“It was not a miracle,” Mansfeld said. “It was well applied principles of war, used with some finesse, I might add. I find their result impressive, even worthy of study. Someone over there knows how to think.”
Wessel shook his ponderous head. “Your supposed intellect has driven you mad, General. How can you call the winter fighting close fought? The Americans broke through enemy lines and surrounded the Chinese Third Front, pinning them against the Rocky Mountains. After devastating battles, the Americans marched nearly a million Chinese soldiers into captivity. It was a catastrophe both for the Chinese and for us. It has allowed the Americans to solidify their defenses and makes our offensive this year impossible.”
“Yes, yes, yes, no, yes and no,” Mansfeld said.
“What?” Wessel asked.
Mansfeld noticed how Kleist watched him, searching for a sign of weakness. He would answer the Chief of Staff, but the words were really for the Chancellor.
“Yes,” Mansfeld said, “the Americans surrounded the majority of the Chinese Third Front, not its entirety. That’s an important distinction. Yes, the Americans captured one million Pan-Asian soldiers this winter. Yes, it was a catastrophe for the Chinese, but no, it wasn’t one for us. Yes, the American and Canadian defenses have stiffened. No, we are still quite able to mount an effective offensive this year out of Quebec.”
“What?” Wessel asked. “That’s preposterous. In fact, your words are meaningless. Your miscalculation will cost the Dominion dearly. It is too bad the Chancellor trusted you. You have betrayed his faith in your military acumen.”
Mansfeld allowed himself a brief smile. He let Kleist see that the smile came at Wessel’s expense. He did so for a purpose, not because he thought Field Marshal Wessel was a buffoon. The Chief of Staff was a buffoon, but that wasn’t the reason for the smile. This was the turning maneuver: to show Kleist where he needed to let the hammer fall. Because the Chancellor had summoned Mansfeld back to Berlin, Kleist needed to axe someone. That had been clear to Mansfeld from the moment he’d read the summons in Montreal three days ago.
Like a trapped bull being readied for castration, Wessel must have sensed danger. It was impossible the Chief of Staff understood the exact reason for the danger, but he must have smelled wolf in his nostrils and it likely terrified him.
Wessel pointed a big finger down the table at Mansfeld. “Have you conveniently forgotten? You predicted the Chinese and Americans would be locked in a wrestler’s embrace during the 2040 spring and summer. You said each would have bled themselves white against the other. Instead, the two have disengaged. They are not entwined in a wrestler’s hold. Each has built strong defensive lines. Such is the strength of the American line that they can pull troops from it and send large numbers elsewhere on the continent. Some of those excess numbers even now circle Quebec.”
“Correct,” Mansfeld said.
Wessel banged a fist against the table. “The Chinese have been bled white, but the Americans are stronger than ever.”
“No,” Mansfeld said. “That is incorrect.”
“You predicted that the situation would be ripe for us to exploit this year.”
“Correct,” Mansfeld said, “given that the Canadians did nothing, or at the very least refrained from helping the Americans. As I’ve said, the Canadian formations came to the rescue. They tipped the scales. The failure wasn’t mine…but that of the Home Office.”
“Tipped the scales?” Wessel asked in amazement. “The Americans won a strategic victory. That means the Canadians more than tipped the scales. The very extent of the victory means that what the Canadians did had no real bearing on the outcome of the battle. You grossly miscalculated. Because of our trust, you have harmed the Dominion.”
Mansfeld allowed himself to laugh aloud.
“You find our situation amusing?” Wessel asked. “We bartered with the North Americans to improve our strategic situation. Instead—”
“If you had studied the winter battle more intently, sir, you would realize how closely fought it truly was.” Mansfeld glanced at the others. Must he teach them the rudiments of war? The General Staff members didn’t even have second-rate minds. Third-rate would be more accurate.
“In every battle,” Mansfeld said, “there is a critical phase or moment. Upon that moment, everything hinges. I tell you that it was at that point the Canadians gave the Americans the needed edge.”
“You are wrong,” Wessel said.
“If you would pull your foot out of your mouth for a moment,” Mansfeld said, “maybe you could learn something.”
The words shocked Field Marshal Wessel, even as his face turned red. The red crept down his neck and disappeared under his tight collar.
“I refer to the time when the Americans and Canadians barely had enough military power to keep the encircled PAA Third Front trapped,” Mansfeld said. “That was the critical phase. With the Canadians’ help, the Americans had enough to keep the Chinese bagged. The gigantic encirclement is what cost the Chinese so dearly, the one million lost soldiers. Due to the loss, the Chinese and Brazilians wisely pulled back to New Mexico and Oklahoma.”
Field Marshal Wessel worked his mouth several times. Maybe in desperation, he finally turned to the Chancellor.
“Interesting,” Kleist said in a suave voice. “Perhaps there is merit to your opinion. I refer to the idea that it was closely fought at the critical phase. The important point lies elsewhere. The Chinese and Brazilians will now need time to gather their strength for a renewed offensive. The Americans surely realize this: that they have little to fear concerning a 2040 Chinese offensive. That means the Americans will be able to safely siphon large numbers of troops from their Midwestern defensive line and place them against us.”
“Perhaps,” Mansfeld said, “although I doubt it.”
“General,” Kleist said, “you are not here to sit in judgment of my words. I am here to sit in judgment of yours.”
“Yes, Excellency,” Mansfeld said. “Then perhaps it is time for me to give you a clearer reading of the situation.”
The chamber seemed to drop to freezing as the military men sat motionlessly, as the security detail along the walls held their breaths and as the color brightened on Kleist’s cheeks.
Mansfeld saw his death in the Chancellor’s eyes. Yet he also saw the curiosity there. He could have spoken with meekness a moment ago. Mansfeld did not do so in order to teach Kleist a lesson the Chancellor would remember. He needed Kleist to understand that only one man could give him what he desired in North America—and that man one was General Walther Mansfeld. There was going to come a time this summer when Mansfeld would need Kleist to keep his nerve. That’s why he spoke as he did to the Chancellor. For others, this might have been a mad gamble. For the supreme strategist and tactician on Earth, this was a precise move calculated to perfection.
Wessel turned his head as if the neck had rusted into place. “Excellency,” Wessel said in a choking voice. “Let me—”
“Silence,” Kleist said.
Wessel blinked several times until the man dipped his chin.
“You have courage,” Kleist told Mansfeld. “And some acclaim you as the most gifted strategist since Erich von Manstein. Very well, tell me how you see the situation.”
Mansfeld noted the tell me, not tell us. The distinction was important.
“Excellency,” Mansfeld said, “the Chinese-Brazilian invasion hurt the Americans deeply, both in terms of slain, captured, destroyed materiel and in lost territory. While it is true the Americans have made up for lost numbers, they have a long way to go to replace the destroyed trucks, tanks, planes, trains, missiles, helicopters and other equipment. And if they have more numbers, they have lost many trained troops. A large percentage of their new soldiery are Militiamen. They lack Army or Marine training.”