Sparza nodded and slipped a cigarette from the flat twenty-pack of Players resting on his desk blotter. Kindling it with an old-fashioned silver pocket lighter, he turned his attention to Air Force General Marcello Arco. "What is the status of the airlift?"
"As good as could be hoped for. As described in the deployment plan, all available Air Force, Navy, and civil heavy-lift transports are standing by to sortie as the opportunity presents itself. Our problem is that the weather at San Martin Base is starting to close in. We are operational maybe twenty-four hours out of every forty-eight. We are also limited as to the number of aircraft we can handle on the ground at San Martin at any one time. Also our aviation fuel reserves on the ice are dwindling. I am sorry, sir. We are getting stores through, but we are not working miracles."
Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Luis Fouga cut in irritably, "If we had built our supply depots up to an adequate level prior to launching this operation, we wouldn't be confronted with this crisis."
"You were involved in the planning sessions for Conquistador South, Admiral," Arco replied, an edge coming to his voice. "A logistical buildup of the size necessary might well have aroused the suspicion of the other Antarctic Treaty powers. At the time we deemed it an unnecessary risk, all of us!"
"Stand easy, gentlemen," Sparza said quietly. "We are not here to find fault with each other. There is no fault to find. All of the services have performed admirably during this operation."
Sparza made no mention of the overreaction of one of Fouga's officers that had led to the unnecessary sinking of the British research ship and the death of its captain. He had to keep these men functioning together as a team, and damaging Fouga's excessive pride would not help matters. When this crisis was past, however…
"The problem with which we are confronted stems from an unfortunate coincidence, the presence of a North American warship in our waters when none was expected, not from a failing on anyone's part. Admiral Fouga, what is the status of the supply convoy?"
"The ice-operations vessel Alferez Mackinlay, the fleet oiler Luis A. Huergo, and the tank landing ship Piedrabuena are all fully loaded and standing by to sortie from Rio Gallegos. The First and Third Destroyer Squadrons and elements of the First Escort Group and the fast coastal attack force are standing by to provide convoy cover."
"General Arco, status of the opposition?"
"No major changes, sir. The British defensive buildup in the Malvinas continues. Elements of two additional fighter-bomber squadrons and the Paratroop Regiment have been positively identified. A small British task group consisting of the Port Stanley guard frigate, the ice-patrol ship Polar Circle, and a small fleet auxiliary are currently covering the offshore petroleum facilities.
"The United States naval vessel is apparently holding on station in Drake Passage, three hundred and fifty kilometers south-southwest of Islas de Los Estados. Their nearest reinforcements are still more than a week's steaming time away."
"Thank you. Admiral Fouga, what are the chances of slipping the convoy past this single-ship blockade?"
"We don't need to slip past anyone. The fleet is fully capable of driving off this Norteno pest, or of sinking it, if necessary."
Sparza drew on his cigarette and sighed. "Admiral, I did not ask if you could sink this ship. I asked if you could get past it undetected."
The heavyset naval officer wilted. "No, sir. Given the Americans' extensive spy satellite network and their advanced seaborne sensor systems, it is unlikely we could reach the San Martin Peninsula without being observed and intercepted. As I have stated, however, if we sortie now, we could provide an escort of such overwhelming force that we could blast the Americans out of the water in seconds if they dare to interfere."
"I am not so certain," General Arco said flatly. "This vessel, the USS Cunningham, is the most sophisticated warship of what is still the most potent naval power in the world. Its systems are at least a full generation in advance of the best that we have. We should not take its potential capabilities too lightly."
"For God's sake, General. The damned thing is commanded by a woman!"
"A gun does not care who pulls its trigger."
"Gentlemen, let us leave the question of this ship's capabilities open for the moment," Sparza said, rotating his chair slightly to face his Minister of State. "Aldo, what is your opinion? Will the United States maintain the blockade? Will they open fire if we attempt to run a convoy through to our Antarctic bases?"
Aldo Salhazar marshaled his thoughts before replying. He sensed that his next words might be critical, if not apocalyptic.
"The United States is taking these events very seriously, very seriously indeed. Perhaps more so than we expected. Their deployment of a massive naval force, their attempts to mobilize world opinion against us, the presence of their Secretary of State in our capital, all indicate the depth of their concern. No doubt they perceive the political dislocation caused by our actions in the Antarctic contrary to American global interests.
"The current U.S. Administration has shown itself willing to use armed force if required to defend those interests, as it has recently demonstrated in Peru and in Central Africa. I believe that the captain of that United States naval vessel has, or will have, authorization to stop our convoy using whatever means necessary."
Sparza nodded. "General Orchal, a final question. Is it at all possible that we could carry through Conquistador South with the supplies available to us on the ice, plus what we can bring in by air?"
"I would say that it is not feasible," the Army officer replied. "At best, our personnel would undergo extreme hardship. At worst, there could be a catastrophe of monumental proportions. Given a late spring, we could have dead and dying at every one of our outposts.
"You do not play games with polar logistics, Mr. President. If we do not receive adequate supply, we must abandon the operation and recall our garrisons. There are no other options."
Sparza found that he had about three good draws left on his cigarette. He decided to give himself that long to make the final decision. Deeply inhaling the rich smoke of the first of those draws, he considered the future of his nation and himself.
Antonio Sparza was a fighting man. Throughout his life he had fought against poverty, against the prejudice triggered by the touch of Indian blood in his veins, and against the corrupt and deeply entrenched political machines that did not wish to make a place for the hard-driving outsider from the northwestern gaucho country.
He had learned the secret of victory in the boxing ring of the amateur athletics club of the small parochial school he had attended as a teen. Always go on the offensive. Explode out of your corner and drive into your enemy, no matter what his size, no matter what blows you might receive in return. The defender is the loser. Only the attacker can win.
That principle had stood him in good stead over the years. It had won him this seat in the Casa Rosada. He would not change his ways now. Deliberately, he snubbed out the butt of his cigarette.
"General Arco, have an air strike readied. Sink the American warship."
Shock rippled through the circle of men. Minister of State Salhazar half rose out of his chair. "Antonio, are you mad? That would be tantamount to a declaration of war on the United States!"
"No, not necessarily. The United States is quick to anger, but slow to take action over a single incident. Consider the historical precedents: the Pueblo, the Liberty, the Stark.