Battlefield Russia

Counteroffensive

The sky had turned gray. Another storm looked to dump even more rain on the already-saturated ground. After rain that had lasted for most of October, the cavalry men were hoping to catch a break, so they could get back into the fight. The last month had been a frustrating series of fighting withdrawals, one after another, under relentless Russian attacks. Those attacks, however, appeared to have faltered. Perhaps they had finally come to an end.

Lieutenant Colonel Grant Johnson, of the 1/8 Cav “Mustangs,” walked over to a table in the tent with several thermoses of black liquid gold, pouring himself a second cup of coffee before heading over to brief his company commanders on the latest set of orders they’d just been given. They were finally going back on the offensive. Intelligence reported a major fuel shortage in the Russian Army right now, and the division commander believed this would be a good time to hit the enemy.

“Listen up, everyone,” Johnson announced. “Division has finally given us the green light to attack. Our battalion has been given the task of slicing through the countryside to hit an Indian regiment marshaled roughly 116 kilometers to the southeast of Kraków. The goal is to position a blocking force behind the Russian units in the Kraków pocket and either crush them or force them into surrender. I want everyone to take a few minutes and review the maps and the disposition of the enemy units in the area. The battalion is going to move out in the next hour, so get your men ready to roll.”

His men smiled from ear to ear. They were obviously excited to finally get some payback for all the harassing artillery fire they’d had to endure the past week while being holed up in the rear, waiting for their chance to pounce.

Captain Jason Diss had been the Delta Company commanding officer or CO for nearly twenty months. He was the senior captain in the battalion and would probably be promoted to major at the rate the division had been losing officers. The only reason he hadn’t already been promoted was that the battalion CO needed him and the other senior captain to continue to train and mentor the never-ending supply of second lieutenants who were arriving to the brigade fresh from Armor Basic Officer Leader Course. Big Army was pushing through officers of all stripes at a prodigious rate, which meant there was a lot of pressure on the captains and majors to help get these young officers up to speed.

Walking back to where his company had been staging, he quickly huddled his platoon leaders and NCOs, so he could go over their objectives and the battalions. He wanted everyone on the same sheet of music when the band started to play. Once the shooting started, plans had a way of going out the door, so it was imperative that every one of his officers and NCOs knew what the overall plan was, so they could adjust accordingly when needed, in case his own tank was hit or disabled.

After finishing his brief, Captain Diss trudged over to his tank and proceeded to take care of a few hygiene needs before the festivities started. It could be days before he had another chance to shave, and as the CO, he really needed to make sure he was setting the ever-present military discipline and grooming standard.

Diss yawned and leaned for a moment against his tank, which had been dubbed Warhorse. He smiled at the sight of the seven black rings on the tank’s barrel, each one denoting a vehicle kill.

“I’m sure we’ll rack up a few more before the day’s out,” he thought.

He took a moment to brush his teeth, then spat the residue out on the ground in front of him. Then he grabbed his canteen and sloshed some water around in his mouth before he made the puddle in front of him a little larger.

“Well, at least I’ll be able to handle the smell of my own breath today,” Diss thought with a chuckle.

He pulled the portable electric shaver from his toiletry bag and ran the vibrating blades across the stubble that had grown in during the evening. He hated the grooming standard, but he wasn’t about to let the command sergeant major say something to him about it. Captain Diss mulled over the day’s plan of action in his head while he moved the razor back and forth. His company was going to be advancing to contact with the Indian 10th Armored Regiment. Their orders were to breach the enemy lines and push deep in to the enemy’s rear area and cause as much havoc as possible.

A voice suddenly intruded in on his thoughts. “You ready to get moving, Captain?” inquired his gunner, Sergeant Dakota Winters.

Placing the last few items back in his bag, Diss looked up with a grin on his face. “Yup. Sergeant Major won’t gig me today,” he replied as he ran his hand across the now stubble-free skin on his face.

“Screw the grooming standard,” Winters said. He tossed his own razor into his toiletry bag.

The sergeant then placed his foot in the cable stirrup hanging from the bottom of the front ballistic skirt, reached for the metal handle welded to the top of the fender and pulled himself up on the hull of the tank. He climbed onto the turret and dropped down the loader's hatch. Captain Diss followed suit, and less than a minute later, he’d plopped down in the commander’s position in the tank. Reaching over, he grabbed his CVC helmet and placed it firmly on his head before attaching the communications cord to the vehicle’s communications system.

Diss completed a quick crew report check with his crew before reaching out to the other vehicles in his company. “OK, guys. Let’s get this bad boy ready to go,” he said “It’s nearly time to roll out. Crew report!”

A few minutes went by as the individual crewmen in his tank ran through their various checks to make sure their targeting computers were up and running, the radios were set on the right frequencies for the day, and they had entered in the various navigational waypoints they’d be working off of for the next couple of days. Having completed their checks, all three crewmen reported ready. It was time to get moving.

Changing to the company net, Captain Diss called out, “This is Black Six to all Mustang elements. We’re moving out in five mikes. I want a wedge formation with Blue Platoon in the middle. Acknowledge and send Redcon status.”

“This is White One. Roger. Second Platoon is Redcon One,” replied Second Lieutenant Brett Horrigan, the commander of Second Platoon.

“This is Blue One. Acknowledged, and we are at Redcon One,” replied Second Lieutenant Tony Martin, the new officer in charge of Third Platoon. His platoon encompassed the attached infantry platoon in the Bradleys, and also had the company’s artillery liaison officer or LNO, riding in his own fire support team vehicle, a Bradley FIST. This was why Captain Diss wanted them placed in the center of their formation.

“This is Red One. Redcon One and ready to ‘get some,’” came back a young and overly zealous Second Lieutenant, Doug Welsh. He was the newest officer to the company, having just graduated armor school two weeks ago — and he was possibly just as young and dumb as his staff sergeant had described him.

“Excellent. Everyone’s ready to go,” Diss thought as his vehicle moved forward.

"Roger, Mustangs. Begin your movement," said Captain Diss.

In short order, his platoon of tanks quickly formed a wedge and moved down Highway 28 toward the small village of Zembrzyce. As his company of tanks and Bradleys continued to move toward the enemy, Captain Diss couldn’t help but think back to when they’d arrived as a fresh unit, before they’d suffered and lost so many men.

Their unit had arrived in Europe at the start of the New Year. By that time, the major fighting had largely ended, and the battle lines had stabilized. The war in Korea and China had stolen the attention from Europe, placing most of the European forces on defense. In the meantime, the constant probing attacks and retreats had cost their battalion more than a few tanks. Each time it would appear like they could punch through the enemy lines, they had beem ordered to withdraw. The division had not been given permission to go on the offensive. From the perspective of the soldiers, this was nothing more than wasting lives and tanks testing the enemy lines without being able to exploit vulnerabilities when they were found.

Captain Diss shook his head to pull himself out of that dark rabbit hole. He’d tried not to dwell on the losses they had taken up to this point, or the wasted opportunities of the past. Besides, they’d finally been given permission to do what tankers did best — go kill other tanks and murder unguarded infantry.

As their tank rumbled down the two-lane road, they heard several attack helicopters fly over their heads. His gunner keyed the intercom on his CVC helmet. “Captain Diss, how many enemy tanks do you think we’ll find after those helicopters get done with them?” he asked.

Diss smiled. Sergeant Winters was clearly hoping they wouldn’t miss out on getting some payback. After months of sitting around, waiting for the summer offensive to start only to have it cancelled, the men were ginned up for a fight.

“From what the colonel said, there’s an entire regiment up there, so I’d say there’ll be plenty of tanks for us,” Captain Diss answered. “We just need to make sure they don’t get any lucky shots off at us.”

“As long as we don’t run up against any of those new Russian tanks, I think we’ll pulverize this unit,” said Sergeant Winters assertively. “They’re using T-90s, and we’ve already proven we can defeat them.”

Captain Diss retorted, “You’d better hope they’re using the Russian T-90s and not those new Arjun Mk-2 tanks. I heard they had a lot of help in developing those tanks from the Israelis in the 2000s, and the Israelis know how to build a tank.”

Twenty minutes went by uneventfully as their tank rumbled through the rolling hills and lightly forested area. Suddenly, the roaring sound of a jet engine caught their attention. “Whoa, what was that?” asked Specialist Trey Mann, the loader.

“Probably just a jet on his way to attack the Indians,” replied Winters, trying to calm the young kid. Specialist Trey Mann was the newest member to their platoon. He’d arrived as a replacement roughly five weeks ago.

Captain Diss opted to poke his head out of the tank to see if he could catch a glimpse at the aircraft that had just buzzed above them. He heard several jets — some sounded close, some were far off in the distance. Looking to his right, he saw one fighter explode in the air; that was the first time he’d seen a fighter plane die up close, and while it was spectacular to look at, it suddenly sent a shiver down his back.

“The enemy must be close,” he realized.

“All Mustangs, enemy planes in the vicinity. Expect enemy contact at any time,” announced another voice over the battalion net.

Returning his gaze to the front, Captain Diss caught site of the silhouette of rockets heading in their direction. Reaching for the talk button on his headset, he yelled over the company net. “Mustangs! Incoming rocket artillery!”

He quickly ducked back into the tank. The ground around his tank suddenly rocked hard from one explosion after another, shrapnel hitting their armor in multiple different places. Diss grabbed for anything that would help him stabilized himself as he prayed none of the rockets landed on him or any of his tankers.

Seconds later, Sergeant Winters yelled out, “Tanks to our front, 3,500 meters!”

Turning to look at the commander's sight extension, Captain Diss spotted a line of tanks deploying from a single file line to a full battle line to charge them. His heart skipped a beat when he realized the tanks he was looking at were not T-90s like they had hoped. These were the Indians’ best tanks, the Arjun Mk-2s.

“Holy crap, that’s a lot of tanks!” he realized with a gulp.

“Mustangs, Arjun Mk-2 tanks to our front, 3,500 meters,” he announced. “We are moving to engage. All units fall in on our position. I want all tanks to change formation and move to a line formation. We’re going to snipe at them while they advance. Engage when you see my tank fire!” he ordered.

Then Diss yelled to his FIST team, “Black Eight, this is Black Six. I need a fire mission. Get us some arty immediately!”

Turning to the battalion net, he sent a quick message to his commander. “Sir, we’ve got Arjun Mk-2s coming up as well as incoming artillery. Could we get some air support?”

“Copy that. I’ll see what I can do,” his commander replied.

Sergeant Winters waved to grab Diss’s attention. “Captain, those tanks are charging!” he yelled. “They’re crossing 3,200 meters.”

Looking into the commander's sight, Diss saw a cluster of Arjuns his gunner was tracking. He picked out the one with the most antennas on it, which was probably the company or battalion commander's tank. “Gunner, sabot tank!" he called.

"Identified!" exclaimed Sergeant Winters.

Specialist Mann pulled up on the arming handle since they’d been riding with a sabot already in the barrel. “Up!” he yelled.

"Fire!" screamed Diss.

"On the way!" Sergeant Winters shouted in reply.

Winters depressed the firing button.

Boom!

The cannon fired, recoiling inside the turret as the vehicle rocked back on the tank’s springs. The spent aft cap of the sabot round clanged on the turret floor as the turret filled with the smell of sulfuric fumes.

Diss watched the round fly out from his tank at a flat trajectory, crossing the distance in a couple of seconds. It smashed right into the enemy tank’s front glacis and bounced right off. “Damn it! It ricocheted,” he yelled. “Load another sabot. Winters, adjust for the speed of the enemy tank, and don’t hit the front turret.” He was mentally kicking himself. He should’ve known better than to aim for the thickest part of a tank’s armor.

The rest of Captain Diss’s troop began to fire now that he had led the way and fired the first shot. He watched the rounds fly toward the enemy. A couple of his fellow tankers also missed, but many more found their marks. Several of the enemy tanks took hits that caused the rear ammunition compartments to blow out. The enemy crews would then attempt to bail out, since their tanks were essentially dead and disabled.

“Sabot up!” shouted Captain Diss’s loader, who pulled up on the arming handle.

"Fire!" ordered Diss as he focused once again on the task at hand, the enemy tank still charging at him.

Boom!

An explosion rocketed their tank as an enemy tank round hit just in front of them, throwing shrapnel and rocks at their front armor.

“On the way!” yelled Winters. He depressed the firing button again.

Captain Diss said a prayer. He hoped they took that enemy tank out before it fired a second, more accurate shot at them.

This time, their round found its mark. The enemy tank took a direct hit. It slowly came to a halt. Seconds later, the top hatch opened up, and as Diss watched an enemy soldier try to get out of the vehicle, it blew up. A flaming jet of fire shot through the enemy soldier and the turret at least ten feet in the air for a couple of seconds before the entire tank was ripped apart by another explosion.

“Fire the smoke grenades! We need to generate some cover,” Diss shouted to the gunner. Meanwhile, the driver proceeded to back them up and move them to another firing position.

Captain Diss turned to look at his gunner. “Good hit, Winters! New target identified. Load sabot!” he shouted.

While Captain Diss’s company was steadily picking off the attackers, a steady stream of incoming enemy artillery rounds threatened their tanks, indicating they had stayed still in one place for too long.

“Mustangs, pop smoke and fall back two hundred meters,” he directed over the company net. They needed to obscure the enemy artillery observers and back out of their crosshairs.

Crump, crump, crump, crump!

Explosions continued to rock their area as pieces of shrapnel pinged off their armor shell.

"Tanner, back us out of this artillery," Diss said to his driver.

“Those tanks are now 2,800 meters!” Winters yelled over the roar of enemy artillery going off around them.

“This is all happening too fast,” Captain Diss worried.

Looking through the commander's sight extension, Captain Diss found the next target just as he observed a series of their own artillery rounds landing amongst the enemy tanks. Some of the rounds scored hits, while others missed their mark. Taking his eyes away from the commander's sight, he looked at Winters. “I need you to take over calling targets and engaging them. I have to start managing the company,” he said reluctantly. Then he turned and looked at the blue force tracker display of the disposition of his unit in relationship to the enemy and the terrain around them.

He needed to get a status on his platoons and find out how many of his tanks had been hit. In all the confusion, he’d neglected his duty to make sure the other platoons were doing what they were supposed to do. As Captain Diss made contact with his platoon leaders, he learned that they’d lost two tanks in the recent enemy rocket artillery attack. One other tank had been destroyed, and one more damaged.

First, he ordered his medics and first sergeant to evacuate as many of the wounded as they could. Unfortunately, the dead would have to wait.

Then Captain Diss relayed the situation on the ground back to battalion headquarters. “Sir, requesting air strike on the enemy force advancing on us,” he urged.

While Captain Diss was in the middle of talking to his battalion commander, his tank was jarred hard. He knocked his head against the commander's extension, causing him to see stars. He instinctively pulled his left hand up to the side of his head. When he pulled it away, he noticed some blood on it.

“I must have cut my cheek,” he realized, still somewhat dazed.

“It bounced off our armor!” yelled one of his crew members.

Diss tried to regain his composure. It took a second for his mind to register what had just happened.

His battalion commander cut through the foggy thoughts Captain Diss was experiencing. “Delta Six, I’m ordering your unit to withdraw to Rally Point Beta. You guys are about to be overrun. Fall back now!” yelled his battalion commander.

Realizing his commander was right, Diss sent a message out to the rest of his troop to fall back to Rally Point Beta.

Their driver plugged in the coordinates, and they began a fighting retreat. As they wrestled their way back, they would eventually cross the next line of American tanks as they moved forward to take their place. Once Diss’s company was able to regroup, they’d charge right back into the action.

As Delta Company began the process of recovering their wounded and assessing their damage, his first sergeant’s vehicle stopped next to his tank, and First Sergeant Keene got out and proceeded to climb up to talk with him. Captain Diss pulled his CVC off and stood up in the turret.

“How many did we lose, Top?”

Instead of answering the question, he shouted, “Get me a medic up here!” and pointed at Diss.

The captain held his hand up in protest. “I don’t need a medic, Top. I’ll be fine.”

Keene shook his head. “You’ll be fine, but we need to get that bleeder under control before we go back into action. Look at yourself — you’re a bloody mess.” He pointed to Diss’s coveralls. The front shirt had blood smeared all over it.

The medic climbed up the turret. He wiped away the blood on the side of his face to get at the wound. He ripped open a pack of quickclot and doused the wound with it before attempting to place a makeshift bandage on it to cover it up.

“Hey, I still need to talk and be heard!” Diss said angrily to the medic.

Satisfied that his captain wasn’t going to bleed to death, First Sergeant Keene finally replied to the initial question. “We lost four crews outright. Another six soldiers were injured — four of them can return to the fight now that the medics have them patched up. The other two we had to medevac out. Second Battalion is hitting those Indian tanks now. From what I can tell, we’ll be ready to get back in the action as soon as you tell us to go,” he concluded.

Captain Diss nodded in acknowledgment.

Just then, they heard a series of propeller-driven planes fly over their position. The two of them looked up and saw the Air Force’s newest tank buster, the AT-6 Wolverine. Underneath the wing pilons, they could make out four hellfire antitank missiles and two anti-material rocket pods. Next to an A-10 Warthog, the Wolverine was definitely considered a godsend.

“OK, Top, let’s get everyone ready to move. I want to get us back into the action as soon as the colonel gives the go-ahead.”

His first sergeant nodded, then jumped down from the tank and ran back to his own vehicle.

Five minutes later, their battalion commander came over the radio net. “Advance!” he ordered. Second Battalion had blunted the enemy attack after they had withdrawn, and now they were going to push past their sister battalion and attempt to overrun the enemy unit.

As they moved past their earlier firing line, Captain Diss spotted a couple of his own tanks, now charred burning wrecks. A few minutes later, his company pulled up to their sister battalion, which was still firing at the enemy, who was now retreating. Once Diss and his men came abreast of the of the sister battalion, they stopped shooting.

Their battalion commander came over the radio again. “Charge!” he shouted.

“You heard the man, Mustangs. Charge!” Captain Diss shouted. He had secretly always wanted to say that. His tank lurched forward and picked up speed, and they quickly closed the gap on the retreating Indian regiment.

Looking into the commander's sight, Diss spotted two Arjun tanks. One was hiding behind a burnt-out wreck of a tank, and the other one was hiding behind a burning BMP-3 infantry fighting vehicle. Captain Diss yelled to his driver, “Stop the tank!”

He quickly lased the first tank to get a quick read on it. Winters punched in the targeting data, but suddenly, their targeting computer spat out an error.

“Damn it! It looks like they have a dazzler. It just blinded our targeting computer,” Winters said to everyone’s horror. The gunner immediately switched over to his auxiliary sight and got them back in the action.

“Back up now!” Diss shouted to his driver. In a fraction of a second, their vehicle lurched back, just as a round slammed into the front glacis of their armor. The round bounced off, but it rattled everyone in the vehicle hard.

Diss instantly popped more smoke grenades, hoping to throw off the enemy’s next shot, which was sure to be on the way soon.

Boom, bam!

One of his tanks had pulled alongside his to try and hit the tank that had just shot at him. Unfortunately, the crew failed to identify the second tank, which had been hiding behind the burned-out BMP, and was blown apart by it.

Winters found the tank that was sniping at them from behind the BMP and sighted in on it, calling the target out.

"Identified! Arjun tank," he exclaimed in a hurried voice.

Specialist Mann tapped the loader's door lever with his knee for what must have been his tenth or twelfth time of the morning, opening it up. He reached in the ammo well, grabbed a sabot round and slammed it into the breech of the cannon and pulled up on the arming handle.

“Up!” he yelled.

"Fire!" screamed Diss, hoping with all that was in him that they took that guy out. He wasn’t sure how many more times their luck would hold out. They’d already taken several direct hits, and so far, the enemy rounds hadn’t penetrated his tank, but he recognized that it was luck at this point that was keeping them alive.

"On the way!" Sergeant Winters shouted urgently.

Winters depressed the firing button and prayed for a hit.

Boom!

The cannon fired, recoiling back inside the turret as the vehicle rocked back on the tank’s springs. The spent aft cap of the sabot round clanged on the turret floor, joining the pile that was now cluttering the floor.

Diss watched the round cross the distance and slam right into the tank, which burst it into flames.

“You got it!” yelled Captain Diss to his gunner. “Quickly, find that other tank and take it out before he realizes we’re still alive.”

“Sabot up!” shouted the loader as he pulled up on the arming handle.

Seeing that they had found the last remaining enemy tank, Captain Diss yelled, "Fire!" He said a quick prayer as the round was released.

Boom!

The cannon recoiled one more time inside the tank, and they watched the round fly right next to the turret of the burning tank to slam into the side of the other Arjun tank. In seconds, the tank blew up in spectacular form, adding another billowing cloud of oily black smoke to the surreal scene around them.

Crump, crump, crump.

More artillery rounds landed near them, rocking their tank.

“Get us moving!” Captain Diss yelled at his driver. “We need to get out of here. The enemy artillery has us zeroed in.”

Once they were speeding along, Captain Diss again returned his attention to the rest of the company. He needed to figure out how many more tanks he’d lost during this charge. He knew the one next to him had been destroyed, but he didn’t know whose tank it was or if they’d lost any additional vehicles.

Ten minutes went by as they moved through the area, past burnt-out wrecks of Arjun tanks, BMPs and BTR armored vehicles. Several Apache helicopters flew ahead of them, looking for more targets to take out. Just as Captain Diss was starting to feel somewhat safe about having them around, one of the Apaches exploded in midair, hit by some unseen missile. Then he identified the sound of more fighters overhead. An aerial battle was now in full swing above him.

General John Cotton, the Supreme Allied Commander, stormed into the briefing room.

“Why haven’t we broken through the enemy lines in the south of Poland yet?” he demanded. He singled out his operations chief, a German officer, and practically shouted, “Our forces in the north have routed the enemy — they pushed the Russians out of Poland and back into Belarus — we may very well capture Minsk in a few more days. What is the holdup with our forces in the south?”

Lieutenant General Wolfgang Kholman was not fazed by Cotton’s abrupt manner. He calmly responded, “The situation is still fluid at the moment, Sir. Despite being surprised by the Indian use of the Arjun Mk-2s, I just received a report that the US 1st Armored Division and the German 9th Panzer Division broke through the Indian positions there, and the Indians are now conducting a fighting retreat back to the Ukrainian border.”

Seemingly satisfied with his J3’s response, Cotton took a short breath and signaled for the others standing at the table to take a seat. “All right, everyone, we need to get the rest of the midafternoon update. I have a secured video teleconference with the President before dinner, and I need to be fully caught up on everything.”

Two captains sitting against the wall pulled out their notepads, ready to take detailed notes on the meeting. They had the dubious task of creating the slide deck to be presented to the President.

“OK,” said Cotton, now more poised, “if the 1st AD and the German 9th Panzers broke through, then what’s happening to the small contingent of enemy troops that are trapped in the Kraków pocket? Do we have an idea of how many enemy soldiers we’re facing?” Cotton asked.

Major General Sarah Tyndale, his intelligence officer or J2, took this question on. “We’ve been going over a lot of drone footage to analyze the numbers on that, Sir. We’ve also been combing through a lot of interrogation reports from prisoners taken near the city. The best we can tell is that at least one battalion of Indian infantry is still trapped in the city, along with a Russian motorized rifle regiment. We estimate it’s 5,000 enemy soldiers, give or take.”

General Kholman added, “We’ve been hitting their armored vehicles with precision strikes as best we can. Right now, they don’t have enough armor or other vehicles to force a breakout in any particular sector. I can order the 9th Panzer Division in, but my concern is we’ll end up destroying a lot of the city trying to root them out.”

General Tyndale nodded, then asserted, “Sir, I’d recommend we let the PSYOPS guys have a crack at it. The enemy has been on defense for a while; they’re getting hit from the air, snipers, and artillery. If we can’t convince them to surrender by the end of the week, then we can look at sending troops in.”

General Cotton put his two index fingers together in the shape of a steeple as he thought that over. Sending troops in now would surely result in a bloody street fight that would cause significant damage to a historic city. “I could give them a week,” he finally determined, “but no more.” Without enemy units in their rear, a longer delay just didn’t make sense.

“OK, General Tyndale, your intel guys have one week,” General Cotton instructed. “If you can’t convince the enemy to surrender, then I’m going to have General Kholman send the 9th in. I can’t have that division stuck encircling Kraków trying to starve them out. I need their armor to help press home the attack elsewhere. Understood?”

She nodded, smiling slightly. General Cotton knew her well enough to understand that saving a beautiful city from destruction meant something to her.

Cotton moved on to the next topic. “Slovakia — have we pushed the Russians out?”

“Yes,” answered General Kholman. “It didn’t really seem like they planned on holding the country. We sent one Italian division, one Croatian battalion and two Austrian battalions in there, and all they encountered were two Russian motorized infantry regiments and one armor battalion. The Russians barely fought. They did carry out an effective fighting retreat, which tore up a lot of the country’s infrastructure. Nearly every bridge they crossed, they destroyed. It’s going to make launching any offensive operations from Slovakia a mess until we can get those bridges repaired.”

General Cotton snickered. “That was the Russians’ entire plan, Herr Kholman,” he said with a smile. “They were never going to hold Slovakia, but now they’ve denied us its use as a launchpad to invade Ukraine. They want to force us to face them from Poland, where they’ve built an in-depth defense for us.”

General Kholman nodded and pulled up a map on PowerPoint. “Right now, Sir, the enemy defensive line stretches from Košice, Slovakia, to Nowy Sacz, Poland, in the south. In the center, they hold at Lublin, Poland, and in the north, their line stretches from Baranovichi, Belarus, to just east of Riga, Latvia.” A bulge in the enemy lines in the center had clearly developed.

Seeing the opportunity before him, General Cotton sat up straighter in his chair and announced, “I want Fifth Corps in Belarus to break off from their attack and shift south. Move the French division we have in reserve to take their place. I want Fifth Corps to drive south and capture Kovel, Ukraine. If they can capture that city, it’ll cut the entire Russian center force off from resupply and place an entire corps in their rear area. We’ll collapse the entire Russian front if we can pull it off,” he said excitedly.

“This might be the ticket to ending this war if we can make it work,” Cotton thought happily.

Kholman looked at the map and paused. He scattered some notes on the paper in front of him, and Cotton surmised that General Kholman was calculating the distances. Suddenly, he frowned. “Herr General, I agree this would cause the Russian lines to collapse. However, I’m not sure if you are aware, but that would be roughly a 320 kilometer drive south, largely behind enemy lines. We would in all likelihood not be able to resupply them for several days, maybe even a week, depending on whether or not the enemy cut through our own supply lines,” he explained.

“What do you believe we’d need to have happen to make this plan work?” inquired Cotton. He really wanted to finish the Russians off there in Poland.

Kholman thought about that for a second. He looked at the units in the nearby area and consulted the map one more time. “Herr General, I’m not sure if the British are going to return to the war soon, or if they will at all, but if they did, we could probably complete the maneuver you requested if we could have the 16 Air Assault Brigade carry out a combat assault and secure Ivanava, Belarus, and Manevychi, Ukraine. I believe they would be able to keep our supply lines open and make sure Fifth Corps didn’t get cut off or surrounded.” He gestured to the locations on the map as he spoke.

General Cotton needed a moment to consider this option. No one spoke for a little while, although several of the people scribbled notes, apparently making their own calculations. Finally, Cotton replied, “I’ll talk to President Foss about that when I speak with him tonight. It’s only been twenty-four hours since the new British government was sworn in, and I’m not sure how quickly they’ll want to get back into the war.”

Looking now to his naval counterparts, Cotton said, “Changing subjects, are we ready to launch Operation Polar Bear yet?”

Operation Polar Bear was going to build on Operation Nordic Thunder by leveraging a naval task force to sail around the Kola Peninsula and finish off the remains of the Russian Navy. Once the Admiral Kuznetsov and the rest of the North Fleet were sunk, the amphibious assault portion of the operation could commence. The goal was to land a regiment of French Fusiliers Marins, the French version of the Marine Corps, who would assault Severodvinsk, Russia, in the White Sea, which would open up their access to the strategic city of Arkhangelsk. The French Marines would be supported by Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry. Between the three Canadian battalions and the French forces, General Cotton believed they should have more than enough strength to secure this critically important Russian seaport and open it up for future offensive operations once spring thawed the winter snow and ice.

French Admiral Denis Béraud, who would be leading the expedition, responded, “The task force is ready to sail within seventy-two hours of your giving us the order.” He crossed his arms, hesitating. “However, if I could, General Cotton, I would advise that we wait to see if the British are going to rejoin the war. If they do, then I recommend we hold off on deploying the task force until we can get the British to join us.”

Admiral Béraud pulled up a screen with a summary of his naval forces. “Right now, we have the Italian carriers Cavour and Giuseppe Garibaldi. Combined, these carriers have thirty-eight vertical takeoff aircraft. Then we have the Spanish Juan Carlos I, which can carry twenty-eight VTOL aircraft. Then I have my own carrier, the Charles de Gaulle, which can carry forty aircraft. We also have three amphibious assault ships that could carry additional aircraft, but I have intentionally left them to be dedicated helicopter assault ships to support the ground invasion. If we add in the USS Kitty Hawk, the USS Enterprise, and USS John F. Kennedy, it will bring our naval airpower to over three hundred aircraft. However, if the HMS Queen Elizabeth is able to join the fleet, it’ll add another fifty aircraft. Plus, we’ll be able to add the Royal Marines to the ground force. It’ll make our offensive much more effective.”

A smile spread across General Cotton’s face. “Admiral, I’m impressed. You’ve been given an incredibly difficult job of cobbling nearly a dozen navies together to form the largest allied fleet in the Atlantic since World War II, and you’ve done it. Again, I’ll speak with the President tonight to see what the status of the British is and if we may be able to count on them in this coming operation. Was there any trouble getting the American carriers manned and ready?” he asked. “I know they’d just recently been pulled out of mothballs, so they needed a lot of work done to them.”

Admiral Béraud nodded. “Yes, they needed a lot of work to get ready for this operation,” he replied. “However, I’d like to commend America on its ability to get these ships ready for war in such a short timeframe. In less than fifteen months, your shipyards were able to rewire them and install the most current defensive systems, targeting computers, and radars. It truly was amazing.”

General Cotton, who was now feeling much more optimistic than when he’d entered the room, concluded, “Thank you, everyone, for your hard work these past few days. We’re close to defeating the enemy. We need to stay focused on the task at hand and finish these snakes off.”

Then he got up and headed back to his office. He needed to prepare for his brief with the President, which would take place in two hours.

The air was thick with tension and apprehension as the men who would decide the fate of the free world sat at the table in the large room of the National Military Command Center, deep in the bowels of the Pentagon. From this very room, the launch orders to unleash America’s nuclear arsenal could be generated and executed. The men and women that manned this room on a twenty-four-hour basis at times felt the weight of the world on their shoulders as six nuclear-armed powers waged war against each other. They never knew if one or all six would at some point unleash those horrid weapons of mass destruction.

Sitting at the briefing table was the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Admiral Meyers, the service chiefs of each branch of service, the Secretary of Defense, the National Security Advisor, several of the intelligence directors and the President. They had just concluded a teleconference with the newly sworn in British Prime Minister, Rosie Hoyle, who’d just informed them that the United Kingdom would be resuming their participation in the war against Russia. She’d promised that her government was going to do everything they could to reinstate the military buildup and the prior deployments of the military to the continent. This was obviously welcomed news.

They didn’t have too long to revel in this happy development, though. A technician walked into the room and walked over to the colonel who would be leading the next brief. “Sir, the guys in Europe are ready for you,” he announced.

The colonel nodded, and the technician gave a thumbs-up to someone in the rear of the room to activate the screen. A second later, the image of General Cotton and a couple of his advisors were shown on the large screen.

“Good evening, Mr. President,” General Cotton said to the group. It was still technically lunchtime in the US, but he greeted him based on local time.

“Good afternoon, General. I hope things are progressing well on your end,” Foss replied.

“Things are good on this end, Mr. President. As you’ll note from the slides we sent over, we have finally achieved a breakthrough in several sectors.” There was a slight pause as the group thumbed through their printed handouts. Cotton allowed a moment for review, but he was not one to waste time, so he cut to the point. “However, Mr. President, as you’ll see on slide fifteen, I’d like to know if we’re going to be able to include the British in our coming operations.”

The President smiled. He exulted in being the bearer of good news for once. “As a matter of fact, yes,” he answered. “We just spoke with the new British Prime Minister right before this call. She has assured us that Britain will return to the war. They have several of their senior officers on the way to your location to begin coordination of whatever forces you need for the coming offensive.”

It was clear General Cotton was breathing a sigh of relief, even over the grainy video feed. He replied, “Excellent news, Mr. President. Once I’ve conferred with them, do I have your permission, then, to proceed with the proposed operation we presented on slide twenty-eight, the use of the British Airborne and V Corps to slice deep behind enemy lines?”

Despite only working with General Cotton for a short bit, President Foss had really taken a liking to him. He was proving to be a real tactician. He’d been making do with little in the way of support and reinforcements for the past year, and somehow, he’d still managed to help train a massive Allied army to fill in the gaps in his own forces.

“Gates was right, this guy will win the war in Europe for us,” Foss thought.

“General, we’ve been going over the details since you sent them over. I believe the Joint Staff have some additional questions, which I’ll let them ask offline. However, I’d like to move forward with the plan. They just want to sort a few items out, but otherwise, this looks like a sound strategy. If it works, you might be able to force a very large portion of the Russian and Indian forces into surrendering before the end of the year.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” General Cotton responded. “We’ll get things sorted out then with the Joint Staff and proceed. When I meet with the British LNOs, we’ll have a better idea of how soon we can start our offensive. We’d planned to start the naval action in a couple of days, but we’ll postpone a little longer so we can integrate the British fleet into our own. If you don’t have any further questions, then we’ll take the rest of this offline and keep you apprised of any significant changes,”

Seeing no obvious questions, the President indicated that they were good, and the call was ended.

President Foss smiled. His day had just gotten exponentially better. With the British back in the war, the operational tempo was about to increase tremendously going into the final two months of 2018.