“Crap,” he said, finally.
He wondered, as Riemer hurried after his commander, just what it meant. The SS had a reputation for toughness — was that, like so much else, breaking down under the pressures of civil war? It couldn’t be easy to lay waste to Germany, not when it was Germans who would suffer. And then, being defeated had to be a shock too. The SS had lost small-unit engagements in the past, but it had never been defeated in open battle. Its reputation for invincibility had seemed deserved.
But the Reich never had a civil war before, he reminded himself. How badly did we suffer during the War Between the States?
“Keep funnelling men towards Warsaw,” Gath was saying, as they caught up with him. He was barking orders to his staff, one by one. “Keep the pressure on. I don’t want to give them a chance to regroup.”
He smiled, rather thinly, at Andrew. “Finding it a little cold, American?”
“You’ve never experienced winter in Alaska,” Andrew said, choosing to ignore the fact that he’d never set foot in Alaska either. He’d never gone any further north than Boston. “I’m warm enough, for the moment.”
“Good,” Gath said. He turned back to peer eastwards. “Let’s see how hot we can make it for them, shall we?”
Chapter Seventeen
Front Lines, Germany Prime
3 November 1985
“They’re turning our flank, Herr Obergruppenführer,” Sturmbannführer Friedemann Weineck reported. “Their lead elements are already pressing against our defensive lines.”
“Order the rearguard to commence falling back, as planned,” Obergruppenführer Felix Kortig said. “And remind them that they are to refrain from heroics.”
“Jawohl, Herr Obergruppenführer,” Weineck said.
Felix nodded impatiently as Weineck scurried off to do his will, then studied the map carefully. The enemy were showing more determination than he’d expected from a bunch of rebels, but they had to know that time was short. It was already growing colder. It wouldn’t be long before the front lines literally froze. The rebels had to make their move now or wait for spring.
And the trap has been set, he thought. They have no idea what’s coming their way.
He smiled, coldly. The rebels were clearly aiming to isolate Warsaw rather than storm the city — hopefully trapping thousands of stormtroopers within the city defences — their forces trying hard to cut the links between the front lines and Germany East. He’d expected as much, which was why most of his combat-ready formations were withdrawing through the back door before it was slammed shut. And they would push forward, harder, when they realised their enemy was escaping. The retreating units would lead them straight into the trap.
And if they do try to storm Warsaw, he added silently, they’ll be chewed up and spat out by the defences.
Herman felt old as he advanced forward, sweat trickling down his back even though the weather was bitterly cold. The town in front of him was surprisingly undamaged — the Waffen-SS hadn’t bothered to destroy it when they’d retreated — but that didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous. His unit had been detailed to sweep it as the panzers roared past, seeking out the enemy armour before it escaped; he couldn’t help feeling, as his gaze swept the streets looking for trouble, that it was a honour he would gladly have foregone.
You wanted to go back to the military, he told himself, sternly. And here you are, old man.
He glanced back at his squad, using hand signals to issue orders. If the SS had left a stay-behind unit in the town, they’d reveal themselves as soon as the soldiers began searching the buildings. They wouldn’t be able to hide so they could emerge afterwards and snipe at convoys moving east, not when the town was being searched thoroughly. The Heer had plenty of experience in making sure a town was harmless before they cleared the roads for military convoys.
Bracing himself, he ran towards the nearest house. There was no sign of an enemy presence; no gunshots, no explosions… nothing to suggest the town was inhabited. A cold chill ran down his spine as two of his men joined him, one kicking down the door while the other threw a HE grenade into the house. The walls shook as the grenade detonated, but held; Herman ran forward, weapon raised, and into the house. It had been devastated — a table and a number of chairs had been reduced to splinters — but it appeared to be deserted. There was no sign of any bodies.
They swept the house quickly, weapons at the ready. There was nothing, save for a few hints that the inhabitants had had time to pack before they left. Herman hoped that they were safe — the Waffen-SS had probably shipped them to a settlement further east, rather than a detention camp — but there was no way to know for sure. If they came back, they would have to buy more clothes, he noted. It was easy to see that the house had been stripped of everything usable.
They’re probably running short of winter clothes, Herman thought. It was odd — the SS had plenty of experience in cold weather — but it was quite possible that the SS logistics network had broken down. They might not have been able to get winter clothes to the men before it started to bite. They’ve taken everything they need to stay alive.
Pushing the thought aside, he hurried back downstairs and ordered the next section into the town. They’d leapfrog their way through the streets, searching each and every building before finally declaring the town cleared. He had no doubt that someone would be ordered to garrison the town, just to make sure the enemy couldn’t turn it into a base; he hoped, as the aches and pains grew worse, that his squad would get the job. They weren’t young men any longer…
An explosion blasted out, close enough to shake the house. Herman hit the ground automatically, expecting to hear bullets cracking through the air at any second. But there was nothing, save for the sound of distant shellfire. He cursed under his breath as he crawled forward, grimly aware that the enemy might be waiting for him to show himself before they opened fire. Chances were the SS needed to conserve ammunition as much as the Heer… they wouldn’t want to waste their bullets on walls. But he had no choice.
He peered out of the door and swore under his breath. Someone had packed an IED into the next house, rigging it so the device would be triggered when someone kicked open the wooden door. Two of his men were dead; a third lay on the ground, his body so badly wounded that Herman knew there was no point in calling for a medic. It was a dark miracle he’d even survived long enough for Herman to see him. He gritted his teeth, then crawled towards the dying man. But he expired before Herman reached him.
I’m sorry, Herman thought. He hadn’t known the three men very well, but they had been under his command. And now they were dead, old men fighting a young man’s war. I wish…
He dismissed the thought, angrily, as he called the next squad forward. The town might be deserted, but it was still dangerous. He had no doubt that the destroyed house wouldn’t be the only one to be rigged, which meant the buildings would either have to be destroyed or cleared one by one. And none of his men were trained in removing IEDs.