"Oh man," Martinez said in a low tone of dismissal, "Lucky Dave always looks tired. The guy was born tired.
He eats that shit up."
"Yeah," Meredith said. "I know. But there's something off. He almost looks sick."
"Lucky Dave?" Martinez said. "Lucky Dave never gets sick."
"Look at him. He's as white as if he'd just seen a ghost."
The two men looked at the operations officer. A compactly built man, with graying hair and shoulders a bit too big for the rest of his bodily proportions. Heifetz was about to begin his briefing.
"I just wonder if he feels okay," Meredith whispered to his friend.
"Come on," Martinez answered. "Old Lucky Dave doesn't feel anything. The guy's made of stone."
Heifetz surveyed the collection of officers before him, giving himself a last moment to catch his mental breath before he began sentencing them with his words. His instructions would send them to their particular fates, and he sensed that few of them really grasped the seriousness of the actions they would take in the coming hours. There was so much lightheartedness and swagger left in the Americans. No sense of how very dark a thing fate was. For many of the junior officers, this was a great adventure. And even those who were afraid feared the wrong things. These were men… who did not understand how much a man could ultimately lose.
But it was better so. Best to go into battle with a lightness of spirit, so long as it did not manifest itself in sloppiness. Best to go with a good heart into the darkness. With confidence that shone like polished armor. He remembered that feeling.
Perhaps a better god hovered over these bright-faced Americans sitting so uncomfortably in their Soviet greatcoats in the cold. After all their nation had suffered in recent years, the Americans still struck Heifetz as innocents. And perhaps they would be spared the sight of the black-winged god, whose jaws had slimed with the gore of Israel.
All of them except Taylor. Taylor had seen the burning eyes, smelled the poisoned breath. Taylor knew.
Taylor had insisted on this last face-to-face meeting with his subordinates. The purpose of the orders brief was to ensure that each man clearly understood his role, that there would be no avoidable confusion added to that which would be unavoidable. Technically, the briefing could have been conducted electronically, with all of the officers comfortably seated in their environmentally controlled fighting systems and mobile-support shelters. But Taylor had insisted on gathering his officers together in this sour, freezing cavern, unable to risk the comfort of an unmasked heat source that might be detected by enemy reconnaissance systems, but unwilling to forgo a last opportunity for each man to see his commander and his comrades in the flesh. Taylor knew. Even more important than the clarity of each last coordination measure was the basic need felt by men in danger to know that their brothers were truly beside them.
Heifetz knew about his nickname. He understood the soldierly black humor behind it and felt no resentment. And he knew that, in at least one sense, he truly was a lucky man. There were few men under whom he could have served without reservation, without resentment. Serving under Taylor was… like serving under a better, wiser, far more decent version of himself. There was only one fundamental difference between them. Taylor's sufferings had made him a better man. Heifetz would never have claimed the same for himself.
"Good afternoon, Colonel Taylor, gentlemen," Heifetz began. "I should almost say 'Good evening.' But we will go quickly now." Heifetz scanned the earnest faces. "Everyone has a hard copy of the order? Yes? Good. The flow copies and all of the supporting data are being loaded into your on-board control systems at this time. Each of you will run a standard up-load check immediately upon the termination of this meeting."
Heifetz touched a button on his remote control, and a bright map filled the briefing screen, covering the area of the Soviet Union from Novosibirsk in the northeast to Dushanbe in the southeast, then west as far as Yerevan and back north to Perm. A second button filled the map with colored symbols and lines, green denoting the positions of the enemy, red for the Soviets, and a tiny spot of blue marking the assembly area of the Seventh Cavalry. The little blue island was separated from the green enemy sea by only a thin, broken reef of red symbols.
"As the S-2 briefed you," Heifetz continued, "the Soviet front east of the Urals is in a state of virtual collapse. Our mission… is to attack the enemy in depth, with the immediate intent of destroying or dramatically disrupting key elements of his forces so that the Soviets are allowed time to reestablish an integrated defense. Beyond that, it is the overarching intent of the President of the United States to send a message to the enemy that we will not permit the dismemberment of the USSR by external powers."
Heifetz waved the remote at the screen. The image dissolved, then the map reappeared with a more detailed representation of the actual operational area of the Seventh Cavalry, still covering almost half the territory of the initial situation map. The friendly and enemy positions still showed, but now blue arrows and control measures began to trace over the battlefield.
"Execution," Heifetz said. "The Seventh United States Regiment of Cavalry crosses its line of departure beginning at 2400 hours, local. First Squadron, with fourteen operational M-l00s of sixteen authorized, leads on the left flank. First Squadron has the greatest distance to cover. You will deploy along axis Red-one, as shown here, in route south to Objective Ruby in the vicinity of Karaganda. During the passage of lines, all Soviet air defense systems will be under orders not to engage unless specifically attacked. Of course, we know that some of them may not get the word, so, on a practical level it means we will risk going with only our passive defense up until we cross the line of departure. There is no point in giving our enemies advance warning that something is coming their wav. In any case, your scout drones will be immediately preceded by unmanned light cavalry jammers from the Tenth Cav forward detachment. In-depth electronic warfare support — we're talking very deep — has been laid on by the Air Force."
"Don't hold your breath," someone mumbled from the audience. There was a splash of gloomy laughter.
"Knock off the bullshit," Taylor said in annoyance. "This is war. We're all on the same side now, and I don t want to hear any more of that crap." The colonel looked back over the rows of officers, a fierce parent. Then he settled back down into his chair. "Go ahead, Dave."
"First Squadron does not engage unless fired upon prior to reaching Objective Ruby. I know you're going to be looking for a fight." Heifetz said, "and there will be plenty of stray targets out there. But your target-acquisition systems are initially going to pick up mostly junk that belongs to the rebel forces. And there may even be roving pockets of Soviets out there who have been cut off. We can't sort them out, since their equipment is essentially identical— and, anyway, we're after the Japanese-built gear. Which brings us back to Ruby and Karaganda. As Merry briefed you, there are two principal targets in the objective area." The screen narrowed its focus all the way down to the area under discussion. "First, the most critical target — the Japanese maintenance facilities and the forward marshaling yards. I think that is what the old American Army called a 'target-rich environment.' There are over a thousand of the latest Japanese fighting systems on the ground at Karaganda, awaiting greater or lesser repairs. The volume… is irreplaceable. Further, the maintenance facility itself is a critical node. The Iranians — and the Arabs — are breaking their gear like toys. And if the Japanese can't repair the stuff, it's useless. I know what you are thinking: you want to kill shooters. But the maintenance facility is your primary target.