Ralph Peters

by The war in 2020

  "My dear General Tanjani," Noburu began, choosing his words carefully, "warriors who fight as boldly as yours are very hard on the machinery of war. Your successes have taken many of these land systems well over two thousand kilometers in less than a month. Under such circumstances, careful maintenance procedures are very important. It would be of the greatest help if your soldiers would follow the prescribed methods."

  Tanjani would not budge. "It is not the task of the soldiers of the Islamic Republic of Iran to work as rude mechanicals. It is the task of the Japanese to guarantee that all machines operate."

  Noburu wondered how on earth Tokyo would deal with men such as this in the future, when the Tanjanis had no more pressing needs for Japanese military support. The unconsidered arrogance involved in driving the Soviets— the Russians—from the heart of Asia was becoming ever more clear to him. As suppliers of resources, the economically starved Soviets were bound to be more dependable than the half-savages with whom Tokyo had determined to replace them.

  Noburu was especially irritated with Tanjani today because Noburu's in-house intelligence sources had informed him of the Iranians' loss of one of the latest-variant command aircraft. Tanjani had not said a word about it, which told Noburu that the unexplained accident had been indisguisably the fault of the Iranians. The loss was potentially an important intelligence compromise—although, fortunately, the computer system was utterly unbreakable. The revelation of new aircraft composites to the enemy was nonetheless a sufficiently serious matter to outrage Noburu, but he had learned the hard way that it never paid to directly confront the Iranians with their failures. He would simply have to wait, exercising all of his selfcontrol, until the day came when Tanjani decided to mention the loss—if such a day ever came.

  "General Tanjani, I assure you that all maintenance workers are doing their best to maintain the systems. But basic measures taken by the operators are essential. Otherwise, too many systems break down unnecessarily, and the maintenance system becomes overloaded. We have discussed this before."

  Tanjani smiled cynically. "If the great industrial power of Japan can do no better than this, perhaps our confidence has been misplaced."

  Noburu wanted to shout at the man. Those systems have carried your incompetent mob farther and faster than any force in history. You have crushed one of the fabled armies of the world. But, when hundreds of vehicles develop major problems simply because no one bothered to maintain proper lubrication levels or to change dust filters, you cannot expect to parade around in them indefinitely. The yen costs resulting from inept—or nonexistent—operator maintenance were astronomical.

  "We must," Noburu said in a controlled voice, "all work together. We must cooperate. There are no more systems in the rear depots to instantly replace those lost unnecessarily. At present, I'm told that there are more tanks in the forward repair yards at Karaganda and Atbasar than there are on the front lines."

  "Your system of maintenance is very slow," Tanjani said.

  "Our system of maintenance," Noburu replied, "is overwhelmed. If only the truly avoidable maintenance problems could be prevented by your operators, you would find our system very effective."

  "The problem," Tanjani said, "is that the tanks are no good. You have sold us second-rate goods."

  "General Tanjani," Noburu said, trying to smile, to reach back toward friendliness, "consider your successes. Whenever our tanks have been deployed against the Soviets, you have not lost a single significant engagement. Consider how few of the tanks in our repair yards are actually combat casualties. Not one in twenty."

  "Our success," Tanjani said, "is the will of God. Everything is the will of God."

  "The will of God," General Shemin agreed, awakening from his daydreams at the explosively powerful words.

  Biryan, the ex-Soviet, moved about uncomfortably in his seat, mumbling something that might be taken for agreement. Noburu knew that Biryan had been sufficiently well-trained by his former masters to understand that poor maintenance was not necessarily a direct reflection of the divine will. The maintenance problems in Biryan's rebel units were as much the result of combat stress on the decrepit systems with which the central Soviet government had equipped the regionally homogenous formations as they were of incompetence—although there was still plenty of that to be found.

  Perhaps, Noburu thought bitterly, Allah could be persuaded to do a bit of preventive maintenance, or to do some overnight repair work.

  "This ... is a very important issue," General Biryan said carefully, catching Noburu off-guard. "The combat strength of the great forces of Iran must be maintained. My troops alone cannot finish the task before us." Noburu pitied the man, who seemed to have no real understanding of the fate planned for the rebel forces. Noburu knew that, for all of the problems under discussion, Tanjani's Iranians had the strength to make a far larger frontline contribution, as did the forces of the Islamic Union on the southwestern front. But it had been agreed that the rebels should be sacrificed to the maximum feasible extent now that success seemed imminent. It was vital that those with nationalist tendencies in the liberated regions have no significant military strength of their own on which to fall back. This very expensive war was not being waged to cater to the intoxicated visions of Kazakh or Turkmen nationalists.

  "God will provide," General Shemin offered. The chosen tone suggested that Shemin might take on his occasional role as mediator. "But I think that we are under an obligation to help our Japanese friends when they tell us that they are in need. Just as they have been helpful to us. Now is not the time for such disagreements between friends. Surely, my brother," he said to Tanjani, "we will help the Japanese. We must consider their requests about this matter of maintenance."

  Tanjani sensed that he was in the minority on this issue.

  Yet, Noburu well knew, nothing was predictable. At times, Shemin would side rabidly with Tanjani. And, despite any verbal concessions, Noburu suspected that little would change as regarded maintenance. The conditions in Shemin's Islamic Union formations were only marginally better than those in the Iranian forces. It was astonishing that they had done so much, come so far. A tribute, Noburu thought, to the technical mastery of his homeland. The war-making systems were simple to operate and really very simple to maintain. It had taken negligence bordering on the ingenious to run them into the ground.

  But the margin was thinner now than it had been at any time during the campaign. It was a good thing that the Soviets were so disorganized, so psychologically distressed. Noburu thought again of the incredible ratio of maintenance losses. At present, there were almost five combat systems awaiting repair for everyone on the front lines. Even the most skillfully designed high-technology systems did not have the simplicity of a bow and arrow.

  Noburu's mind drifted back to the imagery of the possible Soviet counterattack force in the industrial park outside of Omsk. Really, a negligible matter in the great scheme of things. But he would have to deal with it. The Iranian and rebel forces were so depleted, so worn, that the sudden introduction of an organized counterattack force might prove capable of causing at least local panic. He decided not to rely on Yameshima and his Iranian Air Force charges to do the job. Kloete's South Africans could fly this one. It was not a time to take chances. And the South Africans needed to earn their keep.

  An orderly delivered fresh tea and a plate of biscuits, catering to Noburu's guests. Noburu himself would have much preferred another Scotch, but he deferentially took the required thimble glass of tea. He watched as Tanjani dropped cube after cube of sugar into the orange liquid.

  "And now," Noburu said, bracing himself against the impending storm, "there is another matter I would like to discuss with you. Among friends." He glanced toward the workstation, where his aide sat monitoring the flow of information, temporarily suppressing anything that might not be appropriate for the eyes of Noburu's guests. Noburu knew that Akiro would disapprove of his next tack. Perhaps the aide would even report the matter
to the General Staff. Personal loyalty was not all that it once had been. But Noburu was determined to go ahead with the business. "This matter of the employment of chemical weapons against mass targets . . . specifically, against noncombatants ... I know we have spoken of this before." He looked at Tanjani. "But the battlefield situation has continued to develop in our favor, and I'm certain that we all can agree that there is no longer the least justification for such attacks. We are on the edge of victory. I do not think our cause is furthered by attacks that can only turn world opinion against us."

  Noburu noted that Akiro had stopped fiddling with the computer. The aide was listening attentively, aware that his commander was speaking in violation of the directive from Tokyo.

  To Noburu's relief, Tanjani showed no immediate excitement. He continued to sip his sugar-laden tea. There was a moment of near silence, the clinking of metal and glass. Then Tanjani said wearily, "World opinion? Why are we to concern ourselves with the opinion of the world? Especially as we are still speaking largely of the opinion of the Western world, are we not?" He put down his tea glass, readying himself to speak at greater length. "For more than forty years, my country has laughed in the face of world opinion, and today we are the victors. World opinion? What does it matter? Dust in the wind. The American devil is impotent. He is a caged Satan." He laughed in tepid amusement, as at a good joke heard once too often. "And the Europeans care only for their economic welfare. They may weep, but they will still line up to buy our oil." Tanjani's eyes came to rest on Noburu's beautifully cut uniform. "They have become our tailors, our purveyors of sweets. Nothing more. And the Soviets . . . cannot effectively retaliate. Even if they had threatening weapons, they would not attack our home countries—they are too anxious not to draw our attacks down upon their main cities. They are degenerate cowards, who deserve to be destroyed. God is great, and his sword smites the infidel. He places fear in their hearts."

  "But is it necessary to strike the refugee columns?"

  "It costs Japan nothing," Tanjani replied haughtily. "These are our weapons. And, you see, they are more dependable than your machines."

  "But such actions," Noburu said, "simply cause the enemy to retaliate with chemical weapons of his own. Your forces have taken needless chemical casualties."

  "God is great," Tanjani said. "The soldiers of Iran welcome the opportunity to die the death of the martyr." Biryan, the rebel commander, leaned forward abruptly. It was a strikingly violent gesture that betrayed anger that could no longer be contained. He inadvertently knocked over his tea glass, but made no move to right it.

  "The Russian and his brethren must be destroyed," he said. His face had grown pale. "They are all demons, the worst of infidels. My people have lived under the Russian yoke for more than a century. We know the Russian. He is an animal, a dog. And he must be beaten like a dog, destroyed like a mad dog. Not only the men, but their women and children—they are the source of the greatest evil in this world. They are a plague on the earth. There is no suffering too great for them."

  Noburu glanced at Shemin but saw instantly that he would get no help from the man this time. Shemin was a survivor of struggles both military and political, and he picked his fights carefully. Born in Baghdad, he had begun learning his lessons as a lieutenant, back in 1990, leading a tank platoon into Kuwait.

  Biryan's intensity had genuinely shocked Noburu, who still could not believe that this man had lately served beside the men he now wished to annihilate, that he had lived among the women and children whom he so ardently wished to butcher.

  When will it be our turn? Noburu wondered.

  Tanjani was smiling, clearly feeling himself the master of his Japanese counterpart. Yes, Noburu told himself, I'm just another infidel to them. Not fully human. It is only that I am temporarily useful. How on earth did we ever allow ourselves to make a compact with men such as these?

  "My brother," Tanjani said to Noburu, "it brings . . .surprise to the righteous to hear you take the side of the infidel. Especially, when you refuse to employ all of your own weapons on our behalf."

  Noburu wondered how much surprise his face betrayed. Hopefully, the years of discipline were standing him in good stead now.

  Was Tanjani merely fishing? Did he really know? "General Tanjani ..." Noburu said, ". . . the government of Japan is supporting you to the full extent of our treaties. You have received all specified aid."

  "And yet," Tanjani said, "friends do not conceal their wealth from their true friends."

  "I don't understand," Noburu lied.

  Tanjani sat back in his chair, thoughtful, teasing. Then he lifted his eyebrows at the amusing trend of his thoughts. "Perhaps ... if all of the Japanese weapons came to the support of the true cause . . . perhaps then there would be little need of these chemical weapons that are such trouble to you."

  No, Noburu thought. Far better the chemicals.

  "My friend," Noburu said, "you must tell me the details of your concern. Exactly which weapons are you speaking of? Perhaps I am too ill-informed."

  Tanjani looked at him hard. "And what is at the base in Bukhara? What is so great a secret there? Why are my men not trusted to guard their Japanese brothers?"

  He doesn't know, Noburu decided, relieved. He's only guessing. He's caught wind of something. But he doesn't know the details.

  "The base at Bukhara," Noburu said, regaining his selfassurance, "is a very sophisticated technical support site. You know the terms of our agreements. There are some electronic matters . . . industrial secrets . . . which were developed at great expense to the people of Japan. Today, in a world still hungry for the tightening supplies of oil, Iran has no need of such things. You are very rich. By the grace of God. But, for Japan, these technical matters are our 'oil,' our only wealth. There is nothing at the Bukhara site other than electronics—to be used in your support, as necessary." The last part was true, Noburu told himself. If the whole story came out, he had not actually lied. There was nothing at Bukhara but electronics. The Scramblers were really nothing more than another arrangement of conductors.

  Noburu sized up the others. Tanjani had played his card—neither Shemin nor Biryan had known anything about the matter. They were, however, rapidly becoming interested.

  Noburu could not imagine worse allies. What did they have to offer Japan other than trouble, threats, complaints, endless discontents? He wondered if Japan were not unconsciously replacing the United States in yet another sphere.

  "My dear General Tanjani," Noburu said, "may I offer you a visit to the Bukhara site? You are welcome to inspect everything. You will see for yourself. There is nothing at Bukhara other than aircraft, maintenance facilities—and electronics. General Yameshima could arrange such a visit immediately."

  It was Tanjani's turn to be caught off-guard. Noburu knew that the Iranian could easily walk through the facility and even sit behind the controls of the aircraft without realizing their purpose.

  "Perhaps . . ." Tanjani said, ". . . when there is more time. Yes. Perhaps this is a very good idea. But Bukhara is far from the front. A commander's place is with his troops."

  Noburu knew that Tanjani would not return immediately to the front from the combined headquarters at Baku. First, the Iranian would stop off in Meshed, in the safety of northern Iran, where he would spend the night in the company of a woman who was distinctly not his wife. But the war would go on without him.

  "Yes," Shemin said, rising, "we should all be with our troops. And the road is long." He smiled. "Even when we journey in the fine aircraft our Japanese brothers have provided."

  Noburu rose and bowed formally to the other men. Tanjani made a great show of hugging and kissing the prim Japanese, mussing Noburu's uniform. Shemin followed with a token embrace that took better account of Noburu's customs, while Biryan, the rebel, shook hands like a Westerner.

  A strange world, Noburu thought.

  Amid the formalities of departure, Noburu mentioned to Kloete, who had silently listened to the
verbal maneuvering, that the South African pilots would soon have a mission, and that he should keep himself readily available. The tall blond man gave a terse, if polite acknowledgment.

  There is not one among them whom I can trust, Noburu thought.

  Then they were gone. Akiro did not move to update his superior at once, sensing that Noburu required a breathing space after the ordeal of the meeting.

  Noburu moved to help himself to another Scotch. But, bottle in hand, he stopped himself. What was the point? Even such controlled drinking suddenly struck him as unmanly under the circumstances. He was, surely, stronger than this.

  He punished himself, disallowing this one comfort. At least for now. But the meeting had, as always, exhausted him. It was like trying to wage war with armies composed of wicked delinquent children.

  Grateful for the fresh quiet, Noburu crossed the big room and opened the drape, conscious that his aide was watching him, squinting at the intensity of the sunlight. Until recently, the suite had belonged to a high-ranking Soviet officer. Now the last Soviet reoccupation forces were gone from Azerbaijan, and there was only scattered guerilla resistance in Armenia and Georgia, as the rebels and the forces of the Islamic Union pushed northward as far as the Kalmuck steppe. In the east, the Soviets had been expelled from Tadzhikistan, from Kirghizistan, Uzbekistan, and Turkistan. And they were almost gone from the vast expanse of Kazakhstan. Everywhere, the Soviets were on the run. Noburu mused that, if the Soviets regretted any single thing at this juncture, it must be their too-successful crusade to ban nuclear weapons. They had overestimated by far their ability to maintain a conventional hegemony on the Eurasian land mass. Now they were being dissected.