Middletown and Stern stared as Cooper reached into his pocket and pulled out two major’s oak leaves. “Item three. Battlefield promotions by the senior field commander are authorized under army regulations.” He turned to Middletown, pulled out a second set, and shoved them toward him. “Such promotions are, of course, only temporary.”
To hell with convention and tradition, thought Stern as he struck a match, there’s a war on. “Do we have a personnel representative here? Where’s an SI rep?”
“He’ll arrive in ten minutes,” said Cooper. Middletown’s mouth dropped. Stern smiled wryly and puffed. Who’d have believed, he thought, that the kid with the computer would turn out to be such a ballsy bastard.
Ten minutes, a short ceremony, and a thousand second thoughts later, Alex Stern was first in line to shake the hands of Majors Cooper and Middletown.
“We got ’em all, Sergeant?” The morning sun sliced through the forest cover overhead, taking the chill off Griffin as he sat cross-legged on the Bradley’s dropped ramp.
“One no-show, Colonel. That gives us thirteen, counting you and your track driver.” The NCO stuffed a small wad of powdered tobacco between his cheek and gum. “You mind telling us what this is all about, Sir? Like maybe the little stuff: you know, mission, target, enemy— those sort of details?”
“Check their equipment against this list, Sep, then get the team together here around the back of my track. I’ll give this briefing one time and one time only.”
“The Sep” nodded. Sep was easier for Sfc. Ptetori Ludwig Szez-pantski’s officers and subordinates to pronounce. The Sep was a hulk of a man, a towering refrigerator with a head. This son of a Czech factory manager threw Molotov cocktails at Russian tanks as a young teenager in ’68, then made it across the wire to America a few years after. A forged enlistment, eighteen years of army service, countless covert operations, four busts in rank for fighting, and a dozen combat ribbons later, he found himself the senior enlisted man on Griffin’s hastily assembled strike force.
“Divide them up before you bring them here. We’ll need recon teams, assault teams, a demo team, a prisoner of war team, a commo man— all the usual stuff. Get it done, then give me a list when you bring them up. Take five minutes.”
Again the big man nodded. Griffin’s manner told Sep all he needed to know. The colonel was a cold, demanding professional who expected nothing but 110 percent. All the time, every time.
Sep liked him immediately.
“Questions?” said Griffin.
“Rehearsals?”
“Minimal, we don’t have much time,” replied Griffin. “Actions on the objective, actions on contact — a couple hours’ worth, no more. Then we move.”
The Sep grimaced. “Pretty short notice for a bunch of people who just started working together.”
“No choice. We don’t have three weeks to get ready like we’d have in a regular SF group; instead, we got maybe three hours.”
The Sep whistled quietly as he trotted off to gather the others. This would be tough.
Mark Griffin pulled the radio from its vehicle mount and dialed up a new frequency.
“May I see the note Colonel Griffin left you, Sir?”
Stern fished in his pocket and handed him the paper. Cooper read.
I’ve gone to ask Joel personally, and depending on the answers
I get, I’ll make use of the men I’ve taken with me. Orders 3165.
Cooper studied the words for several minutes, pursed his lips, then nodded. It was just as he’d suspected. “Sir, if you’d come to the map for a moment.”
“Captain, I mean Major, what’s this all about? I have five minutes before I need to be on the road.”
“Yes, Sir,” he said, dragging Stern along to the situation map. “I’ll take only three. I have some recommendations concerning Colonel Griffin.”
Eyebrows raised in curiosity, Stern followed.
“Mr. Prime Minister, it is all arranged. I believe our English friends are pleased that you have asked for their advice. They are looking forward to your visit.”
“They had no problem with military aircraft escorting my plane?” asked Aaron Felderman.
“In these times they understood your desire for additional security. They agreed to keep your visit from the press until you arrive. I have also made the required arrangements with the countries along the air route.”
“Very good; you do very good work. I shall be at the airport in three hours.”
“I will be there to see you off.”
Felderman hung up the phone. He sat alone in his study. The options his defense minister had presented to him were not good. A cruise missile didn’t have the range. Any aircraft attempting to make the flight would need at least one in-flight refueling, and no country in Europe would grant air clearance for such a mission. But from England they could strike easily, and though Felderman disliked being away from his country at such a critical time, he wanted to give the order personally. It was an order he prayed each night — for the world’s sake as much as for his niece Pauline’s — that he would not have to give.
Alex Stern massaged his forehead. “You mean to tell me Griffin’s culled a bunch of former SF sergeants out of the brigade and gone off to assassinate the commander of Panzerbrigade 11?”
“Only if Colonel Guterman truly turns out to be fighting for the coup forces,” replied Cooper. “I’d call it more of a reconnaissance, perhaps a raid, rather than an assassination.”
“Suppose I just tune my radio to frequency 31.65 and order him back here?”
“I doubt he’d acknowledge. Even if he did, I doubt he’d obey. You wouldn’t want to put him in that position, would you, Sir? Besides, his team can be a great asset. Look,” Cooper said, turning Stern to-
ward the mapboard. “As you can see, Sir, the metroplexes of Ratenhoff, Burbenheim, and their suburbs stretch for miles on our right, and the heavily forested Alterkoop mountain range borders our left. The only way to the Kriegspiel Heights is through this valley between them.” Cooper whipped out his pointer and traced the thirty-mile-long arrow marking the brigade’s axis of advance.
“So we have one five-mile-wide corridor. So what?”
“So the enemy must come down the same corridor. If we knew where he was, and in what strength, we could anticipate what he might do. We could do unto him first.” Cooper put the pointer away. “He outnumbers us, outguns us, has resources we don’t have, and time is on his side. The Special Forces approach is the only advantage we have.”
“That mission is a job for a recon patrol led by a lieutenant, not for the brigade deputy commander. Doctrine says he belongs in the TOC.” “Doesn’t doctrine also say to put him where he’ll do the most good? If you analyze your own and the enemy’s strengths, weaknesses, assets, and liabilities, doesn’t it make sense to use Colonel Griffin where he does what he does best?”
“Dammit Cooper, I wish I hadn’t promoted you. You’ve become too good at making a logical argument. It just seems to fly in the face of all convention.”
Cooper lowered his voice. “If you were still conventional, Colonel, you wouldn’t have drug us out here. You’d be sitting behind that big desk back in Baumflecken waiting for someone to tell you what to do.” He spoke quickly, the words running into one another. “You either use conventions or they use you — that’s what the Germans are counting on, that we’ll react conventionally.”