Since the major avenues of approach through the Burbenheim Corridor led down to Autobahn 5, Stern decided to take a risk in the west, along the base of the Alterkoop Range. He believed that the Germans would not follow up failure there — at least not in force. He detached a Bradley platoon from TF 3-29 to cover the gap between the Alterkoop and its northernmost finger. “Meet me vicinity the road junction for specific instructions,” he’d ordered the platoon leader. He had issued warning orders to the other units so that the leaders might conduct their reconnaissance and begin movement. Units were settling into position, and he was finalizing his plan when the lieutenant’s track pulled up. “Sir, Lieutenant Travers reports as ordered.”
“At ease, Lieutenant Travers.” Stern cocked his head and eyed the young officer. “You called the alert, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.” Here it comes, thought Travers. But the colonel shocked him.
“Damn good decision. Now I want you to be alert once again.” “Yes, Sir. The other two tracks are already on the screen line. You know we’re down one after the fight over there?”
“I know. But you have all your people, right?”
“Yes, Sir. We stuffed them in what’s left running.”
“Then three tracks should be enough. Travers, I want you to put your platoon along that line I gave you over the radio — this line here.” He pointed at his map. “Tie in with McKay’s cavalry. Put out some mines and set up a series of observation posts. If anything comes around that comer, you slow them down only long enough to count them. Then you call me and tell me what you see. I must know exactly how many. If you can’t get me on the radio, then you drive like all get out to that hill over there,” Stern gestured, “and you tell me in person. You may see nothing, you may see it all, but I have to know numbers and I have to know them fast. You look, you count, you report directly to me. Understand?”
“Got it, Sir. Wilco.”
Five minutes of coordination later, Stern watched the brown-haired lieutenant drive off.
Even as medics still tended the wounded and mechanics towed back wreckage and first sergeants pulled dog tags from the dead, Stern gathered his commanders and issued the order to occupy the defense. Conscious that only a few hours of daylight remained, Stern kept the meeting short and informal, with none of the charts and carefully rehearsed briefings common to big staffs. The units were already digging in; Stern’s briefing just tied up loose ends and made it official. Even Cooper’s tasking for rifle platoons to patrol the woods in the bowl and tanks to back up McKay’s cavalry on the counter-recon screen seemed no more than confirmations of what they’d come to expect. They all knew the Germans would come for them in the morning, the deck stacked against them from the start. But the deck had been stacked in favor of the house since they’d left Baumflecken, and so far they’d held their own and more. Stern could see it in their eyes: Their hopes of success, their hopes of living to see the next day, rested on him.
Stern felt the order was woefully inadequate by Infantry School standards, yet he had given them the best he could under the circumstances. Something told him to make an inspirational speech, but something different told him otherwise. All he could say was, “Any questions?”
There were none.
“Good. Now let’s get the work done.” He let them alone for two hours to issue their orders and emplace their defenses. In the evening twilight he got on the road.
There were defensive plans to check, positions to inspect, morale to raise. The time on the road between tasks gave him time to think. As Eads took him cross-country toward the first unit on his list, Stern’s mind turned to his wife. I’ll keep a good thought for you, Veronica, he said to himself with bittersweet acknowledgment. If you ever get lonely, think of me. It became, for Stern, a recognition that it was over. There will, Stern admitted, be other exorcisms, other demons to get out of closets — when our talk turns to money and property and who gets which set of the boy’s school pictures. He knew the demons would find him when he was sitting quietly, the memories and the sense of failure would sneak out of nowhere to wrench his heart. As his mind conjured up those images, he felt the pain; as he stood in the commander’s hatch, his heart ached. No one, he thought, no one could be that cruel. But the past two day’s events and Veronica’s letter — still lying in his desk drawer in his Baumflecken office — gave his common sense painful and bloody examples otherwise. Alex rubbed his temples, pressing back against the pain. He pulled his canteen from its carrier and took a long drink. Wish it was a martini. I could use a strong one right about now. A sad grin came to his face as he pulled his pipe from his pocket.
Goodbye, Veronica, I was your A1 a long time ago; you were once Ronnie to me.
Veronica Stern, though she bore his name and his son, was now relegated to the category of someone he used to love.
Eads pulled the Bradley in next to a tank battalion’s TOC and shut it down.
“We’re here, Sir.”
He pulled the goggles off his face and got out. Back to work, he thought. My work’s the only thing that’s been true.
Despite his efforts his vision remained cloudy, the blurred images before him changing shapes, refusing to come together. The images made noises — indistinct, guttural. Guterman wavered, but each time the pain and blackness dragged him back. The sharp stench of the salts finally pulled him beyond the darkness. The brigade surgeon pulled the offending odor away.
Guterman moved to sit up, only a fraction of an inch, then felt the top of his head come off. He let out a low moan.
“You are awake now, Herr Commander,” said the doctor. “Good. Now I can give you something for the pain.”
“Where am I? What is the status of the brigade? How are the soldiers? Was I hit?”