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The major of artillery turned toward Neboatov. "There's enough transport down there to move more than two thousand troops in a single lift. Whatever is up is certainly big."

Neboatov nodded, then turned away from the window. All the Soviet and Cuban advisors, including Neboatov, had been picked up and whisked away before dawn without warning. They suspected that some type of major operation was at hand. Exactly what, no one could imagine. The sight of the large number of aircraft at an isolated airfield like the one below them and the magnitude of the activity there confirmed their beliefs while at the same time baffling them. Closing his eyes, Neboatov began to go over the possibilities. Airborne assault? That would explain the transports. But he ruled that out quickly: the openness of the operation would negate the surprise factor. No doubt by now every rebel unit in the country was alert and preparing for such an operation. Mass reinforcement? Possibly; the Ethiopian forces had been taking a beating in the last six months. The stepped-up efforts of the insurgents, backed by the United States, again threatened to topple the Marxist regime in Ethiopia. Perhaps Moscow was putting forth a great effort to crush the rebels in one mighty push. That was possible — but not likely. Moscow was trying to reduce its commitment in Africa for the second time in ten years. Advisors who had been killed or wounded in the last three months had not been replaced. A sudden reversal of policy did not make sense. Then there was the often discussed possibility of withdrawal. Perhaps an agreement had been reached in the protracted peace negotiations and it was time to leave. That possibility was the least likely: if they were withdrawing, there would have been no need for the great rush or the secrecy. All the Soviet and Cuban advisors had been instructed to carry only what they would need for a short trip — no extra clothing, ammo, or personal gear.

Regardless of the operation, the unit Neboatov advised would not be ready. His battalion, badly mauled in the ambush earlier that month, was still at less than 70 percent strength in personnel and less than 50 percent in heavy weapons and essential equipment. Training of the replacement personnel had barely begun. It would be months before the unit was ready for field operations. Other than simple guard duty, it would be murder to commit the battalion to battle. Suspecting the worst, Neboatov began to categorize the reasons for leaving his battalion out of the upcoming operation, regardless of what it was.

Upon landing, Neboatov found out that he could have saved himself a great worry. He and the rest of their group were shocked to find out that they were not in the desert region of Ethiopia but in western Sudan. That information was provided by an air force captain who greeted the group of advisors with whom Neboatov was traveling. To a man, everyone in Neboatov's group turned this way and that, looking for telltale signs of a struggle. But there were none. On the contrary, upon closer examination they saw Soviet officers and personnel working with their Sudanese counterparts, who were still armed. Confused, they followed the cheerful and bouncy air force captain to an open hangar near the airport's main administration building, mumbling among themselves as they went. The hangar was already crowded when Neboatov's group arrived. Soviet paratroopers, with rifles held at the ready, were posted at the door as guards. A young lieutenant of paratroops — probably KGB, Neboatov thought — checked the ID of each of the new arrivals against a list before he was allowed to enter the hangar. The procedure, standard whenever a classified briefing was about to be given, heightened everyone's curiosity and Neboatov's apprehensions.

Once past the guards at the door of the hangar, the new arrivals, unable to find any seating, simply pushed their way in and stood against the back wall. Many of those seated turned to see who the new arrivals were, just as those in Neboatov's group examined those who were already there. No one, apparently, had any idea what was going on. Neboatov recognized several other advisors. Judging from the sheer number of Soviet and Cuban officers present, he decided that whatever was about to happen, it involved just about every unit in northern, central, and eastern Ethiopia.

The babel of hundreds of conversations came to a sudden halt when a voice called the auditorium to attention. Everyone jumped up and locked himself into a rigid position of attention. From the front of the hangar, the click of several boots reverberated on the concrete floor. A different voice called for the assembled group to be seated. As the audience took its seats, the guards at the doors closed and locked them.

The speaker, a colonel of whom Neboatov had never heard, began the briefing by announcing that the officers assembled were now assigned to the newly created North African Front under the command of Colonel General Uvarov. Starting with a brief overview of the current military situation in Libya, the briefer discussed, with the aid of slides, how troops from the Soviet Union, Iran, Angola, and Ethiopia— in particular, combat forces — would be moved to equipment-storage sites in Libya, where they would draw equipment, be reformed into combat units, and then be moved to an area west of Tobruk, where they would form the second operational echelon for the combined Soviet-Cuban-Libyan exercise. The briefer then lapsed into a discussion of political matters and a lecture on the threat American exercises in the area created, to the party and Mother Russia. After the initial five minutes, few details were covered. Neboatov wondered particularly how Soviet forces had managed to gain access and use of an entire airfield in Sudan, a country that was actively supporting guerrilla groups trying to bring down Ethiopia. He had no doubt, however, that when the time came, someone would tell him. The Red Army was notorious for waiting until the last minute before telling a person what he was to do.

At the completion of the briefing, the Soviet and Cuban officers filed out of the hangar and were led to an area set up to feed the mass of troops and air crews. The meal was rather bland, a stew with some vegetables, meat, and potatoes. Neboatov found a seat across from two colonels and began to eat his meal and listen to their conversation. The first colonel was a general staff officer and obviously part of the organization that was running the deployment exercise. He was explaining to the second colonel, a new arrival like Neboatov, how the Soviet government had "convinced" the Sudanese government to allow Soviet forces to use the airfield at Al Fasher. It was, as he put it, "in their best interest." "You see, Lysenkovich," he stated, as if he were lecturing a student in political science, "the ambassador simply told the Sudanese president that it would be far better to allow us the temporary use of selected facilities in his country now than to face the possibility of losing those same facilities for good."

The second colonel looked at him skeptically. "And I suppose he simply agreed, with no protest."

"Yes!" the first replied triumphantly. "He is no fool. He and his entire government know that they stand to lose the entire southern portion of the Sudan to the rebel forces we back. They are hanging on to it by a string — a string supplied by the United States. It would not take a great deal for us to escalate the civil war in the south. They know it, and the Americans do also. Our efforts have achieved an equilibrium — one that could easily be upset, since in reality the Sudan is not considered an area of vital interest to the United States. When the civil war starts to get too expensive, in men and dollars, for the United States, the Americans take their string away and leave the Sudanese to their fate, just like Vietnam. The Sudanese know this. So the President of the Sudan made the best possible choice of two bad ones. He has gambled that we will come, use the airfield for three weeks, then go away and leave him to go about running this forsaken land."