He grabbed Cooper as the meeting broke up. “Find out everything you can — commanders, units, strengths, weaknesses — about that brigade. What’s its designation, anyway?”
Cooper rifled through a sheaf of printouts. “Panzerbrigade 11, Sir. Col. Joel Guterman commanding.” Stern scowled. He’d been a controller at the National Training Center when Guterman had led a German battalion through. If they had to fight, Guterman would be a tough opponent.
An eavesdropping Mark Griffin suddenly felt sick to his stomach.
SIX
In the hours after the brigade mission briefing, the 195th’s cooks and clerks found themselves redesignated as riflemen and tank-gun loaders. Half the MP platoon, one infantry or armor sergeant per battalion, a handful of nondeployable soldiers, and a few other leftovers would remain in Baumflecken under the control of the brigade’s senior enlisted man, Cmd. Sgt. Maj. Leroy Saunders. From a dozen Vietnam War wounds, Saunders carried enough lead in him to set off airport metal detectors. Those wounds kept him from exercising, from doing physical training with the troops, from field problems, from just about anything except running his desk and fussing about police call. He was three months from retirement, Georgia, and his favorite fishing hole. The sergeant major let out an audible sigh of relief when Stern told him he would not deploy with the 195th. Then Stern assigned the sergeant major and this group perhaps the most difficult mission of all. Saunders’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.
“Sir, with all due respect, I can’t defend the kaseme with that small a force.”
“Sergeant Major, I can’t go off and leave the wives and kids of the brigade’s soldiers on their own, but there just aren’t enough soldiers to go around. This is the best I can come up with. Your job is to make it work.”
“I can’t.”
Stern grew impatient. “Saunders, you have three choices. One, refuse to obey my order, in which case I drag you along with us and court-martial you for cowardice. I’ll make damn sure you chicken out somewhere along the line. Two, you can stay here and do nothing — a real option since I won’t be here to supervise. But since there are others who know what you’re supposed to do, it’ll come back to a court-martial for insubordination. That is, if you live through what the Germans do to you. Third, stay here and make it work. If you do, you just might make it to that fishing hole with an honorable discharge.”
Saunders halfway saw the light. “I’ll try, Sir,” he mumbled.
As much as he wanted resolution, even resolution bought by violence, Alex didn’t believe himself to be a brutal man. But Saunders’s limp attitude caused something inside him to snap. Stern grabbed the NCO’s battle dress jacket and yanked him up. “If one dependent, one kid, just one, gets hurt because you don’t do what I told you to do, I’ll search every hole in Georgia or anywhere else and personally rip your throat out.” He held Saunders close until the NCO knew he meant business.
Halfway out Saunders’s door Stern turned. “Sergeant Major?”
“Yes, Sir?” Saunders held his resentment just below the surface.
“Just one kid. Just one.”
The sky above Baumflecken began to grow light even though dawn was still forty minutes away. The agent on watch in the sedans along the road to the main gate shook his companions awake when he heard the tank and fighting vehicle engines come to life in one great roar. He couldn’t tell how many vehicles the Americans were starting; they all seemed to crank up at once. A few moments later a tank and a Bradley appeared at the main gate, along with two cars with flashing red lights. They watched and listened, and over the throb of diesel engines they could make out the creak of tracked vehicles moving and wondered if the Americans were attacking. No, they seemed to be just repositioning their vehicles. He called his report in over the polizei two-way radio and went back to studying the vehicles and lights at the gate as the other men tried to catch a few more minutes’ sleep.
In his office in the 195th’s headquarters, Dexter Cooper plugged the phone jack into his laptop PC, waited for the machine to come on, then typed. He knew the Germans would interrupt any attempt to send a message, even a computer message, straight to the Kriegspiel depot. Cooper again dialed up the Mannhoff computer bulletin board. I can’t breach security, he thought, but Colonel Stern wants me to let them know we’re coming and figure out some way to maintain commo. I can post a message, but what if they don’t get it? As the connection built and the screen came up, Cooper paused, unsure of what to do next. At first he paced, staring at the screen prompt, which called on him for a response. Then, a hacker at heart, Cooper smiled as he sat and typed, entering line after line of computer commands, occasionally pausing to search for the right syntax to make the machine do what he wanted. In triumph he pounded the keys, then hit a series to sign off. The message will resend until acknowledged, he thought. They should be able to figure it out. Cooper looked at his watch. He’d taken longer than he’d wanted to; he’d have to scramble to get to the motor pool. He yanked the cords out of their plug-ins; paused a moment to lock his office; and, toting his laptop, headed for the 195th track park.
Stern made his way through the maze of combat vehicles until Lawson’s platoon came in sight. Lawson stood in front of the four tanks, hands on his hips, watching his charges. He turned and saluted, as if he’d sensed the colonel’s presence.
“Sir, the platoon is ready.”
“I have no doubts about that, Sergeant. I came to ensure that you understand the rules of engagement. I want no force used unless the Germans commit an overtly hostile act.”
“An overtly hostile act. I understand. Then what, Colonel?”
“Then you take what action you deem necessary to protect soldiers’ lives and government property. You make the call; I’ll back you up.”
“I’ve heard that before, Sir. I don’t like being left out on a limb.”
Stern eyed Lawson carefully.
“Look, you’re my lead platoon and this is a one-shot show. Either we make it or we don’t. I specified that you lead the brigade because I trust you. You have to trust me.”
Something in his colonel’s voice made him believe. Lawson saluted. “Okay, Sir, you’re on.”
Stern returned the salute, then he awkwardly shook Lawson’s hand.
“Good luck, Sergeant.” He looked at his watch. In a little more than a quarter hour, they’d be on their way.
“Thanks, Colonel,” Lawson smiled. “We may need it.”
“It works like this, Sir.” The soldier flipped the intercom switches back and forth, showing Griffin how to talk to the crew or transmit on one of the command vehicle’s four radios.