“Exploit the situation now,” Rokossovsky said.
Ulyanoff almost twisted out of his chair. All doubt about Rokossovsky evaporated — he had joined the General Secretary. Only Kalin-Tegov stood between him and defeat. “We must proceed on the course we have taken,” Ulyanoff urged. “The revitalization of our economy is most urgent and our armed forces need to be restructured. The damages of Afghanistan must be corrected—”
“We are not talking about a major deviation from our policies, Comrade Ulyanoff,” the General Secretary said, “only how to turn this situation to our advantage.”
“Is it to our advantage to engage in a misguided venture that could ignite World War Three?” Ulyanoff said.
“As Comrade Kalin-Tegov says, if we are not directly involved,” the General Secretary pressed.
“But you have involved us,” Ulyanoff shouted. “The buildup of material at Ashkhabad, the shipment of supplies into Iran, and now you have ordered trucks to start moving out of Ashkhabad. That is direct involvement without the consent of the Politburo—”
“The trucks have not yet crossed the border,” the General Secretary said, acknowledging the accuracy of Ulyanoff’s intelligence. “They can be recalled… And they only carry what has been promised the Tudeh. The question before us is, should we honor the request of the Tudeh for more aid? I believe we should.”
A murmur of assent went around the table. Kalin-Tegov nodded in agreement. The lack of further discussion was the Politburo’s way of voting on the issue. The General Secretary’s position had been approved.
“I believe my office should direct the aid into Iran,” the General Secretary said.
Ulyanoff started to protest that as head of the Defense Council he had that responsibility, but another round of agreement swept the table.
“Comrade Rokossovsky,” the General Secretary said, “as a member of the Defense Council, I want you to work on this problem.”
The young man quickly nodded as the General Secretary stood, thanked the group and left the room.
Ulyanoff sat in his chair, sick at the rapid, unwelcome turn of events. He had suffered a major policy defeat. Too many members of the Politburo had deserted him. His maneuvering for ultimate power was stopped dead. He had been displaced by a younger generation. He glared at Rokossovsky. “Who told you about this meeting?”
“The Comrade General Secretary, of course.”
He got to his feet and walked slowly to the door. Kalin-Tegov joined him in the corridor and gently placed his hand on Ulyanoff’s shoulder. “Your dacha is a fine home for raising great-grandchildren,” he said.
And the Tartar was standing in the hall, smiling at him.
Stevens nodded at Waters and motioned him to a chair in Cunningham’s outer office. Muddy fought to control his emotions, found some comfort by calculating how many colonels had sat in the same office cooling their heels, waiting for bad news. I’ll probably be here most of the morning, he thought, while Sundown lets the tension build… Two minutes later Stevens escorted him to the general and remained standing near the door.
Cunningham looked up from his desk. “Why?”
“The IG team concentrated on procedures and not results, sir.”
“And what were the results?”
“What we did is in the NATO Tactical Evaluation report the team wrote. My wing failed the ORI based on procedural criteria the IG has developed, and that’s the basis of the message they sent out—”
“… I didn’t know the team also conducted a Tac Eval… ”
Waters felt a twinge of hope. Cunningham had lived with the two-tiered inspection system in NATO for years. But he had had serious misgivings about using NATO procedures to inspect his Air Force. He found the system acceptable only as long as ORIs were conducted separately because of the different rules and procedures.
“What were the results of the Tac Eval?”
“We did well, sir. The details speak for themselves—”
“Two things confuse me. Why did the IG conduct the two inspections together, and how do you know the results and details when I don’t?”
Waters decided to be totally open with the man. “Sir, the inspection started as an ORI but the Technical Agreement with the RAF calls for a NATO Tac Eval. When it became obvious the investigation team was not aware of the agreement I requested that Group Commander Childs straighten out Colonel Gertino, the team chief. My first sergeant back-doored copies of the reports from the typists.”
“Pullman at work, I gather.”
Waters was astonished the general knew his first shirt.
“Okay, now I’ve got two sets of results. One based on my system, the other on NATO’s. That sucks, Waters. The IG team is telling me that your wing is not ready, and I have to believe them.”
The doubt that Waters had been hoping to build on was gone. “General, please read the two reports before you make up your mind. The examples the team uses are the only ones they could find. Six months ago you sent me to get the wing ready to deploy into the Gulf. We are ready. It’s true, we’ve done things differently. But that’s because we didn’t have time to—” Waters stopped when he heard the excuses in his own voice.
Cunningham made a short, choppy motion toward the door with his left hand, signaling the interview was at an end, and that Muddy Waters had lost his wing.
Waters fought down the bile in his throat, saluted and left. Cunningham stared at the open door, then said to Stevens, “Get a list from Third Air Force of possibles for a new wing commander for the 45th… hurry up, but no rush.”
As Stevens closed the door behind him he heard a crash from inside the office that sounded like something large being thrown across the room.
Cunningham’s unhappiness about what had happened to Waters was put in a shadow by the ominous intelligence reports out of the Persian Gulf. Long experience had taught him not to ignore his forebodings, especially those based in experience and educated speculation. He left home early Sunday morning for work, telling Ruth he wouldn’t be long. The halls of the Pentagon were their usual early Sunday morning quiet as he went directly to the Watch Center. Sergeant Nesbit saw him walk onto the main floor and warned the on-duty watch commander that he was about to have a guest.
Cunningham walked into the battle cab, disregarded the two men and sat down at the center console, staring at the big situation boards. He asked the colonel to call up the Persian Gulf display and sat puzzling out the likely intentions behind the newly emerging force dispositions. Taken individually, they did not appear so ominous, but together… “Get some analysts up here,” he ordered.
Don Williamson was on duty, responded to the buzz from the cab and hurried up the stairs with his new assistant. The general motioned the two analysts to sit next to him and began to talk in a low voice. “What’s the Tudeh doing around the southern edge of the Plateau of Iran?”
“Our latest reports,” Williamson said, “indicate that they’re organizing around Kerman and are holding the bridges as tax collection points.”
“Which means they’re controlling the bridges.”
Williamson nodded.
“Okay, find out the latest status of the Ayatollah and update supply movements in both Iran and Russia. I want to see the latest Iranian order of battle. Include what the Russians have given the Tudeh with the Iranian armed forces.”
After the analysts left, Cunningham directed, “Get my aide up here and recall the battle staff.”
The two analysts returned to the cab forty-five minutes later. Stevens and the three generals who made up the Watch Center’s battle staff were also on hand. Williamson keyed up the center board, displaying an entirely new disposition of forces inside Iran.