The Red Line

And no one ever did.

• • •

Sitting in the front section of the defeated M-1, Jamie Pierson was still alive. But he wouldn’t be much longer if he couldn’t get out of the flaming metal coffin. With the roaring inferno rushing forward to devour him, Jamie stabbed at the driver’s hatch release with his good hand. The hatch sprung open. He tumbled out of the destroyed tank. If he was going to live, he had to get away from the tons of exploding metal. As his feet touched the frozen ground, the victorious Hinds spotted him.

Pierson took a first tentative step to run from the burning Abrams. A long burst from a helicopter’s machine gun, and the tank’s fleeing driver went down.

He was dead before his blood-splattered remains hit the ground.

• • •

By the time the F-16s arrived, not a single American tank was still in the fight. The battalion’s last survivors had been annihilated. And the Russians, with the F-16s in hot pursuit, were headed toward the Rhine.

• • •

Early the next morning, a sparkling sun peeked over the low mountains. Its first shimmering rays shone into the silent valley below. A Russian soldier walked through the hazy battlefield, scavenging. In front of him was the burned-out shell of an American tank. Its hull still showed the slightest hints of the smoldering embers alive within. On the frostbitten ground near the tank, the Russian found a dead American with a bandaged right arm. There were a dozen bullet holes in the enemy soldier’s tattered body. The American was faceup. His unseeing eyes were open wide and fixed in a surprised stare. The freckled face, distorted in death, was no older than his own.

The Russian reached down. With his knife, he cut the shiny metal with its pretty red, white, and blue ribbon from the dead American’s uniform. He stuck the medal in his pocket and walked away.

CHAPTER 61

February 2—2:00 a.m.

The American Communication Facility

Donnersberg

A handful of hours after the initial Russian units reached the spanning Rhine, George O’Neill contacted EUCOM to speak with Colonel Morrison. The ongoing installation of the new command and control system was progressing exceptionally well. All but a few of the vans were ready. And those were nearly so. O’Neill could find no reason why everything wouldn’t be fully operational when the first stateside units arrived. The plan was set to proceed.

The moment the call ended, an elated Colonel Morrison notified the Pentagon.

Within minutes, final preparations to launch the aircraft convoys carrying the support personnel for each of the four air bases were begun. Within the hour, they would be heading for Germany. An hour later, the leading 1st Cavalry units would board their planes to join them.

Everything was precisely timed.

All the Americans needed to do was keep the Russians from crossing the turbulent waters in significant numbers for a reasonable length of time, and their plan would likely succeed. When the enemy arrived on the western side, the 1st Cavalry would be there to greet them.

The fully functioning AWACS and its crew had every intention of making sure that few, if any, Russians reached the distant shore.

• • •

Standing outside the huge communication van, an exhausted George O’Neill rubbed his sleep-starved eyes. The number of hours he’d slept since the war’s beginning could be counted on one hand. Even so, the overtaxed sergeant wore a huge smile on his face that wouldn’t fade for many glorious days to come.

It had taken endless attempts. Yet finally, his mother-in-law’s e-mail found him. The message had been a simple one, but one the relieved American would cherish a thousand times over. Every word was imprinted on his brain. The e-mail read—“Mother and beautiful son safely arrived McMichael. Both awaiting the moment when you will join them.”

Because of George’s importance to the war, Kathy had insisted her mother say nothing about her injuries or the horrors she and Christopher had experienced. Her mother had complied with that wish.

• • •

The plan was in motion. Its fleeting minutes were steadily passing.

At the Austin airport, the steadfast passengers began walking down the ramp at gate number six. Each camouflage-clothed individual had an M-4 slung on their shoulder. The Delta Airlines 767 was waiting.

A half mile away, the C-5 loadmasters made a final check of their cargo—M-1 Abrams tanks. A few hundred yards distant, the UPS and FedEx flight crews did the same. The support the soldiers needed would arrive with them.

The time was almost here.

In minutes, the first aerial convoy carrying a company of 1st Cavalry soldiers and all of the equipment they needed for battle would depart.

Their destination was Bitburg.

They would be there in fourteen hours. Two hours after that, they would reach the Rhine.

CHAPTER 62

February 2—1:00 p.m.

U.S. Army Hospital Surgical Wing

Landstuhl

Twelve miles from Ramstein, nearly a day after the air base’s destruction, Sergeant First Class Robert Jensen balanced on the edge of an uncomfortable hospital bed. A doctor stood over him while carefully removing the thick bandages from the platoon sergeant’s eyes.

At the same moment, the ever-growing Russian armor sat poised on the eastern banks of the Rhine River. The Russians were watching the swirling currents on the murky blue water’s journey to the sea. Everything on the eastern side of the great river was in the Communists’ hands. As they fled, the Americans had successfully demolished all the remaining expanses over the wide, flowing waters. While their combat units enjoyed a brief rest, the Russians were bringing forward the first of the bridging equipment needed to span the river in a dozen places.

On the western banks, widely scattered elements of the 82nd Airborne and 24th Infantry waited to repulse any successful crossings. Until a few hours earlier, they’d believed there was little chance of prevailing against so powerful an enemy. But the news of the soon-arriving 1st Cavalry had buoyed their spirits and strengthened their timber. No matter what it took, they were determined to hold their immense foe until help arrived.

Tremendous numbers of those on the eastern bank were ill and dying from the poisons of the American nuclear attack.

Fifty miles behind the river, the Americans continued their orderly evacuation of their wounded countrymen from the giant Landstuhl hospital complex. They were intent on getting the multitude of patients away from the war zone. For the moment, there appeared to be ample time to accomplish the vast undertaking. With Ramstein a smoking crater and Rhein-Main behind enemy lines, convoy after convoy was driving to Sembach to meet the arriving C-17 medevacs. Without incident, the takeoffs and landings had been going on incessantly.

• • •

The last layers of gauze and wrappings were about to be removed from Jensen’s eyes.

“All right, Sergeant,” the major said. “You may not be able to see once the final bandages come off. If you can’t, don’t panic. It doesn’t mean your condition’s permanent. Your eyesight might return over time. Or you might require further operations to regain your vision. It’s really too early to tell. So don’t be too disappointed if you can’t see right away.”

It almost didn’t matter to the sole survivor of the cavalry platoon. Jensen’s voice was strange and detached as he answered. “Yes, sir, I understand.”

He could feel the doctor’s gentle hands taking the final swatches from his eyes. The moment the bandages were removed, the bright light of midday poured into his black world. He blinked rapidly. After one hundred hours locked in total darkness, his eyes fought against the offensive sunlight. Everything was still quite blurry. Yet one thing was certain, he could definitely see.

His gray eyes were working once again. A statuesque woman in green scrubs was standing behind the doctor. She

wore a silver first lieutenant bar on her collar and carried with her the strangely seductive smell of antiseptic and sweet perfume. The look upon her face was a combination of concern and curiosity.

“You must be Lieutenant Morse,” Jensen said.

A captivating smile spread across her sweet face. He instantly understood why Ramirez had been so taken with her. The platoon sergeant’s heart melted beneath the glow of Elizabeth Morse’s infectious smile.

A smile to match hers appeared on his face. His reaction surprised him. He’d never believed he would ever smile again.

“I can see why Ramirez thought he was in love. You’re every bit as beautiful as he told me you were.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

Her embarrassment from his flattering words was evident on her reddening cheeks. In a flash, however, her smile disappeared. An overwhelming sadness gripped her at the mention of the determined soldier who’d saved her life.

The doctor examined Jensen’s temple and looked into his eyes.

“Well, it appears things are coming along wonderfully. You must be a very quick healer, Sergeant.”