The German staff officer nodded. ‘He did the same at Moscow, Stalingrad, Kursk-Orel and Berlin.’
‘But how do we stop the Chinese?’ Clark asked the man. ‘We must use the Stützpunkt — the strongpoint. A network of loosely connected defensive positions backed by local reserves. When the Chinese attack, we kill them in huge numbers. When the pressure grows too great, we pull everyone back to the next line. A properly organized time-phased delay path is our only hope of stabilizing the front when we do not have the troops for a continuous line.’
‘Hitler tried that last,’ the Russian adviser said. The former general spoke in a slow and thickly accented voice. ‘The fascists’ “hedgehog” defense on the Eastern Front was a tactic of weakness. Hitler said no retreat, so German units tried to make their stands in open fields. When we attacked in morning, we found men frozen in bottom of holes. And so Nazis pulled back into villages and built these strongpoints. They gave open fields to us and we infiltrated between their positions easily. When we attacked in strength, we were able to shoulder our way through.’
‘Strongpoints saved the Wehrmacht,’ the German general replied. He turned to Clark. ‘A continuous line across three thousand kilometers would be like paper. We needed elasticity — defense in depth — to stop offensives. Two rows of firebases. The ones in back manned by support troops. Artillery and air bombardment will fill the gaps.’
‘But there is no shelter in Siberia,’ the French member of Clark’s staff pointed out. He spoke directly to his close comrade the German. ‘There are no villages like there were in western Russia. How will we protect our troops from the weather?’
‘We have engineers. We will make our own shelter.’ He turned to Clark. ‘And when the pressure isn’t great, we can push the perimeters out beyond the firebases to interlock.’
One of the American officers was shaking his head. ‘Your firebase system sounds too much like Vietnam. It’s reactive, defensive, tailored for long security duty. The operational art has come a long way since Vietnam… and World War Two. We need to be proactive, aggressive, decisive.’
‘This will be aggressive,’ countered the German. ‘We’ll use air, indirect fire, and special operations to interdict supplies and reinforcements. If we isolate the battlefield, the tactical commanders can attain local superiority over the Chinese and win their engagements. These defenses are not static. They can be made very active. The terrain will canalize the Chinese through mountains and valleys. We will be waiting for them with prepared defenses and concentrated fires.’
‘But where will we ultimately stop them?’ Clark asked.
The German officer’s pen traced the northern branch of the Trans-Siberian Railroad — hundreds of miles from the border — which stretched across the map from east to west. ‘That is the line where we must stiffen and hold.’
‘But all they need to do is break that rail line in one place and they win,’ the British officer commented. ‘They sever the east from the west. How can we be certain we will stop them?’
Without a moment’s hesitation, the most junior officer at the table answered. ‘Supply,’ Reed said. ‘That is the one major weakness of the Chinese army.’ Clark followed Reed’s eyes down to the map of the vast Siberian wilderness. ‘Somewhere, they’ll reach the “culminating point” — the point beyond which they can’t maintain continuous supply of their front-line troops. They have no road/rail grid. Rugged terrain. Brutally cold weather. We have total air supremacy. We have to degrade their supply capabilities through air attack. Make sure that they reach their culminating point somewhere south of the rail line.’
‘And then what?’ the French general asked.
Clark stared back unflinching. ‘We hit them as quick as we can, as hard as we can, where it hurts the most, when they aren’t looking.’
The moment Nate Clark arrived home, he knew something was wrong. He had called ahead, and Lydia had picked up the boys from school. They had hugged him, but they were subdued. Lydia, too, seemed different. Tired.
They sat at the dinner table. Nate drank the coffee he’d made while waiting for them to arrive. ‘I don’t have long. I’ve got to go see the president.’ The boys nodded. Everyone seemed ill at ease. The boys’ eyes darted up at Nate’s, but didn’t linger. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Nate asked.
They all looked at him. ‘I’m sorry, Nate,’ Lydia said, forcing a smile. ‘It’s just… you don’t realize what it’s been like. For the boys, I mean.’
‘What what has been like?’
‘The war. The protests.’
The boys were looking down. Dejected. ‘Are you being bothered by someone?’ he asked.
‘They’ve picketed our house,’ Lydia said softly. ‘The police ran them off. But I’ve been thinking about moving. The owner of the house… he’s agreed to let us out of the lease.’ There was pain in her eyes. Embarrassment at having raised the subject on Nate’s brief return home.
Nate was seething. Lack of sleep. Too much coffee. Frustration and set-back and criticism from all sides. And the immense strain of all that was happening. He knew he was on the edge. He ground his teeth and kept quiet.
‘I’m sorry, Nate,’ Lydia said. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you.’
Nate turned to his sons. ‘Would one of you please just say something to me?’
They looked up at him finally. ‘When are we gonna start fighting?’ Jeffrey asked.
‘Jeffrey!’ Lydia chastised.
Again his head hung low. But in that instant of candor Nate caught a glimpse of what was being drummed into everyone’s heads. The commanding general was too cowardly or inept to put up a fight.
He took Lydia into his study and closed the door. He couldn’t bring himself to speak at first. ‘What is it, Nate?’ she asked.
‘I’m considering requesting relief,’ he replied in a monotone.
‘From your command?’ she asked. She tried not to sound surprised… but failed. ‘Nate… that’s not like you.’
‘I’m not running away! Is that what you think?’ She eyed the door. The boys were still there. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and they embraced each other. ‘I’m going to propose a plan to the president. A plan to win the war. If he rejects it, I’m considering submitting my request for relief. It’s a one-shot weapon. But I believe in the plan I’m taking to him.’
She remained pressed against him. ‘What if he doesn’t grant your request?’
‘Then I’m still legally obligated to carry on in command. But he wouldn’t reject my request. I’d be out. Out of my command. Out of the Army. Out.’
‘Would that be so bad?’ she asked. He tried, but couldn’t reply. The lump in his throat prevented him from speaking. Lydia squeezed him tight. She understood it would mean defeat, no matter what the outcome of the war. And, inevitably, cowardice. Desertion of his troops during a desperate war. In his own eyes. In the eyes of his sons.
‘Mr President?’
Gordon Davis opened his eyes. A man towered over his bedside. Gordon blinked several times before his blurry vision cleared. He didn’t recognize the man who stood before him wearing slacks and an open-collar shirt.
‘Yes?’ Gordon croaked. He. struggled to push himself a few inches up his pillow. The man helped.