When one of the sergeants noticed Haas, he passed the word to his company commander. When the word reached the young commander, he paused, men continued to complete the inspection of the weapon he held. Finished, he returned the weapon to its owner and left to present himself to Haas.
In the moonlight that filtered through the pine trees and fell on Haas and the company commander, it was difficult to tell the difference between the two men. Except for the fact that the company commander wore his helmet while Haas, despite the cold, wore his maroon beret, the two men were dressed and armed identically. Even the close-cropped hair and stern no-nonsense expression that masked both men's faces as they spoke looked alike. This was due in a large part to the habit young commanders had of emulating their senior commanders. Commanders throughout history have always provided the role model for their subordinates. Those subordinates were expected to watch and learn so that one day they could assume positions of greater authority when their commander either moved on to other assignments during peacetime or, in time of war, became a casualty. The commander, as part of his duty, was held responsible for providing the best possible example in everything he did, in thought, word, and deed. This, however, was more difficult than one would imagine, as Haas was finding out that night He especially had difficulty controlling his thoughts.
The shock of seeing the Chancellor's own military aide, Colonel Hans Rasper, at the headquarters of the 26th Parachute Brigade bearing sealed orders for Haas could not match his shock when he saw what those orders were. For the longest time, as Kasper spoke, Haas could not help but wonder if this was not some kind of test, a hypothetical drill to test his loyalty or the readiness of his unit to respond to unplanned emergencies. Even after he convinced himself that Kasper was serious, that this was real, Haas still had difficulty accepting it. Still, he did not allow those doubts to interfere with the performance of his duties. The orders all appeared to be authentic. The verification, which Kasper offered, checked out. All was in order. So Haas hid his personal fears and doubts behind his commander's mask and prepared his unit to execute their assigned duties as ordered.
In those few moments before midnight, with less than two minutes to go before those orders became a reality, Haas still was unable to quiet the apprehensions he felt. Though attired alike, the thoughts that ran through the minds of the two commanders facing each other were worlds apart. The company commander's mind was cluttered with all the very real and necessary practical matters that need to be considered when hurling over one hundred men into combat. Enemy dispositions and weapons, tactics and maneuvers necessary to overcome or neutralize them, the effectiveness and readiness of his own weapons, coordination for support of his unit by other elements involved in the assault, as well as numerous other considerations were of paramount concern to the company commander.
Haas, however, saw beyond the immediate operation. As a graduate of the famous Kriegsakademie and an officer impatiently awaiting his reassignment to General Staff duty, Haas could not easily push aside the possible worldwide political effects of what his unit was about to do. The other European powers, especially the French and Poles, would react. And the Americans, with forces actually deployed throughout Germany, would not simply roll over and accept the German action, no matter how just or reasonable their demands. The Americans, he knew, viewed international law as an instrument to be applied when it served them, and ignored when it didn't.
Then there was his friendship with the Americans themselves. Even as he stood there listening to his company commander review his preparations to assault an American installation, Haas wore the American airborne wings he had been awarded after three grueling weeks of training in the hot Georgia sun. Many of his fondest memories as a soldier were of when he served side by side with the people he had now been ordered to attack, an attack he still felt was wrong.
But what was he to do? That, in the end, was the great dilemma that tore at his mind. According to the Bundeswehr's own interpretation of an officer's duty, Haas was obligated to conduct himself in accordance with his conscience. If given an order that he felt was morally wrong, it was not only his right but his duty to refuse to obey it. When the Bundeswehr was formed in 1955, the old Prussian tradition of moral choice when deciding right from wrong became a critical piece of an officer's selection and training. Throughout his military education, the July 20th plotters who had attempted to assassinate Hitler were used as examples of officers who refused to go against their conscience. As he stood mere half listening to his subordinate, the words of one instructor kept ringing in Haas's ears, almost as if they had just been spoken. "While loyalty to your nation is, and should always be, uppermost in your mind, you must never forget that morality and conscience must be your final guide, the decisive element when deciding right from wrong."
Yet such theories, Haas thought, seemed out of place here on this cold and bitter night He had no one to turn to for guidance, no one to discuss the issue of right and wrong with. To base a military decision on a feeling, regardless of how strong, was, to say the least, rather difficult. Yet at that moment in the cold darkness just before midnight, that and his own conscience were all he had with which to weigh the matter at hand and make a decision. Before the Battle of Leipzig in 1813 with the French, the Prussian King told those soldiers who could not in good conscience fight in the upcoming battle that they were free to leave. He did not want to create a conflict in the conscience of those officers who had served with the French when Prussia, as an occupied and reluctant ally, had been aligned with France in her war against Russia. Haas didn't have someone offering him such a choice. His superiors in distant Berlin had only given him his orders.
He was still pondering those lofty matters when the young company commander finished his briefing. Glancing down at his watch, and impatient to return to his unit, the company commander asked if there would be anything else. Without responding at first, Haas looked at the company commander for several seconds in order to refocus his mind on the situation at hand. Unable to come to any firm decision, Haas simply shook his head. With an expressionless face, Haas replied, "No, there is nothing else. You have your orders."
The company commander, glad that there were no last-minute changes, saluted and left Haas standing alone, troubled by how easily he had uttered the words "You have your orders." For the first time he understood how his father had felt in the last war. Now, as if a great veil had suddenly been lifted from his eyes, he knew what had happened in 1939. And as he walked away, Colonel Johann Haas, commander of the elite 26th Parachute Brigade, felt shame.
CHAPTER 7
Although there was absolutely nothing that he could do, Major General Earl Lowery couldn't tear himself away from the operations center. All across Sembach Air Base, men and aircraft sat silent under a newly fallen blanket of snow. Only in the operations center was there any appearance of any sort of activity. And even here that activity was, to put it mildly, minimal. At 2:30 a.m., with operations temporarily suspended due to weather and failure of the German government to provide clearance for American military aircraft, there wasn't much to do. Still Lowery remained. Like a captain lashed to the bridge of his ship in a storm, he watched, listened, and waited.