General Wilde signaled for his Air Force liaison officer, or LNO, and his Army aviation LNO to come join them at the table. He addressed the Air Force LNO first. “Colonel, it’s going to be imperative that you flyboys keep the Indian fighters and ground-attack aircraft off our backs during this battle. I’ve heard nothing but good things about those Jaguar aircraft, and that is the last thing we need hitting our tanks. Plus, if you can’t keep the skies clear, I can’t make heavy use of our own Apache helicopters and the handful of A-10s. Do you foresee a problem with being able to keep the skies open?”
When the US Seventh Fleet had moved to the South Pacific along with the Marines, it had placed a much larger burden on the Air Force to provide air cover for the Allied forces. Fortunately, a Japanese squadron of F-15s had joined them in Russia, but what they really needed was a couple of squadrons of F-22s or F-35s — two aircraft that were in hot demand all across Europe and Asia.
“We’re going to do our best, General. We’ve got the Japanese tasked with high-altitude combat air patrols while a squadron of F-16s will handle the Jaguars. The best news I can give you is that the two squadrons of aircraft we have assigned for this battle are at 100 % strength and have combat experience against the Russians,” the Air Force colonel offered, trying to reassure everyone present that they would do their part.
Sighing, Wilde reached down, grabbed his mug of coffee and took a couple of gulps. “This is going to be a tough battle, gentlemen, but it’s one we can win. The enemy may outnumber us, but let’s not forget, they’re largely using older-model Russian equipment — equipment we know we can defeat. Our soldiers are better trained, better equipped and highly motivated to go kick some butt. Take some time and go over the plans with your own staffs. This offensive will get underway in a couple of days,” Wilde concluded.
Once they all left the room, the planning officers and division commanders went about implementing the plan they had just discussed. Wilde was hopeful, but he was also hedging his optimism with a heavy dose of realism.
Brigadier General Todd Jackson was taking a few minutes to be alone in his tent before the day went into full gear. It was his twelve-year-old son’s birthday in ten days, and he wanted to make sure he took some time out of his day to write a personal letter, just in case something did happen and he didn’t make it back home. Pulling his pen out of his breast pocket, he wrote:
Son,
You are growing into a wonderful and strong young man. I know the past few years have been tough on you with our recent move, but I need you to be strong for your mother and your sister.
There’s so much I want to tell you, and I promise when I return home from this war, we’ll take a few days for just you and me to talk. We’ll go to Grandpa’s cottage and do some fishing. No phones, no emails, no work, just the two of us.
I hope you enjoy your birthday party with your friends. I wish I could be there for it. Turning thirteen is a big milestone. You’re now a teenager, and I couldn’t be prouder of how well you’ve turned out. I brag about you as often as I can to my friends here and tell them all about that huge fish you caught last summer at Grandpa’s place. I can’t wait to see pictures of your party when Mom posts them on Facebook.
Stay safe, and go easy on your mom and sister. This has been hard on them as well. I love you, more than you will ever know.
Love, Dad
Placing his pen down, he gently folded the piece of paper and placed it in an envelope he had addressed earlier. After he peeled the self-adhesive strip and sealed it up, the letter was ready to send back home.
It was now 0530, time to get some breakfast before the division pulled up stakes and headed toward the first major battle of US and Indian forces in the two nations’ history. Walking into the field kitchen, he got in line with the others for some morning grub. “Ah, the smell of fresh bacon, biscuits n’gravy, and black coffee… this is the best part of being a soldier in the field,” he thought. Well, that and shooting tanks at the range.
Prior to the beginning of hostilities, he had planned to retire in December after twenty-eight years of military service. He had risen to O-6 colonel and commanded an armor brigade. When the war had started, his retirement papers had been withdrawn, and he’d been told he would be given his first star. He was to command a large armored force in Korea, as part of I Corps, moved to the Korean Peninsula in preparation for the Second Korean War.
That was eight months ago. Now his division had moved from Korea to the Russian Far East. Never in a million years had he thought he’d be leading an armor division into Russia-Siberia, but here he was, preparing for a massive tank battle that would take place near a small Russian village he hadn’t known existed just a few weeks ago. The battle, of course, had been brewing for some time as the three factions maneuvered their forces, angling to find the right ground from which to do battle.
Walking into the back of his command vehicle, General Jackson looked for his operations officer, a charismatic young lieutenant colonel who had risen quickly through the ranks of the Minnesota Army National Guard. In the private sector, the man worked for Amazon as an operations manager. Thus far, he had proven himself to be an adept operations staff officer.
“General, here’s the latest intelligence report on the enemy troop movement,” said the colonel. “They’ve moved their armor and supporting units to the exact location you said they would. The enemy has deployed their formations and should be advancing to meet ours within the hour.”
Jackson smiled. He had used one of his battalions as bait the day before, and now the enemy was advancing right into his well-laid trap. “I knew they would go for it,” he thought.
“Excellent, Paul,” Jackson responded. “Send the order to the rest of the division. The enemy has taken the bait. Prepare for contact.” It was now a matter of letting things play out and adjusting to the enemy’s movements and countermoves.
Captain Bennie McRae, captain of Charlie Company, yawned. He had just finished brushing his teeth, so he quickly spat the toothpaste residue out onto the ground in front of him. He reached over, grabbing his canteen. He took in some water, sloshing it around in his mouth before spitting it out as well on the ground as well. That task complete, it was time to do a quick shave before they moved out. McRae grabbed the portable electric shaver from his little toiletry bag and ran the vibrating blades across the stubble that had grown in during the last thirty hours. “This might be the last time I shave for the next couple of days,” he thought as he ran over the day’s plan of action in his head.
His battalion was going to be advancing to contact with the enemy. Once they ran into the opposing force, his battalion would conduct a fighting retreat, hopefully luring the enemy to the well-placed trap the division had set up.
“You ready to get moving, Sir?” inquired Captain McRae’s gunner, Sergeant Justin Spence.
Placing the last few items back in his bag, McRae looked up with a grin on his face. “Yup. Face is as soft as a baby’s butt,” he replied as he ran his hand across the now-stubble-free skin on his face.
Sergeant Spence shook his head, sporting a half smile. Then he 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 upon the hull of the tank. He climbed onto the turret, dropped down the loader's hatch, and moved to his gunner seat, which was positioned in front of the commander's position.