Food was also in short supply. Much of their supplies were brought up to the front on horseback and, therefore, not a prime target for the menacing planes, but even that flow had slowed down lately as there was little food to bring. A good number of the horses had already been eaten and many men were becoming weak from hunger.
The Yanks had proven to be no fools. While not exactly incorporating a scorched-earth policy, they had made certain that there was little to sustain an advancing army. It was August, and there was no sign that any crops had been planted in the fields they passed, which also meant there would be mass starvation if the war continued much longer.
They drove forward. There was only sporadic resistance. They concluded that the last line of guns they’d confronted and destroyed must have been the final Yank defenses before Dortmund. After a few more miles, they saw evidence of a major military presence in the form of heavily traveled roads and military signs they couldn’t read. They followed one road and soon came to a sight that took their breath away. Thousands of fuel drums and thousands more large wooden crates were stacked in an open area that covered hundreds of acres. For Suslov and the others, it was a vision of paradise.
Almost shyly, Suslov and the other tankers drove toward their salvation. Grinning like children, they stopped, hopped down, and ran to a fuel drum. It was heavy and the contents sloshed.
“Open it and see if it’s diesel,” Suslov ordered. “I can’t read this shit the Americans call writing.”
Latsis and Popov pried open the small lid where the spout would go. Latsis almost stuck his nose inside. He looked up, puzzled.
“What is it?” Suslov said, walking over and looking in.
“I don’t know.” Latsis tilted the barrel so that some of the clear liquid ran out. “Shit, it’s water.”
Quickly, they checked some of the other barrels. They all contained either water or sand. They pried open a number of crates and found them filled with earth or rocks or junk. They heard cries of dismay as other tank crews made the same discovery.
Suslov felt dread. “They fucked us. The Americans totally fucked us. There’s nothing here but shit. We fought all this way to get here and there’s nothing.”
Suslov and the others sat on the ground by their tank. Despair hung over them. There was no food and no fuel. They could not go forward and they wondered if they could go back. Back to what? Suslov wondered aloud, and the others agreed. They looked at the sky.
For the time being at least, they were free of Yank planes. Even the Americans got tired once in a while and had to stop. But the planes would be back. And so too would the American armies that had been retreating all this time. The dummy supply depot meant that the Americans knew how critical the Russian supply situation was.
“Latsis, how much fuel do we have?”
Latsis used a twig as a dipstick to check the tank. The scowl on his face was half the answer. “If we’re real careful, don’t have to detour, and don’t have to ride fast, we might make it back to the Weser.”
“What about the Rhine? We’re actually closer to it than we are to the Weser, aren’t we?”
“Yes, comrade Commander, we are. But the Yanks will probably resist us, which will prevent us from driving in a straight line. Therefore, we will likely have to get out and push before we reach it.”
Disheartened and hungry, they waited through the night. Their only orders told them to capture the supplies that were supposed to be outside Dortmund. They could only guess that higher-ups were trying to figure out their next move.
At dawn, Boris the commissar arrived from brigade HQ. He was riding a mangy-looking horse, and not driving a jeep or staff car. He was also drunk and nearly fell down while dismounting.
“Comrade,” Boris told Suslov in a slurred voice, “because of treachery, we have to stop our attack on the capitalist pigs for the time being. You are to pull back to defensive positions as soon as possible. You will receive more details later. On the way you will double-check every vehicle you find for fuel and ammunition and take whatever you can. Please convey that to the rest of your battalion.”
Suslov was astonished. “My battalion? What happened to the colonel?”
“Oh, you didn’t know? He’s dead. He killed himself this morning. You’re next in line. Congratulations. Of course,” Boris said with a tinge of bitterness, “your entire battalion consists of six tanks.” He checked his watch and blinked. He was too drunk to see the time. “You’d better get started. This retreat has got to be orderly or it could be a disaster.”
Suslov wanted to scream that it already was a disaster. “What else do you know?”
Comrade Boris scoffed. “Do I look like Zhukov?” He gestured and Suslov followed. He put a beefy hand on Suslov’s shoulder. “Seriously, comrade, Chuikov met with our general and others. He said we would hold bridgeheads on the Weser. The fuel shortage is worse than awful, but there is hope that it will be rectified. The people of Russia will not let us down.”
It was Suslov’s turn to scoff. “Really?”
Boris looked around. “Careful.” It was a clear warning that what he said might be held against him once the fighting ended. “Chuikov said the Amis are attacking from the south but that we are holding them off. According to Chuikov, the Amis must attack us because they cannot leave us holding most of Germany. When that time comes, we will crush them.”
“Do you believe that, comrade Boris?”
Boris tried to mount his horse, slipped, and fell into the mud. He wiped the filth from his face and grimaced. “Truthfully, comrade Suslov, I now believe that as much as I believe you have a battalion to command.”
CHAPTER 28
Logan crawled on his belly behind Crawford. “Lieutenant, why the hell are we doing this? Didn’t anybody believe me?”
“If nobody believed you, we wouldn’t be out here crawling on our bellies like snakes. Your info was passed up all the way to General Miller himself and all he wants is confirmation.”
“So why do I have to go?” Crawford asked as he slithered forward under the barbed wire.
“Because, Corporal Dummkopf, you’re the one who found it and you’re the only one who knows where it is.”
They moved forward in the shallow ditch Crawford and others had dug weeks before. It enabled them to slide under their own wire and snoop around Russian areas. Their faces were darkened with mud and dirt, and dark cloth bands secured their clothing and kept their equipment from rattling. Logan thought they moved like ghosts but Crawford told him to stop making so much noise.
Finally, they were through the wire. They crouched low and moved slowly. Sudden motion in the night attracted attention. They reached a dirt road and Crawford signaled a halt.
“Now we crawl across?” Logan asked.
“Hell no, Lieutenant. Right now there are people awake and looking around but not for us. You try to sneak and you’ll stick out like a big red pimple on a fat girl’s ass. No, you and me we stand up and walk across like we lived here and had a right to.”
Logan swallowed and did as directed. His estimate of Crawford was rising. The little man from the piney woods knew exactly what he was doing. It was also a reason why von Schumann’s spies were ineffective in this case. German civilians in a built-up military area would be easily spotted and summarily executed.
“If we see anybody, we just walk casually in the other direction.”
Logan thought that was fair enough and started walking. “How much farther?”
“Little bit.”
Half an hour later, Crawford halted in a wooded area. “It begins here. They’re kind of spread out and there are men either in tents or sleeping on the ground, so we’re gonna go around the area and not through.”
Logan tried to make out the shapes in the night. Crawford was right. He’d found Russian tanks, lots of tanks. They moved around the tank park’s perimeter and made a rough estimate of close to a hundred tanks, many of them behemoths that could only be of the Stalin variety. The remainder were T34s. To date, they had confronted neither kind, only the older, smaller, and less-well-armored models. The Stalins and T34s spelled major-league trouble.