back in civilian clothes or stuck in dead-end posts. The odds were that he’d join them in a few years. The “wessies” didn’t want too many tainted soldiers from the East in their army’s upper echelons.
Still, that might not be so bad. Soldiering wasn’t the honorable career it had once seemed. With the Russian bear apparently declawed, peacekeeping was turning into the Bundeswehr’s main job. At least half their training was devoted to “civil affairs,” and tactics learned the hard way in Zagreb and Sarajevo were spreading fast through the entire army. This emergency deployment to Dortmund was probably only a taste of things to come.
Riots and clashes with police were now almost routine in every city in Germany. Unemployment hovered near the twenty percent mark, climbing steadily as the economy wound down. The figures were even higher among the young. But unemployment wasn’t the only problem. Racial tensions were also rising rapidly as more and more Eastern European refugees evaded the border patrols — all fleeing economies that were in even worse shape.
Von Seelow shook his head. It was difficult to imagine anything that could be worse. Germany’s urban centers were the scene of daily pitched battles as a dangerous mix of right-wing fanatics, left-wing anarchists, and unemployed workers fought with each other, with police, and with shopkeepers. They wanted work and food, and both were scarce.
And he knew that food and work were bound to grow even more impossible to find if the nation’s trade unions carried out their insane threat to call a general strike. Even his country’s recent problems would pale in comparison during a wholesale work stoppage.
That seemed hard to believe. On his few excursions into Hamm, the nearest city, or to the Essen-Dortmund area, he had been shocked by the sight of ragged civilians wandering aimlessly or begging for small change or employment. Idle men and boarded-up shops lined the streets. Police barricades were commonplace, and the normal bustle of city life seemed weaker, more sullen. Certainly the government’s strict gasoline rationing program had something to do with that, but the real reason was the continent-wide recession.
Von Seelow had never seen it this bad back in Leipzig — even before the Wall fell. East Germany’s communist masters had known how to control things, he thought wryly. They’d kept the cost of bread low and made sure there’d been plenty to drink. Bread and circuses, Russian style. He pulled himself up short. Thinking about the past was a waste of time. Especially when East Germany’s “peace” had been purchased at such a high price. The newly unified federal republic might be wild and unruly, but at least it was still a democracy, still a nation one could be proud to serve.
He looked out the window again. It was darker, and a cold, swirling wind rattled the window glass. Temperatures were below average, with rain and wind that chilled the spirit as well as the body. Everyone predicted a cold winter. Willi knew it was going to be a hard one.
With difficulty, he turned his attention from his nation’s larger problems to more immediate concerns. He had less than six hours to turn a formation of 3,500 men and three hundred combat vehicles into a police force that could control a population instead of destroying it. The brigade had enough riot gear for only one of its two active- duty panzer-grenadier battalions. Now division wanted the entire brigade on the line — including its armored battalion and antitank company. How in God’s name are we supposed to arm them for police work? he thought. And what orders should they be given?
A sudden flurry at the door caught his eye, and von Seelow jumped to attention as Colonel Georg Bremer strode in. He had been called away from dinner at a friend’s house, twenty kilometers outside Ahlen.
Bremer, the 19th Panzergrenadier Brigade’s commanding officer, looked like a tanker. His dark hair belied his fifty-six years. Short, thick, solidly built, he moved quickly, and his officers had discovered that if you didn’t move just as fast, he rolled right over you.
The physical contrast between the colonel and von Seelow couldn’t have been any sharper. Willi was tall, almost too tall to serve in armored vehicles. His lean body was matched by a lean, square-jawed face. High cheekbones, deep blue eyes, and short blond hair just starting to go gray made him a living reminder of an aristocratic past that Germany had tried to leave behind.
Bremer headed straight for von Seelow, nodding to the rest of his staff. “Seats, gentlemen.”
Von Seelow remained standing. As the 19th’s operations officer, he was responsible for the brigade’s readiness. It was now being put to a sore test.
“Any word on Oberstleutnant Greif?” Greif was the brigade’s executive officer, and normally would run things in Bremer’s absence. Tonight, though, he was on leave, moving his family out of Essen to the countryside.
“We think he’s on the road, sir. We’ve asked the police to watch for him, but he isn’t supposed to even check in until tomorrow morning.”
The colonel sighed and said, “All right, that makes you acting executive officer.” Bremer looked him squarely in the eye. “Where do we stand, Willi?”
Von Seelow knew each battalion’s status by heart. “The 191st will be ready to move by midnight, but it’s only at fifty percent strength. The 192nd is about the same. We are having some problems with the 194th’s fuel supply, but we’re getting that sorted out. The tanks should be ready to roll in time. The 195th Artillery has been co-opted by Division in Munster. Apparently their own military police units have already been committed to police duties and they need men to provide security for the headquarters.”
Bremer listened closely and then nodded, a quick movement. “That’s unfortunate, but we shouldn’t need the guns tonight. What are you doing about our missing men?”
That was a good question.
All of the brigade’s battalions were badly understrength. Ending conscription had helped reconcile Germany’s neighbors to its reunification, but it had played hell with its armed forces. Budget cuts made recruiting difficult. Military pay was poor, the living conditions awful. None of their units were at more than seventy-five percent of authorized manning.
Hard times had also caused many of the soldiers to take second jobs, working nights, or looking for work, after their duties were finished in the afternoon. Many of the men now needed for action were fanned out across a wide area, from Essen to Dortmund to Gutersloh, trying to augment their anemic paychecks. It was against regulations, but Bremer and von Seelow had both turned a blind eye to the practice. Their men had families to care for.
Von Seelow had also authorized a lot of emergency leaves for soldiers in the brigade. Those men were trying to move their families out of Dortmund or Essen or cities further away. The large cities offered a better chance for work, but the smaller villages had food and were safer.
With a little warning from Division, just a few hours more, he could have had virtually every man in the brigade ready to move. The alert, though, hadn’t come until five-thirty, when too many men had already left the post. Put simply, the late afternoon call had caught them completely off guard.
“We have detachments from each company making sweeps through the local villages, rounding up stragglers. I’ve also passed word to the police to send any soldiers they find back to us.” He cleared his throat. “In addition, I’ve called the local TV and radio stations, but they’re unwilling to air the request unless we tell them why we’re mobilizing.”
Bremer made a face. The last thing he was willing to do was tell a civilian his orders or intentions. He waited for von Seelow to finish.
“To make up some of the shortfall, I recommend stripping all personnel from the headquarters and tank- hunter companies. Putting them in the grenadier battalions will help bring us closer to full strength. We need men for riot duty, not logistical support or antitank missiles.”
Bremer agreed. “True. Also, take men out of two of the tank companies. We shouldn’t need more than one company of armor for this kind of work. Call the commanders and tell them what’s going on while S-1 figures out how to apportion the extra troops.”
Von Seelow nodded in acknowledgment as Bremer glanced at the clock. It was six forty-five. “Give me a status report at 2100 hours. I’m calling Division. I’m going to find out what’s behind this business, and it better not be some kind of drill.” He grinned suddenly, including the staff in his gaze. “Maybe we can find out what idiot came up with this order and put him in the lead vehicle.”
After the colonel disappeared into his office, von Seelow started making calls. Most of the battalion commanders, trying to solve their own problems, simply took the new personnel assignments in stride and rang off. The commanding officer of the 192nd, though, made it clear that he liked his new orders about as much as he liked foreigners, which included former East Germans. In other words, not at all.
“I need trained infantrymen. What the hell am I supposed to do with tank gunners and vehicle drivers?”
