"My dear General Tanjani," Noburu began, choosing his words carefully, "warriors who fight as boldly as yours are very hard on the machinery of war. Your successes have taken many of these land systems well over two thousand kilometers in less than a month. Under such circumstances, careful maintenance procedures are very important. It would be of the greatest help if your soldiers would follow the prescribed methods."
Tanjani would not budge. "It is not the task of the soldiers of the Islamic Republic of Iran to work as rude mechanicals. It is the task of the Japanese to guarantee that all machines operate."
Noburu wondered how on earth Tokyo would deal with men such as this in the future, when the Tanjanis had no more pressing needs for Japanese military support. The unconsidered arrogance involved in driving the Soviets— the Russians — from the heart of Asia was becoming ever more clear to him. As suppliers of resources, the economically starved Soviets were bound to be more dependable than the half-savages with whom Tokyo had determined to replace them.
Noburu was especially irritated with Tanjani today because Noburu's in-house intelligence sources had informed him of the Iranians' loss of one of the latest-variant command aircraft. Tanjani had not said a word about it, which told Noburu that the unexplained accident had been indisguisably the fault of the Iranians. The loss was potentially an important intelligence compromise — although, fortunately, the computer system was utterly unbreakable. The revelation of new aircraft composites to the enemy was nonetheless a sufficiently serious matter to outrage Noburu, but he had learned the hard way that it never paid to directly confront the Iranians with their failures. He would simply have to wait, exercising all of his selfcontrol, until the day came when Tanjani decided to mention the loss — if such a day ever came.
"General Tanjani, I assure you that all maintenance workers are doing their best to maintain the systems. But basic measures taken by the operators are essential. Otherwise, too many systems break down unnecessarily, and the maintenance system becomes overloaded. We have discussed this before."
Tanjani smiled cynically. "If the great industrial power of Japan can do no better than this, perhaps our confidence has been misplaced."
Noburu wanted to shout at the man. Those systems have carried your incompetent mob farther and faster than any force in history. You have crushed one of the fabled armies of the world. But, when hundreds of vehicles develop major problems simply because no one bothered to maintain proper lubrication levels or to change dust filters, you cannot expect to parade around in them indefinitely. The yen costs resulting from inept — or nonexistent — operator maintenance were astronomical.
"We must," Noburu said in a controlled voice, "all work together. We must cooperate. There are no more systems in the rear depots to instantly replace those lost unnecessarily. At present, I'm told that there are more tanks in the forward repair yards at Karaganda and Atbasar than there are on the front lines."
"Your system of maintenance is very slow," Tanjani said.
"Our system of maintenance," Noburu replied, "is overwhelmed. If only the truly avoidable maintenance problems could be prevented by your operators, you would find our system very effective."
"The problem," Tanjani said, "is that the tanks are no good. You have sold us second-rate goods."
"General Tanjani," Noburu said, trying to smile, to reach back toward friendliness, "consider your successes. Whenever our tanks have been deployed against the Soviets, you have not lost a single significant engagement. Consider how few of the tanks in our repair yards are actually combat casualties. Not one in twenty."
"Our success," Tanjani said, "is the will of God. Everything is the will of God."
"The will of God," General Shemin agreed, awakening from his daydreams at the explosively powerful words.
Biryan, the ex-Soviet, moved about uncomfortably in his seat, mumbling something that might be taken for agreement. Noburu knew that Biryan had been sufficiently well-trained by his former masters to understand that poor maintenance was not necessarily a direct reflection of the divine will. The maintenance problems in Biryan's rebel units were as much the result of combat stress on the decrepit systems with which the central Soviet government had equipped the regionally homogenous formations as they were of incompetence — although there was still plenty of that to be found.
Perhaps, Noburu thought bitterly, Allah could be persuaded to do a bit of preventive maintenance, or to do some overnight repair work.
"This… is a very important issue," General Biryan said carefully, catching Noburu off-guard. "The combat strength of the great forces of Iran must be maintained. My troops alone cannot finish the task before us." Noburu pitied the man, who seemed to have no real understanding of the fate planned for the rebel forces. Noburu knew that, for all of the problems under discussion, Tanjani's Iranians had the strength to make a far larger frontline contribution, as did the forces of the Islamic Union on the southwestern front. But it had been agreed that the rebels should be sacrificed to the maximum feasible extent now that success seemed imminent. It was vital that those with nationalist tendencies in the liberated regions have no significant military strength of their own on which to fall back. This very expensive war was not being waged to cater to the intoxicated visions of Kazakh or Turkmen nationalists.
"God will provide," General Shemin offered. The chosen tone suggested that Shemin might take on his occasional role as mediator. "But I think that we are under an obligation to help our Japanese friends when they tell us that they are in need. Just as they have been helpful to us. Now is not the time for such disagreements between friends. Surely, my brother," he said to Tanjani, "we will help the Japanese. We must consider their requests about this matter of maintenance."
Tanjani sensed that he was in the minority on this issue.
Yet, Noburu well knew, nothing was predictable. At times, Shemin would side rabidly with Tanjani. And, despite any verbal concessions, Noburu suspected that little would change as regarded maintenance. The conditions in Shemin's Islamic Union formations were only marginally better than those in the Iranian forces. It was astonishing that they had done so much, come so far. A tribute, Noburu thought, to the technical mastery of his homeland. The war-making systems were simple to operate and really very simple to maintain. It had taken negligence bordering on the ingenious to run them into the ground.
But the margin was thinner now than it had been at any time during the campaign. It was a good thing that the Soviets were so disorganized, so psychologically distressed. Noburu thought again of the incredible ratio of maintenance losses. At present, there were almost five combat systems awaiting repair for everyone on the front lines. Even the most skillfully designed high-technology systems did not have the simplicity of a bow and arrow.
Noburu's mind drifted back to the imagery of the possible Soviet counterattack force in the industrial park outside of Omsk. Really, a negligible matter in the great scheme of things. But he would have to deal with it. The Iranian and rebel forces were so depleted, so worn, that the sudden introduction of an organized counterattack force might prove capable of causing at least local panic. He decided not to rely on Yameshima and his Iranian Air Force charges to do the job. Kloete's South Africans could fly this one. It was not a time to take chances. And the South Africans needed to earn their keep.