The doctor was a young man, not yet forty, but his hair was already gray. His round, wire-rimmed glasses, the way the tall man stooped when he walked, his tempered speech, and that bedside manner all made him seem much older. Later, when Guterman thought back on that night, he would tell himself the events of the previous two days had aged them all. The doctor capped the salts, replaced them in his medical kit, and turned back to Guterman.
“I can only answer some of your questions, Herr Commander. You are in a tent that Colonel Shror ordered set up for you. One of many tents. The brigade is in an assembly area, preparing for tomorrow morning’s attack. Our losses were heavy, but the bulk of the brigade is intact and is being reorganized. You were hit, yes, from behind. A nasty blow. Here, swallow these.” He held out two pills, which Guterman dutifully took, chasing them with a drink from the doctor’s canteen. “You will recover fully, although you will experience some soreness in the neck and perhaps a low-grade headache for a day or two.” “My crew? Colonel Shror?”
“Your crew is fine, unscratched. Colonel Shror has been quite busy indeed.”
“I don’t understand. If the vehicle was hit…”
“Your vehicle is undamaged.” The doctor saw Guterman wasn’t comprehending. “Do you watch American detective shows?”
“Only a few times.”
“Do you understand the term pistol-whipped?”
As it dawned on him, the throb in his head receded, only to be replaced by a tide of rage. He struggled to sit up, eyes watering as the throb returned when he changed positions. “Help me up. I have my duty.” “You need some rest, Herr Commander.”
“I need to get to my command post before that dog completely… “Completely what, Herr Guterman?” Shror demanded as he marched through the tent door, two of his Special Security men following. “You talk very brashly for a man relieved of his command and under charges.” Guterman tried to stand, but his legs wobbled and the ground rolled beneath him. The doctor hurried to catch him, supporting Guterman as he wavered.
Shror began to pace, finally stopping in front of Guterman. “I have spent the last several hours reorganizing the force after your cowardice nearly led us to defeat. The Americans are badly hurt, perhaps broken. Tonight we will determine exactly their dispositions, then tomorrow morning it will be I, not you, who shall first deceive them, and then defeat them in one direct, massive blow.”
“These soldiers will never fight for the likes of you.”
“Oh, they will fight, Herr Guterman. I have my men in place to see to that. We had only to shoot three or four of your enlisted scum for disloyalty before the rest became quite compliant.” Shror smiled a crooked smile. “As you know, I have observed your unit’s performance for the last several days. I have found too many of your subordinate commanders who seem infected with the same lack of bravery you exhibit. It has been necessary to relieve them, too. I am quite confident their subordinates, who do not share the same misguided loyalty to you, will ensure my orders are followed.”
“Why not just shoot me and the others now, and get it over with?” “Oh no, Herr Guterman. I will not risk a wholesale mutiny of your junior officers by shooting their commanders. You are much more valuable alive.” Shror lit a cigarette and blew the smoke at Guterman. “Before I came here, Herr Colonel, I spent some time communicating the situation to General Blacksturm. A brilliant man, Herr Colonel, simply brilliant. He has whipped the public into a frenzy. Did you know that crowds daily fill the streets, crying out against foreigners? How that man commands the masses! And soon, after we dispense with their military forces, we shall have an even greater hold on the Americans. Do you think they will dare to move when we hold their wives and children?” Shror tossed down the butt. “Everywhere things move ahead, all according to plan. Except here. But even then, General Blacksturm is wise enough to turn a setback into an advantage. Although he was most displeased that the Americans were not eliminated, he agrees that the Guterman family will once again prove itself useful.”
“Once again?”
“You should be thankful your son died without seeing his father tried for cowardice in the face of the enemy. You owe much to the Special Security. Your trial will discredit all who oppose the new order. Germany will rise like a phoenix, and you will have played an important part.”
Guterman shook off the doctor and lunged at Shror, but Joel was still weak and the other easily dodged his attack. A Special Security henchman bulled forward and slammed Guterman in the chest with the butt of his rifle, sending him spiraling to the ground. As Guterman tried to rise, Shror kicked him in the ribs, sending him back down. “Put this swine on his cot and tie him there!”
The two thugs bound his hands. Shror bent down to him. “Lie there, scum, and listen. These bonds will ensure you do not hurt yourself, and my men outside will keep away any unwanted guests. You will interfere no more. I will not incur BlackstumTs wrath again.” He stood. “You have nothing to do but rest, Herr Colonel. My command post, once yours, is only a hundred meters away. If you are fortunate, in the morning I shall allow you in there to witness my destruction of the Americans.” Then he was gone into the evening darkness.
“Rest, Herr Commander,” said the surgeon as he propped up Guterman’s head with a rolled blanket. “You can do nothing until you recover.” “What did he mean about my son?”
“I do not know. I know only that it is as he says. There are guards outside with orders to shoot should you try to escape.”
“Out, Herr Doctor,” bellowed one of the Special Security men. “This is my patient!”
“If you don’t want to be a patient yourself, you will leave.”
“Go on,” said Guterman, “tend to those you can help. Do your duty. That is an order.”
The doctor put several pain pills into an envelope, placed it carefully in Guterman’s bound hands, took up his aid bag, and left Joel Guterman to his hell.
“It’s amazing we got this far.”
“Wish we’d made it a little farther, Sir. I was beginning to like driving to war.”
Griffin and Sep watched as their demo man rigged thermite grenades to the Bradley’s engine. The two polizei cars — empty now— with the Bradley still between, were parked on the side of the road. Beside them, facing the other way, sat a German Marder. Two bodies, the Marder’s driver and its gunner, slumped lifelessly in the hatches. A third German lay in the middle of the road. Griffin looked at the German track, then at the dead major, and sadly shook his head. “They just had to stop us, that commander just had to get out and investigate.”
“And when he did, we had to take him out — and his crew. Hey, Sir, you getting soft on us or something? These people are the enemy. There’s three less of them, some unit is running around without a leader, and we got their graphics with a pinpoint location of our objective and all their radio frequencies. Only wish the bastards hadn’t called in a report first.”
“I’ve gotten so I don’t like unnecessary casualties — on anybody’s side. You’re sure he sent in our location?”
“I saw his lips moving when he was in the turret, and I checked out his track after we hit ’em. His higher HQ was blaring it out to anybody who’d listen. There’ll be somebody down here to check it out soon, especially after they called him and he didn’t answer.” The Sep spat tobacco juice. “We crossed through two brigades who weren’t interested in us after they’d beaten the devil out of each other, but we aren’t riding any farther.” The Sep looked toward the woods, where the rest of the team lay invisible in the darkness, covering them. “Where do you think he was going — all alone at night?”