Fitzhugh looked over at Ilvanich and nodded. 'Oh, yeah. Sorry, Major. I guess I was getting carried away. You know, put as much distance between us and that place.'
He was doing better, Ilvanich thought. The young lieutenant was overcoming the paralysis of fear, shock, and panic. Looking back at the column struggling through the dark, snow-covered landscape, Ilvanich knew that it had been a good move to get out and away from the tunnel. Smiling, Ilvanich returned Fitzhugh's nod. 'Yes, I share your desire. But not at the expense of losing our wounded. We must make it all together or not at all. Now just keep heading along the base of this hill until we hit the Svalyava road. From there it will be a short march through the woods and up a hill.'
Though he still had no contact with the American battalion commander, or anyone else, Ilvanich trusted that the American battalion commander would react in the same manner as a Russian commander would in the same situation. Eventually he would use the scout helicopters, or perhaps even the attack helicopters themselves, to conduct a search for survivors and attempt to assess the situation. While it was always possible that those helicopters would find them, Ilvanich could not count on that. It was important, Ilvanich knew, to do something, something positive. To have waited for someone to find them and come to their rescue was against everything that Ilvanich had been taught. All he had to do was to keep his company together and out of harm's way until they were found or they reached the other rangers.
A feeling of nausea overcame Ilvanich, causing him to slow his pace, then stop. Fitzhugh didn't notice the sweat that was beading up on Ilvanich's forehead. Nor did he stop when Ilvanich halted. Fitzhugh simply kept trudging along through the snow and into the darkness, leaving Ilvanich alone. Ilvanich managed to compose himself, fighting back the nausea that he had feared would come since it was usually the first symptom of radiation sickness that manifested itself.
A series of explosions coming from the direction of the tunnel caused Ilvanich to turn around. In the darkness he could see that the Ukrainians were laying down a barrage on the ledge in front of the tunnel they had just left. Looking about, he noticed that the entire column had stopped and turned to watch. They, as he did, realized how close this entire affair had been.
Overcoming his own concerns, Ilvanich called out to his command, 'Those are 120mm mortars. The Ukrainians still believe we are at the tunnel and they are preparing to attack. So long as we do not do anything foolish, we will be safe until the helicopters find us or we reach our own lines.' Looking at Fitzhugh, he ordered him to keep moving. 'That fight,' he reminded his men as they began to pass him, 'belongs to the attack helicopters now. Our mission is almost over.'
By the time Dixon rolled up in his tank, the forward command post was almost ready to move. Cerro, who had been standing out of the way, watched Dixon as he stood on top of the turret shaking the ice and snow off of his parka. After handing the parka to his gunner, who had moved up into the commander's hatch while Dixon prepared to dismount, Dixon stretched. Bringing his hands down to his hips, he looked about before he started to dismount. Behind Dixon on the horizon the sun was just beginning to make its appearance. To Cerro, Dixon, standing erect on top of his tank, hands on his hips and legs spread shoulder width, looked like a feudal lord surveying his conquests. That analogy, Cerro thought, wasn't far from the truth.
Three hours after crossing the border, the lead elements of 1st Brigade, 4th Armored Division, were about to enter the city of Mukacevo, ahead of schedule and despite predictions that they would never make it that far. The Ukrainian tank brigade from Uzlovaya, a threat that had been a major concern before the operation, had been met and turned back. Even at the moment, air strikes were going in to ensure that it would be unable to recover from the pounding that it had received at the hands of 3rd of the 3rd Infantry. And the militia units throughout the region were for the most part ineffective. Unable to coordinate their activities, resistance was minimal. Only one roadblock on the road to Mukacevo had been encountered after crossing the border. A hasty attack by 1st Battalion, 37th Armor, the brigade's lead element, had easily pushed it aside. Yeah, Cerro thought, Dixon was at the moment lord and master of all he saw.
Walking over to Dixon's tank, Cerro was greeted with a smile. 'Hell of a fine day to be a tanker, Hal. How's the staff business going?'
Dixon was animated. Strange, Cerro thought, how a ride in a tank, a chance to join in on the rash against an enemy position, and the dawn of a new day can wipe away all the fears and exhaustion that seemed to grow in the darkness of night. There was nothing that could make a man feel more alive than to put one's ass on the line and survive. Strange breed we are, he thought. 'You need a quick update, sir?'
Looking down from his commanding height, Dixon smiled. 'Of course. You have one?'
'Well, sir, we seem to be in the middle of a lull right now. Our lead elements are on the outskirts of Mukacevo with no signs of resistance other than a few hasty roadblocks that no one seems to be interested in defending. Kozak and her crew down on the Latorica are in good shape. They haven't had any contact in a couple of hours and have managed to re-establish their blocking positions. Further to the east, the ranger company from the storage site that got trashed linked up with the rest of their battalion at the second site. According to corps, they've already started lifting out the nukes from that site. Since nothing seems to be in the wind, I thought this would be a good time to jump the CP forward to Mukacevo. I was just getting ready to jump forward to the next location when you came up. We'll be on the road in another fifteen minutes.'
Slapping his hands on his chest, Dixon took a deep breath. 'Well, don't let me stop you. I'll get one of your loyal minions to give me an update.'
Cerro saluted. 'Okay, I'll leave you here to gloat, sir.'
Dixon laughed. 'Do I detect, Major, some sour grapes?'
'No, sir, not at all. You're the boss and you have every right to roam about the countryside wherever you please while I keep the galley slaves in line.'
Dixon, a smile lighting up his dirty face, looked at Cerro. 'Don't worry, Hal. Your day will come. I assure you, after this you'll be a shoo-in for battalion command. And when you get your battalion, I hope that you get an operations officer that's just as obnoxious as the one I've been saddled with.'
'Okay, sir. I get the message. I'll meet you up the road.' Exchanging salutes, Cerro turned and began to walk away, then paused. 'Oh, one more thing, Colonel. There's a storm brewing in the west.'
Dixon's face now showed a moment of concern. 'Any chance of its affecting us?'
Cerro shook his head. 'Too early to tell, sir.' Looking at the dark sky to the west, Dixon thought about it for a moment, then smiled again. 'Well, there's nothing you or I can do to stop it if it decides to come our way. No need to worry about something that's beyond our control. We have more than enough to deal with here. Now, break's over. Back on your head.'
Part Two
THE GERMAN CRISIS
CHAPTER 6
After a second review of the script her producer, Charley Mordal, had provided her for the twelve noon broadcast, Jan Fields-Dixon decided that more changes needed to be made. Although it never ceased to amaze her how little information their news program actually put out over the air, today's script, concerning what the script referred to as the American incursion into the Ukraine and the first use of a nuclear weapon since 1945, was particularly bad. With script in hand, Jan headed for the producer's desk, which was no easy task, especially on a day when a news story like this broke. The normal well-paced and measured chaos and pandemonium of the central newsroom was intensified tenfold. Jan had once theorized to a fellow correspondent that the importance of a news story could be measured by the amount of shouting and yelling that took place behind the camera. Few in the business disagreed with her. Winding her way through and around a maze of computer desks and long consoles manned by stern-faced technicians and harried assistant editors, Jan bobbed and weaved as she attempted to keep
