After an appropriate pause, Ilvanich folded his arms across his chest and continued. "Unlike the Ukraine, we will be outnumbered. The unit guarding the site is the 2nd Battalion, 26th Parachute Brigade, one of the best units the Bundeswehr has. That battalion has light armored vehicles, heavy mortars, and will outnumber us in riflemen by a factor of six to one. Add to that the following. Surprise will be minimal, since the Germans expect us to try for the weapons. Support from the Navy, Marines, or Air Force will be nonexistent for the first twenty to thirty minutes because the planners in Washington do not want to betray the purpose of the mission by having helicopters headed for or near the target until we have secured the weapons. And best of all, the storage site itself, built by the Red Army in the 1950s, is surrounded in all directions by flat fields, with no place to hide, for a distance of two kilometers."
From across the table, Sergeant First Class Rasper murmured, "They'll see us coming forever."
Ilvanich looked up at him. "Exactly. So stealth will be impossible."
"Hence," Rasper added, "the brass-balls approach."
Throwing a pencil that he had been using as a pointer down onto the table, Ilvanich sighed. "Yes, that's right. We go in there using the German convoy technique. Though the Germans guarding the site will suspect that we are not reinforcements, they will not know our intentions for sure. We go as far as we can go playing Germans, and then, when they move to stop us, we shoot our way forward."
Again there was silence. Finally Second Lieutenant Fitzhugh asked the question that everyone else had been pondering. "Major, do they really expect us to make it all the way to the weapons and secure them, and a landing zone?"
Having spent the last weeks with the American rangers as their leader and in word and deed becoming one of them, Ilvanich looked around the room at each man's face. Letting his arms fall to his sides, Ilvanich shook his head. "No, I truly don't think so. Though the general didn't say so in so many words, the Marines don't expect to find many of us still standing when they arrive."
The anger in Rasper's voice was unmistakable. "Then why in the hell are they throwing us away? Isn't that what they're doing, sir? Throwing us away?"
Leaning forward and resting the knuckles of his hands on the table, Ilvanich admonished Rasper. "We are not being thrown away. This is a desperate plan made necessary by a desperate situation. It is a political necessity. To secure the support of the other nations in Europe for the intervention of the 17th Airborne and the deployment of the Air Force from Britain, the American President pledged to stage a raid to secure the weapons immediately. For an operation against a target like this to succeed with minimal losses and a good chance of success, you need a great deal of time to gather intelligence, formulate your plan, rehearse that plan, and coordinate the efforts of all forces involved. When time does not permit, like now, you cut corners, go for what your planners call a quick and dirty solution by using whatever you have at hand, and hope for the best."
Easing off a bit, Ilvanich stood upright again and explained while the leaders of Company A listened in stone-cold silence. "The Germans are ready for an airborne assault. They are counting on that. Their heavy automatic weapons are placed to achieve maximum elevation and grazing fires across all likely landing zones within the storage site. Were the Marines to go in there with all these weapons in place, fully manned, even with a preliminary air strike, most would die before the first helicopter set down. Our sole purpose is to go in there and raise hell with the neat well-planned German defense. We are the first punch that will attempt to smash a hole into the defensive perimeter that the Marines will be able to exploit. Failing that, our goal will be to keep the German battalion in an uproar and off balance until the Marines arrive." Slowly Ilvanich began to walk about the room, placing his hand on the shoulder of each of the rangers assembled there as he went by. "That is why everyone who is a combat leader is here receiving the plan from me. When I go down, Lieutenant Fitzhugh will know what is expected and carry on. After he is gone, Sergeant Rasper will lead the company. Then Sergeant Johnson. Then the platoon sergeants. Then the squad leaders. And when they're gone, even when the last man in this room is down, I expect each and every ranger to carry on."
When Ilvanich stopped, his back was to the assembled group. Turning his head slightly, he looked over his shoulder. His voice was solemn now, almost hesitant. "We, the American general and I, do not endorse suicide missions. It is not part of the traditions of either of our countries. But, like he told me and I told you, desperate times call for desperate solutions. I therefore asked the general that I be allowed to leave behind any man who does not want to go. This will be a purely voluntary mission." Pivoting slowly on his heels, Ilvanich put his hands behind his back as he looked again at each of the rangers in the room. "Go back to your men and tell them what I have told you. Tell them what we will be doing and why. Then let the men decide, each one for himself. I place no time limits on their decision, no special conditions. If when we load the trucks tonight, they choose not to get in, then so be it. Is that understood?"
After all of them had nodded or mumbled a muted response, Ilvanich walked back up to the table and continued. "Now I expect each squad leader to bring his men up here and, using all of this information and photos, go over the plan with every man. I expect each and every ranger in the company to know where all of the heavy weapons are located and where the key points of the German defense are. Unless there are further questions, you are dismissed."
With that, the assembled rangers saluted and filed out of the room without another word, leaving Ilvanich alone to continue his study of the maps, photos, and graphics.
CHAPTER 19
Unable to sleep or sit, Abigail Wilson wandered about the room that served as her private study. Though she could have gone down and joined the others in the War Room buried beneath the house that had been home to some of the most important men in American history, Wilson knew that her presence there would only serve to heighten the nervous apprehension that always seemed to hang in that room like a cloud. Through years of practice Wilson had learned the fine art of hiding one's emotions and acting as those about you expected. Yet there were times when she simply could not stuff her emotions away like so much dirty laundry. She never made excuses for this, a trait that some of her male opponents in private referred to as a flaw. Instead she trusted her own instincts, for she knew there were times when it was wise to remove herself from public view and in private give free rein to whatever emotions swept over her.
Tonight her fears and doubts came forth like a spring storm. At first there was only a slight darkening on the distant horizon, so subtle that one hardly noticed it. Then came a gentle stirring of the wind, first that way, then this, as if Mother Nature herself was vacillating, unsure if she wanted to unleash her fury. But this lasted only a few minutes. With the measured pace of a great musical composition, the various elements began to make their presence felt. The clouds rolled in, casting their shadows across everything beneath them. The wind gave up its hesitancy and began to move across the face of the earth with purpose and force. Finally in the distance, like great kettledrums announcing a storm of war-horses, thunder warned all who heard that a great storm was coming. Finally, when all the elements were ready, wind, rain, darkness, and thunder, the storm unleashed its full fury and came crashing down.