tc.redstormrising-第139部分

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〃rade　General　Alekseyev；　you　are　now　mander…in…Chief　of　the　Western　Theater　of　Military　Operations；〃　his　superior　said　simply。　〃I　wish　you　luck。〃
Alekseyev　felt　the　hair　rise　up　on　his　neck　at　the　General's　tone。　The　man　was　flanked　by　a　pair　of　KGB　colonels　wearing　the　standard　KGB　battle　dress；　camouflage　cloth　tailored　in　the　pattern　of　a　class…A　uniform；　the　〃State　Security〃　GB　emblem　shoulder　boards。　It　was　an　institutional　form　of　arrogance　that　suited　the　KGB　as　perfectly　as　the　look　on　the　colonels'　faces。
What　do　I　say？　What　can　I　do？　This　is　my　friend。
The　former　mander…in…Chief　of　the　Western　Theater　of　Military　Operations　said　it　for　him：　〃Good…bye；　Pasha。〃
They　took　the　General　out。　Alekseyev　watched　him　go；　then　stop　at　the　door。　He　turned　with　a　look　of　hopeless　fatalism　before　proceeding。　Alekseyev's　last　sight　was　of　the　General's　pistol　belt；　the　leather　flap　loose　over　an　empty　holster。　He　turned　away　and　saw　on　the　desk　a　telex　confirming　his　mand　status。　It　told　him　that　he　had　the　plete　confidence　of　the　Party；　the　Politburo；　and　the　People。　He　crumpled　it　and　threw　it　against　the　wall。　He　had　seen　the　same　words　on　the　same　form　a　few　brief　weeks　before。　The　recipient　of　that　message　of　confidence　was　now　in　a　car　heading　east。
How　long　do　I　have？　Alekseyev　summoned　his　munications　officer。
〃Get　me　General　Beregovoy！〃

BRUSSELS；　BELGIUM
SACEUR　allowed　himself　a　meal。　He'd　lost　ten　pounds　since　the　war　had　begun　by　subsisting　on　coffee　and　sandwiches　and　stomach　acid。　Alexander　had　manded　armies　in　his　teens　and　twenties…maybe　that's　why　he　did　so　well；　the　General　thought。　He　was　young　enough　to　stand　it。
It　was　working。　The　Cav　was　at　Alfeld。　The　Germans　were　firmly　in　control　of　Gronau　and　Bruggen；　and　unless　Ivan　reacted　quickly；　his　divisions　on　the　Weser　were　in　for　a　very　nasty　surprise。　The　door　to　his　office　opened。　It　was　his　German　intelligence　officer。
〃Excuse　me；　Herr　General；　I　have　an　naval　intelligence　officer　here。〃
〃Is　it　important；　Joachim？〃
〃Ja。〃　
SACEUR　looked　down　at　his　plate。　〃Show　him　in。〃
The　General　was　not　impressed。　The　man　was　dressed　in　his　shipboard　khakis。　Only　a　very　sharp　eye　could　see　where　the　creases　used　to　be。
〃General；　I'm　mander　Bob　Toland。　Until　a　few　hours　ago；　I　was　on　the　threat　team　with　Strike　Fleet　Atlantic…〃
〃How's　it　going　on　Iceland？〃
〃The　air　attack　on　the　fleet　was　chewed　up；　sir。　There's　still　the　submarine　problem　to　deal　with；　but　the　Marines　are　moving。　I　think　we'll　win　this　one；　General。〃
〃Well；　the　more　subs　they　send　after　the　carriers；　the　fewer　go　after　my　convoys。〃
That's　one　way　to　look　at　it；　Toland　thought。　〃Admiral；　we　captured　a　Russian　fighter　pilot。　He　es　from　an　important　family。　I　interrogated　him；　here's　the　tape。　I　think　we　know　why　the　war　started。〃
〃Joachim；　did　you　check　his　data？〃
〃No；　sir。　He　has　already　briefed　EASTLANT；　and　Admiral　Beattie　wanted　the　data　to　e　directly　to　you。〃
SACEUR's　eyes　narrowed。　〃Let's　hear　it；　son。〃
〃Oil。〃



41　…Targets　of　Opportunity

BRUSSELS；　BELGIUM
Three　copies　were　made　of　the　tape。　One　went　to　one　of　SACEUR's　intelligence　staff　for　a　separate　translation　to　be　checked　against　Toland's。　Another　was　taken　to　French　intelligence　for　electronic　analysis。　The　third　was　analyzed　by　a　Belgian　psychiatrist　who　was　fluent　in　Russian。　While　that　was　going　on；　half　of　the　intelligence　officers　at　NATO　headquarters　updated　all　their　information　about　Soviet　fuel　consumption　to　date。　CIA　and　other　national　intelligence　services　began　a　frantic　investigation　into　Soviet　oil　production　and　utilization。　Toland　predicted　the　oute　hours　before　it　came　in：　insufficient　data。　The　range　of　possible　conclusions　predicted　that　the　Russians　had　enough　fuel　for　several　months…or　had　already　run　out！
SACEUR　took　his　time　before　accepting　the　data　at　face　value。　Prisoner　interrogations　had　given　his　intelligence　people　a　wealth　of　information…most　of　it　patently　false　or　contradictory。　Since　supply　officers　naturally　lagged　behind　the　fighting　troops；　few　of　them　had　been　captured。　It　was　the　Air　Force　that　bought　the　story　first。　They　knew　that　enemy　fuel…supply　dumps　were　smaller　than　expected。　Instead　of　the　One　Big　Facility　so　prevalent　throughout　Russian　society　（and　after　the　big　dump　at　Wittenburg　had　been　blown　up）；　the　Russians　had　gone　to　small　ones；　accepting　the　price　of　increased　air…defense　and　security　requirements。　NATO's　deep…strike　air　missions　had　been　concentrating　on　airfields；　munitions　dumps；　transport　junctions；　and　the　tank　columns　approaching　the　front　。　。　。　more　lucrative　targets　than　the　smaller…than…expected　fuel　depots；　which　were　also　harder　to　spot。　The　traffic　signatures　associated　with　the　large　fuel…posts　usually　showed　hundreds　of　trucks　cycling　in　and　out。　The　small　ones；　with　fewer　trucks　involved；　were　harder　for　the　look…down　radar　aircraft　to　locate。　All　these　factors　militated　to　a　different　targeting　priority。
After　fifteen　minutes'　discussion　with　his　Air　Chief；　SACEUR　changed　all　that。

STENDAL；　GERMAN　DEMOCRATIC　REPUBLIC
〃I　can't　do　both　things；〃　Alekseyev　whispered　to　himself　He'd　spent　the　last　twelve　hours　trying　to　find　a　way；　but　it　wasn't　there。　It　was　a　marvel　what　it　meant　finally　to　be　in　mand　himself；　no　longer　the　aggressive　subordinate。　He　was　now　responsible　for　success　or　failure。　A　mistake　was　his　mistake。　A　failure　was　his　failure。　It　had　been　much　more　fortable　the　other　way。　Like　his　predecessor；　Alekseyev　had　to　mark　his　orders；　even　though　his　orders　were　impossible。　He　had　to　maintain　the　salient　and　continue　the　advance。　He　had　the　resources　to　do　one　or　the　other；　but　not　both。　You　will　advance　northwest　from　the　Weser；　cutting　off　the　forces　on　the　right…flank　of　the　advancing　troops　and　preparing　the　way　for　a　decisive　attack　into　the　Ruhr　Valley。　Whoever　issued　the　orders　either　didn't　know　or　didn't　care　that　this　was　impossible。
But　NATO　knew。　Their　air　power　had　smashed　convoys　on　every　road　between　R乭le　and　Alfeld。　The　two　B　tank　divisions　guarding　Beregovoy's　northern　flank　had　been　caught　off…balance　and　routed。　Battalion…sized　blocking　forces　occupied　the　major　crossroads　while　the　NATO　manders　reinforced　the　regiment　at　Alfeld。　Probably　two　full　tank　divisions　lurked　in　the　forests　north　of　R乭le；　but　for　the　present　they　had　not　attacked　Beregovoy。　Instead　their　inaction　both　dared　him　to　cross　and　invited　him　to　counterattack　north。
Alekseyev　remembered　an　important　lesson　from　the　Frunze　Academy：　the　Kharkov　Offensive　of　1942。　The　Germans　had　allowed　the　advancing　Red　Army　forces　to　penetrate　deep…then　cut　them　off　and　chewed　them　up。　High　mand　＇meaning　Stalin＇　ignored　the　objective　realities　of　the　situation　（hence　violating　the　Second　Law　of　Armed　bat）；　concentrating　instead　on　subjective　perceptions　of　apparent　progress　that　unfortunately　proved　false；　the　lesson　concluded。　The　General　wondered　if　this　battle　would　be　an　object　lesson　for　some　future　class　of　captains　and　majors　who　would　then　write　their　test　answers　and　essays　in　bluebooks；　pointing　out　what　an　ass　General　Colonel　Pavel　Leonidovich　Alekseyev　was！
Or　he　could　pull　them　back　。　。　。　and　admit　defeat；　and　perhaps　be　shot；　and　then　be　remembered；　if　at　all；　as　a　traitor　to　the　Motherland。　It　was　so　fitting。　After　sending　so　many　thousands　of　boys　into　fire；　now　he　faced　death　as　well；　though　from　an　unexpected　direction。
〃Major　Sergetov；　I　want　you　to　go　back　to　Moscow　to　tell　them　in　person　what　I　am。　up　to。　I　am　going　to　detach　one　division　from　Beregovoy　and　drive　it　east　to　open　the　way　at　Alfeld　again。　The　attack　on　Alfeld　will　be　from　two　directions；　and　after　it　succeeds；　we　will　be　able　to　continue　the　Weser　crossing　without　fear　of　having　our　spearhead　cut　off。〃
〃A　skillful　promise；〃　the　major　said　hopefully。
That's　just　the　thing　I　need　to　hear！

BITBURG；　FEDERAL　REPUBLIC　OF　GERMANY
Twelve　Frisbees　were　left。　Twice　they'd　been　pulled　out　of　action　briefly　to　determine　what　new　tactics　would　lessen　the　hazards…with　some　success；　Colonel　Ellington　told　himself　A　few　of　the　Soviet　systems　had　proved　to　have　unsuspected　capabilities；　but　half　of　his　losses　were　unexplained。　Were　they　the　kind　of　accidents　that　acpanied　flying　heavily　loaded　aircraft　at　minimum　altitude　or　simply　the　laws　of　probability　catching　up　with　everyone？　A　pilot　might　think　a　1…percent　chance　of　being　shot　down　on　a　given　mission　acceptable；　then　realize　that　fifty　such　missions　made　it　a　40　percent　chance。
His　flight　crews　were　unnaturally　quiet。　The　elite　Frisbee　squadron　was　a　tight　family　of　men；　a　third　of　whom　were　gone。　The　professionalism　that　allowed　them　to　shut　this　out　and　do　their　weeping　in　private　had　its　limits。　That　limit　had　been　passed。　Mission　performance　was　down。　But　bat　requirements　were　not；　and　Ellington　knew　that　sentiment's　place　in　the　great　military　scheme　of　things　fell　below　the　need　to　hit　targets。
He　rotated　the　aircraft　off　the　pavement　and　headed　east　alone。　Tonight　he　carried　no　weapons　save　Sidewinders　and　antiradar　missiles　for　self…defense。　His　F…19A　was　burdened　with　fuel　tanks　instead　of　bombs。　He　settled　to　an　initial　flight　altitude　of　three　thousand　feet　and　checked　his　instruments；　making　a　slight　adjustment　in　the　aircraft's　trim　before　starting　a　slow　descent　to　five　hundred　feet。　That　was　his　altitude　on　crossing　the　Weser。
〃Got　some　activity　on　the　ground；　Duke；〃　Eisly　reported。　〃Looks　like　a　column　of　tanks　and　troop　carriers　heading　northeast　on　Highway　64。〃
〃Report　it　in。〃　In　this　sector；　everything　that　moved　was　a　target。　A　minute　later；　they　crossed　the　Leine　north　of　Alfeld。　They　could　see　the　distant　flashes　of　artillery；　and　Ellington　banked　left　to　keep　clear。　A　six…inch　shell　in　its　ballistic　arc　didn't　care　if　the　Frisbee　was　invisible　or　not。
This　ought　to　be　safer　than　a　strike　mission；　Ellington　told　himself。　They　flew　east；　two　miles　from　a　secondary　road　that　Eisly　kept　under　surveillance　with　their　nose…mounted　television　camera。　The　threat…warning　receiver　was　lit　up　from　SAM　radars　sweeping　the　sky　for　intruders。
〃Tanks；〃　he　said　quietly。　〃Lots　of　'em。〃
〃Moving？〃
〃Don't　think　so。　Looks　like　they're　sitting　alongside　the　road　near　the　treeline。　Wait…missile…launch　warning！　SAM　three　o'cl