The silver-haired Ulderthane waved away their objections. “You forget: I was executing special operations before you two could spell the word soldier. Because I am the senior military man here, and because I have the most experience, and because I am your commander and I say so, I will accompany you.”
That settled it.
“Yes, Sir,” Griffin and Guterman replied.
The chancellor was equally insistent. “This is as much a political matter as it is a military one.”
Ulderthane turned in his seat. “Now it is my turn to object, Herr Chancellor. Over the past several days, we have come to know each other well. You are a good man, one too good to risk. With you rests the future of the nation. I cannot permit…”
The chancellor held up his hand to stop the debate. “Enough. While you are the senior military man, Herr General, I am still senior to you. I will be a part of this operation. I can no more sit back and wait for results than you can. And on one point you are mistaken: The future of the nation rests more with these young men than it does with us. If anything, it is we who should lead and protect them.”
Karl Blacksturm retreated from the buzz of the command center to the quiet of his office. A difficult day, he thought as he opened the schnapps decanter and filled his glass. A most perplexing day.
He had heard nothing from Goebbels and Shror, no word in almost two days. Yet their last messages were positive: First Shror had said that the Americans lay all but beaten on the field of battle, and Goebbels had reported that German Leopard tanks were approaching the depot. But then all contact was lost, despite the fact that the aircraft he’d so reluctantly released to overfly the depot and the American kaserne reported one surrounded by German troops, and friendly helicopters on the ground at the other. The messengers he’d dispatched had failed to return. There was also the messy business of the riot this morning. Blacksturm drained the glass, poured himself another, and sat behind his desk.
The demonstration had been so carefully planned; how did it get out of hand? Blacksturm frowned. I have been too lenient, he thought. Had I used greater force in the beginning, I would not have such problems now. As if in search of inspiration, he opened a desk drawer and drew out his pistol, holding the weapon in his hand and meditating on it as if it were a holy icon.
Fondling the weapon and the second drink gave Karl Blacksturm some comfort. He took a moment to congratulate himself. By violence and subterfuge, he reflected, by brute force and cunning, the country was his.
The intercom buzzed. “Someone to see you, Herr General.”
Still gazing at his pistol, Blacksturm flipped the switch. “I cannot be bothered.”
“He says he has important information from Kriegspiel.”
Blacksturm laid the gun on the desktop. “That is very different. Why did you not say so at first? Send him in immediately.”
The door opened and a small procession filed in.
“Good afternoon, Herr General.”
“Ulderthane!”
“I see there has been a promotion. Interesting, neither I nor the chancellor recall authorizing your advancement.”
“Where…? How…?” Blacksturm sputtered.
“Right through the front door,” replied Guterman. “The commanding general of the German armed forces and the chancellor of the country command a certain respect, as do I. Despite all your guards and security checks and defenses, we simply walked right in.”
Standing beside him, even The Griffin had to admit the old general was about as ballsy as they came, strolling past the guards and checkpoints as if he owned the place.
“You!” Blacksturm snarled. “I might have known you would turn traitor.”
“We will let the courts decide who the traitors are,” said the chancellor. “I believe you will find their definitions somewhat different than yours.”
Blacksturm’s eyes fell to the weapon on his desk, his hand moved, but Griffin and Guterman were faster. Their pistols came up leveled at Blacksturm’s chest.
“Don’t try it, Herr General.”
Instead Blacksturm reached for his glass and sipped. He stared down at the desktop for a long moment.
“I have been a soldier a long time,” he said quietly. “A trial will be long and messy. Is there not another way?”
Joel Guterman pulled what appeared to be an oversized fountain pen from his pocket and tossed it on Blacksturm’s desk.
“You will recognize that device from your work in Intelligence. The drug acts quickly.”
Blacksturm sat the glass down and picked up the injector with his left hand. Then he stood.
“You have played your cards well, but not well enough. You cannot stop destiny.” Conscious that all eyes were on him, he flipped open the injector’s cap. “Goodbye, gentlemen.”
For someone with two stiff drinks in him, he was very fast. Blacksturm’s right hand shot down to his pistol, snatching it off the desk and leveling it at the chancellor. Ulderthane threw himself in front of the politician. The gun barked. Ulderthane caught the bullets in his chest.
Griffin and Guterman fired simultaneously.
Captain Wu answered the phone. “Colonel Stern, it’s Colonel Griffin. He wants to speak to you.”
Stern walked as calmly as he could to the desk and took the receiver from his S3.
“This is Colonel Stern… Yes, very good Mark. Everyone okay?… Oh. Sorry to hear about the general. I’ll tell the panzerbrigade S3 to begin movement tomorrow morning… That will be fine. See you then.” He hung up.
“The phones work again, Sir?”
“It would seem so, Captain Wu. In which case that means we should have uninterrupted commo again. And in that case I have a call to make.” He rifled the desk until he found the phone book. As Stern flipped through the pages, he felt a tinge of regret in the flood of relief that washed over him. He’d been on his own for the past five days, answering to no one but his own conscience. In his own way, or more accurately, in a way he’d learned from Griffin, he’d grown to like it. Now it was back to chain of command and army lines of communication. It would be as it was before, but as it could never be again. While he dialed and the connection built, Stern acknowledged that he would once more be one among many colonels, with one exception: He’d be single.
“Headquarters, United States Army Europe. Major Commoner speaking. This line is not secure.”
“This is Col. Alexander Stern from the 195th. Let me talk to whoever’s in charge.”
“Wait one, Sir. Good to hear from you. Hell, it’s good to hear from anybody.”
“Roger that.” Stern held the line.
“This is General Spencer.”
“Sir, Colonel Stern reports…”
SIXTEEN
In the background, the piano player tapped out a neutral, nondescript tune. The three officers stared at their near-empty glasses for a moment, twirling them and watching the last drops of their drinks swirl. Stern signaled the waitress for refills, but Maggie and Griffin gave their heads a small shake. Stern stared back into the bottom of his glass. “So Pauline will be all right?” Stern asked.
“A few scars, but nothing that will show,” Griffin replied. “They’re going to keep her in the hospital for another week or so and watch her, then give her a month’s convalescent leave.”