THE TEN THOUSAND

by Harold Coyle

  When the red light flashed on the camera before her, Jan started in. "Good morning if you're just joining us. With us today in our Washington studios is Colonel Edward J. Littleton, Jr., U.S. Army, retired." Glancing over to the monitor that showed Littleton's face, Jan's smile transformed itself into a serious mask. "Colonel Littleton, over the past few days we've seen an American force, outnumbered and deep in Germany, consistently outmaneuver and outfight the German Army, an army that has for centuries held the reputation as one of the best in the world. The German military machine, not to mention its skills in planning and its general staff, has been the model for many other armies in the world, including the American Army. How then, Colonel, do you explain what one could call the poor performance of the German Army over the past two weeks? It seems a simple thing to bring their forces to bear on the numerically inferior Tenth Corps and stop it."

  When the video shot shifted to Littleton, he was smiling. "The myth of German military superiority has taken a long time to die. While the Germans have maintained a superb military force since the mid-1800s, it is not without fault and it is far from perfect." Shifting slightly in his seat, Littleton turned slightly away from the camera. "The fact is, Jan, the German Army has not fought in any wars since 1945. The United States Army, on the other hand, has had ample opportunity to blood its officers, so to say, in several conflicts. And," Littleton continued, pointing his finger at the camera, "there's more than simple combat experience. Since the breaking up of the Soviet Union, the German Army has not held a major maneuver training exercise. Most training exercises above battalion level have been command post exercises involving only the officers and assisted by computers. To my knowledge, there isn't a single German division commander who has had every unit in his command maneuvering in the field at the same time in years. An added problem was the creation of multinational corps. When the Germans pulled their units out of those multinational corps, in which officers from other nations held many key positions, the German effort to revert to all-German corps staff's in the midst of an active campaign created major problems at all levels of the German command structure that they still have not yet resolved."

  "Then what you're saying, Colonel, is that the American Army is a better army."

  Again Littleton smiled. "No, Jan, I'm not saying that. What I am saying is that the American Army was better trained and prepared going into this crisis than the Germans were. They, the Americans, have a solid corps of knowledgeable and experienced officers and noncommissioned officers who have made the difference when it mattered. Unfortunately for the Tenth Corps, the Germans are learning. In that particular instance at the bridge, the lesson cost them two infantry fighting vehicles and their crews. Our soldiers, who learned their lessons before the first shots were fired, are facing combat veterans now who have learned their trade the hard way."

  Littleton's statement sent a chill through Jan. For a moment her face went blank as she tensed up. The director, seeing the sudden change, ordered the camera to hold on Littleton for a moment instead of cutting back to Jan for her next question. Only after Jan realized what had happened and had regained her composure did he allow the camera to cut over to her. As hard as it was for her to do, Jan asked the next logical question. "Will this newfound experience be able to make a difference in sufficient time to allow the Germans to stop the Tenth Corps?"

  Taking a deep breath before answering, Littleton pondered the question, then looked up at Jan. "Perhaps. It is hard to say right now. Washington and Berlin must assess the results of the battle that's now winding down. It's really hard to say what either will do. The Tenth Corps has won, but it has paid for that success. The Germans have had their noses badly bloodied and will now step back to catch their breath and figure out what to do next. The only thing that we can be sure of, Jan, is that when and where the two armies come together again, it will be more violent and more vicious. The Americans now realize that they are fighting for their lives."

  "And the Germans, Colonel? How will the German soldier react?"

  Again Littleton carefully considered his next comment. He, like the rest of the world, was really unsure. Public opinion in Germany was solidly against the war. Anti-war riots in every major city outside the combat zone had resulted in martial law being imposed and the diversion of those reserve units that had responded to their call-up to controlling civil disturbances instead of reinforcing combat units facing the Tenth Corps. And yet the German Army continued to maneuver and prepare for the next fight. Taking another deep breath, Littleton finally answered. "I don't think anyone, even the German Army commanders themselves, can answer that question."

  While Jan Fields-Dixon and Colonel Edward J. Littleton, Jr., U.S. Army, retired, pondered what would happen next, Captain Nancy Kozak had no illusions as to how the German soldiers would behave. From the side of the road, Kozak watched with cold and impassionate eyes as two soldiers from her first platoon carefully laid the charred and shredded body of her battalion commander on a poncho. Though they were careful, there was also a decided lack of true emotion on their part. They were, like everyone else in Company C, 3rd of the 3rd Infantry, beyond feeling. The stress and strain of battle, sleepless nights, long periods of tedium shattered by sudden spasms of sheer terror known as combat had beaten practically every human emotion out of them. They were, like Kozak, responding but no longer feeling. It was too late for that.

  From down the road, the roar of the battalion executive officer's humvee failed to disturb Kozak as she watched her soldiers continue the grim task of removing the bodies of the battalion commander's crew from their smashed Bradley. Even when the executive officer's humvee stopped next to Kozak and he dismounted, Kozak made no effort to acknowledge his presence. She simply continued to watch her soldiers drape another corpse in a mottled green camouflage poncho. Coming up next to Kozak, the executive officer looked briefly at what Kozak's soldiers were doing, then, ignoring the stench of burned flesh that made his nostrils twitch, he turned to Kozak. "What happened?"

  Kozak answered without taking her eyes away from the soldiers or enshrouded body. In a voice that was little more than a whisper Kozak responded. "The battalion commander's dead."

  The executive officer stared at Kozak for a moment and blinked. He knew that. She was the one who had reported that to him. Not understanding her response, the executive officer continued. "Yes, I know that. What I meant to say is how did it happen?"

  Still without looking at the executive officer, Kozak responded in the same soft monotone that she had before. "The Germans killed him."

  Only slowly did it begin to dawn on the executive officer that Kozak's responses, her attitude, and her refusal to acknowledge him were not meant as disrespect or evasion. They were the best that she could do. Kozak, like most of the rest of the soldiers in her company, was at the end of her physical and emotional tether. After two weeks of giving all she had to give and enduring more than any reasonable person could expect, Kozak had nothing more to give except her life. And at that moment if someone had come up to her, pointed a gun at her head, and threatened to shoot, odds were she would have done nothing. Sometimes the soul dies long before the body does.

  But the battalion executive officer, now the commander of the 3rd Battalion, 3rd Infantry, wasn't finished with Kozak and her company. The battalion, now the rear guard for the 1st Brigade and in turn the 4th Armored Division, had another important mission to fulfill. Though the death of the battalion commander was regrettable, it was part of being a soldier. The battalion commander knew this. The executive officer knew this. Kozak knew this. Yes, soldiers had died, the executive officer thought, all of them, like the battalion commander, good men. But the Tenth Corps had escaped being crushed by the 2nd and 10th Panzer divisions and the march continued.

  After looking at the soldiers going about their grim task one more time, the executive officer moved so that he now stood between Kozak and the grisly scene. Finally unable to watch her soldiers as they ten
ded to the dead, Kozak looked up at the executive officer for the first time. When he had her attention, the young major began to issue his orders. "Nancy, I want to take your company up this road about two kilometers to a place called Weiterode just outside of Bebra. Set up a blocking position oriented to the southwest. We have been ordered to keep Highway 27, which runs through Bebra, open until midnight. A Company will pass through you and deploy to the north of Bebra blocking 27 as it comes in from the north. D Company will be following and deploy to the south. B Company, which got beat up pretty bad this morning, will be reconstituting in Bebra and serve as a reserve."

  Though Kozak was looking him in the eye without blinking and nodded in acknowledgment, the executive officer wasn't sure she understood. Patiently he tried to explain to her the importance of what they were doing. "Listen, Nancy, it's important that we hold here. The whole corps is shifting its axis of advance. Instead of pushing through Kassel directly north to Hannover, we're shifting to the northwest in the direction of Paderborn. The corps commander feels that we can do better there than staying in the hill country. Is that clear?"

  Again Kozak simply stared vacantly into his eyes and nodded, causing the executive officer to wonder how much longer Colonel Dixon thought that he could push the brigade. The executive officer knew that when officers like Kozak began to teeter on the edge of total collapse, the end was in sight. He couldn't allow that to happen. He was a commander now, charged with a mission. "Okay, Nancy, I want you to get your company mounted up and moving. I want you in place before it gets dark. Is that clear?"

  As before, Kozak stared at him and nodded. Realizing that there was nothing more that he could do there, the executive officer shook his head, turned, and began to walk away. He was about to get into his humvee when Kozak called out, "Major."

  Stopping, the executive officer turned around and faced Kozak. "Major, I'm all right really. It's just that it's been a bad few days. I ... I don't think ..."

  After Kozak lapsed into silence, the two officers looked at each other. For the first time in several days the executive officer felt compassion for another human being. Nodding, he said nothing at first. Then he said, "I understand. We'll talk about it in Weiterode. Is that all right?"

  "Yes, sir. That will be fine. Thank you."

  The executive officer looked at Nancy Kozak for a moment and realized that what she needed was more than another mission. She needed a calm and reassuring voice to talk to her, to reach in and wrap itself about her troubled and fatigued mind and ease her burden. But he couldn't do that right now. Several kilometers down the road another company commander, like Kozak, waited to receive his orders. The executive officer doubted if he would be in any better shape than Kozak. Though the image of Kozak shaken like this was very disconcerting to the executive officer, there was nothing that he could do about that. The war went on and they had a mission, a very important one, to execute. He would have plenty of time later, after Kozak's company had settled into their new position, to talk to her. Plenty of time.

  With that, he turned, climbed into his humvee, and went speeding down the road in search of B Company, where he would play out the same scene with a different company commander. The executive officer didn't know that his tenure as battalion commander had less than thirty minutes left. Like his battalion commander before him, the executive officer was scheduled by fate to become a statistic.

  Each day General Lange found the afternoon briefings at Ruff's office more and more intolerable. Everything about the briefings and the people who attended them bothered him. It bothered him as a professional soldier, as a German, and as a human being.

  To Lange's right sat Rudolf Lammers. As the chief of operations briefed, Lange carefully looked over to the man who as the Minister of Defense was supposed to be his immediate superior. In the past three days, however, Lammers had been nothing more than a messenger for Chancellor Ruff, and not a very good one at that. Though he gave the outside world the appearance of still being in control, he was out of his depth. Whenever Ruff demanded action or a decision had to be made, Lammers hurriedly sought out Lange and with wide eyes simply asked, "Well, what do you think?"

  On the other side of Lammers was Bruno Rooks, the Foreign Minister. While Lammers at least gave the appearance of being in control of himself, Rooks couldn't even manage this. Everything about the man, including body odor from lack of bathing, told of a broken man. Among the world community it was he, Rooks, who the press held up as the man who had been dealing with the other nations of the world before the crisis. So now it was he who the press watched as nation after nation slammed their doors in his face. While Ruff could hide in his office surrounded by his loyal staff and military men, Rooks suffered in person the abuse of diplomats who had once called themselves his friends. This, coupled with Ruff's own attitude of ignoring a man who had become unnecessary to his purposes, was too much for Rooks to bear. Just when he needed a friend, a person to confide in, he had no one; and no one except Lange seemed to notice.

  Of the inner circle, only Fellner, the Minister of the Interior, seemed to be holding up. That, Lange surmised, was probably due to the fact that, although considered a part of the inner circle, he was not one of Ruff's men. Of the lot, only Fellner continued to maintain his dignity and speak for the good of the German people. Though he supported Ruff, who was after all the duly elected Chancellor, Fellner left no doubt that he stood for Germany and all of its people.

  Finally in the circle of men who were driving Germany into the dark abyss there was Chancellor Ruff himself. If Fellner stood for Germany and the German people, what did Ruff now stand for?

  Everything, Lange had been able to convince himself, up to the first bloodletting had been justifiable. Everything could be explained. Ruff's indignation against the United States for not informing them of the Ukrainian operation, his seizure of the nuclear weapons brought into Germany against all treaties, even his use of the Army to blockade the American Tenth Corps in the Czech Republic were political maneuvers that could be defended. Those efforts, Lange had thought, had hoped, had all been bluffs. Now, however, after the battles in central Germany, Lange finally began to understand that Ruff had never been bluffing. Ruff had always been working for an armed confrontation with the Americans. But why? Why in the hell had this man who had earned an impeccable reputation as a man of reason, a strong unifying element in a troubled Germany, driven his people and his nation into a war that could only ruin decades of hard work, not to mention the lives of thousands of its people?

  Leaning forward, Lange propped his chin on his hand. With a sly sideways glance he studied Ruff for several moments. There was something going on inside of that man's head that no one, even his most trusted supporters, knew about. But what? What could drive a man to sacrifice his fellow countrymen in such a manner? Perhaps this same thought had troubled the General Staff officers of Nazi Germany. Perhaps they too stared at their national leader and wondered what drove the man who drove their nation.

  Lange's reflection on his commander-in-chief was interrupted by a civilian aide from the Ministry of the Interior who, after gaining access to the briefing room, walked straight over to Fellner and handed him an envelope. Without regard for the briefing officer, Fellner ripped open the envelope, ruffled the thin sheets of paper as loudly as he could manage, and made a great show of reading them. Finished, he folded the papers and turned to face Ruff. Again acting as if the chief of operations didn't exist, Fellner began to speak. "It would seem, gentlemen, that the stories about the destruction of a field hospital are quite true."

  There was a moment of silence before Fellner continued. "Early this morning the Americans escorted French and British news teams to the spot and allowed them to film the recovery of wounded and dead personnel, both male and female, from vehicles clearly marked with the International Red Cross symbol. Those films are now playing on every news program around the free world. The British news team was the most charitable, referring to the incid
ent as a massacre. The French preferred the word 'murder.' "

  Unable to stand Fellner's gloating, Ruff slapped his hand on the table as he jumped to his feet. "BASTARDS! Who do they think they are?" The sudden outburst surprised everyone in the room except for Lange and Fellner.

  As he looked about the room, red-faced and unable to conceal his anger, Ruff glared at everyone, who stared back until they averted their eyes. Only Fellner and Lange returned Ruff's stare with a defiant, almost contemptuous look. When he was ready, Kurt turned to Fellner. "I want you to make sure that we have complete control of all foreign correspondents. All of them. We cannot afford to allow them to run about freely, spreading lies and aiding the American propaganda campaign against us."

  "But Herr Ruff," Fellner hastened to remind him in a warm voice, "the correspondents who shot those videos were then behind American lines. We cannot, as the past few days have demonstrated, control what happens behind enemy lines."

  Turning about, Lange looked at Fellner. Was that last comment meant as an insult to the German Army? He was about to pass it off when Fellner added, "We could, of course, solve this problem by insisting that our Army refrain from committing atrocities except behind our lines."

  Now there was no doubt. Fellner had declared himself, though it took Ruff, still steaming with rage, several seconds to understand this. But Lange knew that from that moment on the German war cabinet would begin to crumble. It was the beginning of the end. But what would that end bring for them and for Germany? How long, he wondered, would Ruff continue to play out this insanity?

  Like a tiger whose paw was stuck in a steel trap, Ruff began to lash out at Fellner. "HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME, TO US, LIKE THAT!"

  Fellner, standing erect and calm, looked Ruff in the eye. "And how dare you, Herr Chancellor, betray the German people."