show you where it was that we have just come from.'
Happy that the Czech officer was more than willing to go along with his suggestion, the German Army sergeant got up and went into the back room to retrieve his map from his cot while the customs sergeant went to get Ilvanich a cup of coffee. Looking over toward the door, where his two companions still waited, Ilvanich gave Sergeant Allen Rasper and Specialist Kevin Pape a slight nod and smile. Both men, sweating as much from nervous anticipation as from the heat of the Czech Army overcoats that covered their own uniforms, returned Ilvanich's nod and waited for him to make his move.
'We have been,' the German Army sergeant said, beaming as he returned with his map, 'most anxious about how thin we are along the border.' Plopping the map down on Ilvanich's lap, the German began to point out the location of the outposts his company had established along the German-Czech border. 'The panzer and panzergrenadier units were gone before we even got here. They're all up north around Chemnitz or Dresden. Our division is stuck here in a paper-thin outpost line trying to cover almost two hundred kilometers of frontier with lightly armed mountain troops. So, Herr Lieutenant, it is important that we cooperate whenever possible, in order to make best use of our men.'
Looking back at the soldiers lounging about in the back room, weapons lined up against the wall without any magazines in them, Ilvanich felt both satisfaction and disgust. While he was pleased that the Germans were so unprepared and were at that moment giving him the disposition of their forces in the local area, he was upset that this sergeant was, through his lack of vigilance, endangering his men. While he and his fellow Russian officers knew that German soldiers were in all probability no better and no worse, man for man, than their own, the German military system had always held a mystique, an aura of evil efficiency that caused them great concern. To see it now close up and personal for the first time, in this light, made Ilvanich begin to wonder if through all these years his superiors had not been guilty of overstating the prowess of the enemy. While it was probably true, Ilvanich pushed that strange thought from his mind and began to listen intently while the German Army sergeant pointed out the clearly marked military symbols that represented the fighting positions as well as the outposts and patrol routes of the German Army company responsible for the Cheb Gap roadblock. The German sergeant, with a note of concern in his voice, ended by stating that except for his company covering the entire Gap and beyond, there wasn't an organized combat unit between where they sat and Nuremberg.
Taking the map and sticking it under his left arm, Ilvanich began to stand up. As he did so, his wool cap fell to the floor, exposing the 9mm pistol in his right hand. Noticing that the hammer of the pistol pointed at them was cocked back, the two German sergeants rose. First one, then the other, glanced at the two Czech soldiers who had been left standing at the door.
Both had, while the Army sergeant was briefing Ilvanich, moved up to the counter. They now stood there, rifles raised and ready, staring at the German sergeants. Switching to his best High German, Ilvanich calmly began to issue his orders. 'Now, if neither one of you gets excited, you and all your men will live to see the dawn. First, Sergeant, you need to assemble your squad out here without their weapons, where my sergeant can watch them. Then we need to call your platoon leader and company commander and convince them to join us here. Please, when you do so, be discreet, for although I really do not want to see you or any of your men dead, my American ranger friends here are quite upset about what your Chancellor has been saying and doing lately. Neither of them cares about your personal well-being like I do. They would, as the Americans are so fond of saying, just as soon shoot you where you stand as look at you.'
When he was satisfied that the German Army sergeant understood, Ilvanich turned to the customs sergeant. 'And as soon as my trusted American deputy arrives, a young lieutenant eager to practice his soldierly skills and not particularly concerned whom he practices them on, you and I will go to the station control room and begin to make some changes in the routing of rail traffic. This is going to be, I'm afraid, a much longer night than either of you expected.'
Though he could see that both sergeants were quite angry, as much about the playful manner in which he was treating them as about the situation, Ilvanich could also see that they were confused and unsure. So long as he kept them that way, he and the rest of his American ranger company would have the advantage and, with just a little luck, be able to pry open the door into Germany for the rest of the corps.
Used to the night shift in the small town of Pegnitz, located in southern Germany, police Sergeant Julius Reusch found no difficulty staying awake and occupied. His silent companion, Ernst Ohlendorf, recently shifted from day duty, however, had long ago given up trying to entertain himself and had drifted off to sleep. Slouched in a seat opposite Reusch, Ohlendorf was hardly disturbed by Reusch's walking back and forth from his desk to the metal files as he sorted reports and documents that the day and evening shifts had not had time to file. Even when his lieutenant came in, flipping on the bright overhead lights, and told Reusch that he and Ohlendorf needed to go down to the rail yard and check out a report from an old woman that tanks were moving about down there, Ohlendorf didn't budge.
After a great deal of effort, Reusch managed to get Ohlendorf moving, though barely. Every move, every exertion by Ohlendorf, still half asleep, seemed to be in slow motion. Reusch, accustomed to the difficulties that even young men had when shifting from day to night duty, was patient with Ohlendorf. They had time. The lieutenant hadn't seemed terribly concerned with the old woman's complaint. She had made the same complaint when the American Army had moved into the Czech Republic the previous December, and when the German armored units deployed along the Czech border had suddenly been shifted north several days ago. No doubt, Reusch's lieutenant had been right when he offhandedly commented that some brilliant military strategist in Berlin had made the startling discovery that the Czech border faced Bavaria as well as Berlin and that it might be a good idea to keep someone there as well. It would be, Reusch thought, just like the Army to hustle troops north in a great panic and then hustle them right back where they started from. While he checked Ohlendorf to ensure he had his uniform on right, pistol belt on, and hat straight before stepping out into the bitter cold, Reusch felt like an undertaker preparing a corpse. Half to himself, half to Ohlendorf, Reusch mumbled that a corpse at least was cooperative.
Driving carefully along the slick, snow-covered streets, Reusch glanced about. There was no point, he figured, in going out without making the most of it. So he took a route to the rail yard that led him past some of the buildings and shops that needed to be checked on a regular basis. Though he would have preferred to have Ohlendorf do the checking while he tried to keep the police car from slipping and sliding, Ohlendorf had lapsed back into a deep sleep. So Reusch drove and made the checks on his own, steering with one hand most of the time.
He was in the process of looking closely at the front of one of the banks when a vehicle with headlights mounted high above the ground came tearing around the corner from a side street. Without realizing what it was, and only catching a glimpse of the vehicle from the corner of his eye, Reusch had seen enough to know that if he didn't do something immediately, there would be a collision. Jerking the steering wheel hard in the direction in which he had been looking, Reusch began to pump the brake. Despite his best efforts, however, the right front of the police car slid on the snow-covered street, hitting the rear of a parked car. This impact threw Ohlendorf forward and into the dash in front of him as the police car bounced off the parked car. Rather than bringing the car to a stop, the impact caused Reusch's car to spin out into the middle of the street, right into the path of the oncoming vehicle.
Realizing that he had lost control and unable to do anything but pray, Reusch stopped fighting the steering wheel and, ignoring Ohlendorf's panicked cries, turned to face the vehicle that they were fated to hit. As terrible as his sudden loss of control and the collision with the parked car was to Reusch, it did not match his shock when he looked and saw the tracks of an armored vehicle, level and in line with his eyes, bearing down on him just a few meters outside his car door window. Though the commander of the oncoming M-2 Bradley had seen his car and was attempting to stop, the slick, snow-covered pavement carried it forward several more feet toward Reusch. There was only enough time for Reusch to close his eyes as he prepared to be crushed.
From atop the turret of C60, the bumper number of her M-2 Bradley, Captain Nancy Kozak held her breath as the white and green German police car disappeared under the front slope of her Bradley. Preparing herself for the inevitable, Kozak winced, dropping down her open hatch and bracing herself. But instead of a sudden and crushing impact, Kozak felt little more than a slight shudder. Relaxing her grip, she slowly began to rise back out of her hatch, ever so carefully leaning forward as she did so in order to see what had happened to the German police car.
Instead of a mutilated car and body parts all over the street, Kozak saw that the slick road had in fact saved
