CHAPTER 17
By now Jan was used to listening to Colonel Edward J. Littleton, Jr., U.S. Army, retired. Littleton, located in a separate studio, was explaining the military situation in Germany. Jan, with a well-practiced smile on her face, sat and watched Littleton's face on a monitor while he explained the situation in central Germany as he saw it from Washington, D.C. Over the tiny earphone hidden in her right ear, the director whispered that they were ready to cut to the live feed from Germany. Excited at being given the chance to cut the pompous ass off, Jan jumped in while Littleton was in mid-sentence. "Excuse me, Colonel, but I've just been told that we have a live feed from Bob Manning, our correspondent in Germany."
With the camera focused on Jan's face, she leaned forward and with a look of concern spoke to the camera. "Bob? Bob, can you still hear me?" The man she was trying to talk to was Robert J. Manning, a British correspondent who was working for WNN. Right now Bob and a camera crew, using a satellite shot, were attempting to give a live feed for Jan's morning report.
In a flash, as soon as the technicians in the control room had a good clear picture of Bob, the video image was switched from Jan to Bob. "Jan, yes, I've got you now, thank you." Attired in a British Army camouflage smock with a black wool watch cap pulled down over the tops of his ears, it was obvious that Bob was more concerned about life and limb, not to mention protection against the cold, than he was about what his image looked like on the television screen four thousand miles away. The idea of wearing camouflage caught on very quickly when the losses amongst front-line correspondents began to mount. The bright yellow or international orange jackets and parkas, it seemed, drew far too much fire. The thought that a correspondent would be given special consideration vanished, along with many other illusions about war, as the viciousness and intensity of battle escalated.
"Bob, it's midafternoon there, isn't it?"
Before he could answer, the report from a small-caliber automatic cannon not far from where he stood caused him to flinch and look over to his right. When he saw that he was in no immediate danger, Bob looked back to the camera and responded to Jan's question trying to look as if nothing had happened. "Yes, Jan. It is afternoon. Of course, the time of day really doesn't seem to make any difference in this battle. The German mechanized infantry unit I'm with has been continuously engaged with elements of the American rear guard since early yesterday, day and night. The American cavalry unit that it has been playing a deadly game of tag with since then is now located just across the river behind me in a town named Burghaun."
Looking down at her computer-generated map of central Germany, the one used to show the home audience where the battles were taking place, Jan noted that there were no towns of that name shown. "Excuse me, Bob. But where exactly is that?"
"Jan, we're about four or five kilometers northwest of Hünfeld. If you recall, the Germans seized Hünfeld on the 19th but weren't able to go any further west due to the Tenth Corps' rapid redeployment of blocking forces. Now it seems that the elements of this German unit will be able to finally make it across the Fulda River here and link up with the 10th Panzer to the west."
"Is that due," Jan queried without betraying a hint of the deep concern she felt, "to a collapse of American forces?"
Jan could see Bob shake his head. "No, Jan. On the contrary. The American units that the Germans had hoped to bag have made it north and out of the trap. This is due in great measure to the skillful and valiant efforts of cavalrymen, like those across the river. It's almost become a regular drill these past two days. The American cavalrymen will set up in a town or blocking position and wait for the Germans in pursuit to catch up. Sometimes the Germans detect the Americans first and approach with caution. Most of the time, however, it is the Americans who initiate the action, usually with an ambush. This morning was a case in point."
Pointing over to a partially demolished bridge, Bob cued his cameraman to focus on the smoldering hulk of a German Marder infantry fighting vehicle sitting on the bridge.
"When the German unit I'm with lost contact with the American rear guard before dawn this morning, they took off and followed, as usual. For some reason, when we got here, they thought that the bridge was clear. Two Marders, the German equivalent of your Bradley fighting vehicle, rolled onto the bridge and began to cross. That's when the Americans in Burghaun blew up the bridge and fired on the Marders. You can clearly see, Jan, the results of that surprise."
While Bob talked and the camera continued to focus on the wrecked Marder, Jan felt a cold shiver. It was becoming harder and harder to watch those shots and talk as if they meant nothing to her. For while others viewed the film footage coming in with an eye to whether it supported their story or made a bold statement, Jan looked for anything that might give her a clue as to where her husband was and how he was doing. This was not easy, for some of the film showed wounded Americans and on occasion a corpse left sprawled on the ground in its own blood. Though she didn't know how well she could deal with seeing Scotty like that, Jan couldn't not look. She had to. It was there, and there was no denying it. So she looked and prayed in silence that she wouldn't find what she sought.
Just as Bob was finishing up his explanation, a series of loud screeches passed overhead. Automatically the cameraman, recognizing them for what they were, swung the camera away from the Marder on the bridge and over to a view of the town across the river. His reaction and timing were perfect, catching the impact of half a dozen German artillery rounds that had caused the shattering noise overhead. Looking over to where the camera was aimed, Bob then began to ad-lib. "What you're seeing, Jan, is an artillery barrage going in on what the Germans suspect to be American positions."
Watching her monitor, Jan shook her head. "Yes, Bob. We've got that here. Can you see any of the American vehicles or personnel from where you are?"
"No, Jan. And I doubt that the Germans can either. In fact, there's the very real chance that the Americans who blew up the bridge and destroyed the lead Marders are long gone. These cavalrymen are quite good at giving the Germans the slip."
With a look of mild surprise on her face, Jan asked, "If the Germans can't see the Americans, then why are they firing on the town, a German town that no doubt still has people in it?"
Bob pointed back to the Marder on the bridge. "It didn't take too many incidents like that to convince the young soldiers of this unit to shoot first before they stick their necks out."
Before she realized what she was saying, Jan asked, "Well, Bob, are you in danger of being fired on by the Americans?"
Jan cursed herself. That, she thought, was a dumb question, a really dumb question. Of course he was in danger.
"Well, Jan, of course there's always the danger that the odd shot will wander in our direction, but for the most part, no, we're in no real danger. The Americans have been very selective about how they use their artillery and where they shoot, so far. Though no one will admit it, the only times I've seen populated areas shelled by artillery have been when the Germans did it themselves."
Before Jan could ask her next question, the image of Bob disappeared from the screen. Jan pulled back, looked at the screen, then glanced over to the control booth. Over the earphone a technician announced that the feed had been cut from Bob's location. The German Army public affairs officer controlling the video feed hadn't liked his last comment. Jan looked up at the camera and did what most news anchors do when faced with a sudden interruption of their lead story. "It seems that we're having some technical difficulties with our live feed from Bob Manning in Germany. We'll continue to update you on the latest from Germany after this commercial."