“Tell him I want them to drop their weapons and move away from the vehicles.”
Still the polizei said nothing.
“Now!” He swung his weapon back at the officer.
The German stammered out a command and the others scurried to the side of the road. Harcourt’s men took their weapons.
Harcourt spoke briefly into the microphone, radioing what had happened to the lead platoon of the oncoming column, then sent one of his HMMWVs ahead around the roadblock. The two lead tanks were running side by side, and at forty miles per hour their mass shattered the two sedans parked broadside across the road and sent the wreckage spinning crazily into the woods. Inside the tanks the vehicle commanders cursed at the scratches in the new paint.
He collected the dumbfounded policemen’s weapons and threw them in the back of his HMMWV. The Germans stood wide-eyed and openmouthed as the column rolled by and Harcourt and his translator got in their vehicle and drove away. Over the roar of the passing tanks and Bradleys, one of them heard Harcourt shout something as he pulled out.
“What did he say, that American sergeant?”
“I think it was ‘Have a nice day.’”
Maggie approached the machine with some trepidation, but since the phone wasn’t working she was forced to cope with the technology. Computers, she thought, I never did like them. She pulled the card with Pauline’s carefully written instructions, read them twice, plugged the machine into the phone jack, and hit the power switch. Pauline’s PC took a moment to warm up, then surprised Maggie by displaying a “you have mail” message.
Again referring to Pauline’s instructions, she typed in a series of commands, her unsure fingers making mistakes. It took her three tries before the message came up.
RAMBO Vi: THE RESCUE. POST EPISODES HERE. WILL CHECK AS WORKLOAD PERMITS. SEE YOU WHEN WE GET THERE.
She punched a key. The message faded and the connection automatically broke.
They’re coming, thought Maggie as she stared at the blank screen, and we can talk to them on this thing. They have to be coming. God, Griffin, get here soon.
“Herr Colonel, I do not welcome interference by members of the high command in completing my mission.” Joel Guterman would have given any officer other than Shror a scathing reprimand. He needed to be painfully diplomatic with the representative from Blacksturm’s headquarters, however.
“Herr Colonel, I in no way wish to interfere. I merely suggested to certain personnel that they could be making much greater progress in distributing ammunition.”
“And so, by your orders and while you watched, the trucks were overloaded. And because they were overloaded two overturned, and when they overturned they collided, and in the collision and the fire the ammunition exploded!” Guterman counted slowly to ten, then twenty, just as the observer/controller at the NTC had taught him. “There are now two soldiers hospitalized and two dead, soldiers who might have helped accomplish the mission your headquarters has given me.”
“I have prepared a report to headquarters concerning your unit’s deficiencies in driver training.”
Guterman took two steps toward Shror, but stopped. He would have to kill him, and Joel Guterman was not yet prepared to be a murdefer. He was also not yet prepared to be a corpse — the rumors of executions and imprisonment for less than 100 percent loyal officers haunted him. Perhaps there was another way.
“Herr Colonel, I could move this brigade sooner if I had good intelligence on exactly where the threat is. You could be most helpful by persuading your headquarters to launch aerial reconnaissance to locate the Americans.”
“You should consider sending the reconnaissance company out early, perhaps now, to locate the enemy. The company is nearly ready. You know General Blacksturm has limited your air assets.”
“The gap between them and the main body would be too great.” Although Joel Guterman disliked the thought of fighting those who had been his allies for so many years, giving in might placate Shror and get the high command off his back. “I think, though, that such a move would be prudent only with aerial backup. Consider it, Colonel, you could coordinate the mission that found the enemy, which is critical to our success. For such a role and such initiative, such competence, one must surely be recognized.”
That seemed to register with Shror: his eyes darted as he imagined Blacksturm pinning on the medals, the handshakes, the adulation. “Herr Colonel, I will see what can be accomplished,” Shror said. “In the meantime I will relay to headquarters that you are dispatching the reconnaissance company.” Again he gave the stiff-armed salute.
“Herr Shror, I have yet to receive orders authorizing such a salute. I must therefore demand you cease using it.”
“Odd, Herr Colonel, your message center told me they received that order yesterday.”
I will have to watch him closely, Guterman thought; the bastard is a thorough spy. The Teletype message lay wadded in Guterman’s wastebasket. Once again, Guterman brought his hand to his eyebrow in the traditional western salute. “I shall speak to my communications officer at the earliest opportunity.”
“Ja, Herr Colonel. See that you do. I go to see what aerial assets can be arranged.”
When Shror closed his door, Joel Guterman called his operations officer and gave him instructions for the recon company. He hung up the phone, then smashed his coffee cup against the office wall in disgust.
The reconnaissance company commander was preparing to issue his orders when Shror pulled him aside from his orders group.
“Herr Colonel, I have only a few moments before I must issue these orders. I beg you to let me have that time.”
“Captain Loeb, I have further instructions for your unit. Two reconnaissance aircraft have been allocated to search for the enemy, and a fighter-bomber flight to follow will attack his units. Since he will be weakened, you are to press your unit most aggressively to destroy the enemy.”
“Herr Colonel, I must question the sense of such orders. I have only a reconnaissance company; the enemy has a mechanized brigade. Our mission is to gain information, not to decisively engage the enemy. I have neither the equipment nor the training nor the forces to do so. In fact, I have direct orders from Colonel Guterman to avoid engaging the enemy except in self-defense.”
“I am canceling those orders and issuing new ones. You will do as I say.”
“On what authority, Herr Colonel?”
Shror’s face grew red. “On the authority of the high command!”
“Then, Herr Colonel, the high command is wrong. I must appeal these orders through my chain of command. This will cause me to miss my moveout time, but I must contact Colonel Guterman to report your order to change my mission.” The captain saluted, turned, and walked away to find a phone.
Shror shook with rage. “You will move your unit immediately and comply with my orders!”
The recon company commander kept walking.
Shror pulled out his pistol. “In the name of the high command I charge you with failure to follow orders and with desertion. You are hereby relieved!”
Loeb took two more steps, stopped, and spat on the ground. It was too much for Shror. The recon commander felt the bullets in his back at the same time he heard the pistol’s report.