“I don’t have to tell you gentlemen that the Krauts have been slaughtering us. I guess it’s payback from Word War Two when Patton stomped the shit out of them. Now they’ve come here to play in our sandbox. Well, we’re good and trapped in this city. I know you men understand that. There’s no getting out of this one, right?”
Several of the colonels nodded. They looked tired and defeated. Every division, every battalion and company had taken a horrible pounding and bloodletting. It had come as a rude shock. They had arrived from the US Strategic Reserve, well, a few had originated from New England, and driven here into Canada in order to stop the Germans cold. They hadn’t expected death for everyone.
“Their tank drop,” Zelazny said, “no one expected it. No one figured the GD hovercraft could keep the enemy divisions supplied the way they have. Well, it’s time for us to do something unexpected to the Krauts instead of just taking it all the time.”
A few of the grim-eyed colonels perked up.
From where he sat in the back, Paul Kavanagh forced his eyes open. He’d been falling asleep. He’d been running messages for the past few days. When had he starting doing that, three days ago? Yeah, three days ago Zelazny had finally understood that the Germans intercepted every radio message he sent out. So Zelazny had gone back to basics and used runners. Three days of endless, back and forth running had exhausted Paul. Sitting here felt good but it made his eyelids heavy.
Standing at the middle of the table, Len Zelazny raised his voice so even Paul heard him clearly. “The flesh and blood Krauts don’t want to get dirty this war. They’ve been rich too long and standing at the top of their heap for decades. Most of them are momma’s boys and couldn’t stand up to a bareknuckle brawl.”
“They don’t need to,” a colonel said.
Zelazny pointed a dirty finger at the colonel. “That’s where you’re wrong, Brad. Maybe we could break out of here if we poured everything into one spot. Well, I don’t mean that. The Krauts are smart. They always have been at war. I’ll tell you want I suspect. They’ve left one special weak spot for us. The old Mongols of Genghis Khan used to do that. The Mongols never totally surrounded a foe, but gave him a gauntlet to freedom. Once those beaten foes rode for and through the gauntlet, the Mongol horse-archers poured arrows by the tens of thousands, slaughtering the running enemy.”
Zelazny eyed the colonels. “I think that’s what the Germans have done here. We could maybe break a small corridor open, but we sure as Hell couldn’t all slither through. We’d lose all our heavy equipment and die by the tens of thousands. No. I don’t plan on running, and I’m not just going to stay and take it.” He scratched at the eye patch. “I don’t like the idea of sitting in these rat holes waiting for Krauts and Frogs to come and collect us.”
Colonels nodded.
“I’ve been done some hard thinking,” Zelazny said. “I’ve tried to dredge up some advantage we have over the GD.”
“They have better tanks, better planes, better—”
“Stow it, Tom,” Zelazny said. “I don’t want to hear that right now. I’m talking about our strengths, not theirs.”
A thin colonel with terribly red eyes nodded.
Zelazny cleared his throat, and he pointed his dirty finger again. This time he pointed at Paul Kavanagh.
Colonels made rustling noises as they turned to look at Paul.
Realizing he was the object of scrutiny, Paul sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up.
“Do you mean we’re supposed to look at that Marine?” a colonel asked.
“He’s Marine Recon, an LRSU man,” Zelazny said. “We have a good number of his kind here. I don’t just mean recon specialists, but elite soldiers used to working alone and often behind enemy lines.”
“I don’t get it,” the red-eyed colonel said. “Are you saying they can help us break out of Toronto?”
“I already told you,” Zelazny said. “There is no breaking out for us.”
“Is that right?” a small Canadian colonel asked Paul. As he spoke, the man’s left cheek twitched. It happened twice. “You couldn’t slip away?”
Paul glanced at Zelazny.
“Go on, son,” Zelazny said. “Tell him what you believe. I’m interested in hearing it too.”
“Sir,” Paul said. He paused, thinking about it. Then he decided to speak his mind. “I could slip away. Don’t know if I could take many men with me. It wouldn’t be like retreating with conventional troops. Regular soldiers wouldn’t know what to do. But I and a few others could get back to our lines easy enough. Is that what you’re thinking, sir?”
“No,” Zelazny said, with a scowl.
Paul shrugged. He hadn’t thought so, but he’d hoped for a second. He didn’t much like the idea of dying here. That went against the oath.
The colonels stared back at Len Zelazny. They looked confused, but he had their attention.
“The Krauts are invading our country,” Zelazny said, “and the Japanese are getting their shot at us again as they soldier under the Chinese. This is a replay of World War II, but with America on the receiving end. During the War in the Pacific, the Japanese faced elimination like this on more than one occasion. The officers usually sharpened their samurai swords and led their men in banzai charges against their foes.”
“I’ve read about those,” the red-eyed colonel said. “They were suicide charges against Marines and U.S. Army soldiers. Our boys back then cut them down. The Japanese would have lasted longer defending. I did read it worked sometimes against the Chinese of that era.”
“That’s right,” Zelazny said.
“You’re saying it’s time to suicide against the Germans?” another colonel asked.
“Not on your life,” Zelazny said. “Americans aren’t suicide soldier types.”
“What about the Alamo?” a colonel asked.
“It wasn’t the same thing,” Zelazny said. “But at least you men are thinking now. I like that. But forget about suicidal banzai charges. No. I have something else in mind and men like Kavanagh are the key ingredient. Now, we are going to mount a few attacks and surprise the Krauts.”
“That’s banzai charges,” the red-eyed colonel said.
“Maybe on the surface it is,” Zelazny said. “Our reason for the attacks is different, much different from what the Japanese did back then. Now you heard the Recon Marine. He said he could slip back home. I believe him. If you knew his record, you’d believe him, too. That got me to thinking. If Kavanagh could slip away—where the Germans are watching for us to do exactly that—couldn’t Kavanagh also slip forward, too?”
“I don’t get it?” the red-eyed colonel said. “What are you suggesting?”
“That we mount a full assault,” Zelazny said. “We do it for two reasons. The first is to throw the enemy off his timetable. Let him wonder about us and worry. You can be sure the Krauts aren’t going to be expecting us to attack. Now this isn’t for dying gloriously or any other such bullshit as that. The glory in war is in killing the other guy and making him die for his country, not us dying for ours. We attack. The Germans defend, and during the assault—all along the line, mind you—men like Kavanagh quietly slip through the enemy line. They crawl, I don’t know, for a while anyway—for as far as they need to. Finally, these killers get behind the GD drones, HKs and robotic machines. They reach flesh and blood Krauts, Frogs and Limy bastards for a change. That’s when they pull out their knives, their submachine guns, and teach these momma’s boys what it’s like facing an American soldier.”
“It will be an old-time Apache raid,” a colonel said.
“For Kavanagh and the others,” a colonel said. “What happens to us, sir?”