Darius drank a cup of water. The submersible was getting low on fuel, but he would make one more run before they might have to scuttle the craft. This time, using the knowledge he’d gained these past days, Darius planned to sink five ships with these missiles.
He stood, shook his arms and headed for the ladder.
Walther Mansfeld gazed at the assembled colonels and generals of Twelfth Army. He stood behind a lectern placed on a stack of hay bales two high. Instead of twine, wire circled the bales. He could see the twist—almost a knot—that joined a wire together. Had a farmer used a pair of pliers to do that?
They were in a large American barn along Interstate 90. Fifteen kilometers away lay Greater Syracuse, the gateway to his dreams. V Corps of Twelfth Army had already fought halfway into the city, with other corps flanking Syracuse. The Americans had become uncommonly stubborn lately. It was one of the reasons for the meeting. The gathered officers sat in chairs before him. Techs had put up a screen behind his back.
The American space attack had changed much, but not everything. Five hours ago, Mansfeld had spoken to Chancellor Kleist via video teleconference. The talk had gone poorly. Kleist feared the worst, and the man had actually threatened him. Maybe such things would have wilted another commander. It hadn’t wilted Mansfeld. He saw his way clear of the supposed disaster. In a way, the space attack calmed him. He’d seen the best America could do. It had hurt him, but it hadn’t wrecked the campaign. It was still his to win. Via closely argued logic, he had shown Kleist the truth of that. Grudgingly, and because he had the capacity to understand, the Chancellor had seen reason.
I will still gain a great victory for Greater Germany. This is my hour, and these men will achieve the seemingly impossible—if they follow my instructions to the letter.
Mansfeld cleared his throat.
The officers quit talking among themselves, looking up at him.
“Gentlemen,” Mansfeld said, “we are gathered here today to discuss Operation Narva. The failed attempt of General Kaltenbrunner to land at New Jersey has undoubtedly caused consternation among some of you. Clearly, the failed amphibious assault is a setback, but it is nothing more than that. It has, I believe, eliminated our margins for error. You gentlemen must now practice a flawless attack and exploitation afterward. If you do so, the campaign will end gloriously, showing the world a stunning example of European and particularly German arms.
“Before I proceed, I believe a short history lesson is in order. It is the reason why I have chosen ‘Narva’ as the operational name.
“In the old days during the era of kings, there was a man named Peter the Great of Russia. He was a giant among men and something of a prodigy in mental abilities. He expanded Russian territory, brought the brutes into the modern world and sought a port in the west on the Baltic Sea. The chosen site would become Saint Petersburg, named Leningrad during the Soviet period.
“Peter the Great needed to wrest the territory from the Swedes, who had a great northern Baltic empire then. Peter gathered a galaxy of allies, including the Danish king and Augustus of Saxony, who became the elected king of Poland. They plotted together, these kings, and decided to trap the youth of Sweden, King Charles XII, eighteen-years-old at the time.
“What the drunkards didn’t know was that Charles the XII was a knight errant and berserker rolled into one. Even as a boy king, he was one of the most daring leaders ever put into power. The cunning old kings plotted and the young knight of a king acted decisively.
“Against the advice of his admiral, Charles of Sweden boldly took his fleet and army across supposedly unnavigable waters and immediately advanced upon Copenhagen, Denmark, at the other end of the Baltic. The Danish king sued for peace, quitting the alliance. Afterward, Charles hurried east with a few men. Finally, in November, with a mere 8,000 soldiers, he marched on Narva, a northern Baltic outpost. The Russians had set up siege lines around the town, having five times Charles’s numbers. The Swedes advanced during a snowstorm, with Charles at their head. It is said the king shouted to his soldiers, ‘Now is our time, with the storm at our backs. They will never see how few we are.’ In a half hour, Charles and his men stormed the outer works. In two hours, the battle was over and won. He had lost 2,000 men, one-quarter of his army, but he utterly routed the Russians so their host disintegrated into a useless rabble.”
Mansfeld scanned the assembled colonels and generals. He had always admired Charles the XII and thoroughly studied the king’s campaigns. “Through impetuous attack and with superior soldiers, Charles won a great victory at incredible odds. I believe we can do likewise here at Syracuse. Yes, the Americans have more soldiers than we do in this theater of war. But they do not have more soldiers in Syracuse. We have the advantage here.
“Gentlemen, Twelfth Army must smash through Syracuse, roar through the Tug Hill Plateau region and descend upon the Hudson-Mohawk Lowlands as Hannibal climbed down from the Alps upon Roman Gaul. From there, we shall race to New York City, taking the metropolis by coup de main and sealing one million American soldiers in our trap. As you do this, others shall open the Niagara Peninsula. They are opening it even now. That will allow supplies and reinforcements to more easily pour into our portion of New York State.”
Mansfeld gripped the lectern and leaned toward the watching officers. “I want you to remember that Patton once led his Third Army into the Rhine and into Germany, destroying us in World War II. Now it is our turn, and you will take the place of Third Army. Twelfth Army will become legend for what you are about to do. You have already become legend through your exploits. I realize that many of you are tired. That is the way of victorious soldiers in the middle of the struggle. But that fight is almost over. If you finish strongly, this feat of arms will win you eternal glory and fame. As importantly, this will win you the Chancellor’s gratitude. We all know that Chancellor Kleist rewards well those he acknowledges.”
That ought to keep his spies here happy.
Pausing for effect, Mansfeld lowered his voice. He wore a microphone on his lapel. “The Americans are throwing formerly defeated units of the Canadian Army into Syracuse. That is the last desperate attempt of gamblers. You have already sent these Canadians reeling headlong at the start of the campaign. I have deliberately paused before Syracuse so we can strike in unison. We have brought up generous supplies and will now storm the city as Charles the XII once stormed Narva and shattered the Russian army. Win here, gentlemen, and you will have broken the last large formation blocking our way to victory. Quit too soon—allow yourself to worry—and we will fail to cross the finish line.”
Mansfeld straightened and let go of the lectern. “The astonishing Sir Francis Drake who destroyed the Spanish Armada once said, ‘It is not the starting of a great enterprise that is glorious, but finishing it through to conclusion.’ Gentlemen, let us finish this through to conclusion. Let us all act as Charles XII. Extol your officers and soldiers to make one more great push. Let us become knights errant and berserkers rolled into one. Let us become legends in our own time. Let us storm our way to victory as the greatest fighting soldiers in history.”
The GD colonels and generals glanced at each other. One by one, they began to clap. Men stood. Then they all stood, and they clapped even harder.
Mansfeld allowed himself a terse smile. These were good men, good officers. With them, he could and would conquer North America. The road to everlasting fame began here today in front of Syracuse. It was time now to outline the operational plan that would achieve victory.