The Ten Thousand (32 page)

With a wave of his hand, Ruff told Mahler that eight o’clock was satisfactory. Thanking the two colonels, he dismissed them. When he was alone, Ruff looked down at the map on the desk before him.

So, he thought to himself in the silence of his den, the Americans come again. That thought brought his black-sheathed Hitler Youth dagger to mind. After lighting another cigarette, Ruff leaned back in his seat, taking a long drag as he looked up at the ceiling. Though his eyes were open, he only saw the images of a dark, gray corpse-filled cellar in Regensburg in April of 1945. Every detail, even the smell of that cellar, was as keen to him at that moment as if it had just been yesterday. He could even feel the pain in his leg almost as intensely as he had when the wound was fresh on that distant day. “This time,” he said to himself with a hint of self-satisfaction, “I shall be ready.”

Arriving at the rail yard in Milovice just as Nancy Kozak’s company was finishing breakfast and getting back to loading their vehicles onto rail cars, Scott Dixon and Colonel Vorishnov joined Kozak for breakfast and watched the operation. Using the hood of Kozak’s humvee as a table, the three officers ate their breakfast of runny eggs, soggy toast, and limp bacon while Kozak briefed Dixon on the status of her company between mouthfuls. Not that he didn’t already know its status, as well as that of all the companies under his command. Dixon’s own staff had already given him an update on that less than an hour before. It wasn’t the information he was interested in at that moment. What he was really looking at was Kozak’s attitude and the attitude of the soldiers in her command. That was something that didn’t show up on the charts and graphs at brigade headquarters. For this piece of critical information, Dixon relied heavily upon his own eyes and ears. With what they had to do, Dixon had to be sure that everyone in his command was mentally as well as physically ready. So, informing Dave Yost, his executive officer, that he had had enough staff briefings and planning sessions at both corps and his own command post to last a lifetime, he and Colonel Vorishnov hopped into Dixon’s humvee and fled the organized chaos of a brigade headquarters in the throes of planning and preparing for the invasion of Germany.

Referring to notes in a spiral notebook covered with a personalized camouflaged carrying case, Kozak alternated between eating and recounting item by item the status of her command and her concerns. As she did so, Vorishnov watched her in fascination. He watched how she held her fork, how her full, shapely lips moved when she spoke, how she held her head slightly to the side with a few stray wisps of her long hair falling out from under her helmet. Such a lovely girl, he thought, involved in such a cold, brutal business. A veteran himself, Vorishnov wondered how such a beautiful creature as this woman could maintain her femininity and still continue to do what was necessary. Vorishnov was just beginning to imagine what Kozak would look like in an elegant black gown with a jeweled necklace draped about her slender neck instead of the dirty collar of an olive drab wool sweater, when her company first sergeant came up behind her and interrupted her briefing by loudly clearing his throat.

Without showing any indication that she was upset over the first sergeant’s interruption, Kozak paused and turned toward him. “Is everyone back at it, First Sergeant?”

Making a slight grunt, First Sergeant Gary Stokes’s reply showed his disgust. “Well, ma’am, like my old man use to say, ‘Ya can teach ‘em, but ya can’t learn ‘em.’ ”

She looked at him for a moment with a patient, calm expression on her face while she waited for Stokes to continue. “It’s the same old story, Captain Kozak. As soon as someone starts shooting, half of what we tried to teach these people goes out the window.” Looking at Dixon, Stokes threw his hands up in disgust. “I mean, the second we go into combat, everyone thinks, Hey! Fuck it, man, this is war, and all the discipline and accountability we try to instill in these guys is forgotten.”

“What exactly,” Kozak asked, “is the problem?”

“Tie-downs and chock blocks, ma’am. There isn’t a complete set of either in the entire company.”

A worried look crept upon Kozak’s face. “You mean there isn’t a single vehicle in the _entire _ company with everything it needs for rail loading?”

Knowing that she was asking about her own Bradley, Charlie 60, Stokes shook his head. “None, _nichts. _ I personally checked.”

Vorishnov noticed the embarrassed look that caused her cheeks to blush slightly. Turning to Dixon, she asked if she could be excused, stating that she needed to look into the matter of tie-downs immediately. With a knowing smile, Dixon nodded and told her no problem. After they exchanged salutes and both Kozak and Stokes were out of earshot, Vorishnov commented, still watching Kozak’s hips sway despite the bulky parka and field gear, “You know, that could never happen in the Russian Army.”

At first Dixon thought that Vorishnov was talking about the crews losing their tie-downs. After noticing, however, the manner in which Vorishnov was looking at Kozak as she walked away, Dixon understood that he meant women leading combat units. Dixon chuckled. “That, Colonel, is your loss.”

Taking a sip of his now lukewarm coffee, Vorishnov stared at Dixon with a quizzical look. “Do you honestly think so?”

“Colonel, I know so. Some of my best troopers are female. They’re for the most part sharp, dedicated, and with few exceptions, far more astute when it comes to dealing with people. Besides, overall, they have a very real civilizing effect on the units to which they belong.”

Vorishnov watched Kozak go about her business as he continued to speak to Dixon. “Our intelligence officers like to tell us that the presence of so many women in your units is making them soft, that they are feminizing your army.”

Dixon smiled knowingly. “Well, your intelligence people can believe what they want. I personally know of several Iraqi officers who would beg to differ with that conclusion. I’ll be the first to admit there are problems. After all, as the saying goes, boys will be boys, and girls will be girls, especially when you put them together. But it’s all part of being a democracy. Everyone has a right to make it in the world as far as they can go. Turning toward Dixon, Vorishnov took another sip of coffee.

“I think, Colonel Dixon, in this case I must agree with some of my fellow officers. Allowing women in combat units is a little too much democracy.”

Dixon was about to counter when a soldier who had been serving breakfast came up. “Colonel, we’re closing up the chow line. I thought you’d like some hot coffee before we pack it away.” Taking advantage of the offer, both Dixon and Vorishnov presented their cups to the soldier, who filled them well past the brims. Only the heavy gloves they wore to protect their hands from the bitter cold morning saved both officers from getting their hands burned by the steaming coffee.

As they waited for their fresh cups of black coffee to cool down, which didn’t take long, Vorishnov mused, “You know, Colonel Dixon, I served as a staff officer at the Group of Forces, Central Group, here in Czechoslovakia, when it was Czechoslovakia.”

“Yes, Colonel, I knew that. That is why I asked that you remain with my brigade. Who better to advise me and my staff on this operation than a man who planned to come crashing through the Cheb Gap just like we plan to.”

Vorishnov looked over to Dixon. “I would like to point out, Colonel Dixon, that when I was at Central Group, I never remember coming across any plans that called for throwing an entire brigade across the Czech-German border strapped down on a train.”

“Four trains, to be exact. That, Colonel, is my little innovation. Got the idea from studying the Korean War. On the first day of that war, one of the North Korean Army units took advantage of their complete surprise over the South Koreans. Just before dawn they replaced the section of tracks that had been torn up when the north and south separated and rolled right into their initial objective in rail cars.”

Vorishnov held his left index finger up as he prepared to make his point. “Ah! Yes, that is important to remember.”

Puzzled, Dixon looked at Vorishnov. “What is important?”

“The North Koreans. They didn’t just board a train and roll into enemy territory. They prepared their way by laying tracks across the point where the rail line was broken.” Vorishnov dropped his arm, taking a sip of coffee while he allowed Dixon to think for a minute.

“Well, Colonel, you have me. You, of course, know that the rail lines are intact. The Germans have not stopped civilian traffic. I doubt if they will, since this is still just an affair between the United States and Germany. So I don’t get your point.”

“You are quite right. There is no need to lay rail. But that does not mean that you cannot, as you say, grease the skids a little so that your command can slide into Germany just a little easier.”

Dixon looked at Vorishnov as he tried to figure out what the Russian was up to. Finally he shrugged.

“Obviously you have something in mind. I am, as the saying goes, all ears.”

“There is, serving with one of your ranger companies, a Russian major who, while I was serving here in Czechoslovakia, commanded a Desant, or special purpose air-assault detachment in the Central Group. He speaks German fluently and is passable with his Czech. One of his tasks as a Desant detachment commander was to travel throughout southeastern Germany posing as a truck driver in order to learn all he could of the area in preparation for the day when he would lead his detachment there in advance of an invasion of Germany.” Then, realizing what he had said, a sly smile lit Vorishnov’s face as he quickly added, “If, of course, aggression by
NATO
had forced the peace-loving Soviet Union to launch such a counteroffensive.”

Dixon grinned at Vorishnov’s sudden backpedaling on the invasion issue. “Of course.”

Continuing with his discussion, Vorishnov quickly got to the point. “This major, Major Nikolai Ilvanich, also happens to be in temporary command of the ranger company he is with. Given his experience as a commander of a Desant detachment, his knowledge of our proposed area of operation, and the group of elite soldiers in hand, I have little doubt that he could give your brigade the extra margin of safety that it will need to make this operation a reality. Besides, he and his company are being held at a hospital just north of here as if they were prisoners. I see no reason why we should not put them to good use.”

Dixon, always one to take advantage of every opportunity to stack the odds in his favor, liked the idea. Before saying so, however, he asked Vorishnov if Ilvanich, a Russian, would risk his life in an American operation, leading American troops.

A smile came to Vorishnov’s face. “When I was a student at the General Staff Academy, we had a tactics instructor who enjoyed a little joke now and then. One day he presented a tactical problem to our class. We were told to place ourselves in the role of a tank division commander who had broken through the main
NATO
defensive belts and was headed west to the Rhine River. Our problem was that two
NATO
divisions were being thrown against us, with a German armored division coming at our flank from the south and an American armored division advancing from the north. The instructor asked us to determine which threat we should deal with first, the German division or the American, and then explain our reasoning. A classmate of mine, a very clever if arrogant fellow, quickly finished weighing the pros and cons of both options. He stood up and announced that we must turn against the German division first. The tactics instructor, making a great show of it, pounded on his desk and yelled, ‘No, no, no.

You’re wrong!’ Shocked, and a little embarrassed, but determined to prove his point, my classmate started to enumerate the reasons for his decision. Again the instructor cut him off, yelling this time, ‘The Americans, you must deal with the Americans, first and always.’ Frustrated, my classmate finally blurted,

‘But why? Why always the Americans? Why leave the Germans till later?’ With a sly grin the instructor stated, ‘That is obvious. As soldiers, we must always deal with business before pleasure.’ ”

Dixon chuckled. He had heard the same story, but with different nationalities, before.

Then suddenly Vorishnov’s entire demeanor changed. When he spoke, his tone was cold and serious.

“A resurgent Germany armed with nuclear weapons is something that Russia cannot live with. This fight which we are about to enter is not simply between the United States and Germany. It is a struggle to crush an evil thing in the womb, before it can endanger decency and humanity again.”

Vorishnov’s sober statement didn’t need any further comment. After taking one last look around, Dixon turned to Vorishnov. “Well, the corps commander promised me anything that I wanted. Let’s take a ride over to that hospital where they’re holding your major hostage and see if he’s interested in having some fun.”

From his tank, Second Lieutenant Ellerbee watched his brigade commander and the Russian colonel climb into a humvee and drive away. As they did so, his heart sank. Ellerbee had been sitting there for the better part of an hour watching Colonel Dixon, trying to screw up enough courage to go over and protest the manner in which he and his platoon were being treated by Captain Kozak. But just as he was about to, just when he had built up enough gumption, Ellerbee talked himself out of it. No, he reasoned, odds were, if he did, the colonel would ignore him. Or, Ellerbee told himself, Colonel Dixon would tell him that, based on his personal performance in the Ukraine, he deserved it, or that Kozak, as the commander, could run her company as she saw fit. No, he convinced himself, it would be futile to complain.

Then, when he had given up, Ellerbee saw Dixon looking right at him. Maybe, just maybe, Ellerbee thought, the colonel would recognize him, come over, and ask him how things were going with his platoon. Now, Ellerbee reasoned, if the colonel asked, then it would be all right to complain. Then it wouldn’t sound like sour grapes or simple bitching. He had been told once that so long as the senior officer asked, it was okay to give an honest answer. Ellerbee had no sooner psyched himself up when a soldier who had been serving breakfast to the company came up and offered the two colonels some more coffee. Dixon turned his head away from Ellerbee, accepted the coffee, and continued his conversation with the Russian colonel.