by James Rouch
“I was thinking they would stay together, or at most divide into two or three battle groups.” Gebert exchanged glances with his police chief. “It could take days to clear the last of them out.”
“That's what they're counting on.” Behind Revell, two colonels were engaged in a shouting match. He had to speak up to be heard above them... “In the meantime, your good citizens and the visitors are bottled up with minimal facilities and severe overcrowding. I've seen their mood, this last week. A lot of them are going to crack very quickly. If they stay down, they'll go mad, if they come up, they'll be picked off.”
Gebert mopped his face. “You are right. Within forty-eight hours, Munich will no longer be a part of the NATO war effort. It will be a gigantic asylum.”
NINE
Colonel Klee let the arguments swirl about him. Occasionally, when one of the generals would tug at his sleeve for attention, he would nod a pretence of agreement and understanding. His vacant gaze flicked from one to another of the faces about him. He failed to catch more than a few words from any sentence, and not a single idea from the hundreds with which he was bombarded.
Finally, dazed and bewildered, overwhelmed by the speed of events, Klee stuttered an excuse and hurried from the room. Outside in the corridor, he leant back against the wall, gulped air, and loosened his tie.
From inside he could hear voices raised, as the heated discussions continued without his being missed. He was fast persuading himself he was not well.
It was his wife and that damned brother of hers in the appointments office who had got him his present position. And why had he let himself be transferred from a similar post at Saarbrucken on the French border? Because she liked the stores in Munich!
Well, he had done all he could. At the general's insistence, he had fired off urgent requests for help. That, at least, he could be confident was the correct course of action. From now on the staff officers could formulate all the plans. He no longer had to accept any responsibility or blame for events.
Even as his churning stomach began to settle, Colonel Klee experienced a sudden feeling of utter despair, as he saw the police commissioner and Mayor Gebert bearing down on him.
Stadler was waving a message pad. “Are you mad, Klee? Have you really sent this?”
Klee accepted the pad, and put on his gold-rimmed spectacles to read. Not that he really needed to, poor though his eyesight was, he recognised his own handwriting.
“Yes, fifteen minutes ago. What else was I to do? They outrank me!” “You have no comprehension of what you've done, have you?” Gebert's hands clenched and unclenched. It was only with an effort that he prevented himself from committing an act of violence on the elderly officer: “As a result of those damned cries for help of yours, we are shortly going to be playing host to contingents from every gung-ho outfit in NATO.”
“The situation is worse than we can handle. I don't see that there is any other way...”
“So you send an SOS, an open invitation. When the 'Marines and the SAS and the Rangers arrive, how do we coordinate them, integrate them with your troops, the police...”
“I don't know. Let the generals sort it out.” Klee's petulant response to the questions was almost a wail of anguish. “What more do you expect me to do? I didn't ask for this, I should have retired last year.”
“It's too late for any of us to wish that had happened.” Stadler couldn't feel any pity for the broken man. He had put too many lives at risk. “We have to avoid a free-for-all in the streets. How many troops have you got in barracks?”
Sobbing, Klee shook his head. Both his hands came up to his face just a fraction too late to prevent Stadler's fist connecting with his mouth. The police chief made ready to launch another blow. I asked how many.” . “Perhaps three hundred or so, I think.” Klee made no effort to staunch the flow of blood from his split lip. “We are under strength, and some are on leave or away on courses. I didn't know this was going to happen.”
“What the devil is going on out here?”
As Stadler began to drag Klee away, a balding staff officer stuck his head out of the door abruptly.
Gebert turned on his politician's smile. “The colonel appears to be suffering from acute claustrophobia. For the sake of morale down here, we thought it best to subdue him quickly.”
“Quite right. Can't have men cracking up. Especially officers, sets a bad example. Taking him to the sick bay, are you?” Not waiting for an answer the officer withdrew, and the door closed behind him.
As he disappeared, Gebert heard more snatches of the continuing debate. “...take at least three weeks...”
“...need a couple of divisions I should say ...” “...street fighting, nasty business ...” “...a couple of mini-nukes will flush them out. Worth a few of our own and a chunk of the city...”
“We're keeping the whole operation under civilian control, using the police radio net.” Stadler tapped the wall map with his marker pen, leaving an unintentional cluster of smudged red dots on the plastic cover.
“Most of the land lines are out, with the exception of the duplicated hardened cables to the airport and the barracks. If the damage to the telephone system is going to continue to escalate, then we could still lose them. So we'll rely exclusively on radio.”
“A pity the trunk lines weren't knocked out before the colonel had his calls put through.” Gebert glared at Klee, who sat slumped on a folding chair in a corner, taking no part in the discussion.
“If we stick to the plan I've sketched out, then hopefully we establish contact with the special forces as they arrive, and then absorb and employ them, Everything depends on this central control knowing the positive location of our hunting units at any moment. Most important, none of them must make a move without having it cleared first.”
“You're expecting a lot of men who -are not used to working like that.” Revell was thinking of the hastily formed police SWAT teams that would shortly be going into action against the paratroops.
“I know. I'm spelling it out to them that with two columns pushing into the centre, and with hunting groups already at work there, we've the ingredients for more than a few home-goals. Lose control, and it'll be a disaster.”
That was one hell of an understatement, Revell knew. The first stage of the operation would soon be underway. Civil defence teams were making ready to lead to safety the masses who had taken shelter in the subway stations.
It was a daunting task, fraught with difficulties. The only factor that made even its contemplation feasible was that with each team there would be U-bahn maintenance staff.
Stage two was far more risky and complex. From the north the garrison troops, and from the east a mixed force of armed police and airport security staff, would have to push steadily in towards the city. As they came, they would have to evacuate every shelter and send the civilians back along the route they had, hopefully, cleared of snipers.
The columns would radio when they encountered serious opposition. Where they couldn't go around, attack teams would endeavour to eliminate the obstructing paratroops by direct assault.
Both columns would be able to deploy some light armour, in the form of armoured cars and personnel carriers. Their heavy machine guns and cannon would he invaluable for scouting and close support.
If the Russian paratroops had anti-armour capability though, the usefulness of armoured vehicles in street fighting would be severely limited. With thousands of hiding places for ambush teams in every street, a rocket-propelled grenade into their vulnerable side armour would turn them into fiery death traps.
TEN
“You manage to get in touch with your men, Major?” Stadler groped in the pockets of the jacket draped over the back of his chair. He fished out cigarettes and a lighter.
“I'll be rejoining them shortly.” Revell slipped on a flak vest Ackerman had found for him. “And I'll be glad to. There are too many high-powered staff officers here for my liking.”
“Mine as wel
l.” Stadler lifted his eyes to the ceiling in pained resignation. “The generals didn't like being told that the operation was staying strictly under civilian control. A few of them I thought I might be forced to lock up out of harm's way. It is possible I still might. I feel they are plotting.”
“Have you been able to contact the main police communications room yet?” Revell was aware that during their conversation Stadler had been half-listening to the operator who was trying line after line and channel after channel.
“No, I am afraid the headquarters will have been an early target. At this time of night, there will have been only forty staff members on duty. But we can carry on from here for the moment.”
“What about the men who were actually on the streets?” Stadler toyed with the lighter, flicking it to produce a tall flame. “I can reach about half of those who were on duty. When the sirens sounded, they would have stayed above ground. They would have been easy targets for the Russians, alone on the streets.”
“They might just be pinned down. They're not necessarily casualties.” “Foot patrols and car crews all have radios. If they were able to, they would use them.” Keeping the flame turned up, Stadler watched it absently. When finally it died to nothing, he pocketed it without lighting his cigarette.
“It is the manpower situation that is most worrying. After forming SWAT teams, those officers I have left are being spread far too thinly. Some are on standby to attach themselves to the columns as they approach. I have to dispatch most of them to man roadblocks as far out from the centre as I can. As the morning goes on, a torrent of vehicles will converge on the city. Not all will be aware of what is happening.”
It took little imagination on Revell's part to realize what would happen if a bus load of tourists suddenly appeared on the streets. “Do you have reports of many civilian casualties so far?”
“Too many. There's been no bombing, but no all-clear either. They've started sticking their heads out to see what's going on, and getting them shot off.”
“At least it's not all one-sided. One of your men got lucky.” Revell had seen the report. A lone police officer had come upon a Russian squad preoccupied with breaking into a building. He'd killed three before being wounded himself.
“I'd like to think it was more than luck.” “Perhaps it was. Either way, let's hope it's a good omen.” Revell patted his flak jacket. “Normally I'd put most of my faith in this, but I think in our situation we'd be unwise to turn down any offer of help, even from the supernatural.”
A messenger handed Stadler a sheaf of photocopies. “Here are your maps, Major. You'll see that the area I've allotted your company comprises most of the actual city centre. By now they should be armed, I believe.”
“To what extent I don't know. We were due to reequip when we went back into action. All they'll have is what they've been able to scrounge off the transport police.”
“Then your first target will have to be the armoury at police headquarters. Internally it's like a fortress after the most recent alterations. I wish you luck. Even with the assistance of a team of my men, it is going to be difficult to get inside, if the Russians are determined to hold it.”
“They got in...”
“They had the advantage of surprise”.
“...so I'm sure we can. But I shan't be needing your help. I know the layout. We'll tackle it on our own, radio in when it's okay for your men to reoccupy.”
Revell was glad to be getting out of the bunker. The chill in the air from the overworked air-conditioning seemed strangely at variance with the perpetual smells of cigarette smoke and lukewarm coffee.
It was a miracle it had not been an early objective for the Russian assault. Perhaps the section detailed to take it had been one of those to go astray, or maybe they just hadn't gotten to it yet.
As far as Revell was aware though, there was only the single entrance to the building. That could be defended indefinitely by a handful of men. The staircase and double-blast doors also made formidable fall-back positions.
Or perhaps they had never intended to try and take it. With the exception of the police HQ, they seemed to have gone for far easier objectives, civilian ones for the most part. Their principle intention appeared to be to cause the maximum disruption to the population as a whole.
“One last thing, Commissioner.” A thought struck Revell. “Is there no word from the radio or television stations yet?”
Gebert had just entered. He heard the question, and exchanged glances with Stadler before taking the answer on himself.
“All local transmitters went off the air as soon as the alert was sounded. Also all relays of the national stations and cable TV networks. They make easy targets for emission-homing warheads.”
“Good job satellite TV ceased when the war started. You'd have had a difficult task pulling the plug on them.” Revell knew there was truth in what Gebert said, but felt he wasn't getting the whole story.
“Major, I won't try and fool you. It's federal policy that events such as we have here are given careful consideration before the media are allowed to broadcast a word.” Gebert was trying to make what he said sound convincing. He doubted that he was succeeding. “Look, if we put out any version of what is happening - even watered-down - it's not going to put everyone's mind at rest, is it? What do we say? 'Sorry, folks. We've got a few red hit squads roaming about. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.' And it'd be picked up by other networks who are still on the air, over which we've got no control. Switzerland, France, Italy. They'd have a field day with it. We wouldn't have just one city in trouble, the whole country could panic.”
“You know that down in those shelters, more Russian agents will be earning their bonus by sowing rumours, starting all sorts of stories.”
“I know that, Major.” Gebert offered Stadler a light, but it was waved away. “We'll have to rely on the police keeping control, or at least doing their best. We're having to accept the lesser of two evils. Better a few should have breakdowns in our shelters, than that a whole country should be made to run scared.”
Stadler finally crumpled his cigarette and threw it away.
“We are going after these Russians hard and fast. No finesse, just straight at them hard every time we see them. Anything goes, a gloves-off operation. When it's over, there will be time for considered statements, careful press releases, but you know something, I'm dreading that time as much as I hate what's happening now. When the fighting is over, the witch hunt will start, for the communist agents who came out of the woodwork and helped create this mess.”
Gebert nodded in agreement. “In the long term, Major Revell, it will be difficult to decide which has done the most damage.”
ELEVEN
An ambulance had collided with a parked car. Both were burning fiercely at the corner of the main shopping , street. Close by stood a fire tender. Among the flattened snakes of its hoses sprawled several of its crew.
Revell and Ackerman took to a side road that skirted the scene, using every shred of cover offered by doorways and street furniture until they were well clear.
The moon had set, and where no alleyway funnelled the reflected glare of the blaze, their way led through near-pitch darkness.
Distantly there came the intermittent sound of light gunfire. Once a single shot from closer at hand was followed by a scream of pain that choked away to silence.
Keeping to the darkest route, they passed through an archway of the medieval Karlstor Gate. They passed an entrance to the Stachus underground shopping centre. At the top of the escalator, several bodies lay scattered. Loud cries and moans from below gave evidence that there had been other victims of the sniper's accurate fire. A figure lolled restlessly on the pavement, in pain too great to articulate. There was nothing they could do, except prevent themselves falling prey to the same marksman.
Beyond that there was another broad avenue to cross, but several strings of streetcars offered them a sanctuary halfway. They ran and
dived into an open trailer car, throwing themselves full-length on the littered floor. Bullets punched holes through the panel work and seats.
“Soon as we move, Major, they've got us for sure.” A round had buried itself in the timber planking immediately in front of Ackerman's nose. “They're firing down from one of these buildings. When we leave this crate, we'll be right in their sights.”
“Just be ready to run when I say.” Revell clipped the radio back on his belt, and waited. There were no more shots; he hadn't, expected any yet. There was no point in their sniper wasting ammunition raking the trailer. He would have a clear field of fire soon enough.
A storm of tracers burst with a frenzied clatter from the far side of the avenue and flashed across its broad width. The noise of the many impacts on walls and downspouts blended with the shattering ring of breaking glass.
“Move.”
Ackerman didn't need the officer's urging. Scrambling to his feet, he was on Revell's heels as they jumped from the streetcar, and a pace ahead by the time they reached the sanctuary of the far buildings.
The instant they hurled themselves into concealment, the covering fire abruptly ceased.
“We were waiting a few yards further down. I figured you'd be here soon!” Sergeant Hyde hefted the machine gun onto his shoulder. A half-belt dangled from it. “The buggers are firing straight down the Schutzenstrasse, and the Palace of Justice route is too open. Didn't think you'd chance that.”
“Is this your first brush with them?” Revell had to jog to keep up with the men of the covering group as they made their way back to the station.
“We had one drop right in on top of us, and we traded a few rounds not long ago with a group trying to use Bayerstrasse. That's all so far.” Hyde called for a slowing of the pace as they prepared to cross the last road. “I think we winged at least a couple, but their mates dragged them off, back into the centre.”
