ARMAGEDDON'S SONG (Volume 3) 'Fight Through'

by FARMAN, ANDY

  “It is a simple matter of arithmetic, and Dewar knows he doesn’t have enough to do both jobs anymore so he’s going to neutralise the greatest threat.”

  “Okay then, okay. Is there anything else on that particular element of Equaliser?”

  There was nothing more from China and Henry moved on to the North Pacific.

  “In stark contrast to the previous item, I now have some feel good news for you, sir.”

  The picture was quite hard to make out, mainly owing to the lack of light, but then a darker shape appeared from the left of the screen, travelling right across to disappear out the other side, but the President was unable to make out what it was.

  “That was taken by HMS Hood and it has now been digitally cleaned up and enhanced.”

  This time everyone could make out the shape of a submarine, and it was not one of their own vessels. It carried a conning tower similar in design to that of a Russian Delta III, but sat much further forward on the hull than on the Russian design, however, the flat topped SLBM compartment, sitting platform-like above the after hull was also a feature in keeping with a Delta.

  “The Hood had a firing solution locked down twelve hours before they took these hull shots, but as you can appreciate it was necessary to get close enough to see if it was the Xia or the Chuntian, and they struck gold. They have returned now to tailing the Xia and are about four thousand metres from her.”

  The President cleared his throat.

  “General, I know you and Mister Jones have given me your assurances already, but are you absolutely certain that this is the only one that they’ve got?”

  “Mister President, there was the Changzheng 6, which was also a converted Han but she was lost at sea in the eighties. They don’t have any more, sir.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  “Roger that.”

  It was the best he could have hoped for and he had to settle for that.

  “Has the Chuntian been located yet?”

  “It cannot be entirely comfortable out there, sort of like being in the woods at night and knowing you are not alone, however Mister President, although we have not yet located the Chuntian, the Xia is now boxed on three sides. We can take her anytime we want and the skippers are one hundred per cent in agreement that they will find Chuntian before she finds them.”

  Leaning back in his chair the President signalled for a refill of his coffee mug before speaking.

  “So one part of Equaliser is in place, and Guillotine just awaits a location…or do you have something from Russia?”

  “No Mr President, only to state that we have three RORSATs dedicated purely for Guillotine that are sat on pads ready to go and that India and Pakistan have begun sabre rattling at one another, as have the Vietnamese and Kampucheans. They have got to the stage where their artillery can be heard sounding off and the casualty reports are quite believable.”

  The President was quiet for a while as he thought about the ‘What if’s’, the question marks associated with any operations chances of success or failure.

  “What, if anything, can go wrong with those satellites” the President queried “…tropical storms? Sabotage?”

  Henry shook his head but in a non-committal fashion.

  “Sir, in order to guard against weather problems we will have one at Vandenberg and two on pads down south, on the Ariane launch pad and also on the Soyuz pad.”

  The President gave a cold smile.

  “Strangely fitting I feel…but please continue General.”

  “Hurricanes up here or typhoons down there do not have predictable seasons any more, not since the nukes cooked off in the Atlantic so we are hedging our bets by covering for those eventualities. At worst we will have one RORSAT up when Major Nunro goes after the Premier’s scalp, but we are robbing Peter to pay Paul as it leaves only the smaller commercial European launch pad available down there, and of course Kennedy and Canaveral free for the normal business of keeping satellites up long enough to be effective over the battlefield .” Henry paused to glance at some notes for a second.

  “Security is tight at our end and an indefinite lock down is in place but that is going to cause issues soon.”

  The President frowned.

  “How so?”

  “The French have the benefit of a handy jungle and mangrove swamps full of things that will eat you, whereas we have troops on full alert with nothing to keep their highest level of alertness going indefinitely, and with the best will in the world and the best NCOs kicking ass, an unused knife will go dull through lack of use.”

  Never having been in that situation the President could only take Henry’s word for it and so he moved along to the mock war between India and Pakistan.

  “What are they firing at?”

  “Nothing.” Henry shrugged. “Blank rounds only, but the media aren’t being allowed close enough to know the difference.”

  “Okay, anything else?”

  Henry cleared the screen and held up both hands, crossing his fingers and stating

  “No, Mister President.”

  The President accepted his coffee with a smile of thanks and consulted his wristwatch.

  “Right then people, that will be all for now.” Henry stood along with the rest but felt the President looking at him.

  “Stay a while General, I’d like to speak to you about Australia.” Henry regained his seat and sat with his hands together on the table in front of him.

  Remembering something the President called over to Terry, halting him half way out the door.

  “Oh, Mister Jones?”

  Terry stepped aside to allow Ben to exit.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Do your people have a contact number for SFC Beckett?”

  “Yes sir, Mister President?” Terry nodded.

  “Good, extend his leave to forty eight hours and then get him on a plane here. I’d like to meet him before he returns overseas.”

  Terry hesitated.

  “Why, sir?”

  “Why not?” Putting his mug down he turned sideways in his seat to face the door.

  “I have not met anyone who was directly involved in the fighting yet, and so I would like to speak to this young man about his experiences…and I am after all the Commander-in-Chief so I can do stuff like that, and you as a minion should obey without question and back away to the door, bowing as you go to see it is done.”

  Terry smiled.

  “I thought the bowing minion thing was the reason we threw off the yoke of imperialism?”

  “I thought it was because we didn’t want to pay for the war against Napoleon?”

  “I’m pretty sure bowing and scraping played a big part, Mr President.”

  The President dismissed him with a wave of the hand. “Whatever.”

  His Secret Service Agent was stood inside the door, hands crossed in front and seemingly taking no interest in the goings on of government.

  “Mike?”

  “Yes, Mr President?”

  “Could you give us a moment; I want a private word with General Shaw.”

  “Certainly Mr President, I will be right outside.”

  The doors closed, shutting them off from the outside world for a while.

  “That was a nice thing you did just then, Mr President.”

  Moving his folder into the centre of the table in front of him, the President looked back at Henry.

  “Why, because I didn’t want Mike to witness what I am about to say?”

  Henry shook his head.

  “No sir, keeping that young 82nd man, Beckett, away from Germany when the Reds hit his unit.”

  “I thought you believed that everyone should do their share, no matter what their status in life, General?”

  Henry had been fairly sure the showdown couldn’t be far off when he had read the Washington Post three days ago. It had been a two day old copy and although an article on a Congressman’s daughter starting boot camp had been on page five, he had begun to look over his s
houlder for a high ranking military policeman, and an armed escort walking with purpose toward him.

  Fishing a copy of Das Spiegel from out of his briefcase he slid it along the table to the President.

  “Centre spread, Mr President.”

  Opening the magazine the President read the article’s headline and looked at the glossy photos of rich American’s enjoying the snow in Aspen.

  The article was in German but President read aloud in English.

  “America’s rich and the beautiful aren’t training for arctic warfare here, they are partying whilst members of their own countries lowest wage brackets are dying on the firing line………….”

  He closed the magazine and pushed it back.

  “You have an issue with this, General Shaw?”

  “I have several issues, Mr President. That one vies for the top slot with my other pet bug bear.”

  “Which is?”

  “Millionaire football players, Mr President. Despite earning more in one year, than an entire team of scientists trying to find the cure for cancer will ever see in their lives…they strike for even more pay.”

  Henry was toying with him and he knew it, but he played along anyway.

  “General, there is a football season and there is a baseball season, but there are no biology or chemistry seasons that millions will pay good money to watch, but if there was then we would have millionaire test tube jockeys by the score. This is not an ideal world, or hadn’t you noticed?”

  Henry ignored the reply and continued on.

  “My other ‘issue’ dates back to March 3rd 1863. President Lincoln signed the Federal Draft Act in the full knowledge that there was a clause included that allowed the rich to dodge military service for the sum of $300.” He fixed the President with an enquiring look.

  “What’s the going price today Mr President?”

  “You are being simplistic, General.” He took a sip of coffee and Henry sat waiting.

  “The reason we, as a democracy, win wars is because we make a trade off. Some people, those with the means, build the weapons we need and others use them. They keep the wheels turning by doing what it takes to keep the unions sweet and looking the other way while corners are cut. If you piss off those with means you don’t get the same cooperation.”

  Henry countered, speaking very deliberately.

  “Or the funds for the war chest come election time.”

  “For your information General, I have goals just as you have goals, and before I leave this office I would like to see full education, education for one hundred per cent of the population, and the poverty line knocked back another five per cent if not eliminated altogether.” The President’s face was becoming flushed.

  “I do not happen to like even a small fraction of the people I have to deal with in order to get even the smallest worth of good out of the shit I have to put my seal to.”

  Henry sat back and regarded his commander in chief.

  “You are the President, and you tell them that you serve the will of the people and what’s good for the people is good for them.” The President was shaking his head at the naivety of the man.

  “Do you know how much it costs just to get nominated? Let alone run an election campaign?”

  Henry didn’t respond, but it wasn’t because he didn’t know, it was because he didn’t care.

  “It’s a fallacy that ‘just anyone can be President’. You have to get sponsors to foot the bill, and they all have agenda’s.”

  “Mr President, we have reached a point where a line must be drawn. As the leader of democracy you are supposed to be the last word in integrity, yet you sold your soul to get here.” It was the last straw for the President, who was well aware of the situation without having to be reminded of it. His temper had been held in check up to this point, but now it snapped as he swept away the mug before him with a violent sweep of the hand.

  “God dammit Henry…you’re a Marine, and you took an oath and so you do not ever, ever, play politics while you are in that uniform!” The coffee mug flew across the room, shattering against the wall.

  With a bang the door flew open and Mike took a step inside. Balanced on the balls of his feet and in a half crouch, he had his jacket open and a hand on his firearm. He took in the room and then focused on Henry, his eyes narrowing slightly. Behind him stood two Marines, their hands were on the cocking levers of the M-16s they held.

  Raising his hands the President calmed them.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay…. just an accident”

  Henry had remained seated and calm, as unruffled by the exhibition of temper as he was at being considered a physical threat to the President in the eyes of the Secret Service.

  When they had backed out of the room and the door was again closed the President took a deep breath and allowed the anger to settle.

  “My eldest son got his call up papers today. He turned eighteen just three days ago and his mother is pissed as hell at me. Added to which, some long standing friends of ours have stopped calling her since their sons and daughters got call up papers, she’s pissed at me about that as well.”

  “I was eighteen when I first put this uniform on, Mr President.”

  “You volunteered and there wasn’t a war going on at the time.”

  “The advisors were in Vietnam and the writing was already on the wall.” Henry sighed.

  “If it’s any consolation, my father was entirely pissed at me.”

  “Why, he fought in Europe and again in Korea?”

  “He had a saying Mr President, what do you call a rifleman with a six figure checking account…a member of the National Guard. He was done with fighting wars for the benefit of all, when a noticeable percentage of the ‘all’ consistently failed to show up to do their bit. He thought the time had come for the poor working stiffs to stay at home in front of a TV and see how the rich boys handled it on their own for once. There were a few times over there where I thought he had a point.”

  “You didn’t stop your son and daughter joining the service, though?”

  “They had the chance to listen to their fathers and their grandfathers’ experiences and views. It’s a free country, and after listening they both entered following college. Matthew joined the Corps and Natalie the Navy.”

  The President knew this, but he didn’t know where they both were.

  “Matt’s the CO of VMA 223 aboard the Bonhomme Richard, and Natty is in Sydney too as TAO on the Orange County.”

  “Bonhomme Richard was damaged in the first missile attack on Japan and was in dock at Sasebo when Japan surrendered wasn’t she?” asked the President. “And Orange County is providing air defence for both the Nimitz and Bonhomme Richard while the Aussies fix them up in Woolloomooloo Navy Yard?”

  “Yessir, Bonhomme Richard is in the dry dock there and they aren’t going anywhere until the rest of the Nimitz group arrives.”

  Only part of the Nimitz combat group had sailed with the carrier, the remainder were making their way with Essex or were stood out to sea as a precaution.

  The President smiled, pleased with himself for remembering weeks old briefing items despite the masses of information that flowed in constantly for his eyes.

  “Is your father still alive?”

  “No sir, we lost him in ’92, a few months after my mother passed away, but I think he was proud of the way his grandchildren turned out.” Henry looked the President in the eye.

  “My youngest is in the same draft as your son Mr President; they are both going to Parris Island.”

  The President opened his folder and looked at the single sheet that lay within. He stayed that way for a moment before closing the folder and standing.

  “I think we are done for now, General.”

  CHAPTER 4

  2 miles north of Magdeburg.

  Colonel Leo Lužar’s 43rd Motor Rifle Regiment led the way for the rest of the reconstituted Rzeszów Motor Rifle Division. It wound its way past wrecked and burnt out fi
ghting vehicles of all types. The twisted, fire warped and shattered remains of aircraft, the fighters, fighter-bombers and helicopters from both sides were evident in the green hues of the colonel’s night viewing device. Multi-millions of the people’s roubles and dollars reduced to scrap value where they had fallen.

  The Rzeszów Motor Rifle Division had been rebuilt from the remains of two other divisions following its abortive attack on the British 3rd Mechanised Brigade.

  Second Shock Army, to which they belonged, along with Tenth Tank Army had been worn down by constant attacks upon NATO since the start of the war. They had been reduced from seven divisions to just three, and were no longer capable of the shock they were supposed to deliver.

  Lužar’s 43rd MRR had done better than the rest of the division by actually getting across the river. Only the Mitterland Kanal had separated them from the flesh and blood defenders, the US paratroopers and British guardsmen.

  For the lack of bridging sections the attack had failed, and that was the only reason he had not been taken into the woods and shot in the back of the neck with the other regimental commanders. His defence of the efforts by the engineers to complete their task had saved another life, that of their commander.

  This time they were doing it differently, a battalion of infantry had preceded them under the cover of heavy artillery pounding the far bank with H.E and smoke. Both they and the light assault boats they had dragged forward were concealed amongst the detritus of war, the armoured vehicles and ruined bridging equipment from the past two attempts to cross at this spot.

  This was familiar terrain for Lužar, his previous attack had taken place three miles south of this point, and his job tonight was similar, that of securing the far bank whilst the first ribbon bridge was put across. The perimeter would be extended until the entire division had crossed and the Polish 9th Division had achieved a similar goal to the south of them. The Polish and the Hungarian Divisions were the door stoppers, they would re-orientate, facing along the NATO line to the north and south, keeping the breach open for Third and Sixth Shock Armies to pass through, followed by the rest of their own formations before rolling NATO up from the flank.