USS America

Admiral Bergeron and his staff officers listened in silence as Lieutenant Colonel Loonfeather reported his status and laid out the deal he had struck with the Russian. The Sixth Fleet commander took another of Admiral Wilson’s cigarettes and lit it as Loonfeather’s voice came over the speaker, distorted and partially masked by the noise of rotors and tank engines behind him. The deal sounded reasonable, but Admiral Bergeron felt that Loonfeather was reluctant to tell all of it. The admiral keyed into the net as Loonfeather stopped speaking. “Colonel, this is Top Hat himself. You’re telling us the Soviets will pull back and let you extract if we agree to leave them alone after you’re out.”

“Essentially, that’s the deal, Admiral,” answered Loonfeather.

“You’d better tell us what you mean by ‘essentially,’ Colonel,” said Admiral Bergeron, leaning close to the microphone. He looked around the table at the faces of his staff officers, noting that their expressions varied from confused to relieved. Major General Morton looked taut and angry.

“Yes, sir,” said Loonfeather. “I’m sure the Admiral realizes that the Soviets are protected from our aircraft by their closeness to us and our helos. Once they let us leave, they will have no such protection. If the Admiral agrees that we will not attack the Soviets if they let all of us leave safely,” Loonfeather paused, and the speaker buzzed and clicked.

Admiral Bergeron suddenly had a sense of the Soviet commander standing next to Lieutenant Colonel Loonfeather, listening to at least his end of the conversation. A gun to his head? Is it possible?

Loonfeather resumed, “I suggest that we should make certain gestures, to show our good faith. My first request is that the Cobra gunships patrolling close to the south of us be withdrawn, out over the sea.”

General Morton was out of his seat, shaking his head violently, his face red and contorted. Admiral Wilson gestured for calm. Admiral Bergeron waved his hands downward, demanding silence. He keyed the microphone and tilted it toward his mouth. “Raptor Six, this is Top Hat. Stand by, over.”

“Raptor Six, roger, over.”

Admiral Bergeron pushed the microphone aside and looked to see that the transmit key was off. He looked at each of his staff officers in turn, willing each man to calm. “Gentlemen, I see no reason why we can’t pull the Cobras back.” General Morton started to speak, seemed ready to burst, but the admiral held him silent with a look. “We can pull them back over the sea, have them hover below the horizon at low altitude, and still have them back overhead the air base in two or three minutes. Now, General Morton, you oppose this gesture?”

The stocky marine had got control of himself, and his face had faded from dark red to blotchy pink. “No, Admiral, if a gesture is what it is. But without those Cobras, the marines on the ground have no chance if a fight erupts. None.”

“We’d lose them all?” asked Admiral Bergeron.

“Yes, sir. Captain Roberts might surprise them long enough to kill a tank or an APC with a LAW, and maybe a lucky helo with a quick pilot might jump out in the confusion, but those Soviet tanks and infantry would annihilate the grunts in the helicopters and on the ground, and many of the Russians might reach cover in the couple of minutes needed to bring back the gunships.”

“In which case the ships and aircraft of this fleet would obliterate the entire base, including the Russians, wherever they tried to hide,” said Admiral Wilson. “Surely the Soviets know that.”

“I don’t disagree, Admiral,” said General Morton. “I just don’t like the exchange. Right now we have a stalemate; we can bargain. Once the Cobras are withdrawn, the Russ has the undisputed advantage, however temporary.”

“What would you suggest we tell Colonel Loonfeather, General?” asked Admiral Bergeron carefully. Morton hates the Russians and distrusts them without exception, but he has a point, thought Bergeron.

General Morton rubbed his hands together. His jaw worked as he tore at the problem in his mind. “It’s tough. Loonfeather thinks he has a deal. Loonfeather has a good record, so I want to go with him. More important, he’s there; he can see this Russian, and feel him!”

“So?” asked Admiral Bergeron, imagining the Russian and the big armor colonel, wondering how much Loonfeather trusted the Russian, and how much he should.

General Morton smiled ever so slightly. “So, Admiral, let’s agree to pull the gunships back, either south, or north over the sea, but not out of sight. Let’s tell Loonfeather to ask the Russ for his own gesture of good faith.”

Admiral Bergeron smiled at the ruddy marine, whose nickname since the Academy had been “Terrier.” More the fox today, thought the admiral as he picked up the command net microphone and pressed the key.

Uqba ben Nafi

Colonel Zharkov watched as Colonel Loonfeather finished talking to his fleet commander. Loonfeather handed the handset down to the officer who had brought the radio pack, introduced as simply, “Stuart, one of the commandos who secured the hostages before we jumped.”

Loonfeather took a step closer to Zharkov, shielding the Russian from his tank crew. Loonfeather spoke slowly and precisely. “They agree in principle, Colonel. They’ll pull back the gunships, out over the sea. Now I need to ask you for a gesture to reassure my people.”

Understandable, thought Zharkov warily. “What do you want, Colonel?”

“The last two helicopters. The ones farthest from us. They have casualties loaded, Colonel. Walking wounded, but they need treatment. Let me fly them out as soon as the gunships pull back.”

Zharkov looked up and saw the flights of helicopter gunships pulling up and veering out over the formation, to reform a short distance away, over the sea. They could be back in firing range before a tank could move ten feet, he calculated. Still, they are less an immediate menace than they were. He looked at the distant helicopters the American wanted to fly off. If a fight started, those two would have been most likely to get away, as the others blocked them from view of the Russian gunners. Colonel Loonfeather knows that, of course. “Give me a minute, Colonel.” Loonfeather nodded and stepped back.

Zharkov took the radio mike handed down by his gunner, and transmitted the order to his crews that the two most distant American helicopters had been given permission to leave. He waited impatiently while each commander acknowledged, the reports from the BTRs delayed while vehicle commanders relayed the order to the squads of dismounted infantry and received their acknowledgment. He handed the microphone back to his driver and turned back to Loonfeather. “I agree, Colonel. The last two helicopters may depart at your order.”

Loonfeather smiled and tried to conceal his breath whistling out between his teeth. He nodded to Zharkov, then turned to Stuart. “William, tell Top Hat we’re sending out two helos.”