unit. Although they appeared to be unarmed, both men were wearing standard-issue flak vests.
They strode forward confidently, heading straight for the 2nd Platoon’s positions. Fighting his instincts, but convinced he was right, Reynolds climbed out of the foxhole. Accompanied by Sergeant Robbins, he walked out to meet them. He kept his own M16 cradled casually under his arm. During Alpha Company’s two bloody encounters with the Germans there had been winners and there had been losers. He wanted to make sure they knew which was which, He stopped a few paces away and regarded the two Germans carefully. A few years back he would have been saluting these guys as senior officers in an allied army. A few days ago he might have shot them on sight.
The taller man spoke first, in hard-edged, accented English. “Good afternoon, Captain. I am Lieutenant Colonel Wilhelm von Seelow, commanding officer of the 19th Panzergrenadier Brigade. This is General Karl Leibnitz, commanding officer of the 7th Panzer Division. We would like to speak with your division commander. We are here to arrange a temporary cessation of hostilities while our respective governments negotiate a more permanent peace.”
Reynolds stared back, scarcely able to believe what he’d just heard. For once, the rumors were true.
On the edge of London’s Piccadilly Circus, CNN’s lead political correspondent stood against a backdrop of revelry. “Like a gigantic block party, the celebration in Piccadilly continues nonstop. As EurCon collapses like a house of cards, the news of each country’s defection provides new energy and new celebrants.”
The image changed to show an overhead view of the crowd.
They filled the square, with the statue of Eros rising like a maypole in their midst. A close-up showed exultant Londoners in every kind of dress, waving and cheering, dancing either to the music from nearby radios or to no music at all.
The picture switched back to the reporter. “Right now, the crowd is celebrating news of Austria’s decision to withdraw from EurCon. The Austrian move was expected last night, but apparently it required what a government spokesman termed ‘a change in internal political alignments.’ Others might call it a coup d’etat.”
A map of Europe appeared with EurCon’s prewar member states colored red. “Starting with Belgium three days ago, nation after nation has withdrawn from the French-dominated European Confederation.
“Belgium’s decision to switch sides rocked the continent.” Belgium flashed from red to blue. “But then Germany dealt the Confederation a body blow.” It changed color as well, leaving only France and a scattering of small red blots across the map.
“Since then, all the smaller states, either yielding to internal pressures or free of EurCon restraints, have jumped on the Combined Forces bandwagon.” As he spoke, countries turned blue in sequence, until only France was left, alone.
Colonel Zoltan Hradetsky and Oskar Kiraly drove slowly up the designated road. It led through a forest just north of Tatabanya, a city roughly sixty kilometers west of Budapest. Presumably the area was crawling with French soldiers, but none were visible. Though neither said anything, that made them wary. Despite French assurances, weeks of war had made the two men suspicious and bitter. Even so, with EurCon destroyed, Hungary was on the brink of victory.
Obeying Berlin’s stringent orders, the remaining German troops inside Hungary were withdrawing peacefully — guaranteed safe conduct and assistance in leaving the country. Eager to see the last of them, Hungarian military police units were even providing traffic control for the 10th Panzer’s vehicles as they headed west.
The German retreat left the EurCon IV Corps’ two small French divisions alone and isolated. Austria’s defection left them unsupplied.
Hradetsky permitted himself a small smile. The French had their backs right against a cliff. Now it was time to push them off.
“Halt!” French soldiers emerged from the woods and waved them to a stop. They left their own vehicle in a clearing and rode the rest of the way in a jeep, accompanied by a grim-faced French lieutenant. More troops mounted in an AMX-10 APC pulled onto the road and followed the jeep.
Hradetsky suspected that this was all part of an attempt to intimidate them. Knowing what he knew, it didn’t work. He looked over at Kiraly. The broad-shouldered blond man was smiling, almost gleeful.
IV Corps headquarters was a textbook model of efficiency. Carved out of the forest, fully camouflaged, and heavily defended, it looked like an important and busy place. It impressed Hradetsky, and Kiraly, with his army background, nodded approvingly, but there was still the hint of a smile on his lips.
The jeep stopped, and they were escorted to a tent in the center of the compound.
General Claude Fabvier waited for them, seated at a folding table. The short, lean man’s camouflage battle dress was neatly creased. As he rose to greet them, Hradetsky saw the briefest of scowls pass over the Frenchman’s face, but that was quickly replaced by an expression of studied indifference.
Fabvier seemed a little impatient. “All right, gentlemen. As you can see, we are all here. Now, what is it that you wish to discuss?”
“Your surrender,” Hradetsky shot back. There was anger in his voice, more than he had intended to reveal. Fabvier had led the invasion of his country. Apart from Nicolas Desaix, this French general was the man most responsible for Hungary’s pain.
Fabvier flushed beneath his dark tan. He silently motioned the Hungarians to seats at the other side of the table.
As the three men sat, the Frenchman set his jaw. “It was my understanding that this meeting was to arrange my corps’s withdrawal from Hungary.” A little of his own anger crept into his voice.
Hradetsky shook his head. “Not quite, General. Our message requested a meeting to discuss ‘the peaceful departure of the troops remaining on Hungarian soil.’ That is not quite the same thing. Certainly you didn’t think you’d be allowed to leave so easily — not after invading our country.”
Fabvier’s eyes narrowed. “I am prepared to withdraw unmolested. I am not prepared to surrender. We can cut our way out through your precious land if need be,” he warned.
Oskar Kiraly shrugged, speaking for the first time. “A brave sentiment. But we know your supply status. You’ve got less than twenty thousand liters of fuel, barely enough ammunition for one short battle, and you’re already forced to send foraging parties out to scour the countryside for any food they can find.” His smile reappeared.
Fabvier sat, impassive and silent, showing neither agreement nor disagreement with Kiraly’s figures.
Hradetsky leaned forward a little, pressing home the point. “You’ve got just enough gas for an uncontested road march to the Austrian border. But what then? The Austrians have turned against you, too. Besides, you know you’d never make it that far.”
Kiraly nodded. “We have two motorized rifle divisions, also fresh and rested, dug in along the roads east of here. More Hungarian and Slovak units are moving into striking range. You are already outnumbered. Within hours, you will also be completely surrounded.”
Fabvier sat silent, his head bowed.
“Here are our terms, General.” Hradetsky removed a document from his jacket pocket. “Your troops will disarm and assemble in areas we designate. They will turn over all their equipment intact, down to the last radio and pistol. Only personal gear — clothing, bedding, and the like — is exempt. Your tanks and guns will be partial compensation for what you’ve destroyed here.
“In return, we will transport you and your men to the Austrian border. We will also grant all French soldiers immunity from prosecution under Hungarian law.”
“What?” Fabvier exploded. “How dare you threaten us with prison! We are at war — ”
Kiraly interrupted him. “Many of your men have committed what could be considered war crimes, General. Your own hands aren’t clean, either. Summary execution of hostages, demolition of homes by the occupying forces…”
“Make up any charges you want. That’s the right of the winning side,” Fabvier snarled.
Hradetsky ignored the dig. “What will it be, General?” he demanded. “Will you yield or will you throw your men’s lives away to save your own pride?”
“Your soldiers will die, too.”
“We’re used to it,” Hradetsky said coldly.
