“All done, Sir. I heard each unit roger.”
“Real good. Now go put this note on Colonel Stern’s table in the TOC, and come back here and get ready to move. Don’t talk to anybody. I’ll give you five minutes.”
He was there and back in three. “Where we going, Colonel?”
“A few miles down the road to see an old friend.”
Joel Guterman wearily cast aside the situation reports. He took a moment to compose himself, then walked over to the table where Shror sat.
“You have ordered me to attack. The reconnaissance elements report the destruction of the entire company. A piecemeal attack now would be doomed to failure, even you must be able to see that. I must collect these scattered forces.”
Shror said nothing.
Guterman decided to try a different approach. “If we attack now, we will suffer unnecessary losses. We will destroy this brigade in the process of reducing the Americans.”
Still nothing.
“I could not be responsible for such an act.”
Shror didn’t look up. “You are responsible for whatever this brigade does or fails to do. Such are the responsibilities of command, Herr Guterman.”
Guterman turned away. It’s almost as if they want us to cancel each other out, he thought. But why send the only force capable of acting to its destruction? Slowly, the bitter realization came into focus: It is what they want — Panzerbrigade 11 and the Americans destroyed, Colonel Guterman in disgrace. The Americans, the German military, both out of the way. But why have they kept me around for so long? He glanced down at the high command’s representative.
“Yes, Herr Guterman?” Shror glanced up with the devil’s innocence in his eyes. “You wish to say something else?”
I wish to rip you to pieces, thought Guterman, only your slew of palace guards keep me from it.
“Ja, Herr Colonel. My communications section has maintained your direct link with the high command?”
“Yes, quite well, Herr Colonel. Shall I send them your attack plan?”
“No, Herr Colonel. You may send the request for my replacement. I am afraid I must resign, effective as soon as I compose a letter to that effect. I wish the high command the best of luck in obtaining a qualified replacement — rumor has it the other capable commanders have been arrested — before the Americans move. Since you have disapproved my attack plan for tomorrow, I cannot in good conscience continue in command.”
“I will have you shot!”
“Then I will get to join my wife and child. But you will still have to find a replacement, and you will need to explain such an action to General Blacksturm. One can only speculate on the effects of such another execution on the brigade. Will these soldiers fight for such leaders?”
“You will be disgraced!”
“It will matter little to me if I am dead. If I am imprisoned, then you have the same problem. You will excuse me, Herr Colonel, I have a letter to write.”
Guterman sat in front of the typewriter, heaved a sigh, and began. With each clack of the keys, he came closer to writing off his career—
no, his life’s work. With each clack of the keys, Shror, and perhaps his cause, came closer to embarrassing failure.
The war of nerves lasted two paragraphs before Shror came over to him.
“I know you are still troubled by the deaths of your wife and son.” Guterman tried, but the pain overrode all his efforts and his face contorted.
Shror watched. “It was indeed an unfortunate accident. I am sorry. But explain your plan fully to me; I do not fully understand it, Herr Colonel.”
Guterman stared at the paper, trying to hide his widening eyes. What did he mean, “unfortunate accident”? They told me it was terrorists, Zionist terrorists with American connections. Guterman hid his bewilderment beneath a stone-cold face. “I intend to conduct a movement to contact tomorrow morning — once I consolidate the brigade’s forces and air assets have pinpointed and attacked the enemy.”
Shror snorted. “Impossible! You take entirely too long. That is not an attack, and aircraft are required elsewhere.”
“It is an aggressive yet controlled and organized movement toward the enemy, and where is there a more critical need for aircraft than here and now?” What about my son? Guterman thought. What about my wife?
“I cannot approve this!”
Guterman knew he had him. “What stops you, Herr Colonel? Are you not important enough in the high command structure to get the necessary support? Why do you need to beg? Cannot you so order?”
Silence. Guterman finished the last paragraph, then patted his pockets.
“Have you a pen, Herr Shror? I must sign this.” Guterman leaned back and surveyed the letter. Damn you, Mark, you trained me too well. “It may feel quite good to be a civilian.” He looked up at Shror. “What are your orders for the brigade, Herr Colonel?”
“My orders?”
“Ja, Herr Shror. You are the senior ranking man on the scene — that makes you responsible for the brigade’s success or failure. How will you deal with the American threat? How will you emplace the battalions? What will your future course of action be?”
Shror slowly pulled a pen from his pocket, looked at it, then just as slowly put it back.
“A good plan, Herr Colonel. I am certain the high command will fully support it.”
Guterman folded the letter and put it in his pocket. “I have always believed in the high command’s wisdom in their appreciation of the tactical situation. It gives me great pleasure to serve with such fine leaders. I am sure they will be pleased by your report.”
As Shror stormed off, Guterman let out a heavy sigh of relief. He had the time, and for now he had his way. Yet he knew Shror would eliminate him at the first opportunity — at the latest when the Americans were defeated. And Guterman still had nagging, unanswered questions.
They would have to wait. He sent a runner to find his operations officer. There was a movement against the Americans to be planned and lost units to locate, and daylight was only hours away.
“I like it, S3. Good plan. Get the unit commanders here for an orders briefing as soon as possible.” Cooper and Middletown have done their homework well, Stern thought as he puffed on his pipe. A movement to contact — a small force forward, the rest of brigade trailing, ready to take advantage of opportunities as the situation develops. Stern nodded approvingly. Then the sleepless nights and stress of command snuck up behind him and landed a kiloton haymaker of exhaustion. He latched onto a tent support pole, suddenly barely able to stand.