Ivan Latsis opened his hatch. “Well, Sergei, that is a real river, not one of those piss trickles we’ve been crossing all this time.”
Suslov could not recall any piss trickles. The Oder had been real, as had the Elbe and even the smaller Leine. He estimated this one at somewhere between two and three hundred feet across, deep, and flowing fairly quickly. While there were no truly steep embankments on either side, there would be no testing of the depths to see if a tank could cross. Instead, they would have to do it the hard way. Again.
“What’s our fuel status?” Suslov asked.
“Less than half and nothing in the drums,” Latsis replied.
Popov reported they had only a dozen shells for the 76 mm gun and a hundred rounds total for the two machine guns.
Latsis shrugged and smiled. “I don’t think we’ll be leading the attack this time. Not unless they want us to run dry right away. This time I think the rumor is true.”
Suslov agreed. The scuttlebutt was that the brigade would again be pulled out of line, reinforced, and refitted for a while before attempting to force a crossing. It only made sense. They had been fighting constantly since the assault on Berlin in April, and the wear and tear on men and equipment had been horrific. Once again, their numbers were down. The entire battalion numbered only eight functioning tanks. Two had been lost to aircraft the day before, while the rest all needed major overhauls. Suslov wondered if he could get a replacement engine for his tank. The existing one was running hot and making strange noises.
They needed ammunition and fuel. They needed food. God, Suslov thought, when did they last have a good, hot meal? Their uniforms were smelly rags that sometimes barely covered their private parts. There was no way his brigade was going to help force a crossing of that river in their current condition. Even though the infantry would likely lead any assault, as it had in the past, it was imperative that the armor rest and refit in order to support them.
Suslov knew his geography. The Weser ran north-south well into the mountainous regions below them. Behind the Weser was the mighty Rhine. It seemed dumbly improbable that they would be able to force the Rhine. He had heard it was wide and deep, and protected by steep cliffs. Logically, he thought that the plan would be to force the defeat and the destruction of the Americans on the relatively flat terrain he’d been told lay between the Weser and the Rhine, and then drive on to the ocean. Amsterdam or Antwerp seemed the most probable ultimate targets. Maybe then they could stop fighting.
Suslov climbed out of his tank and landed awkwardly on the ground. His whole body ached. He stretched and tried to loosen up. It scarcely worked.
“We need some food,” Suslov said.
“I’d like a cigarette and something to drink,” said Latsis. “Some schnapps if we can’t find some decent vodka. After that I’d like a piece of ass and a bath.”
Suslov shook his head. At least Latsis hadn’t begun his tirade about killing Germans. Perhaps he was getting over his hate. “Ivan, something tells me if you bathe first you might be more likely to get the piece of ass than if you bathed after.”
Latsis actually laughed. “Fuck you, comrade Commander.”
Comrade Boris, the political officer, heard that and scowled disapprovingly at Latsis. “You should be thinking more of destroying our enemies than your own comforts.”
Suslov could almost feel Latsis’s contempt for their new commissar. Some of the political officers shared the privations of the men they were there to inspire, but not so Comrade Boris. His uniform was clean and his belly looked full.
“We will be resting and refitting here for a few days,” Boris said, “and then we will lead the final assault that will destroy the capitalist allies of the Nazis.”
Latsis smiled. He had picked up on the word we. “Ah, Comrade Boris, does this mean that you will be with us when we cross this fucking river? If you’d like, we’ll be happy to make room for you in our tank so you can inspire us properly.”
Boris flushed. “I will be with you, although not likely in your tank.” Then it was Boris’s turn to smile. “I don’t think you need me to lead you. All you have to do is think of the Americans’ treachery.” With that, he turned and left.
Latsis shook his head. “Suslov, were you impressed?” he whispered.
“I was more impressed that you didn’t tell him to go fuck himself like you do me all the time.”
General George Patton raised a glass of red wine to his guest, Dwight Eisenhower. “Here’s to victory,” he said, “and to hell with the Russians.” They were at Patton’s headquarters near Bamburg, Germany.
Ike smiled. “Simple and elegant, George. Just like yourself.”
“Just my way of saying I’m ready now. Why don’t you turn me loose?”
Ike shook his head. As usual, Patton was being overoptimistic regarding the capabilities of his reinforced Third Army.
“George,” he said tolerantly, “you know why I can’t let you attack just yet. We don’t have the strength. Hell, I don’t know when we’ll ever be strong enough to attack the Russians.”
“Even a small attack would delay an attack on Antwerp,” Patton insisted stubbornly. “It’d make them use their oil, and maybe some reinforcements would arrive for us.”
Ike had known Patton for decades and they had been the closest of friends, even to the extent of sharing wild and improbable peacetime adventures when they were both in their twenties.
But sometimes Patton was exasperating. That, of course, was part of Ike’s reason for being present at Patton’s HQ-to make sure Patton understood exactly what was expected of them.
“But that’s what we want them to do,” Ike insisted. “The last thing we want is for them to dig in along their bank of the Weser and proclaim the end of the war. Do you think anyone relishes the thought of attacking the Russians while they are still so strong? They have to attack and we have to wear them down. They stop attacking and we have lost.”
Prior to the Soviet assault, Patton had received heavy infusions of men and equipment that made his Third Army almost the same size as an army group. The Soviet attack had pushed Patton slightly to the south while Simpson was bearing the brunt of Zhukov’s attack. Both armies were heavily outnumbered by the Soviets.
“George, we are starting to kill the Reds in the air, and that’s where you’re going to win the tank war. For some reason, probably lack of fuel, the Russians aren’t as aggressive anymore in providing cover for their tanks, and that’s when you are going to start chewing them up. We estimate our tank losses to date have been roughly equivalent to theirs, but about eighty percent of our kills on their armor have been from air strikes. That’s where they are vulnerable and that’s where you are going to kill them.”
“Ike, don’t you think they’re saving their planes for their big push? I would.”
“I don’t know. I would save them, sure, but not at the price they’re paying in armor and men. No, I’ve got a feeling we are really winning the air war. I’m getting reports that their pilots, when they do go up, aren’t as good as they used to be either. When you attack, your planes will make the difference, not your tanks.”
“I know,” Patton said grudgingly. He was a cavalry man and wanted his outgunned Sherman tanks to run wild against the Soviets. He knew it wasn’t going to happen that way as things currently stood.
“One other thing, George. I’m sending you several hundred more fighter planes that had been on jeep and escort carriers for you to use as tactical support. With the U-boats gone, we have total command of the seas. We no longer have to worry about convoy escorts in the Atlantic.”
Patton nodded. “Excellent. And I can use German antiaircraft weapons and crews as well?”
Ike smiled. He would give Patton an inch and knew he would take a mile. “Yes, George.”
Truman’s rules of conduct regarding the usage of German personnel were being stretched beyond the breaking point.
Eisenhower tried to hold off the worries that consumed him. He had done everything in his power to try to stop the aptly named Red Inferno. Was it enough? He doubted it. Despite growing advantages and Patton’s exuberance, the American armies still weren’t strong enough to defeat the Soviet juggernaut.
“I swear it, Lis,” Jack said fervently. “I will get you and Pauli out of here. I don’t know how, but I will do it!”
Elisabeth smiled tolerantly at him and moved a little farther into the doorway to stay out of the rain. It had been a depressingly gray and gloomy mid-July day, she thought, and this must have helped to bring on the sudden
