dry in the center of what is today Iraq. Rather than surrender their arms, as the Persian King demanded in return for their lives, the Greeks closed ranks and marched back to Greece, through Kurdistan, I believe, taking on all comers.'
Big Al's smile broadened. 'Your memory is good, Scotty, almost as good as Congressman Lewis's.'
Allowing the compliment to pass over him, Dixon continued to play his role by articulating what he thought Big Al was hinting at. 'Let me see if I'm following. What you're proposing, General, is that we tell the Germans to piss off, then we form up and march to Bremerhaven.'
'Actually, Scotty, it was the congressman's idea. You see, he wanted to go back to Washington with a military option in his hip pocket.'
Looking at Lewis in surprise, Dixon was about to speak when Lewis cut in. 'I know what you're thinking, Colonel. Can it be true the great pacifist, champion of diplomatic solutions over military adventures, is in reality a hawk in dove's clothing? Well, I'm afraid that I'm a victim of the thirty-second campaign commercial. I have been and always will be a believer in responsible government and reasonable, intelligent, and responsible policies. That I've opposed the American policy of shoot first and talk later is a matter of record. But there comes a time, such as this, when there is no room for talking, when the long-term dangers justify the risk, that military force is justified.'
'That,' Dixon countered, 'is all well and good. But let's face it. This is the twenty-first century, not 400 B.C. And the country we are talking about tromping through is a highly civilized, densely populated nation that, oh, by the way, is armed with the latest technology, not to mention the odd nuke here and there. We're not talking about the Teutoburger Wald or the March of the Ten Thousand through the mountains of Kurdistan here. What you are proposing, Mr. Congressman, is a head-to-head confrontation between two mechanized armies smack dab in the middle of the most populated corner of Europe.' Dixon sat back and shook his head. 'I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I don't really see a viable option here. I'd just as soon ask the people in my brigade to click their heels together and mumble, 'There's no place like home' three times as ask them to participate in such a harebrained operation.'
Big Al grinned. 'I love the way you get right to the heart of the matter, Scotty. Which is exactly why I asked you to come here and help me draft a concept for the operational plan that Congressman Lewis will carry back to Washington. Since both the congressman and I agree that the Pentagon's Polish option and their idea of flying our personnel out of here and leaving all our heavy equipment behind will be non-contenders, we need to provide the President with something that makes sense.'
Looking back and forth between Big Al and Lewis, it began to dawn on Dixon that they were serious. 'And you both think that marching the entire corps from one end of Germany to the other in the dead of winter makes sense?'
When Big Al spoke, his voice was quiet, yet firm. 'I hope that this proposed bout between the modern German Arminius and me, the American version of Xenophon, can be avoided. That, however, is out of our hands.' As Big Al shifted in his seat, Dixon knew that his last comment was mostly for Lewis's benefit. Such a wish was a mere dream that no one, especially the commanding general, should base his plan on. If and when American forces crossed into Germany, there would be a fight. Dixon knew it and he had no doubt that Big Al knew it too. After a moment of silence, Big Al continued. 'What is within our power is our ability to give our national leaders our best opinions and a viable option that they can use if all else fails.'
Staring down at his coffee cup for several seconds, Dixon thought about everything that had been said. As he did so, the sheer audacity of what Big Al was proposing began to take hold. For a second, the image of Chancellor Ruff attired as an ancient German chieftain in his Leopard II tank, and Big Al wearing the helmet and breastplate of an ancient Greek general mounted atop an M-1A1 Abrams, bearing down on each other on a wide- open stretch of autobahn, flashed through Dixon's mind. The whole idea was so insane, Dixon suddenly realized, that it just might work. Besides, the other alternative, the idea of ordering his soldiers to meekly lay down their weapons and go home like a herd of sheep, was a thought that was so repugnant that he couldn't even dwell on it. Looking up at Big Al, Dixon smiled. 'Hey, General! What a wonderful idea. Glad I thought of it. When do we start?'
CHAPTER 9
'That's it? That's all the short little bastard had to say? Who in the hell does he think he is?'
From where she sat, Abigail Wilson snapped at Soares. 'Pete, I would appreciate it if you let Congressman Lewis finish.'
Pete Soares had never gotten used to what he in private referred to as Wilson's 'naughty boy' manner of dealing with her own cabinet when they got out of hand. After all, he was, as he told his close friends, a forty- eight-year-old man, one that was very successful and powerful. He didn't need a mother to tell him how to act or talk. Still, in public, he paid heed to Wilson's reprimand. She was, after all, the President, although he never would admit to himself or anyone else that he was her subordinate. Screwing his face in the peculiar fashion that had earned him his nickname, 'The Rat' eased back into his chair as Lewis prepared to pick up where he had been when Soares had interrupted.
'What exactly,' Lewis shot back at Soares, 'would you have him say? As far as he's concerned, he and every soldier in his corps is a political hostage. Lieutenant General Malin is not only a soldier, he is the senior officer in command of a combat command whose very existence is endangered. His insistence that this administration, the very same one that precipitated the crisis, take immediate and decisive action to resolve that crisis in a manner that does not compromise the prestige of the United States or the United States Army is, as far as he's concerned, reasonable.'
From across the table, Terry Rothenberg, the Secretary of Defense, shook his head. 'He knows better than anyone else that the United States will use nuclear weapons only as a last resort and only if there is a direct threat to this country. While I sympathize with his position, I cannot advise you, Madam President, to take any military action against the German government. None of the other NATO allies, either collectively or individually, would support us. They, like the Germans, view the current crisis as regrettable, but one which is of our own making. And, like the Germans, they believe that the final solution must be arrived at by the Europeans themselves. Though in private the ministers of defense in both France and Britain are quite upset that the Germans are now nuclear capable, they do not feel that seizing them by force is the answer. Even if it means abandoning all of General Malin's heavy equipment and losing face. In the words of Harold Lloyd, the British Minister of Defense, 'You Americans have done quite enough already. We would thank you very much if you would just quietly leave and let us sort this out between ourselves.' '
'Surely,' Soares hissed,
With a glare that could have cut a stone, Wilson got Soares to stop talking. When she was ready, Wilson spoke with a calm, measured voice. 'I am inclined, as distasteful as it is, to agree with Terry and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Without the political and military support of our European allies, resolution of this crisis through military action is out of the question. As far as I am concerned, it's time we stopped playing John Wayne and started dealing with the rest of the world as intelligent human beings who are no better and no worse than we.' Then, looking about the table, she added, with a hint of sarcasm in her voice, 'Who knows? Maybe that will work.'
Fighting the urge to roll his eyes in disgust, Soares could only think how big a mistake it had been to allow a woman in the White House. Regardless of what the surveys and political polls said, he knew in his heart that June Cleaver, the nickname Wilson's opponents in her own party had given her, didn't belong in the Oval Office, unless, as Soares had once jokingly said, it was to vacuum. Standing up, Soares collected his notes. 'Well, I guess that's it! We knuckle under.'
Wilson countered, her voice firm and clear. 'Unless things change dramatically in the next day or two, there is no other way out. We tried to ride a hungry tiger and were thrown. Now it's going to eat us all for sure.' For a moment she looked about the room. Then, as was her style, she summed up her view of where they stood. 'We are, gentlemen, three days into this crisis and, as of yet, we have no viable options. Repeated attempts to establish
