The Ten Thousand (62 page)

“Bob, it’s midafternoon there, isn’t it?”

Before he could answer, the report from a small-caliber automatic cannon not far from where he stood caused him to flinch and look over to his right. When he saw that he was in no immediate danger, Bob looked back to the camera and responded to Jan’s question trying to look as if nothing had happened. “Yes, Jan. It is afternoon. Of course, the time of day really doesn’t seem to make any difference in this battle. The German mechanized infantry unit I’m with has been continuously engaged with elements of the American rear guard since early yesterday, day and night. The American cavalry unit that it has been playing a deadly game of tag with since then is now located just across the river behind me in a town named Burghaun.”

Looking down at her computer-generated map of central Germany, the one used to show the home audience where the battles were taking place, Jan noted that there were no towns of that name shown.

“Excuse me, Bob. But where exactly is that?”

“Jan, we’re about four or five kilometers northwest of Hünfeld. If you recall, the Germans seized Hünfeld on the 19th but weren’t able to go any further west due to the Tenth Corps’ rapid redeployment of blocking forces. Now it seems that the elements of this German unit will be able to finally make it across the Fulda River here and link up with the 10th Panzer to the west.”

“Is that due,” Jan queried without betraying a hint of the deep concern she felt, “to a collapse of American forces?”

Jan could see Bob shake his head. “No, Jan. On the contrary. The American units that the Germans had hoped to bag have made it north and out of the trap. This is due in great measure to the skillful and valiant efforts of cavalrymen, like those across the river. It’s almost become a regular drill these past two days. The American cavalrymen will set up in a town or blocking position and wait for the Germans in pursuit to catch up. Sometimes the Germans detect the Americans first and approach with caution. Most of the time, however, it is the Americans who initiate the action, usually with an ambush. This morning was a case in point.”

Pointing over to a partially demolished bridge, Bob cued his cameraman to focus on the smoldering hulk of a German Marder infantry fighting vehicle sitting on the bridge.

“When the German unit I’m with lost contact with the American rear guard before dawn this morning, they took off and followed, as usual. For some reason, when we got here, they thought that the bridge was clear. Two Marders, the German equivalent of your Bradley fighting vehicle, rolled onto the bridge and began to cross. That’s when the Americans in Burghaun blew up the bridge and fired on the Marders. You can clearly see, Jan, the results of that surprise.”

While Bob talked and the camera continued to focus on the wrecked Marder, Jan felt a cold shiver. It was becoming harder and harder to watch those shots and talk as if they meant nothing to her. For while others viewed the film footage coming in with an eye to whether it supported their story or made a bold statement, Jan looked for anything that might give her a clue as to where her husband was and how he was doing. This was not easy, for some of the film showed wounded Americans and on occasion a corpse left sprawled on the ground in its own blood. Though she didn’t know how well she could deal with seeing Scotty like that, Jan couldn’t not look. She had to. It was there, and there was no denying it.

So she looked and prayed in silence that she wouldn’t find what she sought.

Just as Bob was finishing up his explanation, a series of loud screeches passed overhead.

Automatically the cameraman, recognizing them for what they were, swung the camera away from the Marder on the bridge and over to a view of the town across the river. His reaction and timing were perfect, catching the impact of half a dozen German artillery rounds that had caused the shattering noise overhead. Looking over to where the camera was aimed, Bob then began to ad-lib. “What you’re seeing, Jan, is an artillery barrage going in on what the Germans suspect to be American positions.”

Watching her monitor, Jan shook her head. “Yes, Bob. We’ve got that here. Can you see any of the American vehicles or personnel from where you are?”

“No, Jan. And I doubt that the Germans can either. In fact, there’s the very real chance that the Americans who blew up the bridge and destroyed the lead Marders are long gone. These cavalrymen are quite good at giving the Germans the slip.”

With a look of mild surprise on her face, Jan asked, “If the Germans can’t see the Americans, then why are they firing on the town, a German town that no doubt still has people in it?”

Bob pointed back to the Marder on the bridge. “It didn’t take too many incidents like that to convince the young soldiers of this unit to shoot first before they stick their necks out.”

Before she realized what she was saying, Jan asked, “Well, Bob, are you in danger of being fired on by the Americans?”

Jan cursed herself. That, she thought, was a dumb question, a really dumb question. Of course he was in danger.

“Well, Jan, of course there’s always the danger that the odd shot will wander in our direction, but for the most part, no, we’re in no real danger. The Americans have been very selective about how they use their artillery and where they shoot, so far. Though no one will admit it, the only times I’ve seen populated areas shelled by artillery have been when the Germans did it themselves.”

Before Jan could ask her next question, the image of Bob disappeared from the screen. Jan pulled back, looked at the screen, then glanced over to the control booth. Over the earphone a technician announced that the feed had been cut from Bob’s location. The German Army public affairs officer controlling the video feed hadn’t liked his last comment. Jan looked up at the camera and did what most news anchors do when faced with a sudden interruption of their lead story. “It seems that we’re having some technical difficulties with our live feed from Bob Manning in Germany. We’ll continue to update you on the latest from Germany after this commercial.”

While they waited, Jan sat back watching the commotion in the control booth while wondering what to do next. The logical thing was to go back to Littleton. The question was, however, how to tie Bob’s interrupted report into a conversation with Littleton. As she pondered this, Jan heard the director suggest that she go back to Littleton and tie her questions into the last video somehow. Looking up at the director, Jan was about to say, “No shit, Sherlock,” but decided not to. She could tell from where she sat that he already had more than enough on his mind and his hands full. He didn’t need her smart-ass comment. Instead Jan simply smiled, nodded, and prepared to go back live.

When the red light flashed on the camera before her, Jan started in. “Good morning if you’re just joining us. With us today in our Washington studios is Colonel Edward J. Littleton, Jr., U.S. Army, retired.” Glancing over to the monitor that showed Littleton’s face, Jan’s smile transformed itself into a serious mask. “Colonel Littleton, over the past few days we’ve seen an American force, outnumbered and deep in Germany, consistently outmaneuver and outfight the German Army, an army that has for centuries held the reputation as one of the best in the world. The German military machine, not to mention its skills in planning and its general staff, has been the model for many other armies in the world, including the American Army. How then, Colonel, do you explain what one could call the poor performance of the German Army over the past two weeks? It seems a simple thing to bring their forces to bear on the numerically inferior Tenth Corps and stop it.”

When the video shot shifted to Littleton, he was smiling. “The myth of German military superiority has taken a long time to die. While the Germans have maintained a superb military force since the mid-1800s, it is not without fault and it is far from perfect.” Shifting slightly in his seat, Littleton turned slightly away from the camera. “The fact is, Jan, the German Army has not fought in any wars since 1945. The United States Army, on the other hand, has had ample opportunity to blood its officers, so to say, in several conflicts. And,” Littleton continued, pointing his finger at the camera, “there’s more than simple combat experience. Since the breaking up of the Soviet Union, the German Army has not held a major maneuver training exercise. Most training exercises above battalion level have been command post exercises involving only the officers and assisted by computers. To my knowledge, there isn’t a single German division commander who has had every unit in his command maneuvering in the field at the same time in years. An added problem was the creation of multinational corps. When the Germans pulled their units out of those multinational corps, in which officers from other nations held many key positions, the German effort to revert to all-German corps staff’s in the midst of an active campaign created major problems at all levels of the German command structure that they still have not yet resolved.”

“Then what you’re saying, Colonel, is that the American Army is a better army.”

Again Littleton smiled. “No, Jan, I’m not saying that. What I am saying is that the American Army was better trained and prepared going into this crisis than the Germans were. They, the Americans, have a solid corps of knowledgeable and experienced officers and noncommissioned officers who have made the difference when it mattered. Unfortunately for the Tenth Corps, the Germans are learning. In that particular instance at the bridge, the lesson cost them two infantry fighting vehicles and their crews. Our soldiers, who learned their lessons before the first shots were fired, are facing combat veterans now who have learned their trade the hard way.”

Littleton’s statement sent a chill through Jan. For a moment her face went blank as she tensed up. The director, seeing the sudden change, ordered the camera to hold on Littleton for a moment instead of cutting back to Jan for her next question. Only after Jan realized what had happened and had regained her composure did he allow the camera to cut over to her. As hard as it was for her to do, Jan asked the next logical question. “Will this newfound experience be able to make a difference in sufficient time to allow the Germans to stop the Tenth Corps?”

Taking a deep breath before answering, Littleton pondered the question, then looked up at Jan.

“Perhaps. It is hard to say right now. Washington and Berlin must assess the results of the battle that’s now winding down. It’s really hard to say what either will do. The Tenth Corps has won, but it has paid for that success. The Germans have had their noses badly bloodied and will now step back to catch their breath and figure out what to do next. The only thing that we can be sure of, Jan, is that when and where the two armies come together again, it will be more violent and more vicious. The Americans now realize that they are fighting for their lives.”

“And the Germans, Colonel? How will the German soldier react?”

Again Littleton carefully considered his next comment. He, like the rest of the world, was really unsure. Public opinion in Germany was solidly against the war. Anti-war riots in every major city outside the combat zone had resulted in martial law being imposed and the diversion of those reserve units that had responded to their call-up to controlling civil disturbances instead of reinforcing combat units facing the Tenth Corps. And yet the German Army continued to maneuver and prepare for the next fight.

Taking another deep breath, Littleton finally answered. “I don’t think anyone, even the German Army commanders themselves, can answer that question.”

While Jan Fields-Dixon and Colonel Edward J. Littleton, Jr., U.S. Army, retired, pondered what would happen next, Captain Nancy Kozak had no illusions as to how the German soldiers would behave. From the side of the road, Kozak watched with cold and impassionate eyes as two soldiers from her first platoon carefully laid the charred and shredded body of her battalion commander on a poncho.

Though they were careful, there was also a decided lack of true emotion on their part. They were, like everyone else in Company C, 3rd of the 3rd Infantry, beyond feeling. The stress and strain of battle, sleepless nights, long periods of tedium shattered by sudden spasms of sheer terror known as combat had beaten practically every human emotion out of them. They were, like Kozak, responding but no longer feeling. It was too late for that.

From down the road, the roar of the battalion executive officer’s humvee failed to disturb Kozak as she watched her soldiers continue the grim task of removing the bodies of the battalion commander’s crew from their smashed Bradley. Even when the executive officer’s humvee stopped next to Kozak and he dismounted, Kozak made no effort to acknowledge his presence. She simply continued to watch her soldiers drape another corpse in a mottled green camouflage poncho. Coming up next to Kozak, the executive officer looked briefly at what Kozak’s soldiers were doing, then, ignoring the stench of burned flesh that made his nostrils twitch, he turned to Kozak. “What happened?”

Kozak answered without taking her eyes away from the soldiers or enshrouded body. In a voice that was little more than a whisper Kozak responded. “The battalion commander’s dead.”

The executive officer stared at Kozak for a moment and blinked. He knew that. She was the one who had reported that to him. Not understanding her response, the executive officer continued. “Yes, I know that. What I meant to say is how did it happen?”

Still without looking at the executive officer, Kozak responded in the same soft monotone that she had before. “The Germans killed him.”

Only slowly did it begin to dawn on the executive officer that Kozak’s responses, her attitude, and her refusal to acknowledge him were not meant as disrespect or evasion. They were the best that she could do. Kozak, like most of the rest of the soldiers in her company, was at the end of her physical and emotional tether. After two weeks of giving all she had to give and enduring more than any reasonable person could expect, Kozak had nothing more to give except her life. And at that moment if someone had come up to her, pointed a gun at her head, and threatened to shoot, odds were she would have done nothing. Sometimes the soul dies long before the body does.