Someone wearing this uniform is likely to be treated as a god by an ordinary Russian officer. He could go anyplace and do almost anything. He would be an object of fear. This could be most useful to us.”
Tony understood. “Okay, but we got a lotta blood to clean off, though, before he could go to any party.”
Vaslov gestured, and several pairs of hands rapidly stripped the body, which soon lay shockingly pale and naked. There were a number of ponds nearby, and they selected one and, after tying and weighing down the body, slid it quietly under the water.
“There,” smiled Vaslov, “in a few days no one will recognize him, not even his mother. If he had one.”
Tony agreed. Even if the man was noted as missing, they had seen and avoided a lot of people who might also be missing from some army or other. And if the man’s body was later found, it would soon be bloated and unidentifiable.
“So,” Tony said, “we can now be a Russian secret police officer anytime we wish. But do we have anyone who speaks enough Russian?”
Vaslov almost purred. “Remember, I speak it fluently. It will be a joy to use it to help in their destruction.”
CHAPTER 14
It began with a thundering and ground-shaking artillery barrage. First the Russian guns commenced pounding those targets they could see, and then those whose existence they suspected from the maps of the area and the few overflights that American aircraft and antiaircraft guns had permitted. Russian gunners had decided there were only so many places to hide supply dumps, truck parks, and the like within the confines of the Potsdam perimeter.
Elisabeth and Pauli joined the others in the basement of an old stone church, and settled in beneath the vaulted ceilings of the crypt to wait out the storm of fire and steel. Elisabeth tried to compare the shelling with what she had endured in and around Berlin and found she could not. Each was equally horrifying, and her mind made it difficult to draw from its hiding places the memories of prior terrors. In a way, she found that fact comforting for it meant that, whatever befell her, she would endure it.
Presuming, that is, she and Pauli actually lived through whatever was going to transpire. She looked about the crowd of people, steadily growing more and more silent and nervous as the shelling continued. She felt she could actually smell the fear. Where was von Schumann? She had not seen him in a while.
Half a mile away, von Schumann ducked instinctively as a shell landed near General Miller’s headquarters. Miller chuckled wryly. “I thought you were a veteran of this sort of thing.”
“A veteran never forgets to duck,” von Schumann answered. He, Miller, Leland, and a number of others were well protected in a reinforced bunker. To his knowledge, the Soviets did not have anything that could penetrate the steel beams that formed its roof. It was possible, he supposed, that a shell could ricochet around the right-angled entrance and find its way in, but he doubted that as well.
Leland put down a telephone. “General, our artillery wants to respond.”
“Are they being hit?”
“No, sir. A lot of near misses, but they’re pretty well protected.”
“Then let them wait. Everybody keep remembering that we still don’t have all that much ammunition to throw around.” Miller paused and tapped his pipe on a table. “Any response from the air force?”
Leland shook his head.
Miller understood but didn’t have to like it. The big air battles and the army’s major needs were west of the Elbe, where the American army was being slowly driven toward the Rhine. Potsdam was a backwater. The army and the correspondents officially referred to it as the Potsdam perimeter or the Potsdam pocket, but the soldiers referred to it as Goddamn Potsdam. Miller rather liked the latter term.
“Well,” Miller said, “at least the Russian planes are tied up as well.” Leland nodded. Except for the occasional scout plane, the sky over Potsdam had been empty for the last several days. The only bad part of that was the fact that the supply drops had also ceased. Temporarily, they all hoped.
“Oberst von Schumann, what is the Russian general, this Bazarian, going to do now?” Miller asked.
The news of the outside world was radioed in and the latest stories had been of the cessation of hostilities between Germany and the remaining Allies. This had changed von Schumann’s status. He was now an official member of Miller’s staff and his presence was accepted at all times. If some resented it, they did not voice their objections in Miller’s presence. Even Leland seemed reconciled to it.
“General, I think we can assume that the Russian commander is not a fool. The Russians had a number of incompetents in command at the beginning of our invasion in 1940, but the realities of warfare took care of them. While it is likely that this General Bazarian is not at the head of his class, he has several advantages and will use them effectively.”
Von Schumann looked around the headquarters. They were all looking at him as if he were a schoolmaster delivering a lecture. There might not be anything new in what he was going to say, but they wanted to hear it again.
“The Russian,” von Schumann continued, “can mass his army and his tanks wherever he wishes and without our knowledge. He will attack in overwhelming strength at a place and time of his choosing, while we have to anticipate his attack occurring anywhere along our perimeter.
“Therefore, I believe he will launch a number of probing attacks before the major attack. He will not be looking for a weak spot-he knows there aren’t any-but he will be seeking to confuse us, make us expend ammunition, and, perhaps, make us commit our reserves to a wrong location, which would hinder their redeployment.”
Von Schumann looked about for disagreement and saw none. “When he does launch his main attack, it will be with what he hopes will be overwhelming force at that particular spot. His advantage is in numbers, nothing else. He will hope to get his soldiers inside our defenses and commence a battle of mutual slaughter in which his men can inflict enough casualties on us so that we will be unable to continue as an effective force.”
Leland blinked in disbelief. “But that means he would be destroying his own army in order to do so.”
It was a statement that had been made before, and it was still a difficult concept for an American, bred to conserve life, to accept. The appalling ruthlessness of the Russian army and its almost total disregard for human life when it needed to gain an objective had appalled Germans as well.
“But Bazarian would be saving face, his career, and possibly his life if he were to eliminate what he perceives as a cancer,” von Schumann admonished gently. “He will most happily pay that price in the lives of others.”
At that moment, yelled messages interrupted them. Tanks were reported approaching the very western flank of the perimeter, where it reached the shallower lake.
“What models?” von Schumann inquired, and he was told they were older-model BT5s and not the dreaded T34s. “Your dug-in Shermans will be able to handle them.”
“Are there infantry?” Miller barked, and received an affirmative response. “Then that’s it. We get the reserves ready to move out. So much for probing attacks.”
Von Schumann was uneasy. The perimeter’s reserves consisted of the equivalent of one platoon of Shermans, a handful of M10 tank destroyers, and two battalions of infantry. Other tanks were dug in and hidden around the perimeter. Once ordered, the reserves would move out to preplanned and well-dug-in positions and be difficult to destroy, but awkward to extricate if the attack were not the main one.
“How many tanks?” von Schumann asked.
“Outposts are pulling back so they don’t get overrun, but indications are maybe twenty.”
“And they are definitely not T34s?” Miller asked.
“They don’t absolutely know, sir. They say they aren’t all that familiar with Russian tanks, but they’re reasonably certain they ain’t T34s.”
Damn, thought von Schumann. The inability of the Americans to pick out Russian tank types was something they hadn’t thought of.
