Miller laughed. “Rob, are you telling me my rule isn’t being followed?”
“Shit, Puff, it’s being totally ignored! By the way, nobody’s gotten any mail in a helluva long time either. I know your nonfraternization rule is the same as Ike’s, but nobody’s paid any attention to that one either. Look, I’ve told my boys to watch out for prostitutes and thieves, but if two kids want to sit in the sun and hold hands and talk nice to each other, well, God bless ’em. Besides, my old friend, just who the hell is our enemy nowadays? It sure as shit isn’t Germany anymore, is it?”
Miller thought of his own family back in the States. When would he see them again? Once again, rules were meant to be broken. Seize the day, went some saying, and it was right. Tomorrow you could be dead.
G ENERAL M IKHAIL B AZARIAN seethed with inward rage as the pale-skinned young Russian colonel fussed with the papers he’d taken from his briefcase. The man had been poking around his command for a day now, and had become a total nuisance. It was made endurable only by the fact that the little shit was from Zhukov’s staff, and was not NKVD or from Stavka, the interservice general headquarters outside Moscow.
Colonel Fyodor Tornov had been sent by Zhukov’s people to find out why that tank column had been ambushed and destroyed by the Americans in Potsdam. Apparently the column’s late commander had been related to someone important. Bazarian knew that this little cretin of a colonel was also related to someone high up in the party.
Bazarian outranked him, but Tornov treated him with the genteel contempt reserved for inferior beings. After all, Tornov was a Russian and destined for greater things. It was evident to Bazarian that Tornov thought Bazarian and his army would all be growing beets when the war was finally over.
Worse, Tornov had written a report that was going to be highly critical of Bazarian. It might even get him booted from his command.
“In summary,” Tornov said, “I can fault the tankers for not heeding your warnings, but you should not have permitted the Americans to be in a position to have caused such damage. They should have been eliminated by that time.”
“Those were not my orders,” Bazarian reminded him. “I was given a force sufficient to contain the Americans, not destroy them, as was proven by my subsequent attack on them. The Americans have dug themselves into a very strong position in what is virtually a peninsula, thanks to the twists of the Havel and the presence of some lakes on their flanks. And, as I am sure you will note in your report, I did use the forces at my command to attack them very shortly after that unfortunate incident. That my attack failed simply points out that any earlier attempt would have been futile.”
Tornov blinked at the convoluted logic. “There is no question that the attack was made and that the attack failed. You lost half your tanks and two thousand men. You are no longer strong enough to attempt anything further against them. Can you even continue to contain them?”
“Certainly,” Bazarian said.
They had been over this before. Of course he could contain them. Where could the Yanks go? Even if they did attempt to break out, the American lines were receding into the west and they doubtless didn’t have enough gas to push their tanks and other vehicles that far anyway. No, the Americans were still solidly trapped in Potsdam.
Bazarian tried another tack. “Colonel, when will Zhukov send me replacements for the men I’ve lost?”
Tornov thought for a moment while Bazarian raged behind a placid facade. Did the little shit think he was the one who would make that decision?
“General Bazarian, replacements of good quality are in short supply. Headquarters might be able to get you another division or two of Romanians.”
“Romanians! Those human dung!” Bazarian was outraged. How dare they even think of sending him people with such minimal military value. Worse, the Romanians had once been allied with the Nazis, but had turned coat and now fought with the Soviet Union. Would they turn again? Once the Romanians had been fairly decent soldiers, but these were the leftovers.
Tornov smiled, and Bazarian realized just how little his force was thought of if they would only send him help from that source. Calmly, he said he would take the Romanians.
“Good,” said Tornov, putting his papers into a briefcase. “I’m sure you will put them to good use.” Tornov checked his watch. “It is almost noon. I should be off shortly to return to headquarters.”
Bazarian smiled. And there to deliver your report, which will ask for my head. “Must you leave so soon? Have you had a chance to actually watch the Americans?”
Tornov was intrigued. He had never even seen an American “No, I haven’t.”
After careful inquiries, mainly through Tornov’s driver, a Ukrainian who thought the colonel was an incompetent asshole, Bazarian had earlier found that Tornov had never seen any action of any kind. He had only recently been assigned to Zhukov’s headquarters, and was tolerated only because of his highly placed uncle. The driver felt that he had been sent on this fool’s errand to get him out of truly important people’s way.
Thus, while it was possible his report would be ignored, it was not a chance that Bazarian was willing to take.
“Colonel,” he said soothingly, “you must see them. I will take you. It’s safe and it will be something you can tell your friends. After all, how many of them have actually seen Americans?”
Bazarian could see Tornov calculating the options. He had said it was safe and, yes, it would certainly impress his peers.
Tornov beamed. “Yes, I would like that very much.”
They took Bazarian’s vehicle, an American jeep that had been sent to Russia as part of an aid package. He was very proud of it and his driver, another Armenian, kept it spotless. His previous staff vehicle had been a captured German Volkswagen, which had not impressed him in the slightest.
It was only a few minutes’ drive to the spot Bazarian had chosen. “We will watch them from Outpost 7.”
They were met by a couple of men and an officer, who came over and started to speak. A glare from Bazarian changed his mind and made him back off, a confused and sullen expression on his face.
They walked down a well-trodden path in a deep trench until they came to a sandbagged platform. Bazarian climbed to the top and Tornov followed. “There,” he said, “use my binoculars and you will see them quite clearly.”
Tornov didn’t comment that the binoculars were German and not Russian. He took them and placed his elbows on the top of the platform. “I can’t see anything.”
“Then step up a little higher. Don’t worry, they’re well out of range.”
Tornov did as he was told. “I still can’t see.”
The sounds of the rifle firing and the bullet impacting on Tornov’s head occurred almost simultaneously. Tornov jerked backward, dropped the binoculars, and slithered to the ground. Bazarian turned him over with his foot. The American bullet had penetrated just below Tornov’s right eye, creating an absurd three-eyed effect, and exited the back of his skull, leaving a gaping hole. Thank God the binoculars were undamaged, Bazarian thought as he picked them up.
Bazarian shook his head sadly as his driver and the others came running up.
“The poor man. I told him this was a dangerous place but he was brave and insisted on seeing for himself. He also told me he thought a periscope was a coward’s tool.”
The last comment was aimed at the officer whose comment Bazarian had shushed. It was common knowledge that the Americans had a sharpshooter with uncanny skills in the area. As a result, most observers had devised and used crude periscopes.
The soldiers nodded solemnly while Bazarian’s driver stifled a grin. He’d known Bazarian for a very long time.
Bazarian turned to his driver. “Anatol, bring me the colonel’s papers. I must see if there is anything important in them that should be passed on.” Or burned, he thought. “We will notify headquarters, of course, and bury the poor man here.” And I will get those divisions of Romanians, he added silently, and perhaps some others. Then we will settle with the fucking Americans.