Thoma stepped to the map, lowering the long stick like a lance.
‘One thing’s for certain. It’s going to be one for the record books.’ He hovered the stick over the map. All the great generals are here.’ He tapped the stick to a set of black blocks on the northern shoulder of the bulge. ‘In the north, running the show, we’ve got Field Marshal von Kluge. He’s not so sure about the operation and has said so. Hitler, I think, has more confidence in General Model.’ He laid the stick to a collection of blocks in the north bearing the 11th Army signet, Model’s force.
‘Problem with Model is, he’s the one who’s been dragging his feet, making us all wait with his demands for more and more armor when we should have jumped off months ago. It’s July now, and he’s got his tanks and guns, but in the meanwhile the Reds have used the time to dig in like ticks.’
Luis took in the thickness of the red blocks. The analogy was apt, the map seemed bitten and swollen ruby by them.
Thoma swept the stick over the southern shoulder of the bulge.
‘In the south we’ve got our genius Field Marshal von Manstein. For the most part Citadel is his brainchild. And the best fighter in the bunch is down here, too, with 4th Panzer. Papa Hoth. Next to us here… on the SS right flank is Army Detachment Kempf. It’s an ad hoc collection, really, strong enough on paper but Werner Kempf has never commanded this many men before. He’s got to keep up on our right.’
‘How about the Russians?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Thoma chuckled, touching the stick to the hillocks of clustered red blocks inside the bulge, north, middle, and south. ‘They’ve brought out their top guns for this one, too. Central Front is under Rokossovsky. Voronezh Front under Vatutin. In reserve at Steppe Front, Koniev. And over all of them is Georgi Zhukov, who kicked our asses in Moscow and Stalingrad. I can’t wait to meet Georgi.’
‘Thoma.’
‘Yes, de Vega.’
This was the first time either man had not called the other ‘Captain.’
‘What do you think? Personally?’
‘Me? I’m just a soldier, I don’t have my own block. But I’ll tell you this.
The Reds have got more of everything, men, guns, tanks, planes, we’ve hemmed and hawed long enough to give them all the time they needed to get ready for us. There’s aerial photography for every foot of the salient, but it’s been hard to estimate the Reds’ strength. They’re so damn good at disguising their forces and using fake positions. Even so, hanging over all this is one big fact that every one of these blocks is aware of, red or black.
Up until now, in every German offensive, the Soviets outnumbered us then, too. But you know what? Not once have they stopped a German advance before we got far behind their lines. We’ll go deep on this one, too, you can count on it. The question is, will we get to Kursk? And will we get there before the Americans hit shore in Italy and Hitler pulls the plug on Citadel?’
‘Where are you?’ Luis asked. ‘Where’s
‘In the heart of II SS Panzer Corps.’ Thoma dabbed the stick in the center of the southern lines. ‘Right here, to the left of
Luis leaned forward to read the map under the point of Thoma’s stick.
Red blocks crowded along the path.
‘The Oboyan road.’
Thoma laid the stick to the Russian positions. ‘Right across from us is 6th Guards Army. They were at Stalingrad, so they’re battle-tough. Behind them, in front of Oboyan, is 1st Tank Army. Vatutin, here on the Voronezh Front, has put his best forces along that road, figuring Papa Hoth was going to dive straight for Kursk through Oboyan. Instead, 4th Panzer is going this way, northwest to Prokhorovka, around their best force. We’ll take on this group here, 5th Guards Tank Army, kept in reserve. We’ll deal with them, then swerve back west toward Oboyan and Kursk. As long as Kempf keeps up and protects our right flank, we should be alright.’
Luis was galvanized by the map. It was almost impossible for him to translate his combat experiences to it, to reduce the memories to such a tiny scale. But there it was. Head this way. Deal with this force. Turn and go that way. Where was the carnage? Where was the wound in his gut, where was it on the map?
‘Come on.’ Thoma clapped a hand over Luis’s shoulder. ‘We need to find you someplace to sleep. You look like hell.’
Luis did not take exception to the comment. It was not meant the way it came out.
He decided to smile at Captain Thoma.
He said, ‘I know.’
* * * *
July 3
2320hours
Belgorod
Thoma heard the bombers first. He raised one hand, cigarette poised between fingertips, and listened. Then Luis heard them, thrumming from the north. It was easy to imagine an Asiatic horde in the sky, riding down on them, the engines sounded like hoof-beats, the ground shook under the thunder.
Thoma threw away his smoke. It landed at the bottom of the steps of the storefront where Luis was billeted.
‘Good luck to you,
‘Take me with you. I want to see the division.’
‘Can’t. This might be the opening bell, and you need to be here in the morning. I might not be able to get you back. We’ve both got our orders.’
