The room hadn't changed in years. The projection screen, the curving expanse of the polished pine table, the unit insignia hanging on the grass cloth walls. Different gray clad bodies had sat around the polished table over the years to decide the defense of the Republic, collar insignia glittering softly in the San Antonio sun shining through the filtered glass of a focused skylight. The group assembled on this morning filled the room to capacity. The high command of the Republic of Texas was gathered to hear for the first time the complete plan for the relief of the siege of Zion. At precisely 0800 hours the principle speaker mounted the short steps to the pedestal which filled the center of the room. A silence fell over the room as he cleared his throat.
At forty eight Rupert Jones was the youngest man to ascend the three short steps to the center of the arena. For thirty years he had served in the army, beginning his career as a product of the Alamo Academy, rising rapidly through the ranks as his uncanny talent for having his commands where the enemy least expected them began to make itself known. Hanging above the breast pocket of his uniform were six medallions, each recognition for battles fought and won on the northern borders of the Republic.
With every eye in the room on him he centered himself on the pedestal, and in the tradition of the room hit a full brace, standing to attention in respect of the others who had been there before him. After a moment he relaxed, assuming his characteristic posture of a modified parade rest, one hand behind his back, fingers riding the top of the wide gun belt that carried his prize Colt.
"Smoke if you want to," he growled, breaking the silence. "I plan to."
For several seconds the room filled with the pop of matches as cigars were lit. Rupert lit a long cheroot, blew a smoke ring at the wall as he pulled the match away. Puffing sharply on the cigar he paced to the edge of the platform, an aid handing the control pointer to him as he reversed his stride. Halfway back to the podium he snapped a set of commands on the remote, and the wall behind him lit up in a map of the northern frontier, the panhandle of Texas in the lower right hand corner, the Salt Lake basin in the upper left.
"As all of you know, the State of Utah, known to it’s population as Zion, has petitioned to be admitted to the Republic. Four months ago the Congress accepted their petition, and granted them provisional membership in the Republic. As you also know, Utah is an occupied state being starved for their impertinence, and Zion is a government in exile. The campaign we are embarking on will change these inconvenient facts. At the zero hour plus three hundred a secured corridor for the liberation of the State of Zion will stretch from here," he said, causing a thin blue line to begin at the heavily fortified frontier where I-40 crossed the Texas border, "to here, just south of Moab. As a secondary consequence, we will also be liberating all of New Mexico and a fair chunk of Arizona."
Rupert paused to puff on the cigar, to let the room study the path of the line as it cut to the north and west. Several chairs scraped on the floor as their occupants pushed around to gain a better view. From beneath his brows Rupert scanned the faces staring at the screen.
"Now, we fully expect the bastards in Tokyo will not take kindly to this expedition of ours, and will respond with overt force to impede our progress. And frankly, that suits me just fine."
Rupert touched a set of controls, and the map expanded to include the center of the continent. Blood red circles of various sizes formed on the map, most of them near junctions of the interstate system.
"The circles represent concentrations of enemy troops of battalion size or greater, the primary strength of the ICC," he said, his jaw working side to side as if chewing something distasteful as he pronounced the initials of the foreign high command.
Around the room eyes narrowed, fingers clenched tighter around drinking glasses as the estimates of enemy forces drew themselves onto the map. On the large scale map the Republic appeared an island ringed in layers of red. To the east the lines of circles converged to nearly solid along the routes to New Orleans. As they swept around the borders they fanned out into four distinct bands, supported from behind by several huge concentrations of troops many hundreds of kilometers behind the anticipated lines of battle.
"You'll notice the gooks seem most worried about protecting New Orleans to the east and Wichita to the north," Rupert said, indicating the places where the lines converged.
"Since this is what the bastards are expecting we are going to encourage them to keep believing our primary objectives lie to the north and east for as long as possible. To support this illusion we will mount diversionary strikes here, and here," he said, a pointer on the screen leaving blue stars on the screen east of Oklahoma City and north of Shreveport.
Rupert waited a ten count to allow the officers to absorb the implications of the map before continuing.
"These strikes will have heavy partisan support, our field agents are moving into position to organize these groups into a coordinated harassment along these lines," he said as a series of lines radiated away from the stars.
"These diversionary attacks will begin four days before A prime, and will continue for three days after the main thrust. The intent of these attacks is to engage the enemy with minimal losses on our part, hit him just hard enough to get the bastards to swing his forces to the east, thinning the forces guarding the panhandle. I'm going to shut up, and let the map tell the story. The time in the upper corner is hours off A prime, you'll recognize your units as they appear on the main screen. We'll deploy the individual monitors now and get to work."
Around the table the soft whine of electric motors sounded as small monitors swung out from below the far edge of the table. As each monitor locked in place in front of an officer a thin silver rectangle appeared on the main screen with one or more unit insignias in the corners, indicating the operational commands. On the small monitors enlargements of the main map appeared, convoluted lines of topology covering the screens. As the rectangles on the main screen began to move with the clock in the corner the maps on the small screen changed in lockstep unison, the forces of the Republic advancing toward the borders.
Rupert moved to the side of the platform, standing clear of the main screen to allow full view to those who were shifting their attention between the large and the small views being presented. The diversionary attacks played themselves across the screen, six divisions of fast armor trailing comet-like tails of pale violet as they cut ballistic trajectories across Oklahoma and Arkansas. As the trajectories reached their apogees brilliant streaks of partisan red-orange shot away on tangents, streaks which pointed arrow straight toward Wichita and New Orleans. As the streaks attained their maximum length Rupert stopped the motion and once again took to center stage.
"This is where we anticipate the gooks will come to the conclusion these are more than recon raids to test defenses. Those of you whose units are not directly involved will notice that you are as well oriented to swing to the north and east in support of these attacks as you are to go west. You'll also notice that you will be in relatively plain sight at this point. What will not be in such plain sight will be the units which have been dug in on the surrounding hills for some weeks now.
"We've run analysis of the gooks tactical planning for the last five years, and if you'll focus on the northern portion of the screen you'll see our best guess of his response. The clock will remain stopped while we rearrange our enemies forces for him."
The red circles ringing the Republic began to smear and slide on the screen, forming layered pockets around the invading forces. Here and there hard red bars appeared, each positioned between the invaders and some target of strategic value. As the motion on the map ceased Rupert lit his pointer and circled an area to the north of the panhandle.
"You'll notice that responding to the double sweep has pulled down the troop density in this region to less than half of regular levels. In each of our last three encounters north of the Arbuckles the gooks have called in their reinforcements from the west rather than from the north, presumably to preserve the forces protecting the roads to Wichita. This thinning is precisely what we are counting on."
He strode across the stage, extending an arm to point to a portion of the map which had remained strangely unchanged.
"The next nearest concentrations of enemy forces are here," he said, the pointer looping a sloping circle around Pueblo, Colorado, "and these boys are regular Japanese army, not ICC. They are almost certainly under a different command than those directly on our borders. When we have challenged to the north these troops have always remained motionless. It is our opinion that some preset degree of engagement must be exceeded before they will be thrown into the fray. The situation you see should be about the point where they will be called into action."
Rupert left the map for a moment, moving to the edge of the circle to tap the ash from his cigar into an ashtray. As he crossed the stage he noted the faces ringing the table, the tight eyes focused on his strategy.
From the edge of the platform Rupert fingered the pointer, and a blue arc swung around the Republic.
"This arc represent the furthest range we've allowed the Peregrines to penetrate into enemy airspace. Inside this arc the Japanese have all but conceded us control of the air. I don't think the enemy will risk convoying their reserves through this zone for any longer than they absolutely have to, and therefore the movement of this body of troops should look something like this," Rupert said, putting the clock and the map back in motion.
The massive red blob on the eastern face of the mountains began to elongate and flow, a rivulet of red running nearly due east down the slope of the country. The clock in the corner of the screen read A minus six as the blob began to sag to the south, small puddles falling away from the main body, filling in the gaps north of the Texas panhandle. The clock in the corner read A minus four when the elongated blob separated from it's source.
Rupert snapped a set of commands and once again the clock froze, the circles of red appearing as blobs of blood running from a gaping slash along the beltline of Kansas.
"OK, right here is where we show the bastards the Peregrine can fly and fight at four times the range they've seen. General Henton, the full force of your tactical wings will strike here, and here, and here," he said, glowing blue stars appearing over critical bridges and passages of roads which served to feed the reserves into the fray.
"These air strikes will serve as cover for the next stage of our assault. While the gooks are dealing with the fighter-bombers we will airlift two divisions of heavy airborne into position."
On the main screen the clock advanced to A minus two as a series of squares formed along the southern perimeter of the air strikes. One of every four squares lit up in partisan orange, the orange squares set to defend landing zones behind which the blue squares formed.
Rupert indicated the orange squares with a wave as he addressed a tall, sandy haired officer sitting at the bottom of the horseshoe table.
"Mac, take note of the orange. Your boys will be landing behind friendly lines. We received a courier from the partisans in New Mexico yesterday morning. The command of the Taos Flame has agreed to commit his forces to our campaign. We estimate he has at least half a division of well armed and better trained partisans to commit. They'll be providing safe zones to get you on the ground, and waiting for the heavy weapons we'll be packing into them. Once on the ground the combined force will secure the stretch of country from here, to here," Rupert said, as a bar of solid blue stretched across the path of I-25.
Sylvester Macintyre stretched out his long legs, pushing himself back from the table as he stretched.
"And just how long will we be holding this line unsupported?" he drawled, fingers drumming on the edge of the table as a keen eye measured the distance from his position to the borders of the Republic, to the huge blob of red to the north and east.
Rupert answered by putting the map back in motion. As the clock toggled past A prime he pointed to the symbols which appeared next to the line crossing I-25. "First, not unsupported, and second, not over four days. You'll have the entire eighth airborne in reserve on two hour notice, as well as five wings of dedicated air cover."
General Macintyre read the symbols attached to his command and shook his head as he pulled back up to the table. The map showed his forces strung down the eastern face of the mountains, at most three divisions and who knew what of partisan support to hold a line against a huge chunk of the Japanese regular army. Rupert was giving him command of two wing of Peregrine, two of Typhoon, and one wing of the heavy 'Hog bombers. Three hundred combat aircraft and nine thousand paratroopers to deny reinforcements to defenses left desperately undermanned by decoy attacks.
On the map the entire northern portion of the Republic appeared to be in motion as the main body of Rupert's army struck out to the north and west, three columns of heavy armor grinding through the ring of forces around the Republic, driving into the area's depleted by the feints. As the main columns pulled out the diversionary forces fell back and reversed direction, forming into lines along the northern borders of the Republic. As they wheeled into a spur across the panhandle of Oklahoma new symbols surfaced on the map, units formed around tanks ferried across the Atlantic in submerged barges, crewed by the women and youth of the reserves, every fifth unit veterans of the regular army. An enemy approaching from the east would face twice the forces of those involved with the attack.
The main thrust of the attack continued, the northern column breaking free of the border fences and racing north to reinforce the line of paratroopers. The southern column looped behind the border forts guarding I-40 and I-10, flowing west for five hundred kilometers before settling to the south in a series of trapping postures on the southwestern flank of the center column, which was climbing steadily into the mountains. On the big picture a stem of heavy blue was growing from the Republic straight for the besieged population in the Salt Lake basin. Starbursts of blue appeared and overlapped as the bombers attacked the encircled forts along the interstates.
The clock in the corner stopped at A plus 340 hours as the blue stem reached the southern borders of Zion.
"This is how it will be," Rupert growled as the group began to breath freely again. "Any questions?"
Rupert scanned around the room, face to face. The officers met his gaze without giving away any thoughts on their faces. After a pregnant pause Gen. Macintyre lifted a hand almost casually.
"Yes, there is something I'd like to know. What's going to keep the civilians outa' the way? The way the gooks have those poor bastards on the strings I'd say the first thing they'll do is line them up in the roads and attack from behind a living shield."
Rupert threw his friend a long level stare followed by a half wink before he replied.
"Let me say this much. There's a very sophisticated operation in progress to prevent the civilian population from being put in undue danger. I expect there will be some collateral damage, but no wholesale slaughter. This operation is in conjunction with elements of UES intelligence, and that's all I'm at liberty to discuss. Is there anything else before we pass out the security packets and adjourn to study individual assignments?"
The room remained silent for several seconds. Rupert ended the meeting as he had begun it, returning to the center of the podium and a brief salute before growling "dismissed".
"Stretch" Macintyre remained seated for several minutes, watching as the others received security packets and filed from the room. When the crowd at the door had thinned he pushed back from the table and swung to his feet. At a shade over two hundred centimeters and massing well over a hundred kilos his long frame made him appear almost clumsy in his movements, an illusion he fostered with deliberate care, never moving faster than the moment demanded, no matter what that moment might be. He ambled to the door, accepting his packet from the tight lipped security guards, giving the grimmer of the pair one of his disarmingly boyish grins.
"Now that ya'll have gotten rid of these dang things I suspect your day should improve considerably," he said as he took the last of the packets.
"Yes, sir. It should get easier from here," the younger of the pair replied.
Stretch strolled leisurely into the hall, a sauntering gait only a close friend would know indicated intense inner thought. The outer wall of the hall was mostly filter glass, admitting light softened from the glare outdoors, light which made his shadow on the far wall stretch in grotesque proportions as it passed over the doorways.
The fourth doorway swung open as the shadow passed over, causing Stretch to shift momentarily to a less relaxed stance.
"Caught you looking," Rupert said, falling into step beside the paratrooper.
"Yup, I suppose you did at that," Stretch replied, resuming the leisurely stroll. "Not like you haven't givin' me good cause to be a-lookin."
"More than good cause, I've given you damn good cause. What else can I give you?"
The skin on Stretch's face twisted as he worked to drag his grin into place. "Now I'm sure we're in hip deep. Tell ya' what, lets stroll towards the canteen while I think on it a bit. I know better than to go changing my mind later."
Rupert nodded, and matched the grin as he opened a door, letting them out of the building. They walked across the manicured grounds on paths shaded by towering oaks and covered with wood chips, between flower beds elevated a meter above the lawns in stone and wooden retainers. Only a student of military history would recognize the layout of the brilliantly flowering beds for what they were: a three layer deep chainsaw defense reaching four hundred meters from all sides of the building.
Beneath the shade of a particularly gnarled oak tree Stretch halted, leaning against the retaining wall of the flower bed abutting the trunk of the ancient tree. Rupert pulled up short and sat on a wooden bench.
"You asked what else you could let me have. The first thing that comes to mind are the leapers. I want to take the leapers with me," Stretch said, the absence of the drawl a dead give away of how serious he was.
"Stretch, they're not even rated yet. Are you sure you want to commit them to combat?" Rupert replied, his tone a question.
"The harnesses are what's not rated," Stretch replied. "Ninety percent of the men in them came straight out of my best units, and the rest are special forces commandoes. And besides, they would be something the gooks haven't seen yet. They've performed fairly well for as much as a week in the field, and you said only four days. That gives me seventy five percent margin, right?"
"Something like that. What else?"
Stretch chewed on the inside of a cheek, cocking an eye in Rupert's direction. The combination made his face a comic caricature of its normal self, causing Rupert to chuckle.
"C'mon. If its that big just spit it out, the worst I can say is no."
"This is going to sound impossible, but I want pack animals up there."
It was Rupert's' turn to shake his head in confusion.
"You want what?"
"Pack animals. Burros or horses, hell, I'd take them damn onery llamas. We'll already be jumping with a triple load of ammo, everything we can carry down, and I won't know for sure what all we'll be toting in to the Flame fellows until I read these orders. Lordy, in that kind of country every pound slows a unit down and I got this feeling we may need to move fast. Two good animals per platoon might as much as double our speed in the mountains."
"What about the 'gators?" Rupert said as they began walking again.
Stretch shook his head. "Gator's are great in the flat lands, slopes up to fifteen degree's don't bother too much. But up there the slopes are so steep the 'gators won't do over two klicks an hour, and they'll only do that for a couple of hours before the charge falls off. My slowest units average over five klicks per, and I'm betting on needing eight."
"So are you planning on taking them at all?" Rupert asked as they took to the sidewalk at the edge of the grounds.
"Yup. We'll take 'em. I plan to jumper out every damn governor in the lot and use 'em up getting into position the first time."
Walking toward the canteen Rupert tried to count how many times he'd put a soldier to sweeping streets for doing exactly what Stretch proposed. In the end he was forced to settle for a rough guess ranging into the thousands.
They were waiting at a street corner for a company of elite red hat to pass, returning salutes and obeying the etiquette giving a marching unit right of way over everything else when Rupert began to chuckle. When the synchronized footfalls of the jogging unit faded down the block Stretch turned to Rupert as they stepped into the crossing.
"Now what in the sam hell is so funny?" he asked, the drawl in full force.
"When was the last time a general had to worry about finding horses?"
Stretch shrugged. "Hell, I don't know. When was the last time someone tried to defend the east face of the Sangre de Cristo mountains?"
"I really do not know," Rupert said.
"Neither do I," Stretch said as he opened the door to the officers canteen. "But whoever he was I'm betting he had a horse.”
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