The War in 2020

primary at Ruby. Take out the maintenance site itself, then the yards. Clear? Good. Second Squadron then continues along axis White-three, prepared to turn to the assistance of First Squadron to the south, on the regiment's left flank — should an emergency situation arise. Second Squadron will not, however, seek dogfights. No white-scarf nonsense, gentlemen. Remember, First Squadron cannot come in until you close, and they'll be flying on fumes. Your assembly area is here, at Platinum, in the Orenburg region, where you will be positioned to spearhead a follow-on attack to the southwest. if one is ordered. Colonel Taylor will fly off-echelon from Second Squadron, in control of the main battle. Any questions, Second Squadron?'

There were no questions. Those officers who had not been directly involved in planning the operations had nonetheless had the opportunity to read over the op order.

'All right,' Heifetz said. 'That brings us to Third Squadron. Thirteen operational M-l00s out of a complement of sixteen.'

'I'll have two more birds up by H-hour, Lieutenant Colonel Reno, the Third Squadron's commander, announced. The swagger and peevishness in his voice sought to telegraph that he was a commander, while Heifetz was merely a higher form of staff flunky. 'Don't worry about Third Squadron.'

Heifetz did not believe the man. Of all the squadron commanders, Heifetz had the least faith in Reno's being where he was supposed to be, doing what he was supposed to do, when he was supposed to be doing it. But Reno was the son of a retired four-star general, and even Taylor had had no say in the man's assignment to the Seventh Cavalry. Taylor and Heifetz had been careful to assign Third Squadron the least demanding mission.

'Third Squadron,' Heifetz continued, ignoring Reno's tone, 'deploys along axis Green-one only upon receiving confirmation that First and Second squadrons have both crossed their LDs. Third Squadron's mission is simply the destruction of enemy forces along the corridor formed by Engagement Area Emerald. Now the Soviets have friendly forces cut off and scattered all along Green-one, so you re on weapons-hold until Emerald. Then you're on your own. Emerald stretches roughly from Kokchetav to Atbasar. Your navigational aids will automatically key when you hit the initial boundary. Within the engagement area, any military system is fair game. Your mission is extensive destruction of enemy follow-on and supporting forces in the rear of the breakthrough sector. The single specified target is here, at Atbasar. The headquarters of the I Iranian Corps is set into an excavation site just outside of town. The coordinates have been programmed in for Charlie Troop, and for Bravo, as a backup. The S-2 suspects this site doubles as a Japanese forward command-and-control site, so make sure you clean it out thoroughly. Upon exiting Emerald, you follow Green-two directly to Assembly Area Gold in the industrial park outside of Magnitogorsk, where you will prepare to accept a follow-on mission. Any questions?'

None.

'Fire support,' Heifetz continued. 'The regiment's dual-purpose artillery battalion will be employed in its air defense mode. The mobile operations envisioned by the plan will be too swiftly paced for heavy-artillery accompaniment. Thus, we have decided to move the regimental artillery directly to the follow-on assembly areas, by routes to the rear of the areas of contact. One battery will deploy to each site — Platinum, Silver, and Gold. You will be prepared to intercept any hostiles on the tail of our squadrons as they close.'

Heifetz did a quick mental review. Had he forgotten anything?

No. He went into his closing. 'Nonspecified coordination measures per SOP. Quartering parties are authorized to depart for the follow-on assembly areas at end-evening-nautical-twilight. Keep to the approved routes so you don't have some trigger-happy Soviets shooting at you. Artillery follows at EENT plus one. Scouts up at LD minus ninety minutes. Sir,' he addressed Taylor, 'are there any questions?'

'No. Good job, Dave.'

'Then I will be followed by the electronic-warfare liaison officer from the Tenth Cav.'

Heifetz rested the remote device on the field podium and moved for his seat, passing a tall, very lean young man on his way. The younger man took up a position just to the side of the briefing screen and began to discuss the intricacies of maneuvering jammers and conducting electronic deception assaults, of electronic tides, digital leeching and ruse dialogues with enemy radars, of ambient energy and frequency deconfliction.

Back in his cold metal chair at Taylor's side, Heifetz had no difficulty imagining the new briefer in a different battle dress, describing the employment techniques for a new type of arrow or sling.

* * *

Manny Martinez missed laughter. In peacetime exercises, even during the Mexican deployment, he had always been able to deliver his support briefings with a touch of humor. It was a tradition in any unit commanded by Taylor that the S-4 briefed last. And Martinez had always managed to brighten even the bad days with smiles and small jokes, with banter that made fun of himself or the world. But the humor was gone now, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, awaiting his turn to speak as he might await his turn in the dentist's chair. Nothing he had experienced had ever been this serious, and he felt only the weight of his problems — growing problems — within the support and maintenance system, doubt about his personal adequacy, and the deepening worry that he would let down Taylor and all of the other men who depended on him.

He war-gamed possible realignments and shortcuts that might better accomplish the ever greater number of required repairs, that might more efficiently move the regiment's extensive support infrastructure to the new assembly areas, that might begin to ready the maintenance crews for the still-not-quite-imaginable challenges they would face in the aftermath of combat. Martinez had always had a light, clever way with solutions to support problems, the ability to see the obvious answers hidden by the camouflage of regulations and routine, and he had been vain about his talents. Now he saw only the possibility of failure on a dozen fronts.

He half-listened through the series of other briefers, as the chemical officer reported on the latest strikes and the types of agents employed, and as the regimental surgeon warned of typhus among the refugees and lectured the warriors yet again on the uses and abuses of the stimulant pills they had been issued and on the limitations of the fear suppressants given to the dragoons and other junior enlisted soldiers — tablets the troops nicknamed suicide pills because they were convinced, despite all assurances to the contrary, that they impaired a man's judgment. If the pills were so hot, the soldiers asked, how come the officers didn't have to take them?

Martinez listened, wishing the briefings could go on forever, suspending them all on the edge of war, on the verge of action, forgiving them their impending duty. Despite the kidney-penetrating chill in the warehouse, he felt himself sweating.

It never occurred to him to be afraid for his life. He was only afraid of failure.

Then it was time. A startling voice said:

'I will be followed by the S-4.'

It was time.

'Manny?' Taylor said, turning his discolored face down the row of chairs.

Martinez sprang to his feet, surprised to find his body as ready and buoyant as ever.

'Good afternoon, sir, gentlemen…' he began, '… as of 1600 local all combat systems have been fully fueled and their weapons suites calibrated and loaded. From the logistics and maintenance standpoint, there is nothing to interfere with the immediate mission, although there is still some question as to how many M-l00s we'll actually get across the LD. Assuming the parts swap-out allows First Squadron to get Zero-eight up, that leaves us with a present strength of forty-five operational systems of fifty assigned. There is a possibility that we'll be able to get one more of Third Squadron's birds up by lift-off time, but I can't guarantee it.'

'Now, damn it, Martinez,' Lieutenant Colonel Reno cut in, 'you and the motor officer told me you'd have all three of my down birds back up.'

It was a lie. Martinez knew it, and he knew that Reno knew it. Reno, the general's son.

'Sir,' Martinez said, 'I told you we'd do our best. But—'

'That's the damned trouble with this army,' Reno said, 'you can't count on—'

Reno, who, as Martinez knew, had joked that, 'That little spic's going to find out that logistics means more than stealing car parts in some back alley.'

'Colonel Reno,' Taylor entered the exchange in his stark, commanding voice, 'I agree it's worth a fight to get every damned machine in the air that we possibly can. But I'm personally convinced that regimental maintenance is doing a good job for all of us. No, a great job. As the Seventh Cavalry commander I'm about to go into battle with a ninety-five percent ready rate. I'll tell you frankly, that's better than I expected. I'm going to cross that LD confidently tonight — and I think everybody else who's going along on the mission can feel the same way. There was a quality about Taylor's presence that seemed ready to