“And if they refuse?”
“Various but unspecified ‘dire consequences.’”
“Shit.”
The President nodded unhappily. “My sentiments exactly.” He punched a button on his phone. “Maria? I need you to make a few calls for me. I want Thurman, John Lucier, Galloway, and Quinn here on the double.”
Paris by night was as lovely and elegant as ever, but Nicolas Desaix was in no mood for beauty or elegance. He kept his chair faced away from the windows in his private office. He scowled. “So they’ve refused our generous offer?”
“Yes, Minister.” The career diplomat he’d dispatched as a special envoy to Budapest shrank back in his own chair. He’d taken the full force of the brooding temper beneath the Foreign Minister’s surface charm once before. He had no desire to experience it again.
“Get out.”
“Yes, Minister.”
Desaix waited until the other man had scuttled out before swearing once, sharply and violently. Then he got up and began pacing across his office, walking off some of his irritation.
He’d agreed to offer Hungary’s new government a way out only at Germany’s urging. He had always suspected the Germans were gutless. Now he knew it.
Their so-called compromise had proved a useless and dangerous gesture. French and German control over their economy was the primary Hungarian grievance, but it was also the keystone of French and German foreign policy. Given those two realities, no real compromise was possible.
Desaix clasped his hands behind his back. Once the news spread, Hungary’s stubborn stand against the Confederation would only encourage others to do the same. It was inevitable.
He shook his head. There was only one real way to prevent that. Hungary still had a legitimate government — a government-in-exile. And France and Germany had three divisions moving into positions on the Austro-Hungarian border.
The Hungarian rebels had called the tune. Now they and their misguided followers would have to pay the piper.
Lieutenant Stefan Tereny lay propped up on his elbows, watching the enemy armor deploy though binoculars. Through a minor miracle, he’d managed to find the one dry spot in the still-muddy field, so he was relatively comfortable. The other members of his detail weren’t quite so fortunate. They squatted nearby, monotonously and softly cursing all officers, all sergeants, the French, the Germans, and the wet weather.
Tereny smiled slightly. He would only be worried if he didn’t hear his enlisted men grumbling.
He was within one kilometer of the border itself, just a line of a fence posts linked by some old wire. There hadn’t been any need for anything stronger, since Austria and Hungary were at peace. Now, though, Austria was part of the European Confederation and an accomplice to its plans.
Tereny was worried about those plans. Only a few kilometers away, he could see dark, square shapes moving off the highway, picking their way through unplowed fields and patches of woods.
French, all right. Frontline gear, too — LeClerc tanks and AMX-10 armored personnel carriers — and they weren’t being shy about it, either. Tereny was careful to stay concealed, but only out of professional pride. The French bastards over there obviously wanted to be seen.
Taking his time, he carefully counted thirteen tanks, then another group of thirteen, and then another — all neatly arrayed in line. Two more tanks and six jeeps brought up the rear — a command group. He was looking at a full French armored regiment — a battalion-equivalent in other armies — deployed right across the border on a very narrow front. Other units, tanks and mechanized infantry formations, were moving up beside them. He ordered his corporal to take some photos while he scouted the detachment’s next hide.
The move to another concealed position gave Tereny more time to think than he would have liked. Sopron, the nearest road junction and an obvious target if war broke out, was defended by little more than the 1st Tank Brigade itself. He thought of his own men — well motivated and, he liked to think, well led. But the Hungarian Army had no depth, no reserves of ammunition or equipment.
He loved his land, and he would fight if the French and Germans crossed the border. But he wasn’t sure of the outcome. Not at all.
Général de Corps d’Armée Claude Fabvier tilted his head, listening to the steady rain drumming on the welded aluminum deck of his armored command vehicle. The weather could certainly be better, he thought. Then he smiled wryly, amused by his own sudden fastidiousness. Wars were fought as often in the mud and rain as in bright sunshine and on firm, dry ground. Perhaps he had spent too much time as a young officer in Africa. His eyes fell again on the decoded message clipped to his map table.
WARNING ORDER
TO: Commander, IV Corps
FROM: Defense Secretariat
SUBJECT: Military Operations in Hungary
The Confederation Defense Committee has authorized military intervention to restore order and a legitimate government to Hungary. Accordingly, you will prepare for imminent military operations against the rebel forces inside Hungary. Your objective is Budapest.
CHAPTER 17
Offensive
It was raining again, soaking the wooded hills near the Austrian border. Lieutenant Stefan Tereny huddled miserably under a plastic sheet, trying unsuccessfully to stay warm and dry in the shallow, muddy hole he and his crew had scraped out of a hillside overlooking the highway from Vienna. Local farmers might welcome this nighttime storm, but he didn’t. The rain and darkness reduced visibility to practically nil, right when he desperately needed to see as far as possible.
His platoon’s three BRDM-2 scout cars and twelve men were deployed in widely scattered and well-camouflaged positions along a two-kilometer stretch of the frontier. Other scout platoons flanked them. The 1st Brigade’s tank and motorized rifle battalions were deployed far to the rear — in Sopron’s outlying suburbs and along the forested Karoly Heights overlooking the city.
Tereny raised his starlight scope for another quick look, careful to keep the precious device dry. The green and black images were fuzzy, distorted by a myriad of small flecks — falling raindrops. He wished in vain for a portable infrared scope, a thermal imaging system like those used by their potential enemies. But even the most sophisticated night-vision gear couldn’t see far through a heavy spring downpour like this.
Damn. The word from headquarters was that EurCon’s forces might cross the border anytime. Like tonight. Now. And it was Tereny’s job to raise the alarm if they did.
Frustrated, the Hungarian lieutenant lowered his starlight scope. He could barely make out the main highway from here, let alone the frontier line. They would have to get closer. He glanced at the two men huddled under the tarpaulin with him — his gunner and radioman. The scout car’s driver waited a few meters further back, inside the four-wheeled vehicle. “Right. Grab your gear. We’re moving up.”
Suddenly his gunner, a corporal, grabbed his shoulder and whispered fiercely. “Lieutenant, wait! I hear something.”
Tereny froze, trying hard to listen but at first only hearing the patter of rain on leaves and his own racing heartbeat. Then he heard it — the low muffled sound of a diesel engine somewhere very close by.