Chapayev did not know what to make of this. Aside from the possibility the Americans would shoot him outright, he didn't know what to expect. He'd had the usual lectures about trying to escape, but clearly these did not apply to being aboard a ship in the middle of the ocean.
"I do not believe you," he said finally.
"Comrade Major, there is no point in asking you about the MiG-29, because none are left on Iceland. All the others in the Soviet Air Force are in Central Europe, but we're not going there. There is no point in asking you about ground-defense positions on Iceland; you're a pilot and you don't know anything about that. The same is true of the remaining threat against us: submarines. What do you know about submarines, eh? Think, Major, you are an educated man. Do you think you have information that we need? I doubt it. You will be exchanged in due course for our prisoners-a political question, for our political masters. Until then we will treat you properly." Toland paused. Talk to me, Major...
"I'm hungry," Chapayev said after a moment.
"Dinner should be in about thirty minutes."
"You will just send me home, after-"
"We don't have labor camps and we don't kill prisoners. If we were going to mistreat you, why did the surgeon sew up your leg and prescribe pain medications?"
"The pictures I had with me?"
"Almost forgot." Toland handed the Russian's wallet over. "Isn't it against the rules to take this up with you?"
"I carry it for luck," he said. Chapayev pulled out the black-and-white shot of his wife and twin daughters. I will see you again It may be some months, but I will see you again.
Bob chuckled. "It worked, Comrade Major. Here are mine."
"Your wife is too skinny, but you are a lucky man also." Chapayev paused as his eyes teared up for a moment. He blinked them away. "I would like a drink," he said hopefully.
"Me, too. Not allowed on our ships." He looked at the photos. "Your daughters are beautiful, Major. You know, we have to be crazy to leave them."
"We have our duty," Chapayev said. Toland gestured angrily.
"It's the damned politicians. They just tell us to go-and we go, like idiots! Hell, we don't even know why the Goddamned war started!"
"You mean you do not know?"
Bingo. Codeine and sympathy... The tape recorder he had in his pocket was already turned on.
"If I continue the attack, we'll be destroyed here!" Alekseyev protested. "I have two full divisions on my flank, and I have a report that American tanks are at Alfeld."
"Impossible!" CINC-West replied angrily.
"The report came from Major Sergetov. He saw them arrive. I have ordered him to Stendal to make his report to you personally."
"I have 26th Motor-Rifle approaching Alfeld now. If any Americans are present, they'll handle matters."
That's a Category-C unit, Alekseyev thought. Reservists, short on equipment, out-of-date training.
"What progress have you made on the crossing?"
"Two regiments across, a third moving now. Enemy air activity has picked up-dammit! I have enemy units in my rear!"
"Get back to Stendal, Pasha. Beregovoy is in command at Hunzen. I need you here."
I'm being relieved. I'm being relieved of my command!
"Understood, Comrade General," Alekseyev replied. He switched off the radio. Can I leave my troops this vulnerable to counterattack? Can I forego warning my commanders? Alekseyev slammed his fist on the worktable. "Get me General Beregovoy'!'
It was too far for artillery support from the NATO lines, and they'd been forced to leave their own guns behind. Mackall trained his gunsights through the haze and saw the advancing Russian formations. He estimated two regiments. That made it a division-sized attack in the classic two-up, one-back fashion. Hmm. I don't see any SAM launchers upfront The colonel in overall command started giving his orders over the command circuit. Friendly air was coming in.
Apache attack choppers popped up right behind the Cav's positions. They moved south to flank the advancing Russian vehicles, jinking and skidding as they launched their Hellfire missiles into the leading echelon of tanks. Their pilots sought out missile-launch vehicles but found none. Next came the A10s. The ugly twin-engine aircraft swooped low, free for once of the SAM threat. Their rotary cannon and cluster bombs continued the job of the Apaches.
"They're coming in dumb, boss," the gunner commented.
"Maybe they're green, Woody."
"Okay by me."
The Bradleys on the eastern edge of the town engaged next with their missiles. The leading Soviet ranks were savaged even before they came into range of the tanks over the river. The attack began to falter. The Russian tanks stopped to shoot. They popped smoke and shot wildly from inside it. A few wild rounds landed close to Mackall's position, but they were not aimed shots. The attack was stopped two kilometers short of the town.
