He made the statement as though it were a doctrine by which his life was given purpose.
Arjon got up and paced around his den like a caged animal. All his life he, as with everyone he’d ever known, had accepted that their utopian society had prevailed by way of peaceful determination. A natural evolutionary process where humanity as a whole had shunned violent confrontation, and the evil influences in humans had magically faded away to allow the good to emerge uncontested and victorious.
That was who they were.
That was who Ji-Zhu Geist and the other idealists were.
Humanity held on to those examples, those role models, as though they were a part of themselves. Now the warriors of the past were to be introduced to the halls of honor.
“Why bring this to light?” Arjon asked, seeing how disruptive the discovery could be. “Why risk perfection … at the expense of simply not disclosing some perspectives of our past – speculative ones at that?”
Thiessen stood up, his eyes flashing with indignation, “Our society and hence, our common psyche – the so-called ‘human condition,’ depends on it!”
He strode to the open doorway, looking out and seeing Eya tending her garden across the way.
“If we fear the truth, we will never be truly free … or enlightened.”
He looked back at Arjon, “We have risen above the darkness of human history, the insanities of tyranny and war, and the futility of pointless decadence … but we must continue to do so with courage, and not appease our fears.”
With that he left, and as he walked across the open expanses of the center of the bower to exit, Eya looked up from her gardening. As she wondered what the stranger’s visit was about, she watched Arjon leave his den and approach, a troubled expression on his face.
“Who was that?”
Arjon saw the front energy screen reforming to a close, then sighed, “Someone I’m sure we will be seeing again.”
“Oh … why?”
“I’m not certain, but I think he may need my help with an Enlightenment.”
∞
May 11th, 1946
North-East of Bialystok, Poland
The afternoon sun painted a landscape bathed in gold. The light was a temporary reprieve before the coming darkness. It gave a vitality, an air of renewal to a blasted and dead vista that only a few days before had been a lush woodland studded with birch and oak.
Four blackened and crumbling walls were all that remained of a farmhouse standing alone amidst the broken countryside. A steady influx of armored vehicles to its vicinity signified its status as the forward command post of the 558th Tank Destroyer Battalion.
Inside, a briefing was under way for the following day’s advance. Colonel Corday, although haggard and sleep-deprived from three months of continuous warfare, still exuded the energy of a football coach revving up his players before a game.
The operation to reduce the defenses around Krynki had been an unrelenting grind for the past ten days. The colonel looked across the map table at his team of officers. Their five-o’clock shadows and sweat-stained shirts belied the enthusiasm of a group ready to exert all of their efforts into making sure the battalion was given every chance for success.
The Allied push across Poland had been swift but costly. Up until now, the bulk of the battalion’s planning had been to coordinate the use of their units with those of the 10th Armored Division, with tank destroyers being used to support the forward thrust of the main armor. In trademark Patton style, the 3rd Army’s advance had been relentless, not allowing the Red Army any time to consolidate. But Poland had been mostly flat, easily traversed terrain, ideal for fast moving armored divisions with complete air superiority above them.
As a result, the Soviets had withdrawn while building up fortifications where it mattered most to them – here, on the border of their homeland.
“The division has finally weakened the Reds’ outer positions here … and here.”
Corday pointed to either side of a salient, where a bulge was forming in the thick red line marked on the map.
“Tomorrow morning the GHQ tank battalion will exploit the weakness on the south-western flank and is expected to break through.” He turned to the group of officers with a shrewd look, “But that doesn’t mean it’ll be easy going. The weakness in the Soviet line just means they haven’t rushed up their reserves to fill it. They are probably doing this deliberately, with the expectation that we will attack there.” His brow furrowed, “That means they have more in store for us as we push deeper into their defenses.”
A low murmur among the officers died down as Captain Peters asked a question intended to quieten his colleagues’ concern. “What’ll the preliminaries be?”
“Heavy aerial bombardment, as well as an artillery barrage. Two additional artillery regiments have been moved up to support the offensive.”
“Whew …” whistled Peters. “Another hundred and twenty big guns, plus the indirect firepower from three hundred tanks … should be better than fourth of July fireworks.”
“Strategic command wants this one to get the commies’ attention. The other divisions on either side will be attacking, but mainly to support the 10th Armored’s flank.”
The officers huddled closer as Lieutenant Clay laid several large black and white photographs down on the map, “Our recon flights today have given us a good picture of what we’ll be up against. Apart from the miles of trench systems we’ve been encountering, there are heavier fortifications extending for miles inland from the front.”
“That area doesn’t look any heavier defended than that in front of it,” Captain Peters observed.
“No … because the earthworks are of a type we’ve never seen, more widely dispersed, and on a massive scale.”
Clay produced another photo, this one taken by a recon fighter from a much lower altitude, “This close-up shows how they’ve camouflaged a road with netting … this leads for miles back to the rear. And here … see these tank tracks disappearing into what appears to be a grass covered hillside? Intelligence provided by the local partisans has been describing underground excavations with disguised entrances … tank parks invisible from the air.”
“How much armor have the Russkies got left? They’ve got no airforce …” asked one of the Company commanders.
“That’s why our recon flights can get in to do such a thorough job … and there’s only minimal AA spread out thinly over such a large area,” Clay answered, “but the Reds’ tank factories have been producing with only minor interruption. Every time our bombers hit them they have the production lines repaired in a matter of days … we can expect their tank armies to be at near full-strength.”
“Apart from the tank parks, what else can we expect?” asked Captain Peters.
“Everything except the trench systems are either underground or concealed under forests or camo nets … dug-in tanks and anti-tank weapons, and plenty of artillery.”
Corday could see the heavy pressure of pessimism weighing on the minds of his officers. Serious expressions, deep in concentration trying to foresee how their individual units were going to prevail in the upcoming battle. The Russian defenses were going to be a formidable obstacle to overcome. The Colonel took a deep breath, sensing that his next words were going to be crucial in allaying their fears. He needed to instill confidence in them to do their duty, and then through them, on to the men under their respective commands.
“Boys, this is what we’re here for.”
All eyes looked up and met his.
“This is going to be the big one – we win here and the road’s wide open to Moscow. You men know what we’ve done before … what this Army has done before … how General Patton has led us over a thousand miles of heavily defended enemy territory, and we’ve rolled right through them.”
His eyes blazed, penetrating the negativity in the room like a tornado – the pessimism vanished in the gale, replaced by an impregnable resolve.
“This
is going to have the same victorious outcome. It’s just a matter of when.”
“Once the Division’s armor has broken through, we will not be following up in the same way we have in the past … this time we will have a completely different purpose.”
He indicated to the map, running a finger along the left prong of the upturned horseshoe-shaped bulge in the line. “We will be skirting around the edge of the red line, following the GHQ armor, which will push inwards once they reach this point here …”
His finger stabbed at the top of the horseshoe, where it bent inward, and the gap between the two prongs was at its narrowest.
“Naturally the overall objective will be for the 3rd Army divisions to advance across the top of the salient, cutting off and encircling the Red Army units within it.”
His finger traced across to the top of the right prong.
“Regardless of the strategic outcome, our role will be to divert from behind the GHQ armor, and instead of our usual role of providing support in case of a counter-attack, we will swing up toward Kuźnica, along this road, and use the more open terrain to conduct harassment operations against any red armor coming in to support Krynki. Captain Deming will be commanding three companies of Hellcats in addition to his own unit, and directing them once through the breach.”
He looked up at his officers, smiling with satisfaction in the face of their unwavering attention. “We will be utilizing the M18’s major asset – its speed.”
There were no looks of surprise around the table at hearing all of this – they’d been training for it.
“Our tank destroyers following up the light tanks of the 127th Recon Company will be accompanied by units of the British LRDG and French Foreign Legion.”
There were nods and looks of appreciation among the officers. Those allied units were highly mobile, and had been training with the battalion in Poland. Both the Long Range Desert Group and the Legionnaires were units whose skills had been forged in the vast expanses of North Africa. Their ability to remain concealed, and use of hit and run tactics in wide open spaces, were going to be invaluable on the open steppe.
“This task force will only follow the Kuźnica road for two miles, then disperse to either side – using mobility to maximize our disruption of the enemy rear.”
“Sir?” asked another of the Company commanders. “Is that section of the road going to be clear?”
“As clear as we can make it. In addition to being a concentrated target of the preliminary barrage and air-strikes, there will be coordinated attacks and sabotage on enemy facilities by partisans along the route, and the M24s of the recon company will be calling in squadrons of fighter bombers specially assigned for this operation, waiting on standby overhead.”
“What do we know about the partisans?”
“As you know, the town of Krynki had a large population of Jewish citizens who were the victims of genocide by the Nazis. Now, together with elements of the Polish underground, some of those original inhabitants have returned to this area and are active against the Soviet presence. Due to the Russians’ history of atrocities against the Jews, the locals have as much contempt for them as they do for the Nazis.”
The rest of the briefing’s detail was unimportant, the battalion was primed and ready. Once in the enemy rear, they were going to hit the Reds hard, and then fade away before the slower Soviet armor could retaliate.
Dawn the following day brought rain. Clearing showers and a gray sky, but it wouldn’t be enough to slow down the attack. Nor would it be enough to keep the Allied air power from the skies.
At 0400, as the Hellcat crews finished their pre-operation checks, they paused to watch the waves of heavy bombers, B17s and B29 Superfortresses, passing high overhead. Minutes later, flying much faster and at a lower altitude, hundreds of medium bombers, mostly Liberators and B26 Marauders, winged their way toward Red Army ground targets.
An umbrella of death – the Allied troops on the ground drew strength from the awe-inspiring sight.
The faster low-level bombers would be over their targets first, lighting them up with incendiaries for the heavy bombers following behind, and then continuing out of the danger zone before the rain of hell came down from above.
Fifteen minutes later, the very earth shook as the Allied artillery was unleashed on the Soviet positions.
Massed along a twenty-mile front, dozens of battalions of 155mm M1 Long Toms and M12 King Kongs, as well as 203mm M43s, saturated the Red Army lines with high explosive.
At 0430, the 558th Tank Destroyer battalion moved out from their rally point to follow up the GHQ armor. Captain Deming’s M18 took point as they motored along a rough track in single file. Behind them trailed a long column of slower moving half-tracks carrying infantry and combat engineers with anti-tank guns. These were to follow up and hold key positions along the road to prevent any Red Army forces from getting in behind the fast-moving main advance.
Deming kept an eye on the sky for any black clouds, but if anything, the patchy sunlight was getting brighter. Movement from behind caught his attention. The troop of scout tanks was closing up and would soon pass them.
Deming waved and called the lead Chaffee on the radio.
“Wideout Leader, this is Quarterback … over.”
“Quarterback this is Wideout Leader … reading you loud and clear – over.”
As the Chaffee fell in beside the Hellcat and matched speed, Deming recognized Abe Cooper from their time in training at Camp Hood.
“Morning Sergeant … you missed our breakfast invitation, but we’re planning a barbecue at lunchtime in Krynki. You’re welcome to join us.”
Cooper tipped his helmet and replied, “We’ll take you up on that Captain … mind if we go on ahead and pick out a nice shady spot?”
“Be our guest, but I don’t think the Reds will have left many trees.”
He spotted several scarred gouges from ricochets on the Chaffee’s turret. One larger one even allowed a snip of daylight to show through.
“You should get Ordnance to fix those holes … before your luck runs out of ’em.”
“Luck?” laughed Cooper, “We don’t need any of that … just speed, swerves … and smoke.”
Across the scratchy radio link, Deming was sure he heard him say “Zpeed, Zwerves and Zmoke.”
The scouts resumed their faster pace, and cruised past the column. Up and over the rolling terrain, they were soon lost from sight.
∞
Mojave City
2266 CE
The Great Hall resonated with the excited hum of an impending announcement. The Orator raised his hand in a gesture of greeting, and the hum subsided. In another ten thousand Halls around the planet, half of the Earth’s population was also watching.
“People of the Free World …” he began, “The Center of Truth has ratified a new Enlightenment.”
The audience waited in excited anticipation. “However …” he faltered, his usually implacable confidence dented by a look of uncertainty, “… due to unprecedented circumstances, the Protectorate must delegate this presentation to another … entity.”
Bewildered looks in the crowd threatened to burst into vocal protest. This had never occurred in the CoT’s two centuries of existence.
The Orator continued, “A representative from an independent legal firm, Decatur and Associates, will be presenting the findings.”
A gasp reverberated through the Halls, an unheard-of agency presenting an Enlightenment? What was going on?
The Center of Truth, Utopia’s cradle of stability, was being rocked.
“This is to ensure that …” the Orator advised with some indignation, “… there will be no conflict of interest caused by the nature of the truths about to be disclosed.”
What was happening? The bedrock of civilization … a conflict? From where? The other Pillars?
The Orator left the podium leaving more questions than answers.
Moments later, billions of eyes watched
intently as a solitary figure entered the stage.
Arjon was clearly overwhelmed. His mind was reeling at the enormity of the situation, and with trepidation at what he was about to say.
∞
Krynki Salient,
May 12th, 1946
0730 HRS
Sargent Cooper had wondered what it may have been like on the surface of the moon. He was pretty sure if you just added a lot of scrap metal then this would be it. The previous weeks of fighting had produced an ashen, cratered emptiness, littered with wreckage and devoid of life.
As the group of scout tanks cruised north-east at thirty miles per hour, Cooper scanned the horizon searching for the tail of the 10th Armored Division columns. For miles ahead, the division would be skirting around the western edge of the Krynki salient, probing for weak spots.
Three-Z was riding along smoothly, following in the compacted earth of the dozens of tracks made by the heavy tanks of one of the Division’s armored columns. The occasional burned-out bunker or dug-in Red Army tank with only its wrecked turret visible above ground, showed where the column had been delayed before moving on again.
Before long, the sounds of fresh conflict reached their ears. As they approached the top of a rise, Cooper’s lead tank slowed to a crawl, and the platoon commander motioned with his arm for the other three Chaffees to do likewise.
As scouts, Cooper and his crew were more used to prowling around solo searching for the enemy ahead of the Division. Identifying targets was fairly straightforward – you could shoot first because you were the only friendlies out there. He had a feeling today was not going to be a normal day’s work.
“Keponee easy on that trigger … wait until I give the order before firing on any bogeys. Things may get more confusing than we’re used to.”
Nearing the top of the incline, Cooper watched from the commander’s hatch as the blue sky slowly met the other side of the slope.
Armageddon was in full-swing. The 10th Armored’s heavy tanks, T30 Mammoths and T32 Grizzlies, supported by infantry from the 87th and 26th Infantry Divisions, were assaulting across a wide front. The Chaffees idled for several minutes while for several minutes, Cooper used his field glasses to try to determine how the battle was going. He could see two clear lines of advance where the fighting was the most intense. These would be Combat Commands A and B, he thought. One of these, it was hoped, would turn into a breach in the Russian line, allowing the Chaffees to follow through as planned.
The Free World War Page 14
