They were halfway through, inspecting the company that straddled the autobahn, when the British camera crews arrived. Stopping, Vorishnov decided to watch for a while. They were still watching when a lieutenant came trotting up behind him and announced that General Korchan was en route to their position. Putting his binoculars down, Vorishnov prepared to go and meet the general. Turning, he was surprised to find himself face to face with Korchan, commander of the 3rd Combined Arms Army. Automatically Vorishnov came to attention, saluted, and reported. "Lieutenant Colonel Vorishnov of the 2nd Battalion, 79th Tank Regiment, Comrade General."
Korchan's salute was casual and accompanied by a broad smile. "Well, I am glad to see that you took my little speech to heart." Upon his arrival in Germany to command his battalion, Vorishnov had been required to visit Korchan and receive the standard briefing he gave all new unit commanders. Rather than being a cold and formal briefing, filled with a standard party pitch or an appeal to patriotism, Vorishnov's meeting with Korchan had been enjoyable. The general's easy, quiet manner had immediately put Vorishnov at ease. The talk, more a discussion, was also easy and informal. For his part Korchan stressed the need to set the example in everything, leading his men instead of driving them. The Red Army, he had said, was changing. To make the new professional army work, a leader not only had to be proficient in tactics and technical matters; he had to lead from up front, pulling, not pushing. This appealed to Vorishnov.
As he had at their first meeting, Korchan put Vorishnov at ease. "After your lecture to me, Comrade General, I would not dare be anywhere else."
Korchan laughed. "Yes, I suppose so. Come, show me what our British colleagues are up to."
Vorishnov took the general to the vantage point he had just left. The battalion deputy commander and company commander hung back, letting Vorishnov deal with the general. From the position next to the T-80 tank, Vorishnov explained what he knew of the British dispositions, pointing them out whenever possible. He followed that with a summary of his unit's actions from when it was notified to move out and how he had deployed his companies. Korchan only nodded his head every now and then as acknowledgment while he continued to survey the British across the harriers and barbed wire.
When Vorishnov had finished, Korchan turned away from the British and faced Vorishnov. Korchan's face was serious now, his voice all business. "You and your unit are in a highly visible spot. This deployment, this whole exercise, is for show. You must remember this. I do not expect anything major to happen. All the confrontations will take place across the conference tables. That is not our business. What is our business is to show the rest of Europe that glasnost has not weakened our resolve or our willingness to act appropriately when necessary." Korchan paused, allowing that to sink in before he continued. When he did, he eased his tone slightly. "This will all be over in four, maybe five, days. Unfortunately, I doubt that what we do here will help our forces in Libya. There is nothing we can do to improve that mess. At worst, when it's over, we will tear up some road, crush a few curbs, and chum up some farm fields. The politicians will get serious for a while. The African matter will be resolved, while the merchants can resume their trade. Do you understand, Comrade Colonel?"
Vorishnov nodded. Turning back to the British, Korchan and Vorishnov watched them through their binoculars while the British, in turn, watched Korchan and Vorishnov. Satisfied with what he saw of Vorishnov's unit, Korchan took his leave, moving on to the next unit to be inspected.
As soon as the general left, Vorishnov's deputy commander came up and asked what the general had said. Vorishnov, with a blank expression on his face and a stem voice, replied, "The general wants you to look sharp and smile when the British news crews film you." With that he turned and walked over to the customs building to get some hot tea and warm up.
After crawling out of his pup tent, Cerro stood erect and stretched. On one hand he was disturbed that his first sergeant had let him sleep in, but at the same time he was glad: a person could deprive himself of sleep for only so long before it caught up with him. Last night Cerro had discovered his sleep debt was overdrawn and was demanding payment in full. He went down like a ton of bricks at 2030 hours and didn't stir until the rumble of tanks woke him at 1230 hours the next day.
Scratching himself as he looked about, Cerro pondered what he should do next. As his right hand made its way up to take care of an itch on his cheek, he felt the stubble of a well-developed beard. It was time for some personal hygiene. Turning around and dropping down to his knees, Cerro crawled halfway back into his tent and began to rummage through the gear strewn haphazardly about in his tent. As he found his shaving kit, his two-quart canteen, a washcloth and a small towel, and an empty .50-caliber ammo tin he used for washing, he threw them out of the tent. Finished, Cerro backed up and out of his tent, turned around, and sat on the ground, gathering up and organizing the items he had thrown out. Setting the ammo can firmly on the ground, he poured the better part of a quart of cold water into it. Opening the shaving kit, he pulled out his soap, shaving cream, metal mirror, and razor. Ready to start, Cerro stripped down to his waist, carefully hanging his Goretex field jacket, BDU shirt, and thermal underwear shirt on the front pole of his tent. Though he was cold, the need to clean up overrode the natural desire to stay warm. Besides, there was nothing like a good, cold bath and shave to shake off the cobwebs after a long night's sleep.
Cerro had just lathered up and was preparing to start shaving when First Sergeant Duncan came up to him and shouted out a cheerful "Good morning, sir."
Cerro's response was less than enthusiastic. "First Sergeant, someday you're going to get a commander who doesn't understand your slightly perverted sense of what is right and wrong," he said, without looking up from the small mirror he held in his left hand.
Duncan chuckled. "Now come on, Captain, tell me that you didn't need the extra sleep. Besides, what makes you think you're the only guy in this unit that can make it work?"
Waving his razor at Duncan, Cerro repeated his warning. "Someday, First Sergeant, someday."
With their small talk out of the way, Duncan began to give Cerro a quick rundown on what the company had done that morning and what he had planned for the afternoon. He had just gotten to discussing the rumors about redeployment when another company of tanks came rumbling into the assembly area of the desert. Turning around, Cerro looked at them for a moment. "What are the treadheads up to, First Sergeant?"
"That's the 3rd of the 5th Armor, the tank unit that tore that Libyan armored brigade a new asshole the other day. They're just coming in."
Grunting, Cerro turned around and continued to shave. "Well, there goes the neighborhood."
As the column began to slow, Dixon surveyed the sprawling assembly area from the cupola of his tank. There were tents, trucks, tracked vehicles and equipment all over. In a way the sight was disturbing. Dixon always expected organization and order. Whenever he came across confusion and disorganization, his gut would tighten and his blood pressure rise. On the other hand, the sight was reassuring. The closeness of the camp indicated that no one seriously expected a continuation of hostilities. The setup before him was that of a unit preparing for a peaceful redeployment.