000 of them. They will work in conjunction with the ground assault forces and army units. I believe you can see what this indicates to us. Everything is centered on supporting ground troops. The fighters keep our air forces away and the rest get in there and attack targets on the ground. The air force personnel number 400,000 of the 5 million. We are holding the missile programs until last,” Meyer said. “Now I turn it over to Admiral Hustvedt.”

Hustvedt took the podium and looked grim. “During the Reagan Administration we boasted a 600 ship navy. We are going to wish we had that today. The total number of ships available in the Russian Navy is 573. To counter that we have 338 in all our allied forces. They now have two aircraft carriers and have brought back three of the Kirov battlecruisers. But the largest part of their fleet is submarines. There are over 200 of them. Leading the pack are twenty Yasen class attack submarines. These are the improved Akulas we often talk about. They are not like those of the old Soviet Navy. They are quiet, fast and deadly. Our guys have a difficult time finding them. If the Russians send out their submarine force, we are going to have a very difficult time for a while. There are over 280,000 people in their navy and marines. That’s more than twice our manpower. There’s one thing we have going for us. They are still geared toward home defense. True, they are learning to use those carriers, but they still are not using any kind of tactic for true ocean-going power projection. But that won’t go for much if they go all out. My guess is they will throw away their fleet just to keep their soldiers advancing,” said Hustvedt.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have been watching both the Soviets and the Russians for a long time. We know their systems are not as reliable as we would have, but none-the-less, they are fielding a formidable force,” Hustvedt continued. “You all are very familiar with our forces. When you stack them side to side, the way we come out on top is with our carriers. I can bet you real money they are aware of that. So when we plan, we need to make sure we protect these assets. Mostly we need to protect them from these — the Russian missiles. Take a look at this list. They are fielding 37 different surface to air missile systems, 35 different air to air and air to surface missile systems, 28 tactical surface to surface and another 17 naval anti-ship missile systems. I am particularly pointing out these because nearly half of these can be launched from their submarines,” Hustvedt said grimly. “You can see how this could change things. Submarines lying in wait could sink anything we have at a long range. We might not even know they were there. But there’s one more thing to watch out for. The Russians have developed very sophisticated sets of mines. They can also be deployed from submarines and can be set to activate at predetermined times and places. They have a life of over a year under the water and can be retrieved if necessary. If they have already placed them, our carriers might not even get out of harbor,” he said. Everyone could see he was not happy. Indeed, the more Hustvedt had dug into the material the angrier he became. He turned back to the people in the room. “I don’t mean to frighten you, but I am,” he said as he sat back down.

Admiral Best stood. He had warmed to the task of the committee and had spent many a sleepless night gathering information and helping the team with their presentations. But this one had been something special. “I wanted to give you a briefing on the person we are going up against. To do so, I asked the help of a young man in the room,” he said with a smile. He motioned for someone and Lieutenant Rod Jeffers came forward, much to the surprise of Hammond.

Jeffers looked a little concerned, but as he began to speak, he became more confident. “I was asked to share my experiences as a Russian,” he said. There were some murmurs in the room. “More to the point, my grandfather emigrated from Russia long before I was born, but I was raised listening to him talk about Russia all my life until he died at 102 last year. From experience, I can tell you that the Russians are a very proud people. They are a very tough people and there is a lot of discipline in their lives. My grandfather told many stories of what it was like in Rostok, and how they eked out a living during the Soviet era. He spoke with pride of all the things the Russians did in the space race, their army, air force and navy, but also how they survived many things, from the purges to the Russia winters. He even boasted any Russian could drink any American under the table,” he said with a grin. There were some chuckles in the group. “He always told me it was because the Russians were a stronger people than others. They had to be to survive in the conditions they did, and he was ready to fight anyone who said otherwise. He once told me how they went along with the governments because it was theirs and no one else’s. He fought in the closing stages of the Great Patriotic War as a 15 year old, and still maintained his uniform and medals.

“He and the family came here in 1994, when times were very rough in Russia and my mother had met and married my father while in college. Grandfather used to always tell people how Russian things were better than here, but over time he changed. He later told me that America was the only place where he could share Russia with others and be accepted. In the end, he became a citizen, even though he still told people he was Russian,” Jeffers concluded.

Admiral Best asked him, in Russian, how he felt. Jeffers answered back, in fluent Russian. Best stood and faced the group. “I just asked Jeffers how he felt about this. He said he was an American, but still held his grandfather’s heritage close. When did you learn Russian?” Best asked Jeffers.

Jeffers grinned. “Grandfather insisted we all know it and speak it in his house. I still use it when I get home, sometimes. My mother appreciates it,” he said.

Best turned to the group. “This is typical,” he said. “I asked Jeffers to tell you because he was able to put into words exactly what it took the intelligence department years to formulate. It’s personal for him and it’s very personal for your typical Russian. These are a very proud people, but also practical. They follow the orders of their leaders because it is what they have always done. Once they get something to work, they stick to it and rarely make changes. It will take a major change to make the people change the way they do things or to change their government,” he said. “That includes their tactics. We have watched them for years and most tactics have remained basically the same. That is why the navy is still primarily tasked with defending the shores. The air force is charged with supporting the troops and the army is the primary force projector. It gives you an idea of what to expect and ways to counter their activities. I will have a more detailed intelligence brief as we begin our plans phase, but with just these few facts, we can begin to see patterns and project responses.” Best turned to Jeffers, “Thank you Lieutenant.” He nodded toward Hammond and sat down.

Hammond stood and addressed the group. “Nice work on everyone’s part. We are now three quarters of the way through this process. I will be leaving in two days to talk over the plans of our European allies and get a better feel of their concerns and priorities. General Richardson will accompany me on this trip and when we get back, we will meet to go over what was said. I have been sharing some of what we are doing with both the CNO and the Undersecretary. I believe we have gotten their complete attention. Now it’s up to us to make the final plans to wrap our task up in a neat package. I thank you for everything you have done so far. I really do believe what we come up with will be of great value in the coming months. Thank you all again,” he said concluding the meeting.

The group got up and made its way to the doors. Best hung around for a few minutes and walked up to Hammond. “Surprised?” he asked with a grin.

Hammond chuckled. “You know, I never even asked about Rod’s family. And I never dreamed he could speak Russian. How did you find out? Or should I ask?” he grinned.

“It was in his security clearance. I just went up and asked the rest. He’s very forthcoming about things. He may not know it, but he has the same pride as his grandfather. Nice kid,” Best said.

Hammond nodded. “Yes, he is, and very good at what he does. I’m glad he’s on our side,” he said.

“Roger, I can already see where this is going. Young Jeffers and I talked about it yesterday while we were preparing for today. He has some very insightful ideas. He mentioned he has talked to you as well.”

Hammond nodded. “We talk a lot and see eye-to-eye on most things. He also thinks outside the box. He told me he’s making up a list of things he would be concerned with in preparation for any real conflict. Quite frankly, I am eager to see that list. I want to compare it with my own. You have some thoughts?” he asked Best.

Best nodded. “A bunch. I’m looking at their recent activities to see what patterns are sticking out. That will be ready when you get back. Between the three of us, we might just scare people,” Best grinned.

“Hope so, Harry. That’s what they pay us for,” said Hammond before leaning in toward Best, “and thanks for all the support over the last month. It’s been a little tough corralling the four stars to keep on point.”

Best slapped Hammond in the shoulder. “Roger, we all know it’s not the rank, it’s the mission. You were tasked to get the job done and either they are on the team or not. You’ve shown them you could more than do the job. It’s been kind of fun watching them get moved around without them knowing it.”

“Yea, but you were a big help running the interference the first couple of weeks. I appreciate it,” Hammond said sincerely.

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” said Best. “Have a nice trip,” he said as he turned and left the room.

Hammond watched him leave. Harry Best was now on the ‘friend’ list. He couldn’t wait to introduce him to his other friends.

Washington D.C. evenings during the late summer were always hot and muggy. It was 8:30 in the evening and the sun was still on the horizon. The traffic in the city had finally died back some, but the fumes of the day hung in the air. It almost burned the eyes to be outdoors, yet many could be found out walking, getting at least a little exercise and trying to slough off the tensions of the day. Claire Richardson was no different. Getting back to her quarters just a half hour before, she had immediately shed the uniform and donned lighter clothes and some sneakers. She used to run, but age had crept up on her and now running was out of the question. Now, she walked at least a mile a day and worked out in her small home gym. She was proud of the fact that she could still keep up with the younger Marines in most of the physical training. But the knees and hips had begun to weaken, so she simply changed her routine.

As she walked along at a brisk pace, she was surrounded by the sights and sounds of the neighborhoods. Some families were out, with children playing along the narrow yards and in some side alleys. Claire didn’t notice them. She was very concerned. The more the task group had gotten into their mission, the more she was seeing that the United States was ill equipped to take on what was about to happen. War was coming. She could feel it. It was looking like the allies would have to kill the enemy at a rate of about ten to one. Those weren’t good odds. True, we had better equipment and well trained troops, but going up against five million people under arms was something she knew was going to be almost impossible.

Hammond had been right. The group had been able to identify the potential threat and gather all the information on who and what we would fight. We had even figured out what would probably be the first moves. But coming up with a way to even the odds was something that was stumping her, and that was driving her crazy. How do a half a million troops take on 5 million? Better yet, take them on and win. She didn’t like not having the answers.

On the plus side, if anyone could figure it out it would be this group. Hammond had pulled together the perfect team. Yes, it was rough at first, but when everyone saw their unique roll, they lined up. She had admired how Hammond had done it. Then again, leadership was something she valued above all things. She almost chuckled when young Jeffers had come up to tell about his family. The look on Hammond’s face was priceless, yet at the end, he was beaming like a proud father. Jeffers was a smart kid. The few times she had worked with him, she could sense the abilities of the young man; something she had sensed only one time before on a dark, lonely deck of a ship at sea.

She entered the Barracks at 8th and I, and made her way around the old brick buildings. She slowed near a coffee bar that had recently been set up on the grounds. Inside, young Marines were cheering on a young man playing some video game. Entering the bar, she ordered an iced coffee and eased back to watch them play. On the screen the images were almost like what would be seen by an insect, except that it was flying around shooting people. The people on the screen were doing what they could to fight it off, but couldn’t quite reach it. Richardson leaned over to one of the young men watching the game. “What kind of game is this?” she asked.

Without turning his head, he answered, “It’s called Drone Attack,” he said, then let out a whoop when the drone was able to take down what looked like a hugely built soldier.

She watched a while longer as the drone was finally shot down, then the game reset and suddenly there were hundreds of them flying across the sky until it centered on only one drone again. It dropped down through the trees and began shooting at soldiers around the area. Suddenly her eyes opened wide and she stood up straight. Looking around the room, she first wondered how it could be done, but it was already being done both here and in about a million other homes where young people were fighting their war in the video game.

The iced coffee was downed quickly, and despite the knees, she began to run back to her quarters. The question on her mind — what kind of small drones did they have in the inventory?

General Helmut Dortmund stood on the wet ramp waiting for the American officers to arrive. Beside him was General Erik Pol, a representative of the Polish army. Dortmund wasn’t too sure about his task. The Commander of the Joint Allied Forces was making his first trip to Europe, and they were there to greet him. Unfortunately, it was a naval admiral, not a general. But, protocol dictated that they still greet him and help him get acquainted with their situation. The men hope he had his act together.

Dortmund looked at Pol. “Do you know anything about this guy?” he asked.

Pol shrugged his shoulders. “Some sort of naval hero. I understand he received their Medal of Honor. One of my staff told me he commanded ships during their last big war with Korea and was the man who saved a lot of their citizens in Venezuela when Parente stepped in it. He’s only a three star. I can’t imagine some of the allies working with him. The French will almost be insulted,” he said with a slight grin.

Dortmund nodded his head. “I got some of the same information. Evidently, their people must think highly of him to put him in this job. I hope he’s up to it,” he said as he saw the blue and white jet land at the end of the runway and begin making its way toward the ramp where they stood.

The jet taxied onto the ramp and shut down its engines. The door on the side opened and a tall man in a white uniform stepped off the plane, followed by a shorter woman in a green uniform. Both had three stars on their uniforms. Dortmund and Pol stepped forward and made their introductions, then they walked back to a car sitting a few feet away. Some men gathered the baggage and placed it in the trunk before the car sped away.

Inside the car, the group was already getting down to business. “How much do you know about our situation, Admiral?” asked Pol.

“Well, that’s one of the main reasons I came. I want to make sure I know everything I need to know so that we are ready when the Russians cross the border. I brought along some information to share, but I also want to get to know you and you me. We’re probably going to be up to our necks when this starts, and that’s no time to get acquainted,” said Hammond. “That’s also why I brought along General Richardson. When you guys start talking about ground operations, she speaks your language. I’m also figuring she will be helping us out,” he said. “Claire commanded the First Marine Division during the Korean War and she was the main drive up the coast and into Seoul.”

Dortmund’s eyes widened. “I thought I recognized the name. I followed your efforts up the peninsula. Tonight, you and I will have a beer and talk combat,” he said with a smile.

Richardson grinned. “You’re on, General, but I hold the line at two beers. We’ve already had a long day,” she said. “Besides, I want to hear what you have planned, myself. Between the four of us, we might at least scare the Russians to death,” she said. Both Pol and Dortmund sat back and laughed. Already they liked these two. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad.

The ride to the base was a pleasant one, despite the rain. Once there, both Hammond and Richardson were deposited in their rooms for a short time to freshen up, then everyone met again for dinner. They were joined by the representatives from several other countries. Everyone was eager to meet the two Americans who were supposed to be in charge. One of the reps was a nice reprieve.

“Roger Hammond! As I live and breathe, how long has it been, old man?” announced a vice admiral, resplendent in his Royal Navy uniform and boasting a splendid mustache that was as red as his hair.

Hammond broke into a wide grin. “Sir Richard! I am so glad to see you again,” he sang out. The two men shook hands with enthusiasm and then Hammond introduced Richardson. “General Richardson, this is Sir Richard Thomas, the Royal Navy’s Deputy Chief of Naval Staff. We met when Iowa came to Portsmouth after the war. Be careful, you mentioned a beer earlier. I dare say this man may be able to drink the bar dry.”

There was laughter among the officers as Sir Richard slapped Hammond on the shoulder. “Never fear, only one of my legs is hollow, but if there’s a pint of Guinness available, I’ll lead the charge,” he said boastfully. One of the servers dashed away to get the pint. “Richardson, you say? Don’t tell me you’re the one who led the troops up the Korean peninsula,” he said eying the smaller framed female before him.

“The very same,” exclaimed Richardson. “And I’m hoping to do a little bit more of it when things begin happening here.”

Sir Richard’s ruddy face broadened. A twinkle appeared in his eye. “Well then, it appears we have a lot in common. We need some aggression in some parts. Roger, I like the people you associate with,” he announced. “Is everyone here?”

“It seems our French colleague hasn’t arrived yet. He may not come at all,” said Pol.

Sir Richard’s face clouded. It was obvious he didn’t really like the French liaison. “I see. Then he’ll bloody well miss out. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s retire to our table.” It was obvious that when present, Sir Richard was a man in charge.

The meal was served and both Sir Richard and General Dortmund sat with Richardson at the table. Before the evening ended, all had become friends.

Patricia Hammond was having a good day. Several planning meetings for the city budget, public works and with the harbor commission had gone well. There was change in the air in San Pedro. The dockyards and repair facilities were expanding and the harbor was being deepened to accommodate the larger ships that seemed to be coming off the ways every day. She had also just signed a contract to begin road resurfacing on the streets of the city. That task had been put off for several years due to budget restraints, but with the city expanding and more high-rise apartments and hotels going up, revenues were also rising. It was four in the afternoon when she decided to get Little Steve and call it a day. Often she worked till six or seven, but with Roger away, she decided to take Steve to the park and have a little time to themselves. Little Steve’s daycare was on the ground level of City Hall. After gathering up her son, the two exited the building and made their way to the John S. Gibson Park only a block away from USS Iowa’s berth.

The tremor was light at first, then suddenly the ground began to convulse. Scooping Steve into her arms, she grabbed a palm next to the sidewalk she held on for dear life. All around her things began to fall. The street began to crack and tear. Water began cascading out of the cracks as the water mains were torn apart in the upheaval. Light poles began whipping back and forth and the power lines also began parting, sending showers of sparks along the road where they met. She heard what sounded like an explosion and turned to watch City Hall begin crumbling to the ground. Other snaps could be heard and she saw several of the large cranes, used for loading and unloading ships fall to the ground or into the water. The shaking became so violent, she could not remain on her feet. She fell to the ground still clinging to her son and held on while the quake tore into her community. For a full six minutes the ground shook. Then, almost as quickly as it began, it stopped.

There was a strange quiet all around her as she lifted her head from the dust and began looking around. The usual noises of cars and the harbor were gone. Only the splash of water from where the pipes broke disturbed the quiet. Patricia looked at her son. His bright eyes were calm and looked around in wonder. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m okay, Mommy,” he said as he began pushing himself up from the ground.

Patricia got up and dusted him off, then herself. Looking around, most of the buildings were damaged. She looked back at City Hall to find that the entire front facing of the building was gone. It was nothing but rubble in the street. Fortunately, people were starting to come out of the rest of the building, stepping over the rubble, to gather along South Beacon Street and look at the destruction around them. She called out to them and motioned for them to come over to her. Once there, she began getting things organized.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Patricia said. “It seems we now have to put on another set of hats and get some things done. Mister Conseca, can you take a couple of people and get over to the Iowa. I want to ask their help during this crisis. We’ll need everything, food, shelter, electricity, the works. I want to make the site our disaster relief station.” She turned to another. “Ms. Ranier, try and get with the police and fire departments to let them know what I want to do. Have them start directing anyone down to the Iowa. Then I need them to get me an idea of how bad it is. I’ll be there.” Turning to another man, “Jason, get some people and see who needs help in City Hall. If you can, get them out or wait with them till the fire department arrives.”

“Sharon, can you see if we can get hold of the Red Cross? I need cots, blankets, water, medical care and other services down at the Iowa as quickly as they can,” she said.

The Mayor turned to the rest. “People, now is the time to do good. Get out there and help people. Get them down to the pier and we will operate from there. I know you will want to check with your families, but we may not be able to for a while. Let’s all work on taking care of the people we serve. If you need anything, come see me at the Iowa.” She paused a moment. “And thank you all. I know I’m asking a lot, but as you can see, there’s a lot we need to do,” she said.

As they began to break up, the earth shook again. This time it was almost as violent as the first. Everyone was thrown to the ground. After a few more minutes the quake ended. After this one, most of the buildings were either down or very close to toppling. Through the dust the people heard Patricia say, “Let’s get going.” Each began making their way to get the recovery started.

The ship didn’t feel the quake like the others. But the bobbing and rocking made it feel like Iowa was in a storm. Fortunately, the hawsers used to hold her to the pier had enough give that the ship remained in place. About half way through the shaking, the electricity went out on the ship. Lieutenant Commander Bill Strasser, the Officer in Charge of the Iowa Detachment sprang into action, ordering his people to be ready to light off the plant. Already one of the Machinist Mates had gone to the forward Motor Machinery Room. The beam from his flashlight illuminated a huge diesel engine used to provide auxiliary power to the ship. Making sure all the valves were opened and that there was fuel and coolant to the big engine, he pressed the “start” button. The big diesel turned over and within a few seconds electricity from the generator began lighting the space. Flipping some breakers, the Machinist Mate directed the power to the rest of the ship.

Strasser made his way topside and looked out. All he could see was devastation. When the second set of shocks came, he made up his mind. Turning to the Chief standing next to him he ordered, “Light off the forward group. Take whoever you need, but we need to get the ship up and running. I have a feeling these people are going to need all the help they can get.” The Chief quickly made his way to the 1MC on the bridge and called a meeting of all the detachment and museum personnel on the messdecks. Enlisting the help of the museum staff, within a few minutes, several men were seen in safety gear taking the canvas cover off the forward stack.

Strasser saw Patricia Hammond as she made her way toward the ship. He met her on the brow. “I figure you need us,” he said.

“Bill, anything you can do will be appreciated. I don’t know how many are hurt or homeless, but we can expect a lot of people over the next few days,” she said.

He smiled at her. “That’s what we’re here for. I’m getting the engineering plant online. It will take about four hours, but once the generators are going, we’ll be able to handle it.”

Patricia Hammond smiled at the man. “Thanks Bill. I need all the help I can get.”

The two made their way into the dimly lighted interior of the ship. Until the ship’s main generators could come online, they wouldn’t have complete power, but that part was already underway.

Jim Butler rushed into the oval office. “Steve, there’s been a major quake in southern California. According to the folks at USGS, it measured a 9 on the Richter scale. The epicenter was almost directly under San Pedro.”

The President got up from his chair. “Let’s get Homeland Security on it. I’m sure they are going to need tents and cots. Military units in the area are authorized to help out. Get me the governor on the line and we’ll see what he needs,” he barked.

Butler nodded and ran back to the outer office to get things going. Within minutes the President’s phone rang with the call to the governor. “Governor, I wanted to see what help you needed,” he said.

“Help for what?” came the surprising answer from the other end.

The President stared at his handset for a second. “I was just informed of a major earthquake near Los Angeles, and thought you might need some assistance,” he said incredulously.

“First I’ve heard of it. We have these things all the time. We’ll probably be able to handle it.”

The President couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I was told it was a 9 on the Richter Scale. In that area, there may be a lot of casualties,” he said.

“Right now I’m at an event. Let me check on things and get right back to you,” the governor said almost nonchalantly.

“You do that,” he said as he hung up the phone. “Jim!” he almost screamed through the still open door.

Butler appeared at the doorway. “Yes, sir.”

“The Governor of California is an idiot. You know he just told me not to worry about it! He’s going to check on some things and get back to me. How the hell did he get elected?”

Butler had never seen his boss so mad. He gave a slight sigh. “Boss, he ran on a reform platform that the people of California ate up. From what I hear, he’s been screwing up things ever since. Let me get hold of the Marine Base at Camp Pendleton. The CO down there will know what to do.”

O’Bannon was still upset, but nodded his head. “That’ll work. I need to know what those poor people are up against. Then maybe somebody who cares will step in,” he said.

The phone on the side of his bed rang and a groggy man pulled the receiver to his ear. “Hammond,” he croaked out.

“Roger, this is Rod. There’s been a big quake in San Pedro.”

Hammond’s eyes blinked open immediately. “What have you heard?”

“It’s a bad one, a 9 on the Richter Scale. I called down to Pendleton and talked to the duty officer. He says it almost flattened San Pedro and a good chunk of Los Angeles. I just saw a news clip and I saw Patricia directing the efforts from the ship. Your son was sitting in a chair in the background. There aren’t any phones much and I left a message on her cell. I’ll keep trying until I get her,” Jeffers said. Hammond could tell by the urgent sound of his voice that he was very concerned.

“Rod, you said you saw her, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then don’t worry. As long as I know she’s out there doing her job, everything will be okay. Try to get a message to the ship and let her know that I know and will be home as soon as I can. Also tell them to get hold of Boats Patnaude. He might be able to get them all the help they need in the short run. And Rod, Patricia is a strong woman. As long as she is walking around, she will be fine. So don’t worry. I appreciate you letting me know. If you hear more, give me a shout. Okay?”

On the other end of the line he heard a short sigh. “Yes, sir. I just thought you needed to know,” Jeffers said.

Hammond chuckled. “I did, and I appreciate it. I just have a lot of faith in my wife. Your seeing them both makes it a lot easier for me. Now relax. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he reassured Jeffers.

“Good night, Boss,” said Jeffers.

“Good night.” The line went dead and Hammond lay back against his pillow. They had both talked about when the “big one” might happen and what would need to be done. It looked like she was following the plan. She and his son were aboard the Iowa and she was probably moving heaven and earth for the people of her town. A smile crossed his face. Heaven help anyone who might get in her way, he thought.

True to his word, by 8 pm, the lights aboard USS Iowa came on again. Down below, the ship’s turbo-generators were cranking out the electricity. Temporary electric lines had already been run to light up the huge parking lot next to the ship and down to the cruise terminals. Suddenly the lights all came on and people in the ground began to cheer. The Red Cross had set up some tents and cots, but the main thing was to get services back up. The parking lot was already full of people who were now homeless or injured. Word had come that the hospital was full of injured. A crew of doctors had been detailed to the Iowa and had set up in the ship’s sickbay.

Within two hours of the quake, the call went out via messenger for any of the local chefs and their restaurant staff in town to come help. Local restaurants emptied their now thawing freezers and brought the food to the ship. They descended on the ship’s galley and began to get things ready. Once power came on, they began to cook. By ten that evening, people were invited to come aboard and eat. The food was better than what many had ever experienced, and within two hours, everyone had been fed.

The crew’s berthing spaces were filled with families and the elderly, while single men and women were assigned cots in the parking lot. There were water and toilet facilities. By midnight, everything had calmed down and the area became quiet. As more people filed in, they were processed and given a place to rest. Once the cots were filled, the air mattresses were handed out, then people had to sit in chairs. Most simply grabbed a blanket and lay down.

Beginning around 2 am, a few cars began to appear and park along the street. The ship didn’t need to call anyone to come in. Some of the old crew saw the news and were already making their way. By morning, there were enough to give the detachment a break, taking over duties in the engine and firerooms. By four am, the smell of fresh bread was making its way through the ship, just as it had while she was active. Several local bakers had marveled at the equipment, especially a dough mixer that had the stamp, “1943” on its side. They would have enough bread for at least 10,000 people by morning.

When word came that the city’s water mains could not provide any water, the engineers had told them not to worry. The ship’s evaporators were producing thousands of gallons each hour. There should be enough for a while.

At around 1 am, Patricia Hammond finally took the time to get some sleep. LCDR Strasser led her to the captain’s cabin. She had already put Little Steve on a cot in the bedroom. The idea of him sleeping in his Daddy’s room aboard the ship thrilled him. He was sleeping peacefully when she entered the room. She removed her clothing and slid under the sheets. Tomorrow would come much too soon.

The Atlas rocket lit up the night sky as it lifted from its pad. This was the latest version of the venerable rocket, but even it could not lift this load on its own. Two additional solid fuel rockets were strapped to each side. The combined thrust was able to lift the satellite rapidly into the sky. A minute later, the spent solid rockets dropped away and the first stage separated. The second stage fired normally pushing its payload further and faster out over the Atlantic.

There was actually a small third stage to this rocket. It was able to boost the satellite the rest of the way until it achieved a stationary orbit precisely 100 miles away from a sister satellite and come to a relative stop.

Almost immediately panels on the sides opened and six solar arrays opened to their full length on the upper end of the satellite and pointed themselves to the sun, while below them, small radio dishes emerged and unfolded to aim their signals toward earth. One in particular pointed its circular dish toward Langley, Virginia.

At CIA headquarters, technicians began to cheer as an activation signal was received. “Sir, Eyeball Six has achieved orbit successfully and is ready for startup,” one of the technicians said to her supervisor.

The supervisor grinned. “Then let’s wake her up. Bring the systems online and link it to number five. Then begin running your tests.”

The appropriate orders were sent and the satellite began powering up. The supervisor watched as all the satellite’s systems came online as expected, then reached down and lifted the receiver of the phone by his seat. “Sir, the eyeballs are in the sky.”

It wasn’t a very large group, just about one hundred people. They carried signs protesting the military buildup and demanding the funds be used to help ordinary citizens. Through the Soviet era, demonstrations were something planned and orchestrated by the government in almost all cases, but since the fall of the Soviet Union, people had come to know certain freedoms and to expect more from their government. Many students had come to detest the mandatory military service. In the past it had only been for one year, but now the youth of Russia were expected to stay for as long as the government wanted them. For some, this had meant years of service with practically no pay, hard taskmasters and few luxuries. Most could not even go out in local towns for some time off. Access to cell phones made this worse, since they often complained to their friends and families back home.

Although they had been warned that the government would not allow such demonstrations, most had happened with little result. Yet, the young men and women and a few older Russians marched along, holding up their signs and chanting slogans like, “Send our soldiers home,” or “We don’t want to serve.” The onlookers on the streets sympathized with the marchers, but didn’t pay much attention. It was a Friday night and they were out to party.

Suddenly a large truck pulled around a corner and blocked the way for the protesters. Out came police officers in riot gear, filling the street and holding up shields. One of the officers held up a loudspeaker. “This is an illegal demonstration. You are ordered to disperse at once,” he shouted to the crowd. The crowd stopped, but stood their ground, shouting louder toward the line of police. They were warned a second time. None of the protesters noticed a second truck pulling up behind them. Now heavily armed police were on both sides of the crowd. The students stood their ground, taunting the police.

No one knew who threw the beer bottle. It struck one of the clear plastic shields of the police officer and shattered, spilling beer all over the shield and the officer’s legs. The officers rushed the small crowd of demonstrators, drawing their night sticks and clubbing each one they came in contact with. The students tried to run, but by now, they were surrounded and there was no place to go.

It lasted ten minutes. When the officers finished, there were two dead and another fifty seriously injured. Those not hurt and those less seriously injured were taken away. The rest were left bleeding on the pavement. Now the onlookers rushed in and began trying to help those on the streets. Police officers rushed them as well, telling them to leave the people alone until more help could get there. A few made it into some of the local shops. One had been carrying a video camera. Others had used their cell phones.

The onlookers became more outraged. They began screaming at the police remaining to let them help the injured. Seeing they were largely outnumbered, the police finally gave in and let them carry the students off to the local hospital. One young man insisted that his rescuer take him to the foreign media center. There, he handed his camera and footage to the local CNN staff member on duty. Within ten minutes it was worldwide news.

The meetings and briefings lasted all day, yet the officers in the darkened room felt exhilarated. Each had been eager to tell their new commander what they were planning and both Hammond and Richardson had asked all the right questions, even sharing some of their concerns and ideas in the process. Richardson, in particular, had gotten into a lively conversation about tank deployments. Dortmund was surprised to know she had studied German battle tactics.

Now the group was trying to figure out the next steps. Hammond was slightly concerned that the men in the room were still thinking in large group engagements. But it was difficult to wrap your hands around the fact that they were expecting to meet an enemy with a 10 to 1 superiority in men and equipment. At one point Hammond interrupted.

“As I look at where you want to deploy your people, it is looking more like you are concentrating on just this one area,” he said pointing at the map. “How do you plan on accomplishing this?”

General Dortmund chuckled. “We Germans learned that lesson in the last big one,” he said referring to the Second World War. “We are deploying tanks along the borders in Austria and in areas of the Polish mountains in several key locations. If the Russians are looking, and I believe they are, then they will avoid these areas at all costs.”

Richardson looked concerned. “How many tanks are you able to put in these areas?” she asked.

There was a twinkle in Dortmund’s eye. “Around ten thousand. We call them Patton’s Army.”

At first Richardson looked confused. There weren’t that many tanks in all of Europe. Then suddenly her expression changed. “Brilliant!” she exclaimed.

Hammond still looked confused.

Richardson sat back. “In the Second World War an army was fielded under the command of George Patton to confuse and distract Germany. There were thousands of tanks, artillery and other vehicles. And all of them were balloons made of rubber. They even had people who moved them around some every day to make the Germans think they were operational. It made the D-Day landings more successful.

“Our aerial reconnaissance sent us graphic photos of the equipment poised to make a run on Calais. We bought it and kept the major part of our troops in Northern France. You see, we Germans do learn a few things from you Yanks,” he said with glee.

“We have a few more things up our sleeves. The areas we have left open for them to enter have a number of old mining operations. We plan on placing a number of tank units in those underground mines. When the Russians come in and go past us, we just pop out and come in behind them,” said Pol leaning back in his chair.

Hammond chuckled. “Remind me never to fight you folks in the future. You play dirty,” he joked.

Everyone laughed. The Belgian General raised a finger, “And we will continue to do so, so keep it in mind!”

There was more laughter. In Hammond’s mind, he was much more secure about how the Europeans would do in this war. Now with a few touches that the Americans would bring, they might just stand a chance.

During the night more people had come into the center, but everyone had been able to get food and at least some shelter. Road crews were already getting the streets back into shape and linemen from the electric companies were repairing lines and restoring power where they could. The good news was that after repairing the water line under South Harbor Boulevard, water was restored to the Iowa and the refugee center. Overnight the Iowa’s tanks were reduced by half and priority had to be given to providing feed water for the ship’s boilers.

Breakfast had been an orderly affair. Most were happy to be fed at all, and the smells of the breads and pastries made the experience a little more like home. Already some of the people were going back to see what was left of their homes, to salvage what they could and return later. The media were all over the area shooting footage, interviewing those at the center and making a nuisance of themselves.

After making sure Steve was taken care of, Mayor Patricia Hammond had returned to the parking lot to reassure the people there. She was a welcome sight. Most people felt she really did understand what they were going through and was trying to help. As she made her way through the crowds she was welcomed by smiling faces and words of thanks. She was in the middle of a media interview when a call came through on her cell phone. She saw it was from Sacramento and begged away a moment.

She opened her phone and put it on speaker. “Mayor Hammond,” she said.

“Mayor, just what in the hell do you think you are doing?” asked the Governor.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You are not authorized to solicit help from the Federal Government or anyone else except me,” he scolded. “I got a call from none other than your friend, the President, yesterday asking what help we needed. And now you have commandeered a battleship and using it to help your people when I have a whole county needing help!” he shouted. “I ought to drive down there and remove you from office!”

Patricia Hammond became very angry. “Remove me from office? You haven’t got the balls. I am down here making sure the people who elected me are being taken care of, and for your information, there is an agreement between the Navy and the City of San Pedro that in an emergency we can use this ship to help out these people. It’s a part of the agreement that got the ship down here in the first place. And if you didn’t have your head stuffed squarely up your ass, you would have been down here yesterday instead of sitting in Sacramento trying to get me to bow down. Well, I’m doing my job. My people are doing fine without you. So Governor, the best thing you can do is buzz off!” she shouted before ending the conversation. She was still steaming as she walked rapidly away. What she did not realize was that the media cameras continued to gather video and sound during the conversation. Within ten minutes it was flashed across the United States that the Mayor of San Pedro had told the Governor of California to buzz off.

Hammond turned on the television set in his room and turned it on to CNN. He was surprised to see his wife, and even more surprised at what she had done. He sat back and laughed, then placed a call.

“Mayor Hammond.”

“You are beautiful when you’re angry,” he said.

He could hear her lighten up at the other end. “He just pissed me off. You know how I can be.”

Hammond’s laughter was genuine. “Yes, but promise me you won’t kick him in the privates when you see him.”

She was laughing now on the other end. “I promise. You about to come home?”

“One more day. These are good people. I wish you were here.”

“I wish I was too, but we’ll manage. Your son slept in your cabin last night,” she said.

“I bet he liked that. You two weren’t hurt much, we you?”

“No, a couple of scratches. We were outside when it happened. I don’t know how our home fared yet. Maybe I’ll get over there sometime today.”

“You need me to come home?”

“No, you’d be in the way. Let me get everything online here and I should still get to DC in a couple of weeks. I can’t wait to see you again.”

“Yea, I miss you too. I’ll call again when I get the chance. Tell Steve I said hi.”

“Will do. See you soon.”

“Bye.”