Armageddon (27 page)

“The third German blunder therefore was the playing out of their Aryan/superman myth. A partly sympathetic White Russian, Ukrainian, and Russian public awaited them. The Germans drove them back into Stalin’s arms.

“The Russian soldier may be the best in the entire world. This is because he is the most expendable. The famous steamroller tactic of World War I was renewed in World War II. This system, basically, uses humans in hordes. Chop down one line and another comes at you. Chop down a third line and face a fourth. Chop down the thirtieth and you face the thirty-first.

“Russians are like a pack of animals on the attack and otherwise. The pack strikes best in numbers. And ... like the animal ... he is most vicious when he is cornered.

“Like the animal, the Russian blends into the natural backgrounds of the landscape and he knows how to use terrain for protection. Like the animal, the Russian is able to endure cold and hunger ... better than any soldier in the world. No Russian soldier would think of surrendering to the enemy merely because he is starving. He can disappear into the land like a fawn. He can survive from roots and herbs. For a Russian soldier to get frostbite is considered a crime by his superiors. And ... like the animal ... his instincts are sharper and his courage greater under the cover of night. He is a superb night fighter.

“Although this Russian soldier is a resourceful animal he does not exist as an individual for he is a conditioned and controlled animal. All the thinking is done for him from above. He is never asked or expected to make a decision on his own.

“The top commanders of the Red Army are excellent soldiers of sound military judgment.

“However, the captains, majors, lieutenant colonels and those in the middle ‘field rank’ can think only as far as the staff over them orders. These ‘field’ rank commanders carry out their orders to the fraction of a letter. They carry them out on fear of liquidation from their own superiors or the political commissars. There have been thousands of individual instances where a field commander has failed to exploit a sudden breakthrough because he simply will not assume personal responsibility.

“Most Russian tactics are based on using masses of men to overwhelm the enemy. They have good armor, equal for the most part to the German armor, but their tank tactics are crude. If the Germans knock out a dozen Russian tanks, they face another dozen.

“Their legendary artillery is also based on using mammoth numbers to saturate the target.

“In bedrock, the formula is waves and waves of men in a frontal assault. This is the bread and butter power play of the Red Army. Many a time the German would stack up Russian attackers like cord wood but they came on endlessly. The Russian Staff thinks little of expending regiments or entire divisions to spearhead a drive or clear a field of land mines. Human fodder, the disregard of the individual, makes the Red Army go.

“Interviews with German prisoners state how demoralizing a Russian assault can be. Even if the attack is beaten back, the memory of it becomes unforgettable.

“This ruthless use of the human as soldier is paralleled by the ruthless use of the Russian civilian population. The Soviet commanders will never hesitate to use a village, a town, or a city as a defensive position. As they retreat they will destroy the crops, machinery, homes in order to deny these to the Germans, but at the same time deny their own citizens the means to exist. Many’s the time the Red Army has pulled back leaving such deliberate destruction that the civilian population has no alternative but to starve to death. Thousands of towns were destroyed and hundreds of thousands of civilians were killed and millions more were moved to the interior of Russia as slave labor for suspicion of collaboration with the Germans.

“Russian defensive stubbornness is legend. The Russian will not be moved from a fixed position unless overwhelmed by the enemy. However, once a position is overrun, the Russian does not retreat in an orderly manner, he plunges back. The Russian has thousands of miles of land in which to fall back.

“Leningrad, even more than Stalingrad, is the prime example of Russian defense and ruthless disregard of a civilian population. Hitler shied away from a frontal assault on Leningrad and the bloody street fighting which would have to follow. Instead, he ordered a siege with the aid of Finnish troops in order to starve the city into submission. In the first six months an estimated half-million Russians died of cold and hunger. For the balance of the thirty-month siege, another half million met death. Yet, at no time did Leningrad intend to quit, and as the siege wore on, the city actually became stronger and stronger until they broke out.

“A line of credit must go to the women fighters who appear in every phase of the service including infantry, air corps, and tank corps.

“As the war progressed, the Red Army became stronger after the initial shocks. Top Russian commanders used superlative night movements and imaginative tactics. To compensate for the lack of motor transport, infantry was often moved on the back of tanks. In the winter when the poor Russian road system broke down and literally swamped German transport, the Russians used horses and sleighs to move men and equipment.

“One of the brilliant Russian improvisations was the building of bridges across lakes a foot under the water level. All work was done by night and when a breakout or attack was ordered, the Germans were confronted with the sight of tanks and infantry moving at them, apparently riding and running on the water.

“The Russian fights best at night. The partisan units wrought havoc. Using German uniforms and the cover of the land, these units could travel for days on a few slices of bread. They had a devastating effect on the overextended German supply lines.

“This has been a ghastly war; in fact, the most brutal ever fought between two civilized nations. German rape, loot, murder of prisoners, hatred of the people was everything Stalin promised the German would be. The Russians, however, matched atrocity with atrocity.

“Damage to cities, farms, livestock, industry is of astronomical proportion. The loss of Russian life, which both sides held so cheaply, is a likewise staggering total, perhaps ten million.

“German defeat grew inevitable. In the beginning there was tactical blundering by Hitler. Then Russian space and time and weather overcame them. Russian resources grew as German resources shrunk. New Russian armies trained far back of the lines were thrown at the Germans, who didn’t even know they existed.

“The new Red Army is superb. It is well-trained, -equipped and -generated. It continues its success on the basic tactic of the human battering ram. As German casualties mounted and equipment was permanently lost, Germany began to lose initiative. Germany had no way of shrinking the multithousand-mile front line, but instead had to thin it out.

“The winters had a crushing effect on the German. Of this, much has already been written from Napoleon’s time on.

“The Red Army is a powerhouse much changed from the early days.
ITS PRESENCE IN EASTERN AND CENTRAL EUROPE IN THE POST WAR PERIOD WILL HAVE A PROMINENT IF NOT DECIDING FACTOR IN CARRYING OUT MOSCOW POLICY.
”

“Did you get through the documents last night?” Hansen asked Sean the next morning.

“As much as I needed to see.”

“And did you reach a decision?”

“Hell yes. I reached it fifty times and changed my mind fifty times. What I really want, General Hansen, is to go home. I hate Germany and Germans. The prospect of the mission in Berlin fills me with despair ... utter despair.”

“What is the greater force, Sean? Love for your country or hatred of Germany and fear of Russia?”

Sean shook his head that he did not know.

“You are asking yourself, why me? Hell, I can’t explain the inequities of this. The captains and the kings depart and leave to you and me a mess to clean up. Bright young majors like you will go home and become bright young executives. We’ll be out here beating our heads against a wall ... and for it we will receive no understanding and no gratitude. But, some of us are going to have to do it anyhow. It is the miracle of the survival of our republic. Always, at the right moment, the right men seem to step forward.”

“I have no aspirations to being a martyr.”

“Then say no, and be on your way.”

“You know goddamned well I can’t say no, General. General Hansen, once in London you asked me if I would abide by my father’s decision in peace. I did and neither of us is sorry. Let me ask you the same thing now. Will you abide by his decision? Yesterday you challenged me to ask my father. All right, I’ll ask him.”

Hansen took off his specs and cleared his throat. The man before him was not happy, did not pretend to be. He had intentionally trapped him into a situation of honor. Yet, he was asking everything of Sean ... everything.

“As you know they are transferring dozens of squadrons to the Pacific Theater every day. I’ll call the Rhein/Main base and find out if you can hitch a ride. What’s the nearest Army airfield to your home?”

“Hamilton, in Marin County.”

“Go and see your parents. Our first contingent will be entering Berlin on the Fourth of July. When you return to Germany it will be either to go back to Rombaden and finish your command or it will be to come to Berlin with us for as long as we need you.”

“The Fourth of July? But, sir, even with good connections I won’t have much more than forty-eight hours at home ... I’ve been gone almost four years ...”

“That’s it, Sean. Forty-eight hours.”

Chapter Thirty-seven

“H
EY,
M
AJOR
O’S
ULLIVAN, TAKE
a look.” Sean responded to the prodding of the navigator of the “Vigilant Virgin,” a combat-weary B-24. He unraveled himself from a makeshift bunk in the bomb bay and slipped into the flight deck between the pilots. The aircraft commander pointed out of his window.

Below, the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge poked up through a pall of grayish clouds. Beyond the bridge, the gleaming plaster and hills of San Francisco searched for the ever-elusive sun.

“The Golden Gate in ’48, the broad line in ’49,” someone said over the intercom.

And then, there was no more talk. For this crew it was good-by Europe, hello Pacific, but the Vigilant Virgin would be gone forever. The proud possessor of seventy-five raids, including survival of the Ploesti air massacre, she would meet an untimely end and her crew would be retrained for the more powerful B-29s.

“Strap in for landing.”

The “follow me” jeep led the Vigilant Virgin into a hardstand. The alert crew signaled her to cut her engines and wheel chocks were set. Her men tumbled out of the open bomb bay, and Sean and three other hitchers thanked each of the crew for the ride. The ceremony was halted by a jeep pulling under the plane’s wings. A corporal from Base Operations emerged.

“Excuse me. Is Major Sean O’Sullivan here?”

“I’m O’Sullivan.”

The corporal came to a sloppy salute, which an Army man tolerated from the Air Corps. “Would you come with me, sir. Sergeant Schlosberg has some poop for you at the message center.”

The jeep U-turned and drove down the side of the runway as the rest of the bomber squadron was making long glides to the landing strip.

“Afternoon, sir,” Sergeant Schlosberg said. “How was the flight?”

“Good as any ride in an airplane can be.”

Schlosberg tolerated the nonflying mentality of a landlocked Army officer. “We’ve got a TWX on you about your return flight, sir. You can catch a Staff B-17 out of Mather to Washington, then ATC on the VIP flight to Orly. If you’ll check Base Operations in Paris they’ll get you in to Frankfurt or Wiesbaden with Theater Aircraft. Should put you back by July 3.”

“Mather, that’s up by Sacramento, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. We have a staff car to take you into Frisco now. If you’ll leave your address at the motor pool we’ll arrange to have you picked up and transported to Mather.”

“I appreciate that.”

The sergeant said it was nothing at all, having been fully awed by Sean’s Priority One status in his orders.

“Could I use your phone?”

“Help yourself.”

Sean indicated the call was private. The sergeant excused himself. Sean lifted the receiver.

“Hamilton operator.”

“This is Major O’Sullivan. I’ve just arrived with the 23d Bomber Squadron. I’m calling from Base Operations. Could you reach a number in San Francisco?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get me Mission 0430.”

“One moment, sir.”

He heard the feedback of the dialing. The phone rang. Sean’s hand tightened on the receiver ... ring ... ring ... ring ... click!

“Hello.”

“Hello ... Momma ...”

Silence on the other end of the line.

“Momma ...”

“Oh God!”

“Momma, it’s Sean.”

“Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!”

“Momma ... don’t cry ... don’t cry ...”

“It’s Sean!”

“Son ... is it you, son!”

“Hello, Poppa.”

“Is it really you!”

“Yes ... yes ... it’s me. I’m sorry I couldn’t reach you sooner and let you know. I’ve just landed at Hamilton Field. I’ll be home in about an hour.”

“Are you all right, son?”

“I’m fine ... I’ll be right home.”

The road through Marin ran through brown hills. At the foot of the Waldo grade stood a new city of shacks near the frantic activity of the shipyards. Then up the hill and down into the tunnel and onto the Golden Gate Bridge. Over the bay, the city showed itself flirting through wisps of clouds streaming up the gate and the wind jarred the car about.

Now, past the toll gate into the city, they turned into Van Ness, which had been a gaudy auto row in peacetime ... on past the great brick structure of the New Saint Mary’s Church.

How small, how quiet everything looked. Houses, streets, all shrunk. But is not memory always larger than life?

Sean looked down the length of Market Street to the Ferry Building. A living sea of white-capped sailors told him there was still a war being fought. The rival Market Street and Municipal Street car lines staged one of their impromptu races on the four sets of tracks.