The tall, rail-thin colonel in charge of the division’s intelligence section finished his briefing without notes, using only a map tacked to an easel and a long thin pointer. “In summary, at least three EurCon divisions have crossed the Neisse River at Forst and Olszyna. Our best current guess is that they’re aiming for Legnica in an attempt to pocket our units withdrawing from Gorlitz.”
Major General Jerzy Novachik watched the officers crammed into the headquarters tent react. All of them were worried by the news of the EurCon breakthrough south of them. Few were very surprised by it. As a show of force during the early stages of the crisis, Warsaw’s decision to deploy half the nation’s army in a thin, dispersed screen along the frontier had made some sense. Once hostilities flared, it had been an open invitation to military catastrophe.
He strode forward and faced them squarely. “I won’t mince words, gentlemen. The strategic situation is bleak.”
Heads nodded in agreement.
“But it is not irretrievable.” Novachik let that sink in for a moment before continuing. “This division is being committed to battle in the south. Two regiments, the 51st and the 52nd, will leave immediately. The 53rd will stay behind until it can hand off the defense of this sector to the 20th Mechanized.”
Their eyes widened at that. Warsaw was taking an enormous risk. Pulling the 5th off the Oder line would leave only a single division and an odd assortment of poorly armed Home Guard companies behind.
“The division will proceed to Wroclaw by this route.” Novachik picked up the colonel’s pointer and swept it across the map, east to Poznan first and then south to Wroclaw. Their planned line of march swung wide around the EurCon forces pouring down Highway 12. “This will be a forced march, so speed is absolutely vital. Vehicles that break down will be left behind to follow along when they can. If necessary, we will eat and sleep on the move. This is a horse race, gentlemen, and the enemy is on the inside rail. And there are no prizes for second place.”
They nodded again, their faces solemn in the lamplight. The 5th Mechanized Division was about to enter a contest where the stakes were Poland’s continued existence as a free and independent nation.
Erin McKenna smiled happily when Alex Banich leaned in through the open door to her office. They were both so busy these days that she rarely saw him at all — especially not during working hours. The fighting spilling through Eastern Europe added a special urgency to their efforts to monitor Russia’s armed forces and defense industries.
Her smile faded. Behind the poker face most people saw, he looked worried. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m afraid dinner’s off. Duty calls.”
“With a shrill and unpleasant voice?”
Banich nodded. “Very shrill and very unpleasant.” He came in and closed the door behind him. “I just had a chat with Kutner. He’s received a priority signal from Langley.”
Erin grimaced. “What do they want now? The phone number for Kaminov’s newest mistress?”
“Not exactly.” He carefully pushed a pile of printouts to one side and took his usual perch at one end of her desk. She sometimes wondered what he had against sitting in chairs.
“What, then?”
“They need to know whether or not the Russians plan to intervene against Poland.” Banich said it flatly, without evident emotion.
Erin stared at him. “And how are you supposed to find that out? Just waltz right up to the Kremlin and ask?”
Banich shrugged. “When the boys on the top floor want results, they really don’t care what I have to do to get them.”
“Seriously.”
He shrugged again. “Anything I can… up to and including twisting a few greedy little arms inside the Defense Ministry.”
Erin was aghast. “That’s crazy!” She pushed her keyboard away and turned to face him. “You know that whole building will be crawling with FIS agents by now.”
“Probably.”
“Just waiting for the first Western spy stupid enough to come barging in with cash and miniature camera in hand.”
Banich nodded. “Probably.” He grinned suddenly. “Hey, risk comes with the territory. If I’d wanted a safe, boring job, I’d have gone in for circus high-wire work like my grandma wanted me to.”
She forced a smile of her own. She’d worked with him long enough to realize that being flippant was the way he dealt with stress. He knew the risks. Harping on them wouldn’t help.
Banich studied her face intently, almost as though he were memorizing it. Then he checked his watch and stood up. “Gotta run. My alter ego, Ushenko, has a very important appointment at ten.” He looked down at her. “Wish me luck.”
“Always.” Erin kept her voice light. “But if you stand me up one more time, Alex Banich, I’ll sue you for trifling with my affections. Either that or ask my daddy to horsewhip you through the town streets.”
He laughed softly and ghosted out of the room and down the hall.
“Damn it!” Someone she was starting to care a lot about was putting himself in a lot of danger, and she couldn’t do a thing to help him. She swiveled back to her computer and jabbed viciously at the enter key. It beeped in protest.
Her usefulness in Moscow was just about at an end. With the FIS breathing down her neck, she couldn’t risk any personal contacts with potential sources. That left electronic espionage. But Russia’s computer security teams were steadily and methodically finding and sealing the nooks and crannies she’d been using to slip in and out of confidential data bases. Pretty soon, for all the good she’d be able to do here, she might as well be back in D.C. filling out and filing meaningless Commerce Department reports.
Erin McKenna stared emptily into her computer screen. With Europe in flames, she was trapped inside the Moscow embassy compound.
CHAPTER 20
Meeting Engagement
The small village of Legnickie Pole had a troubled history stretching back over many centuries. In 1241, Duke Henryk the Pious and his Polish and Silesian knights had been defeated there by Mongol horse archers pouring out of the eastern steppes. Benedictine monks built a monastery to honor the fallen duke but were driven out by German overlords during the Protestant Reformation. They returned centuries later and built a new abbey facing the old. Unfortunately for the monks, covetous secular hands were never far behind. For nearly a century, the abbey buildings housed a Prussian military academy. One of its graduates was Paul von Hindenburg, Germany’s last commander in chief during World War I and the man who named Adolf Hitler as Germany’s Chancellor.
Now Legnickie Pole served as a temporary headquarters for another invading force.
The cluster of jeeps, trucks, and armored vehicles constituting the 7th Panzer Division’s forward command post filled a small campground on the edge of the village. Infantrymen, Milan antitank missile teams, and air defense units stood guard around the perimeter. Polish stragglers cut off by the rapid Confederation advance were showing an irritating reluctance to accept defeat and surrender. Instead they seemed determined to fight on — attacking supply convoys, command posts, and even fighting units whenever possible. Constant vigilance was necessary — especially at night.
Lieutenant Colonel Willi von Seelow paused before following Colonel Bremer into the central headquarters tent. Since the war began he’d been spending eighteen to twenty hours a day inside the brigade’s cramped M577 headquarters vehicle — preparing and discarding or distributing new operations plans as the tactical situation changed. Now he relished this rare chance to stretch to his full height. It was also a chance to breathe fresh air only lightly tinged with diesel fumes, smoke, and sweat.