The Ten Thousand

CHAPTER 6

After a second review of the script her producer, Charley Mordal, had provided her for the twelve noon broadcast, Jan Fields-Dixon decided that more changes needed to be made. Although it never ceased to amaze her how little information their news program actually put out over the air, today's script, concerning what the script referred to as the American incursion into the Ukraine and the first use of a nuclear weapon since 1945, was particularly bad. With script in hand, Jan headed for the producer's desk, which was no easy task, especially on a day when a news story like this broke. The normal well-paced and measured chaos and pandemonium of the central newsroom was intensified tenfold. Jan had once theorized to a fellow correspondent that the importance of a news story could be measured by the amount of shouting and yelling that took place behind the camera. Few in the business disagreed with her. Winding her way through and around a maze of computer desks and long consoles manned by stern-faced technicians and harried assistant editors, Jan bobbed and weaved as she attempted to keep from being knocked down or overrun by people running about with as much direction and purpose as headless chickens. It was for this reason, despite criticism from her boss, that Jan wore her sneakers most of the day. "Only a fool," she was fond of replying to his comments, "would willingly wear three-inch heels while playing stickball in heavy traffic." Besides the practical benefit, Jan enjoyed tweaking the nose of authority when in her opinion those wielding that authority were being a tad bit dumb. So Jan's sneakers served as a visible symbol of willingness to challenge stupidity that others freely accepted as "the way things are."

When he saw Jan headed his way, the first thought that entered Charley Mordal's mind was to flee. After a struggle of ten hours trying to pull together a coherent package that somehow brought all the elements of the latest crisis into focus, the last thing Mordal wanted to do was get into a pissing contest with Jan. Flight, however, would not save him. Once Jan achieved what everyone called target lock, there was no escape. That didn't keep the others who had been gathered around Mordal's desk from taking flight. Like cockroaches scattering when the light went on, the people who had been with Mordal were gone before Jan reached his desk.

Without hesitation, Jan carefully moved a stack of papers and computer printouts out of the way before sitting on the corner of Mordal's desk. Crossing her legs, Jan leaned forward, resting her left arm on her leg, leaving her left hand to dangle over her knee. Settled, she held the script in front of her with her right hand. "Charley, we really need to take a serious look at this script. It is, to use a cliché, a mile wide and an inch deep."

Exhausted from his efforts, Mordal slumped back in his chair and stared at Jan before answering. It was times like this that made him wonder if it was worth the pain that he and the rest of the editorial staff had to endure in order to work with this woman. She was by any measure attractive. Jan's long brunette hair sported soft bangs that brushed across her forehead so they fell just above her right eye, while framing her oval face with gentle waves that cascaded softly about her shoulders. Jan used little makeup, just enough to highlight her high cheekbones and big brown eyes, which were her favorite feature. Coupled with a firm, persuasive manner, Jan used her eyes like a weapon.

Looks, however, were not Jan's strongest point. Her skills as a correspondent were what made her. With more credentials to her credit than fellow correspondents with twice the time in the business, Jan had an ability to communicate the news that few came close to matching and none surpassed. It was as if, someone had said, she had been born for this. Still this didn't make dealing with her any easier, especially when she thought that she was right.

Mordal's exasperated response was not exaggerated. Lifting his right hand as if he were trying to fend her off, Mordal avoided looking into her eyes as he answered. "Jan, I've been up since one o'clock this morning. I have personally looked at every piece of information concerning our President's little tantrum—"

In a voice that sounded like a schoolteacher's, Jan interrupted Mordal. "Charley, I would hardly call the invasion of another country, an invasion that, oh by the way, resulted in the detonation of God knows how many nuclear warheads and an outcry from our European allies, a 'little tantrum.' "

Mordal was tired, harried, and in no mood to be lectured to. "Look, Jan. You have the best of what would otherwise be called a handful of shit. No one is talking. Not the White House, not the State Department, and especially not the Pentagon. All we have right now is a whole lot of bits and pieces that, unedited and strung end to end, don't come out to more than five minutes' worth of airtime."

"So," Jan retorted, "your solution is to have me chat with a bunch of pseudo-experts who know less than we do and prove it every time they open their mouths."

Looking her in the eye for the first time, Mordal nodded. "Yes. Something like that. Why, do you have a better idea?"

Mordal had no sooner said that than he regretted doing so. "As a matter of fact, Charley, I do. It seems that the Germans are being quite silent about the whole affair. In fact, except for this one short piece here from Reuters stating that German forces were placed on alert this morning within minutes after the American invasion began, we have nothing concerning Germany."

"So? What's the big deal? I mean, it's obvious that they and the rest of Europe are as embarrassed about the whole thing as we are. You know, big American operation goes haywire, radiation contaminating Swiss moo cows, fear of three-headed children being born paralyzing Central Europe, Chernobyl revisited. You know, the usual."

Jan made a face. She ignored his attempt to mock her and continued to press her point. "Charley, you don't think about your own stuff or try to put any of it together, do you? Over the last year and a half, the Germans and the Ukrainians have been building what the German Chancellor called last July, 'a new basis for both political and economic cooperation in Central Europe between our two great nations, nations that together can bring East and West together and strength and unity out of chaos.' When you consider the amount of money the Germans have invested in the Ukraine, you can't deny that politics and national interest follow. For instance, the joint proposal that the Chancellor of Germany and the President of the Ukraine put forth last spring, when the Czech and Slovakian republics threatened to resort to armed conflict to resolve their differences, that Germany and the Ukraine intervene to prevent war. With that level of cooperation, one would expect some kind of reaction from our friends the Germans."

Mordal shrugged. "Okay, granted, the Germans like the Ukrainians. But the Germans are our allies. They have been for more than fifty years. Given a choice, who do you think they're going to side with?"

Jan straightened up as she continued to look at Mordal. He really didn't understand. She was about to remind him that the Germans had been reluctant allies from the start, and had been pushing to get U.S. forces out of Central Europe since the unification of East and West, when an assistant editor came running up to Mordal's desk. "Gee, Charley, I hate to bother you and Jan, but we just got word that the President will be making an announcement at noon."

Looking over to the bank of clocks on the wall, then at his own wristwatch, Mordal mumbled, "Well, that's just great! Just outstanding! Thirty-five minutes to airtime and everything goes into the shitter." Standing up, he looked at Jan. At least, he thought, this gave him a great way to end a conversation that he really wasn't interested in. "Look, Jan dear. You may have a wonderful story line there. But right now we have thirty or so minutes to rearrange everything. We'll talk about this later." Motioning to several technicians and assistant editors, Mordal turned his attention to his new problem. "Once we got a handle on this, Jan, I'll get back to you. For now, plan on introducing your program at noon like normal. Then announce that we'll cut to the White House briefing room. Jimmy will take it from there. And hang on to that script just in case this falls through or the President's announcement is mercifully short. I'll have Debbie display any changes on the TelePrompTer."

Though she wasn't pleased that she had failed to make her point, Jan nodded and got up off of Mordal's desk. News, after all, was news. And while she truly believed that she had a good story line that needed to be pursued, this was not the time to do it. "Okay, Charley, I'll go get myself ready and leave you to deal with the alligators."

As President Wilson's entourage entered the small room off to the side of the press briefing room, a technician signaled one of the aides attending the President. Walking over, the technician whispered, "The President's secretary is on the line. She says that the German Chancellor is on the line requesting to speak directly to President Wilson."

Wilson's aide frowned. "How much time do we have before we go on?"

The technician looked at his watch, then at a wall clock. "Three minutes."

Tilting his head down, the aide thought a moment. Then, making a decision that he thought was best but one which was well beyond his pay grade, the aide spoke with an assumed air of authority. "Tell the President's secretary to contact Secretary Soares's office at the State Department and have the Chancellor's call transferred over to him." Without any further thought, and not wanting to clutter the President's mind with any thoughts other than what she was about to tell the American public, the aide let the technician and in turn a secretary handle the German Chancellor's call.

The aide, unfortunately, had forgotten that Secretary Soares was in the middle of a meeting with the members of the UN Security Council in New York at the moment. Soares's secretary, knowing that the meeting at the UN was important, didn't want to forward the call to New York for fear of interfering with it. She therefore recommended that the call be transferred to the next man in Wilson's inner circle, the Secretary of Defense.

While Chancellor Ruff of Germany was being kept on hold and aides and secretaries across Washington, D.C., were passing his call about like a football, Wilson's press secretary came up to her side. "Here's the revised script as it will appear on the TelePrompTer, Madam President."

Wilson, oblivious to the fumbling of her staff and the staff's of her cabinet, prepared herself for the press. Taking the script in her right hand, Wilson reached across with her left hand and put it on her press secretary's arm. "Please do me a favor, Maggie, and don't make a face this time if I stray from your prepared text. You know how I love to play the room."

"Oh, no problem, Madam President, you go right ahead and improvise all you want. You know you're at your best when you do that."

Yes, Wilson thought. She always did her best when she trusted her instincts. As she watched the big hand of the clock inch toward twelve, she regretted that she hadn't trusted her instincts on this current issue. While Pete Soares was a great political advisor and Terry Rothenberg was a shrewd lawyer, they needed to think more on their own and not take as gospel everything their advisors in the State Department and the Pentagon fed them. They had made too many mistakes on this one and needed to make sure that didn't happen again, provided, of course, she could pull their collective chestnuts out of this fire.

"One minute, Madam President."

Drawing two deep breaths, Wilson flashed her best campaign smile and prepared to step into the lions' den.

"Damn them. DAMN THEM TO HELL!" Lunging forward over his desk, Chancellor Ruff thrust his finger at his military aide. "You go and find the lowest bathroom attendant in this building. Have him get on the phone and tell that little fat Jew Secretary of Defense that if I wanted to talk to him, I would have called him." Pushing himself away from his desk, Ruff looked at Colonel Hans Kasper for a moment. "Who does that whore think she is dealing with? Does she believe that Germany is still a vassal state, to be dealt with at her convenience?"

Kasper did not flinch. He had no intention of finding a bathroom attendant, since there were none in the building, and, more importantly, Ruff's comment was simply part of an elaborate play being enacted for the benefit of members of the cabinet who were not privy to the script. Ignoring Ruff's last comment, Kasper excused himself, playing his role to the hilt. "I will personally tend to the call immediately, Herr Chancellor." Pivoting smartly on his heel, he left the room to Ruff and the cabinet members that had assembled in his office.

When the door was closed and he had regained his composure after his well-controlled outburst, Ruff turned to the members of his cabinet. Though he had no idea of the folly in Washington that had resulted in what Ruff considered an insult, the timing of it couldn't have been any better for Ruff. "That, my friends, is what the Americans think of us. That is why it is time, in my opinion, to bring this unnatural state of affairs to an end. We no longer need an army of occupation to remind us that they defeated us. We no longer need to have foreigners rub our noses in the sins of our fathers. The past is over." Ruff pounded his fist on the desk to emphasize his point. "OVER! OVER! It is time that WE made the Americans understand that."

Across from him, the members of his cabinet listened to him in silence. Some showed their agreement with a simple nod or a gesture. Others, uncomfortable with Ruff's manner and what they believed his line of thinking, grimaced or shifted restlessly in their chairs. This did not surprise Ruff. He already knew who could be trusted and who needed to be kept in the dark. In time, everyone, even the dullest idiot, would come to understand what he was after. But he expected by then to have presented the German people a fait accompli, one which, when they came to understand what was at stake, they would support. Until then Ruff had to ensure that they continued to pretend that they were what his Foreign Minister, Bruno Rooks, called the innocent rape victim.

Standing up, Ruff looked about the room, then turned his back to the members of his cabinet as he limped across the room to a window. The storm that had started that morning continued unabated.

From behind him, Thomas Fellner, the Interior Minister, was the first to speak. "I believe we need to send a high-ranking representative to the United States, preferably Herr Rooks. He could be there by tomorrow morning to meet with President Wilson. Once we understood what they had in mind and what they intended—"

Pivoting, Ruff thrust his right arm down, jabbing his index finger toward the floor to emphasize his anger as he shouted, "NO! NO! I will not send a member of my government hat in hand crawling to that bitch, for any reason. Not tonight, not tomorrow, NOT EVER!" Folding his arms across his chest, Ruff took a deep breath and threw his head back before he continued. "Think, Thomas, think. Think of what that would tell the world. The leaders of the other nations in Europe would see that and say, 'Ah, see how Germany, the good little client state, runs to the United States for instructions.' Is that what you want, my friend? No. Germany is the offended party. Germany is once again captive to a unilateral American action that has gone astray." Taking a few steps forward, Ruff thrust his right arm up, finger pointed to the ceiling. "No, my comrades. Germany will not roll over like an obedient puppy dog, allowing the Americans to come and go as they please. Not this time. Not while I am Chancellor."

As if on cue, Rudolf Lammers, the Minister of Defense, spoke out. "What other options, Herr Chancellor, do we have? As we sit here beating our chests in righteous indignation, the Americans are already flying nuclear weapons into our country from the Ukraine. This is an act, if I may remind all of you, which is in clear violation of every disarmament agreement we and the United States have been party to since the collapse of the Eastern bloc. By tomorrow morning, if we do nothing, the weapons will be transferred to larger aircraft and flown back to the United States. The Americans will have, as a result of their deception and our ineptitude, achieved their objective, at our expense."

"That," Ruff added, "is exactly my point. While we sit here wringing our hands, wondering what to do, the Americans forge on with their plan. We must act. We must take action to ensure that the United States, as well as the rest of Europe, understands that we are not a puppet on a string to be jerked about whenever it pleases them. German sovereignty and self-determination, not to mention our pride and integrity, must be respected."

As in the past, Fellner raised the voice of concern and caution. Not that Ruff didn't expect it. In fact, he had counted on Fellner to do so. "What, Herr Chancellor, do you propose to do at this point? Outside of official protests, the only other option that I see is direct action against American operations within our borders. Are you proposing that we take such measures?"

Fellner's comments could not have been any more timely or better put than if Ruff had written that part of the script himself. For Ruff, the fact that Fellner, the voice of reason within the German cabinet, a man viewed by everyone in Germany and Europe as being the epitome of what a good peace-loving German should be, was the first to mention direct action was critical. For several moments, Ruff let Fellner's comments hang in the air, acting as if he were thinking about them. When he was ready, Ruff moved back to his desk, limping slightly. When he spoke, Ruff looked down at the floor, voice soft, reflective, almost as if he were speaking his thoughts rather than addressing his ministers. "That, my friends, is what we must now discuss." Then, as if a moment of indecision had passed and he had regained his resolve, Ruff looked up. "If you would, there is much to do and not much time. I would like to speak with Herr Rooks and Herr Lammers for a few minutes in private." As the cabinet members began to rise from their chairs, Ruff called out, "Excuse me, gentlemen. I am sorry. I have forgotten that I am scheduled for a press conference that should have started five minutes ago. We must as soon as possible inform the German people about what is happening in order to calm their fears and let them know that we are doing something." Looking around the room as if he were trying to decide who should serve as his substitute, Ruff stopped when his eyes came to rest on Fellner. "Would it be possible, Herr Fellner, for you to take it for me?"

Though he would have preferred not to, Fellner nodded. "Yes, Herr Chancellor, I will. How much do you want me to tell the press? Is it appropriate at this time, Herr Chancellor, to mention that we are considering declaring a state of emergency?"

Ruff struggled to conceal the joy he felt when Fellner mentioned a state of emergency. Such a declaration would allow Ruff as the Chancellor to take action without having to consult the Bundestag. "Do as you see fit, my friend. It just might be wise to bring out some of the concerns we have expressed in this meeting."

Rooks and Lammers looked at each other with a knowing glance when Ruff made that comment

After a moment, Fellner agreed. "Yes, perhaps it is best if we begin to tell the German people the truth and prepare them."

"Yes," Ruff repeated solemnly, "I suppose you are right."

When the rest of the cabinet was gone, Colonel Kasper entered the room. "Herr Chancellor, General Lange and General Schacht are waiting."

Waving his hand, Ruff ordered Kasper to show them in. Walking over to Rooks and Lammers, Ruff shook their hands. "It has begun, my friends, it has finally begun. Now all we need to do is to see if the commander of the 1st Parachute Division can deliver as he has promised."

Both Ruff and Lammers knew there was no need to discuss options. The direct action that Fellner had mentioned had already been decided upon several days before. Orders to the units involved had already been issued. Units of the Bundeswehr that were to execute those orders were on the move at that very moment The meeting between Ruff, Rooks, Lammers, and his military chief's was nothing more than a final review of the situation and any last-minute coordination that needed to be made.

If all went well, within twelve hours Germany would be a nuclear power.

The evacuation of the remnants of Company A back to the heart of Slovakia brought little comfort or joy to the survivors. While it was reasonable that they would be treated separately and kept for a while due to their exposure to radiation, the treatment that the rangers of Company A received by everyone they came across was, in Ilvanich's mind, inexcusable. The danger from any radiation that the rangers had come into contact with in the Ukraine had long since been dealt with. That did not stop treatment, however, which Ilvanich considered to be cruel and unjustifiable to the men who now looked to him for answers.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Ilvanich finally overcame his reluctance to complain and began to exert himself in the manner that was more natural to him and befitted the situation. Almost springing up from the cot where he had been sitting simmering, Ilvanich turned to Fitzhugh and the platoon sergeants who sat gathered around the cot next to Ilvanich's, picking through their cold MRE meals in silence. The Russian major's sudden move, coupled with the determined look on his face, brought a hush throughout the cot-filled tent that served as a ward for the survivors of Company A.

Looking down at the upturned faces, Ilvanich began to speak, loud enough so that everyone in the tent and the adjoining tent where the nurses were on duty could hear. "This treatment is abominable. We are not lepers, and I cannot sit here and watch you people be treated as such." Finished, Ilvanich marched to the entrance of the tent that led to where the nurses were.

The sudden shouting startled Captain Hilary Cole, senior nurse on duty. Like most of the staff of the 553rd Field Hospital, she had mistaken the sullen discontentment of the rangers for shock and grief. Cole had just managed to stand up and turn to the tent flap that separated the tent where her station was from the tent where the rangers were when the flap was pulled open from the other side. Pausing, Cole watched as the one who had been identified as the Russian major entered her tent with a determined look that bordered on anger. Close behind him, in his shadow, came the young second lieutenant. When the Russian was in front of Cole's desk, he stopped, causing the lieutenant to take one short step to the Russian's left.

Still unsure of the relationship between the Russian major, whom all the rangers took their orders from, and the American lieutenant, Cole looked from one to the other. Though he was dressed in the same maroon bathrobe that the rest of the rangers were wearing, there was no mistaking that the major was the officer in charge. "What seems to be the problem, Major?"

Cole's soft voice, her blue eyes set in a thin heart-shaped face that was framed in blond hair that Ilvanich thought was too short, momentarily took the edge off of his anger. Looking down at her, Ilvanich thought for a moment, refraining his angry demand into as diplomatic a request as he could manage. "Please inform your commanding officer that I must speak to him."

For a moment Cole looked at the Russian, wondering whether she should find out what he wanted or just go ahead and do as he demanded. Looking into his eyes, dark eyes that were fixed in an unblinking stare, she decided to simply pass the message. Picking up the phone on her desk, Cole dialed the commander's office.

Saying nothing and betraying no reaction, Ilvanich listened as the nurse passed on his demand. "Hi, Anna? Is the colonel in? Good. No, I don't need to talk to him, but the Rus— I mean the major in charge of the rangers would like to talk to him now. No, I don't know, but I think he better come over right away. The Rus— I mean the major is waiting here in my office." There was a pause while Cole waited for an answer. During the pause, she looked down at the phone, avoiding Ilvanich's stare. "Great, I'll tell him." Hanging up the phone, Cole looked at Ilvanich, forcing a smile. "The colonel will be over in a minute. If you would return to your area, I'll call you when he is here."

Cole's request brought back Ilvanich's anger. Clenching his fists and narrowing his eyes, he almost hissed when he spoke. "We are not some kind of dangerous things that you can stuff into isolation and forget. Those things in there are your fellow countrymen, elite combat soldiers. Those soldiers have been through a lot in the last seventeen hours and deserve to be treated like the men they are."

For a moment Cole felt the urge to back away from the angry Russian but didn't. "Major, I have my orders. You and your men are to remain in isolation until we can evacuate you back to Landstuhl in Germany." From the other end of the tent where Ilvanich stood, two military policemen who had been posted outside came through the tent flaps when they heard Cole's and Ilvanich's exchange. When she heard them, Cole turned around, motioning that they were to stop where they were and keep out of this for the moment. For several awkward seconds they all looked at each other, wondering what to do next. Only the appearance of Colonel Sandy Holleran, commanding officer of the 553rd, broke the stalemate.

The white doctor's coat that hung over his standard-issue battle dress fatigues was open in the front, accentuating a waistline that was several inches larger than was militarily acceptable. But Holleran was a doctor, a good one who even had a knack for command. So his weight, though deemed somewhat excessive, as well as hair that was slightly too long, was overlooked. When he was in the tent, Holleran looked about. Seeing that everyone was on edge and ready to jump, he decided to take it slow and easy. With a quizzical look he turned to Cole. "What seems to be the problem, Captain?"

Though there was no emblem of rank showing, Ilvanich assumed, by the doctor's demeanor and the deference the MPs showed when he entered, that this was their commanding officer. Coming to a position of attention, Ilvanich spoke before Cole could answer. "Sir, I requested a meeting with you to discuss the manner in which my men have been treated."

Without pausing, Holleran walked up to Cole's desk, grabbing a chair for himself and motioning for Ilvanich to take a seat across from him. Holleran watched as the Russian major moved over, followed by the young American lieutenant who stood behind him. Though he had no idea how it came to be that this Russian had become the commander of an American ranger company, there was no doubt, from what he had heard and what he saw, that the rangers accepted him as such, and Holleran spoke as if this were a natural everyday occurrence. Turning his mind to the matter at hand, Holleran opened the conversation. "Before we get started, I must tell you, Major, in all candor, that the situation we are facing here is entirely new to me and my staff. None of us have ever had to deal with radiation casualties."

Ilvanich leaned forward and cut Holleran off. "We are not casualties. Yes, we have been exposed to radiation, but none of us are suffering from any adverse effects." Ilvanich, of course, was lying. Several hours after reaching the rest of the ranger battalion, both he and Rasper had thrown up. Speaking in private to Rasper, Ilvanich told him that they were both suffering from the effects of radiation. Rasper, his face showing no signs of emotion, merely looked down at his boots and nodded as he spoke, "Yes, sir, I know." Then looking up at Ilvanich, with the hint of a plea in his eyes, Rasper asked if Ilvanich would keep it quiet. Other than the nausea he felt, Rasper said that he was all right So the two men kept their problem to themselves. There was, they felt, no need to panic the rest of the company or anyone else.

That, however, didn't keep everyone they came into contact with from keeping them at arm's distance. This Ilvanich understood. It was expected, since the rangers under his care carried with them radioactive fallout on their clothes, equipment, and even their skin. Before entering the ranger battalion perimeter, Ilvanich had the rangers of Company A halt in a wood lot. There they discarded their outer clothing, overshoes, web belts and suspenders, and anything that was not absolutely critical. Ilvanich then had them do a hasty decontamination of all the equipment they retained, including their protective masks and weapons, by rubbing them down with snow. Still their actions did little to still the fears of whoever came into contact with them. From the beginning everyone, from the battalion commander on down, treated the survivors of Company A as if they were infected with a deadly plague.

Ilvanich leaned back in his seat as he recounted to Holleran their travails. "First, the ranger battalion commander places us outside their regular perimeter. Though we were covered by interlocking fires from the rest of the battalion, my men sat there looking at me and then back where the rest of the battalion was wondering what was going on. When the helicopters came, stripped of everything, including seats, so they could be decontaminated easier after we were delivered, the crews treated us like we all had the AIDS virus. If it wasn't for the intervention of one of the crew chief's from a medical evacuation helicopter who gave us the rations from his own crew, none of us would have had anything to eat."

Slowly, as he spoke, the anger that Ilvanich had contained all day began to boil out. "Then, when we arrived here, they were ordered to land over three kilometers away in order not to contaminate the camp. The pilot of the lead helicopter informed me of this, but then at the last minute he ignored the order. For his troubles and kindness he was reprimanded in front of his crew when we landed."

Aware of this, Holleran winced. He was aware of this incident and had been angered over it. That he hadn't been there himself was an error in judgment on his part that he had regretted then and even more so now. It was becoming clear as Ilvanich rattled on and on that Holleran's absence had been interpreted either as a lack of interest or fear.

Not finished with his litany of errors, Ilvanich continued. "Once on the ground, we were greeted by a squad of military police, all in protective clothing and masks, who escorted us to the showers under armed guard." Looking up at Holleran, Ilvanich pointed a finger at him. "Now the first shower was necessary and welcome. The second shower, even though the hot water was gone, was tolerated. But the third shower, in freezing water, was too much." Dropping his hand, Ilvanich pulled at the bathrobe he wore. "And when we were finished, instead of being issued proper uniforms, we are given these things. Half of my men are freezing because of the stupidity of your staff."

Up to now, Holleran had said nothing. But when Ilvanich started calling his staff stupid, Holleran had to speak. "As I told you, Major, this is all new to me and my staff. If we—"

Ilvanich didn't let him finish. "You don't understand, do you? None of you do. Do you realize that those soldiers in there, the elite troops of your army, are the first soldiers to face the use of a nuclear weapon by a hostile force? Do you realize that we had to turn our backs on over a third of their comrades and leave them buried under radioactive nibble, never to be retrieved? Can you imagine what is going through their minds?" Ilvanich jumped to his feet, his arms waving as he spoke. "No, of course you can't. You weren't there. You didn't have to look in their eyes and see their terror as they smelled the burnt flesh of their dead friends and comrades. To you, we are nothing but mutants, strange new specimens that need to be studied in isolation. Well, Colonel, I am telling you, in terms that I hope even the dullest recruit can understand, that unless you start treating your own countrymen like the soldiers they are, with a little compassion and understanding, you are going to find yourself with a ward full of mentally unstable people that neither I nor your MPs will be able to control."

There was a pause when Ilvanich noticed that everyone was standing staring at him. He had said everything he had wanted to. Perhaps it did not come out as well as he would have liked, but, given the emotions of the moment and the need to speak in English, he had done the best he could. Satisfied, Ilvanich folded his arms across his chest and took several deep breaths in order to compose himself.

At a loss, Holleran first looked at Captain Cole, then back at Ilvanich. Slowly he began to shake his head. Jesus, he thought, did we ever screw this one up. Holleran took a step toward Ilvanich and put his hand on the Russian's shoulder. "Major, I really don't know what to say except that I am sincerely sorry for this, all of this. What can we do to correct this problem?"

Looking into the doctor's eyes, Ilvanich saw that he was fighting back tears. He meant it, Ilvanich thought. He meant what he said. For a moment he considered apologizing, but found he was unable to think or speak clearly. This day, even for him, had been too much. Pointing to Fitzhugh, Ilvanich mumbled that the lieutenant had a list of their immediate needs and then left the tent. Unable to continue after having worked himself into such a state of anger, he turned and headed back to the ward tent to sort himself out while Fitzhugh pulled out a sheet of paper from his bathrobe pocket and Holleran prepared to take notes.

Caught by Ilvanich's sudden return, the men of Company A fell over each other as they tried to clear the entrance when Ilvanich parted the tent flap and reentered the ward tent. Once he was inside and saw that the men had been crowding around listening to his speech to the colonel, Ilvanich stopped. The American rangers stopped too, looking back at him for several seconds. Finally Rasper stepped forward and offered his hand to Ilvanich. "Major, I know I speak for the rest of the men when I tell you that we will follow you anywhere, anytime."

To a civilian, such a comment would have seemed strange. But to Ilvanich, who had served in the Soviet and Russian armies' elite units his entire military career, Rasper's comment was the highest praise that one soldier could give to another. Overwhelmed, Ilvanich could only nod as he took Rasper's hand and muttered his thanks. Though he knew that there would be other problems, for the first time he felt that the worst was over.

With men like this, he thought, anything was possible.

Like the toy dog that some people put in the back of their cars whose head bobbed up and down as the car moved, Jan simply nodded as she listened to a retired Army colonel go on, and on, and on about what he thought was happening in the Ukraine. What an idiot, she thought. Scott told me he was a blowhard. Now, Jan thought, the whole country knew. When the tiny light in front of Jan flashed on telling her it was time for a commercial break, Jan gladly interrupted. "Excuse me, Colonel, but we have to take a break at this time." Jan turned away from the monitor she had been watching to the camera to her front. "We've been talking to Colonel Edward J. Littleton, Jr., an expert on U.S. forces in Europe. We will return to him to continue our discussion of American operations in the Ukraine in a minute. First, a word from your local cable network."

When she was sure all the cameras in the studio were off and the mikes were dead, Jan's shoulders slumped forward. "God, Charley, where do you find these people? In the classified ads of a grocery store tabloid?"

From the booth to her side, Mordal laughed. "No, Jan dear. We send someone down to the unemployment office to screen the applicants. I thought you liked Army colonels?"

Her marriage to a colonel in the Army had amazed many in the business, since soldiers and the media were traditionally antagonists. Always a good source of amazement, Jan loved to shock people when she got the chance. "Charley, I like to sleep with colonels, not talk to them. You should try sleeping with one. You might like it."

The cameraman in the studio covered the mike in front of his face. "How do you know he hasn't, Jan?"

Jan glanced over at the cameraman, trying hard not to laugh. Not understanding what the joke was, Mordal keyed his mike. "Jan, dear, unless you have a better idea, you're stuck with our retired paper warrior."

"Well, now that you mentioned it, Charley, I do have someone in mind."

"You set me up, didn't you?"

Jan, feigning innocence, sat upright. "Moi, dear Charley, set you up?"

A technician leaned over and gave Mordal a fifteen-second warning. "Jan, you have ten seconds to tell me who this wonderful guest is."

"Ed Lewis. After I'm through here, why don't I trot over to his office with a crew and interview him. I'm sure he'll have some wonderful comments to make about this."

"Five seconds, Charley."

Mordal considered her suggestion, then nodded. "Okay, Jan, you're on. I'll get someone on it right away." When the light came on indicating they were back on the air, Mordal settled back in his chair to watch Jan go to work. She might be a pain in the ass, he thought, but he couldn't help marveling at the way she worked. She was not only damned good at what she did, she had a great mind. Turning to his assistant, he asked her to contact Congressman Lewis's office and see if they could arrange for Jan to interview him later in the afternoon. While his assistant started making the necessary calls, Mordal returned to watching the retired Army colonel, who was using a map displayed on a screen to draw circles and lines as he attempted to describe the military operations in the Ukraine. His actions and diagrams, reminding Mordal of a sportscaster doing a Monday Night Football game, caused him to chuckle. Jan was right, he thought. This guy is rather comical.

While it was customary for the first soldier who saw Dixon enter the command post to shout, "At ease," no one bothered to stop what they were doing and come to attention. Dixon didn't expect them to and they knew it. The announcement, akin to the old naval tradition of calling all personnel on the bridge to attention whenever the captain came on or exited the bridge, made to honor the appearance of a senior officer, required everyone in the room to come to attention until released by the senior officer so honored. "Best you stay in practice," Dixon would occasionally kid his staff, reminding them that "you never know when you may get someone in command of this gang of thieves who takes that shit seriously."

Once he had pulled his gloves off and his hood back, Dixon began to make his way through the crowded command post to the hot stove in the corner. As he negotiated his way around tables, chairs, and members of the staff, someone shoved a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. Dixon turned to see who it was to thank him and quietly remind him that they needed a second cup of coffee. The soldier looked behind Dixon and winced when he saw Colonel Vorishnov. They still weren't used to taking care of two colonels. After mumbling a short apology, the soldier ducked back into the command post carrier to fetch the second cup.

Vorishnov, who was following Dixon and had heard Dixon's comments, acted as if he hadn't. It would have been, he knew, impolite to do so, especially since Dixon had gone to great extremes to make Vorishnov not only feel comfortable in the American command post, but an equal. Even in Dixon's absence Vorishnov was treated by the 1st Brigade staff in the same manner in which they treated Dixon himself. Vorishnov marveled at this. In his heart, he knew that he could never have dealt with a liaison officer from another army, regardless of rank or mission, in the same way in a Soviet or a Russian command post. Vorishnov had seen all too often how the unnatural xenophobia, the fear and hatred of foreigners, coupled with arrogance, often unfounded, handicapped the ability of Russian officers in their dealings with their counterparts in other armies. Even when he had been a commander, Vorishnov had known better than to insist on such equal treatment for foreign officers, lest he cause his subordinates to suspect his loyalty and judgment. Though Vorishnov wasn't naive, and knew that not everyone in the command post of Dixon's 1st Brigade accepted him with open arms, Dixon was sincere and Vorishnov was actually enjoying the assignment.

Moving to two free seats set around a stove in the corner of the command post, Dixon and Vorishnov joined Lieutenant Colonel David Yost, the brigade executive officer, and Command Sergeant Major Duncan. Neither man stood as Dixon and Vorishnov took off their heavy overgarments and draped them over the backs of the unoccupied chairs. Finished, Dixon surveyed the comings and goings of the staff before he sat down. "Well, I guess everyone's gotten over the nuke scare."

Yost grunted. "Everyone that's not a ranger. According to corps, those boys are still pretty badly shaken. The company at the site that was trashed took over 40 percent casualties, including all but one officer." Looking over to Vorishnov, Yost smiled. "And, in the spirit of cooperation, the senior Russian liaison officer with that company assumed command of the company, reorganized it, and led them out. The corps commander was most impressed with that."

Dixon shot both Yost and Duncan a knowing smile, appreciating that such a report would more than vindicate his insistence on including Colonel Vorishnov in all aspects of the operation as an equal. Before Vorishnov's arrival, Dixon had told his staff that they could learn a lot from the Russians and, man for man, they were just as good. Now, Dixon thought, the last of the nay-sayers in his own command post would be convinced by the ranger incident. "The last report," Dixon noted, "was that we had no fallout in our area of operation.

That was at the eighteen-hundred-hour update. Any change?"

"No," Yost responded, shaking his head. "The storm that's moving in from the west is sweeping everything east. Besides, follow-up reports indicate that the leakage of radiation from the site is minimal and well within acceptable levels."

"Ha, I love it. Minimal. Who made that statement, some pencil-necked analyst tucked away safely in the basement in Langley?"

Unable to follow, Vorjshnov looked at Dixon, then Yost. Seeing that the Russian colonel was puzzled, Yost explained Dixon's comment. "Langley, in the state of Virginia, Colonel Vorishnov, is where the CIA headquarters is."

In an instant Vorishnov understood and joined the laughter. "Oh, yes. I understand. I see that we share a common appreciation for the abilities of our national intelligence communities." The appearance of a cup of coffee in front of his face caused Vorishnov to pause while he took the cup and thanked the soldier who had brought it over. Taking a sip, Vorishnov continued while Dixon and the others politely listened. "In Moscow, as late as six months ago, our people released an intelligence summary that stated categorically that all nuclear weapons that had been in the Ukraine before the Commonwealth treaty were accounted for and destroyed. It even included a detailed description of how and where each weapon, by serial number, had been disposed of. Only the defection of a Ukrainian intelligence official, upset by the efforts of his government to sell several of their hidden devices, alerted us to the fact that some of the weapons still existed."

When Dixon spoke, his tone was serious. "Did anyone ever find out what country was involved in that deal?"

Holding his cup of coffee in both hands in his lap, Vorishnov looked down at it for a moment before answering. That subject had been a matter of great debate once the report had been confirmed. Everyone had their suspicions but little solid information to confirm them. Vorishnov, like many of his fellow officers, tended to believe the worst-case scenario presented by the Russian Army's chief of intelligence. Looking up at Dixon, Vorishnov, however, decided not to share those beliefs, especially since Dixon's command traced its line of communications through that country, and the United States Army in Europe depended heavily on Germany for support. How ironic, Vorishnov thought. If the suspicions were true, that support was denying the Germans the very weapons they were after. There is, he thought to himself, a God after all, smiling down on Mother Russia.

Like a shadow cast by a cloud momentarily blocking out the warm sun, Vorishnov's pause and his change of mood told Dixon that Vorishnov knew something that he could not or did not wish to share with him and the other Americans. Knowing it was time to change the subject, Dixon took a sip of coffee, then turned to Yost. "Any change since the last update?"

"Negative. All units have assumed a hasty defense, per the corps order, and are ready to resume offensive operations or, on order, commence our withdrawal from the Ukraine. No new contacts since those reported at the eighteen-hundred-hour briefing and Major Thompson says that it looks like nothing is brewing on the horizon. Our biggest concern at this moment is the storm."

"More snow?"

Yost grunted. "At least six inches, probably more."

"Well." Dixon sighed as he put his cup of coffee on the ground next to his chair and stretched out. "You tell Princess Lea that I don't want her to talk to me until she has a better weather forecast."

Duncan laughed. "In this part of the world, sir, that will be a long, long time."

Standing, Dixon looked down at Duncan. "You better hope not, Sergeant Major. Otherwise you'll find yourself shoveling a hell of a lot of white stuff."

"Well, sir," Duncan retorted, "that will sure beat all the brown stuff your staff has been shoveling around here lately."

Yost turned to Duncan. "Sergeant Major, you leave my staff alone. They try hard."

"Oh, yes, sir, they do try hard. Exactly what it is they're trying to do, however, is beyond me."

Watching his XO and sergeant major rib each other caused Dixon to shake his head. "Now, now, children, don't fight. I'm going to get some sleep. Be nice to each other while I'm away."

While Yost smiled, Duncan protested, "Gee, Colonel Dixon, do we have to?"

Although Vorishnov understood that the Americans often engaged in casual and meaningless humor, it was hard for him at times to know when the subject and the mood had changed. They did quickly and with almost no clue. Even the detonation of a nuclear device by the Ukrainians and the political firestorm that would surely follow didn't seem to diminish this desire to act in a manner that his fellow Russian officers would consider unprofessional. It was no wonder, Vorishnov thought, that so many of his contemporaries refused to take seriously America's ability to wage war.

Standing up, Yost stepped closer to Dixon. Lowering his voice, he informed Dixon that the commander of the 3rd Battalion of the 3rd Infantry, Lieutenant Colonel Richard Zacharzuk, wanted to talk to him as soon as possible on a personnel matter.

"Let me guess. He wants to talk to me about Second Lieutenant Ellerbee, doesn't he?"

Surprised, Yost looked at his commander and nodded. "Yes, sir, exactly. How did you know about that?"

Moving his hands and arms as if he were working levers and dials, Dixon boomed in a sonic voice, "The Great Oz knows all and sees all." This sudden disturbance of the command post's dull late-night routine caused everyone in the command post to momentarily cease what they were doing as they looked over to see what their commander was up to now. Stopping his wild motions, Dixon looked about, smiled, then turned back to Yost as he continued the conversation in a low voice. "Besides, Jim Tuttle collared me on the road and gave me the 2nd of the 35th Armor's side of the story already. What do Rick Zacharzuk and the company commander involved say about Ellerbee?"

"Both Rick and Nancy Kozak, Ellerbee's company commander, want Ellerbee and his platoon sent back to 2nd of the 35th Armor immediately. Rick says the kid's a sorry excuse for an officer. Kozak doesn't want him endangering her command."

Dixon moaned. "I was hoping to avoid getting into that tonight."

Yost shrugged. "You'll have to admit, sir, getting one of your own men killed and losing control of your unit in the middle of a battle does make Ellerbee look like a problem."

"David, I agree. But we don't know what happened. We have only the stories of two battalion commanders, both of whom are tired, in the middle of a combat zone, and neither of whom was there, making judgments. I refuse to make any changes or to relieve an officer without at least a cursory investigation." Dixon paused as he thought. "The situation down there has stabilized, so there is little likelihood that 3rd of the 3rd will be engaged in a serious fight for a while. Contact both commanders involved and inform them that I have no intention of changing the task organization or relieving anyone at this time. Ellerbee will stay exactly where he is, doing his job, until I can personally look into this matter with a clear head and with all the facts in hand. Clear?"

"Loud and clear, sir."

Taking a deep breath, Dixon looked around the command post one more time. "David, Colonel Vorishnov and I have been on the road most of the day. We're going to get some sleep. Unless something exciting happens, no one's to disturb me until at least oh five hundred."

Duncan stood and turned to Yost. "I'll inform the duty NCO, sir, and then take the colonels to their quarters."

Satisfied that all was in order and that his presence was not required, Dixon began to gather up his gear and put his parka on. "I hope, for the sergeant major's sake, we don't have to make a major trek to find my bed. I'm beat." Turning to Vorishnov, Dixon winked. "It's hell getting old, isn't it."

Vorishnov smiled. "I wouldn't know, Colonel Dixon."

Caught off guard by Vorishnov's subtle humor, Dixon shook his head. "God, it's time for me to leave." Turning and walking toward the exit, Dixon, followed by a smiling Vorishnov, mumbled, for the amusement of the staff still on duty, "I get no respect, no respect at all."

Shown into Congressman Lewis's office, Jan Fields-Dixon was greeted with a warm smile and a handshake. "It's been too long, Jan. That's why I asked the President to invade another country. Seems that's the only way to get you to come and see me."

Taken aback by Lewis's warm smile and relaxed manner, Jan returned his smile and took a seat. For a moment she just stared at him, almost as if she expected something to suddenly change. When he became conscious of her staring, Lewis blinked his eyes. "What? What did I do wrong?"

Caught off guard again and suddenly aware of her staring, Jan shook her head and laughed. "Oh, gee, Ed, I'm sorry. It's just that I expected something entirely different. Your mood, that is."

Lewis chuckled as he grabbed the arms of his chair and leaned back. "You and my wife, Amanda, must have been talking again. Every time she hears something on the news, she calls me to tell me to calm down."

"Well, Ed, I must admit that you do have a reputation for shouting first, loudest, and longest whenever the administration, as you are so fond of saying, oversteps the bounds of logic and sanity."

Again Lewis chuckled. "Well, of course. It is a reputation well earned and, if I may say so, to my benefit."

Jan cocked her head and looked at Lewis questioningly.

With a devilish grin that he used to disarm opponents and put friends at ease, Lewis let Jan ponder his statement for a moment before he spoke. "You see, Jan, it's all a trick. In the beginning it wasn't. When I first came to Hell on the Potomac, I truly did get myself worked up and upset every time the administration or my fellow congressmen did something I thought was dumb. Hell, for the first year I was in a constant state of righteous rage. Then, shortly after the Mexico affair, I saw the light."

"Ed, don't tell me you were born again."

Lewis laughed. "No, nothing as dramatic as that, although I imagine that would be good for a few votes back home in Tennessee. No, after thinking about how close we came in Mexico to the end, I remembered an Arab saying we used all the time in the Persian Gulf."

Jan pointed, holding back her excitement. "Don't tell me. Don't tell me. Let me think about it for a moment. Something about Allah and hands off, or something like that. Scott says it every time he wants to get out of doing something."

"Inshallah, it is God's will."

"That's it. What is it with you guys? Did they brainwash you over there and stencil that saying on the inside of your head?"

"No, nothing like that, I think. Anyway, as I was saying, after Mexico I thought a lot about what I was doing here in Washington, both as a representative for the people of Tennessee and for myself. To tell you the truth, Jan, I really didn't like what I was doing either."

The sudden reference to Scotty caused Jan to pause. He was there in the thick of it. Though the Army had not announced yet what units had been involved in the operation, in her heart Jan knew Scotty was there. Like the good worker who was rewarded by being given more work, Scott Dixon's superiors had a habit of throwing him into the breach whenever there was a nasty and difficult job to do. That his brigade was the one selected to provide the ground force was merely an accident of geography and the sector Scott's brigade had as part of the peacekeeping effort in Slovakia would never wash with Jan. While Scotty referred to his constant overuse as "No rest for the wicked," Jan always responded by claiming that the Army was good at beating dead horses. That she had used the analogy of the dead horse caused her a sudden pang of regret, one that Ed Lewis noticed. Seeing that the congressman was staring at her while she reflected on her accidental indiscretion, Jan forced herself to return to the matter at hand. With a forced smile, Jan picked up where she had left off. "So you were born again."

Looking up at the ceiling, Lewis thought about Jan's sudden change in mood and her statement before answering. He knew what was going on in her mind and for a moment thought about offering her some comfort or reassurance. But since she had chosen to press on with the interview, Lewis decided to follow along and not press the personal issues. There might be a time, after he knew more about the situation, when he might need to do so, but this was not it. "I guess in a way you could say that." When Lewis looked back at her, he did so with a serious, reflective look. "It was more of an awakening. I suddenly realized that I was in my mid-forties. That I had two children in college with one about to be commissioned in the Army. That I had a wife who loved me and cared for me that I had lived with but had not talked to, I mean really talked to, in years. I suddenly realized that I was becoming like everyone else in this town, a self-centered, government-inspected, grade-A cynic."

Jan was touched by the confidence that Lewis was showing by telling her this. Ordinarily, politicians didn't discuss their feelings in such an open and casual manner with a member of the media. But Ed Lewis and Jan Fields-Dixon had a relationship, a bond of friendship, that was important to both of them. After barely escaping with their lives from a brush with terrorists during the second Mexican Revolution, the two had developed a close friendship that neither let the business of news and politics interfere with. So as they spoke in the quiet privacy of Lewis's office before starting the interview, it was as friends. "Sounds like midlife crisis to me, Ed."

"Perhaps, Jan, that is what it was. All I know is that I realized that I was impaling myself on every crisis and every stupid issue, often to no effect, without thinking about what it was costing me or my family. So I told myself, 'Self, this is dumb!' That is when I remembered the old Arab saying and finally understood what it meant" Sitting up, leaning across the desk, Lewis looked at Jan, wide-eyed and smiling. "Now, before I jump into the fray, I ask myself, 'Can I make a difference now, or should I wait? And when I do, what can I do to help?' "

"With age, Ed, comes wisdom?"

He nodded. "Something like that. Now I don't think you came down here with a camera crew just to listen to an almost old man wax philosophical about the meaning of life. What do you want to discuss in the interview?"

Opening a notebook that she had on her lap, Jan went over some of the questions she had intended to ask, in no particular order, explaining that she had no clear idea yet what she would emphasize. Therefore she intended to skip around with questions until they hit upon something that they could develop into a coherent and intelligent on-camera discussion. Lewis, in full agreement, listened to Jan's questions, making short comments as the mood struck him, or giving her a thumbs-down when she hit him with one that he really didn't want to answer. This continued for several minutes until Jan asked him about Germany. Like a bull tweaked by a cattle prod, Lewis jerked and sat upright Pointing his finger, his eyes narrowed. "There's going to be trouble with them. Mark my words, Jan. Big trouble."

Lewis's strong reaction to a subject that Jan was interested in exploring excited her. Lowering her notebook to her lap, Jan asked Lewis to explain.

"Well, in the first place, the administration has really screwed up how they've handled the Germans from the beginning. I get the impression that Soares and the rest of his crew at the State Department haven't woken up to the fact that the Germany we are dealing with today is not the same Germany we tried to play big brother to in the fifties. After fifty years of atoning for the sins of their fathers and living in the shadow of the Iron Curtain, the new Germans feel that it is time that they assumed their rightful place in the world as the leaders of Central Europe."

Lewis eased back a bit in his chair and toned down his comments, but kept on the subject of Germany. "Now I don't think we need to worry about anything as dramatic as the Fourth Reich or something like that. Still—"

"Then, Ed, you feel that the Germans will do more than they already have?"

"I don't see how they can't. They are a proud, sometimes downright arrogant people who pride themselves on their independence and culture. They defeated the Romans and survived the Thirty Years' War that left their entire country devastated and one third of their population dead. In modern history, Napoleon couldn't crush them, and they've come back from the brink of oblivion after suffering the worst military defeat in history in 1945. While we've been busy elsewhere dealing with other problems, the Germans have been pulling themselves together, working to overcome years of internal strife and the stigma of the Holocaust. They are ready, Jan, to leap back to the forefront of world politics, with a vengeance."

"What do you think they will do?"

Lewis shook his head. "God, I wish I knew. I doubt that they will allow us to violate the nuclear-free-Germany treaty with nothing more than a harsh public reprimand, which by the way is what Soares is trying to convince the President is exactly what the Germans will do. No, Jan, our friend the Rat has no idea what he is dealing with." Lewis paused, looking down at his desktop for a moment. In his mind's eye, he could see the image of Soares with his pinched ratlike face that had earned him his nickname. The man, Lewis thought, was worse than an idiot. He was an idiot in an important position, which made him, in Lewis's eyes, a dangerous idiot.

Looking up at Jan, Lewis continued. "To answer your question, I don't know for sure what the Germans will do. Unfortunately, no one here in Washington does either. The Germans are, as Elmer Fudd likes to say, 'being very, very quiet' " Lewis paused, thought for a moment, then continued. "Whatever it is, it will be both forceful and something that we cannot easily ignore."

For the first time, Jan became concerned, and her voice showed it. "Military action? Do you think the Germans will take some kind of military action?"

Again Lewis shrugged. "Maybe. But who knows. What I do know is that it is never a good sign when two nations who have their horns locked together over an issue stop talking to each other. Why Ruff has chosen now, of all times, to refuse to be reasonable, as he always has been in the past, is beyond me. This, coupled with Ruff's statements to his own press and his failure to respond to our State Department's communiqués, baffles me the most"

For a moment, both Lewis and Jan sat there in silence. Finally Lewis leaned forward and placed both hands, folded, on his desk as he flashed the best smile he could manage. "Now, I don't mean to rush you, but I do have one more appointment this evening, and Amanda is expecting me home by seven for dinner."

Jan looked at her watch. "Yeah, time is sort of slipping away. I'd like to get this on the air by tonight. Okay, Ed, get yourself ready, and I'll get the crew in here to shoot"

Like all members of the German Army's 1st Parachute Division, the young soldiers of Number 2 Company, 26th Parachute Brigade considered themselves the best of the best. This, of course, was due to the efforts of their officers and sergeants, all professionals who were forever vigilant, watching, checking, and ready to correct even the slightest infraction of the regulations or slackness. They took their duties seriously. Which was probably why on the night of this operation the soldiers of Number 2 Company were so involved in their company commander's final inspection that no one noticed their brigade commander, Colonel Johann Haas, for several minutes.

As was his way, Haas had come forward alone to watch the final preparations and see his men across the line of departure when it was time. Known as the phantom, Haas made it a practice to move about in the night during exercises in the field checking on his men and ensuring that all was in order. On this night, the first time that his unit would be called on to execute the tasks it had trained long and hard for, Haas was everywhere.

When one of the sergeants noticed Haas, he passed the word to his company commander. When the word reached the young commander, he paused, men continued to complete the inspection of the weapon he held. Finished, he returned the weapon to its owner and left to present himself to Haas.

In the moonlight that filtered through the pine trees and fell on Haas and the company commander, it was difficult to tell the difference between the two men. Except for the fact that the company commander wore his helmet while Haas, despite the cold, wore his maroon beret, the two men were dressed and armed identically. Even the close-cropped hair and stern no-nonsense expression that masked both men's faces as they spoke looked alike. This was due in a large part to the habit young commanders had of emulating their senior commanders. Commanders throughout history have always provided the role model for their subordinates. Those subordinates were expected to watch and learn so that one day they could assume positions of greater authority when their commander either moved on to other assignments during peacetime or, in time of war, became a casualty. The commander, as part of his duty, was held responsible for providing the best possible example in everything he did, in thought, word, and deed. This, however, was more difficult than one would imagine, as Haas was finding out that night He especially had difficulty controlling his thoughts.

The shock of seeing the Chancellor's own military aide, Colonel Hans Rasper, at the headquarters of the 26th Parachute Brigade bearing sealed orders for Haas could not match his shock when he saw what those orders were. For the longest time, as Kasper spoke, Haas could not help but wonder if this was not some kind of test, a hypothetical drill to test his loyalty or the readiness of his unit to respond to unplanned emergencies. Even after he convinced himself that Kasper was serious, that this was real, Haas still had difficulty accepting it. Still, he did not allow those doubts to interfere with the performance of his duties. The orders all appeared to be authentic. The verification, which Kasper offered, checked out. All was in order. So Haas hid his personal fears and doubts behind his commander's mask and prepared his unit to execute their assigned duties as ordered.

In those few moments before midnight, with less than two minutes to go before those orders became a reality, Haas still was unable to quiet the apprehensions he felt. Though attired alike, the thoughts that ran through the minds of the two commanders facing each other were worlds apart. The company commander's mind was cluttered with all the very real and necessary practical matters that need to be considered when hurling over one hundred men into combat. Enemy dispositions and weapons, tactics and maneuvers necessary to overcome or neutralize them, the effectiveness and readiness of his own weapons, coordination for support of his unit by other elements involved in the assault, as well as numerous other considerations were of paramount concern to the company commander.

Haas, however, saw beyond the immediate operation. As a graduate of the famous Kriegsakademie and an officer impatiently awaiting his reassignment to General Staff duty, Haas could not easily push aside the possible worldwide political effects of what his unit was about to do. The other European powers, especially the French and Poles, would react. And the Americans, with forces actually deployed throughout Germany, would not simply roll over and accept the German action, no matter how just or reasonable their demands. The Americans, he knew, viewed international law as an instrument to be applied when it served them, and ignored when it didn't.

Then there was his friendship with the Americans themselves. Even as he stood there listening to his company commander review his preparations to assault an American installation, Haas wore the American airborne wings he had been awarded after three grueling weeks of training in the hot Georgia sun. Many of his fondest memories as a soldier were of when he served side by side with the people he had now been ordered to attack, an attack he still felt was wrong.

But what was he to do? That, in the end, was the great dilemma that tore at his mind. According to the Bundeswehr's own interpretation of an officer's duty, Haas was obligated to conduct himself in accordance with his conscience. If given an order that he felt was morally wrong, it was not only his right but his duty to refuse to obey it. When the Bundeswehr was formed in 1955, the old Prussian tradition of moral choice when deciding right from wrong became a critical piece of an officer's selection and training. Throughout his military education, the July 20th plotters who had attempted to assassinate Hitler were used as examples of officers who refused to go against their conscience. As he stood mere half listening to his subordinate, the words of one instructor kept ringing in Haas's ears, almost as if they had just been spoken. "While loyalty to your nation is, and should always be, uppermost in your mind, you must never forget that morality and conscience must be your final guide, the decisive element when deciding right from wrong."

Yet such theories, Haas thought, seemed out of place here on this cold and bitter night He had no one to turn to for guidance, no one to discuss the issue of right and wrong with. To base a military decision on a feeling, regardless of how strong, was, to say the least, rather difficult. Yet at that moment in the cold darkness just before midnight, that and his own conscience were all he had with which to weigh the matter at hand and make a decision. Before the Battle of Leipzig in 1813 with the French, the Prussian King told those soldiers who could not in good conscience fight in the upcoming battle that they were free to leave. He did not want to create a conflict in the conscience of those officers who had served with the French when Prussia, as an occupied and reluctant ally, had been aligned with France in her war against Russia. Haas didn't have someone offering him such a choice. His superiors in distant Berlin had only given him his orders.

He was still pondering those lofty matters when the young company commander finished his briefing. Glancing down at his watch, and impatient to return to his unit, the company commander asked if there would be anything else. Without responding at first, Haas looked at the company commander for several seconds in order to refocus his mind on the situation at hand. Unable to come to any firm decision, Haas simply shook his head. With an expressionless face, Haas replied, "No, there is nothing else. You have your orders."

The company commander, glad that there were no last-minute changes, saluted and left Haas standing alone, troubled by how easily he had uttered the words "You have your orders." For the first time he understood how his father had felt in the last war. Now, as if a great veil had suddenly been lifted from his eyes, he knew what had happened in 1939. And as he walked away, Colonel Johann Haas, commander of the elite 26th Parachute Brigade, felt shame.

CHAPTER 7

Although there was absolutely nothing that he could do, Major General Earl Lowery couldn't tear himself away from the operations center. All across Sembach Air Base, men and aircraft sat silent under a newly fallen blanket of snow. Only in the operations center was there any appearance of any sort of activity. And even here that activity was, to put it mildly, minimal. At 2:30 a.m., with operations temporarily suspended due to weather and failure of the German government to provide clearance for American military aircraft, there wasn't much to do. Still Lowery remained. Like a captain lashed to the bridge of his ship in a storm, he watched, listened, and waited.

With his lanky six-foot, five-inch frame sprawled in a swivel chair and his feet propped up on the edge of the picture window that separated the command group booth from the operations room below, Lowery vacantly stared at the activities of his staff. Seated at rows and rows of desks arranged like a dark, sinister amphitheater, those junior officers, mostly majors, captains, and lieutenants, sat staring at either their own computer monitor or at the large tote board at the far end of the operations center that showed the status of the airfields, squadrons, and a host of other facilities that made up the United States Air Force's European Command. Though Lowery, commander of all Military Airlift Command units and personnel in Europe, normally confined his interest to the missions and needs of his command, tonight he was interested in everything that was happening in the European Theater of Operations, or ETO.

Not much was happening, nor was anything, at that time, supposed to be happening. In accordance with the Air Force directive covering the current operation, Desperate Fumble, airlift operations from Sembach would not resume until after daylight. Only then would Lowery and his command be able to get rid of the nuclear devices flown in from the Ukraine during the previous day. Until then, "The Devices'' sat in three hangars under heavy guard.

It was while he was inspecting the devices in the hangars earlier in the evening that Lowery was struck, as soon as he walked in the door of the first hangar, by how similar the heavy metal protective shipping containers were to aluminum military coffins. Stopping short, he looked about the room at the rows and rows of containers, each separated from the other by several feet. The air security personnel, rifles slung but ready, walking solemnly up and down the rows could just as easily have been an honor guard. Startled by this comparison, Lowery stood there for several seconds unable to think about anything other than his first real mission as a newly assigned C-130 co-pilot. Lowery, out of the Air Force Academy for less than a year and just finished with flight school, was sporting shiny new first lieutenant bars on his shoulders when he went to Viet-Nam in the late spring of 1968. Dispatched to Da Nang from Bien Hoa, the glamour and excitement of being a serving officer in an active theater of operations was turning out to be all he had imagined. Even his normal dour Oklahoma demeanor couldn't hide the enthusiasm he felt at finally being part of the action.

That enthusiasm soon evaporated when he received his first cold slap of reality. Instructed by the pilot to go over to the hangar where the cargo for their return trip was being processed, Lowery had walked into a large hangar very similar to those at Sembach to find the loadmaster. He found the master sergeant standing in the center of rows of aluminum shipping containers inventorying them with an Army sergeant. Lowery all but skipped over to the two sergeants, occasionally tapping some of the containers with his hand as he went by. When he reached the sergeants, smile on his face, Lowery asked how things were going.

The loadmaster looked up from his clipboard and gave Lowery a condescending smile. "Oh, pretty good, pretty good. Sergeant Johnson and I were just making sure that everything was in order. After all, the last thing we want is to give some gray-haired old lady the wrong box."

Lowery, not understanding what the loadmaster was talking about, asked him what he meant. Realizing that the young lieutenant didn't know that the metal containers he was about to load on their aircraft were coffins, the loadmaster decided to introduce the new lieutenant to the reality of war. With a grin on his face, the loadmaster announced, "Well, sir, for your very first mission, you are being given the rare privilege of granting the fondest wish that every GI and airman in Nam harbors. You are going to fly home, at no expense to the families, ninety-six fathers and sons." Then the loadmaster allowed his grin to change into a feigned look of concern as he looked about the hangar. "Of course, I really don't think this was what they had in mind."

Only then, as he too looked about, did Lowery understand what the sergeant was saying. In a flash, the jaunty, almost childish grin on Lowery's face was replaced by a look of horror. When the loadmaster saw this, he grinned. After having listened to Lowery harp on the virtues and benefits of his strong Baptist upbringing all the way from Travis Air Force Base in California to Bien Hoa, the loadmaster saw his chance to get even. Patting Lowery's shoulder, the loadmaster looked about the hangar. "Oh, don't worry, sir. Sergeant Johnson here assures me that there will be no second comings from this group."

Equally appalled by the idea that he was surrounded by the bodies of so many of his countrymen and the ease with which the two sergeants made fun of the dead, Lowery turned and fled from the hangar. It would be a long time before he could forget the ring of the sergeants' laughter echoing in the hangar filled with coffins as Lowery tried to run away from the reality of his profession.

Lowery watched in silence as his young staff officers in the operations room below went about their duties. Pulling his long arms into his sides, he linked his bony fingers together over his stomach, keeping his own counsel as the images of that day in Bien Hoa ran through his mind. Behind him, his senior staff officers sat, like Lowery, watching the comings and goings of the officers in the ops center. A few gave in and nodded off to sleep at their desks. None of them really knew their commander on a personal level, since he kept to himself, and his laconic manner and fundamentalist religious beliefs let few people past his professional side, but they did know of his reputation, which started in Viet-Nam during the height of the siege of Khe Sanh. It was rumored that Lowery, unable to stay out of the action, requested and was granted a transfer out of the C-130 squadron at Bien Hoa to one that was resupplying the Marines at Khe Sanh. It was during this assignment that Lowery made his mark. For in the spring of 1968, Lowery flew every mission he could, day and night, into Khe Sanh during the height of the siege, bringing in desperately needed supplies and hauling out the wounded. He stood out from the many pilots who made that run, because he was one of the few pilots who always brought his aircraft to a full stop, even when in the middle of NVA artillery barrages, to allow the corpsmen and litter bearers of the besieged garrison to run out to load the wounded. This single-minded, almost obsessive drive to deliver the goods to the troops in forward areas, whether in war or in peace, made him very popular with Army and Marine commanders and a demanding taskmaster. From their first introduction to him, new officers in his command were told over and over again, "We make a difference, through hard work and dedication to duty. And if we don't get it right the first time, those poor bastards on the ground will pay for it." Though his senior staff officers, like Lowery, could do nothing at the moment, the apprehensions and uneasiness of a commander can be as contagious as confidence. So they sat there watching Lowery sit where he was, wondering what heinous new missions he was pondering that would task them to the limit.

The buzz of a phone, though muted, startled several of the senior staff officers who were close to dozing off. When they saw that it was not their phone ringing, everyone in the command booth turned this way and that to see whose phone was ringing. Only after they saw Colonel Horst Maier, the Luftwaffe liaison officer to the Military Airlift Command, pick up his phone did everyone, including Lowery, go back to their own thoughts.

Seeing that it was the encrypted direct line to the Luftwaffe's own military airlift command, Maier answered in German, "Maier here."

On the other end of the line he heard the familiar voice of an old classmate and fellow officer. "Hello, Horst. This is Rudi, Rudi Poersel. Do you recognize my voice?"

Taken aback by this strange introduction, Maier frowned. "Why of course, Rudi, I recognize your voice. What are you doing in Frankfurt? I thought—"

Poersel cut Maier's question short "Horst, I am not in Frankfurt I am in Berlin. We have been patched into this line." There was a pause as Maier heard his old friend take a deep breath before he continued. "Listen, Horst. I am about to put General M. G. Gorb on the line. And believe me, this is General Gorb and I am in Berlin."

While Maier waited for the chief of staff of the Luftwaffe to come onto the line, his surprise turned to concern. "Colonel Maier, this is General Gorb. Do you believe me?"

Pulling the phone away from his ear, Maier stared at the receiver for a second before putting it back to his ear and acknowledging, "Yes, General Gorb, I believe you are who you say you are. What, sir, may I do for you."

In a hushed monotone voice, Gorb began to speak. "This is critical. You do not have much time, and you are to tell no one where you are what you are doing. If you fail, the consequences for both the Americans at Sembach and the German people will be immeasurable. Do you understand?"

For the first time, Maier said what he was thinking. "No, Herr General, I do not understand, but I am listening."

"Believe me, Colonel Maier, I understand your concern at being approached like this. Unfortunately, there was no time to do things any differently. But I have been assured that you are reliable and will do what is right"

This last comment only served to heighten Maier's fears. Unable to think of anything else to say, he responded automatically. "Of course, Herr General. You can count on me to follow your orders to the best of my abilities."

Still in a hushed voice, Gorb continued. "Good. That is all I ask of you. Now as soon as you hang up, you are to go to the entrance of your command and control bunker. There you are to wait for Colonel Johann Haas, commander of the 26th Parachute Brigade. Once he presents himself to you, you are to take him to General Lowery and serve as a translator. Is that clear?"

As surprising as it was to be talking to the chief of staff of the Luftwaffe at this hour, the idea of Maier finding the commander of an elite parachute unit wandering around outside his bunker in the middle of the night while such a sensitive operation was under way was incredible. "How, Herr General, is this Colonel Haas going to make it to the bunker entrance? I myself reviewed the list of German personnel authorized to be on Sembach during this, ah, operation, and I do not recall seeing any Haas on it."

"How Colonel Haas gains access to the American air base, Colonel, is neither your concern nor mine. You are only to meet him at the bunker entrance, get him to the American general as soon as possible, and follow Colonel Haas's orders without question, without hesitation. Those are your orders. Do you understand?"

Maier was dumbfounded. Unable to speak, he held the phone to his ear until Gorb repeated his last question with greater force than before. "Colonel Maier, do you understand your orders?"

Without thinking, Maier responded, "Yes, Herr General. I understand. Is that all?"

"Yes, that is all. Good luck." With that, Gorb hung up, leaving Maier sitting there staring at the phone with a look of disbelief and thinking how stupid his last comment, "Is that all?" had been. Damn, he thought as he looked about the room, wasn't that enough?

Maier was about to jump up and leave, then paused. If, he thought, his friend and the man who claimed to be General Gorb were calling from Berlin, he could easily find out. Picking up the phone again, he listened for it to automatically dial through. When the duty officer at the other end picked it up and identified himself, Maier asked the duty officer in Frankfurt if he could check to see if a priority call had been relayed from Berlin through their circuits to him in the last five minutes. "I do not need to check," the duty officer responded. "Yes, Colonel, there was a call from the chief of staff's office. Why do you ask? Do you need to call him back? I can have the operator patch you through directly into General Gorb's office in a couple of minutes. No problem now that we know how to do that."

For a moment Maier considered doing just that, then decided against it. "No, that will not be necessary, thank you."

Slowly replacing the phone receiver, Maier stared at it absentmindedly for several seconds. Finally, after convincing himself that the call had been real and the order was valid, he stood up. Tugging at the hem of his uniform blouse, he looked about the room to see if anyone was looking at him with suspicion. Satisfied that no one was paying any attention to him, Maier turned and left the command booth.

As the door closed behind Maier, the air division operations officer turned to the division intelligence officer. "Where's he going?"

Not having noticed that anyone had left, it took the intelligence officer a couple of seconds to figure out who the operations officer was talking about. When he finally did, the intelligence officer merely shrugged. "If he's smart, he's going to bed, like we should have an hour ago."

Emerging from the well-lit entrance, Maier was struck by the piercing cold. Beyond the powerful beams of the security lights, he could see that the snow had stopped and that it was still dark. Actually, he corrected himself, it was dark again. A whole day had come and gone without his seeing any of it. He detested days like this when he would go into the bunker before the sun came up and wouldn't leave until it was gone. Not only did he get the feeling that he had lost a day, it compounded the depression he always experienced when working in an underground facility all day. As an officer and transport pilot in the Luftwaffe, he felt that flying was his natural element and that living in a hole in the ground was a practice best left to the Army.

He was just beginning to debate if he should go back to the doorway to wait when the figure of a man moving toward him suddenly appeared just beyond the light. Pausing, Maier watched as the figure, marching as if on parade, headed straight for him. When the sentinel on duty at the entrance also saw the figure, he came out of the warmth of his shelter, unslinging his rifle as he did so. Maier, however, raised his hand and signaled to the sentinel. "All is in order. I have been expecting this man."

The sentinel, caught off guard, looked at Maier, then at the figure as it continued to close on them. "No one at the first guard post called me to tell me about anyone coming through, Colonel. I'm going to have to hold him here until I can check this out."

Angrily Maier turned and shouted, "We do not have time for that, airman. I will vouch for this man. He is a colonel in the German Army that your commanding general has been expecting. If there is a problem with your access roster, we will adjust it later."

The sentinel paused, peering into Maier's eyes while he debated whether to hold the two Germans and call the commander of his relief or to accept the German colonel's story. Not that he doubted the colonel's story. From the beginning, this whole operation had been a real zoo, with scores of strange colonels and generals from the Military Airlift Command coming and going without anyone checking their credentials. All that had been necessary, for the sake of expediency, was for a regular member of the staff assigned at Sembach to verbally verify that they were okay and they were passed through. That the Germans would do the same didn't trouble the sentinel. The only thing that caused him to pause was the fact that the German Army colonel, now only a few feet from them, had come from the direction of the hangars, not along the walkway that led to the only entrance through the fence that formed an outer perimeter for the command and control bunker.

Seeing the airman's hesitation, Maier decided to push his bluff a little further. "Is there a problem with that, airman? Or must I call General Lowery and have him personally confirm the fact that he is now waiting for Colonel Haas?"

After taking one last look at the German Army officer now standing in front of them, and then back at Maier, the airman took a step back. At 2:45 in the morning, the last thing that the airman on guard wanted to do was to rouse Lowery's anger. Rather than press the matter, the sentinel brought his weapon up into the proper position for saluting when under arms and told both German colonels that they could pass. Haas, sensing that there had been a bit of trouble, gave the American airman a casual salute and followed Maier, saying nothing as he went.

Once in the corridor leading to the command booth, Maier told Haas in German of the call from Berlin and repeated General Gorb's skimpy instructions. Then he stopped, when he saw no one was in the corridor. When Haas also stopped and faced him, Maier blurted, "What in heaven's name is all of this about? How in the devil did you get onto this base and are you—"

Haas, his face frozen like a mask, cut Maier short. Not only was there an urgent need to get on with this, but Haas held all aviators, regardless of rank or branch of service, in contempt. They were, to him, a combat commander who was expected to perform anywhere, anytime, under any conditions, overpaid and underworked prima donnas. "You are to take me to General Lowery immediately and introduce me as the commander of the 26th Parachute Brigade. When I speak, you will translate everything I say, word for word and without the slightest hesitation. Is that clear, Colonel?"

Maier felt himself flush with anger at Haas's demeanor and tone. Haas saw this but did not relent. "Colonel, I am sure that your superiors informed you that you were to do exactly what I tell you and that we had little time. Now, either you take me to Lowery without any further delays, or I will find him myself."

There was no trace of apology, no sign that Haas had any intention of telling him anything. Instead, all Maier saw was a harsh face, a face as harsh as the man's words and manner. Without another word, Maier started toward the command booth, then Haas spoke. "And remember, you will translate everything without any modification. If you don't, I will know. I am fluent in English."

Maier let that matter drop. There were, after all, many German officers who resented the old regulation that had required all senior officers to learn English in order to work with their American allies even though it was the Americans who had come to Germany. Haas's refusal to speak English, Maier thought, was either a matter of pride or, more than likely, was to show that this action was being done in the name of the German nation and, as such, should be presented in German, even if it was just a formality. Resigned to the fact that he would not learn what this was all about until Haas was in the presence of the American general, Maier continued down the corridor with Haas following.

Lowery was shaken out of his gloomy thoughts by the sound of boots coming up behind him and his operations officer shouting Maier's name. Pushing himself off of the wall to his front with one foot, he swung his seat around, stopping just as Maier and Haas reached him. Behind them, he could see that his operations officer had left his desk and was headed over to join them.

For a moment no one said anything as Lowery looked the German parachute officer over. His ruddy face and the muddy snow on his boots melting into a puddle at his feet told Lowery that this man had just come in from the outside. Except for the maroon beret the German Army colonel wore pulled down low on his forehead, everything from the stern expression to the submachine gun slung over his right shoulder and partially hidden under his right arm told Lowery that he was ready for battle. He was about to ask what this was all about when Maier, without looking into Lowery's eyes, barked an introduction. "General Lowery, this is Colonel Johann Haas, commanding officer of the 26th Parachute Brigade. I have been ordered to present him to you and translate."

From behind Maier and Haas, the operations officer yelled, "Now just hold it here a minute. Just hold everything a cotton-pickin' minute. Colonel Maier, what in the hell do you mean bringing this—"

Looking down at Lowery, Haas fixed his gaze on Lowery's upturned eyes. In a voice that was firm and told Lowery that he was not to be trifled with, Haas began to speak German in a rather slow and deliberate manner. Lowery, whose German barely enabled him to order a beer and Wiener schnitzel on his own, glanced over to Maier as he waited for the translation. From the expression on Maier's face, now growing visibly pale and taut, what Haas had to say really bothered Maier. When Haas was finished, rather than translate, Maier turned his head to face Haas. Haas, who had been looking at Lowery, returned Maier's stare when he did not hear him translating. The look that he gave Maier was cold, uncompromising, and angry. Finally, Maier drew a deep breath, looked down at Lowery, and with a great effort began to speak.

"General Lowery, in order to prevent unnecessary bloodshed, Colonel Haas requests that you immediately order your security personnel guarding the nuclear weapons under your control to stand down and return to their barracks."

Only the muted conversations of junior staff officers in the operations room below could be heard in the stunned silence that followed Maier's translation. No one moved, no one spoke as all the colonels on Lowery's staff looked first at Haas, then at Lowery. Finally overcoming his own shock, Lowery slowly stood up in front of Haas. When his entire six-foot-five frame was erect, he looked down at Haas. "On whose authority are you making this demand?"

Haas, looking up at the American general, didn't wait for Maier to translate from English to German before he responded. Finished, Haas glared at Lowery while Maier, having ceased all conscious thought, mechanically translated. "I have been ordered by Chancellor Johann Ruff to seize the nuclear weapons that your government has brought into my-country in violation of the Berlin Accord signed by both your government and mine."

That Maier didn't translate Lowery's question before Haas responded did not escape the general's notice. This colonel, Lowery thought to himself, was being very formal and very hard-nosed about this. It was, Lowery thought, as if Haas felt it was beneath his dignity as a representative of the German government to lower himself to speaking English. Well, Lowery thought, two can play hard-ass. "I hope, Colonel, you realize that I don't have the authority to turn the weapons over to you or anyone else. Nor am I in a position to open negotiations concerning their control. This is a matter that must be taken up between our governments through the proper channels."

Without a pause, Haas responded and Maier translated. "You do not seem to understand, General. I am not here to negotiate. Nor am I here to ask you to turn those weapons over. I am merely asking you to have your people step aside and relinquish control over something that I am prepared to take by force of arms."

Lowery was about to shout that Haas wouldn't dare, but then thought better. This was simply not the kind of thing that the Germans would try to bluff their way through. If Haas was standing there defiantly, then he had to be in a position to fulfill his threat.

Lowery was still pondering how best to respond when the operations officer pushed his way between Maier and Haas. "Just who in the hell do you think you are, mister, coming in here and making that kind of demand? Who do you think you're dealing with? Your people, if they're out there, will be cut to ribbons if they even think about stepping foot on this base."

Haas stomped his boots, shaking off more mud and snow onto the floor, then gave the operations officer a knowing smile before he answered. Maier, now behind the operations officer, translated over the officer's shoulder. "Colonel Haas asks me to point out that he, like his men, had absolutely no problem making their way onto this base." Then, turning back to Lowery, the smile gone from his face, Haas looked at his watch before he spoke.

Lowery listened as Maier, now calmer, carefully provided his translation. "You have, General, less than ten minutes in which to make your decision. After that, my men, already in their assault positions in and around the hangars, without the need for any further orders from me, will wipe out your entire guard and the reaction force. Even if you were to alert your people now to the danger, there is nothing that they could do to change their fates. We are, as you would say, locked, loaded, and on automatic pilot."

Looking down at the puddle of mud and water on the floor and then into Haas's eyes, Lowery's heart began to sink. Suddenly, the image of the hangars and their contents flashed before his eyes. This was immediately followed by the vision of the rows and rows of coffins in Da Nang. Without realizing it, Lowery let out a soft moan as he let his six-foot-five frame sink back down into the chair behind him. No, he thought, he couldn't let that happen. There was simply no way that he could allow young airmen, his young airmen, to die for nothing. Looking up at the German parachute colonel, he knew he was beaten, for General Earl Lowery didn't have it in him to make the kind of command decision that would in effect be the death warrant for an untold number of soldiers and airmen.

Spinning about to face his desk, Lowery grabbed the phone, then paused. "What's Harrison's number?" General Bret Harrison, U.S. Army and commander-in-chief, United States Europe Command, was Lowery's immediate commander for this operation.

Without needing to look, Lowery's aide rattled off the phone number.

Punching in the numbers, Lowery looked down at the phone while he was waiting for it to be answered on the other end, knowing that every eye in the room was riveted on his back. When the phone was picked up, an operations duty officer at Harrison's headquarters identified himself. Wanting to get the duty officer's attention and cut straight through to Harrison without long-winded explanations, Lowery used the code word reserved for the loss of aircraft bearing nuclear weapons. "This is General Lowery at Sembach. Inform General Harrison we have a Broken Arrow and I must speak to him immediately."

Without hesitation the duty officer said, "Yes, sir," and transferred the call to Harrison's quarters. Roused from a fitful sleep, Harrison's response was groggy and gruff. "Harrison."

Despite the fact that time was pressing and he felt the urge to blurt everything out, Lowery knew Harrison's mind would be clouded by sleep and would need a few seconds to comprehend what he had to tell him. Therefore, when Lowery spoke, he did so slowly and deliberately. "This is Lowery at Sembach. I have just been informed by the commander of a German parachute brigade that his brigade is deployed in and around Sembach with orders to seize the nuclear weapons here at Sembach, by force if necessary."

Harrison, wide awake now, shot back, "Did he say who gave him those orders?"

Lowery, hunched down over the phone, shook his head. "He claims to be acting on behalf of the German Chancellor."

"Have you been able to check this out?"

Shaking his head, even though Harrison couldn't possibly see this, Lowery responded as he looked at his watch. "There isn't time, General. The German colonel here claims that his assault units are in position and ready to strike within the next five minutes."

From behind, Haas corrected Lowery using perfect English. "Three minutes, Herr General."

Spinning in his seat, Lowery shot Haas a look that could have killed. "Three minutes, sir. We have three minutes."

"Jesus Christ, man, is he serious?"

Lowery, still facing Haas, glanced down at the manner in which Haas cradled his automatic weapon. "I do not believe, General Harrison, that this officer is bluffing." Then, Lowery asked the question that Harrison was expecting. "What, General, are your orders?"

With less than three minutes to go Harrison knew there was no time for consultation with anyone, not even his own staff. In a heartbeat he knew he had three choices. He could tell Lowery to stand fast and call the German's bluff. If it was a bluff, nothing would happen. If it wasn't a bluff, then Harrison would be responsible for unleashing a chain of events that neither he nor Lowery would be able to control. Not knowing exactly what and who was involved, this would be a blind crapshoot of the worst kind. Though he could have justified making such a call, Harrison had no way of knowing what forces such a bloodletting would unleash.

The second choice would be to tell Lowery to stand his guard force down, let the Germans have the weapons, and allow the diplomats in Washington and Berlin to sort this out through negotiation. Though the thought of turning nuclear weapons over to a foreign power without firing a shot was against everything American commanders had been taught, Harrison tempered this position by reminding himself that these were Germans. Given the fact that the Germans were an ally, and there had been arrangements in the past to issue German nuclear-capable forces nuclear devices under certain conditions, Harrison could see little danger here. The Germans, after all, were a civilized and friendly power.

The final choice was to leave the choice up to Lowery. This, Harrison knew, was both an acceptable one but one that was a cop-out. Lowery was Military Airlift Command, a transporter. Operational decisions of this magnitude were not normally his to make. Harrison, on the other hand, had always prided himself on his ability to make swift and decisive decisions. As a combat commander, trained to think fast and react, decision making was second nature to him. In the past, his decisions had been good ones. Now, faced with perhaps the greatest single one, Harrison reacted in the only manner in which he could.

There was, he suddenly realized, no choice at all. "Lowery, you are the senior commander on the spot. You must use your judgment and do what is best. I recommend that you pull your guard force back and do not resist the Germans. Try to keep them from removing the weapons from Sembach, but not by force of arms."

Troubled by Harrison's comment "I recommend," Lowery's response was cautious. "Sir, am I to interpret this as an order?"

Angered as much by his own attempt to pawn off the final decision to Lowery as by Lowery's question, Harrison shot back, "Yes, General Lowery, that is an order. Turn the weapons over to the Germans now."

Taking three deep breaths in an effort to compose himself, Lowery replaced the receiver and turned to his aide seated at a desk behind him. "Jim, get me Major Harkins on the phone immediately." Then, turning to Haas, Lowery informed the German of the decision. "I am ordering my guard force and ready reaction force to stand down. Please order your men to hold their fire."

Though pleased, Haas hid his relief that force had not been necessary. Looking over to Maier, Haas called out in English, "Dial 026 on your telephone, Colonel Maier. A Major Kessel will answer. Tell him Case White is in effect." Turning back to Lowery, Haas saw the look of bewilderment in his eyes. While Maier complied, Haas explained. "We have, General, tapped into your base phone system. I thought it would make it much easier to run this operation." What Haas didn't tell Lowery was that the five-minute limit had been a bluff. Major Kessel and the assault force were under strict orders to hold their positions until either Haas ordered them to move or they heard shooting or a commotion coming from the base command and control bunker.

Captain James Wilks, the aide-de-camp to Lowery, automatically picked up the receiver of the phone in front of him and began to punch up the number for Major Harkins, the commander of the security forces on Sembach, then stopped. Looking up at Lowery, then at Haas, Wilks thought about what he was about to do. It suddenly dawned upon him that his boss, a man that he greatly admired and whom he had looked to as a means of furthering his own career, was about to surrender over one hundred nuclear weapons to a foreign power. Without so much as a show of resistance, Wilks thought, Harrison and Lowery were prepared to violate one of the most basic principles that the United States Air Force had operated under since becoming a nuclear power, which was to safeguard those weapons at all costs. That, coupled with the thought that such a move would make Germany, the nation that had started two world wars in pursuit of world domination and had murdered over twelve million men, women, and children in concentration camps, a nuclear power, seemed too much to accept.

Though he suspected, like everyone else in the command booth, that resistance would probably be pointless, the idea of simply throwing his hands up and doing nothing to stop the Germans was unthinkable. Such a decision, he believed, should not be made by Harrison or Lowery, regardless of how many stars they had. Slowly Wilks replaced the receiver on its cradle and stood up.

Dumbfounded, Lowery looked at Wilks for a second before he realized what Wilks was doing. Recovering from the shock of his aide's insubordination, Lowery repeated his order. "Captain Wilks, I am ordering you to call Major Harkins now."

Wilks said nothing. Instead, he simply stepped back away from his desk and assumed a rigid position of attention. Even when Haas reached for his automatic weapon and trained it on him, the young aide stood his ground.

Incensed at his aide's insubordination, pushed to the breaking point by the tension of the moment, and galvanized by Haas's hostile reaction, Lowery jumped to his feet and began to yell. "Damn you, Captain. Damn you to hell. I gave you an order." Still Wilks did nothing.

Below the command booth, several of the officers in the rear rows of the operations center, hearing Lowery's muffled shouts reverberate through the thick glass window of the command booth, turned to see what had gotten their commander so upset. Unaware of what was going on, they watched wide-eyed as Lowery lunged across the command booth and bodily pushed Wilks out of his way with one hand while grabbing a phone with his other. After punching up a number and while he waited for the person on the other end of the line, the staff officers in the operations center could see Lowery glaring at Wilks, still standing at attention, and clearly hear Lowery yelling at him, over and over, "Damn you, Captain. Damn you to hell."

Charley Mordal didn't even give Jan a chance to say hello before he blurted out, "Jan, you were right! You were the only one who saw it coining."

Though she was used to being called like this in the middle of the night at her Gaithersburg, Maryland, home, Jan's reactions were far from automatic. Where her husband, Scott, could jump out of bed and be fully alert before his feet hit the floor, Jan's mind needed time to come to life. Still not fully awake and having no idea what Mordal was talking about, Jan blinked her eyes a few times, looked at her alarm clock, and yawned before responding. "Of course I was right, Charley." Then after thinking for a second, she added, "Exactly what was I right about this time?"

"The Germans. Jan, can you believe it? The Germans apparently overran the Air Force base in Germany where the nukes were waiting for transport back to the States and seized them. You and Lewis seem to be the only people in this town that saw that coming. You're incredible."

Jan didn't really hear anything after Mordal mentioned that the Germans had overrun an American base. For several seconds all she could think about was Scott and his safety. Where was he? Was the American Army already involved? Those and other questions rushed through her mind as Mordal, more animated than Jan had ever heard him before, rattled on and on. Knowing that sitting there in her bedroom wondering and worrying would accomplish nothing, Jan cut Mordal off. "Okay, Charley, thanks for calling. I'll be down at the studio in less than an hour."

Without so much as a good-bye, Jan hung up, leaving Mordal wondering why she was coming to the studio at that hour. After thinking about it for a moment, though, he decided that perhaps it wasn't a bad idea. His only regret was that he hadn't thought of it first. Of course, Charley Mordal didn't realize that Jan wasn't going into the studio out of dedication to the network or her profession. Her motives that night were purely selfish. At the World News Network headquarters in downtown Washington, D.C., she would have firsthand access to every major news agency in the world and sources of information that rivaled the CIA's and FBI's. In the avalanche of information and news that would flow into WNN headquarters, Jan hoped to find a scrap of news about the only person in the entire world that she really cared for, a man who by his nature and profession was bound to be in the middle of things in Germany. Though she could do nothing to change things or help him, at least she would know what was happening to him.

Bounding out of bed, Jan dashed to the bathroom. As she stood before the full wall mirror quickly combing her hair into a presentable style, she glanced down at the black nondescript comb, green toothbrush, and unused razor that sat next to the second sink that was Scotty's. Though he hadn't been able to tear himself away from his command in Europe for months, Jan, out of habit, kept his personal things in order and handy, just in case. For despite her reputation as a hard-nosed news correspondent, Jan Fields-Dixon was an eternal optimist. Scott, she knew, would somehow find his way out of this mess, just as surely as the politicians in the White House would find a way to suck him into it.

Suddenly the focus of everyone in Washington shifted from an obscure spot on the eastern fringes of Europe to the heart of the continent. Overwhelmed by the new German crisis, matters concerning the Ukrainian crisis were relegated to other senior members of the State and Defense departments while President Wilson and key members of the National Security Council met to discuss and deal with the German crisis.

As was her style, Abigail Wilson had listened to what everyone had to say concerning the matter at hand, in this case the German crisis, without comment. When she was satisfied that everything that needed to be known had been presented, she gave her initial guidance and then sat back and let her staff, in this case the Security Council, work out a solution. From her seat, Wilson watched the process in action. A steady stream of people, some in uniform, some in shirtsleeves, flowed around and past her, coming and going, sometimes giving the impression that they had no apparent direction or purpose. Every now and then one or more of these people would stop another in midstride and hold a quick hushed impromptu discussion where they stood. Finished, they would part and continue to pursue whatever mysterious errand they had been on. Elsewhere in the room small clusters of people were huddled discussing some matter or the other. The whole scene unfolding before her gave Wilson the feeling that she was sitting in the eye of a hurricane. After thinking about that analogy for a moment, she decided that it didn't do justice to the current situation. What she had started, Wilson decided, was shaping up to resemble more and more a firestorm. How to stop that firestorm, which at that moment was completely out of their control, was the question she pondered and the throngs of people around her debated.

For several minutes Wilson studied each of her key staffers, people who had led her into the Ukrainian crisis and now were expected to find a solution to a new crisis in which all its attendant problems had yet to come to the surface. Off to her right, Peter Soares was holding court with her foreign affairs advisor and a number of serious-looking State Department bureaucrats. The expression he wore and the manner in which he held himself or threw his arms about to make his point reminded Wilson of when he had been running Wilson's gubernatorial and presidential campaigns. Watching, she had no doubt that his line of thinking and the approach he was using to deal with this crisis were similar to those he had used then. Unfortunately, this was not a political campaign. For a moment Wilson wondered if his ability to negotiate the American political landscape for diplomatic skills and his knack for organizing campaigns for leadership gave him the insight necessary for dealing with this issue. In her heart she knew that his tried-and-true methods, those that had gotten her into the White House, would be of little use in resolving the expanding German crisis, one which his decisions had precipitated. The fact that the Ukrainian operation had turned sour, despite his assurances, introduced an element of uncertainty into Wilson's mind that was now tainting her trust of anything that Soares said.

To her front, among a cluster of generals and admirals, Terry Rothenberg sat. His long face, with drooping eyes peering through a pair of bifocals tottering on the edge of his nose, had never looked so long. As Wilson sat there watching him turn his head this way, then that, as one senior officer after another talked, she knew that Rothenberg was as much out of his element as Soares was. The brilliance that had made him New York City's successful contract lawyer failed to provide him with the tools he needed to deal with the harsh military decisions that were demanded when war threatens. Rothenberg, like Wilson herself, was often reduced to listening to his experts, both military and civilian, toss about one option after another, never knowing for sure who was right or even if there was a right answer.

As she sat there, Wilson began to suspect that the people in the room, the same ones who had assured her that the plan to secure the nuclear weapons was sound and gave her a 95 percent probability of success, were not up to dealing with the German crisis. Like Rothenberg, Wilson had come into her office with only a very basic understanding of military affairs and trusted the experts and professionals to deal with the details. Now, like Rothenberg, she felt betrayed by those experts and was at a loss as to where to turn for the help and advice that she, and the nation, so desperately needed.

Knowing that it would be several hours before anyone had a good handle on the situation, let alone viable options, Wilson decided to seek advice from a source that many would consider inappropriate. With a slight motion of her right hand, Wilson signaled the aide seated behind her. Leaning forward, the aide listened. "Tom, have the car pulled around front immediately."

Knowing that as soon as he gave the order for her limousine to move, William J. Balick, the head of the White House Secret Service, would want to know, the aide asked Wilson what her destination would be. Balick, more commonly known as Billy B, had to know where the President was going so that he could plan a route and then scramble teams along it in advance to scout it and to provide security at her destination.

Wilson knew the reason for the aide's question but ignored it. The one thing that bothered Wilson the most about being in the White House was the manner in which everyone tried to control her comings and goings. It was as if everyone, especially the Secret Service, was trying to force her into an airtight, bulletproof, controlled-access bubble. To a person who had known unlimited freedom all her life, such attempts were stifling, almost suffocating. From her earliest days as a child, Wilson had enjoyed coming and going as she pleased, often roaming her parents' large ranch in Colorado alone on foot or horseback. Half jokingly, Wilson had told a friend before leaving Colorado for the White House, "My mother and I have spent most of our lives in an effort to escape from having men dictate what we could and could not do. I'll be damned if I'm going to let them do it to me in Washington."

While understanding the need for security, Wilson felt that the Secret Service men were far too compulsive and restrictive. Though she seldom felt the need to remind people of her office or title, when it came to the Secret Service, Wilson took every opportunity to remind them of who the President was. Wilson's response to her aide, therefore, was short and sweet. "It will just be you and me. Now we haven't got much time. It's late and getting later."

In an effort to make sure that she was making a conscious decision about her security, the aide rephrased his question. "And where should I tell Mr. Balick that we are going?"

Wilson stood up, causing most of the people in the room to stop what they were doing and turn to look at her. "Please tell Billy B that I am going out into the night with a lantern in one hand in search of an honest man and my hat in the other."

Unhappy with her response, for the aide knew that Balick would ride him for not getting a straight answer, the aide glumly shook his head and called the White House garage to relay the President's order. Looking over to Vice President Kevin Wojick, in the middle of a conversation with several members of the Security Council, Wilson called, so that everyone in the room could hear, that she was leaving. Then, before she walked out, Wilson added, "Mr. Vice President, I leave you here to deal with this, this debating society. I will be back in two hours. If in that time you are able to get Chancellor Ruff on the phone and he is willing to speak with me—I mean really speak to me and not simply rehash his 'wounded national pride' speech again—contact me immediately." Wilson turned to leave, but then paused. Over her shoulder she added with a bitter note in her voice, "And if you can't have something that makes sense ready for me to listen to by then, please turn out the lights and lock the door before you all leave."

From across the room, Soares watched Wilson leave. That she, like everyone else on the crisis action team, was tired and very much on edge didn't matter to Soares. It had been a mistake, he now knew, to put a woman like that in the White House. She neither understood the fine rules of the game nor how to conduct herself with the dignity that the office of the President of the United States demanded. While even he had to admit that she often displayed an intuitive knack for resolving difficult problems, her methods of dealing with men of high position, such as himself, were often irritating to the point of disrespect. The party, Soares had decided long ago, had been wrong. The nation wasn't ready for a woman President, especially this one.

It wasn't until she reached Bethesda that the idea of stopping by to see Ed Lewis dawned upon Jan. Though she suspected that he already knew about the German seizure of the nukes, there was always the off chance that he might have gone to bed early. After all, she thought, with his newfound view on life, he just may have gone overboard and started getting all the sleep he needed.

When she turned down the street where Lewis lived, Jan was surprised to see a number of cars sitting in front of Lewis's house and what looked like every light in the place turned on. At first, thinking that he was having a party of some kind, Jan wondered if her attire would be appropriate. Then she dismissed that idea as being foolish. Amanda and Ed Lewis weren't the late-night party type. When she got closer, Jan saw two men standing on the porch and caught a glimpse of another as he disappeared around the house. Her dismay suddenly turned to alarm when she realized that there may have been some kind of emergency or threat. If that was true, Jan thought, then maybe this was the wrong time to pay a visit. But again she dropped that idea. She was, after all, a friend of the family and, almost as important, a news correspondent. As was her habit, once she had made up her mind, Jan pushed forward with the single-minded determination of a charging rhino.

Already upset with the President's sudden and mysterious foray into the night, the members of the Secret Service team that accompanied her were on edge and very nervous. Denied the opportunity to perform a detailed recon of Lewis's house, they attempted to clamp down on everything that went on in the house while President Wilson was there. They, of course, had not counted on Amanda Lewis. Roused out of bed by the sound of voices and the pounding of feet downstairs, Amanda threw on a robe and came down to find her house overrun by stern-faced men and women. One group was in the middle of searching rooms and scanning them with electronic devices while another, who had taken over the dining room as a command center, was busy moving furniture around. One overzealous agent, seeing Amanda descending the stairs, moved toward her in an effort to head her off. He pulled out his badge, flashing it in her face. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Agent Bradshaw, Secret Service. I'll have to ask you to go back upstairs and remain there while the President is here."

Unimpressed by Bradshaw's badge, and angered at being ordered about in her own house, Amanda looked Bradshaw in the eye. "Young man, I am sure you have your duty and your orders. But this is my house. And if you want to walk out of here under your own power, I suggest you let me by."

Taken aback by the defiance shown by this five-foot-four, 120-pound woman in a bathrobe, Bradshaw was about to call for his supervisor when Amanda pushed by him and headed into the kitchen to make coffee. Not easily put off, he followed her, asking her to go back upstairs. Bradshaw's persistence only served to irritate Amanda. Stopping just short of the kitchen, she turned on Bradshaw. With an angry look on her face and her finger pointed at his nose, Amanda Lewis shouted so that everyone in the house could hear. "Look, Mr. Special Agent whoever, if you or your friends here dare threaten me one more time, I'll run the whole lot of you out into the snow. Now back off." Without another word and before Bradshaw could respond, Amanda pivoted on her heels and marched into the kitchen, where two other Secret Service men gave her a wide berth when they saw her coming.

Frustrated, his face red from embarrassment, Bradshaw turned around just in time to see Jan come through the front door at the other end of the hall. Without so much as a pause, Jan headed straight for the door of the study where she knew she would find Lewis. Recovering from his brush with the congressman's wife, Bradshaw hurried down the hall to head Jan off. Shoving his arm in front of Jan's face just as she was about to open the door, Bradshaw yelled in Jan's ear, "Hey, you can't go in there."

Already charged up from having to deal with the Secret Service men at the front door, Jan backed off half a step, turned to face Bradshaw, and thrust her finger up at his face. "Look, mister, I'm in no mood to play cowboys and Indians with a troop of overgrown boy scouts. Either move it or lose it."

Tiring of being abused by pushy women, Bradshaw was about to grab Jan's arms to push her away from the door when Jan lifted her right foot and brought the heel of her boot crashing down on the toe of Bradshaw's shoe. Shocked by her sudden attack, caught in midstride, and overcome by immense pain, Bradshaw lost his balance. While he was trying to grab his injured foot with one hand while flailing the other one about in an effort to find something to grab to keep from falling, Jan pulled the sliding door of the study open and popped in.

Though she knew that the President was there, it still came as a surprise when Jan saw Wilson seated among the haphazard stack of books, files, and stray papers that Lewis found comforting. Lewis, seated at his desk with his feet propped up, looked over to Jan. "Welcome, Jan. We were just talking about you when we heard your rather vocal introduction to the President's bodyguard."

Jan blushed slightly, looking over at Wilson and then at Lewis. "I apologize for intruding like this, Ed, Madam President, but I was on my way into the office and thought you might not have heard the latest news from Germany yet. And then when I saw all the people running about your house, I was worried that something had happened to Amanda or you."

With a smile, Lewis invited her to take a seat, if she could find one. Wilson, surprised by Jan's appearance, glanced over at Lewis after he made the offer to Jan to join them. Noticing Wilson's look of concern, Lewis took his feet off the desk and leaned toward Wilson while Jan searched for a clear place on the floor to dump a stack of books she had removed from the least cluttered chair. Without waiting for Jan to finish, Lewis started in on the President. "See, that's just the kind of thing you are going to have to stop doing. Geez, Madam President, the whole world knows we've screwed the pooch on this one. So why hide it? It's time you came out, just like you did with me, with hat in hand and told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

Though her predecessor had warned her that Lewis could be a dangerous political adversary, not to mention brash and downright disrespectful on occasion, Wilson appreciated that Lewis had much going for him. Everyone in Washington agreed that he was one of the few people in Washington she could trust in a pinch. The former President himself, despite his warnings to Wilson, had used Lewis during a particularly sensitive crisis with Mexico. Through this and other such coups, Lewis had earned a reputation for being one of the most politically astute and respected authorities on international affairs in Washington. There had even been serious discussion about asking Lewis to serve as Wilson's Secretary of State instead of Soares.

Suspecting that Chancellor Ruff wasn't in a mood to listen to either her or Soares, a man many Europeans had difficulty dealing with, Wilson decided that she would take the former President's advice. Of course, she also remembered his warning: "Lewis has a tendency to come on like a down-home good old boy, so don't be offended by his manner." Taking Lewis's comments in stride, Wilson was about to respond, when her comments were pre-empted by another interruption at the study door. This time it was the appearance of Agent Bradshaw.

Barreling in, Bradshaw looked at Jan, now seated across from Wilson, then at Wilson, before he began to apologize for letting Jan in. Wilson, however, was tired of being interrupted, first by Jan, now by Bradshaw. Already uneasy about coming to Lewis like this and the manner in which he was treating her, Wilson, in a momentary flaring of her temper, cut Bradshaw short. "Look, Bradley, or Banden, or whoever you are, get out of here and close the door."

Totally frustrated and in pain, Bradshaw closed the door, catching a glimpse of Jan just as she canted her head, smiled, and waved 'bye to him.

Pausing a moment to pick up her train of thought, Wilson continued where she had left off. "In principle, I agree with you, Ed. But…" Wilson hesitated as she glanced at Jan. "Even you understand that there are things, military matters and ongoing delicate diplomatic discussions, that we cannot go public with."

Lewis rolled his eyes as he settled back into his chair. "Oh, please, Abby. You don't need to remind me of that. Even Jan here, one of the foremost correspondents in the world, understands the necessity of keeping secrets, real secrets, a secret. But don't, if you hope to salvage any shred of credibility and trust, hide everything, big mistakes and small, behind the cloak of operations security. The American people are a lot more sophisticated than your advisors give them credit for. Yes, the operation, aptly named Desperate Fumble, succeeded in disarming the Ukrainian nuclear arsenal, as you intended. No one is arguing that point. But it was not the most successful military operation in American military history as Rothenberg keeps telling the media. We succeeded, not in the manner in which we had hoped, and at a much higher cost than expected, but we succeeded. That, Madam President, is what your Secretary of Defense should have said."

"All right, you have made your point. That was, I agree, poorly handled. Expressing regrets concerning that matter, however, does nothing to solve our, excuse me, my current problem. I was hoping, Ed, to use you in much the same way that my predecessor used you to resolve the Mexican problem."

Anxious to say something but knowing that she was there only by the grace of luck, her own tenacity, and Ed Lewis's blessing, Jan held back. There would be ample opportunities, she knew, to develop this incredible stroke of luck into a useful story later. For now, Jan was more than content to stand on the sidelines and watch history in the raw unfold before her very eyes.

Lewis was looking down, contemplating Wilson's offer, when he heard his wife outside the study bark, "Young man, make yourself useful and open the door like a good boy."

Everyone in the study looked up as Bradshaw, a sheepish, downcast look on his face, opened the door and allowed Amanda in carrying a tray with a coffeepot, cups, saucers, and such. Hesitating, Amanda looked about in vain for someplace to set the tray. Jan, seeing her predicament, jumped up. "Here, Amanda, let me make myself useful. I'll hold this while you serve." Though Lewis could see that Wilson was not exactly pleased at being interrupted like this, she said nothing as Amanda, followed by Jan with the tray, served her, then Ed, and finally poured Jan a cup and emptied a sack of artificial sweetener in it. Finished, Amanda took the tray from Jan, who retrieved her cup while she thanked Amanda, who excused herself and went back to the kitchen.

Watching Ed while she sipped her coffee, Jan knew that he would accept the President's challenge. While Ed might wear the livery and speak the language of a Washington politician, he was, Jan knew, a warrior at heart. Like her own husband, Scotty, Lewis had a streak of dedication to God and country that ran through and through. And like Scotty, Lewis could no more ignore a call to duty than she could stop the new day from dawning. The only reason Lewis was taking so long to respond to Wilson's offer was because the wheels in his mind, figuring out what he would ask for and what he would insist on, were already turning. Either that, Jan thought, or he was screwing with the President, making her stew a little longer in her own mess before granting her request that he help salvage her political future.

Setting his cup down on the saucer, Lewis silently wished that Amanda had used the regular everyday coffee mugs, the ones with all the chips and stains, rather than the good china. It would have, he thought, made for a more humbling experience for the President. Looking over to Wilson out of the corner of his eye, Lewis asked what exactly she had in mind.

"To tell you the truth, I was hoping to discuss that with you. Like I told you in the beginning, the entire National Security Council, to a man, is thrashing about the streets of Washington like a herd of beached whales. I need someone with a clear head and experience in matters like this to get us back on track and headed in the right direction. Besides…" Wilson paused and looked down at her lap for a moment before looking into Lewis's eyes with what he took to be a sincere, heartfelt plea. "I need someone whom I can trust, someone that the American people and the media can trust, and someone unconnected with the Ukrainian fiasco."

Lewis was about to add, "And someone who is politically expendable," but didn't. Instead, Lewis nodded. His response was short, positive, and sincere. "Madam President, I will do everything I can for this nation." Shrugging his shoulders, he added, "At a time like this, how can anyone do otherwise?" Then, before Wilson had an opportunity to thank him, Lewis turned to Jan. With a jaunty ring to his voice, he asked, "Jan, you think you can be ready for an all-expenses-paid trip to Berlin in, oh, say six hours?"

Jan smiled. "Ed, I'm surprised you would even ask such a foolish question. Name the time and place, and I'll be there, with rings on my fingers and bells on my toes."

Lewis, his face now serious, added a cautionary note as Jan stood up to leave. "I have a feeling, Jan, we, the nation, aren't going to get off as easily as we did in Mexico. The Germans, I suspect, have a long agenda of their own that they have been sitting on for quite some time. Despite what some people think, we and our German friends have little in common, and the detonation in the Ukraine and the nukes we brought into their country aren't going to do anything to endear us to them." Standing, he looked down and shook his head. "No, the Germans wouldn't pull something like this on the spur of the moment unless they were sure they could get away with it. There's more to this than meets the eye." Looking up at Jan, then over to Wilson, Lewis sighed. "We aren't going to walk away from this one without paying a price, a heavy, heavy price. I just hope we can afford it."

CHAPTER 8

Neither the pale sun struggling to rise in the cold southeastern sky nor the tasteless breakfast being served from the back of a mud-covered truck that morning brought relief to or dispelled the gloom of the near frozen soldiers of Number 4 Company, 26th Panzer Battalion. Sitting on the turret of his Leopard II tank with his feet dangling over the side, their commander watched his men huddle together to share both their body warmth and rumors as they waited to file by the mess truck and be served. Unable to do anything to improve the lot of his soldiers or explain the reasoning behind their sudden deployment to the border, Captain Friedrich Wilhelm von Seydlitz was content to simply sit where he was and wonder, just like his sullen, unhappy soldiers did, what was to become of them. As he did so, he couldn't help but wonder if his ancestor and namesake, Frederick the Great's youngest and most successful cavalry general, had ever experienced the same uneasiness and self-doubt that he did that morning. Probably not, he thought ruefully.

Such comparisons were easy to make. Everyone, as far back as he could remember, used the famous Prussian general or the captain's great-grandfather, Generalmajor Walter von Seydlitz-Kurzbach, as standards against which to measure young Seydlitz. As he grew, that tendency continued, exacerbated by the fact that Captain Seydlitz was the spitting image of the hero of Rossbach. Inheriting the same tall and lean physique, right down to the light, almost sleepy eyes, Captain Seydlitz could easily have put on the straw-yellow uniform of the Rochow Cuirassiers that von Seydlitz had worn in 1758 and been mistaken for the great cavalryman.

But the similarity was only skin deep, or so young Seydlitz thought. He lacked the decisive nature that had allowed his ancestors to make their mark on German military history. His great-grandfather, commander of the 51st Corps at the Battle of Stalingrad, hadn't hesitated to stand up to Hitler, despite the possible consequences, when he knew he was right. No, young Seydlitz thought as he pulled the hood of his parka up to shield himself from the frigid wind that cut through him, the name Seydlitz and a smattering of genes handed down from generation to generation did little to prepare him for this.

Not that there was much that his company could do at that moment, other than eat breakfast. The decisions that would determine whether he would lead his thirteen Leopard tanks back to their kaserne in Wieden or into battle here, along the Czech-German border, with their former ally would be made by politicians in Berlin and Washington. The fact that he, unlike his ancestors, had no control over his own destiny was just as difficult to accept as his orders to prevent all American military traffic from crossing out of or into Germany had been. In agonizing over this last matter, Seydlitz knew he was not alone. He couldn't think of a single German who would say the Americans had been right in using Germany as a base for their adventure into the Ukraine. Nor could he imagine any of his countrymen coming to the defense of the Americans' decision, which most took as an insult, to bring nuclear weapons into their country without the knowledge or permission of the German government. It was, in the words of Seydlitz's brigade commander, as if the Americans were deliberately trying to provoke them.

Still, the deployment of the entire brigade to the border three days ago, coupled with the announcement from the Chancellor's office in Berlin that the reserve battalions of Seydlitz's brigade, as well as other brigades, were liable for immediate recall, seemed unnecessarily provocative on Germany's part. Diplomatic, not military, action was what his government should have been using to resolve the issue. Yet nothing, at least nothing that he knew of or had heard on the radio, even suggested that Chancellor Ruff or the Americans were interested in pursuing active talks. Instead, as the brigade watched and waited for the Americans to test the resolve of the German government, a test every officer and soldier in the brigade knew would come, Berlin continued to issue new pronouncements, new directives, and new deployment orders that could only serve to increase rather than decrease the tension. So, as for many of his fellow officers, the news that a parachute brigade had seized the American air base where the nuclear weapons in question had been only brought dread and foreboding. For the Army better than anyone else knew that the Americans could not ignore the German challenge. Unless cool heads and common sense were allowed to prevail, it would, Seydlitz knew, have to come to a fight.

With his mind cluttered by such weighty concerns, Seydlitz did not notice the driver of his tank as he carefully climbed on board, taking great pains not to spill the contents of his commander's breakfast. Only after he offered the steaming plate of food did Seydlitz acknowledge him. Forcing a smile across a face still clouded by deep worries and personal doubts, Seydlitz thanked his crewman and took the plate. Looking down at the plate, Seydlitz made a face, then asked his driver what, exactly, he'd been handed.

The loader smiled. "Well, Herr Captain, when I was training at Minister, my cadre sergeant told us never bother asking where we were going, since we had no choice in the matter anyway, never ask what we were going to do when we got there, because chances are the officers taking us there probably didn't know either, and never, never, never ask an army cook what he is serving, because even they didn't know what it used to be."

Seydlitz looked at his loader and laughed. The German Army didn't need to spend millions and millions of marks on training its officer corps, Seydlitz thought, in military theory and tactics. His loader, with just a few weeks of training, understood things far better than he did. All that was necessary, it seemed, was for officers to act more like their crewmen; shut up, go where you were told, don't worry about what's going to happen, and eat what you are given. For a lowly panzer captain such as himself to worry about anything else was, Seydlitz realized, a waste of time.

After two days of nonstop lectures and one-way speeches, Ed Lewis was ready to give up. Actually, he thought, as he listened to Chancellor Ruff, there was nothing really to give up, since that phrase implied that there had been a two-way struggle. If anything, there had been no room, as far as the Germans were concerned, for any kind of open dialogue. From the beginning of his round of official and unofficial meetings, Ed Lewis had been stonewalled by a solid party line that none of the German players were deviating from. From Thomas Fellner, Minister of the Interior, and to the left of the political spectrum, to Rudolf Lammers, the Minister of Defense and a staunch conservative, the only difference in their presentations had been the intensity of the speaker's emotions.

Not that even that point made a difference. Even now, as he listened to Chancellor Ruff go over the same ground covered by the members of his cabinet, Lewis was reminded how much he disliked listening to German. It was to him a very harsh language. The sharp, crisp manner in which the northern Germans spat out their words almost seemed to assault his ears. Though he imagined that he was just being a little hypersensitive because of the content, Lewis found his mind wandering as he tuned out Chancellor Ruff, just as President Wilson had when it had become obvious to her that direct talks between her and Ruff were fruitless. So, instead of paying attention to what was being said, he found himself wishing that it had been the French and not the Germans who had precipitated this crisis. The French language at least was more pleasing to the ear.

The American congressman's lack of interest in what he was saying was not lost on Ruff, and it angered him. It angered him more than the fact that a mere congressman, and not a member of the President's own council, was picked to come to Germany to hear them out. Well, Ruff thought, if the Amis are going to hold us in such low regard, then perhaps I can do something to make them see this whole affair in a new light.

Standing up, Ruff caught both Lewis and the German translator by surprise. "I see, Herr Congressman, that you are tiring of hearing the same thing over and over again. Perhaps you do not believe our resolve."

Caught off guard and regretting that his disinterest had been so obvious, Lewis sat up and began to apologize. He was, however, cut short as Ruff began to speak without pause, making it difficult for the translator to keep up. "The realities of world politics and diplomacy in the modern world are both harsh and obvious. For years the great struggle was, as many have pointed out, between the haves and the have nots. But what few people have understood, or cared to understand, was that when the terms 'have' and 'have not' were used by the United States and the former Soviet Union, the speaker was not talking about monetary or mineral resources. No, Herr Congressman, have and have not, when it came to determining who would be listened to and who could be ignored, meant having the bomb or not having the bomb." Ruff paused, allowing this statement to take root as he limped from behind his desk over to a wall where a map of Germany, with its 1938 borders lightly highlighted and extending from its current borders, was displayed. Stopping next to a German flag, Ruff turned back and looked at Lewis, ready to continue where he had left off.

"During the eighties, a great famine swept through much of Africa. Though the United States was concerned, officially it did little. The result, Herr Congressman, was millions of deaths, deaths of innocent women and children that were recorded on film and shown almost nightly in every home in America. In the early nineties, after the collapse of the Soviet Union, when the new republics of the Commonwealth faced the same fate, the nations of the world, led by the United States, tripped over themselves in an effort to rush aid to the poor Russians. And why, Herr Congressman, such a difference? The reason is obvious. Ethiopia had no nuclear-tipped missiles that could reach the United States."

Lewis, shifting in his chair, finally found a chance to speak as Ruff paused. "That, Herr Chancellor, is a rather cynical view. Surely you must realize that—"

With a clearly discernible edge in his voice, Ruff cut Lewis off. "This, Herr Congressman, is a very cynical world. Only those who are willing to accept that and deal with the reality of things as they are and not as they would like them to be will survive. Fifty years ago, Germany was a broken country. Mentally and physically we had reached the zero point. There was nothing. Nothing. Even worse, Herr Congressman, if such a thing can be imagined, was the contempt with which your countrymen, cloaked in self-righteousness, came into our country and judged our people according to a morality that even your own government could not live up to.' We sat helpless, broken, and exhausted, while you systematically created the theory of collective guilt and then proceeded to drag the German people, their culture, and their history, through the filth as if we were nothing but animals. And then, to add hypocrisy to hypocrisy, when it suited your needs, when the communists suddenly turned from friend to enemy and your businessmen needed new markets to exploit, we became acceptable again. But in your eyes, and in the eyes of the American politicians bought and paid for by the Jews, we never were, and never could be, your equal, worthy to sit down with you and share as equals. Well, Herr Congressman, we have paid for the sins of our fathers. For fifty years we have sat quietly while your countrymen pointed to us and told us that we should be ashamed of ourselves on one hand while using our people and our nation to achieve your political ends. It is time now that we turn our backs on the past and look to the future, to the new order in Central Europe, an order that has no room for the hypocrisy of American politics and meddling."

Lewis, for the first time since arriving in Germany, found himself becoming uneasy. The words "new order" and the mention of the Jews in a negative connotation caused Lewis to visibly twitch. Satisfied that he was having the desired effect, Ruff continued, speaking now in a rather matter-of-fact tone. "I have been informed that your President demands that we turn the nuclear weapons we seized from Sembach back over to your control. That, in our view, would be akin to a policeman returning stolen goods to a thief and helping the thief load them into his car. Your nation has no legal right to those nuclear weapons. None. That you think you do is simply another example of the contemptuous self-righteousness that you use to cloak your misguided and haphazard foreign policy. Rather than return those weapons, it is the decision of this government to keep them and incorporate them into a Central European arsenal that will allow all the nuclear 'have nots' in this part of the world to deal with the United States on an equal footing. Even you, Herr Congressman, can understand that."

After considering his response for several seconds, Lewis began to speak slowly, carefully choosing his words. "This is, I am sure, a matter that concerns more than the United States. You realize that the other nuclear powers in Western Europe, the French and British, not to mention the Russians to the east, are very concerned about a new nuclear power in Europe." Lewis was about to add "especially a nuclear arsenal controlled by Germany," but decided not to.

Ruff chuckled, having anticipated Lewis's comments and understanding that the concern was for a nuclear Germany. "The French, with over one fifth of their population clustered around Paris, not to mention all their vital government and business centers, would not risk any rash and precipitous action against us. Even the detonation of two or three devices in the Paris metropolitan area would make the devastation and deaths of both world wars seem trivial in comparison. And the British, with their traditions of de facto recognition of reality and their own problems in controlling the Irish and Scottish minorities within their own island empire, will accept our new position with hardly more than an official protest."

Determined to show that he was not intimidated and that he, as well as the United States, could not be easily bluffed, Lewis leaned over and tried to take up the attack. "Look, Herr Chancellor, you know as well as I do that those weapons as they sit right now are of no value to you. You didn't even secure the codes necessary to activate the devices. According to our experts, it would take a great deal of effort, not to mention a small amount of luck, to make use of the weapons you have. I do not see what advantage your government hopes to achieve with such a hollow threat."

If it had been Lewis's intent to upset Ruff's well-orchestrated lecture, then the smile that lit Ruff's face showed that it had not had the desired effect. Shaking his head, Ruff continued to smile. "You think, Herr Congressman, that we are fools. You have been treating us like naughty children for so long that you assume that we cannot think or act on our own behalf. Well, let me assure you that we are not children. And the game that we are now playing out here and out there is no child's game. So that you understand, in terms that even your President can comprehend, we are not only capable of retaining those weapons and using them, but we are more than willing to do so."

The look on Lewis's face betrayed his shocked disbelief. Ruff, seeing that his words had struck at Lewis's heart like a dagger, gave that dagger a twist. "You see, Herr Congressman, the Ukrainian government has provided us with the necessary codes and information for activating the weapons. As we speak, technical advisors from the Ukrainian Army, an army which you attacked and embarrassed, are working with the Bundeswehr and Luftwaffe to retrofit those devices to suitable delivery platforms. We are, you see, quite prepared and ready to deal with the United States or any nation from a position of strength. The German Revolution of 1989 has reached its logical conclusion. We are, and by every right, a world power. And neither you, your President, nor your tiny Army freezing in the Czech Republic and Slovakia, can change that, without paying a price that is, by any measure, too much."

When Chancellor Ruff was finished, Congressman Ed Lewis walked out of the Chancellor's office as if in a daze. He didn't even acknowledge Jan Fields-Dixon's presence as she hurried to join him. Only after he had thrown himself into the back seat of their Mercedes limousine and had allowed himself to sink, physically and figuratively, into the seat did his blank, pale expression change. Even then, his new expression was one that betrayed Lewis's sense of despair and hopelessness to Jan. Knowing that in due time Lewis would tell her everything that he was authorized to tell her, and probably more, she left him alone. Whatever had been said in the private meeting between Lewis and Chancellor Ruff had crushed Lewis's hope of a quick and amiable settlement. Reining in her correspondent's curiosity, Jan simply sat, like Lewis, watching the sights of Berlin rush by them as the limousine took them to the American embassy before their return home. She had, after all, been invited along on this trip by Lewis to serve as another set of eyes and ears to help him observe the mood of the German people as well as their elected officials. Though it was not normal for a politician of Lewis's status to entrust such a task to a member of the media, the special bond of friendship and trust that existed between Lewis and Jan, as well as her ability to see things that others missed, made Jan Fields-Dixon an invaluable asset.

Finally, after traveling awhile in silence, Lewis turned to Jan and exclaimed in a low, almost plaintive voice, "We're going to have to fight these people. I can't see any other way out." Looking out the window at the streets filled with scores of Berliners going about their daily tasks, Lewis repeated his statement, almost to himself. "We're going to have to fight these people." Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Again."

Both Lewis's demeanor and his pained comments shocked Jan like nothing had in a long time. Mistakenly referred to as a pacifist, Lewis had spent his entire political career, ever since resigning his commission in the Tennessee National Guard, fighting anyone who dared advocate the use of military force as a substitute to bankrupt foreign policy or as a solution to an international crisis. The American military was created and maintained, he was fond of saying, to safeguard American security, not to export and impose American principles or to make the world safe for corporate America. The United States, he told his opponents, had no right to impose its views or order on anyone, for whatever reason. Lewis's comment, therefore, was one that Jan was ill prepared for.

The quiet business-as-usual attitude of the Berliners along their route was absent as the limousine carrying Lewis and Jan pulled up to the entrance of the embassy. Double lines of police, stern-faced and in riot gear, stood posted at both ends of the street and in a semicircle around the embassy's main entrance. Though the throngs of people that faced the police were quiet, content at that moment to merely hold their signs and shuffle about in the slush in an effort to stay warm, Jan could see that both sides stood braced, ready for action. Even inside the embassy compound, the Marine detachment, in battle gear and armed alternately with rifles and shotguns, stood ready to deal with all comers.

If Lewis noticed any of this, he showed no concern. When the limousine stopped in front of the foyer, Lewis headed into the building, hands buried deep in the pockets of his overcoat and head bowed. Even when he was inside, he ignored the embassy staff as he headed down the corridors and up the stairs, followed by Jan, to the office he had been using over the past two days. Once there, he went to a chair overlooking the main embassy courtyard, where he sat staring vacantly out the window, without bothering to remove his coat. Seeing that he was, to say the least, uncommunicative, Jan left him to go in search of coffee and something to eat. Food and drink, she thought, might help him overcome his gloom. And if it did nothing for him, at least Jan's search for it gave her something to do with her nervous energy.

When she returned with a serving tray filled with breakfast pastries, coffeepot, and cups and saucers, Lewis finally began to stir. Whether it was the clanking noise of the cups and plates on the tray that Jan intentionally made or the smell of the fresh-perked coffee that brought Lewis about didn't matter. As she poured a cup for both of them, Lewis stood up, slipped his overcoat off, jammed his hands into his pants pockets, and walked over to Jan. Accepting a cup fixed just the way he liked it from Jan, Lewis watched her as he waited until she had prepared her own cup and stood facing him. Finally ready to speak, he looked Jan in the eye, took a sip of coffee, and smiled. It was, to Jan, a tired, unhappy little smile.

"You know, Jan, I'm constantly amazed by the way you and Amanda go about through this world each in your own way, but very much the same."

Struck by this strange comment, Jan wondered if she had missed something. But she knew she hadn't, so she said nothing, allowing Lewis to ramble on between sips of coffee.

Lewis chuckled. "I can see by your expression you're wondering what in the hell I'm talking about. Well, to tell you the truth, Jan, I'm not sure, at least not right now. You see, both you and Amanda are willing to accept people and things for what they are. Both of you, each in your own way, work with what you have, trying to keep things together and in harmony. Me, I guess I'm no better than every other guy who set out with what he thought were the ideals and principles that were the only true way to everlasting peace and happiness for the whole world, ready to cram them down the throat of everyone that disagreed with him." Lewis paused as he set his cup down and poured himself more coffee. "Well, Jan, it's hard for a man like me to suddenly realize that he doesn't have all the solutions, all the answers. I feel… I feel like Superman must have felt like the first time he was exposed to kryptonite."

For the first time since leaving the Chancellor's office, Jan spoke. "I take it, Ed, that the Germans are not ready to negotiate?"

His tone and demeanor betrayed the incredulousness he felt. "Negotiate? That, Jan, is the wrong word. I think the Germans call it Diktat. No, Jan, there doesn't seem to be a man in this city, from Ruff all the way down the line to Interior Minister Fellner, the one who was supposed to be reasonable, interested in negotiating. Instead, all of them, to a man, have a list of grievances and conditions that they insist must be worked out before serious discussions between our two governments can start."

Caught up now in Lewis's discourse, Jan asked what exactly those conditions were.

Raising an eyebrow as he took a sip of coffee, Lewis slowly replaced the cup onto the saucer and stared at it for a moment before answering. "Oh, though there are a whole bunch of little bones of contention that vary in importance depending on who you talk to, everything comes down to two really big items that all the Germans seem to agree on."

"And they are?"

Lewis, his eyes betraying no emotion, looked at Jan as he spoke. "First, all U.S. military forces must, and I emphasize the word they used, must withdraw from German territory by this July."

"But we can't simply up and leave in less than six months. They can't be serious. Are they?"

"Quite, Jan. They have been watching the American political landscape and they realize that few Americans would object to our pulling our troops home as part of an effort to reduce our annual military budget. After all, we have been after the Europeans for years to assume a more active role in their own defense. Here on a silver platter they give us the very thing that many of our fellow countrymen have been demanding."

He was, Jan realized, right. Chancellor Ruff knew that the Wilson administration would have a hard time justifying the continued retention of American forces in a Europe free from the specter of worldwide Soviet domination. "And the other demand, Ed?"

With a sigh, Lewis looked down at the floor, then back into Jan's eyes. "There, I'm afraid, they have us again. You see, Chancellor Ruff believes that Germany, in order to maintain its position in the European community as one of the leading states, must be able to stand side by side with the other states as an equal in fact as well as in word."

"How can we, the United States, help them achieve that? Most of the European community already acknowledge Germany's role in the new Europe."

"Jan, Ruff wants more than a verbal acknowledgment. He wants the horsepower to back it up. He believes that Germany, in order to be taken seriously, must be allowed to join the most exclusive club that all nations who want a say in shaping this world must belong to. In short, Jan, Germany, or I should say Chancellor Ruff, wants nothing less than for the United States of America to accept her as a nuclear power, free to retain the weapons she already has and develop her own as she sees fit."

Though she knew that she should have seen it coming, Lewis's articulation of that demand startled Jan. Dark, sinister images flashed through her mind as she stood there in silence trying to grasp the significance of what Lewis had said. Finally able to speak, she looked up at him. "But we can't do that. I mean, we can't agree to any of that."

Lewis slowly set the cup and saucer he was holding down on the tray, then thrust his hands into his pants pockets. "I know, Jan, I know."

Both Jan and Lewis were standing there looking down at the floor in silence when a member of the embassy staff knocked and entered the room. She paused, however, when she saw both Jan and Lewis standing motionless around the small table in the center of the room. "Oh, excuse me. I am sorry for interrupting."

Shaken out of his grim thoughts, Lewis looked up at the staffer. "Oh, no, you weren't interrupting. What can I do for you?"

"The ambassador was wondering when you would be returning to Washington. You had mentioned last night that you wanted to depart this afternoon after one more round of discussions with Chancellor Ruff. Is that still correct?"

Lewis thought about that for a moment before answering. "No, there has been a change. Please ask the ambassador if he would be so kind as to make the necessary arrangements for me to go to Prague to meet with the commander of the Tenth Corps."

While the embassy staffer acknowledged Lewis's request, Jan looked up at Lewis with a quizzical look on her face, but said nothing until the staffer was gone. "What are we going to Prague for?"

Lewis shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know right now. But we have a few hours to figure that out. Now if you would excuse me, Jan, I need to call the President, pay the ambassador my respects, and pack."

After crossing over to the north bank of the Uh River, Nancy Kozak ordered her driver to move off the road. Taking up a position from which she could see the northern approach of the bridge she had just crossed, Kozak settled down to wait for the last of her company to cross the river before they continued their withdrawal into Slovakia. She, like the rest of her company, would be glad to see Slovakia again, where they would be able to rest and relax. Their mission as the flank guard for the 1st Brigade's southern flank had been, except for the initial six hours, tedious on one hand while at the same time, due to their exposed position on the brigade's flank, nerve-racking. Once the Ukrainian armored brigade's effort to force a crossing against Kozak's company had been rebuffed and the Air Force had worked it over during the day, the remnants had been content to slip away to the southeast and establish blocking positions north of Uzlovaya. They still, however, were a threat that could not be ignored.

Nor could Kozak and her tiny command ignore their unusual position as accidental liberators. Without realizing it, Kozak's company, as well as the rest of the brigade, had found itself smack in the middle of the Ruthenian struggle for independence from the Ukraine. Never having heard of Ruthenia, Nancy Kozak, through broken translations provided by the farmer whose home the engineer platoon had occupied, learned that Ruthenians, who held that they were ethnically different from the Ukrainians, made up the bulk of the population around Uzhgorod, the historical capital of Ruthenia. Unhappy with the Ukrainian government's decision to prevent closer ties with their ethnic brethren in Slovakian Ruthenia, the Ukrainian Ruthenians had been agitating for independence. The sudden appearance of American forces fighting the Ukrainians naturally was viewed as an answer to their prayers. That neither Kozak nor any of her soldiers knew of the problem didn't seem to matter to the happy Ruthenians. As the farmer explained, frontline soldiers, regardless of which flag they serve under, are seldom told the real reasons behind their orders. Unprepared for this sudden attention and civil-military problem, Kozak had no idea what to do. After trying to explain that they were not there on behalf of the Ruthenians, she gave up, letting the farmer and all his relatives, and other fanners and villagers from the area who came to visit their "liberators," believe what they wanted. Besides, the Ruthenians, despite their obvious difficulties in making ends meet, were always ready to give Kozak's soldiers fresh bread, sweets, and warm home-cooked meals. Though she felt bad knowing that they were accepting the gifts from the Ruthenians under false pretenses, Kozak saw no way of stopping it. So she let it go and tended to the military matters for which she was trained.

Not that there was after the seventh of January a great deal to do professionally. After being repulsed in their predawn assault, the Ukrainian armored brigade, stalled on the south bank of the river, was worked over by the aging but venerable A-10 Warthogs. Coming in low and slow, the A-10s nailed anything that even looked like it was of military value. When the Ruthenian farmer later told Kozak that a number of refugee columns flowing out of Chop had been shot up by accident, Kozak questioned the air liaison officer who had joined her company about it. He shrugged off the concern by flatly stating that there was always the possibility of collateral damage when operating in densely populated areas. When asked by Kozak exactly what he meant by collateral damage, the Air Force captain looked at her as if he didn't believe she had to ask, and then answered in his casual, matter-of-fact manner, "Oh, it's damage to civilian structures or personnel, usually civilians that are in the vicinity of the target but aren't part of the strike's objective." Seeing an expression of disapproval creep across her face, the Air Force captain continued. "You know, when an A-10 comes rolling in at treetop level at over four hundred miles an hour, the pilot doesn't have a whole lot of time to separate the wheat from the chaff. When enemy tanks and refugees are sharing the road, collateral damage is unavoidable." Though she didn't know exactly how to feel about this, Kozak was glad to find out that the Ukrainians had given up their efforts to stay in close proximity and had pulled back from the river in an effort to escape the pounding from the air. There was a price that needed to be paid by someone, she realized, for everything.

With the immediate threat removed and casualties from the first day's fight tended to, Kozak turned to reorganizing and resting her company, while at the same time maintaining her command at a high state of vigilance. For the infantry and engineer platoons, this was no problem. Though the infantry platoons, as is traditional, suffered the majority of the casualties, their morale was high and they remained motivated and ready. This, however, was not the case with the tank platoon. Though it did play a pivotal role in the final defeat of the Ukrainian assault river crossing, the poor performance of their platoon leader, and the loss of one of their own to friendly fire, left a pall hanging over the entire unit.

Kozak did little to dispel this. Had it been a training exercise, she would have been able to shrug off Lieutenant Ellerbee's errors, just as she had done with other new lieutenants. But Kozak had lost her objectivity. Her own brush with death during the fight along the Latorica River, coupled with the accidental death of Ellerbee's gunner to friendly fire, a death that she viewed as both tragic and avoidable, had destroyed her ability to view Ellerbee in the detached and professional manner that she knew she should. As hard as she tried to reason with herself, Kozak continued to discover that she was, after all, very human. Though her mind told her that such errors and transgressions were unavoidable in the heat of battle, she found that she could not forgive Ellerbee for the very real professional shortfalls that had almost cost her and her crew their lives, and what she perceived as a poor attitude.

Having determined that she would never be able to fully accept Ellerbee as a responsible combat leader, Kozak did little to hide the contempt in which she held him. It showed in the manner in which she ignored him and the disdain in her voice when she spoke of him. When Kozak called for a meeting of all platoon leaders the night after the battle, she made it a point that she wanted Ellerbee's platoon sergeant, Sergeant First Class Rourk, to accompany him to the meeting. When, after the meeting, Rourk asked to see Kozak alone, pointing out that it was foolish for both him and Ellerbee to come to her meetings, Kozak didn't bat an eye. She simply looked straight at Rourk and told him, "Yes, you have a point. In the future leave him behind."

Kozak's efforts to remove Ellerbee or his platoon were frustrated by the brigade commander. His order that Ellerbee and his platoon stay where they were until he had an opportunity to personally review the situation pleased neither Kozak nor Ellerbee. When she went to Lieutenant Colonel Rick Zacharzuk, her battalion commander, to request that he request that the brigade commander reconsider his decision, Zacharzuk, nicknamed Ricky Z, refused to bring the matter up to Dixon. "Things are getting a little hairy right now, especially with this German thing," he told Kozak. "Though I agree with you, I'm afraid the brigade commander has one hell of a lot on his mind. Until we're out of Ukrainian territory and the situation in Germany is clarified, I have no intention of bothering him with this." Then, noticing that Kozak's shoulders physically slumped when he told her that, Ricky Z tried to soften the blow. "Look, Nancy. In another day we'll be back in an assembly area in Slovakia. Once we're there, I don't care if you surround Ellerbee and his tanks with barbed wire and post guards on them. I imagine we'll sit there while the powers that be sort out all the hard feelings between Berlin and Washington and all the little nukes are back in hand. Until then, you'll have to make the best of a bad situation."

As if her dark thoughts had conjured them up out of the river, Kozak heard Ellerbee's tanks rumble across the bridge and begin to close on the spot where her Bradley sat. Though she knew she was being petty and unprofessional, Kozak couldn't hide the feeling of disdain she felt every time she thought about Ellerbee. The mere image of the tanks passing her position, great black hulks against the dark overcast sky, caused Kozak's blood pressure to rise. Counting them in order to make sure that they were all clear of the bridge before she gave Lieutenant Matto permission to blow the bridge, only Ricky Z's promise to get Colonel Dixon to resolve the Ellerbee issue as soon as things settled down allowed Kozak to carry on in what she considered to be an intolerable situation.

Any regrets that still lingered in Scott Dixon's mind over his being pulled away from his brigade during the final stages of its withdrawal from the Ukraine were forgotten as his helicopter landed in the military compound at Milovice that had once served as the Soviet Army headquarters in Czechoslovakia. For there, just outside the circle marked in the well-packed snow that served as a helipad, stood his wife, Jan. Struggling against his natural desire to run up and grab her about the waist, Dixon deliberately lumbered on over to where she stood. With a smile on his face, Dixon walked up to her. "Hi, honey. I'm home. What's for dinner?"

In no mood for Scotty's playful humor or small talk, Jan simply stepped up to him, pushed the hood of his parka back, took his face in her hands, and kissed him. For several seconds, during which Dixon reached around Jan and pulled her body against his, they stood there ignoring the stares of military personnel coming and going and the bitter cold wind that whipped past them. When their lips finally parted, Dixon looked at Jan's beaming face. "We'd better stop this and go in before we freeze in this position."

Jan, her face aglow, sighed. "Would that, Colonel Scott Dixon, be so terrible?"

Giving Jan a gentle squeeze that she hardly felt through the layers of winter clothing, Scott chuckled. "Well, I could think of worse fates. But," he continued with a disappointed sigh, "I doubt this is what Big Al had in mind when he ordered me to come here."

Big Al was the nickname given to the Tenth Corps' five-foot, three-inch commanding general, who had been the division commander of the 16th Armored Division when Scott Dixon was the division's operations officer and Jan Fields was just living with him. An aviator by trade, Big Al Malin enjoyed Jan's charm, wit, and the attention she showered on him. When she finally married Dixon at Fort Hood, Big Al gave her away at the ceremony. This was a task he doubly enjoyed, since he cherished Scott Dixon's ability as an operations officer and as a thinker. Dixon, Big Al was fond of saying, was a true military artist who shared his love of military history.

Holding each other close, Jan and Dixon slowly walked over to the building that was serving as the Tenth Corps' headquarters in the Czech Republic. "I was told less than five minutes ago that you were coming in straight from the Ukraine, Scotty. All Ed Lewis told me was that if I wanted to see you, I had better get out here ASAP."

Surprised more by the mention of Lewis's name than her presence, Dixon slowed a little. "What, may I ask, is our friend from Congress doing here at this time of night? Don't tell me. Congress found some facts missing again and he was sent to find them."

Jan slapped Dixon's behind. "Scott, get serious. The President asked him to go to Germany to lay the groundwork for negotiations between us and the Germans over the question of the nukes and the German demands that we pull out of Germany."

Dixon chuckled. "Yeah, Herr Ruff really pulled a slicky one over on us." Then, holding Jan at arm's distance, he looked at her. "And I suppose you, of course, just happened to be in the neighborhood when the President asked Ed Lewis to come over here and you asked if you could tag along."

Looking over at him, Jan smiled. "As a matter of fact, that's exactly what happened."

A look of disbelief flashed across his face. "A likely story. I suppose you expect me to believe that."

"You can believe what you like, Scott Dixon. But it happens to be the truth. Cross my heart and hope to die. Now, tell me, what are you doing here?"

The appearance of two officers at the door they were headed for, both of whom Dixon recognized as being from the corps operations section, caused Dixon to stop. "I really don't know, Jan dear. But I've got a feeling we're about to find out."

Giving her husband a final squeeze, Jan said nothing as the two officers came up to Dixon and asked him to follow them.

While Jan took a seat in Big Al's outer office across from his aide-de-camp, Dixon was told to go on into the commanding general's office. There he found Ed Lewis and the general, sitting in armchairs, deep in conversation. Pointing to a pot of coffee sitting on a side table, Big Al, without any show of ceremony or formality, told Dixon to grab a cup, pull a chair on over, and join them. As Dixon pulled his seat up next to Ed Lewis, he greeted Lewis with a slight nod. Lewis, on his part, forced a smile and returned his nod. He was tired, Dixon thought. But it was more than a simple lack of sleep. His whole face, his eyes and cheeks, seemed to be drooping, almost as if the hidden thoughts weighing heavy on his mind were dragging his face down. Noticing that Dixon was staring at Lewis, Big Al started. "The congressman, Scotty, has just come from two days of nonstop discussions with the German government in Berlin."

Taking a sip of coffee, Dixon shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. I've heard all kinds of rumors, but with operations still under way in the Ukraine, I haven't really been paying much attention to what's going on outside my brigade."

"In a nutshell," Big Al started, "the Germans not only seized the weapons that the rangers took at the one storage site that didn't get trashed; they've been able, with the help of the Ukrainians, to remilitarize them. The Chancellor and his minions have informed the congressman here that they not only intend to keep them but are ready to use them if we, or anyone else, try to take them away."

Somehow, Big Al's comment didn't surprise Dixon. The use of nuclear weapons held no special horror for Dixon. It was to him simply another weapon. Having spent most of his adult life in the study of how best to destroy his fellow man, the proper employment of nuclear weapons had always been part of the equation. So the mention of them didn't cause him any great alarm or apprehension. In fact, nothing that Big Al said really surprised Dixon. To his analytical mind, it all made sense. Germany had been for years posturing itself for a more central role in the leadership of the European community. The revolutions of 1989 and the fall of communism that had opened up Eastern Europe had, by a simple fact of geography, placed Germany in the pivotal role as the gateway to the East. All that Germany needed to achieve big-power status was the hardware, which, thanks to the United States, it now had.

Looking over at Lewis's face, then back to Big Al, Dixon commented, only half in jest, "I take it this is the good news."

Easing back into his seat and taking a sip of coffee, Big Al grunted. Like all senior officers, Big Al found that officers who could think clearly and speak their minds without being mesmerized by a general's stars or a radically new situation were a rarity. Scott Dixon was one of those officers, and Big Al used his talents and mind whenever he got the chance. "As always, Scotty, you're ahead of the game. It seems that our former friends and allies in Berlin, Chancellor Herr Ruff in particular, already have an agenda in mind that their newfound power will enable them to implement immediately."

"And that, sir, is?"

Big Al looked up at the ceiling. "Oh, nothing less than the complete withdrawal of all U.S. forces from the Federal Republic of Germany, beginning with the Tenth Corps."

In an effort to make light of the situation, Dixon quipped, "Well, we'll be a little late for Christmas, but if he can pull that off, most of my people will vote for Ruff. Besides, some of Congressman Lewis's friends back in D.C. will be all for it. Less money for defense, more for social programs and all that great political rhetoric." Taking a sip of coffee, Dixon gave the appearance of absentmindedly mumbling a final snide comment. "Gee, now that I think of it, I wish I had voted for that guy-"

Tired and still upset over his final meeting with Ruff, Lewis did not appreciate Dixon's attempt at humor, and his tone made that obvious to both Dixon and Big Al. "Colonel, the Germans, at gunpoint, forced their way onto an American military installation and seized nuclear weapons, weapons which, by the way, our nation has worked to control and limit."

Undaunted, Dixon countered. "Of course, one could always look at the flip side of this issue. We did, without prior consent, move nuclear weapons back into Germany in clear violation of the Berlin Accord of two years ago that specifically prohibits the storage of nuclear weapons in or their movement through Germany. We, the main backer of a nuclear-free Central Europe, were the first to break the rules. Seems to me that if this went to a court of law, the Germans would have a strong case."

Lewis replied sharply. "Unfortunately, Colonel, this matter isn't going to be resolved in a court of law. The Germans fully intend to force the United States into a showdown, one in which we either have to back away from or respond with force."

Seeing that the discussion between Lewis and Dixon was beginning to get out of hand, Big Al decided it was time to get back to the reason for the meeting. "Gentlemen, all of this, I'm sure, will make a great story and debate back in Washington. But that is not our concern. Whether we're right or they're right is, for me, unimportant. What is important, Colonel Dixon, is that one of the conditions the Germans are insisting on is that this corps be disarmed prior to its withdrawal from Europe."

Dixon looked at Big Al, then Lewis, and finally back to Big Al. "They, of course, are kidding, aren't they? I mean, even they understand that to do so would be tantamount to unconditional surrender, an insult to the Army and the entire nation."

"I think," Lewis interjected, "that's the idea. Sort of a public emasculation. And if Ruff does it, he'll become a national hero, Germany's twenty-first-century Arminius."

For a moment Dixon tried to place the name Arminius but couldn't. Big Al helped him out. "The Teutoburger Wald."

In an instant Dixon understood. By the year a.d. 9 the Roman Empire had been trying for twenty years unsuccessfully to civilize the Germans east of the Rhine River. During their annual movement from their summer quarters on the Weser River near where modern Münden stands, to winter quarters, the three legions and six cohorts of Quinctilius Varus, the Roman governor of Germany, as well as Roman merchants, bureaucrats, family members and such were attacked by the German tribes. Arminius, a leader of the local German tribes and supposedly a friend of the Romans, led the Germans against the Romans. In a three-day running battle that took place in the then heavily forested Lippe Valley, the German tribes under Arminius wiped out 18,000 Roman soldiers and 12,000 Roman merchants and bureaucrats, leaving a mere hundred Romans to return to Rome to spread the story of German power. That battle not only halted the eastward expansion of the Roman Empire and began its downward spiral, it left Germany free to develop its own culture without the latinizing influence that so dominated other Western European cultures. Known simply as the Battle of Teutoburger Wald, it is held by many as the beginning of German history and nationalism, with the Germans regarding Arminius in the same manner as Americans do George Washington's role in the American Revolution.

After thinking about the analogy for a moment, a now sober Dixon looked at Big Al. "He can't be serious, can he? I mean, even the Germans must realize that this is the twenty-first century."

"They do, Colonel," Lewis took up. "Believe me, they do. Which is why instead of using the wicker shields and javelins Arminius's warriors used against the well-armed and disciplined Roman legionnaires, Chancellor Ruff intends to rely on nukes."

"And the German public is going to buy this line and back him?"

"Ruff seems to think they already have, Colonel. His election to office on a conservative Germany-for-Germans platform has been interpreted by many, including Ruff himself, as a mandate which he has taken seriously. That, coupled with our own diplomatic blunders in the past few days and his decisive actions have made him quite popular with conservatives in Germany, for the moment. You see," Lewis added, "unlike the Americans, who classify the last presidential election as ancient history, the Germans, like most Europeans, have a strong sense of history. We were reminded of this in the early nineties when tiny tribes with flags long forgotten by most people suddenly took advantage of the political upheavals in Central Europe and popped up all over the map of Central and Eastern Europe. This resurgence of tribal nationalism makes the analogy of Arminius more appealing to the Germans, a proud and homogeneous culture with a long history."

"In short," Big Al added, "we're out here on a limb, and Herr Chancellor is hacking away at it like crazy."

Dixon threw his hands out. Knowing that Big Al was using this as a skull session in which he wanted any and all ideas to be thrown out, discussed, and examined as they searched for a solution, Dixon took the lead. "Okay, fine. So we hunker on down here, enjoy a nice pleasant winter vacation in the Czech mountains while things cool down and the politicians settle down to some serious talks."

Shaking his head, Lewis sighed. As the political consciousness of the group, Lewis responded. "I wish, Colonel, it was that easy. When I spoke to the President earlier this afternoon, she informed me that the Czech ambassador had already approached her and has, on behalf of his government, requested that the Tenth Corps leave his country immediately. The Germans, and apparently the Ukrainians, according to the CIA branch chief in Berlin, have already been at work. Seems they have been reminding the Czech and Slovak governments that Germany and Ukraine have borders with them that are considerably longer than their borders with the United States."

Dixon thought about that for a moment before responding.

"Well, nothing like strategic blackmail. What about the Poles? Will the Poles let us pass to the Baltic coast and home?"

"That avenue," Lewis said, "is being explored, but it doesn't look promising. The Polish government is still miffed over the amount of aid that we have poured into Russia at their expense. Besides, not only have the Germans been working on them, but a withdrawal through Poland would be for the Germans a moral victory. I can see him now," Lewis continued, waving his hands about as if he were delivering a speech, "standing on a podium, the new little Hitler, proclaiming to the whole world how the vaunted American war machine had slithered away behind the benevolent protection of the Polish Army rather than face certain defeat at the hands of a unified German Army."

Dixon rolled his eyes. "Oh, what a wicked web we weave. You know, this is sounding more and more like Peyton Place goes to the UN instead of an international crisis." Then looking at Big Al and Lewis in turn, Dixon said, "I take it someone here has a brilliant idea that will magically resolve this whole goat screw."

"Well, Scotty," Big Al declared, "I'm glad you asked. Do you recall the story of Xenophon?"

Both Dixon and Lewis looked over to Big Al. He had the hint of a smile on a face that betrayed no real concern. He's got something in mind, Dixon thought, and he's been setting us up for it. Realizing that Big Al wanted him to act as a lead-in to his plan, Dixon responded. "Yes, of course. The March of the Ten Thousand. Around 400 b.c. a force of ten thousand Greek mercenaries in the service of the King of Persia was betrayed and left high and dry in the center of what is today Iraq. Rather than surrender their arms, as the Persian King demanded in return for their lives, the Greeks closed ranks and marched back to Greece, through Kurdistan, I believe, taking on all comers."

Big Al's smile broadened. "Your memory is good, Scotty, almost as good as Congressman Lewis's."

Allowing the compliment to pass over him, Dixon continued to play his role by articulating what he thought Big Al was hinting at. "Let me see if I'm following. What you're proposing, General, is that we tell the Germans to piss off, then we form up and march to Bremerhaven."

"Actually, Scotty, it was the congressman's idea. You see, he wanted to go back to Washington with a military option in his hip pocket."

Looking at Lewis in surprise, Dixon was about to speak when Lewis cut in. "I know what you're thinking, Colonel. Can it be true the great pacifist, champion of diplomatic solutions over military adventures, is in reality a hawk in dove's clothing? Well, I'm afraid that I'm a victim of the thirty-second campaign commercial. I have been and always will be a believer in responsible government and reasonable, intelligent, and responsible policies. That I've opposed the American policy of shoot first and talk later is a matter of record. But there comes a time, such as this, when there is no room for talking, when the long-term dangers justify the risk, that military force is justified."

"That," Dixon countered, "is all well and good. But let's face it. This is the twenty-first century, not 400 B.C. And the country we are talking about tromping through is a highly civilized, densely populated nation that, oh, by the way, is armed with the latest technology, not to mention the odd nuke here and there. We're not talking about the Teutoburger Wald or the March of the Ten Thousand through the mountains of Kurdistan here. What you are proposing, Mr. Congressman, is a head-to-head confrontation between two mechanized armies smack dab in the middle of the most populated corner of Europe." Dixon sat back and shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I don't really see a viable option here. I'd just as soon ask the people in my brigade to click their heels together and mumble, 'There's no place like home' three times as ask them to participate in such a harebrained operation."

Big Al grinned. "I love the way you get right to the heart of the matter, Scotty. Which is exactly why I asked you to come here and help me draft a concept for the operational plan that Congressman Lewis will carry back to Washington. Since both the congressman and I agree that the Pentagon's Polish option and their idea of flying our personnel out of here and leaving all our heavy equipment behind will be non-contenders, we need to provide the President with something that makes sense."

Looking back and forth between Big Al and Lewis, it began to dawn on Dixon that they were serious. "And you both think that marching the entire corps from one end of Germany to the other in the dead of winter makes sense?"

When Big Al spoke, his voice was quiet, yet firm. "I hope that this proposed bout between the modern German Arminius and me, the American version of Xenophon, can be avoided. That, however, is out of our hands." As Big Al shifted in his seat, Dixon knew that his last comment was mostly for Lewis's benefit. Such a wish was a mere dream that no one, especially the commanding general, should base his plan on. If and when American forces crossed into Germany, there would be a fight. Dixon knew it and he had no doubt that Big Al knew it too. After a moment of silence, Big Al continued. "What is within our power is our ability to give our national leaders our best opinions and a viable option that they can use if all else fails."

Staring down at his coffee cup for several seconds, Dixon thought about everything that had been said. As he did so, the sheer audacity of what Big Al was proposing began to take hold. For a second, the image of Chancellor Ruff attired as an ancient German chieftain in his Leopard II tank, and Big Al wearing the helmet and breastplate of an ancient Greek general mounted atop an M-1A1 Abrams, bearing down on each other on a wide-open stretch of autobahn, flashed through Dixon's mind. The whole idea was so insane, Dixon suddenly realized, that it just might work. Besides, the other alternative, the idea of ordering his soldiers to meekly lay down their weapons and go home like a herd of sheep, was a thought that was so repugnant that he couldn't even dwell on it. Looking up at Big Al, Dixon smiled. "Hey, General! What a wonderful idea. Glad I thought of it. When do we start?"

CHAPTER 9

"That's it? That's all the short little bastard had to say? Who in the hell does he think he is?"

From where she sat, Abigail Wilson snapped at Soares. "Pete, I would appreciate it if you let Congressman Lewis finish."

Pete Soares had never gotten used to what he in private referred to as Wilson's "naughty boy" manner of dealing with her own cabinet when they got out of hand. After all, he was, as he told his close friends, a forty-eight-year-old man, one that was very successful and powerful. He didn't need a mother to tell him how to act or talk. Still, in public, he paid heed to Wilson's reprimand. She was, after all, the President, although he never would admit to himself or anyone else that he was her subordinate. Screwing his face in the peculiar fashion that had earned him his nickname, "The Rat" eased back into his chair as Lewis prepared to pick up where he had been when Soares had interrupted.

"What exactly," Lewis shot back at Soares, "would you have him say? As far as he's concerned, he and every soldier in his corps is a political hostage. Lieutenant General Malin is not only a soldier, he is the senior officer in command of a combat command whose very existence is endangered. His insistence that this administration, the very same one that precipitated the crisis, take immediate and decisive action to resolve that crisis in a manner that does not compromise the prestige of the United States or the United States Army is, as far as he's concerned, reasonable."

From across the table, Terry Rothenberg, the Secretary of Defense, shook his head. "He knows better than anyone else that the United States will use nuclear weapons only as a last resort and only if there is a direct threat to this country. While I sympathize with his position, I cannot advise you, Madam President, to take any military action against the German government. None of the other NATO allies, either collectively or individually, would support us. They, like the Germans, view the current crisis as regrettable, but one which is of our own making. And, like the Germans, they believe that the final solution must be arrived at by the Europeans themselves. Though in private the ministers of defense in both France and Britain are quite upset that the Germans are now nuclear capable, they do not feel that seizing them by force is the answer. Even if it means abandoning all of General Malin's heavy equipment and losing face. In the words of Harold Lloyd, the British Minister of Defense, 'You Americans have done quite enough already. We would thank you very much if you would just quietly leave and let us sort this out between ourselves.' "

"Surely," Soares hissed, "that arrogant little shit doesn't think we're simply going to stack arms, stick our tails between our legs, and go home? I mean, the British, of all people, should know that appeasement does not buy peace."

With a glare that could have cut a stone, Wilson got Soares to stop talking. When she was ready, Wilson spoke with a calm, measured voice. "I am inclined, as distasteful as it is, to agree with Terry and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Without the political and military support of our European allies, resolution of this crisis through military action is out of the question. As far as I am concerned, it's time we stopped playing John Wayne and started dealing with the rest of the world as intelligent human beings who are no better and no worse than we." Then, looking about the table, she added, with a hint of sarcasm in her voice, "Who knows? Maybe that will work."

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes in disgust, Soares could only think how big a mistake it had been to allow a woman in the White House. Regardless of what the surveys and political polls said, he knew in his heart that June Cleaver, the nickname Wilson's opponents in her own party had given her, didn't belong in the Oval Office, unless, as Soares had once jokingly said, it was to vacuum. Standing up, Soares collected his notes. "Well, I guess that's it! We knuckle under."

Wilson countered, her voice firm and clear. "Unless things change dramatically in the next day or two, there is no other way out. We tried to ride a hungry tiger and were thrown. Now it's going to eat us all for sure." For a moment she looked about the room. Then, as was her style, she summed up her view of where they stood. "We are, gentlemen, three days into this crisis and, as of yet, we have no viable options. Repeated attempts to establish direct talks between Chancellor Ruff and myself have failed. Instead, he has been repeating dogmatic speeches better suited for the evening news than dealing with us. That, coupled with Chancellor Ruff's unconditional rejection of both the British and the French offers to mediate, is, to me, a clear sign that he personally has no intention for the moment of considering alternatives. Efforts by our respective State departments to establish a basis of talks have been politely ignored. And now, my back-door approach using Senator Lewis has been slammed in my face."

Wilson paused while she allowed her summary of the situation to soak in. "So, gentlemen, we are back at square one. Your job, Terry and Pete, is to go back and, with everything that has transpired over the last three days, reassess where we stand. By eight in the morning, present those new assessments to us and any new options for resolving this crisis that those assessments may point to. And as you do so, please bear in mind that we must, gentlemen, make sure that the tiger we've latched onto doesn't eat too many innocent people. Now, if you both would excuse me, I would like to speak with Ed Lewis in private." Again Wilson paused.

Uneasy about Lewis's role as an official envoy of Wilson to the German Chancellor, Soares was about to protest this private meeting but decided not to bother. If, he thought, she was prepared to throw her political career in the shitter by giving in to the Germans, it was her affair. He didn't need to join her. If anything, the more distance he put between himself and her the better. He had worked to get her there at the urging of the party bosses against his better judgment. It was time, Soares decided, to start looking for a suitable replacement, one whom he could back and who, in turn, would help him further his own career.

When the room had cleared, Lewis sat back and waited for Wilson to speak. "Well, Ed, did we do all right?"

Looking about the room, Lewis paused before he answered. "I trust, Madam President, that we are not being monitored or recorded?"

Wilson shook her head, a little annoyed that he would even ask. "What makes you think that I would allow such a thing?"

A sheepish smile lit across Lewis's face. "Oh, I suppose every time I get involved in anything that's a little covert, I get slightly nervous. It's a throwback to the sixties. You know, Big Brother, J. Edgar Hoover, and the Nixon tapes."

"If we are, then a lot of heads will roll. Now, to the point. Do you in your heart really believe that General Malin can pull this off?"

"As I told you before, Big Al, excuse me, I mean General Malin, and everyone involved in the plan fully understands that this entire enterprise is a series of risks. In fact, from beginning to end, and every step along the way, it is all a series of gambles. We're gambling that the Tenth Corps can break back into Germany without a fight. We're gambling that the Germans, both in Berlin and in the field, will be so confused and thrown off by your apparent acceptance of their demands, followed by General Malin's actions and the ground operations, that they may, at least in the beginning, hesitate and step aside rather than fight. We're gambling that the other European countries buy Malin's role as a renegade commander acting on his own accord, and continue to work with you. We're gambling that General Malin's propaganda machine will erode the support of the Bundeswehr and the German people for Ruff and his government, giving Malin and his soldiers an open road north. And we're gambling that General Malin can get the Tenth Corps to the coast, where it can be resupplied and, if necessary, reinforced for future operations. Yes, we can pull it off, provided everyone involved keeps coming up with a good roll of the dice."

Wilson looked at Lewis intently. "What is the worst-case scenario?"

In a cold, unemotional voice, Lewis answered. "The worst thing that could happen is that the German Army and people rally around Ruff's Deutschland Über Alles cries, stopping the Tenth Corps and wiping it out in the heart of Germany."

"And if we can pull this off, what's the best we can hope for?"

"Big Al and his corps make it to the coast as a fighting force, ready to be withdrawn from the continent or, if the situation dictates, reinforced. This would give back to you a viable military option as well as discrediting Ruff's government. There is the outside possibility, depending on how the Germans themselves view this whole affair as it unfolds, that Ruff's government could be replaced by one willing to hold reasonable negotiations with you."

"I would think that the Germans, and even our allies, would see this 'mad general' ploy in a heartbeat. I mean, after all, the Europeans are past masters at diplomatic duplicity, aren't they?"

Lewis nodded. "That's right. And they still like to think of us as fumbling babes in the woods when it comes to playing diplomatic hardball. Which is why this screwball idea is so good. We're the crazy Americans, cowboys of the free world. Most Europeans agree that anything and everything is possible when dealing with us. But a subtle, intricate plot on a scale such as this, in the eyes of most Europeans, is beyond us."

For several minutes Wilson sat at her desk and looked down at the blank blotter, deep in thought. Finally, without looking up, she spoke, as if she were thinking out loud. "Without going to the Joint Chiefs, I am not militarily astute enough to determine on my own if General Malin and his people can do, from a technical standpoint, what they say they can. I have only your word and his. Nor can I or anyone else accurately predict at this time what Ruff and the German people will do. I can't imagine them simply stepping aside and letting General Malin's corps roll merrily through their country."

Lewis cut in. "As I told you before, Abby, there will be a fight. The best Big Al said that he hopes for is that it doesn't occur until he's within striking distance of the coast and that only a portion of the German Army, for whatever reason, can be brought to bear."

Looking up at Lewis, Wilson thought for a moment before she asked her next question. "And what do I tell the other European leaders? The Germans will no doubt work hard to get them involved on their behalf."

"That's where the renegade general role comes in. After you order Malin to stand down and prepare to fly his people out of the Czech Republic and Slovakia and he refuses, you simply tell Ruff that Big Al's actions are the acts of a madman and request that he allow you, working in cooperation with the German government, an opportunity to resolve the crisis. This stance should throw the German government off balance for a while, forcing them to act with some restraint and remove the specter of escalation without actually removing the threat."

Wilson shook her head. "I don't understand."

"It's all mirrors and smoke at this point. You see, Big Al will be more of a marauding band than a national army that represents our nation or its policy. By condemning his actions and doing all you can from a distance to help the Germans police up this rampaging corps, without actually doing anything, you can help temper the German response. Big Al, your position will go, and not his soldiers, is the criminal. Therefore, you can promise the Germans that if they allow the Tenth Corps through without resisting them, you will pay for any damages and bring the responsible culprit, i.e., General Malin, to justice just as soon as you have him in custody. Big Al, of course, will at some point promise to turn himself over to a representative of the American Department of Justice just as soon as he has gotten his soldiers, whom he is responsible for, and their equipment to the coast."

"And what if," Wilson countered, "Ruff and the Germans don't buy this line of manure?"

"Simple. You point out to Herr Ruff that you cannot sit back and allow the German government to endanger the lives of Big Al's soldiers, who are confused and misguided, simply because their commander is wacky and disobedient. If, you will tell Ruff, the Germans threaten to apply undue force and cause needless American deaths, you, as their commander-in-chief and President, will have no choice but to do everything in your power to help those poor misguided and innocent soldiers." Again there was silence as Wilson considered what she thought was a crazy idea. When she looked up at Lewis, her face showed her skepticism. "Do you really expect the Germans to believe these lies? Do you really think we can fool anyone?"

Pointing to the door, Lewis smiled. "You already have started sowing the seeds of your own deception, Abby. Right now, Soares and Rothenberg are going about preparing the necessary orders and instructions that will, if you don't accept General Malin's plan, fulfill the German demands. There's no doubt that the media, leaky 'official' sources, and German intelligence will pick all of this up. As long as you keep them in the dark, they will be your best cover."

"What about the nuclear devices, Ed? How do we resolve that one?"

Shaking his head, Lewis threw his hands out. "Haven't got a real good answer on that one yet. I've been thinking about it, but I'm afraid that there's no one solution that will solve all our problems at once. So I recommend that we deal with the most immediate problem first, the Tenth Corps."

"You don't think the nukes are a problem?"

"A problem, yes. The most important one, no. After all, who, Madam President, are the Germans going to use them against and where? If they go for the Tenth Corps before they enter Germany, they, the Germans, start the war and drag the Czechs and Slovaks and God knows who else into the fray. Even their friends the Ukrainians would be pissed, especially when you consider that radioactive fallout from Ukrainian bombs detonated on Czech soil will drift east into Ukrainian territory. And if the Germans wait until the Tenth Corps enters Germany, that would mean punching gigantic radioactive holes in German soil." Lewis shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not even Hitler would have been that dumb. After all, despite the fact that they had nerve gas during World War II and we didn't, the Germans still didn't use it for fear of retaliation. We know where the nukes are. We even know who's guarding them and, for the most part, how. The CIA's been pretty good about keeping up with that. So if you accept my premise that the Germans won't use them on their own soil, the nukes are for the moment a minor concern."

Lewis's statement that the nukes were a minor concern caused Wilson to roll her eyes. Only after considering everything that he had said was she able to accept Lewis's analysis as valid. Calm again, Wilson looked down, pondering Lewis's assessment in silence. Finally she looked over at him. "You realize, Ed, that after all this is over, even if we do pull it off, our political careers will be over."

After a short pause during which Lewis's face lost all expression, he spoke. "Madam President, yesterday I sat as close to Chancellor Ruff as I am now to you. I looked into his eyes and listened to his words. I cannot express to you my feelings of horror and dread. What the words did not convey, his eyes and the tone of his voice did. I felt as if I were staring into a dark bottomless pit. As I thought about that pit, suddenly I realized that I was listening to the same words our fathers and grandfathers had listened to in 1933. I do not mean to lecture you, Abby, but I must tell you, our fathers had to see the same dark pit. They had to. But they didn't know what was at the bottom of it. We do. You know and I know. That pit is filled with over thirty million corpses. And those corpses are there because our fathers took the safe, sure road. They tended to their political concerns and ignored their responsibility to the human race. They saw the face of evil and turned their backs on it. Can you do the same?"

Roused from a fitful sleep, Chancellor Ruff didn't bother dressing before going down to the den where he was told Colonel Kasper was waiting. When he entered, Ruff immediately regretted not having taken the time to dress. Kasper, in full uniform, jumped to his feet as soon as the doors of the den were slid open for Ruff. Another colonel, whom Ruff had seen once at the headquarters of the Bundeswehr, also came to a rigid position of attention. Concealing his embarrassment at being presented in nothing but pajamas, bathrobe, and slippers, Ruff headed right to his desk, where he took a seat before addressing the two officers.

Pivoting in place, both colonels waited while Ruff took his place behind his desk and lit a cigarette. Finally Ruff, after taking a long puff, looked up at Kasper. "Well?"

Kasper's usual clear, sharp manner was not dulled by the early hour. "Herr Chancellor, may I present Colonel Gotthardt Mahler of General Lange's personal staff."

Without pause, as if rehearsed, Mahler presented himself. "Herr Chancellor, General Lange regrets not being able to report to you at this time. He is currently reviewing the situation and will, after the morning briefing, report directly to you in person."

Waving his hand with the cigarette in it, Ruff indicated that Mahler was to continue. "Sir, we have been able to confirm that the American Tenth Corps is in motion, with logistical elements moving north from Prague." Stepping forward, Mahler laid on Ruff's desk a small map showing the northern Czech-German border. As he continued to speak, he pointed to red military symbols marked on the map. "They have commenced establishing forward logistical bases in the vicinities of Chomutov, Teplice, Decin, and Liberec." Leaving the map in front of Ruff, Mahler stepped back, allowing the Chancellor to study the map and the strange military symbols that had no meaning to him as he thoughtfully puffed on his cigarette. Finally he looked up at Mahler. "And what, Colonel, is General Lange's conclusion?"

Kasper had warned Mahler that the Chancellor had only a cursory layman's understanding of operational matters, telling him that he needed to be very specific, without being insulting, when explaining the military situation to Ruff. So Mahler was careful to respond in such a manner that his answer didn't sound like a lecture. "General Lange believes that we are seeing the beginning of a redeployment in preparation for ground operations against Germany."

Looking up at Mahler with narrow, inquiring eyes, Ruff took a puff from his cigarette. "You are aware, I am sure, that President Wilson of the United States has stated that she is committed to defusing this situation and will begin the withdrawal of American forces from Europe as soon as the disposition of American equipment and weapons can be arranged with the Czech government. Could this move not be part of that effort?"

With no need to consider Ruff's question, Mahler responded. "That, Herr Chancellor, is possible but unlikely. General Schacht reports that none of his sources in the Czech Republic have found any evidence that American combat units are preparing their weapons or equipment for demilitarization. If anything, his latest intelligence indicates that the Tenth Corps' combat units are preparing for sustained combat operations. Our agents who have been able to observe American units around Prague and Pizen all speak of units stripping away all unnecessary vehicles and equipment while distributing large quantities of combat rations, lubricants, and spare track parts to combat vehicles. Yesterday the corps logistics officer submitted a request to the Czech Army office of logistical operations for all the fuel cans it could spare, to be delivered to the main corps support area within forty-eight hours."

Ruff was careful in wording his question so as not to appear totally ignorant of military matters. "Yes, this all seems to belie what the American President is saying. But I cannot simply come out and declare her a liar based on the movement of a few supply units. Can I, gentlemen?"

Kasper, understanding the real question behind his Chancellor's question, responded. "This is normal procedure for American forces. Some of their officers call it a slingshot. When the situation allows, logistical units and the bulk of the supplies to be used during the initial phases of an offensive operation are moved as far forward as possible in advance of the combat units. The combat units themselves are kept as far back as practical and dispersed. Only at the last moment are those units launched forward. When the combat elements do come forward, they all pass through the pre-established logistical points where they refuel and then move immediately into the attack. In this way the logistical system, normally the bulkiest and most cumbersome part of an army, is already set in place, leaving the roads free for movement of the combat units and able to support combat operations from the very beginning. It is a system the Americans have practiced here in Germany during Reforger exercises and used quite successfully during the first Gulf War."

Finishing his cigarette, Ruff crushed it in an ashtray and looked at the map again. "How soon before we know for sure when and where the Americans will strike, if indeed they intend to strike?"

Picking up where Kasper left off, Mahler responded. "The next elements that move forward, if the Americans stay true to their doctrine, will be corps and division artillery units. Like the logistic units, by moving them forward first, the artillery units will be off the roads and ready to support the maneuver units when they come through. As for the likely axis of advance, when I left we were looking at three major avenues of advance into eastern Germany." Leaning over Ruff's desk, Mahler used his index finger to show Ruff where he was talking about. "One, here, north from Chomutov toward Chemnitz. Another, here, from Teplice into Dresden with a possible supporting attack from Decin also north toward Dresden. There is also the remote possibility that an end run may develop here, from Liberec, through Poland, toward Görlitz."

Mention of the move through Poland surprised Ruff. "They wouldn't dare."

Resuming his position of attention, Mahler responded in a matter-of-fact manner. "It has been confirmed, Herr Chancellor, that General Malin, the commanding general of the Tenth Corps, paid a personal visit to the Polish embassy in Prague yesterday afternoon. This was followed last night by the appearance of the Polish military liaison officer at Tenth Corps headquarters. While such an operation is questionable, General Lange cannot ignore that possibility. He has instructed his planning staff to take such a contingency into account when planning for the redeployment of our forces to counter the American threat."

"When, Colonel Mahler, does General Lange intend to present a full report and his recommendations to me?"

Lifting his right arm to eye level, Mahler studied his watch for a moment before answering. "In four hours, Herr Chancellor. There is an intelligence update by General Schacht's section for the senior members of the General Staff scheduled at 0630, followed by a final review of the draft operational plan to the full staff at 0700 hours. That will take no more than thirty minutes. After that, Generals Lange and Schacht, along with the chief's of their planning staff's, will be prepared to report to your office at 0800 to brief you and your cabinet." Then, as an afterthought, Mahler added, "Will that, Herr Chancellor, be satisfactory?"

With a wave of his hand, Ruff told Mahler that eight o'clock was satisfactory. Thanking the two colonels, he dismissed them. When he was alone, Ruff looked down at the map on the desk before him. So, he thought to himself in the silence of his den, the Americans come again. That thought brought his black-sheathed Hitler Youth dagger to mind. After lighting another cigarette, Ruff leaned back in his seat, taking a long drag as he looked up at the ceiling. Though his eyes were open, he only saw the images of a dark, gray corpse-filled cellar in Regensburg in April of 1945. Every detail, even the smell of that cellar, was as keen to him at that moment as if it had just been yesterday. He could even feel the pain in his leg almost as intensely as he had when the wound was fresh on that distant day. "This time," he said to himself with a hint of self-satisfaction, "I shall be ready."

Arriving at the rail yard in Milovice just as Nancy Kozak's company was finishing breakfast and getting back to loading their vehicles onto rail cars, Scott Dixon and Colonel Vorishnov joined Kozak for breakfast and watched the operation. Using the hood of Kozak's humvee as a table, the three officers ate their breakfast of runny eggs, soggy toast, and limp bacon while Kozak briefed Dixon on the status of her company between mouthfuls. Not that he didn't already know its status, as well as that of all the companies under his command. Dixon's own staff had already given him an update on that less than an hour before. It wasn't the information he was interested in at that moment. What he was really looking at was Kozak's attitude and the attitude of the soldiers in her command. That was something that didn't show up on the charts and graphs at brigade headquarters. For this piece of critical information, Dixon relied heavily upon his own eyes and ears. With what they had to do, Dixon had to be sure that everyone in his command was mentally as well as physically ready. So, informing Dave Yost, his executive officer, that he had had enough staff briefings and planning sessions at both corps and his own command post to last a lifetime, he and Colonel Vorishnov hopped into Dixon's humvee and fled the organized chaos of a brigade headquarters in the throes of planning and preparing for the invasion of Germany.

Referring to notes in a spiral notebook covered with a personalized camouflaged carrying case, Kozak alternated between eating and recounting item by item the status of her command and her concerns. As she did so, Vorishnov watched her in fascination. He watched how she held her fork, how her full, shapely lips moved when she spoke, how she held her head slightly to the side with a few stray wisps of her long hair falling out from under her helmet. Such a lovely girl, he thought, involved in such a cold, brutal business. A veteran himself, Vorishnov wondered how such a beautiful creature as this woman could maintain her femininity and still continue to do what was necessary. Vorishnov was just beginning to imagine what Kozak would look like in an elegant black gown with a jeweled necklace draped about her slender neck instead of the dirty collar of an olive drab wool sweater, when her company first sergeant came up behind her and interrupted her briefing by loudly clearing his throat.

Without showing any indication that she was upset over the first sergeant's interruption, Kozak paused and turned toward him. "Is everyone back at it, First Sergeant?"

Making a slight grunt, First Sergeant Gary Stokes's reply showed his disgust. "Well, ma'am, like my old man use to say, 'Ya can teach 'em, but ya can't learn 'em.' "

She looked at him for a moment with a patient, calm expression on her face while she waited for Stokes to continue. "It's the same old story, Captain Kozak. As soon as someone starts shooting, half of what we tried to teach these people goes out the window." Looking at Dixon, Stokes threw his hands up in disgust. "I mean, the second we go into combat, everyone thinks, Hey! Fuck it, man, this is war, and all the discipline and accountability we try to instill in these guys is forgotten."

"What exactly," Kozak asked, "is the problem?"

"Tie-downs and chock blocks, ma'am. There isn't a complete set of either in the entire company."

A worried look crept upon Kozak's face. "You mean there isn't a single vehicle in the entire company with everything it needs for rail loading?"

Knowing that she was asking about her own Bradley, Charlie 60, Stokes shook his head. "None, nichts. I personally checked."

Vorishnov noticed the embarrassed look that caused her cheeks to blush slightly. Turning to Dixon, she asked if she could be excused, stating that she needed to look into the matter of tie-downs immediately. With a knowing smile, Dixon nodded and told her no problem. After they exchanged salutes and both Kozak and Stokes were out of earshot, Vorishnov commented, still watching Kozak's hips sway despite the bulky parka and field gear, "You know, that could never happen in the Russian Army."

At first Dixon thought that Vorishnov was talking about the crews losing their tie-downs. After noticing, however, the manner in which Vorishnov was looking at Kozak as she walked away, Dixon understood that he meant women leading combat units. Dixon chuckled. "That, Colonel, is your loss."

Taking a sip of his now lukewarm coffee, Vorishnov stared at Dixon with a quizzical look. "Do you honestly think so?"

"Colonel, I know so. Some of my best troopers are female. They're for the most part sharp, dedicated, and with few exceptions, far more astute when it comes to dealing with people. Besides, overall, they have a very real civilizing effect on the units to which they belong."

Vorishnov watched Kozak go about her business as he continued to speak to Dixon. "Our intelligence officers like to tell us that the presence of so many women in your units is making them soft, that they are feminizing your army."

Dixon smiled knowingly. "Well, your intelligence people can believe what they want. I personally know of several Iraqi officers who would beg to differ with that conclusion. I'll be the first to admit there are problems. After all, as the saying goes, boys will be boys, and girls will be girls, especially when you put them together. But it's all part of being a democracy. Everyone has a right to make it in the world as far as they can go. Turning toward Dixon, Vorishnov took another sip of coffee.

"I think, Colonel Dixon, in this case I must agree with some of my fellow officers. Allowing women in combat units is a little too much democracy."

Dixon was about to counter when a soldier who had been serving breakfast came up. "Colonel, we're closing up the chow line. I thought you'd like some hot coffee before we pack it away." Taking advantage of the offer, both Dixon and Vorishnov presented their cups to the soldier, who filled them well past the brims. Only the heavy gloves they wore to protect their hands from the bitter cold morning saved both officers from getting their hands burned by the steaming coffee.

As they waited for their fresh cups of black coffee to cool down, which didn't take long, Vorishnov mused, "You know, Colonel Dixon, I served as a staff officer at the Group of Forces, Central Group, here in Czechoslovakia, when it was Czechoslovakia."

"Yes, Colonel, I knew that. That is why I asked that you remain with my brigade. Who better to advise me and my staff on this operation than a man who planned to come crashing through the Cheb Gap just like we plan to."

Vorishnov looked over to Dixon. "I would like to point out, Colonel Dixon, that when I was at Central Group, I never remember coming across any plans that called for throwing an entire brigade across the Czech-German border strapped down on a train."

"Four trains, to be exact. That, Colonel, is my little innovation. Got the idea from studying the Korean War. On the first day of that war, one of the North Korean Army units took advantage of their complete surprise over the South Koreans. Just before dawn they replaced the section of tracks that had been torn up when the north and south separated and rolled right into their initial objective in rail cars."

Vorishnov held his left index finger up as he prepared to make his point. "Ah! Yes, that is important to remember."

Puzzled, Dixon looked at Vorishnov. "What is important?"

"The North Koreans. They didn't just board a train and roll into enemy territory. They prepared their way by laying tracks across the point where the rail line was broken." Vorishnov dropped his arm, taking a sip of coffee while he allowed Dixon to think for a minute.

"Well, Colonel, you have me. You, of course, know that the rail lines are intact. The Germans have not stopped civilian traffic. I doubt if they will, since this is still just an affair between the United States and Germany. So I don't get your point."

"You are quite right. There is no need to lay rail. But that does not mean that you cannot, as you say, grease the skids a little so that your command can slide into Germany just a little easier."

Dixon looked at Vorishnov as he tried to figure out what the Russian was up to. Finally he shrugged. "Obviously you have something in mind. I am, as the saying goes, all ears."

"There is, serving with one of your ranger companies, a Russian major who, while I was serving here in Czechoslovakia, commanded a Desant, or special purpose air-assault detachment in the Central Group. He speaks German fluently and is passable with his Czech. One of his tasks as a Desant detachment commander was to travel throughout southeastern Germany posing as a truck driver in order to learn all he could of the area in preparation for the day when he would lead his detachment there in advance of an invasion of Germany." Then, realizing what he had said, a sly smile lit Vorishnov's face as he quickly added, "If, of course, aggression by NATO had forced the peace-loving Soviet Union to launch such a counteroffensive."

Dixon grinned at Vorishnov's sudden backpedaling on the invasion issue. "Of course."

Continuing with his discussion, Vorishnov quickly got to the point. "This major, Major Nikolai Ilvanich, also happens to be in temporary command of the ranger company he is with. Given his experience as a commander of a Desant detachment, his knowledge of our proposed area of operation, and the group of elite soldiers in hand, I have little doubt that he could give your brigade the extra margin of safety that it will need to make this operation a reality. Besides, he and his company are being held at a hospital just north of here as if they were prisoners. I see no reason why we should not put them to good use."

Dixon, always one to take advantage of every opportunity to stack the odds in his favor, liked the idea. Before saying so, however, he asked Vorishnov if Ilvanich, a Russian, would risk his life in an American operation, leading American troops.

A smile came to Vorishnov's face. "When I was a student at the General Staff Academy, we had a tactics instructor who enjoyed a little joke now and then. One day he presented a tactical problem to our class. We were told to place ourselves in the role of a tank division commander who had broken through the main NATO defensive belts and was headed west to the Rhine River. Our problem was that two NATO divisions were being thrown against us, with a German armored division coming at our flank from the south and an American armored division advancing from the north. The instructor asked us to determine which threat we should deal with first, the German division or the American, and then explain our reasoning. A classmate of mine, a very clever if arrogant fellow, quickly finished weighing the pros and cons of both options. He stood up and announced that we must turn against the German division first. The tactics instructor, making a great show of it, pounded on his desk and yelled, 'No, no, no. You're wrong!' Shocked, and a little embarrassed, but determined to prove his point, my classmate started to enumerate the reasons for his decision. Again the instructor cut him off, yelling this time, 'The Americans, you must deal with the Americans, first and always.' Frustrated, my classmate finally blurted, 'But why? Why always the Americans? Why leave the Germans till later?' With a sly grin the instructor stated, 'That is obvious. As soldiers, we must always deal with business before pleasure.' "

Dixon chuckled. He had heard the same story, but with different nationalities, before.

Then suddenly Vorishnov's entire demeanor changed. When he spoke, his tone was cold and serious. "A resurgent Germany armed with nuclear weapons is something that Russia cannot live with. This fight which we are about to enter is not simply between the United States and Germany. It is a struggle to crush an evil thing in the womb, before it can endanger decency and humanity again."

Vorishnov's sober statement didn't need any further comment. After taking one last look around, Dixon turned to Vorishnov. "Well, the corps commander promised me anything that I wanted. Let's take a ride over to that hospital where they're holding your major hostage and see if he's interested in having some fun."

From his tank, Second Lieutenant Ellerbee watched his brigade commander and the Russian colonel climb into a humvee and drive away. As they did so, his heart sank. Ellerbee had been sitting there for the better part of an hour watching Colonel Dixon, trying to screw up enough courage to go over and protest the manner in which he and his platoon were being treated by Captain Kozak. But just as he was about to, just when he had built up enough gumption, Ellerbee talked himself out of it. No, he reasoned, odds were, if he did, the colonel would ignore him. Or, Ellerbee told himself, Colonel Dixon would tell him that, based on his personal performance in the Ukraine, he deserved it, or that Kozak, as the commander, could run her company as she saw fit. No, he convinced himself, it would be futile to complain.

Then, when he had given up, Ellerbee saw Dixon looking right at him. Maybe, just maybe, Ellerbee thought, the colonel would recognize him, come over, and ask him how things were going with his platoon. Now, Ellerbee reasoned, if the colonel asked, then it would be all right to complain. Then it wouldn't sound like sour grapes or simple bitching. He had been told once that so long as the senior officer asked, it was okay to give an honest answer. Ellerbee had no sooner psyched himself up when a soldier who had been serving breakfast to the company came up and offered the two colonels some more coffee. Dixon turned his head away from Ellerbee, accepted the coffee, and continued his conversation with the Russian colonel.

Ellerbee was still sitting on top of his tank bemoaning his fate and freezing when Dixon and Vorishnov drove off. Sighing, Ellerbee quietly resigned himself to his fate. He would be stuck there, serving under an airhead female captain who treated the male soldiers in her command like trash during an operation that had about as much chance of succeeding as a snowball's chance in hell. This was not, Ellerbee thought, what he had joined the Army for. This was nothing but horseshit, pure and unadulterated horseshit.

Having completed his morning inspection of his now widely dispersed company, Captain Seydlitz was about to settle down to enjoy the wurst and roll he had picked up in a town along his route when his battalion commander's vehicle came into sight. Quickly stuffing the food back into its bag and dumping it behind the seat of his small open-air Volkswagen jeep, Seydlitz prepared to greet his commander. How fortunate, he thought, his timing had been. It was good that he had inspected the company before the battalion commander arrived to conduct one of his notorious unannounced inspections. Of course, there was always the possibility that his platoon leaders and tank commanders had failed to correct the deficiencies that Seydlitz had discovered in his own inspection. Not that it mattered to him, for as long as he had done his duty as an officer and troop commander, he could not be faulted.

When the battalion commander's vehicle stopped, the commander didn't bother to get out before he started talking to Seydlitz. "You have one hour to prepare to move your company, Captain." Elated over his battalion commander's announcement, Seydlitz reached down and grabbed his map case on the seat of his jeep before hurrying over to his commander's vehicle. Giving Seydlitz time to open his map before he began to rattle off his orders, the battalion commander looked about. "Can you be ready in an hour?"

Seydlitz, glad to be able to do something to break up the dull routine of dry fire drills and inspections, all but shouted out in great enthusiasm, "If necessary, Herr Oberst, we will be ready in five minutes."

The battalion commander's response sounded more like a warning than encouragement. "You wouldn't be so excited if you understood the magnitude of the mess our fearless Chancellor in Berlin has created."

Standing before his commander, Seydlitz stared at him, wondering what exactly his commander was talking about. Seeing the puzzled look on his subordinate's face, the battalion commander, as a way of venting his own frustration and at the same time informing him what was in store for their commands, began telling Seydlitz everything that he knew at that moment. "We will assemble the battalion here," he said, pointing at a spot northeast of Marktredwitz on the map Seydlitz held. "From there we will move to an assembly area southeast of Chemnitz via the E51 and E441 autobahns. By the time we arrive there, the brigade commander expects to be in receipt of further orders that will tell us where we go from there and what will be expected of us."

The battalion commander paused before he explained these new orders to his attentive but bewildered company commander. "It seems that despite what the American President is saying, and the moves by American units left here in Germany appear to support her position, the Americans in the Czech Republic are massing on the Czech border south of Chemnitz and Dresden. There exists, according to Army intelligence, the very real danger of a move by the American corps into Germany aimed at recovering the nuclear devices we seized from them."

Seydlitz thought about that for a moment before he asked the question that had been bothering every German officer, from General Lange right down to Seydlitz's battalion commander. "And what, Herr Oberst, are we expected to do if the Americans do make such an effort?"

He did not get an immediate answer. Instead, the battalion commander pondered the question himself. When he and the commander of the other active duty battalion had met with their brigade commander earlier that morning to receive their orders for the pending move, that very question had been debated for over half an hour. After years of working hand in hand with the American Army, the very idea of suddenly turning on them was a shock. While the division order pointed out several times that it was their duty to defend Germany against any and all invaders, there was a very real question as to whether the Americans, a member of NATO with basing rights in Germany, would really be invading Germany or simply be violating their status of forces agreements, agreements signed by both nations that governed the stationing of forces in Germany that were still technically in effect. The brigade commander, only half jokingly, commented that if the Americans came forward in road march columns and not in battle formation, then this would be a simple matter for the police. "In that case," he blandly stated, "all the police will need to do is arrest the senior commander for conducting a road march without permission or proper documentation." Such attempts to make light of their moral dilemma, however, did not answer their question. Finally the brigade commander ended the session by stating that it could come down to each commander doing what he believed was morally correct given the situation he found himself in. To this he added a warning. "Until that time comes, if it ever does, we will carry out our orders."

Seeing that his commander was lost in his own thoughts and that no answer was forthcoming, Seydlitz came to attention. "Will that be all for now, Herr Oberst?"

Looking up with sad eyes, the battalion commander shook his head. Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Be prepared for long delays and no resupply once we get started. For the first time since the last war, the German Army will have two corps and six divisions, with all attached and supporting active duty units, in motion at once, and all headed in the same direction. Added to that we may see reserve units, provided the Chancellor is given his wish and the permission to activate them, scrambling to join up with their parent brigade. And," the battalion commander added with a flourish, "just to make this whole affair more challenging, American logistical and support units that were left in Germany are already on the road. They will be converging on the Grafenwöhr and Hohenfels training areas from all over southern Germany in preparation for storing their equipment and leaving Germany per the Chancellor's demands."

Unable to think much beyond the scope of his own thirteen Leopard II tanks, Seydlitz could not imagine why, given Germany's excellent road system, such movements should be a problem. No doubt, he thought, his commander was simply exaggerating. Then another thought came to mind. "Who, Herr Oberst, will replace us here at this border? If we leave here, the Americans will be free to slip into Bavaria."

Looking at Seydlitz for a moment, the battalion commander shook his head. "That, Captain, is highly unlikely. If the Americans intend to march to the sea for ports of embarkation, or try for the nuclear devices as the General Staff suspects, they would be taking the long way around by going through here. Everything points to an effort to break out of the Czech mountains onto the North German Plain where there is room to maneuver, and then to the sea. Besides, by marching through Bavaria, the Americans would never come close to the storage sites west of Berlin where the nuclear devices are. But," he added, "just in case, the 1st Mountain Division will be deploying north from the Austrian border to replace us, although their primary mission will be to keep the American units assembling at Grafenwöhr and Hohenfels from slipping across the border to join the Americans already in the Czech Republic."

Visualizing a map of Germany in his mind and considering the logic of what his commander had told him, everything made sense to Seydlitz. Though the 1st Mountain Division lacked the ability to stand up to a mechanized force, it would have more than enough to contain the American support units assembling in Grafenwöhr and Hohenfels. Satisfied, he pointed out that one of his platoons manning a roadblock ten kilometers from where they stood was out of radio contact due to a mountain that blocked radio transmissions. Since he would have to drive over to that platoon's location to contact it, and he had less than an hour to get moving, Seydlitz asked his battalion commander if he was finished with him.

Unable to provide his subordinate any further information or guidance, the battalion commander told him no, there was nothing else, and left. Seydlitz, like thousands of junior officers like him, began to set into motion the German Army's great leap into a nebulous situation, unsure of itself, its role, and, most importantly, where its duty and loyalty truly lay.

With the babble of the World News Network early-morning report providing background noise, Ed Lewis and his chief assistant sat down to go over Lewis's schedule for the day. Neither man paid much attention to the news commentator until he announced that they were cutting over to the White House, where the President's press secretary was about to hold a short press conference. For the first time, Lewis acknowledged that the television was on, asking his assistant to turn the volume up. As he did so, Lewis settled back in his seat, propped his feet up on his desk, and prepared to listen to the latest official statement from the White House.

The prepared text was, as usual during such situations, rather bland and contained few specifics. In a nutshell, all it announced was that President Wilson had ordered the immediate withdrawal of non-essential American military personnel and their dependents from Germany. Dependents, alerted the day before, were already flooding into points of embarkation. The Army and Air Force support units still in Germany that had not participated in the Czech operation had begun to concentrate at the Grafenwöhr and Hohenfels training areas, where they were, according to the presidential spokesman, to prepare their equipment for temporary storage. Lewis, of course, already knew all about these actions. What he was waiting for was the question-and-answer session. Only then would he be able to gauge how well Big Al's movements and his grand deception plan were succeeding.

The news correspondents in the White House briefing room didn't waste any time. The CBS White House correspondent was on his feet firing away before the President's press secretary could acknowledge him. "There are reports from Reuters this morning that the American forces in the Czech and Slovak republics, rather than preparing to stand down to a lower state of readiness, are in fact massing on the Czech border south of Berlin. The Reuters report claims Chancellor Ruff and his government view these moves as both threatening and provocative. The German Army, according to the report, is redeploying forces to counter this threat. How do you explain this in light of what you just stated?"

The press secretary shuffled his notes before looking down at the CBS correspondent. "I am sure you are well aware that tensions are quite high over there. I have no doubt that the Germans are overreacting to harmless moves. No doubt the forces that this news story, which I have not seen, is talking about are those that were involved in the Ukrainian operation and are simply completing their withdrawal from that country."

The CBS correspondent, as well as most of the other reporters and correspondents in the room, wasn't satisfied with this explanation. Pressing his point, the CBS correspondent countered. "While what you say may be true, why would those forces be shifted all the way to the German border and not around Prague or Pizen where the rest of the Tenth Corps was deployed? And what of the reports from Prague yesterday of massive movement of American forces out of that city headed north?"

The presidential press secretary was now beginning to become visibly uncomfortable. "I am sorry, but those are questions best asked of the Pentagon. We do not keep track of every unit here. Now if we could continue."

The press secretary pointed to a reporter from the Washington Post, who jumped up and hammered him. "If, as you say, the President is in fact meeting all the demands of the German Chancellor, how do you explain the news story being aired by WNN this morning of Chancellor Ruff's public statement that the movement of American forces is designed to threaten Germany and is not, as President Wilson's statement claims, meant to defuse the situation?"

The frustrations of the presidential press secretary were obvious as he grasped the podium with both hands and glared at the Washington Post reporter for several seconds before even attempting to answer his question. Satisfied that all was beginning to unravel as they—Wilson, Big Al, and he—had hoped, Lewis told his assistant to turn the television off before they continued.

This request struck Lewis's assistant as strange. Lewis, a confirmed news junkie, always had someone, if he couldn't, listening to the WNN channel. It was therefore strange that he should give up watching such an important White House briefing. Perhaps, he thought, Lewis had simply given up on this situation. Maybe he was disgusted and didn't want to hear any more for fear it would only upset him. That theory, however, was shot when the assistant, after getting up and turning the television off, turned around and saw Lewis roll a pair of dice across the blotter on his desk. When the two cubes stopped rolling, he looked at the results and mumbled, "Not good. Hope Big Al has better luck." Then, with a smile, he looked up at his assistant as he scooped the two dice up and dropped them in the top drawer of his desk. "Well, let's get back to the schedule."

They had just begun to do so again when the buzzer on his phone interrupted. Without waiting, Lewis mashed down the button that was blinking and picked up the receiver, almost as if he had been expecting the call. From where he sat, Lewis's assistant listened to the one-sided conversation in an effort to determine whom it was with and what it was about.

"Yes, Abby, I saw him… Yes, he did good…. No, I don't think there's anything more that needs to be said at this time. The ball's in Big Al's court and it's almost time for him to serve…. Yes, I'm packed and ready. I can be over there in half an hour and go straight to Andrews as soon as we're finished… No, I haven't had any second thoughts about this. I was already well past that yesterday and working on third and fourth thoughts…. Okay, if there's nothing else, I'll unplug from here and beat feet to the White House…. Yeah. Okay, good-bye, Madam President."

Replacing the receiver, Lewis looked at his assistant. He had the faint trace of a self-satisfied smile on his face. "Frank, cancel all appointments for the rest of the day, tomorrow, and the next day. I'm headed back to Berlin. Please tell Mary on your way out to call my wife and put her through as soon as she's on line."

Without any further discussion, Lewis leaned back in his seat while his assistant got up to leave. The last thing he heard before he closed the door to Lewis's office was the faint noise of two dice rolling across the blotter on Lewis's desk.

After spending eighteen hours bundled up in the back of an unheated truck with six other nurses and half a ton of assorted equipment, traveling the length and breadth of the Czech Republic, Hilary Cole expected to find more than an open snow-covered field at the end of their ordeal. She had been hoping they would find some kind of reception station or facilities. But there were none. The advance party that had been sent out six hours ahead of the main body, she found out as she danced around in the snow trying to hold the contents of her bladder just a little longer, had been there and left. Not only was nothing set up and ready for them, that news meant that they were going to need to load back up into the rear of a truck that offered all the creature comforts of a shipping crate and continue their long odyssey through the cold, dark winter night with no idea of where they were going or when they would get there.

Though she didn't really understand what was going on in Washington and Berlin, Hilary Cole knew that things were badly screwed up and no one seemed to know what was going to happen next. Though she understood all too well that the political games being played out between her government and the Germans controlled her future, as well as the future of every man and woman in the 553rd Field Hospital, they were of little concern to her at that moment. What was foremost on her mind was finding someplace where she could find some privacy, for she knew if she did not relieve herself soon it would come gushing out of its own accord. And that, she knew, would only make the miserable conditions she had no choice but to tolerate even worse.

Looking about in the dark, Cole saw nothing that even remotely resembled a building or structure. As she held her arms close to her chest, half trying to protect herself from the bitter cold wind that cut through her like a knife, a voice from somewhere in the dark shouted for everyone to mount up and prepare to move. "No!" she shouted. "They can't be serious. They can't."

Another nurse next to Cole gave out a soft, low whine. "Oh, Hilly, they've got to be kidding. I can't take another hour in the back of this damned truck. Can't we just…"—she looked about—"well, can't we just stay here and rest? They have to let us stop somewhere and rest, don't they?"

As the sound of truck engines coming to life began to spread down the column, Cole realized that there would be no rest, at least not here and not now. Though she was hard pressed to conceal her own disappointment, Cole did her best to comfort her friend. "Look, Pat, if this next little jaunt down the road gets us closer to Germany and out of this miserable country, I'm all for it. Besides," Cole continued, spreading out her arms and turning to her left and right, "there isn't a decent place within miles. That truck may be miserable, but at least it's headed in the right direction."

Slumping over and holding her arms tightly across her chest, Pat began to move to the truck. "Personally, I think it's a great idea to go home. The only thing I can't understand is why do they need to make it so damned uncomfortable for us while we're doing so."

Cole sighed. "Because, dear, this is the Army. You know, where every day is an adventure?"

"Well, Hilary, would you make sure that our next adventure is someplace where the sun shines and it never snows?"

Cole, though still dejected and cold, couldn't help but laugh. "Sure, Pat, sure. I'll be sure to tell the colonel that as soon as I see him. Now get those hips in motion, girl, and climb back on up. I got a feeling this is going to be a long night."

If Big Al was nervous and uneasy about what he was about to do, Ed Lewis saw no sign of it when they greeted each other in Big Al's office. If anything, Big Al was as jovial as ever. "So, how're the boys in Berlin taking the news?"

Lewis caught up in Big Al's cheerful, easygoing mood, smiled and shook Big Al's hand. "They're hoppin' mad. Fortunately for us right now, they really don't know which way to hop."

Still holding Lewis's hand, Big Al looked into Lewis's eyes. "Then, I take it; they're buying the renegade general story."

With a satisfied smile, Lewis nodded. "Hook, line, and sinker. Right now I imagine Ruff and the German General Staff are in the throes of playing a thousand and one 'what if drills. Ruff's last words to me as I left were 'If your President can't control her generals, the German Army can.' "

Letting go of Lewis's hand, Big Al motioned Lewis to take a seat. "Then all I need is some bad weather, and away we go."

Taking his seat, Lewis responded with a note of satisfaction, "And if the forecast holds, you'll have that tomorrow night. Light snow, overcast, and near zero illumination." Then as an afterthought, Lewis asked, a bit worried, "Will Dixon and his Trojan horse be ready?"

Nodding, Big Al smiled. "Congressman, we're loaded, locked, and cocked. All I need to do is say 'bang,' and we're gone." Then it was Big Al's turn to get serious. "Tell me, how are things on the streets of Berlin? What's the German public reaction to all of this?"

Leaning forward in his seat, Lewis placed his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. "As you know, the German Parliament is in an uproar. Between their debates on the wisdom of keeping the nukes and demands by the left that they, the Parliament, assert their authority in an effort to curb Chancellor Ruff, the members of Parliament have been unable to agree on any solutions to any of the problems Ruff has presented them. Though I believe most Germans will support some kind of action against our violation of German national integrity, many feel that Ruff's actions and demands are a little too extreme and provocative. That's why the Parliament is trying to block Ruff's call-up of the reserve units. They feel that if they can reduce his military options, he will be forced to enter into serious negotiations."

"And what," Big Al asked, "are the chances of that?"

Lewis simply shook his head. "This whole thing has now become a great power struggle for Ruff, both an international contest as well as an internal one. All of Germany, including the Bundeswehr according to our military liaison officer in Berlin, is torn right down the middle. As the specter of armed conflict becomes more and more a possibility, the debates, public and private, are becoming more and more heated. Only in the eastern part of the country is there a clear consensus in favor of Ruff."

This statement caused Big Al to slap his knee. "Dixon was right. Damned if he didn't call that one right on the money. I just hope the German intelligence chief isn't as devious as Dixon."

Lewis looked at the general for a moment, wondering what he was talking about. Seeing Lewis's look, Big Al explained. "Eastern Germany was of course for years communist. Since the late 1940s the people have been raised to hate the United States and Americans. Old Scotty pointed out that while a run through eastern Germany would be the shortest route to the sea, militarily and logistically sound, it would be right through the middle of a population whose sympathy would be, at best, questionable. In Bavaria and central Germany, where American forces were stationed for years, we would find greater support from the people. They, after all, are used to us. Our pledge to pay for all damage to personal property and our calls for noninterference will be more credible there than they would be in what used to be East Germany."

"That," Lewis said, "makes sense and follows what the CIA chief in Berlin told me. It appears that the government officials and parliamentarian representatives of the southern states, especially Bavaria, are openly criticizing what they call Berlin's dangerous provocations. This division seems to be reflected, though somewhat muted, within the Bundeswehr itself."

"I'm counting on that, Congressman. The muddier we can keep the international and internal waters, the better our chances."

Interrupting, Lewis held his hand up. "There's one thing that puzzled both the CIA chief in Berlin and me. How, exactly, General, did you manage to get the Poles involved in your deception plan?"

This brought a big smile to Big Al's face. "Long story. You see, my grandfather was a Polish immigrant by the name of Malinoski, Stanislaw Malinoski. When he came to America at the turn of the century, he quickly discovered that in order to get ahead in America you needed to be a citizen and have an Anglicized name. He figured that if he joined the Army, which was then looking for a few good men to fight in the Philippines, using the name Stanley Malin, he could get both. Well, he did, as well as a career. When he came back, he was a sergeant, earning a comfortable living and having prestige that his fellow Polish immigrants didn't have. So he stayed in the Army, married, raised two sons, and started a military tradition. One son, my father, went to West Point and graduated in time for World War II. Between World War II and Korea, he had me, who followed his footsteps."

Lost, Lewis just nodded.

"When the American embassy held its New Year's Day reception, I met the Polish ambassador. After telling him this story, he embraced me like a long lost brother and invited me to the Polish embassy to join him for lunch whenever it was convenient. Knowing that German intelligence would be watching me like a hawk, I decided to take the ambassador up on his offer the other day. It appears that the Germans followed. But"—holding up a finger and with a smile on his face, Big Al added—"just in case they missed that, I invited the Polish military liaison officer out here to join me for dinner that night and to tour my headquarters."

Settling back into his chair, Lewis shook his head in disbelief. "And you moved some units to Liberec, near the Polish border, just to make sure the Germans drew the right conclusions."

Big Al chuckled. "It worked, didn't it? Thinking that there was the possibility of an end run through Poland, the Germans were obliged to deploy three of their divisions on the Polish border, in part to block a threat that isn't there and in part to threaten the Poles if they allowed us to do so. This threat has caused the Poles to increase their state of readiness and send several of their divisions to the border. Now, even if the Germans find out they've been duped, they cannot pull those divisions away from the border so long as the Polish divisions are deployed."

"So," Lewis summarized, "you've eliminated several German divisions before you've even crossed the border."

"I hope so, Congressman. With three divisions on the Polish border, three divisions facing my fake deployment areas in the northern Czech Republic, one tied up with the French-German multinational corps, and one in northern Germany watching for the Marine Corps to come storming ashore, that leaves only one heavy division in reserve around Berlin and their airborne division free for immediate redeployment. The mountain division facing us to the west is more concerned with keeping an eye on the logistical units in Grafenwöhr and Hohenfels than watching the Czech border. With any luck, by the time they realize that we're going west through Bavaria and not interested in slipping the units in Germany east, it will be too late for them to establish effective blocking positions in Bavaria."

There was a pause as each man began to consider the next step. Those thoughts washed away the enthusiasm that they felt over the success of their maneuvers and manipulations to date. Finally Big Al spoke. "Will the President stay the course?"

"She is, General, committed. Like you and me, she understands what is at stake here and is willing to sacrifice her career, come what may."

That statement caused Big Al to grunt. "That's awfully big of her, considering that I've asked the people under my command to risk their lives in an enterprise that none of them understand and that I can't fully explain to them. I just hope that we can keep them together when the going gets tough. I have already ordered commanders to leave behind anyone whom they suspect won't be able to make it, physically or mentally. Besides some three hundred plus pregnant soldiers, I have over a thousand single parents and a couple thousand non-essential personnel staying in the Czech Republic. They'll be flown out via Austria and Italy once we get started. Still, a lot of good soldiers who start the march aren't going to make it to Bremerhaven."

"Will they follow you, I mean once they find out that you've been labeled a renegade and are, at least as far as the general public is concerned, acting on your own and against the announced wishes of the President?"

"I can safely say," Big Al said with an air of confidence, "that I have more confidence in the reliability of my soldiers than Chancellor Ruff has in his. To hedge my bets, I will maintain for as long as possible the Armed Forces Radio Network in order to feed my soldiers the information I want them to hear as well as to give the Germans public service announcements. The German public will no doubt use AFN to check the line their own government is handing them. I am, in fact, counting on it." There was a pause. Then he added almost as an afterthought, "Besides, once the shooting starts, it won't matter what anyone believes. By that time, we'll be deep in the heart of Germany and every man and woman in this command who's still with us will realize that their own road to salvation will be to stay with their unit and follow orders."

Lewis thought about that for a moment. "That, General, is rather cynical and manipulative, isn't it?"

"War, Congressman, always has been and always will be cynical and manipulative in the extreme. Cynical old men, too old and frail to wield the sword or pull the trigger themselves, have for centuries labored to manipulate the strong, young, and brave to do it for them, using some damned excuse or another. In that regard, I'm no better than Herr Chancellor Ruff. He has something against the United States and he's using his Army and his people to get back at us. I just hope that when Herr Ruff and I meet our maker, he, and not I, gets to join Hitler for eternity."

Lewis suddenly became quite solemn. "Have you ever thought, General Malin, that perhaps Herr Ruff is hoping for the same thing?"