The Ten Thousand

CHAPTER 10

For over three hours, ever since the last of the mess trucks packed up and left, the company commanders of 3rd of the 3rd Mechanized Infantry Battalion had remained gathered about their battalion commander's humvee waiting. Except for them, the small train station bathed in a sickly dull blue light was abandoned. On the track beside them a train that disappeared in the darkness to the southwest, loaded with their combat vehicles, also sat waiting. Inside each of those vehicles strapped down on the train's numerous flatcars were the crews, who, like their commanders, sat huddled together in silence as they tried to protect themselves from the cold and boredom of waiting. All good topics of conversation had been exhausted well before their last hot meal for many days was over, leaving the assembled groups of combat leaders with nothing of value to discuss. All the orders for the forthcoming operation had been issued. Rehearsals at every level, from battalion down to platoon, had been completed. Concerns had been aired and addressed. Pre-combat checks and inspections had been completed. Pep talks and the few final cheering words that the leaders could manage had been said. Now there was only waiting. Each commander, lost in his or her own thoughts, stood ready like a great jack-in-the-box ready to spring into action as soon as one word, like the latch on the lid, was released.

Standing next to a wooden lamppost at the railroad crossing where her commander's humvee sat, its silent radio waiting to blare out their final order to move, Captain Nancy Kozak pulled out the copy of the message that their corps commander had ordered all commanders, down to company, to read before their assembled units. As befitted Lieutenant General Malin, the corps commander, the message was to the point. In the faint light, Kozak reread the message dated January 14th.

The address to the corps was, Kozak thought, well thought out and had had the desired effect on her company. Not a single soldier had stepped forward to ask to be left behind. She had, when she had read the message and after, taken every opportunity to ensure that no one was being coerced through peer pressure or pride to do something that they did not want to do. Though she knew that those forces were in effect generally, Kozak was able to convince herself that the members of her tiny command were there that night of their own free accord. For that she was thankful.

Stuffing the piece of paper back in her pocket, where eventually it would be forgotten and slowly destroyed as other items were shoved in on top of it, Kozak folded her arms tightly across her chest as if she were struggling to keep whatever warmth she had left from escaping. The light snow that had begun to fall during their meal was becoming heavier. While this, she knew, would cover their move into Germany and give them the best chance to roll through the German countryside to their point of debarkation without detection, it had its drawbacks. The wheeled vehicles of the battalion's field trains, moving by road after the border posts had been cleared, would have to negotiate the treacherous mountain roads made worse by the same fresh snow that would cloak the entry of the combat vehicles. And the follow-on forces, as well as the rest of the Tenth Corps sitting lined up and ready to' move in fields and along the sides of roads, would have to deal with the foul weather that would hinder them as much as it aided Kozak's company. The whole operation, Kozak imagined, was like one of those giant domino contests run to see how many dominoes you could line up and then knock down with a single push. This operation, she knew, like the domino contest, depended on detailed planning and at times incredible luck. One domino out of place or falling wrong would stop the whole process.

Looking about her, Nancy Kozak suddenly got the feeling that she was alone. Standing there in the bitter night, every sound muffled by the falling snow, the world seemed to be at rest and asleep, not waiting to leap forward into battle. That leap, she knew, would come. What it would mean to her and her command, however, was beyond her comprehension. The whole enterprise was from beginning to end crowded with unknowns. Would they be able to make it through the mountains to their designated blocking positions and unload their vehicles unhindered? Would the Germans resist, and if so, how? How would her soldiers react to that resistance? How would she react?

While Kozak waited and wondered, eighty miles to the southwest, in a break in the mountains known as the Cheb Gap, Major Ilvanich and the rangers of Company A, 1st Ranger Battalion, 77th Infantry, were about to push over the domino of Big Al's gamble.

The sudden appearance of the Czech border patrol lieutenant and his two soldiers at the door of the German customs office didn't surprise the German customs sergeant. The German sergeant glanced up at the clock on the wall. Noting that it was just before midnight, he shrugged his shoulders and prepared to greet the Czechs. It was not unheard of for the men who patrolled the borders of their nations to pay social calls on each other while making their rounds, especially on nights like this. Looking up from his desk when the door flew open, allowing a flurry of snow and a blast of cold air to sweep into the building, the customs sergeant smiled and nodded at the Czech officer before shouting for the senior German Army sergeant on duty. The senior German Army sergeant, who had been enjoying the warmth of the back room with his squad where they had been watching television, threw his legs over the side of his cot onto the floor, pulled his uniform shirt on, and sauntered on out into the outer office.

The Czech officer, after shaking loose snowflakes from his uniform and stomping his boots just inside the door on a thin mat, came forward toward the long counter where the German customs sergeant sat. The sergeant, with a sweep of his right hand, invited the Czech officer to take a seat near the heater behind the counter. There they were joined by the senior German Army sergeant. Neither German paid any attention to the Czech border patrolmen who remained just inside the door where they unslung their rifles and checked the actions of their rifles to ensure they were not frozen. The sound of sliding rifle bolts caused no concern, for men coming in from the cold and snow were expected to check their weapons for operation. The Czech officer, taking a seat before them, held his hat in his lap over his hands, as if to warm them up faster. This didn't cause the Germans any concern who were more interested in warming themselves than watching their guests. Since the American operations in the Czech Republic had become a matter of international concern, both nations had reinforced their mutual borders. To ensure that things did not get out of hand, officials of both nations encouraged their people patrolling the border to maintain close and cordial contact during the period of crisis.

After allowing several seconds for the Czech lieutenant to open the conversation, the German Army sergeant finally spoke. "We were just getting ready to go out ourselves and follow the border trace for a while when you came in, Herr Lieutenant." The Czech lieutenant glanced into the back room where the soldiers of the sergeant's squad sat, stripped down to their T-shirts and lying about on cots or lounging on chairs watching the television. If they had been preparing for a patrol, they had the strangest pre-combat drill he, Major Nikolai Ilvanich, had ever seen. Still he said nothing about that, only grunting and nodding as the German sergeant continued. "I suppose that you have been out and around walking the trace itself. Perhaps, Lieutenant, you could show me where you were and we could coordinate our patrolling efforts?"

Ilvanich smiled, for he knew what the German Army sergeant really was after. If by chance the German sergeant found that the area he was responsible for had already been patrolled by the Czechs, he and his men wouldn't need to go out into the cold. The German sergeant could, in all good conscience, report to his lieutenant that the area was secured. It wasn't that the sergeant was being lazy or lax about his duties. It was just that he was being efficient. Ilvanich knew, as a soldier does, that it would be foolish to duplicate efforts. Although his German was impeccable, Ilvanich allowed some of his Russian accent to muffle his words, trusting that it would disarm the Germans further and that they wouldn't be able to tell the difference between German spoken with a Slovakian accent and German spoken with a Russian accent. "Let me see, please, your operations map, and I will show you where it was that we have just come from."

Happy that the Czech officer was more than willing to go along with his suggestion, the German Army sergeant got up and went into the back room to retrieve his map from his cot while the customs sergeant went to get Ilvanich a cup of coffee. Looking over toward the door, where his two companions still waited, Ilvanich gave Sergeant Allen Rasper and Specialist Kevin Pape a slight nod and smile. Both men, sweating as much from nervous anticipation as from the heat of the Czech Army overcoats that covered their own uniforms, returned Ilvanich's nod and waited for him to make his move.

"We have been," the German Army sergeant said, beaming as he returned with his map, "most anxious about how thin we are along the border." Plopping the map down on Ilvanich's lap, the German began to point out the location of the outposts his company had established along the German-Czech border. "The panzer and panzergrenadier units were gone before we even got here. They're all up north around Chemnitz or Dresden. Our division is stuck here in a paper-thin outpost line trying to cover almost two hundred kilometers of frontier with lightly armed mountain troops. So, Herr Lieutenant, it is important that we cooperate whenever possible, in order to make best use of our men."

Looking back at the soldiers lounging about in the back room, weapons lined up against the wall without any magazines in them, Ilvanich felt both satisfaction and disgust. While he was pleased that the Germans were so unprepared and were at that moment giving him the disposition of their forces in the local area, he was upset that this sergeant was, through his lack of vigilance, endangering his men. While he and his fellow Russian officers knew that German soldiers were in all probability no better and no worse, man for man, than their own, the German military system had always held a mystique, an aura of evil efficiency that caused them great concern. To see it now close up and personal for the first time, in this light, made Ilvanich begin to wonder if through all these years his superiors had not been guilty of overstating the prowess of the enemy. While it was probably true, Ilvanich pushed that strange thought from his mind and began to listen intently while the German Army sergeant pointed out the clearly marked military symbols that represented the fighting positions as well as the outposts and patrol routes of the German Army company responsible for the Cheb Gap roadblock. The German sergeant, with a note of concern in his voice, ended by stating that except for his company covering the entire Gap and beyond, there wasn't an organized combat unit between where they sat and Nuremberg.

Taking the map and sticking it under his left arm, Ilvanich began to stand up. As he did so, his wool cap fell to the floor, exposing the 9mm pistol in his right hand. Noticing that the hammer of the pistol pointed at them was cocked back, the two German sergeants rose. First one, then the other, glanced at the two Czech soldiers who had been left standing at the door.

Both had, while the Army sergeant was briefing Ilvanich, moved up to the counter. They now stood there, rifles raised and ready, staring at the German sergeants. Switching to his best High German, Ilvanich calmly began to issue his orders. "Now, if neither one of you gets excited, you and all your men will live to see the dawn. First, Sergeant, you need to assemble your squad out here without their weapons, where my sergeant can watch them. Then we need to call your platoon leader and company commander and convince them to join us here. Please, when you do so, be discreet, for although I really do not want to see you or any of your men dead, my American ranger friends here are quite upset about what your Chancellor has been saying and doing lately. Neither of them cares about your personal well-being like I do. They would, as the Americans are so fond of saying, just as soon shoot you where you stand as look at you."

When he was satisfied that the German Army sergeant understood, Ilvanich turned to the customs sergeant. "And as soon as my trusted American deputy arrives, a young lieutenant eager to practice his soldierly skills and not particularly concerned whom he practices them on, you and I will go to the station control room and begin to make some changes in the routing of rail traffic. This is going to be, I'm afraid, a much longer night than either of you expected."

Though he could see that both sergeants were quite angry, as much about the playful manner in which he was treating them as about the situation, Ilvanich could also see that they were confused and unsure. So long as he kept them that way, he and the rest of his American ranger company would have the advantage and, with just a little luck, be able to pry open the door into Germany for the rest of the corps.

Used to the night shift in the small town of Pegnitz, located in southern Germany, police Sergeant Julius Reusch found no difficulty staying awake and occupied. His silent companion, Ernst Ohlendorf, recently shifted from day duty, however, had long ago given up trying to entertain himself and had drifted off to sleep. Slouched in a seat opposite Reusch, Ohlendorf was hardly disturbed by Reusch's walking back and forth from his desk to the metal files as he sorted reports and documents that the day and evening shifts had not had time to file. Even when his lieutenant came in, flipping on the bright overhead lights, and told Reusch that he and Ohlendorf needed to go down to the rail yard and check out a report from an old woman that tanks were moving about down there, Ohlendorf didn't budge.

After a great deal of effort, Reusch managed to get Ohlendorf moving, though barely. Every move, every exertion by Ohlendorf, still half asleep, seemed to be in slow motion. Reusch, accustomed to the difficulties that even young men had when shifting from day to night duty, was patient with Ohlendorf. They had time. The lieutenant hadn't seemed terribly concerned with the old woman's complaint. She had made the same complaint when the American Army had moved into the Czech Republic the previous December, and when the German armored units deployed along the Czech border had suddenly been shifted north several days ago. No doubt, Reusch's lieutenant had been right when he offhandedly commented that some brilliant military strategist in Berlin had made the startling discovery that the Czech border faced Bavaria as well as Berlin and that it might be a good idea to keep someone there as well. It would be, Reusch thought, just like the Army to hustle troops north in a great panic and then hustle them right back where they started from. While he checked Ohlendorf to ensure he had his uniform on right, pistol belt on, and hat straight before stepping out into the bitter cold, Reusch felt like an undertaker preparing a corpse. Half to himself, half to Ohlendorf, Reusch mumbled that a corpse at least was cooperative.

Driving carefully along the slick, snow-covered streets, Reusch glanced about. There was no point, he figured, in going out without making the most of it. So he took a route to the rail yard that led him past some of the buildings and shops that needed to be checked on a regular basis. Though he would have preferred to have Ohlendorf do the checking while he tried to keep the police car from slipping and sliding, Ohlendorf had lapsed back into a deep sleep. So Reusch drove and made the checks on his own, steering with one hand most of the time.

He was in the process of looking closely at the front of one of the banks when a vehicle with headlights mounted high above the ground came tearing around the corner from a side street. Without realizing what it was, and only catching a glimpse of the vehicle from the corner of his eye, Reusch had seen enough to know that if he didn't do something immediately, there would be a collision. Jerking the steering wheel hard in the direction in which he had been looking, Reusch began to pump the brake. Despite his best efforts, however, the right front of the police car slid on the snow-covered street, hitting the rear of a parked car. This impact threw Ohlendorf forward and into the dash in front of him as the police car bounced off the parked car. Rather than bringing the car to a stop, the impact caused Reusch's car to spin out into the middle of the street, right into the path of the oncoming vehicle.

Realizing that he had lost control and unable to do anything but pray, Reusch stopped fighting the steering wheel and, ignoring Ohlendorf's panicked cries, turned to face the vehicle that they were fated to hit. As terrible as his sudden loss of control and the collision with the parked car was to Reusch, it did not match his shock when he looked and saw the tracks of an armored vehicle, level and in line with his eyes, bearing down on him just a few meters outside his car door window. Though the commander of the oncoming M-2 Bradley had seen his car and was attempting to stop, the slick, snow-covered pavement carried it forward several more feet toward Reusch. There was only enough time for Reusch to close his eyes as he prepared to be crushed.

From atop the turret of C60, the bumper number of her M-2 Bradley, Captain Nancy Kozak held her breath as the white and green German police car disappeared under the front slope of her Bradley. Preparing herself for the inevitable, Kozak winced, dropping down her open hatch and bracing herself. But instead of a sudden and crushing impact, Kozak felt little more than a slight shudder. Relaxing her grip, she slowly began to rise back out of her hatch, ever so carefully leaning forward as she did so in order to see what had happened to the German police car.

Instead of a mutilated car and body parts all over the street, Kozak saw that the slick road had in fact saved the Germans, allowing the German police car to bounce back down the street when her slow-moving Bradley hit it. From her perch, Kozak watched the driver of the German police car slowly open his door and, moving slowly, get out.

Rather than become excited, Reusch could only stand in the middle of the street looking first at his police car and then at the American Bradley that had almost run him and his car over. How he survived was at that moment beyond him. Not that it was important, other than the fact that something had saved him. Turning to face his attacker, Reusch realized for the first time that the front of his pants and his right pants leg were wet. In the excitement of the moment, he hadn't noticed the warm urine running down his leg. Only the cold night air hitting his wet pants caused him to notice. After looking down at his pants, Reusch looked back up at the Bradley, its commander now leaning out of an open hatch. Quickly replacing his shock and embarrassment with anger, Reusch began to step forward, toward the Bradley. As he did so, he mechanically unsnapped the flap of the holster for his pistol.

Even in the pale light of the streetlamps and falling snow, Kozak couldn't help but notice that the German policeman's look of shock had changed to one of anger. His sudden turn toward her and the unsnapping of his holster caused Kozak to ease back down into the safety of the turret just as her gunner, Sergeant Danny Wolf, was sticking his head up to see what was going on. When he saw the angry policeman, his right hand resting on the butt of an unseen pistol, advancing on C60 like Gary Cooper in High Noon, Wolf stopped. "Looks like the natives are restless, Captain."

Kozak simply shrugged off Wolf's concern. "Well, we knew someone was bound to get upset." Looking over at him, she added, "After all, most Germans don't take too kindly to having their country invaded."

Wolf, still watching the policeman as he stopped just off to one side of C60, chuckled. "I don't see why they should get so emotional over something like that. Hasn't everyone invaded Germany at least once?"

Unable to restrain herself at Wolf's attempt at humor at a time like this, after a long, tense rail movement through the Czech mountains and into Germany, Kozak laughed. "True, that's quite true. I guess they just don't see the humor in the situation."

As if his brush with death and his involuntary urination weren't enough to upset and anger Reusch, the sight of the Americans who had almost killed him laughing caused him to lose control. Pulling his pistol out, Reusch held it pointed at the Bradley commander and began to shout at the top of his lungs for him to dismount and surrender himself. He didn't realize, of course, that not only was the Bradley commander a woman, but that even if she wasn't, she was under orders to meet force with like force.

Seeing that things were getting out of hand, and sure that her laughing wasn't helping the situation any, Kozak dropped what Wolf called her official Commander Nancy face into place. Keeping one eye on the screaming German, Kozak slowly began to lower herself into the safety of the turret. When she knew her driver, Terri Tish, could hear her without the aid of the intercom, Kozak ordered Tish to slowly begin to move forward. Though she hoped that the German policeman would get the idea and move his police car, Kozak didn't much care what happened. Already the column of tanks and Bradleys coming up from the rail yard was backing up behind her, waiting to get out of Pegnitz and move to their blocking positions to the west of Grafenwöhr.

With one eye on the angry German policeman and the other on the street ahead, Kozak guided her Bradley forward. When it made contact with the police car turned broadside in the street, she noticed a second policeman, his head bleeding, jump out of the passenger side. The second policeman paused once he was clear of his derelict vehicle and watched the Bradley begin to crush it. Looking at his doomed car, then at the parade of armored vehicles coming up from the rail yard, he decided that this was more than they could handle. Turning on his heel, he began to flee down the street and out of sight.

An excited cry from Wolf, just as the police car began to crinkle and rip under the treads of the Bradley, caused Kozak to see what he was up to. Glancing over her shoulder, away from the irate policeman who was still screaming and waving his pistol about, Kozak noticed that Wolf had a grin from ear to ear. When he saw his commander looking at him, his smile grew larger. "I always wanted to do this, Captain. I just wish we could've gotten some pictures to send home."

Though she felt like saying something, Kozak didn't. It was at this point useless to try to explain to Wolf the seriousness of what they were doing, that they would be lucky if after this they would be able to send themselves home. Shaking her head, she looked back at the policeman, now standing on the side of the street watching as Bradley C60 finished grinding his police car into compressed scrap.

Though he was tempted to shoot the commander of the American Bradley, Reusch decided not to. Instead, he stood there and watched his police car reduced to a mass of twisted metal. It wasn't that he had any particular affection for the car. It was no different than any other police car operated by the police in Pegnitz. What really bothered Reusch was the total disregard for his authority and the blatant disrespect the Americans had shown him. It was the image of the American perched high above him laughing as he tried to perform his most difficult duties that upset Reusch the most. When he had seen that and realized that they were laughing at him, Reusch wanted to shoot him. And he would have too had he been able to control his anger enough to steady his shaking arm.

That he would have been gunned down in a matter of seconds didn't matter to him at first. His state of mind, and the minds of many Germans for days to come, would be unable to make the mental transition from peace to war instantaneously. Such things, as Big Al knew and counted on, took time. Even Reusch, standing in the street of Pegnitz waving his fist defiantly at the column of Bradleys and tanks as they rolled by him, failed to comprehend the deadly seriousness that the warlike Americans carried into this enterprise. Reusch's confusion and inability to deal effectively with the situation because of a lack of understanding and precedent were to be repeated time after time as Germans going about their daily routines ran into the lead elements of the Tenth Corps as it spilled out of the Czech mountains and into the peaceful, snow-covered river valleys of Bavaria.

Almost as if it were a routine occurrence, the guard opened the gate for the Territorial Army regional headquarters. Merging in with the line of cars waiting to enter the military compound, the driver of Scott Dixon's M-1A1 tank turned off the street crowded with early-morning traffic and rolled through the gate into the compound as if he were just another commuter going to work. Dixon, riding high in the commander's hatch with the confidence that war machines like the M-1A1 Abrams transmit to their crews like a battery supplies energy, gave the German gate guard a smart salute as he went by. Ignoring the stares of the reserve soldiers and officers of the German Territorial Army scurrying about in the predawn darkness of the neat, well-laid-out compound, Dixon directed his driver around the circular drive to the headquarters building. Cerro, riding high in the hatch of the M-577 command post carrier, followed Dixon's tank. Together, they represented the advance command post of the 1st Brigade, 4th Armored Division. Even more importantly, as they moved through the German Territorial Army compound, they represented the first test of official military reaction to the Tenth Corps march to the sea.

Scott Dixon and everyone in his small advance command post group understood the significance of what they were doing. Who went and how they traveled were all considered and discussed. Dixon favored a small party, but one that had a little punch. One tank, though not constituting by European standards much of a combat force, was sufficient to convey the message that they came ready to fight. Any more tanks, Dixon pointed out, would have been an outright invasion. Coming in anything smaller than a tank could have been interpreted as a bluff. Even the timing was critical. If they had come storming into Bayreuth and the regional headquarters before the alarm was spread, none of the key players would have been at their posts. By allowing them time to assemble and assess the situation, Dixon would be able to save a great deal of time explaining things and would be greeted with leaders who were awake and at least felt they were in control.

Bringing his tank to a halt in front of the main entrance of the headquarters building, Dixon took his time in dismounting, making great show of the fact that he was in no rush and did not feel threatened. Standing erect on the turret roof, Dixon towered above everyone as he made a great show of his indifference to the comings and goings of the German reservists who had been recalled to halt the invasion of their country by Dixon's command. By the time he had removed his armored crewman's helmet, replaced it with his Kevlar helmet, and pulled on his web belt and load-bearing harness, Hal Cerro was on the ground waiting dutifully for Dixon next to a German Army captain.

When Dixon finished climbing down, Cerro introduced the captain as the military region's Regular Army adjutant. Exchanging salutes, then handshakes, the adjutant led both Dixon and Cerro to the commander of the military region. Behind them, they left the gunner and loader of Dixon's tank up and manning the machine guns at the commander's and loader's position of the tank. Both guns, leveled and manned by alert soldiers with stern no-nonsense expressions on their faces, served as a reminder to anyone who saw them of the potential for open and armed conflict.

Rather than being led to the operations center, which didn't surprise Dixon but disappointed Cerro, who wanted to see what his counterparts had posted on their maps, Dixon and Cerro were taken to the commander's office. They were greeted there by the military region commander; the mayor of Bayreuth, chief's of the city and state police for the area, and several other officers and civilian officials standing along the rear wall of the commander's office who were not introduced. The differences between the two groups were stark. Dixon in full battle gear looked and smelled the part of the combat commander just in from the field. The faint smell of diesel fumes that permeated his mud-splattered green, brown, and black field uniform contrasted sharply with the neat, freshly pressed gray dress blouse and tie of the German officers and the somber dark business suits of the city officials. After the principals were offered seats and served coffee, the German commander, Colonel Dieter Stahl, began by asking what exactly the Americans intended to do.

Dixon, hoping that Stahl had done his homework, took a sip of coffee before setting his cup down and answering. "You have, Colonel, no doubt heard the broadcast transmitted from Pizen by our Armed Forces Radio Network this morning." When Stahl nodded, Dixon continued. "That, Colonel, is Lieutenant General A. M. Malin's Fehdebrief to the German people."

Stahl's smile and nodding head told Dixon that he understood perfectly. The mayor of Bayreuth, however, was unfamiliar with the medieval term and asked Stahl in German what Dixon meant by a Fehdebrief. Apologizing for the interruption, Stahl turned to the mayor and in German explained. "During the Thirty Years' War and before, when marauding expeditions moved freely about Germany, the leader of the expedition, normally a knight, was obligated under the accepted codes of chivalry to deliver a formal challenge, or Fehdebrief, to the local inhabitants that explained and justified the knight's actions. If the local inhabitants chose not to accept the knight's explanations for his actions as articulated in the Fehdebrief and resisted the knight, that knight, under those rules of chivalry, was free to wage cruel and destructive war on those inhabitants. If, on the other hand, the inhabitants chose to cooperate, the knight was obliged by the same code of chivalry to protect both the persons and the property of the region through which the knight's army passed. In our cold, cruel world of impersonal and scientific warfare, we would call Lieutenant General Malin's Fehdebrief an ultimatum."

Turning to Dixon, the mayor, whose English didn't match Stahl's, tried to make sure that he fully understood what the American colonel's intentions were. "You are, then, as I understand this, threatening us. You are telling us that if we do not cooperate, that if we attempt to defend our country against your aggression, you will devastate our communities. Is that the purpose of this Fehdebrief?"

Having anticipated this line of discussion, Dixon had already framed his response. When he spoke, he did so in an even, measured manner. "Please understand that it is not General Malin's intent to rain death and destruction down on Germany. We are not here to punish. To do so would be a waste of time and resources. It would be counterproductive to our true goal, which is to move the Tenth Corps to the coast where our Navy can evacuate us as a complete and coherent fighting force. You only need to consult with Colonel Stahl, your own military expert. He will tell you that General Malin has neither the resources nor the time to lay waste to your nation and make it to the coast. To stop and destroy things just because we can would cause the people of Germany to rise up in a blood feud against us. Even if General Malin's real intent was to devastate Germany just for the sake of destroying things, I can assure you that no officer or soldier in the Tenth Corps would follow such orders. We are not animals. Our argument is not with the German people. So long as they do nothing to hinder our march to the sea, my soldiers will do nothing to harm them or their property. The damage caused by accident will be, as always, paid for by the government of the United States. We have been ordered by General Malin to use the same procedures and criteria for determining and processing damage claims by Germans due to our operations that we have used during past training exercises."

After listening to Dixon's explanation, and while the mayor considered what Dixon had said, Stahl began to carefully probe Dixon while laying out the position he was in. "You realize, Colonel Dixon, that I am under orders to resist your incursions and contain you as best we can until the Bundeswehr can redeploy. How can I, a soldier like you, do anything other than follow my orders. To do otherwise, to allow you to violate our national sovereignty and do nothing, would be treason."

Again Dixon was ready. "Who, Colonel Stahl, would you be betraying?"

Stahl looked at Dixon with a quizzical look on his face before responding. "Why, I would be disobeying my orders. I would betray Germany."

Dixon switched tactics. Leaning forward for dramatic effect, he looked into Stahl's eyes as he spoke with a clear, sharp voice. "Whose Germany, Colonel Stahl? Chancellor Ruff's Germany, the Germany of his dreams and ambitions? The Parliament, who are at this very minute debating the constitutional right of Chancellor Ruff's authority and actions? The mayor's Germany, one of working people and their families who have had no say in the past weeks over Chancellor Ruff's provocative actions and unreasonable demands upon my government? Or your Germany, a theoretical Germany that knows only blind duty to orders and traditions? Who, Colonel, will you be betraying, and, more importantly, what will the cost be to Germany if you do not?"

The mayor looked at Dixon, then at Stahl, as everyone in the room waited for him to respond. When he did, it was obvious that he was unsure of himself, that his comments were as much his thoughts as they were statements. "How can you possibly expect me to do other than follow my orders? You, Colonel Dixon, are a soldier. You know that we are expected to obey orders and do what we can on behalf of our nations. We are not like other people, free to pick those orders that please us and disregard those that do not suit us. If we were free to do so, anarchy would prevail."

"We are not, Colonel Stahl, machines. We are not puppets unable to think and act on our own. On the contrary, we are humans, with the ability to think and a conscience to guide that thinking. It is these qualities that we, senior officers in our respective armies, are selected for. While we do have our duty as prescribed by oaths of office, regulations, and orders written in black and white by men in distant capitals, we each are expected to interpret the solemn duties of our office and execute our orders using the high moral and ethical standards that our society has instilled in us." Dixon paused, leaning back in his seat. "I myself am guilty of disobeying the orders of my President. She ordered General Malin to lay down our weapons and leave Europe without them. She was wrong in her assessment of the situation and wrong to give such an order."

Shifting slightly in his seat, Dixon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and holding his hands palms up out toward Stahl. "While I could easily hide behind those orders and blame her, I know she was wrong and that to follow her orders would have terrible consequences for the United States today and in the future. Just as Xenophon knew in 400 B.C. that it would have been a mistake to disarm his ten thousand and trust the Persian King, every officer in the Tenth Corps knows in their hearts that it would be wrong for us to allow the United States to capitulate in the face of nuclear blackmail. If we follow our President's orders and allow Germany to strip the United States of its military machine, other nations will follow suit. Every petty nation will seek to obtain nuclear weapons, legally and illegally, in order to threaten both its friends and enemies. Yes, I had my orders. But," Dixon added as he sat upright, bringing his hands to rest on the arms of his chair, "I also had my duty to those under my command and those we were pledged to defend. In all good conscience, I could not follow orders that were morally wrong. I do not ask you to betray your nation. I ask you to allow your conscience to guide your decision."

For several minutes there was silence. While the lesser German officials standing in the rear of the room who understood English finished translating Dixon's speech to those who didn't, the mayor looked at Stahl, then Dixon, then back to Stahl. Finally he asked Stahl if he could, in fact, refuse to do as Berlin had dictated.

Stahl studied Dixon's face for several moments before he answered. He knew that the American colonel's response had been well thought out and weighted for maximum effect. Stahl had come to realize that Dixon, though not saying so, had intentionally been hammering away at the question that had been debated in the Bundeswehr since its inception in 1955. The concept that a soldier was honor-bound to obey orders without question had allowed the German Army to be drawn into helping the Nazis create the nightmare that led ultimately to the death of over seven and a half million Germans and the near total destruction of Germany. Revival of the old Prussian concept that an officer was responsible for his actions and was expected to use his conscience in determining right from wrong had been the cornerstone of the Bundeswehr from its birth, its hedge against the recurrence of another nightmare. The American colonel, Stahl saw, was reminding him in a very circumspect way of the terrible results of a war caused by an army that had turned a blind eye to its moral obligations to the people it was pledged to defend. Without publicly rubbing his nose in the crimes of his fathers, Dixon was reminding Stahl of their terrible consequences.

Slowly Stahl, still looking at Dixon, began to nod his head. Then he turned to face the mayor. "It is the right of every German commander to decline an order that, based on his assessment, is not appropriate for the situation that the commander is faced with. This freedom to act according to his judgment, and not blind obedience, is the true Prussian military tradition." Looking over to Dixon, but still speaking to the mayor, Stahl continued. "I have been ordered to deter aggression. I intend to order my subordinate commanders to be vigilant and ready to protect the German people and property against any hostile acts, though at this time reports indicate that no hostile acts have been committed in this military region." Standing up, Stahl looked down at the mayor and smiled. "The Americans are guilty of conducting road and rail movements throughout this area without proper authority. That, however, is a civil and not a military matter. While the appropriate agencies of our governments address this issue, I urge the civilian and police authorities to cooperate with the Americans to ensure that damage to property and danger to the public is minimized."

Dixon, who had also risen, maintained his composure as he finished the meeting by offering the attachment of a liaison party to Colonel Stahl's headquarters in order to facilitate communications and resolve any "difficulties" that might arise while the Tenth Corps was in his area. Stahl, taking Dixon by the arm, agreed as he turned and walked out of the room, leaving the mayor and the other civilian and police officials little choice but to follow the Army's lead.

Carefully unwrapping the last replacement computer circuit board from its protective covering, Sergeant Martin Hofer laid the fragile bundle of microchips on the stand, ready for the maintenance officer's inspection. Finished, he allowed the plastic wrapping to fall to the floor. "There, Captain Haupt," Hofer proclaimed with a flourish, "that is the last of them. There isn't another replacement board in all of Bavaria."

Looking up from the test equipment he had been fooling with, Captain Karl Haupt looked over at the bench where all the circuit boards that coordinated the fire-control system of the squadron's Tornado fighter-bombers sat, each board perched on its own stand and awaiting his check. "Thank you, Martin. Now go along and get something to eat."

Looking at the long line of circuit boards and then at Haupt, Hofer began to protest. "But if you try to check all of these out yourself, we will never be able to reinstall them in time. I heard that the squadron commander wants to be in the air at first light. Without a functional fire-control system, the squadron's aircraft will be useless."

Haupt didn't bother looking up as he continued to fiddle with the dials of the test equipment. "It will not take me long to do what I must do. There is nothing at this moment that you can do to help. Now go along and don't worry about the squadron commander. I will explain my actions to him when I am finished."

Not understanding why his captain was refusing his help, Hofer nevertheless shrugged and left the room. As he left the maintenance hangar, Hofer noted that the sun had not even begun to appear and already they had put in a full day's work. Pulling the circuit boards at the insistence of Haupt had taken time. Gathering the replacement circuit boards from other Tornado squadrons and the wing maintenance supply depot had taken longer. Putting them back, Hofer knew, would take just as long. Still, he was only a sergeant. Though he didn't understand the need for pulling perfectly good boards out of a system that checked out in the aircraft just to make a visual and detailed electronic bench check, his captain no doubt had a good reason. And if he didn't, then it was the captain's ass and not his that would be splattered on the runway by their commander. Once Hofer was gone, Haupt walked over to the door and locked it. Turning around, he looked at the neat row of circuit boards suspended on little stands and ready to be hooked up to the electronic test unit. Taking a deep breath, Haupt reminded himself that he had his duty to perform and that there was little time. Walking over to a workbench, Haupt opened a tool drawer and reached in, pulling out a ball-peen hammer. Taking the hammer firmly in his right hand, Haupt walked up to the table where the circuit boards sat and began smashing them one at a time with his hammer. Convinced that Chancellor Ruff was wrong and that his actions against the Americans would only lead to misery for the German people, Haupt had decided that morning to do whatever he could to stop Germany from sliding back into the dark abyss. While he knew his actions wouldn't stop those who were determined to destroy his homeland, Haupt hoped that his actions would cause some of his fellow Luftwaffe officers to stop and rethink what they were doing. If nothing else, Haupt knew in his heart that he was right. Whatever became of him, he would have a clear conscience and the knowledge that he had taken a stand.

CHAPTER 11

The more Jan Fields-Dixon scrolled through the endless crop of news stories on her desktop computer monitor, the more confused she became. Like most major news agencies, World News Network subscribed to practically every domestic and foreign news and wire service in the world. The stories from these other news agencies were made available to the correspondents, producers, editors, researchers, and supervisors of World News through its interoffice computer network. Since it represented the most current and accurate information available, the staff of World News Network used that information from other agencies to alert them to developments in the world that they were not aware of, as background or auxiliary information to their own stories, and as a measure of the relative importance a particular news story or view was receiving, allowing them to adjust their own reporting efforts. Other news agencies, as well as the national intelligence agencies and the Department of Defense, tapped into the vast pool of information made available by modern communications for the same reasons.

While all the information available that morning substantiated the claim by the President of the United States, including General Big Al Malin's own statements, Jan knew in her heart that something was wrong with the picture that was being flashed around the world from Germany. While his actions made sense, and the statements released by the Tenth Corps information officer supported those actions, Jan knew that Big Al was incapable of leading an armed insurrection that would be so blindly followed by the officers of the Tenth Corps. She didn't question his ability to lead. She had seen that quality herself in Fort Hood, Texas, when her husband, Scott, was Big Al's operations officer. Scott himself, a person who was not easily impressed, had always spoken of Big Al's dedication to duty and leadership in terms of admiration bordering on awe. So when President Wilson began to paint Big Al as an outlaw and the news media labeled him America's twenty-first-century Benedict Arnold, Jan began to wonder how she and Scott could have been so wrong about Big Al.

That self-doubt, however, slowly began to disappear. At first Jan had started looking for some clue that would explain why a man like Big Al Malin would turn his back on his sworn duty and so endanger his command without the full support of his nation. But instead of finding answers and understanding, Jan just found more questions. Though everything taken in isolation seemed to make sense, when Jan put it together, it didn't come together into a nice neat bundle. With her intimate knowledge of what she often referred to in a half-joking manner as the military mentality as well as personally knowing several of the prime players in Washington and Germany, the story line handed out by the White House and the Department of Defense fell way short. Convinced that she was onto something, but that the raw news stories being dumped out onto her computer screen didn't contain the answer, Jan decided it was time to work her sources. While she left a story about German reaction from the Reuters news agency on the screen, Jan reached over, grabbed her phone, and dialed Ed Lewis's office number from memory.

When Jan was told by a staffer that Lewis was at an important meeting and wouldn't be available until noon, she asked to speak to Lewis's secretary, Terri Allen, rather than Lewis's assistant. Terri, who often knew more about what was going on in Lewis's office than Lewis himself, was the friendly type that got along well with just about everyone. If Jan was going to find out where Lewis was so that she could contact him before she finished preparing her program notes for the day, Terri, and not Lewis's male assistant, would be the person to talk to. After her call was routed to Terri's desk, Jan started the conversation in her usual casual manner. "Hi, Terri, this is Jan. I hate to bother you at a time like this, but I really need to talk to Ed as soon as possible. Is it possible for you to tell me how I can get ahold of him or transfer my call to where he is?"

Terri, with a hint of a Tennessee back-country accent, sighed. "Oh, gee, Jan, I'm sorry, dear. I'd love to, but Ed has been at the White House since six this morning, in the War Room, I think. He can call us but we can't seem to call him. The best I can do is to leave a message with the White House switchboard and hope that the Cro-Magnon security people there will get it to the right person sometime this century."

Ordinarily Terri's humorous comments about the White House staff would bring a smile to Jan's face. Today, however, it caused her to pause and think. If Lewis had been in the War Room that early and was still there, that meant that he would have been present for the early-morning update briefing, which, Jan knew, was a ritual for the military while operations were under way. This small shred of information served only to heighten Jan's feeling that there was more to what was going on than was being told. In an effort to get as much information as she could from Terri, Jan decided to subtly probe further. "I can't imagine Ed, who's probably madder than hell with the President, sitting that long with her. I mean, he's been blaming her for this whole mess."

There was an "oh, don't worry" manner in Terri's voice when she responded. "Well, to tell you the truth, Jan, we're all a little taken aback here by the way he's taking all of this. As a matter of fact, last night he went home early, and with a smile on his face."

"Well, I guess he has the right to gloat. Ed did, after all, predict that the President's plan was dumb and would lead to no good."

Terri hastened to correct Jan. "Oh, he's not gloating, Jan. I've seen Ed gloat. No, this is different. It's…" Terri paused. When she did continue, Jan noted that her voice betrayed a little concern. "You know, Jan, it's almost as if he was satisfied with the way things are going. You don't suppose he's up to something, do you?"

Though Jan suspected just that, she put Terri off and covered her tracks. She had gotten about all she could from Terri. "Ed working with the administration and smiling? No, too much to expect. Well, I've got another call coming in, Terri. Got to go."

"Do you want Ed to call you when he comes up for air?"

Jan, not wanting Ed to get wind that she was snooping about, for Lewis would know what Jan was up to, told Terri, no, that it wasn't necessary and then hung up. Glancing over to two battery-operated clocks on the corner of her desk, one set to Eastern Standard Time and the other Central European Time; she saw that it was midafternoon in Germany and time for the American broadcast of the World News Network early-morning news show. Turning in her chair, she took the remote control unit that controlled the TV monitor that always seemed to be on in her office and cleared the mute button, allowing her to hear the top news stories of the hour. While she still mulled the question of what Ed Lewis was up to, Jan watched her morning-show counterpart run through the news of the morning. Nothing that he said made Jan feel any better or clarified the murky and disjointed drama that Jan saw unfolding in Central Europe.

Even the Germans themselves, sitting right in the middle of the crisis, seemed to be confused about what was going on and what to do. While the Chancellor's office in Berlin was pronouncing that a virtual state of war existed between Germany and the United States because of the "invasion," a majority in the Bundestag, or German Parliament, were demanding that the Chancellor curb his reaction to what they referred to as the "current American operations" in Germany. This divergence in views, the World News commentator pointed out, was not confined to Berlin. Based on stories from the German media as well as other crews in Germany covering the story, he reported that the population was divided on how best to react. Though reservists had been recalled to active duty, the commentator noted that early indications based on CIA reports showed that the response to these recalls had been very light. A Berlin newspaper pointed out that the confusion and conflict between the Chancellor's office and the Bundestag was to blame for this. That, the commentator pointed out, was substantiated by incidents throughout what one Munich newspaper editor was referring to as the "liberated" zone of Germany.

One incident, filmed in Nuremberg that morning by a WNN news crew following American forces, was telling. As Jan watched, the news correspondent explained how life in the city continued to go on despite the presence of American forces flowing out of the Czech Republic and staging for General Malin's announced march to the sea. At one train station, where he was filming the manner in which the citizens of Nuremberg were carrying on, a group of four German reservists in uniform and responding to the recall came onto the train platform to wait for their train. Almost immediately, and without any apparent prompting, several German civilians began taunting the German reservists. Unsure as to what to do, the reservists began to back away from the angry civilians. Their line of retreat, however, was blocked by other civilians who joined in condemning the confused reservists. Surrounded and in danger of being mobbed, the reservists had no choice but to stand their ground.

Just when it seemed that the verbal abuse would turn physical, two American military police, one male and one female, fully armed and in complete battle gear, came running down the train platform and began to work their way through the crowd. Parting reluctantly, the angry crowd allowed the Americans through. Once they reached the German reservists, the American MPs escorted the embarrassed reservists off the platform and to safety. As the television camera watched, the little parade of two American MPs protecting their erstwhile enemy marched out of the station followed by determined civilians who shouted angry words and shook their fists at the German reservists who represented to them the Berlin government's unjustified harsh and provocative actions. One civilian, speaking to the correspondent after the crowd had dispersed on their morning commute to work, summarized the view of his fellow protesters. "We have no argument with the Americans. They were wrong to bring the bombs to Germany. That was not proper. But that does not justify what that fool in Berlin, Herr Chancellor Ruff, is doing. It's crazy, just crazy, to turn our country into a battlefield just to teach the Americans a lesson.

Let the politicians in Berlin come down here and fight if they want to. We just want to be left alone in peace."

Turning down the volume, Jan sat and looked at the television with a vacant stare while she thought about that story and allowed it to flow together with the bits of information she had gleaned from Terri and her own feeling that things were not what they seemed or were being reported as. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that her feeling, what old-time newsmen would call a gut feeling, was right. The military and the administration were up to something and they had no intention of telling anyone. In fact, Jan began to realize, there was the real possibility that the media, including her, were being manipulated in an effort to cover up some kind of operation aimed at saving American face and prestige or even, she thought, retrieving the weapons that the Germans had taken from the Air Force. That something was going on was to Jan a sure thing. What exactly it was, she could only guess.

For her, a savvy correspondent who had more than earned and re-earned her reputation for intelligence and journalistic skill and for meeting all challenges head-on, what to do with this revelation was the question. There was no hint in any of the stories jamming the news agencies that morning that anyone suspected that the situation wasn't as it seemed. Even the military "experts" and experienced correspondents crowding the WNN studios that morning didn't betray any sign that they saw anything beyond the immediate surface of the unfolding drama in southern Germany. Only she, Jan Fields-Dixon, seemed to see past the heavy official curtain that hid the true meaning of the actions shown on her nineteen-inch television monitor. But just as that knowledge pleased her, it also troubled her. Had this been another story in another part of the world involving different actors, she would have had no problem running her hunches and suspicions to ground until she had a story that would tear away the curtain of secrecy that she suspected hid the truth.

But this story involved the Tenth Corps, an organization led by a man she knew personally and to which her lover and husband belonged. What would happen, she thought, to Scott and his command if she was right about the conspiracy and a news story that she put together compromised it? Would her action save Scott from another foolish plan doomed to fail or would it condemn that venture to ultimate failure? Was it her duty to push a story that if true would further enhance her reputation, under the guise of defending the public's right to know the truth? Or did her first duty lie in allowing the suspected deception to continue without comment so that Scott and the tens of thousands of soldiers with him in Germany could carry on with their tasks? It came down, Jan realized, not to a question of what was truth and lie, or what was right and wrong, but to a question of responsibility.

She was still pondering all of this when an assistant to Charley Mordal, the senior producer, called Jan and asked if she had her notes ready for that afternoon's show. Looking down at the blank legal pad that sat in front of her, Jan told him, of course, they were just about ready. Hanging up, she looked at the television monitor one more time, then at the computer screen, before scribbling the first thing that came to her mind based on the information that she had pulled from the news stories from other news agencies. Until she had resolved her own concerns, she would stay with the pack and keep her own counsel. Too much, she knew, was at stake. Far too much.

From across the table, Pete Soares watched Abigail Wilson as she spoke to the German Chancellor. The conversation was conducted using speakerphones, which allowed the translators on both ends to hear not only the head of state whose words they were to translate but also to listen to the translation of their counterpart to ensure that the meaning was not altered by the translator's choice of words. This method also allowed both Wilson and Ruff to have selected cabinet members and advisors listen in, though they said nothing during the conversation between the two national leaders. Besides Soares, Wilson had her Secretary of Defense, Terry Rothenberg, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and Ed Lewis. With Ruff were his Foreign Minister Bruno Rooks, Defense Minister Rudolf Lammers, Interior Minister Thomas Fellner, General Otto Lange, Chief of the German General Staff, and Colonel Hans Kasper, Ruff's military aide.

From the very beginning of the conversation, initiated by an excited and fast-talking Ruff, he took every opportunity to remind Wilson that this current crisis was her fault. In between those condemnations, Ruff pointed out that the American habit of conducting unilateral and aggressive international adventures could not go unchecked or unanswered. All of this, plus his habit of cutting Wilson off in midsentence, left little doubt in Washington that Ruff had no intention of opening serious negotiations. Each time Wilson attempted to suggest a means of peacefully resolving the crisis, Ruff fell back to his initial position that no discussions between their two countries could even be considered until all American forces were either withdrawn from Germany or disarmed. Wilson, maintaining her composure, reminded Ruff that unfortunately she did not have at that moment the ability to stop the movement of the Tenth Corps. "As I have told you before," Wilson reminded Ruff, "General Malin is a maverick, an unguided missile. We have attempted and will continue to attempt to bring him and his corps under control, but at this time neither he, his staff, nor his subordinate commanders are responding to our attempts to communicate with them."

"And. Madam President." Ruff responded, with great emphasis on "madam," "as I have told you before, if you cannot control your own Army, the German Army can." In Berlin this statement caused both General Lange and Thomas Fellner to flinch. Both men, though for different reasons, were working to avoid a confrontation between the two forces in their own ways, though neither man knew of the other's efforts.

Unruffled by Ruff's threat, Wilson waited until Ruff was finished and then, in a voice that reminded Soares of a grade school teacher lecturing an errant student, attempted to put the seriousness of the situation in its proper perspective. "If I am to believe my own intelligence agencies, not to mention the international and German correspondents covering this situation, to date there have been no armed confrontations between your forces and mine. Except for a few unfortunate traffic accidents, no one on either side has been hurt. This fact alone, Herr Chancellor, leads me to believe that General Malin is doing exactly what he pledged he would—marching his command to the sea with as little disruption to the German public as possible."

"No! No. You don't understand," Ruff shouted. "You don't seem to appreciate my position. German sovereignty and national honor are at stake here. If I allow your mad general to go marauding through the heart of my country unchecked, I—no, Germany—will lose the respect of the rest of the world. That is, to me—to the German people—intolerable."

"And you must appreciate my position, Herr Ruff. The actions of General Malin and perhaps a few of his officers are his and his alone. There are thousands of good innocent American soldiers who are doing what they believe is expected of them, doing their duty and what they believe is right. Malin, and not the individual soldiers, must be brought to justice and punished. I have every intention of doing so at the earliest possible opportunity. If, however, you do not allow me that opportunity, and instead opt to use the German Army to stop the Tenth Corps by force of arms, you will be in a sense punishing the individual soldiers for the crimes of a handful of their leaders. That, Herr Chancellor, would be intolerable to the American public. Regardless of who was to blame in the beginning, regardless of who started this terrible sequence of events, I could not sit here and allow your military to butcher my innocent soldiers. I must tell you, Herr Chancellor, that if it comes to such a confrontation, and I pray that it doesn't, then I will have no choice but to bring down on Germany the entire weight of the American military in an effort to save as many of those poor misguided soldiers who are following General Malin that I can."

As if they were two boxers who had just finished flailing blindly at each other and then backed off by mutual agreement in an effort to recover from the blows they had received and to assess the impact of their efforts on their opponent, both Wilson and Ruff lapsed into silence. From across the room Ed Lewis couldn't hide a self-satisfied smirk. Abby, he thought, was doing well. Ruff had played his hand as they, including Malin, had thought he would. And Wilson, prepared for him, had come back without hesitation, without flinching, a fact, Lewis was sure, that wouldn't be lost on those listening to the conversation in Berlin. There would be, Lewis knew, little doubt in Berlin that Abby was ready to meet each German action, whether it be for peace or for war, with an appropriate response.

Pete Soares missed Lewis's expression. His attention, like everyone else's in the room, was riveted on Wilson. They all marveled at the manner in which she was handling Ruff. It seemed to them as if she and she alone had anticipated every word Ruff hurled at her and was ready with a sound, effective response. This, of course, should not have surprised Soares. He had seen Wilson use the same calm, easy manner in dealing with crisis after crisis in her long uphill fight to become the first female President. That she was now working from a base of strength and had a plan hidden away just out of view from even her closest advisors, just as she had done as the governor of Colorado and during the race for the White House, didn't dawn on Soares. This situation was beyond his comprehension. Everything about it was so foreign, so staggering to the imagination. For Wilson it was simply another challenge in a life full of the challenges that all women face when trying to deal with men in the world of politics as equals.

When Ruff finally broke the long pause, he seemed a little winded and slightly subdued. Taken aback by the fact that Wilson had so quickly responded to his threat of force with her own, without the slightest hesitation, put him at a temporary loss. In the exchange of verbal blows, Ruff had been bested and he knew it. "Well, Madam President," he stated slowly, still searching for an appropriate response that would soothe his bruised ego but preparing to break off the conversation, "you understand my position and the position of the German people. You have forty-eight hours to bring your mad general to justice or I will."

Knowing that this act was coming to a close, Wilson made sure her voice was smooth and calm yet showed firmness and resolve. "I will, as I have stated from the beginning, continue to work toward that goal. I do hope that, regardless of where this situation stands at the end of those forty-eight hours, we can continue to talk and work to resolve this without causing unnecessary deaths, civilian or military, or devastating your beautiful nation. To that end I will always be available to meet you or representatives of your government anywhere, anytime."

The mention of civilian deaths, which could only be German, and the devastation of Germany itself had its desired effect on the audience in Berlin. Even Lammers and Rooks, who were integral parts of Ruff's plans and dreams, flinched, for every man in that room had lost relatives in the last war. Every man there had vivid memories of growing up among the mountains of rubble that the allies had reduced Germany's cities to during World War II. Though the people gathered about her in Washington listening had a basic comprehension of what Wilson was really saying, everyone in the Chancellery's operations room knew only too well what she was telling them.

Stymied by Wilson's sharp response, it took Ruff several seconds to frame his thoughts. When he did speak, Ruff could produce nothing more than a subdued and halting reiteration of his previously stated position. "Germany cannot sit by idly while foreign armies move through it with impunity, endangering its people and sovereignty."

While Ruff groped for the appropriate words to follow this statement, General Lange wondered who in reality was endangering the German people. There was much that was being left unsaid by Ruff and Bruno Rooks, the Foreign Minister. Each time Lange or a member of the General Staff had been called in for consultation or to brief either man, their responses seemed to be preordained, already decided upon. Lange suspected that Colonel Kasper, Ruff's military aide, was overstepping his bounds and rendering advice that was beyond his assigned duties, but didn't know this for a fact. What Lange did know was that the Bundeswehr was being torn apart by raging debates. At every level of command, no one, including him, was sure what to do in this situation.

The first commanders to feel this uncertainty and indecision were the reserve unit commanders. Few reserve battalions, which accounted for two of the four battalions assigned to every combat brigade, were able to muster anywhere near their authorized strength. The men, one commander pointed out, refused to answer the call to the colors until the Chancellor and the Parliament were able to resolve their differences and come up with a solid, intelligent policy. A few put the matter in very human terms, stating that, as they saw it, it was the leaders in Berlin, and not Washington, that were the real danger. In an angry conversation between Lange and the territorial region commander in Stuttgart, the region commander told Lange that he could fill the ranks of the units in his area in a matter of hours if he announced that their objective was to march against Berlin and not the Americans. And to complicate Lange's position, this opinion was shared by more than a few of the division and brigade commanders now scrambling to shift units from Germany's eastern borders around Dresden back south to Bavaria.

Given the political uncertainty, not to mention the possible unreliability of the Army itself, Lange pondered what he would recommend when the. Chancellor finished and asked him for his input. There would be, he knew, no clear right or wrong answer. He could easily and safely retreat behind the wall of duty, honor, and country that would ostensibly relieve him of dealing with the morality and consequences of his actions and those of the Bundeswehr. Lange and his subordinate commanders after all were simple soldiers pledged to defend their country against all invaders and to obey their national leaders. Everyone understood that. That was the duty of all soldiers. But for Lange and every German who had put on a uniform after 1955, that comfortable defense had died in 1946 at the Nuremberg trials when the leaders of the Wehrmacht were held accountable for their actions in defense of a government that the victors deemed was evil. Was this, Lange thought, a test? Was this some kind of strange Faustian test to find out if the German Army had learned the real lessons of the last war?

"General Lange, please, we do not have much time." Though Ruff's comment was sharp, his voice betrayed the fact that he was at that moment off balance, perhaps shaken by the conversation with Wilson that, Lange suddenly realized, was now over. Shoving his troubled thoughts into the back of his mind, Lange sat up and gave Ruff his full attention. "When," Ruff continued when he saw that Lange was ready, "will the Army be able to bring its full weight to bear on the Americans?"

Lange did not quite understand what Ruff meant by bringing the Army's full weight to bear. He suspected that he knew but opted not to ask for a clarification, because he might not like the answer. By leaving the question open and ambiguous, Lange could always say later that he had misunderstood Ruff's intent. Slowly he answered, carefully picking his words so as to leave himself the greatest amount of leeway in dealing with his own moral questions as well as the Americans. "I am afraid, Herr Chancellor, that we were caught in the midst of redeploying to the east. Everything, from intelligence assets to logistical support commands, was in the process of preparing to counter the threat from the Czech Republic and Poland."

"I know that, General, I know that."

Not to be rushed, Lange shifted in his chair before he continued. "Yes, Herr Chancellor, I know that you know that. But I tell you this because I need you to understand that what we must now do will be no easy thing. The combat elements of the units in the east are only a small portion of the mass of men and materiel which we must turn around. I cannot simply tell everyone to turn and go south. First we must decide where we should send those units. That will be determined not by where the Americans are today but where we think they will be in seventy-two to ninety-six hours from now. This determination is based on solid intelligence and analysis of what we think their intentions are."

"I can tell you, General Lange, what the Americans' intentions are!" Ruff screamed. "They intend to embarrass this nation and its people."

Lange ignored Ruff's outburst. "Once we have a grasp of what their objectives and routes of march will be, we then have to look at where best to stop them. Given that, deployment plans, along with the march tables to shift units in accordance with those plans in an intelligent and orderly fashion, must be developed and disseminated in the form of orders at every level. Equally important to the movement of the combat elements is that of the combat service support commands. The necessary support facilities, all of which are now moving or established in the east, must be shifted back west, one hundred and eighty degrees, to support our operations."

Rooks, seeing that Ruff was losing his patience, leaned forward toward Lange. "This is no time, Herr General, for a lecture on operational tactics. To the point, man, to the point. What do you recommend?"

Taking in a deep breath, Lange realized that both Ruff and Rooks were interested in pinning him to a definite course of action when he hadn't even decided in his own mind what an appropriate response for the Bundeswehr should be. He needed time. Time to resolve matters of conscience, and time to determine how well the German Army would do in a fight with the Americans, if it came to that. Time was needed to bring under control those Army and Luftwaffe commanders who had already decided and were taking unilateral action that ranged from the simple refusal to answer messages from higher headquarters to the actual sabotage of aircraft. "We must, Hen-Chancellor, given the advantage that they have and the problems we face in redeploying our own forces, allow the Americans free passage through Bavaria. We are in no position to resist them there, and any effort to offer even token resistance would jeopardize our ability to stop the Americans further north."

Lange's statement, given in such a calm, almost casual manner, hit every man in the room like a slap in the face. Lammers, the Minister of Defense, almost jumped out of his seat. "We can't do that! We simply can't! Do you realize what you are saying?"

Looking at Lammers, Lange's voice was quite defiant, almost arrogant. "I know exactly what I'm saying. Do you?"

The point that Lange was making, using Lammers, was not lost on the others, especially Ruff and Rooks. For the first time they realized they were no longer in command of the situation that they had so carefully created. None of them had the background or knowledge to challenge Lange, who after all was "ein General." For, despite years of demilitarization in Germany, the opinion of a senior member of the General Staff was something that demanded respect, especially among this particular group of men. Therefore, even though they found Lange's pronouncement distasteful, everyone in the room realized that none of them could alter the basic laws of time, space, and terrain that governed military operations. Lange, who had spent a lifetime dealing with such problems, would set the pace and tone of German reactions for the next few days. Rooks, looking first at Ruff and Lammers, turned to Lange. "Please, Herr General, proceed."

"From southern Germany, the Americans have the ability to move west through Stuttgart and into France, which may allow them to enter northwest through Mainz and into Belgium, or due north from Würzburg through Kassel to Bremen, where their Navy will be able to intervene. Though I personally believe that the Americans will strike north for the sea, we cannot disallow the other possibilities. Therefore, I recommend that we commence redeploying our forces in such a manner as will create in central Germany a huge cauldron, with the 5th and 10th Panzer divisions remaining in the west, the 2nd Panzer and 4th Panzergrenadier deploying to form the eastern side of the cauldron, and the 1st and 7th Panzer throwing themselves across the Americans' line of advance to the sea in the north. The 1st Mountain Division, with the 26th Parachute Brigade attached, will follow the Americans, threatening their rear."

"Where," Ruff asked impatiently, "do you intend to stop the Americans?"

"If, Herr Chancellor," Lange responded with great emphasis on "if," "it comes to a fight, I expect it to be in the area south of Kassel. That, however, will not be certain for several days. In the meantime, both our forces and the Americans will be racing to see who completes their redeployments first and can get moving first. If we can unsnarl the massive tangle that our own divisions are in due to the need to turn around, we will be in place and ready. If the Americans, however, succeed in moving their forces out of the Czech Republic, gathering up loose units left in Germany, and get moving first, we will find ourselves fighting a series of meeting engagements with our forces which may still be in the process of deploying throughout central Germany. Either way, we still have several days in which the military will be unable to do anything, leaving Herr Lammers free to seek a peaceful solution to this crisis."

The unexpected reference to an effort to resolve the crisis through other than force of arms caught Lammers off guard. He could not, however, easily pass this off. If for no other reason than to keep Interior Minister Thomas Fellner, the voice of reason and the only figure respected by all political factions in Ruff's cabinet, satisfied and in line, Lammers had to respond in a positive manner. "Why, yes, that is a very, very sound course of action. I will, of course, continue to appeal to the Americans while the Bundeswehr prepares. But I must warn you, I hold little hope for that."

"And I, Herr Lammers, must warn you and everyone else that the Bundeswehr may not be able to deliver on the threats that you have been hurling at the Americans. In the first place, every brigade deployed has for the most part only two combat battalions with it. There has been insufficient response by the reservists needed in the two reserve battalions of each brigade to bring those units up to strength. In effect, each of our six panzer and panzergrenadier divisions has only six, maybe seven, tank or infantry battalions with it. Instead of a three-to-one advantage, as the number of divisions deployed by the Bundeswehr and the Americans would suggest, we have less than a two-to-one advantage when counting the critical ground combat battalions.

"But even here," Lange continued after a slight pause, "our advantage in numbers is illusory. We have not fought since 1945. We have never in our existence moved the entire Bundeswehr at the same time. And the operation which we are engaged in is to say the least quite unusual and sensitive, politically as well as militarily. Regardless of what we say and do here, regardless of how much we talk and debate, the final military outcome, gentlemen, will be determined by the commanders and soldiers out there in units spread all over Germany. And right now those units are, without exaggerating, choking on their own supply lines, lines that run throughout Germany like a plate of spilled noodles. Added to all of this military movement is the mass migration of civilians, some seeking to get out of harm's way and some simply trying to carry on with their lives as if nothing has changed. It will be days before we know for sure if we can pull off the great plans which we so easily toss about here in the warmth of this building."

Unable to effectively counter Lange's argument, Ruff, Rooks, and Lammers let the meeting limp to an unsettling close. Lange for the moment had succeeded in buying the time he wanted. He had no idea what could happen to change what he was convinced Ruff saw as an inevitable confrontation. Until the first blood was drawn, there was always the chance of a negotiated settlement. The longer the conflict was postponed the better. Still, Lange could not delay forever. He knew that he could only buy so much time with which to allow the political situation to clarify itself by walking the fine line between performing his duty as a soldier and doing what his conscience dictated. At some point, and he had no idea where or when that would happen, time would run out.

The effect of shifting of forces from one place to another was a very real concern to Captain Friedrich Seydlitz as his column of Leopard II tanks rumbled back to the west down Autobahn E40 just outside of Dresden. The orders to move the two panzer, or tank, battalions of the brigade 230 kilometers by road to Erfurt, after having completed a 270-kilometer road march from the south, were greeted with little joy. Every officer took great pains to point out that the wear and tear on the machines as well as the men would leave the combat effectiveness of their units questionable at best. "One does not simply hop into a tank and go driving about Germany in the dead of winter," Seydlitz's battalion commander warned the brigade commander, "without paying a price."

As they moved along the westbound lane of the autobahn, Seydlitz could see that the price which his commander had warned about was already being paid. At regular intervals on both sides of the autobahn Army trucks of every description, Leopard tanks, Marder infantry fighting vehicles, and self-propelled artillery pieces sat idle, either broken down or out of fuel. In some instances armored vehicles had seized up in mid-stride, coming to a sudden stop in the center of the road. Left by the losing commander for the overwhelmed maintenance teams to recover, the rest of the unit, fighting civilian traffic as well as a tight timetable, would attempt to flow around the derelict vehicle. When road conditions did not permit vehicles following to pass on a paved surface, the other vehicles in the column and dozens of columns following would maneuver off the road, onto the shoulder, and then back onto the autobahn, dragging great trails of mud onto the road surface already made slick by freezing rain or wet snow. During the day, when the temperature rose above freezing, this mud made driving dangerous to any wheeled vehicles. The number of accidents involving German civilians speeding down the autobahn in their cars who unexpectedly hit this mud multiplied as rapidly as the number of broken-down military vehicles increased. At night or when the temperature dipped below freezing, the mud clods on the road froze hard as stone. The effect of hitting a patch of road smeared with these frozen fields of mud in a Mercedes was just as dangerous as it was when the mud was wet and slick. The image of smashed cars and civilian tractor-trailers along the side of the road, with their angry owners shaking their fists and shouting at Seydlitz and his company as they rolled by, did nothing to cheer up his confused and tired command.

As bothersome as this was to Seydlitz, his mind was on other, more pressing military matters. The military police and local authorities would deal with the angry and injured civilians. No one, however, seemed to be too concerned about the welfare of his command. Though he considered himself lucky that he had yet to lose a single tank to a breakdown, Seydlitz knew at this point that it was simply a matter of time before his luck ran out. And if a mechanical failure didn't stop them, lack of fuel would. For, although he had seen many fuel trucks moving about, all of them either belonged to another unit or were on the other side of the road headed in the opposite direction. The battalion's own fuel trucks, drained days ago, had been unable to find a fuel depot where they could top off. Suggestions by several of the company commanders in the battalion that they draw on civilian gas stations or fuel depots were rejected. They had, their battalion commander told them, no authority at that time to do so. That, and the desire to minimize the impact of military operations on the civilians, kept Seydlitz from topping off his tanks from a gas station that was less than one hundred meters from the assembly he had just left.

As if to mock the need to minimize their impact on civilians, Seydlitz's tank rolled by the remains of a bright yellow Porsche. Left on the side of the road, the front left fender was chewed up as though some great metal-eating cat had grabbed the fender and gnawed on it. In an instant Seydlitz knew what had happened. The impatient driver of the Porsche had apparently been following an armored vehicle too closely. Without having seen it, Seydlitz knew that at some point the driver of the armored vehicle had slowed for some reason, causing the Porsche to run into the rotating treads of the armored vehicle. Caught in the treads, the Porsche would be pulled up and into the drive sprocket of the armored vehicle to be ground up. If, like this Porsche, the civilian driver was lucky, the car would be thrown clear of the armored vehicle like a child's toy.

Such accidents, in a country where heavy military equipment shared the roads with everyone else almost on a daily basis, were to be expected. What was new to Seydlitz was the casualness and lack of serious concern with which his superiors and even his own men now treated this rash of incidents. It seemed as if, in the 2nd Panzer Division's rush to get at the Americans, all thought of maintaining the normally close and friendly civilian-military relationships that had highlighted every peacetime maneuver was forgotten. To Seydlitz, this didn't make sense. For rather than doing everything to defend civilians and their property, the civilians were being viewed as a nuisance to military operations. He had actually watched units along the division's route of march going out of their way to infuriate the very people they were supposed to be defending. When Seydlitz mentioned this to his friend Captain Buhle, the battalion supply officer, Buhle shrugged. "What, Friedrich, do you expect? We're being told to go out and defend those bastards, putting our asses on the line for them. Yet despite the fact that we need every kind of support imaginable, from fuel to rations, we can't requisition anything, not even toilet paper, from the civilians. 'Military operations,' the fools in Berlin tell us, 'cannot be allowed to interfere with the normal daily intercourse of civilian affairs.' Shit, Friedrich, just look at the mess that this division alone is creating and then tell me how in the hell we are going to keep from interfering with normal daily intercourse of civilian affairs. Fools, I tell you! We're being led by fools in the service of ungrateful swine."

Even the attitude that his superiors seemed to hold concerning the welfare of their own men and equipment during the marching and countermarching of the past few days bothered Seydlitz. For two days he and his company had sat in their assembly area south of Dresden waiting for their resupply of food and fuel to find them. Orders to move, however, found them first. If it were not for the soldiers going off on their own and buying the food themselves, no one in Seydlitz's company would have gotten a hot meal while they waited. Even their combat rations, as Buhle had so painfully pointed out, were running low.

Then, in the midst of bemoaning their fate, Seydlitz recognized the tactical symbol of his brigade on several fuel and supply trucks in the eastbound lane of the autobahn. Despite the orders to remain in radio listening silence, Seydlitz felt the need to inform his commander. Could they not, he asked, flag down the column in which their brigade's trucks were moving in order to refuel and draw rations?

Without any hesitation, his battalion commander informed Seydlitz that they could not. Both the battalion and, no doubt, the brigade's supply vehicles had to adhere to the march tables that controlled the movement of all units in the area. "If every commander stopped when and where he wanted to," the battalion commander explained to Seydlitz, "then this intolerable situation would become totally unmanageable." Reminding Seydlitz that the march orders they were moving under had a maintenance and refueling stop set up by corps supply units and scheduled in another two hours, the battalion commander went on to reassure Seydlitz that if everyone did what they were ordered to do, everyone would eventually get to where they were going.

Acknowledging his commander, Seydlitz gave up as he watched the trucks carrying the fuel and food his company so desperately needed roll away to the east into the gathering darkness. There was, of course, no fuel and no food waiting for Seydlitz and his company at the end of two hours. The corps supply unit responsible for establishing the refuel and rest stop was still on the road somewhere to the west, tied up behind a broken-down tank and the armored recovery vehicle, also broken down, that had stopped to retrieve it. With fuel almost expended, Seydlitz and his company, as well as the rest of the brigade, would wait, lined up on the side of the road and unable to continue due to a simple lack of fuel. For nearly twelve hours they would wait while staff officers at corps and division desperately shuffled and reshuffled march tables and units without ever realizing that their efforts were for the most part creating more problems than they were solving. It would take the direct intervention of both the corps commander of the 2nd German Corps and his division commanders, riding up and down the route of march and herding and directing units like cowboy trail bosses, and another twenty-four hours, to sort out the 2nd Panzer Division and get it moving again.

News that they had arrived at Grafenwöhr was greeted with moans and groans by Captain Hilary Cole and the other nurses of the 553rd Field Hospital. Somehow in their minds they had come to believe that once they were out of the Czech Republic and back in Germany things would be different, that everything would be all over. The long, seemingly pointless road marches in the back of a cold five-ton cargo truck were supposed to end.

There would be, they thought, no more endless waiting as they sat on the side of nameless roads waiting for another column to pass and gnawed at cold combat rations. And the jerky stop and go, stop and go, as they wound their way through the Czech mountains, would be over once they were in Germany.

So it came as a rude shock when the trucks pulled into a loose circle in the middle of a large well-used gravel and mud parking area, and they were informed that they were at Grafenwöhr. The unit first sergeant could have told them any other German name and, although Cole and the other nurses would have been unhappy, they would not have suffered the severe depression that hit them when the word "Grafenwöhr" was mentioned. Built as a training area with numerous tank and artillery live-fire ranges and maneuver areas by the Wehrmacht before World War II, elements of Erwin Rommel's famed Afrika Korps, as well as units of the elite and notorious Waffen SS, had trained there during the war. Taken over by the Americans after the war with little done to improve creature comforts, few soldiers serving in Germany escaped the horror of doing time there. Grafenwöhr was to those soldiers who went there to train synonymous with misery, discomfort, cold, wet, sleeplessness, and every other word that is used to describe the pain and discomfort a soldier experiences when serving in the field under the worst possible conditions. It was described by more than a few American soldiers as the armpit of the world.

It didn't matter why they were there. It didn't matter what they were supposed to do there. All that mattered was the fact that they were there, and not in some nice clean hospitable piece of Germany untainted by the foul reputation associated with Grafenwöhr. Even when a group of soldiers came by and shoved another brown plastic MRE combat ration into Cole's hand, she didn't react, though she felt like it. At that moment, she felt like sinking onto the ground and crying. It wasn't fair that they were being treated like that. This was not what she was trained to do. Cole could deal with the pain and suffering of others. She could watch and assist in a very detached manner as doctors pieced torn bodies back together. She could even handle the frustration of doing everything within her power to save a life and then watching that life slip away. All of that was manageable, reasonable, and expected. This, however, was beyond comprehension. Even worse than the horror before her eyes was the sudden realization that there was no discernible end. There was no well-defined conclusion to which they were headed. This terrible endless chain of suffering and wandering had to be endured without any chance of really influencing it in any way, no way of stopping it. That to Cole was the horror of it all.

Just when she was about to break, to give in to her desire to break down and cry, Hilary noticed that someone had beaten her to it. In the darkness she heard her friend Wendi. Looking about, Hilary could see her standing off from the group alone in the darkness clutching her arms tightly across her chest as she rocked from side to side and cried. Though her own pain and frustration were still with her, Cole handed her ration to another nurse standing next to her and went to Wendi. Wrapping her arms about Wendi, Hilary Cole gently pushed Wendi's head down onto her shoulder. Reaching up under Wendi's helmet, Hilary slowly began to stroke her friend's hair. As Wendi cried, Hilary softly repeated through her own sobs, "It's going to be all right, Wendi. It's all going to be all right. I'm here."

Under normal circumstances, Big Al Malin didn't like to bother his subordinate commanders when they were getting ready to start a major operation. He made sure that he had good people working for him and that he issued clear concise orders and directives. "The rest," he liked to tell people, "was in their hands and God's." This operation, now referred to as Malin's March to the Sea, was not a normal operation. Though it was planned and briefed to everyone in the same manner as a purely military operation, it was not. The intricate civil-military relationships that were woven into the entire fabric of the operation and designed to prevent or defuse problems between the Tenth Corps and the German populace that they would be moving through touched every aspect of the operation, both planned and potential.

Some commanders voiced strong reservations about the rules of engagement imposed by Big Al. The commander of the 55th Mechanized Infantry Division had on several occasions pushed Big Al to soften his order restricting the use of artillery fire to only confirmed enemy locations that were a danger to the command. Every chance he got, Big Al would remind his commanders that "We, an army used to the indiscriminate use of firepower, must look twice and three times before we pull the trigger. Otherwise we're going to leave in our wake a hostile populace that will cut our combat service support units to ribbons and deny us the use of their fuel and resources that the success of this operation depends upon. It is totally unreasonable to expect us to ask a German mother or father to allow us free and unhindered progress after we've blown up their home and killed their children. If you can't picture that, then just ask yourself before you make a call for fire, Would you still do so if your wife and child were in the target area?"

It was the need to stress such things that drove him to visit every command he could before they jumped off, and to talk to every officer and soldier in a position of leadership. In his own mind he wanted to ensure that he had done his best to convey his intent and that it was understood. Standing there that night in front of the commanders of Scott Dixon's brigade, Big Al went over what he intended to do and how they would do it. The formal review of the brigade's plan, given by Dixon himself, was Dixon's own effort to ensure that every battalion and company commander in his brigade understood what he intended. When he was finished, he turned the floor over to Big Al.

Slowly Big Al rose from his chair and walked over to the map showing most of Germany and the anticipated route of the 4th Armored Division. He made a show of studying it before slowly turning to face the captains, majors, and colonels seated before him. With his feet spread shoulder width apart, his left hand on his hip, and using his right index finger to point at the map, Big Al began. "It is 709 kilometers from here to Bremerhaven. That, for those of you still used to thinking like civilians, translates to 432 miles. In the States, it would almost be the same as driving from New York City to Cleveland, Ohio. During that trip the biggest threats you face are the Pennsylvania State Police. On a good day you could make that drive in eight or nine hours. But," giving great emphasis to the word "but," "this isn't the States. This is Germany." Turning around to face the map, Big Al placed both hands on his hips. "Germany is one of the most densely populated areas in the world. It has a long and proud history. It is one of the only European countries the Romans never conquered. It has been racked by great disasters, both natural and man-made. During the days of the Black Death, plague wiped out anywhere from a third to half the population. Whole villages simply died off. During the Thirty Years' War, a full one third of the population of Germany was again wiped out. And in World War II, what the Germans still refer to as 'The Last War,' they lost seven and a half million people, half of them civilians. They have not forgotten that, none of it."

Turning around quickly, Big Al stared at the assembled leaders. "To the Germans, a people who have a deep and long sense of history, we are simply another marauding army ripping up their fields, threatening their homes, and endangering their lives. They don't give a damn whether or not we are right or why we are doing what we're doing. We're just another group of soldiers passing through." Toning his speech down slightly, Big Al folded his arms across his chest. "Now, we have some advantages. First, because the American Army has lived with the Germans for more than fifty years, they know us and understand us better than just about everyone else that has gone before. The area of operations we'll be rolling through is used to seeing American GIs and dealing with us. So for many of those people this will be nothing new. Many of the procedures we will be using, from the recording of maneuver damage to the purchase of fuel from the civilian sector, are the exact same ones we used during peacetime training maneuvers. We're doing that because we have a reputation for paying in full all of our debts and doing as little damage as possible. I am hoping that reputation will allay any fears the civilians have and keep them from interfering with our operations."

Using his index finger, Big Al raised his voice as he jabbed his finger at his officers to emphasize his point. "That reputation, however, can be pissed away in a heartbeat if you and your people go through Germany like a plague of locusts or riding high and wild like Attila the Hun. Right now the media and the German people are neutral. I expect each and every one of you to do your best to keep it that way. We'll have more than enough to deal with when the German Army and Air Force get their acts together without having angry civilians chasing us with shotguns and pitchforks."

Allowing that point to sink in, Big Al wandered about the front of the room, folding his arms across his chest, then, when he was ready, stopping. Placing his hands on his hips again, he turned only partway to face his audience. "It will come to a fight. Somewhere at some time during our drive, it will have to come to a fight. The German Bundeswehr, despite the internal problems that you are hearing about right now, will eventually get itself straight. When it does, it's going to come at us with a vengeance. The Germans are fighters, proud and fierce warriors who have a long history of fighting against great odds, under the most adverse conditions, and winning. Now I fully expect that some German commanders and soldiers will choose not to engage us. The more the better. But we cannot count on that. What we can expect is that the bulk of their commanders will heed their call to duty and obey their orders. And once battle is joined, once we're locked in mortal combat on German soil, those who were undecided will no doubt join in their fight. Just remember that the words to the German national anthem, 'Deutschland Über Alles,' written in the mid-1800s, are a call for Germans, all Germans, to forget their petty loyalties and doubts and rally to defend the idea of a free and united Germany. Like I said before, we're nothing special, just the foreign army that happens to be passing through their nation today."

Big Al again paused to let his officers think about what he had said. While he did so, he looked at the map. When he spoke, it was almost as if he were thinking to himself. But he wasn't. "This brigade has a tough job. It's going to be the rear guard, not only for your own division but for the entire corps." Still staring at the map, Big Al stretched his arms out and made a big circle. "We're going to move through Germany like a herd of elephants. In the center, all of our supply trains and service support units will travel just like the cows and young do in an elephant herd. Outside, protecting the herd from all comers, the combat brigades will move, just like the elephant bulls, ready and vigilant." Pivoting, Big Al jammed his index finger into the air again. "You people are the bulls. Your job is not to collect trophies or conquer territory. You are there to protect those cows in the center. Because you all know, just like an elephant bull knows instinctively, that if the cows of the herd die the whole herd will cease to exist."

In an effort to lighten the somber mood of the assembled officers, Big Al was about to mention that he got the elephant idea from watching a National Geographic show on television with his grandchildren. The sudden thought of those grandchildren, whom he might never see again, was brutally painful. While still looking at the audience, Big Al wondered how many of those upturned faces, all younger than his and dutifully attentive, concealed similar thoughts. He, of course, knew that most of them did. So he decided to shy away from the mention of families and children. This, he knew, was already becoming hard enough without bringing such thoughts to mind.

Pointing his finger back at the map, Big Al picked up where he had left off. "It is 432 miles to Bremerhaven. That means that each and every M-1A1 tank in this command that makes it there will consume over 3,000 gallons of fuel. Fuel, ladies and gentlemen, not tactical genius or firepower, is going to make or break us. Remember that first, last, and always. We're going to suck dry every gas station between here and Bremerhaven, and still we're not going to have enough fuel. If you, the combat commanders of the Tenth Corps, fail to save the cows, we'll all die. Period."

When he was sure that everyone had had sufficient opportunity to think about what he had just said, Big Al again toned down his speech as he prepared to wind it up. "This will be a team effort, one in which everyone must work together if we're going to hold it together and succeed. Blown bridges will need to be replaced by the engineers, or the herd stops. Air defenders will need to cover the herd from above, a tough job under the best of conditions made worse by the fact that we're moving. Maintenance units will need to keep up with the herd while doing their damnedest to deal with the many problems that will crop up as we roll north. And the medical services will be hard pressed when the time comes to deal with casualties while staying up with everyone else."

Big Al stopped again after mentioning medical services and looked down at the floor. In the audience, seated amongst her peers, Captain Nancy Kozak knew what was coming. She had seen the face of battle and understood the pain and concerns that were running through Big Al's mind. Nothing, she knew, ever took away the pain. You could justify it. You could soften it. You could even occasionally forget it. But you could never rid yourself of the pain of watching people entrusted to your care die in battle. Every commander carried the memories of those soldiers he had lost like open wounds, forever.

When he finally looked up, there was a reflective, thoughtful look on Big Al's face. As he spoke, it was in a soft, concerned tone that slowly began to increase in volume and harshness. "We're not all going to make it. War means fighting, and fighting means dying. You've all seen, I'm sure, my directive concerning the care of our wounded. I know that many of you do not agree with it. Well, to those of you who don't, to those who think that we need to drag our wounded about with us because you were raised to believe in some perverted warrior code that requires you to bring all your men out together or not at all, I say fuck you." Big Al's sudden use of vulgarity shocked most of the assembled officers, just as he had hoped it would. When he had their undivided attention, he made his point. "Some have used the Marine retreat from the Chosen Reservoir in November 1950 and the fact that they brought all their wounded and dead out with them in an effort to get me to change my mind. Well, I'll tell you like I told them. This isn't Korea and it's not 1950. Then the enemy couldn't even tend to his own wounded. Here today it's different. I have great confidence that the Germans will give our wounded the same regard and respect that they will give to their own. Both the German military and the civilian medical care system will be able to deal better with our wounded than our own medical units that will be almost continuously in motion. We'll keep those wounded that can make it, evacuate by air from Germany those in bad shape if that option becomes available, but if it comes to a question of life or death, we will turn our wounded over to the Germans, period."

Looking at his watch, Big Al glanced over to Dixon, then across the sea of faces that were watching his every move. "I've used up enough of your valuable time. But I felt it was important that you hear this from me one more time. This will be the last time that I'll be seeing many of you before we reach Bremerhaven. Until then, good luck. My thoughts will be with you. God bless you all."

On cue, Scott Dixon jumped to his feet and yelled, "Attention!" and saluted. Every officer in the room followed suit, leaping up and bringing their right hand up into a crisp, snappy salute. Big Al merely nodded in acknowledgment, quickly turning and leaving the room without further ado, hoping that none of the assembled officers saw the tears welling up in his eyes as he bid his soldiers farewell.

CHAPTER 12

The mood of the citizens of Niederjossa matched the gray, sullen sky as they trudged through the slush and around piles of old dirty snow that covered central Germany. Few paid attention at first to the German Army Volkswagen staff car, its canvas top down, as it pulled into the town center of Niederjossa without any flourish, without any haste. Like the rest of the midafternoon traffic, the staff car simply negotiated the narrow and winding streets of the small ancient German town built on the banks of the Jossa River. The German Army captain and his driver paid scant attention to the comings and goings of the civilians as they went about their daily routine. He was more interested in making sure that the five medium trucks that were supposed to be following were keeping up. Motioning to his driver to slow down, the captain turned his head around to the right to look for the trucks. As he did, he could not help but notice the stares from the civilians who, shaken from their gloomy preoccupation by the appearance of the German Army, stopped to watch when they saw the small staff car roll by.

As in most towns, there was a look of real concern on the people's faces. While everyone knew what was happening from the nonstop news coverage provided by the television and newspapers, the appearance of real soldiers, armed and ready for battle, on their streets could not be ignored. It had to be dealt with.

Many Germans had no real interest in the arguments put forth by their government. The Americans, they argued, were a benign presence. They had been there for years, one old woman told a reporter, and if they weren't, then someone else would have been. Better the Americans, she said, than the Russians or the English. Like the old woman, many Germans could not really understand why the men in Berlin were being so stubborn, so uncompromising in their dealings with the Americans. Most hoped that it was all a big bluff that, when the final call came, both sides would back down from.

The presence of real soldiers in their streets was to the people of Niederjossa proof that the government was prepared to make good its threats. And if that happened, the people of Niederjossa knew that the clash of arms would be played out in their town, right there in front of their own homes, before their eyes and the eyes of their children. It did not take a great leap of imagination either to picture what would happen when that clash came. Almost as soon as the Americans began flowing into Bavaria, television stations across Germany ran special reports that showed file footage from recent conflicts depicting the carnage that modern war leaves in its wake. Spliced in with older footage from the last war in Germany, the special reports had the effect of reinforcing the positions of those of the political center and left who were calling for immediate negotiations and efforts by the government in Berlin to defuse the situation. When the pleas of German legislators, news correspondents, local officials whose communities lay in the projected line of march, and concerned citizens fell on deaf ears, many decided to take matters in their own hands. So it came as no surprise to the captain when he saw several Germans, both young students on their way home from school and old women, stop in midstride and reach down to grab a handful of snow. Knowing what was next, the captain turned back to his driver and told him to speed up.

While the captain was able to make it through the center of town without much trouble, the trucks following the captain's Volkswagen caught the full weight of the German civilians' anger. When the first truck rumbled into sight, the citizens of Niederjossa had snowballs in hand and were ready. The soldiers riding in the rear of the truck were exposed to the full fury of the volley of snowballs, since the canvas sides of the lead truck were rolled up to allow the soldiers sitting on the bench seats that ran down the centerline of the truck's cargo bed to look out. The soldiers ducked and covered their faces as best they could while the truck's driver attempted to speed up. His efforts, however, were frustrated by the driver of a car that had slipped in behind the captain's Volkswagen and the lead truck. The driver of the car slowed down in order to allow his fellow townsmen a chance to launch a second and third volley of snowballs at the exposed and defenseless soldiers. Only the driver of the truck, a senior sergeant seated next to him, and a gunner who had been manning the machine gun set on a ring mounted at the top of the truck's cab escaped the full fury of the snowballs, but not completely. Several still splattered on the windows of the cab, some with a pronounced snap, indicating that some of the more vicious peace-loving civilians had put stones in the center of their snowballs. One particularly well aimed snowball even came in through the opening where the machine gunner had been standing and hit the machine gunner square on the head.

While the machine gunner jumped up to shake his fist at the shouting civilians and the sergeant tried to pull him back down into the cab, the driver of the truck inched closer to the slow-moving car until he lightly tapped the car's rear with the massive steel bumper of the truck. The driver of the car quickly understood the message. Knowing that the truck driver meant the first tap as a warning, the driver turned onto a side street as soon as he could, leaving the truck driver free to pick up speed and roll clear of the town center.

Only after they had cleared the last of Niederjossa's houses did the sergeant slap the machine gunner on the head with the palm of his hand. Recoiling from the sudden slap, the machine gunner yelled out in perfect English, "Hey, what in the hell did you do that for, Sergeant Rasper?"

"Because, Specialist Pape, I know you and you've got a big mouth."

Still angry and upset, Pape looked down at the floor of the cab, and then back to Rasper. "I wouldn't have said anything in English. I just wanted to give them the finger."

"That, you idiot, would have been just as bad. Germans use different hand and arm signals to communicate their displeasure with their fellow countrymen. Now if you can't do what you're supposed to and behave like a good little Nazi, I'll throw you in the back with the rest of the company." When he saw that Pape was finished pouting, Rasper stuck his thumb up. "Now get up there and see if the other trucks made it out and have caught up." While Pape climbed back up to man his machine gun and check to their rear, Rasper looked down at his map and spoke to the driver. "Let's start picking up speed and see if we can catch up with Major Ilvanich. We're almost at the bridge."

"Goddamned German Nazi sons of bitches. One town hails you like a hero and the next spits in your eye. I think the major's right. We should just say the hell with it, put on Russian uniforms, and let everyone hate us. At least we'd know what to expect."

Rolling his eyes, Rasper shook his head and repeated his order. "Quit thinking, Pape, and get back up there."

Ignoring the blast of frigid air that hit him as soon as he stuck his head up out of the cab, Pape grabbed the machine gun ring mount and pulled himself up. Planting his feet shoulder width apart on the cab's seat and bracing himself against the steel ring mount, Pape managed to get a good stable stance while the wind whipped at his back. Looking down the road back toward Niederjossa, he saw the last of the trucks carrying Company A, 1st Ranger Battalion, leave the town. Second Lieutenant Fitzhugh, whom everyone had begun calling Lieutenant Fuzz after the Beetle Bailey cartoon character, was in that truck bringing up the company's rear. Like the truck that Rasper and Pape were traveling in, Fitzhugh's truck had its canvas sides rolled up, exposing the soldiers of Company A. Wearing German Army uniforms and rank insignia, and riding in German Army trucks "borrowed'' by Major Ilvanich at a German Army reserve depot, all the Caucasian soldiers of the company were grouped into one platoon. Led by Fitzhugh and nicknamed the "Salt'' Platoon by Sergeant First Class Raymond Jefferson, the senior black soldier in the company and leader of the "Pepper'' Platoon, this platoon was the up-front platoon, the one that Ilvanich intended to use when pretending to be the commander of a German infantry company. Jefferson and all the black soldiers in the company were formed into what Ilvanich referred to as his sneaky devil platoon, which would slip around any enemy while Fitzhugh held the enemy's attention. Riding in two of the covered trucks in the center, Jefferson and his platoon, retaining their own weapons and uniforms, kept track of where they were and what was happening by watching through holes discreetly cut into the canvas sides covering their truck's cargo bed. The third truck, in the center of the column, carried extra rations, fuel, ammunition, and the American uniforms and weapons for Fitzhugh's platoon.

Seeing that everyone had made it and was caught up, Pape bent down and informed Rasper. Standing back up, but before turning around, Pape pulled the gray German Army scarf up over his mouth and his goggles down over his eyes. Ready, he faced front just in time to see the open Volkswagen staff car with Ilvanich and Sergeant Couvelha pull back onto the road from a small rest stop where it had been waiting for the trucks. Off in the distance Pape could barely make out the autobahn bridge over the Fulda River that they were to secure in advance of the Tenth Corps. Though it was now less than a kilometer away, it was partially obscured by fog and mist. The Russian major kept telling everyone in the company that the gloomy, gray overcast sky was good for the corps, since it limited aerial surveillance by the Luftwaffe and German Army helicopters. The worse the weather, he told everyone, the faster we go. To Pape, however, that same depressing scene only meant that they would spend another cold, dark, and miserable night with their asses hanging way out in front of the rest of the corps, waiting for someone to come along and relieve them before the Germans found them out and killed them all.

Not that he wouldn't have preferred a good stand-up fight. Anything, Pape thought, was better than tromping around in enemy territory waiting for someone to discover who they really were. That, to Pape, was nerve-racking. To a cocky young man full of piss and vinegar, infiltrating enemy lines in advance of the corps' main body to secure key terrain and bridges lacked glamour, though he was finally beginning to realize what being a ranger was all about. Slowly the whole operation to him was turning out to be just like ranger camp. The only difference was that instead of having to make long, grueling, back-breaking treks through the Florida swamps, they got to ride. That and the fact that if they screwed up this patrol there wouldn't be a next patrol. For that matter, as he watched Ilvanich's Volkswagen slow as it approached a roadblock on the highway manned by real German soldiers, there wouldn't be a next anything. Reaching forward with his right hand, Pape grasped the bolt lever in the palm of his upturned hand and gave it a jerk back, cocking the weapon just in case Ilvanich couldn't convince the real Nazis that they were, as Rasper would say, good little Nazis too.

Too cold to leave the warmth of the fire they had started on the side of the road, the two German Army engineers waved Ilvanich through with no more than a glance. Angered by this lack of soldierly vigilance, Ilvanich was about to stop to yell at the German Army engineers for failing to challenge him. After considering the matter carefully, however, Ilvanich decided not to Though he knew that a good German Army captain would do so, there was always the possibility that he just might play his role too well, causing the German soldiers to react by asking him for documents and identification that he did not have. Besides, he did not know for sure how his American rangers would react to such a challenge. Although he had no doubt that they were all good men, he'd had little time to work with them. Neither he nor the Americans had been able to establish the working relationship that allowed commander and soldiers to react intuitively as one in the short time that they had been together. So Ilvanich allowed the transgressions of the German Army engineers to go unpunished. They would someday pay for that. Turning away, Ilvanich motioned to Couvelha to head for a group of military vehicles parked under the autobahn bridge.

Even before he stopped, a young lieutenant of pioneers, German combat engineers, strolled up to Ilvanich's staff car and gave Ilvanich a casual salute. Without waiting for Ilvanich to return the salute, the young German lieutenant smiled as he spoke. "Well, can't say that I'm not glad to see you and your company. We've been finished for hours, waiting to get out of here and find someplace where we can warm up." Glancing beyond the lieutenant, Ilvanich saw the rest of the engineer platoon warming themselves around a barrel with fire in it. Again deciding not to criticize, Ilvanich simply nodded as he returned the lieutenant's salute. Looking about at the underside of the bridge to study the handiwork of the German engineers as he slowly got out of the staff car, Ilvanich, almost absent-mindedly, began to question the lieutenant. "Must have taken most of the day to prepare this target."

"Actually, we started yesterday and finished this morning, Herr Captain. It was a bit too much to work on it during the night. The cold and all, you know."

No, Ilvanich thought, I don't know. These Germans, he thought, were not as good as he had expected. Perhaps, he thought, this was just a lazy unit. And if this unit wasn't an isolated case, if the whole German Army was as bad, the Americans just might be able to pull off this insane plan after all. Shaking his head, Ilvanich turned and faced the lieutenant. "Do you have written orders?"

The lieutenant nodded. "Well yes, of course."

Ilvanich didn't need to pretend that he was losing his patience with the German officer. He really was. "Well, Lieutenant, let me see them now."

Startled by Ilvanich's sudden demand, the lieutenant jumped slightly. "Well, I have to go get them from my map case, Herr Captain."

Narrowing his eyes into a piercing glare that sent a shiver down the German engineer lieutenant's back, Ilvanich leaned forward and snarled, "Well why don't you do that, Lieutenant."

While he waited for the orders, Ilvanich looked back at his own trucks. With little talking, the rangers of Company A had dismounted and were gathering around the rear of Fitzhugh's truck. Only Pape, manning the machine gun in the lead truck and providing Ilvanich cover, remained behind. And of course Jefferson and his Pepper Platoon were ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble. A few chuckles and muted laughter told Ilvanich that Rasper was using his fractured German to form up Fitzhugh's platoon. He had heard Rasper practice it and had found it amusing. Commands such as "Fallin zee in," and "Mockin much snell, now," mixed with Rasper's lazy Texas drawl, brought smiles to everyone, even the normally solemn Ilvanich. This, however, was not the time, Ilvanich knew, for such antics. Barking out in German to Fitzhugh to knock it off, Ilvanich's booming voice caused everyone in the area, real Germans and rangers, to stop what they were doing and turn toward Ilvanich.

At the rear of the column, Fitzhugh, realizing that Ilvanich was yelling to him, moved to the side of the last covered truck, where Sergeant Jefferson was, and stopped. With no idea of what Ilvanich wanted because he couldn't speak German, Fitzhugh looked toward Ilvanich but whispered to Jefferson, who spoke the language fluently. "What's the major want, Sergeant Jefferson?"

Seeing that he had an excellent opportunity to mess with what he called his favorite lieutenant, Jefferson took liberties with his translation of Ilvanich's order. "The major said, 'Lieutenant Fuzz, if you don't pull your head out of that lily white ass of yours and get that platoon under control, I'm going to come down there and stick my size twelve Russian boot up your butt.' "

Fitzhugh shook his head and smiled to himself. "But the major doesn't wear a size twelve. Please ask him, Sergeant Jefferson, to repeat his last order, just to make sure you got it right."

Silence followed by muted chuckles told Fitzhugh that he had stumped Jefferson. "Okay, fun's over. I'll get my people under control. Please do the same to yours. Supply trucks, especially German Army supply trucks, Sergeant Jefferson, don't laugh."

Back at the head of the column, the engineer lieutenant returned with the orders. Ilvanich took them and read them carefully. As he was doing so, the German lieutenant commented that he had never thought that he would be given such orders. Ilvanich, pausing, looked about at the gathered German pioneers, then up at the underside of the autobahn bridge at the explosives that he and his rangers would soon be removing. A smile slowly began to creep across his face as he looked down at the German officer. "Funny," Ilvanich said. "Somehow I always knew that I'd be doing exactly this."

Struck by the captain's strange reaction, the engineer lieutenant didn't comment as Ilvanich went back to reading the orders. The captain, the lieutenant thought, was the hard, cold, and very proper Prussian type. He could see it in the captain's face, in his voice, even in the way he wore his short hair and uniform, all very military and very proper. The captain, judging from his accent, had to be an easterner, the lieutenant decided. He was right. He just didn't realize how far east Ilvanich really came from.

Finished, Ilvanich folded the orders and turned to place them in his own map case sitting on the side of his staff car's seat. The orders, official German military orders, gave Ilvanich documentation that he didn't have before that might be useful in bluffing his way through a tight confrontation with other, more alert German officers. When the German lieutenant protested Ilvanich's taking of the orders, Ilvanich demurred. "Your work here is finished. They told you to prepare this target for demolition and then wait for either orders to execute it or to turn it over to another unit that would guard it or execute it for you. My orders, all verbal unfortunately, are to relieve you of responsibility for this target."

Still unsure about leaving Ilvanich with his orders, the lieutenant countered. "I was expecting to be relieved by elements of the 2nd Panzer Division. A staff officer from that division was by here a few hours ago warning me that they would be delayed another ten to twelve hours at least. They are supposed to establish blocking positions here while linking up with the 10th Panzer Division to the east."

"Did this staff officer say where that link-up was to be made?"

Not suspecting that Ilvanich's question was anything other than idle curiosity, the lieutenant nodded. "Yes, Herr Captain. He said that the link-up would be somewhere east of Alsfeld. Once they had made that link-up, the staff officer said that the Americans would be forced either to stop and give up their race for the sea or attack. Quite frankly, Herr Captain, I think the staff officer was hoping that the Americans would attack. There are some officers I know who are looking for a fight."

Looking back at Fitzhugh and his platoon, ready to move forward and assume control of the massive autobahn bridge as soon as the German engineers were gone, Ilvanich shook his head. "Well, Lieutenant, if those officers knew the Americans like I do, they would think twice before messing with them. Now, unless there's something else that you need to tell me, I accept responsibility for this site and relieve you and your platoon."

Glad to be finished, the lieutenant told Ilvanich that as far as he could see all was in order. Saluting, he turned to gather up his men and equipment. The German engineers left the bridge without a second thought, leaving Ilvanich and Company A to disarm the masses of explosives the Germans had worked so hard to emplace and to pass on to the Tenth Corps G-2 the information Ilvanich had been able to glean from them.

While Ilvanich and the rangers of Company A secured the autobahn bridge east of Niederjossa, the lead elements of the 4th Armored Division prepared to make their next leap forward. Like a great Slinky toy moving across the face of Germany, each night the Tenth Corps would spring up, stretch out, move forward, and then collapse on itself further north than the night before. While that simple analogy might make Malin's "March to the Sea" understandable, the actual complex process of moving a corps with over 75,000 soldiers and 30,000 vehicles defied the ability of any one person to really understand the process. For it entailed more than simply lining up vehicles and putting them on the road.

In the first place, the Tenth Corps had to be prepared to fight. Combat maneuver units, armored cavalry squadrons, tank battalions, and mechanized infantry battalions marching in the lead, on the flanks, and in the rear of the corps, had to be arranged so that they could bull through a blocking position or turn and defend the rest of the corps from a thrust from a German unit. This requirement dictated the order and manner in which combat support units followed. The march tables of artillery units had to conform to the movements of the tank and infantry units so as to allow the artillery units to rapidly set up and fire in support of the combat maneuver units if they made contact with German units determined to fight. The result was that the Tenth Corps, instead of moving forward as one large Slinky toy, in reality consisted of thousands of tiny company-and platoon-sized Slinkys. Moving at different times along different routes and to different locations, these separate companies and platoons tried hard to be at the right place at the right time without ensnaring with each other, a feat that they achieved most of the time but not always.

Mixed in with the combat maneuver units were the ubiquitous engineer units, ready to jump forward in front of the combat maneuver units to bridge a river or to clear an obstacle. To protect the ground elements from attack by German aircraft, which already were flying over the long columns with great regularity, were air defense units armed with heat-seeking and radar-guided missiles such as the Stinger and the Patriot. These units, relying on a system of interlocking early-warning radar, had to conform both to the needs of combat maneuver units and the leapfrogging forward elements of the radar network to cover the entire corps.

Within the complex and intricate layering of combat and combat support units were the combat service support elements. Signal units like the air defense radar units had to leap forward in well-planned jumps so as to maintain the communications between units and their superior headquarters. Supply and transportation units, collectively known as trains at every level from battalion to corps, had to move forward to refuel and resupply all elements of the corps, to include themselves. This process was extremely elaborate, made more so by the fact that the entire corps was moving up through Germany like a great bubble. Supplies and fuel, therefore, had to flow in all directions, out from the center and not just from the rear forward as was normally practiced. This complication alone made the already challenging task of meeting the needs of combat and combat support units while the support units themselves were moving a task that defied description.

Mixed in with the supply and transportation units as part of the trains were the medical and maintenance units, one responsible for retrieving and tending to wounded soldiers and the other for recovering and repairing, if possible, the damaged or broken-down vehicles and equipment left in the wake of the advancing corps. Like the supply units, the task of these elements of the trains was complicated by the fact that this was not a normal textbook operation. Neither the hospitals nor the maintenance units would be able to stop and fully set up their operations. They, like everyone else, would be in an almost constant state of movement or preparation for movement. This alone made it impossible to provide all the necessary services that they were capable of. As with every other support element, the need to deal with the evacuation of wounded in all directions, not just from front to rear, made their tasks more arduous and demanding.

That, however, was not the most difficult part of the operation for these dedicated professionals, both in the medical and maintenance fields. The standing orders issued before the beginning of the march established demanding criteria to be used in deciding which wounded soldiers and damaged vehicles would be worked on and kept with the corps and which would be left behind. Those wounded whose lives or limbs would be endangered if kept with the Tenth Corps would be left in the hands of German medical services at the nearest hospital. Damaged or broken-down vehicles and equipment would be abandoned and destroyed if deemed unrepairable in the time available or if parts were not available. While it could be easily argued that there was no comparing the two, wounded personnel and disabled vehicles, the dedication of the officers and soldiers in the maintenance units to the accomplishment of their duties is no less real and pressing than that of their counterparts in the medical units.

While Ilvanich and his rangers worked to clear the corps' line of march, the personnel of the 553rd Field Hospital prepared for another night of aimless wandering. Hilary Cole was charged that night with supervising the transfer of three Tenth Corps soldiers injured in traffic accidents over to the Germans. Leading the stretcher bearers carrying the wounded personnel from the ward tent of their field hospital set up in the parking lot of a German civilian hospital into the emergency room of the German hospital, Cole pondered the wisdom of leaving Americans behind. Though all three Americans had sustained internal injuries in separate incidents that required a recovery period of rest and care that a moving field hospital could not provide, the idea of leaving fellow countrymen in the hands of "The Enemy" bothered Cole.

Leading the small parade of litter bearers and wounded, Cole was greeted by a German nurse whose English was about as bad as Cole's German was. The German nurse, an older heavy-set woman with a round face and dressed in an immaculate white uniform, was seated behind a counter when Cole and her charges entered. After shouting out something in German to Cole that she did not understand, the German nurse stared at Cole for several seconds, looking her up and down with obvious disdain. Cole, like everyone else in her unit, had been unable to take proper care of herself or her personal needs. Moving about in what had appeared to her and the other nurses of the 553rd to be a totally random fashion, without ever knowing where they were going or when they would get there, unable to fully set up their hospital and the living areas for the staff, left Cole looking and feeling miserable, dirty, and haggard.

Realizing that everyone in the hospital was staring at them, half unsure what to do and half disgusted, Cole decided that she needed to assert herself. As much as she hated the idea of leaving her wounded here in the hands of foreigners, she knew in her heart that it was the right thing to do. The fact that she couldn't even properly care for herself made her realize how foolish it would be to saddle the 553rd with severely injured soldiers. When it became obvious that the Germans were not going to make the first move, Cole motioned for the stretcher bearers to set the wounded down, took off her helmet, and walked over to the counter where the big German nurse sat. Though she suspected that the German nurse wouldn't understand the words, Cole hoped that she would understand the meaning. Supplemented with motions of her hand, Cole tried to explain who she was and what they were there for. "I am a nurse. Those soldiers are injured and we cannot take them with us. We have an arrangement with your hospital to leave them. Who do I see to make the transfer?"

There was at first no sign of comprehension on the German nurse's face. She just sat there staring at Cole while Cole went about pointing at the wounded and talking. After a pause of several seconds, during which Cole became convinced that she had totally failed to communicate, the German nurse stood up and called for another nurse. A thin young nurse, her long blond hair pulled back and secured in a neat tight bun, who had been standing off to one side watching and listening, came up next to Cole and introduced herself. "I am Marie. The head nurse doesn't speak English, so I will assist you."

The smile on Marie's face caused Cole to relax. "Where can I take my patients? They are, I'm afraid, in the way where they are, and it's not a good idea to leave them for long near the doors. Drafts and all, you know."

Marie nodded and smiled. "Yes, yes, we know. If you would have your stretcher bearers pick up the injured, I'll take you to an examination room. Our doctors would like to examine them themselves and have them cleaned up before we send them to the wards and begin treatment."

Cole blushed slightly in embarrassment. "I am so sorry that they are not in better shape. We're very hard pressed to tend to even the most basic needs. These are hard times for us."

Marie glanced over at the big German nurse as she leaned, closer to Cole. "Yes, I know," she whispered. "These are hard times for all of us. Her son," Marie said while nodding toward the big German nurse, "is a soldier with the 2nd Panzer Division. But don't worry. She is a good nurse, and your soldiers will be well cared for, just like our own."

The look in Marie's eyes, her efforts to ease Cole's concern, and the smile on her face told Cole that it would be all right, that she was doing the right thing. After thanking Marie for her kind words, Cole signaled the stretcher bearers to pick up the wounded and follow Marie. For the first time in days, Cole felt that something she was doing made sense. Perhaps, she thought, things weren't as bad as they had seemed. Perhaps, she thought, this would all work out in the end.

Within easy walking distance of the hospital where Cole was transferring her charges over to the Germans, men and women of the Tenth Corps' G-2 counterintelligence section were doing their part to blind or at least confuse German intelligence. Their current task of keeping German intelligence from gathering all the information that it needed to form a complete and accurate picture of where the Tenth Corps was and what it was up to at first seemed impossible.

The Tenth Corps was, after all, moving through the heart of Germany. Even in those towns and villages that dotted the corps' route of march with great regularity, where the populace supported the American efforts through noninterference, there were always a few who were outraged by what they called "the rape of our homeland by the foreign invaders." Together with local police officials dedicated to their duties, this network of informers provided the German intelligence agencies, both military and civilian, with a wealth of information. The Tenth Corps policy of noninterference with civilian property and operations seemed to aid this, since no efforts were made to cut the civilian phone system or hinder the movement of German civilian police. Even mail deliveries were still being carried out with great regularity between what was now referred to by Chancellor Ruff as occupied Germany and the rest of the nation.

Knowing full well that they would be unable to hide even the smallest piece of the corps from German eyes, the corps operations officer and intelligence officer decided that their deception plan would capitalize on this free flow of information. A special corps counterintelligence section formed a detachment manned by American personnel fluent in German as well as some trusted Germans, collectively known as the Valkyrie. This detachment, using a master deception plan drawn up by corps, used the same system and format utilized by the regular German informers to insert volumes of misinformation into the German intelligence system in an effort to both mislead the Germans and to discredit genuine information. By providing information that ranged from very nearly accurate to wild exaggerations, the Valkyrie matched the manner and the nature of the reports coming in from real informers who were zealous but untrained, and thus were indistinguishable from the real German information sources.

To assist this active program, a passive deception plan was also carried out corpswide. All distinctive unit markings and vehicle identification numbers and patches were removed from vehicles, equipment, and uniforms. In selected cases, however, some numbers were left on, while in other cases some numbers were changed to reflect a different unit. To totally confuse the Germans, and encourage the discounting of reports from real informers, some of the false unit markings placed on vehicles were those of units still stationed in the United States. So even if a real informer reported that a tank company rolled through his village at such and such a time headed in such and such a direction, the intelligence officer in Berlin would have to discount that report when the informer added that two of the vehicles had bumper numbers showing the tanks belonged to 1st Battalion, 32nd Armor, a tank battalion stationed at Fort Hood, Texas.

Inundated with masses of reports whose reliability was becoming more and more suspect, the German Army began to turn to its own intelligence-gathering efforts. Like tiny tentacles, air and ground reconnaissance elements crept forward in advance of the German combat units. Some of the recon units were very circumspect, relying on stealth and caution to close with and gather information on American forces. The techniques and methods used by German armored reconnaissance or Panzeraufklärung units ranged from the conventional to the artistic. One German cavalry sergeant, finding an ideal spot from which to observe a major north-south highway near Fulda, buried his eight-wheeled Luchs armored reconnaissance vehicle in a farmer's dungheap up to the turret ring and smeared the turret with dung. Only the keen eye of an American soldier who noticed an antenna waving gently in the breeze above the dungheap gave the German away.

Other German reconnaissance units were quite open and bold in their efforts. Taking advantage of the ambiguousness of the confrontation and the fact that no one had yet fired a shot, it was not unusual to see German Luchs armored cars parked on hilltops or right in the middle of a road, their crews sitting up on the turret roof as they counted the American vehicles that went by. In these cases, American vehicles with smoke generators, when available, were dispatched to pull up close to the German vehicles and then turn on their smoke generators. Depending on the mood of the American sergeant commanding the smoke-generating vehicle, the smokescreen was used to block the Germans' view or actually blow right across the German reconnaissance vehicle. This, of course, made it necessary for the German vehicle to move, which in turn caused the American smoke-generating vehicle to follow. Hal Cerro, watching one such pursuit with Scott Dixon, commented that it was like watching a cat run around with a can of rocks tied to its tail. Dixon, ever the realist, pointed out that this cat had big claws and sharp teeth that eventually it would use when it tired of these antics.

In support of the ground and air reconnaissance effort, units of the German Army responsible for gathering signal intelligence, called "sigint'' for short, scanned the airwaves in search of units of the Tenth Corps. When a Tenth Corps radio was activated and its signal detected by a German Army signal intelligence unit, the Germans could eavesdrop on the conversation if it was not encrypted in an effort to find out what type of unit was making the transmission, what their situation was, and who they were talking to. If the signal was encrypted, then the Germans could at least locate the transmitter through a technique known as "resection" and, with this information available, create a picture of unit locations to confirm or deny information provided by informers. If all else failed, the Germans always had the option of jamming the American radio frequencies in use or recording the transmitters' locations for targeting at a later date.

To further hinder the reconnaissance efforts of the German Army, the Tenth Corps operations plan called for the bulk of the corps' movement to take place during periods of limited visibility. Since the son set in central Germany before five in the afternoon during January and didn't come up again until after seven in the morning, the corps had plenty of darkness to operate with. Use of multiple routes, including countless logging and farm trails that ran through Germany like tiny capillaries through the human body, aided in confusing the Germans.

Darkness and fog, however, could not hide radio signals. In an effort similar to that of the Valkyrie informers, dummy headquarters were set up to simulate radio traffic of real headquarters. Consisting of three or four vehicles equipped with the same type of radios used by the real headquarters, these dummy headquarters moved about the Tenth Corps area in accordance with the Tenth Corps deception plan, the same used by the Valkyrie. While the real headquarters continued to move in radio-listening silence, using messengers or the German telephone system for communications, their dummy counterparts operated radio nets that normally would be used by the real headquarters. As they passed information back and forth, German signal intelligence units would track the dummy units, feeding that information into the German intelligence system. Of course, eventually most dummy headquarters were discovered for what they were. When the Americans were able to detect that a dummy headquarters had been compromised, those dummy headquarters were shut down and sent elsewhere to assume the identity of another headquarters, but not always. As an added twist, when everyone at Tenth Corps was sure that a dummy headquarters was in fact identified as one, the dummy headquarters was co-located with the real one. In this way, information provided by the German Army signal intelligence units claiming that a unit was a dummy actually discredited good solid information from other sources that identified the real headquarters and its associated units.

This war for information and intelligence that was being waged on the ground and in the airwaves over central Germany was not without its risks and costs. While flying back from the 14th Armored Cavalry Regiment's forward command post in Fulda to the air squadron's command post, Major Bob Messinger, the squadron operations officer, noticed movement that he thought was a helicopter off to his left. He ordered his pilot, Warrant Officer Three Larry Perkins, to come around so that he could get a better look. After searching the area for several seconds, Messinger saw what he was looking for. "See 'em? Do you see them over there to the left?"

Perkins, watching his altitude and speed with one eye, glanced over to where Messinger was pointing. Finally, in the failing late-afternoon light, Perkins caught a glimpse of two German scout helicopters flying low and slow toward the west, side by side. "Oh, yeah. I see." Then as an afterthought he added, "Tryin' to be sneaky little devils, aren't they?"

Without taking his eyes from the German helicopters, Messinger mused, "Well, they're not being very good at it, are they? Look at 'em. Damn. There isn't more than a hundred meters between them. And I don't think they've seen us."

While bringing their helicopter around in a circle behind the German helicopters, Perkins continued to watch his instruments, where he was going, and the Germans. "Bad case of tunnel vision. You don't suppose they have someone flying cover, do you?"

Understanding Perkins's comment for the warning it was, Messinger began to look about for any sign of other German helicopters or aircraft. When he was sure there weren't any, he turned back to the two German helicopters. By this time Perkins had brought their own helicopter behind the Germans, slowing almost to a hover. Deciding that this was a good time to report, Messinger submitted a sighting report, called a spot report, back to the squadron command post. After providing his assistant operations officer at the command post with the location, number of helicopters sighted, their type, and their activity, Messinger turned to Perkins. "You feel like having a little fun?"

Knowing what Messinger was hinting at, Perkins looked at his fuel gauge, his other instruments, and the amount of daylight left, and thought for a second. When he was sure that they could afford to deviate from their flight plan, Perkins turned to Messinger and smiled. "Sure. You're the boss. Do we sneak up or dig our spurs in and charge home?"

"Let's shake these guys' trees a little. Kick her in the ass and overfly 'em. And, Larry, I want to see what color eyes the pilot of the right helicopter has."

Lining up his ancient OH-58 with the Germans, Perkins set himself like a sprinter in the starting blocks. Messinger, taking one last glance around to make sure there weren't any other Germans trailing or covering the two German scouts that they were about to pounce on, called out that the coast was clear. When all was ready, Perkins simply said, "Here we go," and began their run in.

Easing the joy stick forward with his right hand, Perkins tilted the main rotor forward by twisting the collective on his side with his left hand while manipulating the pedals with his feet to keep the tail boom straight. All these actions, done with the ease and grace of an experienced aviator who flew almost exclusively by feel and touch, put the helicopter in a nose-down position as the main rotor bit into the air and pulled the helicopter forward at ever increasing speeds.

By the time they were within one hundred meters of the two German scouts, Perkins and Messinger's helicopter had just about maxed out their airspeed. With a final quick jerk up on the cyclic, Perkins pulled their helicopter up and over the two Germans. Once he was sure that they had cleared the German helicopters, Perkins eased the collective down, causing the helicopter to drop right in front of the Germans. After holding this for a couple of seconds to ensure that the Germans got a chance to see who he was, Perkins made a hard left bank in order to get out of the Germans' line of fire.

Shooting, however, was the last thing the two German pilots were thinking of at that moment. They had been, as Messinger observed, totally oblivious to everything except where they were going. The sudden appearance of another helicopter overflying them at a high rate of speed and then dropping right in front of them just meters away caused both pilots to panic and overreact. The German to the left pulled up and made a sharp bank to the left in order to avoid a collision with the unknown intruder. He sought safety in altitude and speed. The other German attempted to do the same, but didn't quite gain enough altitude before he began his bank to the right. The result was that as his helicopter began to tilt to the right its rotors bit into the branches of a pine tree off to his side. Though the branches didn't shatter or break the rotors, the sudden blade strike, coupled with the shock of Perkins's overflight, totally unnerved the German pilot. At a loss as to what to do and unable to comprehend everything that was happening, the German flared out and crash-landed his helicopter.

While they were still coming around and slowing some, Messinger saw the effects of their maneuver. When he saw the blade strike and the crash landing of the German helicopter that had been on the right, he held his breath as he waited to see if the German helicopter caught fire. Perkins, also watching, said nothing. Instead he brought his own helicopter around in a tighter bank and headed for the crashed helicopter. As they approached, both men experienced a sinking feeling while they watched to see if their fellow aviators were able to make it clear of the wreckage. When they saw one, then the other, free himself from the downed aircraft, both men felt great relief. Messinger broke the silence by instructing Perkins to set down near the two downed aviators.

While approaching the crash site, two thoughts kept running through Messinger's mind. The first was a fear that their actions would be viewed in the worst possible light by the German government and serve as the pretext that it was so desperately looking for in order to start a real shooting war. Everyone in the Tenth Corps had been warned on a daily basis to avoid doing anything within reason that would give the Germans the excuse to start firing. Messinger himself had mouthed those words to the troop commanders in his squadron. It was because of this that the second thought or, more correctly, feeling kept gnawing at him. He felt, as Perkins prepared to land, the same feeling that he had when as a child he had broken something by accident and was trying to see if he could fix it before his mom and dad found out.

Once on the ground, Messinger was out of his helicopter before Perkins shut it down. Running over to the first German aviator, Messinger yelled, "Are you all right? Are you hurt?" The German was sitting in the snow, resting his elbows on his knees and holding his head in his hands. When Messinger finally reached him without getting any response, he bent over and reached out with his right hand, resting it on the German's shoulder before asking again, "Are you all right?"

The German aviator, finally recovered enough from the shock of the crash landing, looked up. Still too dazed to think clearly or be angry, he just nodded. "Ja, yes. I think so." Then looking over to the helicopter, he asked, "Otto! Wo ist—, where is Otto?"

Messinger, still with his hand on the German's shoulder, looked about for the other German aviator. He saw Otto on the other side of the helicopter standing next to a tree. Supporting himself with one hand, Otto was bending over, either trying to catch his breath or throwing up. When Perkins, carrying a first aid kit, came up next to Messinger, Messinger pointed over to where Otto was and told Perkins to head over there and see how he was doing. Perkins had no sooner left when Messinger heard two voices behind him. "Erich, Otto! Erich, Otto! Wo sind sie?"

Turning around, Messinger saw two Germans in flight suits approaching at a run. The other helicopter had, he decided, also landed to check on their comrades. As he watched them approach, Messinger noticed that the lead aviator had a drawn pistol in his right hand while the other one carried a submachine gun at the ready. Suddenly for the first time it dawned upon Messinger that landing might have been a bigger mistake than just flying away. Realizing that it was too late to do anything, Messinger stood up and waved to the approaching Germans. Having decided that bluffing it out was the best solution, he called out, "Erich is here. He's shook up but okay. Otto is over there with my pilot."

The German aviator wearing the insignia of a captain slowed down as he approached. There was a scowl on his face as he looked at Messinger, then at Erich, and then back up to Messinger. When he was ten feet away, the German captain let his right hand, which still held the pistol, drop to his side as he spoke. "You fool. You could have killed us."

Messinger did not miss the irony of the German captain's statement. Given the political and the military situation, that was exactly what they should have been doing. And yet, Messinger thought, just when it seemed that he had succeeded in doing just that, his first reaction and that of his pilot had been one of concern. They had come running out of habit to assist fellow aviators in distress, not to view their handiwork. And because it was so obvious that this was so, the German captain began to holster his pistol as he directed his observer to go help Perkins with Otto.

Squatting, the German captain placed his hand on the side of Erich's head and said something in German that caused Erich to respond with a weak smile that vanished as soon as it had come. Feeling out of place and uneasy, Messinger stepped back. "Hey, I'm sorry. We were only trying to scare you."

The German captain stood up and faced Messinger. "Well, Herr Major, you succeeded. Now you'd better go. There is a recovery team coming in with my battalion commander. He might take a dim view of seeing you here and decide to keep you."

Nodding, Messinger called to Perkins and began to walk. He had only gone a few steps when the German captain called out. "Major!" Stopping in midstride, Messinger turned toward the German. The German captain was looking down at Erich as he spoke. "Thank you for landing and your concern." Then he looked up at Messinger. "I wish our leaders could have been here to see that we are not in reality enemies."

Messinger looked about. "Yes, I know what you mean. Auf Wiedersehen, and good luck."