“Probably back from an orders briefing,” replied Griffin as the demo man finished up. “It’s the right time, and that’s a battalion commander’s vehicle — although, since there was a major in it, the light colonel who normally commands a German mech battalion must be out of it. I don’t know why, that track obviously didn’t take any hits. Anyway, the S2 thinks they’ll attack in the morning in one last push to wipe out the 195th.”
“Bad move, traveling with no security.”
“We’re four klicks behind their lines and they own the country. Besides, that Marder has a bunch of firepower.”
“Not against guys on the ground.”
“Depends.”
The sergeant rigging the demolitions finished with the grenades. “We can go any time you’re ready, Sir. Better follow me out. I’ve rigged a bunch of trip wires — whoever comes to check these out is in for a very painful surprise.”
Griffin nodded. The Sep waved for their two close-in security men to pull back. In a moment the group entered the team’s small perimeter. Without pause the thirteen men picked up and struck out through the woods. They would move another five hundred meters, putting a safe distance between them and the vehicles, before they stopped to make plans and issue new orders.
They slipped through the manicured firs and pines like ghosts, without the creaking equipment and cracking twigs that would mark an ordinary unit’s passage. EvenGrriffin’s track driver — lugging the radio tuned to the 195th’s brigade command net, his battle dress spotted with grease and oil — seemed to pick up on the need for stealth. Surrounded by professionals this mediocre-at-best soldier imitated them and became one, gliding noiselessly between the trees. Griffin took his mind away from his evaluation of his team’s noise and movement discipline to muse on how he, like his driver, had absorbed the values of those around him. Somehow Stern and Maggie and the more conventional soldiers of the 195th seemed closer to him, more real and more important than the ice-cold hardness he once knew as his only reality. In a middle pocket of the rucksack on Griffin’s back — carefully wrapped in waterproof plastic lest it get wet and rot — the small teddy bear belonging to the child killed in the accident felt heavy.
As he walked The Griffin winced as the image came back; but he winced silently. No noise was allowed during movement.
Soon they were deep in the forest, the branches blocking out all light. In the thick dark the point man signaled a halt and the men took up a hasty perimeter. Griffin moved to the center. Under two ponchos, spread over him to seal in the glow of his flashlight, he again surveyed the captured German maps. First he needed to send a short message to Cooper, passing on what he’d learned from the captured map. From the arrows drawn on it, it seemed the Germans were planning to make a main thrust right down Autobahn 5. But two other axes of advance arrows were also sketched out: one around the hill mass in the east, the way they’d come before, and a smaller one through the Burbenheim Bowl. He tried to interpret where the Germans were going to throw the bulk of their weight, but the notes the German commander had scribbled made little sense. Griffin took several minutes to try and process the information, but finally the standing order of reconnaissance took over. Just report what you see, with accuracy and in a timely manner. Let the S2 do the interpretation, that’s what he gets paid for. He organized his thoughts, sent Cooper the message, and went back to the maps. In his mind a plan, and a purpose, coalesced.
Griffin clicked off the light and instinctively slid his hand onto his rifle’s pistol grip, even though he knew the near-silent footfalls he sensed approaching were friendly. The Sep slid under the ponchos and Griffin relaxed his grip on the trigger and turned the light back on.
“Well, Colonel?” he whispered.
“Same as before,” Griffin replied. “We conduct a reconnaissance of their brigade headquarters and, based on what we find, we reorga-
nize to take it out.” He paused, sucking in the wet air beneath the plastic covers. “With one change. I’m going in first. I want to see their brigade CO face-to-face.”
The Sep, on his belly beneath the ponchos, turned his head to look at Griffin. “That won’t be the time for interviews, Colonel,” The Sep said, as if he was talking to a green lieutenant. “It’s the time to strike.”
“For the last time, Sep, it’s my show. Before we hit I have something to do, something I have to know. Pass the word and organize them like I’ve told you. It should take us most of the night to move there and check them out. Standard patrol formation; I’ll be near the front, you’ll be in the rear. You understand, Sergeant?”
The Sep realized he’d been put in his place.
“Yes, Sir.”
They both paused as the sound of tracked vehicles grinding in the distance caught their attention. They strained to hear in the dark, waiting for the trip-wire-triggered explosions that came only moments later.
“Any questions?”
“Negative.”
“Then pass the word. We move in ten minutes.” Griffin shut off the flashlight.
The Sep crept out from under the ponchos to brief each man.
With Shror’s goons standing over them and with their soldiers’ lives at stake, Guterman’s staff cooperated with the man from the high command — the Uzis of Shror’s guards and his threats of arrest and execution gave them little choice. Yet when Shror announced his intent to send the brigade, its ranks slowly swelling as still more units arrived, straight down the autobahn to cut the Americans in half, the staff balked. They had tried on both flanks and failed, Guterman’s operations officer argued; the Americans would expect them to roll up the middle. Shror would tolerate no discussion. The German S2 finally managed to persuade him to at least send out night reconnaissance elements, taking aim at Shror’s ego by suggesting that if they knew the enemy’s dispositions and could sweep away his cavalry, the victory might be that much greater — for Shror. As for an attack on the flank, would it not he best to at least determine what forces the Americans had positioned there? If, in fact, they were expecting a thrust to the center and had left that avenue unguarded, the planned feint around the base of the Alterkoop, as well as the one through the bowl, might be reinforced to become the main thrusts, thus allowing Shror to execute a double envelopment. If, however, the enemy was defending all along the line, then the recon effort would find this out and Shror’s plan would be sound. Either way, the S2 said, they had nothing to lose and Shror’s reputation as a brilliant field commander would grow.
The bait of ever-greater glory that the S2’s plan offered tempted the high-command colonel. Announcing that he had intended all along to probe the enemy’s defense for weak points and, if necessary, to adjust his plan, Shror left the details to the staff. He left the command post, intending to have a drink before he retired.
When attacks are to come in the morning, the night before belongs to the intelligence officers. For Maj. Wilhelm Schluker of Panzerbrigade 11, that meant dispatching both the remains of the recon company and mounted and dismounted patrols from the Marder battalions to determine the nature and strength of the Americans’ defenses. For Maj. Dexter Cooper, it meant reinforcing McKay’s cavalry and sending infantrymen from the 1-89th and 3-29th out on foot to keep the Germans out of the 195th Brigade’s battle positions. Knowing from Griffin’s report that the Germans wished to charge up the middle and knowing Stern’s defense was built around that read of the enemy’s intentions, Cooper had the additional job of deceiving his enemy, of giving him just enough information so that he would stick with his bull-through-the-middle plan. That means, Cooper reasoned, that at least along the Alterkoop we need to show tanks. Sounds like a job for a platoon out of the reserve.