Leaning forward, Lange propped his chin on his hand. With a sly sideways glance he studied Ruff for several moments. There was something going on inside of that man's head that no one, even his most trusted supporters, knew about. But what? What could drive a man to sacrifice his fellow countrymen in such a manner? Perhaps this same thought had troubled the General Staff officers of Nazi Germany. Perhaps they too stared at their national leader and wondered what drove the man who drove their nation.
Lange's reflection on his commander-in-chief was interrupted by a civilian aide from the Ministry of the Interior who, after gaining access to the briefing room, walked straight over to Fellner and handed him an envelope. Without regard for the briefing officer, Fellner ripped open the envelope, ruffled the thin sheets of paper as loudly as he could manage, and made a great show of reading them. Finished, he folded the papers and turned to face Ruff. Again acting as if the chief of operations didn't exist, Fellner began to speak. "It would seem, gentlemen, that the stories about the destruction of a field hospital are quite true."
There was a moment of silence before Fellner continued. "Early this morning the Americans escorted French and British news teams to the spot and allowed them to film the recovery of wounded and dead personnel, both male and female, from vehicles clearly marked with the International Red Cross symbol. Those films are now playing on every news program around the free world. The British news team was the most charitable, referring to the incident as a massacre. The French preferred the word 'murder.' "
Unable to stand Fellner's gloating, Ruff slapped his hand on the table as he jumped to his feet. "BASTARDS! Who do they think they are?" The sudden outburst surprised everyone in the room except for Lange and Fellner.
As he looked about the room, red-faced and unable to conceal his anger, Ruff glared at everyone, who stared back until they averted their eyes. Only Fellner and Lange returned Ruff's stare with a defiant, almost contemptuous look. When he was ready, Kurt turned to Fellner. "I want you to make sure that we have complete control of all foreign correspondents. All of them. We cannot afford to allow them to run about freely, spreading lies and aiding the American propaganda campaign against us."
"But Herr Ruff," Fellner hastened to remind him in a warm voice, "the correspondents who shot those videos were then behind American lines. We cannot, as the past few days have demonstrated, control what happens behind enemy lines."
Turning about, Lange looked at Fellner. Was that last comment meant as an insult to the German Army? He was about to pass it off when Fellner added, "We could, of course, solve this problem by insisting that our Army refrain from committing atrocities except behind our lines."
Now there was no doubt. Fellner had declared himself, though it took Ruff, still steaming with rage, several seconds to understand this. But Lange knew that from that moment on the German war cabinet would begin to crumble. It was the beginning of the end. But what would that end bring for them and for Germany? How long, he wondered, would Ruff continue to play out this insanity?
Like a tiger whose paw was stuck in a steel trap, Ruff began to lash out at Fellner. "HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME, TO US, LIKE THAT!"
Fellner, standing erect and calm, looked Ruff in the eye. "And how dare you, Herr Chancellor, betray the German people."
"BETRAY? You, Herr Fellner, are mad. If there be treason, you, and not I, are the traitor. There is no doubt, no doubt at all, that you have never fully supported this government during this crisis. You continue to work against our purposes."
"And what," Fellner shouted, "are those purposes? To destroy Germany again, for the third time in less than one hundred years? What in the hell are you doing?" Then looking about the room, Fellner asked everyone present, "What are we all doing? Have we gone mad, again? What are we doing dragging all of Germany and its people back to the gates of Armageddon? What?"
In the silence that followed, a captain of the operations section entered the room and began to head for Lange until he realized what was happening. Freezing in place, the captain looked at Lange, then back at the door. He was about to turn and flee when Lange caught his eye and signaled him to come over. Though he did so with the same reluctance that a man jumps into a sea full of sharks, the captain inched toward Lange and handed him a dispatch. For a moment, while the silent standoff between Ruff and Fellner continued, Lange read the dispatch.
When he finished, he thanked the captain and dismissed him. While the captain was fleeing the room, Lange stood up, cleared his throat, and began to speak. The sarcasm he felt showed in every word he spoke. "Gentlemen, excuse me for disturbing your, ah, discussions. But I am afraid the situation in central Germany has changed somewhat. It seems the Americans have entered Paderborn and are moving west and northwest toward Münster and Osnabrück. The enemy has managed to break out of our encirclement."
Dumbfounded, Ruff turned his attention away from Fellner and toward Lange. "How can that be? Just five minutes ago your chief of operations briefed us that the 7th Panzer Division had established blocking positions in front of Paderborn. What happened?"
Looking down at the message, Lange considered his response. When he spoke, he did so without looking at Ruff. "It seems the positions of the 7th Panzer Division were compromised."
"Compromised? What in the hell do you mean, compromised?"
"It means, Herr Chancellor, that enemy actions and maneuvering compelled the commander of that division to withdraw."
"And how many casualties," Ruff demanded, "did the 7th Panzer inflict on the Americans before they retreated?"
"I do not know, Herr Chancellor. This dispatch doesn't say."
"All right, Herr General, how many casualties did the 7th Panzer Division suffer before yielding Paderborn?"
With a quick glance down, Lange found the appropriate passage and read it. "The 7th Panzer Division reports suffering three casualties, all wounded, when their truck was sideswiped by a Leopard tank while leaving Paderborn."
"Three?"
"Yes, Herr Chancellor, three. It seems we were very, very lucky today."
Like a well-rehearsed stage play, the column of American tanks and infantry fighting vehicles of the 55th Mech Infantry Division approached the bridge held by elements of the 7th Panzer Division. When the lead Bradley was clearly visible, the senior German officer present, a panzergrenadier captain, walked out into the middle of the road. Upon seeing the German, the commander of the Bradley halted and reported. Within minutes the most senior American officer in the column, an armored major, came forth mounted in his tank. Stopping thirty meters away from the German officer, the American major dismounted with no undue haste, then walked up to the German captain.
After the exchange of military pleasantries, the German captain spoke first. "I have been ordered, Herr Major, to establish a blocking position here and prevent the passage of American forces."
The American major, responding in German, likewise stated his mission. "I have been ordered, Herr Captain, to seize this bridge and establish a bridgehead on the far side."
The German captain replied, "I must resist your efforts until my position is no longer tenable."
The American major nodded. "I understand." Then, turning toward the commander of the Bradley infantry fighting vehicle behind him, the major waved his hand over his head and then pointed to the bridge. Without hesitation, the commander of the Bradley gunned his engine and raced for the bridge, past German obstacles removed to clear the way and German Marder infantry fighting vehicles only partially hidden in positions meant to cover them.