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By Root 1848 0

large shooting range for their own use, with pop-up steel targets as close as three hundred meters and as far as five thousand. Gunners bore-sighted their weapons, then tried them out, using real ammunition instead of practice, then learned that the war shots were far more accurate, the projectiles flying right through the dot, meaning the circular reticle in the center of their sighting systems. Once off the transport trailers, drivers exercised their mounts to make sure that everything worked properly, but the tanks and Bradleys were in the nearly mint condition promised on the flight over. Radio checks were made so that everyone could talk to everyone else. Then they verified the all-important IVIS data links. The more mundane tasks came last of all. The Saudi-deployed M1A2s did not yet have the newest modification to the vehicle series, pallet-loaded ammunition racks. Instead there was a large steel-wire bustle for personal things, especially water. One by one, the crews cycled their vehicles through the course. The Bradley crews even got to fire a single TOW missile each. Then they entered the reloading area, taking on new ammunition to replace what had been expended on the range.

It was all quiet and businesslike. The Blackhorse, because they trained other soldiers so regularly in the fine art of mechanized death, were utterly desensitized to the routine tasks of soldiering. They had to remind themselves that this was not their desert-deserts all look pretty much alike; this one, however, didn't have creosote bushes and coyotes. It did have camels and merchants. The Saudis honored their hospitality laws by providing food and soft drinks in abundance to the troopers, while their senior officers conferred over maps with the region's bitter coffee.

Marion Diggs was not a big man. A cavalryman all of his life, he'd always enjoyed the ability to direct sixty tons of steel with his fingertips, to reach out and touch someone else's vehicle at three miles' distance. Now he was a senior commander, effectively commanding a division, but with a third of it two hundred miles to the north, and another third aboard some ships which would be running a gauntlet later this evening.

So what are we really up against, how ready are they? the general asked.

Satellite photos went down, and the senior American intelligence officer, based at KKMC, went through his mission brief. It took thirty terse minutes, during which Diggs stood. He was very tired of sitting.

STORM TRACK reports minimal radio traffic, the briefing officer, a colonel, reported. We need to remember that they're pretty exposed where they are, by the way.

I have a company moving to cover it, a Saudi officer reported. They should be in position by morning.

What's Buffalo doing? Diggs asked. Another map went down. The Kuwaiti dispositions looked all right to his eye. At least they were not forward-deployed. Just the screening force on the berm, he saw, with the three heavy brigades in position to counter a penetration. He knew Magruder. In fact, he knew all three of the ground-squadron commanders. If the UIR hit there first, outnumbered or not, the Blue Force would give the Red one hell of a bloody nose.

Enemy intentions? he inquired next.

Unknown, sir. There are elements to this we do not understand yet. Washington has told us to expect an attack, but not why.

What the hell?

Tonight or tomorrow morning for that, best I can tell you, sir, the intel officer replied. Oh, we have newsies assigned to us. They flew in a few hours ago. They're in a hotel in Riyadh.

Marvelous.

In the absence of knowledge of what they plan to do

The objective is plain, is it not? the senior Saudi commander observed. Our Shi'ite neighbors have all the desert they need. He tapped the map. There is our economic center of gravity.

General? another voice asked. Diggs turned to his left.

Colonel Eddington?

Center of gravity is political, not military. We might want to keep that in mind, gentlemen, the colonel from Carolina pointed out. If they want to go for the coastal oil fields, we'll