NATO forces have fared quite well against the East German and Czechoslovakian onslaught. But that cannot be true for every area along the 1K Zone dividing the East and West. In one region near the Fulda Gap, East German forces were successfully able to breach the NATO lines. The US 1st Battalion 33rd Armor held the line against an East German Panzer Regiment. Unfortunately, the 2nd Battalion 32nd Armor did not hold. The Soviet 91st Motorized Rifle Regiment of the Soviet 35th Motorized Rifle Division is serving as the Advanced Guard to develop this penetration.

A detachment from the 1st Battalion, 33rd Armor, supported by elements of the 1st Battalion, 48th Infantry (Mechanized) has established a Defensive position in the path of the 35th MRD’s Advance Guard element. The Battalion’s Executive Officer is in command of this detachment and preparing to meet the pride of the Soviet Army in open conflict.

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Beginning Morning Nautical Twilight started at about ten minutes after six in the morning. The temperature was a balmy 49 degrees (F) or 9 degrees (C). The high temperature for the day would reach only about 55 degrees (F) or 12 degrees (C). The wind was sharp at 8 MPH from the Northwest blowing towards the advancing soviet regiments.

A light misting rain blew in the early morning twilight. By 0630 hours, the ground was completely covered in water, but the sky was clear. As the sun came out, the skies would be filled with NATO and WARSAW Pact aircraft performing their dance of death above. Both sides taking losses.

Condensation trails (contrails) streaked across the pale blue of the morning sky with the scattered sounds of damaged aircraft impacting the terrain. An occasional parachute could be seen blooming depositing its combat-experienced pilot into either friendly or enemy hands depending on which side they happened to land.

The ground where the American and Soviet soldiers prepared to meet each other was wet and sloppy. Many of the farmer’s fields could soon be turned into a muddy quagmire if excessive numbers of vehicles were to pass through them. Most of the season’s snow had melted. Only a few small patches remained in shadowy areas.

Major Neville Oscar Payne “NOPE!” had grown up in Brooklyn, New York the son of a Metropolitan Transportation Authority (MTA) employee. Major Payne was an academic scholar and an athlete. He played both Basketball and Football, excelling in both activities. It was a challenge growing up in New York City with the criminal activity on the streets of Brooklyn. His mother watched her sons, all five of them very carefully and was very strict with the boys.

Neville was a running back in football and a point guard in basketball. His academic and athletic achievements were recognized by Senator Buckley of New York. Major Payne earned an appointment to the United States Military Academy at West Point, New York. He played football for Army as well and scored two touchdowns in his junior year (1977) against the Naval Academy. He did not play in 1978 due to an illness.

Neville Payne was promoted to Major in 1984 and assigned as Executive Officer, 1st Battalion, 33rd Armor located in Gelnhausen, Germany. On the 3rd of April, when his armor battalion defeated the East German advance, his battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Rose tapped him to lead a detachment consisting of roughly half the battalion with attached infantry to establish a defense behind the position where elements of the 2nd Battalion, 32nd Armor and 2nd Battalion, 36th Infantry (Mechanized) had been defeated. The 2-32 “Outlaws” were still using the older M60A3 Patton tanks and were apparently no match for the East German T-80 crews.

That evening, Major Payne issued his operations order to the company commanders and began a movement to their area of operations. They occupied their new positions after midnight and began a rest plan which included having combat engineers using dozers and back hoes to construct hull defilade positions to help protect their vehicles in combat.

By the morning of 5 April, Major Payne’s command was entrenched and ready to accept an attack by the Soviets. He was alerted that the Advance Guard from either the 5th Guards Armor Division or the 35th Motorized Rifle Division would engage him sometime in the morning of 5 April 1985.

He stood up in the turret of his armored fighting vehicle and poured black coffee into his mug. He took a sip and placed the cup upon the steel plating. Then he pushed the headphones for his Walkman over his ears and pushed play to listen to the cassette he would listen to while sipping his coffee. The song he listened to was Ain’t No Mountain High Enough by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell. "I like my women just like my coffee. Black and bitter," he muttered and allowed a low guttural laugh to emit from his lips.

Ivan "Dirtbasher" Rybakina looked at the muddy dirt ground in front of him. He sniffed the wet air and already knew the ground would be covered with blood by the end of the day. This did not bother him a bit because he grew up in the power struggles that was essential to the function of the Soviet Central Command. It was in central halls of the Kremlin where his father was murdered by power hungry oligarchs and that was where Ivan knew his destiny would end up.

Ivan had never been a formidable officer in terms of merit. But where he lacked in tactical skill, he made up for in political maneuvering. Whereas most people who graduated from the Military Academy of the Armed Forces of USSR had elevated themselves through sheer valor and brilliance, Ivan had found his way to the rank of Colonel through a different means. He had bedded the general's daughter. Aside from the fun of shagging such a beautiful woman, General Korolov had felt the need to "take personal care" of a future son-in-law's career, not that Ivan had any intention of marrying the girl, anyway.

The girl was just a step up the ladder.

Thus, it was on this day with the wind blowing a bit too strong, and a sun that was just penetrating the clouds, that Ivan picked up his mic and dialed up the frequency on his radio so that all his direct subcommanders could hear what he was about to say. Upon seeing the nod from the radio technician, Ivan spoke in Russian to his subcommanders of all his battalions. "Gentlemen. Comrades, today we will begin the first of many offensives against the dastardly Americans and their French and traitorous German allies. Know that we are the vanguard of a spear made from Stalin's finest. We do not retreat. We do not surrender. We fight and press on and we will bury the Americans until only their dead bodies remain in the field. But do not worry, we will not bury their bodies like good honorable men. No... the bodies of our enemies will be left to rot so that nature and the elements will spoil them for being what they are. And, after we have destroyed the Americans in all the countries of this continent, we will move to the next continent. We will press the Americans so far that we will conquer Washington himself! And after that? We will kill Mister Reagan and then we will give this one the honorable burial that he deserves. Gentlemen. Comrades. Our real fight is not a war of ideology or hatred, it is a fight of Blood. The Europeans think they are our equals. We Slavs will show them that they are dead men. We will rape their women. We will bury their sons. We slaughter their daughters. We will burn their elders. We will even tear the clothes off Lady Liberty and then rape it. We will give the Bourgeois Yankees the destiny they deserve, which is no destiny at all! Gentlemen. Comrades. Follow the plan!"

After he put the mic down, Ivan slid back in his seat and smiled. He had overwhelming force on his side. No opponent could defeat such a force. He really was the tip of Stalin's spear, wasn't he? He could already imagine the victory and accolades he would receive. Soon, he would become a general, himself. And then? He would fuck the lights out of the General's other daughter.

“Saber Zero Six, this is Saber Six Niner, over,” the radio crackled in his headset.

Major Payne only needed to key the mic to respond. “Saber Six Niner, this is Saber Zero Six, go ahead over.”

“Saber Zero Six, Saber Six Niner, I have two BRDMs moving west along primary road. They will be on my position in minutes. Request smoke on my hill over.”

“Saber Six Niner, Roger that.” Major Payne then called to the Fire Direction Center for his own mortar platoon. “Saber Seven Two, this is Saber Zero Six, fire Tango Romeo Papa Zero Zero Fife, India Sierra, follow a three hundred fifty-degree impact pattern, over.”

“Saber Zero Six, this is Saber Seven Two, fire Tango Romeo Papa Zero Zero Fife, India Sierra, three hundred fifty-degree impact pattern, out.”

With the Incendiary Smoke falling along the hill to his front, he knew the scout sections deployed would need this to conceal their position. Once the thought left his mind, the radio crackled again. “Saber Zero Six, this is Saber Six Niner, over.”

“Saber Six Niner, this is Saber Zero Six, go ahead, over.” The Major knew the game was about to begin. These were the opening moves of an overly dramatic chess match.

“Saber Zero Six, this is Saber Six Niner, “Two BRDMs moving north along primary road heading into Schollbrunn, over.” Staff Sergeant Ronaldo Cortez clicked off the handset and called to his driver over the intercom system, “fire up this beast. Ivan is going to be here any minute. I don’t want to get caught with my dick hanging out!” Staff Sergeant Cortez was from East Los Angeles, California. He lead a hard life on the streets of LA and didn’t care much for school. He seemed to squeak by enough credits to graduate. Since college wasn’t in his future and any other opportunity evaded him, he opted to join the Army. He found life in the Army ideal for him. After eight years in the military, SSG Cortez was serving as a Section Sergeant in a mechanized infantry battalion’s scout platoon. He was on track to make Sergeant First Class in another year. Sooner depending on the outcome of this Field Exercise.

Sitting in his APC, Captain Molotov didn't understand why he was selected by the Colonel to do what he was about to do. It didn't make sense. Sergei Molotov had never been a star in the military. He hadn't even shot anyone in his entire life. But for some reason, Colonel Rybakina thought he had the qualities to pull off this stunt.

And so he sat in his armored personnel carrier wondering what fate lay before him. Instinctively, he took a swig of his canteen filled with Russian vodka. The familiar liquid drained down his throat and filled him with warmth like a mother's love. It was at this moment that he realized that he really needed it.

He was well aware that other officers in his APC saw their captain's hands shake. He didn't care.

Instead, he opened his uniform's breast pocket and pulled out a thin white paper. On it, he read what he had written a day earlier:

"Dear my most beloved Elena,

I am not sure if this is the last letter I will ever write to you. My love for you has never been stronger. I remember the day we met 10 years ago. You were the prettiest thing I ever saw in my life, and you still are. I remember the snow that day on our first kiss and the passion we had for each other as we walked through this snow to consummate our love.

Now, I am tasked by the Colonel to commence this attack on the enemy's northern flank. I do not know how I will accomplish this beachhead but I will try my best. It is God's will that I will lay my blood on this Earth to fulfill the motherland's wishes.

Even if I die, I want you to know the children we made may never know their true father but they will know he died for a reason -- a good reason. Tell them about me, Elena! Tell Nik and his sister Ana that their father was a good man, a proud man. They may never have my name, all because of him, but they will always have my blood. Tell them I gave my life for the motherland!

For the motherland!

Yours in life and in death,
Sergei"

Sergei's tears fell down onto the piece of paper. He quickly folded the paper together and put them back in his pocket. He wiped the tears with his fingers. Now, his eyes filled with sheer determination. No... he will not die. He will live. And he will see his son and daughter, again!

"You are telling me that their northern flank is totally protected?" said Colonel Rybakina.

"Yes, sir," said Captain Molotov in Russian. "Our recon unit that went through the northern road just disappeared off the map. We could not maintain communications with that unit."

"But how does that mean that everything they have in their northern flank is protected?" said Rybakina.

"Something had to shoot that recon unit, sir," said Molotov on the radio.

"Send another recon unit, then," ordered Rybakina.

"I highly advise against that, sir," said Molotov.

"I need more intel," said Rybakina.

"You are telling those men to go to their deaths! Sir!" said Molotov.

Rybakina roared with anger. "I need more intel or I'm going to have to call this entire operation off!"

"There are so many Yanks on that side, sir!" said Molotov. "I can feel it!" Pause. "But I will do what you say. I will send one more recon unit over there!" The line cut off.

Rybakina frowned. The man had left before even being dismissed by a superior officer. Maybe he shouldn't have let that man command part of the operation to attack the enemy's northern flank. Maybe he should attack the middle or southern flank, instead? Or maybe he shouldn't do anything and wait out the enemy until they became impatient and attacked him, instead?

Rybakina knew one thing, which is to never trust a Yank. If the Yanks knew what he was planning, then he had to do the opposite, whatever that was. But if they knew that he knew, then shouldn't he still do that thing?

“Did you catch that spot report from Saber Six Niner, over?” Major Payne was calling the Net Control Station.

“Roger, Saber Zero Six, over.” Staff Sergeant Moulton responded.

“Have you been able to raise Saber Six Niner, over?” Major Payne asked SSG Moulton.

“Negative contact with Saber Six Niner, over.”

“Roger, out.” Neville Payne had that bad feeling in his stomach. He knew something bad happened and something even worse was about to happen. He lost contact with his forward scout element. They were officially blind now. All he knew was the size of the Russian force to his front was larger than his own. The next few hours would be chaotic. He heard the call for fire mission from Saber Six Niner. He contemplated letting the rounds fall where they may but changed his mind. He called the Fire Direction Center (FDC) and canceled those fire missions knowing it was unobserved fire.

He didn’t know the NCO who lead 3rd Scout Section, but had respect for the soldier. Staff Sergeant Ronaldo Cortez was from the west coast—LA he thought. But SSG Cortez was from the 1st Battalion, 48th Infantry, not from the 1st of the 33rd Armor. He would certainly be missed. He was positive his platoon leader knew he was gone. Although there was the off chance some of the soldiers got away on foot. He distinctly heard the explosion from rounds impacting with their M113s and then the explosion of the vehicles blowing up.

“Everyone remain alert. The enemy is just over that hill in front of us. They will be upon us any minute now.