Pulling himself upright to the position of attention, Kasper finally stepped out away from the wall and advanced to the edge of Ruff's desk. "You are right, Herr Chancellor, this foolishness must end. But not by looking back into our dark past for answers. To compare yourself to a hero like Arminius is to denigrate his name and memory. The gift your actions are bestowing upon this land is not honor or freedom. No, it is a plague, the same plague that Adolf Hitler brought to our people. Any illusions you have that what you have done is good for Germany is a sin against logic and humanity. So I am here to bring this to an end."
Ruff looked at Kasper. He was totally unprepared for seeing his loyal military advisor standing before him speaking to him in such a manner. Dropping into his chair, Ruff looked up and was about to admonish Kasper when he saw the pistol Kasper held tightly at his side. Slowly Ruff dropped his head, took a long hard look at the pistol, then looked back up into Kasper's eyes. "So, you are to be my Graf von Stauffenberg."
Lifting his pistol up to waist level, Kasper shook his head. "No, Herr Chancellor. I am no Von Stauffenberg. You are right in many respects. Germany has lived in the shadow of its past for too long. But we must shake ourselves free of our own brutal history, not relive it."
"And by killing me you believe that you will solve Germany's problems? That we will be able to make right what you believe is wrong?"
Again Kasper shook his head. "No. We cannot make the past right. But we can make the future right. You must atone for your crimes against our people. You must be held responsible and brought to justice."
Ruff smiled. Pointing a finger at Kasper, he warned the colonel. "Yes, you do that. You bring me to trial. Stand me before the German people and let them judge. And when you do, when I stand before them, I swear to you you will be sorry. For they and history will judge me to be right, and you, all of you who would castrate this great nation and leave us pitiful eunuchs serving foreign masters, will see your errors."
Unwilling to allow Ruff to continue, Kasper took two deep breaths, as if steeling himself for carrying through what he had started. Ready, he spoke deliberately, as if he were reciting a well-rehearsed speech. "There will be, Herr Chancellor, no public trial, no chance to make a mockery of Germany again. Even if you were found guilty of something, you would live, for we have no death penalty, even for murderers like you. No, you cannot be allowed to spread your distorted vision of our future, not from the courtroom docket, not even from the cell of a prison. No, Herr Chancellor. Your dreams of Germany, your rape of my country will end here tonight, now."
Allowing his arms to fall to the padded armrests of his chair, Ruff half smiled. "Am I to understand that you, a simple colonel in the Army, have decided to take justice into your own hands?"
"No, Herr Chancellor. As I have said, I am no Count von Stauffenberg. I cannot do what I believe needs to be done." With that, Kasper threw the pistol onto the desk. "Instead, I am going to allow you by your own hand to bring an end to this insanity of yours."
For a moment Ruff looked at the pistol, and then up at Kasper. "What makes you think that I would do such a thing, Colonel?"
"Because, Herr Chancellor, the devils that have driven you to extract a blood revenge against the Americans have by now been satisfied. Even you realize that once the last of the Tenth Corps is within the perimeter of the American airborne division, the fighting will stop. And if there is no more fighting, no more Americans can be killed."
In utter amazement, Ruff looked at Kasper and tried to figure out how he had discovered his deepest and darkest secret. Had his justification for this war been so transparent? Had this colonel seen through Ruff's mask of German nationalism and into his very soul? How had he betrayed himself?
Satisfied by the silence and the look on Ruff's face that he had hit his mark, Kasper continued. "A public trial will do your reputation and your lust for revenge no good. Your story and all your great high-sounding claims that what you did for Germany was in the name of the German people will be revealed for what they were, false words spoken by a false prophet. What you have done in the past will be forgotten as your name is dragged through the newspapers of the world day after day, as the real purpose behind this war slowly comes out. And as the trial reduces your stature from that of a head of state to that of a mad, demented murderer, you will very soon live to regret allowing yourself to be held up to such scorn and ridicule."
After considering Kasper's statements, Ruff looked around the room, then back at Kasper. There was the hint of a smile on Ruff's face when he spoke. "And so, Herr Colonel, you think that I will take your suggestion and end my life with my own hand?"
"I am only giving you that option."
"And if I don't?"
Kasper brought himself to a rigid position of attention and said nothing. Ruff waited for Kasper to say more, but then realized that the colonel had said all he intended to say. Ruff was about to make a comment but stopped. He knew that there was nothing more to say. Over the past few weeks he had said everything that he had wanted to say. And even more important, he had done everything that he had set out to do. His life's work, he realized, was finished. There was nothing more that he could do. His task to punish those who had destroyed his nation, who had killed his father and made his family suffer, had been completed. Looking at the pistol, then up at Kasper, Ruff thanked his military aide, asked that he be given five minutes alone, and then reminded him to close the door as he left.
When the heavy wooden door of his office was closed, Ruff reached out with his left hand and opened the wooden box sitting on his desk. With his right, he took the pistol and lifted it to his head. As he sat there looking at his Hitler Youth dagger, he regretted that he had never had the opportunity to use this cherished symbol of his childhood for its intended purpose. Yes, he thought, that was unfortunate. With that, he pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER 22
From his M-1A1 tank south of the 17th Airborne's perimeter Colonel Anatol Vorishnov had a clear view of the hard-surfaced road that ran south like a straight black ribbon through the muddy brown fields to either side of it. Along that road on the right side sat a farmhouse and barn approximately one thousand meters to the south. That farmhouse, clearly marked on all their maps, was the designated link-up point where he was to make contact with Scott Dixon and the remaining battalions of the 4th Armored Division's 1st Brigade. Dixon's forces, coming up from the south along the road, would come out of a tree line that sat just a little over two thousand meters past the farmhouse.
Looking about to his left and right, Vorishnov watched the young company commander of the unit he was traveling with deploy his tanks to cover the link-up. Not that he had very many tanks to deploy, Vorishnov thought cynically. The company, commanded by a second lieutenant who had finished the armor officers' basic course just three months before, had a grand total of six tanks. The other four officers and eight tanks that had begun the march a mere ten days ago hadn't made it this far. Like every unit in the Tenth Corps, this small company had taken its losses, reorganized itself, and kept going. Whether that effort had been worth the cost had yet to be determined. Soldiers only pay the price. It's the diplomats and the deals they strike afterwards that fix a value to those sacrifices.
Edging his own tank forward as far as he dared go, Vorishnov looked beyond the obvious and studied the terrain more closely. From his new vantage point, he noticed a cluster of trees sitting about twelve hundred meters due east of the farm. There was an elevated trail that cut across the muddy fields and connected that group of trees with the hard-surfaced road running south past the farm. From his map, he couldn't tell for sure how far that trail continued to the east into the woods. Looking back up from the map and over to the woods, he was about to order the company commander he was traveling with to send a platoon over to occupy those woods when an armored personnel carrier came screaming up behind him. Turning around, Vorishnov saw the man standing in the carrier's commander's hatch shout something into the intercom. Getting off onto the left shoulder of the road, the driver of the carrier waited until the last possible moment before he slammed on the brakes. The sudden stop caused the M-113 armored personnel carrier to lurch nose down and then rock backwards. The commander, anticipating the sudden stop, hung on to the barrel of the.50-caliber machine gun mounted at his position and rocked back and forth with the motion of the carrier. Even the two people riding in the rear, heads popping up out of the open cargo hatch of the carrier, took the sudden stop in stride. Only when the carrier finally came to rest did Vorishnov notice that one of the two people in the cargo hatch was the commander of the Tenth Corps, the man everyone called Big Al.