Over the following hour, the sounds and reverberations of the battle increased, reaching them through the walls and floor from a few miles away. Deming felt a mix of anxiety and exhilaration at the thought of his platoon fighting on the slopes below the castle. He had frequently had to resist an urge to go outside, as though being under the same gray-blue sky as his men would bring him closer to them.
Corday asked the Captain for a progress report.
“It seems the Soviet resistance is finally waning sir. We’re seeing multiple break-throughs and forward units are closing on the summit,” Captain Peters advised.
This morning’s counter-attack must have been a last-ditch effort … thought Deming. This is all going to be over soon.
He finally allowed himself to leave the room, and went outside. The heaviness in his head soon lightened as he walked out into the brisk early evening air.
The echoing call of the battle on the hill was diminishing, a drum roll of gunfire slowing to the fading thump of a heartbeat. He could see a wide column of smoke above the parapets of Veste Oberhaus, and orange flashes showing where the last desperate infantry fire-fights were concluding.
A hand patted him on the shoulder. It was Colonel Corday’s.
“Don’t worry son, your unit did a fine job … you’ll be back with them soon.”
Deming looked him in the eye. The look they shared was one of men who’d been in combat. It told of loss and of victory at the same time, and of the expectation for more the next day. And then again after that.
As the two watched the surreal bonfire around the distant castle, words did not seem appropriate. The situation allowed Deming to see something in Corday that he hadn’t seen before. An anguish that was a result of this kind of remoteness, of being part of a battle on a hill miles away, but knowing that the impact of the decisions they made down here had consequences – severe consequences, for those up on the hill.
Darkness closed around the town, and Veste Oberhaus, beneath its great pillar of smoke – the city’s headstone, fell silent. Corday and Deming walked back into the command post. Deming stopped just inside the doorway, and looked on as Colonel Corday continued up to the table and reached out his hand. The entire staff watched him as he picked up the black chess piece in the center, and let then let the rook topple over to lay fallen on its side.
Game over.
∞
The quest for virtue begins with our children. If not found, society’s example must lead the way.
Mantra of the Continuation
Bureau of Sanity
“A company wants to mine an asteroid for its precious metals, but they have to wait seven years for the paperwork to be processed,” Margeaux read from her holo-card.
“Mmmm … sounds like the Space Resources Council has adopted a public service model …” said Macrose.
“Clearly the restrictions of some kind of socialist bureaucracy are being imposed upon free-enterprise,” said Grillon with incredulity.
“The asteroid’s trajectory will take it beyond a financially viable distance for exploitation in two years … there is no avenue for appeal,” added Margeaux.
“Communists!” Macrose spat vehemently.
“There obviously isn’t an SRC, so outer space is finders-keepers,” Tomass pointed out, “That would explain why such a draconian regulatory body has come into existence.”
“Correct!” Margeaux almost shouted with relief. She had been getting worried that her clues weren’t good enough and no one would be able to guess the answer.
“Hesta, elaborate for us,” asked Arjon.
“The current global entity known as the Space Resources Council does not exist, and its intended function of providing an efficient administrative process for the exploitation of extra-terrestrial resources is performed by each nation’s own governing body.”
“Madness…” said Grillon. “Years of pussy-footing around to make sure a company operating in your country’s jurisdiction doesn’t file a competing claim with that of another country …”
Arjon followed up by asking Hesta, “How would disagreements over claims be addressed?”
“The matrix extrapolates a ninety-four percent chance of military conflict between nations occurring as a result of unresolved territorial disputes.”
Macrose picked up his glass and said sarcastically, “A toast … to perpetual conflict!”
“First the solar system … then the galaxy!” said Grillon as he clinked glasses with Macrose.
“Now you can see how all this carefree living is making us go soft,” Macrose said sarcastically. “Outer-space is the last frontier that humanity has where we can fight each other with some justification.”
He picked up his shiny titanium fork and turned it over in his hand. “And think of the economic activity that would be generated by the need for military hardware that allows us to kill each other in zero-G.”
∞
A system of government which requires that all individuals serve the state will stifle personal freedom and hence perpetuate negativity. It will foster a culture that breeds tyranny, and result in a society undermined by innate hostility and resentment. By default, that hostility will be directed toward cultures that embrace freedom.
Section D of Submission by Bureau of Sanity: Criteria for Amending the Mandate for the Security Council of the Union of Nations
∞
April 21st, 1946
Bialystok, Poland
Dust skidded up around the wheels of a Douglas C-47 transport plane as it touched down on a compacted clay runway.
Another uneventful flight, thought General Patton as he looked out at the temporary prefab buildings and supply dumps, and unbuckled his safety-belt. He felt gratified that no fighter escort had been necessary for the flight from Warsaw to the front lines.
Their role is almost entirely ground support now that the Red air force has been reduced to a purely defensive role.
An airman deployed the ladder from the waist door, and then snapped to attention as the VIP passenger stepped down. The general returned the airman’s salute, standing for a moment, and considering the unforgiving hardness of the ground beneath his feet. Sniffing the air, he noticed a hint of morning dampness lacing the otherwise clear, crispness of spring.
Not as dry as the capital, he mused, turning his thoughts back to the conference at US East European Command, but a helluva lot drier than where the Russkies are sitting. The USEEC conference had been well timed, during a week’s lull in the fighting which had allowed the rapidly advancing Allied armies to straighten their lines, and consolidate their supply situation.
Patton’s staff were still in Warsaw, formalizing the strategic decisions made at the conference, so he had taken the flight back to the front alone. His solitude had allowed him to reflect on the big picture. What a difference from the years of war against the Nazis and the Japanese. The top military leadership was doing what it was meant to do: lead. The politicians were in the back rows, not on center stage. Why? The horror and atrocities of the war had been fully disclosed, and the blame for those political and cultural genocides laid squarely where they belonged – with corrupted leaders and their self-serving ideologies. Leaders such as Hitler, Mussolini … and Stalin. Not the military.
Generals such as Patton and MacArthur, were the first to proclaim that an alternative solution to violent conflict should always be sought, and that war should be a last resort.
The media and political campaign espousing the danger to world peace posed by communism, for which Patton had been the figurehead, had resulted in a double benefit: both to initiate the resumption of war production, and also to produce a shift in the internal balance of power.
In this war, the Allied military were not serving individual nations, but an ideal: the Free World. A union of countries committed to preventing war being used as a means of resolving human conflicts, and finally ending tyranny.
And now, after the initial bitter fighting
in Germany and Czechoslovakia, the war was rolling north-east. As expected, the central plains of Poland had seen only slight resistance, and delaying tactics from the retreating Soviets. Patton knew, though, that they would be concentrating their defenses along the Russian border, and here … at Bialystok.
Third Army was poised to spearhead the offensive that would follow the same route as that taken by the Nazis five years earlier. A line through Minsk, Smolensk and finally to Moscow.
Patton was a firm believer in studying the roads and routes taken during previous conquests. Even though the Germans had not succeeded in taking the Russian capital, the lightning advance of 1941’s Operation Barbarossa across the steppes had been no fluke. During the conference in Warsaw he’d made a point of pointing out the German precedent to many British and French commanding generals.
A broad smile crossed his aquiline features, a moment of reflected satisfaction with his work at highest strategic levels. The allies were stronger now than they had ever been. The flow of arms and máteriel that had previously crossed the Atlantic to Russia under the Lend-Lease agreement, were now going to the French and British.
The irony was delicious.
The Dodge command car that had been waiting for him took him away from the airfield, and shortly after headed out onto a sealed highway. As they accelerated along the road, Patton noticed a column of slower moving vehicles ahead. Dozens of trucks laden with supplies were being held up by even slower-moving armor.
The driver didn’t slow down as they swung out to overtake, almost straddling the verge on the other side of the road. As the tail-end vehicles dropped behind them, Patton saw that the armor holding up the supply column was comprised of the weapon platform that was going to break through the toughest Red Army fortifications: the T95.
Being carried aboard its specially built Thornycroft tank transporter, the massively armored T95 weighed 86 tons. It had a top speed of just eight miles per hour, and as such was hardly capable of reaching the battlefield under its own steam. Patton chuckled inside as he admired the metal beast laying dormant on its trailer. He thought it resembled a cold-blooded crocodile, basking in the sun and soaking up the energy it would soon need. No wonder the GIs nicknamed it the Leatherjacket.
He sat back and allowed himself to feel some satisfaction. The fruits of his constant harassment and cajoling of politicians to get his soldiers the best weaponry ever produced, was on its way with him to the front line.
∞
General Patton arrived at 10th Armored Division HQ around midday. As he stepped out of his staff car he looked around with some concern at the location chosen for the headquarters. The Renaissance architecture of Hasbach Palace although admirable, was not his preferred choice for a command center. A less conspicuous site would have been more appropriate. Perhaps Major General Wyatt had confidence that the air was still under the complete control of the Allied air-forces.
He walked toward the main entrance as Major General Hyram Wyatt came outside to meet him. They snapped their hands to the brims of their hats, and then shook hands.
“General … I see the skies are very clear around here,” said Patton drily, looking up at the azure blue day.
They went inside and the HQ staff stood at attention, holding their salutes until the 3rd Army Commander returned theirs.
“Gentlemen, thank you for the warm reception,” he said with sincerity. “And now, let’s work out how we’re going to kick the Reds back to the Stone Age where they belong.”
The operations staff returned to their duties as Patton, Wyatt, and Colonel Corday retired to Wyatt’s office.
Inside, Patton took a chair at the head of a small conference table, “Well Hyram, you’ll be pleased to know that the replacement armor is only an hour behind me.”
Wyatt and Corday smiled at each other.
Patton continued, “As I promised, your division will receive the lion’s share of the new T30s.”
“… and the T95s?” Wyatt asked expectantly.
“On the way … slowly,” said Patton. He leaned forward and pointed to a tacked line on the map before them.
“This railroad system will be critical to us for the advance on Moscow.”
His expression was pained with frustration. “It’ll be needed to bring up the weaponry such as the T95s we’ll be using to reduce the heaviest Russian fortifications.”
Wyatt thought for a moment about the new motor gun carriage with one-foot thick frontal armor – so thick it would withstand a direct hit from the highest caliber Soviet anti-tank guns. A logistical nightmare, but ultimately they were going to be worth the effort to get them to the front line. As he was thinking about how they were going to be integrated into his division’s structure, he kept an ear open as General Patton continued.
“I’ve seen them in action at Aberdeen … they’ll be breaking through bunker systems without stopping. Their 105s’ fire rounds are particularly effective against concrete.”
He sighed, clearly frustrated at having such an immobile tank in his cavalry, then pounded a fist on the table, “… but they’re so goddammed slow it’s infuriating!”
Corday agreed, “Yes General, it’ll be a different kind of offensive to the one we prefer … until we make a break-through.”
Patton scrutinized the Colonel with a shrewd look, “Why Colonel, I believe there’s a reason your battalion is the new favorite in my Army … hitting the enemy hard and fast, and then keep on moving.”
“Yes sir!” Corday’s eyes flashed with enthusiasm for the fighting ahead. “And our Hellcat’s have been working on being even more mobile in their exercises designed for the terrain approaching Minsk.”
Wyatt scanned the map, aware of the importance of neutralizing the Red Army forces around Bialystok in order to achieve the objective of capturing the rail systems around Minsk.
“With regard to the coordination with air support … I assume they will be hitting their trains and leaving the junctions intact?”
“Correct. They rebuild the lines anyway so it’s a low-value target. Fighter bombers will be concentrating on destroying the supply trains themselves rather than just cutting the line and impeding their progress temporarily. Heavy bombing targets will be focusing on their production infrastructure, such as tank and munitions factories.”
Patton stood up and went to a larger wall map, “Timing is the key factor. Right now, the Red Army supply lines are wallowing in the spring thaw.”
His cane roved through the air in front of the map, pointing out areas to the north of the front, where the effects of the snow-melt were much greater than on their own supply routes.
“Rivers are flooding and the roads are impassable. If we move too soon, we’ll get bogged down in the same mud.”
His cane moved to Kiev in the south. “In the next two weeks, we will be moving our reserves up from the Ukraine where we are holding strongly.”
He traced a line from Kiev, up through Minsk, then on to the Baltic states, where the tip of the cane rested on the seaport of Riga.
“The Marines’ advance in the north-west is moving rapidly, so the Reds are consolidating a defensive line which focuses on their center …” again the cane swept over the map as though it were an instrument of destiny being wielded by a demi-god, “here, around Minsk.”
Patton moved back to the smaller map on the table, one which detailed the immediate area to their front.
“Our reserves from the south will cross into Belorussia to coincide with our upcoming offensive. To the Russians’ credit, they don’t rely on static fortifications like Maginot or Siegfried … but from our recon we know they are preparing a deep defensive concentration forward of Minsk, similar to their response against the Nazi’s Operation Citadel at Kursk. That’s where we’ll have to focus our initial attack.”
Colonel Corday finally saw an opportunity to speak up. “Sir … this situation in the center seems ideal for a new strategy I’d like to present to you.”
Patton looked at General Wyatt, who nodded affirmatively. “Go ahead … I’m always open to operational initiatives … as long as they’re going to align with a philosophy of hitting-hard, and then keep moving.”
“It does sir.”
Corday went to a blackboard and picked up a piece of white chalk.
“My tank destroyer battalion has been conducting exercises which are not standard TD doctrine.”
He drew a horizontal line across the middle of the board, then a large arrow pointing upwards and dissecting the line at the center.
“As we break through their defensive line, our armored spearhead needs to keep moving fast to exploit that breach.”
Patton listened quietly, recognizing his own strategy being demonstrated.
“The Russian defenses will be very concentrated. Too concentrated for us to just ignore, so we would normally have to slow down to mop up … then resume the advance.”
“I’m listening,” said Patton.
“My tank destroyers, together with support from combat engineers, can provide a ‘mobile defense’ for our fast-moving armored advance.”
He drew a series of smaller arrow heads leading off the large one, like branches on a cactus.
“We can rapidly deploy to negate any threat to our rear posed by counter-attacks sourced from those defensive positions we leave behind.”
Corday paused, seeing that Patton was thinking intently. The General’s eyes glowed with a restrained fire, then blazed suddenly as he decided he liked what he was hearing.
“Go on … I can see you may have something that will keep the advance moving faster … I want to hear more.”
Corday also looked to General Wyatt, after all, it would be his armored division that would be signing up for the new strategy. Wyatt nodded his approval, so Corday continued.
“Tank destroyers have traditionally been used as a defensive element, being held back in case an enemy counter-attack breaks through our lines and we have to deal with their armor.”
The Free World War Page 10
