by Harold Coyle
With a deep sense of dread, Kasper looked down at the floor at his own feet as Ruff continued. "For the first time in over sixty years, Colonel, Germany is almost free of occupation forces. Once all this internal foolishness has been given a chance to settle, we will sit with those whom you call our former allies. With the same determination and skill that led to the removal of Russian forces from Germany, we will negotiate away the remains of America's broken forces as well as the others. Freed from the heavy hand of occupation and the stigma of our defeat in the last war, Germany will be able to resume the role of leadership in Central Europe that is Germany's by right. Don't you see, Kasper? What I did was no different than what Arminius did to the Romans in 9 a.d. Arminius and the German tribes, united in their hatred of the Romans, hounded the Roman legions until they were wiped out. We are within a hairbreadth of doing the same to the Americans. Don't you understand? Can't you see that?"
"Then, Herr Chancellor, you intend to continue this war?"
Ruff drew in a deep breath. "I see no other options that make sense. It is the heart and soul of Germany that I fight for. What Germany once was can be again. But we must have the courage of our convictions. We must do what is right regardless of the consequences, regardless of the cost." Ruff paused. When he spoke again, his tone was like that of a father talking to a son. "You know, Colonel, being a German has never been easy. We, our people, have always been at the crossroads of European history. Sometimes we have served as the bridge between East and West, sometimes as the West's shield to protect them from the terrors of the East. But always we have been here, a proud, free, and strong people. This business of collective shame and perpetual atonement for the Holocaust and occupation by foreign armies must end. It is time to put all that foolishness behind us and go forward, as our ancestors always did. Surely you see that?"
Pulling himself upright to the position of attention, Kasper finally stepped out away from the wall and advanced to the edge of Ruff's desk. "You are right, Herr Chancellor, this foolishness must end. But not by looking back into our dark past for answers. To compare yourself to a hero like Arminius is to denigrate his name and memory. The gift your actions are bestowing upon this land is not honor or freedom. No, it is a plague, the same plague that Adolf Hitler brought to our people. Any illusions you have that what you have done is good for Germany is a sin against logic and humanity. So I am here to bring this to an end."
Ruff looked at Kasper. He was totally unprepared for seeing his loyal military advisor standing before him speaking to him in such a manner. Dropping into his chair, Ruff looked up and was about to admonish Kasper when he saw the pistol Kasper held tightly at his side. Slowly Ruff dropped his head, took a long hard look at the pistol, then looked back up into Kasper's eyes. "So, you are to be my Graf von Stauffenberg."
Lifting his pistol up to waist level, Kasper shook his head. "No, Herr Chancellor. I am no Von Stauffenberg. You are right in many respects. Germany has lived in the shadow of its past for too long. But we must shake ourselves free of our own brutal history, not relive it."
"And by killing me you believe that you will solve Germany's problems? That we will be able to make right what you believe is wrong?"
Again Kasper shook his head. "No. We cannot make the past right. But we can make the future right. You must atone for your crimes against our people. You must be held responsible and brought to justice."
Ruff smiled. Pointing a finger at Kasper, he warned the colonel. "Yes, you do that. You bring me to trial. Stand me before the German people and let them judge. And when you do, when I stand before them, I swear to you you will be sorry. For they and history will judge me to be right, and you, all of you who would castrate this great nation and leave us pitiful eunuchs serving foreign masters, will see your errors."
Unwilling to allow Ruff to continue, Kasper took two deep breaths, as if steeling himself for carrying through what he had started. Ready, he spoke deliberately, as if he were reciting a well-rehearsed speech. "There will be, Herr Chancellor, no public trial, no chance to make a mockery of Germany again. Even if you were found guilty of something, you would live, for we have no death penalty, even for murderers like you. No, you cannot be allowed to spread your distorted vision of our future, not from the courtroom docket, not even from the cell of a prison. No, Herr Chancellor. Your dreams of Germany, your rape of my country will end here tonight, now."
Allowing his arms to fall to the padded armrests of his chair, Ruff half smiled. "Am I to understand that you, a simple colonel in the Army, have decided to take justice into your own hands?"
"No, Herr Chancellor. As I have said, I am no Count von Stauffenberg. I cannot do what I believe needs to be done." With that, Kasper threw the pistol onto the desk. "Instead, I am going to allow you by your own hand to bring an end to this insanity of yours."
For a moment Ruff looked at the pistol, and then up at Kasper. "What makes you think that I would do such a thing, Colonel?"
"Because, Herr Chancellor, the devils that have driven you to extract a blood revenge against the Americans have by now been satisfied. Even you realize that once the last of the Tenth Corps is within the perimeter of the American airborne division, the fighting will stop. And if there is no more fighting, no more Americans can be killed."
In utter amazement, Ruff looked at Kasper and tried to figure out how he had discovered his deepest and darkest secret. Had his justification for this war been so transparent? Had this colonel seen through Ruff's mask of German nationalism and into his very soul? How had he betrayed himself?
Satisfied by the silence and the look on Ruff's face that he had hit his mark, Kasper continued. "A public trial will do your reputation and your lust for revenge no good. Your story and all your great high-sounding claims that what you did for Germany was in the name of the German people will be revealed for what they were, false words spoken by a false prophet. What you have done in the past will be forgotten as your name is dragged through the newspapers of the world day after day, as the real purpose behind this war slowly comes out. And as the trial reduces your stature from that of a head of state to that of a mad, demented murderer, you will very soon live to regret allowing yourself to be held up to such scorn and ridicule."
After considering Kasper's statements, Ruff looked around the room, then back at Kasper. There was the hint of a smile on Ruff's face when he spoke. "And so, Herr Colonel, you think that I will take your suggestion and end my life with my own hand?"
"I am only giving you that option."
"And if I don't?"
Kasper brought himself to a rigid position of attention and said nothing. Ruff waited for Kasper to say more, but then realized that the colonel had said all he intended to say. Ruff was about to make a comment but stopped. He knew that there was nothing more to say. Over the past few weeks he had said everything that he had wanted to say. And even more important, he had done everything that he had set out to do. His life's work, he realized, was finished. There was nothing more that he could do. His task to punish those who had destroyed his nation, who had killed his father and made his family suffer, had been completed. Looking at the pistol, then up at Kasper, Ruff thanked his military aide, asked that he be given five minutes alone, and then reminded him to close the door as he left.
When the heavy wooden door of his office was closed, Ruff reached out with his left hand and opened the wooden box sitting on his desk. With his right, he took the pistol and lifted it to his head. As he sat there looking at his Hitler Youth dagger, he regretted that he had never had the opportunity to use this cherished symbol of his childhood for its intended purpose. Yes, he thought, that was unfortunate. With that, he pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER 22
25 JANUARY
From his M-1A1 tank south of the 17th Airborne's perimeter Colonel Anatol Vorishnov had a clear view of the hard-surfaced road that ran south like a straight black ribbon through the muddy brown fields to either side of it. Along that road on the right
side sat a farmhouse and barn approximately one thousand meters to the south. That farmhouse, clearly marked on all their maps, was the designated link-up point where he was to make contact with Scott Dixon and the remaining battalions of the 4th Armored Division's 1st Brigade. Dixon's forces, coming up from the south along the road, would come out of a tree line that sat just a little over two thousand meters past the farmhouse.
Looking about to his left and right, Vorishnov watched the young company commander of the unit he was traveling with deploy his tanks to cover the link-up. Not that he had very many tanks to deploy, Vorishnov thought cynically. The company, commanded by a second lieutenant who had finished the armor officers' basic course just three months before, had a grand total of six tanks. The other four officers and eight tanks that had begun the march a mere ten days ago hadn't made it this far. Like every unit in the Tenth Corps, this small company had taken its losses, reorganized itself, and kept going. Whether that effort had been worth the cost had yet to be determined. Soldiers only pay the price. It's the diplomats and the deals they strike afterwards that fix a value to those sacrifices.
Edging his own tank forward as far as he dared go, Vorishnov looked beyond the obvious and studied the terrain more closely. From his new vantage point, he noticed a cluster of trees sitting about twelve hundred meters due east of the farm. There was an elevated trail that cut across the muddy fields and connected that group of trees with the hard-surfaced road running south past the farm. From his map, he couldn't tell for sure how far that trail continued to the east into the woods. Looking back up from the map and over to the woods, he was about to order the company commander he was traveling with to send a platoon over to occupy those woods when an armored personnel carrier came screaming up behind him. Turning around, Vorishnov saw the man standing in the carrier's commander's hatch shout something into the intercom. Getting off onto the left shoulder of the road, the driver of the carrier waited until the last possible moment before he slammed on the brakes. The sudden stop caused the M-113 armored personnel carrier to lurch nose down and then rock backwards. The commander, anticipating the sudden stop, hung on to the barrel of the .50-caliber machine gun mounted at his position and rocked back and forth with the motion of the carrier. Even the two people riding in the rear, heads popping up out of the open cargo hatch of the carrier, took the sudden stop in stride. Only when the carrier finally came to rest did Vorishnov notice that one of the two people in the cargo hatch was the commander of the Tenth Corps, the man everyone called Big Al.
Deciding that he had best dismount and go over to brief the corps commander, Vorishnov ordered the driver of his tank to cut the engine at the same time that the man riding the commander's hatch of Malin's carrier had his driver cut their engine. The sudden silence enveloped the patch of woods, Vorishnov, Malin, and the tiny tank company like a blanket. Now all the subtle noises, like people talking or sponson box doors being slammed shut, that had been masked by the sound of diesel engines drifted throughout the cold, damp morning air. With one eye on Malin and an occasional glance down the long straight road to the south, Vorishnov started to dismount when Malin from his carrier waved over to him and yelled, "No, stay where you are, Colonel. I'll join you over there on your tank." Without waiting for a response, Big Al ducked down and out of his carrier through the troop door in the rear.
Vorishnov saw that Malin, like everyone else in the corps, was tired. His walk and the way he carried his head reminded Vorishnov of a man carrying a heavy load. Of course, Vorishnov knew that the general did have a heavy load, several in fact. He just didn't know which one, the responsibility of commander or his anticipated arrest and trial for disobeying the American President, was weighing heaviest on him at that moment. Climbing up, Malin smiled at the driver, who could only manage a simple nod in return. Even the loader, a large jolly fellow, was slow in coming to attention as he stood on his seat and saluted the general. Pulling himself up and onto the turret, Malin came up next to Vorishnov and squatted down on his haunches. "Any contact with Dixon yet?"
Pulling his combat crewman's helmet off and setting it down on the roof of the turret, Vorishnov nodded as he ran his gloved fingers through his matted hair. "Yes, General, about ten minutes ago, just before we broke out of the tree line here. Colonel Dixon, who is traveling with the lead element, announced that he expected to reach the link-up point within fifteen minutes." Looking down at his watch, Vorishnov studied it for a moment, then pointed down the hard-surfaced road to the tree line three thousand meters to the south. "I expect them to be coming out of there any time now."
Malin followed Vorishnov's outstretched arm, looked at the far tree line, and simply nodded. "Good. Good. I'll be glad when Scotty and his wandering strays are finally back with us."
Vorishnov was about to ask Malin if it was a good idea for him to be so far forward when he heard a call for him come in over the headphones of the crewman's helmet that he had laid on the turret in front of him. Picking it up, he recognized Dixon's voice. "Excuse me, General, that's Colonel Dixon calling now."
Smiling, Malin reached out. "Here, Colonel, could I have that?"
Knowing of the close relationship Malin and Dixon had, the request did not surprise Vorishnov. "Of course, General."
Without bothering to put the crewman's helmet on, Malin put the earphone as close to his ear as he could and pulled the boom mike over to his mouth. Then, before he spoke into the mike, he glanced over to Vorishnov. "This thing in the secure mode?"
Vorishnov nodded.
"Good." Then depressing the transmit lever, Malin called Dixon. "Colonel Dixon, this is Big Al. What took you so damned long?"
For several moments there was silence. Finally Dixon, realizing that it really was Malin, came back with the best response that he could think of. "Sorry, sir. But I forgot something in Prague and had to go back for it."
This caused Malin's face to light up. Watching, Vorishnov knew for the first time that all was going to come out all right. The Americans were beginning to regain their terribly unmilitary and inappropriate sense of humor.
"Scotty, this is Big Al. You almost at the link-up point? Over."
"Affirmative. I have the farmhouse in sight. Over."
"Great. I'm in the wood line to the north of the farm with your Russian counterpart. How about I meet you at the link-up point? Over."
There was a pause. "Roger. As soon as we fire the recognition signals. Over."
Turning to Vorishnov, Malin asked about the recognition signal. Having heard Dixon's request, Vorishnov was already reaching down for the two star clusters. "Here, General, a green star cluster followed by a red. They respond with a green and white."
"Okay, then fire away."
"Before I do, I need to bring a tank up to go with you to the link-up point."
Malin smiled. "I don't think that'll be necessary, Colonel."
Vorishnov insisted. "We are still, as you would say, in Indian country. I am afraid as the senior tactical commander here I must insist that you have an escort."
Knowing that Vorishnov was right, Malin nodded. "Okay, Colonel. Bring up your tank and fire the star clusters. I'm going over to my carrier to get ready."
Without a salute, Malin stood, moved over to the edge of the turret, and climbed down. As he went, Vorishnov felt a sudden pang of sorrow. This would be Malin's last official act. For once Dixon and the two battalions traveling with him had passed through this point, his career would be over. How terrible, Vorishnov thought, to end such a great effort on such a melancholy note. Then, with a slight shake of his head, as if it were necessary to shake his mind free of his last thought before he could move to the next, Vorishnov yelled to the young company commander to have one tank prepare to move out to the link-up point as soon as he fired the star clusters.
From his position behind the lead tank of his column, Seydlitz looked up through the barren tree branches to the west at the brooding gray clouds. He had greeted this cruel winter day with m
ixed feelings. The low gray clouds would limit the interference they could expect from American ground-attack aircraft. Though capable of flying, finding their target, and hitting it in just about any kind of weather, the American pilots showed a distinct distaste for coming in low and exposing their expensive aircraft to the murderous anti-aircraft fire that Seydlitz's company and the attached Gepard anti-aircraft guns threw up at them. Still that didn't mean they were impotent. Even at an altitude of ten thousand feet the guided weapons and deadly 30mm cannons of the ground-attack aircraft took their toll. And the further north the 2nd Panzer went, the worse it became. Of the seven tanks that Seydlitz had lost, four had been to air strikes.
So there was much to be thankful for today. If only the ground would freeze again. Then, rather than being restricted to roads and a few patches of high ground, Seydlitz would be able to freely maneuver his company. Again, the further north they went and the closer to the sea, the worse things became, especially in this area. Marshes in this part of Germany were numerous and, to a tank, as deadly as a minefield. Already that morning they had passed three Leopards and two Marders that had strayed onto what they thought were fields of solid ground that had turned out to be bottomless pits of mud. Mired in the soft black mud all the way to their fenders, the tanks were as useless to the battalion as if they had been hit by an enemy anti-tank missile. The only good thing about this miserable weather was that the Americans too would be confined to the roads.
Taking one more glance at the skies, out of habit, since he was sure there would be little flying today, Seydlitz was about to turn around and check on the progress of the tanks behind him when the blazing trail of a star cluster to his front right caught his attention. Standing up as far as he could in the open hatch, Seydlitz watched as the star cluster reached the highest point of its flight, then burst into a sudden flash of green. This star was no sooner beginning to fade when a second star cluster, this one red, followed the first and burst. Judging the distance to be not more than fifteen hundred meters due west, Seydlitz keyed his radio and issued a warning to all the tanks in his column to stand by for action. Switching the radio to the battalion net, Seydlitz began to report his sighting but stopped in midsentence when from the south he saw a green and white star cluster fired as if in response to the first. Correcting his initial report, Seydlitz updated his battalion commander with his latest observation and then dropped back to the company radio net as he prepared to close with the enemy.
