In twenty-four hours, the Russians had broken through the Allied positions at Ternopil, bypassing the provisional Ukrainian capital city of Lviv. Now they were pushing their way into Poland. The French 3rd Armored Division had been caught off guard but had managed to stop the Russians at the critical road junction in Radymno, Poland, before they could advance any further. What troubled General Cotton most about this offensive was not knowing which direction the Russian Army was going to drive toward. Until he knew whether the Russians were moving their troops toward Kraków or Warsaw, he didn’t have a clear choice on where he should order the German armored divisions he had been holding in reserve.
Turning to look at his operations chief, Cotton asked, “What is the status of our air forces? Are we able to send any additional fighters to help blunt the Russian offensive?”
A French colonel pulled up a screen on his computer, showing a real-time readout of the aircraft currently in the air, and the ones being sortied over the next several hours. Looking over the air packages, he quickly saw that a squadron of French Mirage 2000s and a squadron of Italian Eurofighters that had been slated for ground support missions were twenty minutes from taking up station over the battlespace.
“Sir, we have two squadrons that should be in position within twenty minutes,” answered the colonel. “Do you want me to have them vectored to a specific sector?”
“Two squadrons? Surely that can’t be all we have in the air right now,” General Cotton thought in disgust.
“Yes. Have them support the French 3rd Armored Division at once,” he answered. “Send an order that they are to provide whatever support the division commander tasks them with. Also, we need to get more squadrons in the air now. What additional aircraft do we have that can be scrambled?” General Cotton spoke with a sense of urgency that he hoped the others in the command center were picking up on. He needed these guys to realize how much danger the Allied positions were in. If they couldn’t contain the Russian offensive, it would unravel their entire line.
The French colonel scanned the electronic roster. “With your permission, two squadrons of American A-10s are returning from a ground support mission, Sir,” explained the colonel. “They were supposed to have several hours of downtime, but we can order them to return to the battlespace immediately if you’d like. Also, there’s a Dutch squadron of F-16s that can be reconfigured for ground attack as well. They’re currently slated to replace a squadron of German Eurofighters that are performing an air supremacy role. Would you like me to have the orders sent retasking all three squadrons, General?” he asked.
A smile spread across Cotton’s face. “You said two squadrons of Warthogs?” he verified.
The colonel nodded. A grin appeared on his face as well.
“Yes, Colonel. Send the orders to the squadrons and get it done,” ordered Cotton. “Tell them they are to report to the French sector and provide them with as much ground support as possible. Also, send a message to the 23rd Fighter Group that until they are told otherwise, their A-10s are assigned to the French 3rd Armored Division. We have to stop that Russian offensive before they gain too much ground.”
Feeling more confident about the air mission, he looked over at his logistics team, which was being run by a US Army colonel. Colonel Cobb had proven to be a logistical wizard since being assigned there, and he was a National Guardsman to boot. In the private sector, he’d worked as the Northeast logistics chief for UPS, so he was certainly no stranger to the world of logistics.
General Cotton walked over and got Cobb’s attention. “Colonel Cobb, how are we doing on ammunition for the French and German divisions at the front right now?” he inquired.
Colonel Troy Cobb was a short, portly man. Had he not been in his last year before retirement from the New York National Guard, he probably would’ve been kicked out for his weight. As it was, his guard unit was letting him finish out his last year so that he could qualify for his retirement. He was happy to be a part of this mission and smiled as Cotton approached him.
“Ah, General. I’m glad you asked about that. Both divisions are good on ammunition right now, but I’m having a devil of a time getting a service contract approved through the Pentagon. Normally, I wouldn’t even be dealing with something like this, but a colleague of mine at UPS reached out to me and asked if I could possibly intervene for them since I work on your staff.”
General Cotton held up a hand up to stop Colonel Cobb. “Whoa, I’m not sure I can directly get involved in something like that. I know you work for UPS and all, but we can’t use our positions to get preferred treatment or contracts like that. You know how it works — it has to go through the proper channels at DoD.”
“I understand, General, but I’m not sure you realize how dire our ammunition situation is. We’re burning through munitions nearly as fast as they’re being produced. Right now, the Pentagon is shipping the vast majority of our ammo through the Global Defense Force convoys. When a convoy arrives, we find ourselves flush with munitions, so that’s not the issue. The problem is the time to transport it. Right now, it’s taking close to three weeks from the time a unit of ammunition is produced to the time that it’s shipped and transported across the ocean to us. That’s also assuming none of the freighters moving our munitions aren’t sunk or heavily damaged on their way across the Atlantic. We need this contract approved if we’re going to keep ourselves supplied,” Cobb explained.
“OK, what’s the hold-up, then?” Cotton inquired, arms crossed.
“UPS has a contract to transport munitions to Europe and Asia, only they need an amendment to the contract, and the Pentagon isn’t wanting to give it to them. The contract says they can’t provide delivery of munitions to any location that’s within 300 kilometers of the current front lines. While that sounds fine, we need that ammunition to be delivered a lot closer.” He pulled out a map that had a number of yellow stars written on it denoting supply depots.
“As you can see, that demarcation places all of Poland, Romania, Denmark and the Nordic states completely out of bounds.”
General Cotton nodded. He suddenly understood exactly how vital this was.
Colonel Cobb pressed forward. “If you can get the Pentagon to approve the amendment, Sir, then UPS is willing to have their pilots fly in as close as 50 kilometers from the front to deliver much-needed munitions.”
Cotton took a deep breath. “All right, you sold me,” he relented. “Get me the numbers of the people I need to talk to and I’ll make the calls later today. In the meantime, I need you to work your magic and make sure we don’t run out of food, fuel and munitions. Got it?”
Cobb nodded and set to work.
Russian Underground
The cool October air blew in through the window in the kitchen. It was a welcomed sign after an unusually long and hot summer. Looking at the morning paper, Alexei Kasyanov could not fully determine if the news reports were truly accurate about the most recent Russian offensive, or if this was just more spin by a government that was slowly crumbling from within.