'Perhaps, Herr Chancellor, the Americans do not trust us.' Both Ruff and Schacht turned toward Paul. When he saw that he had their attention, he continued. 'This is in my opinion nothing more than a matter of operational security. And given the sensitivity of the operation and the involvement of nuclear weapons, I can appreciate the American concerns. A success will in their eyes justify their actions. It is the way Americans conduct business and in the past have waged war.'
Paul's comments infuriated Ruff, as Paul had expected. Ruff exploded. 'So long as those forces continue to trace their line of communications through Germany, using German rail systems and German facilities, the Americans have no right to act without first consulting us. No right! Justified or not, we will become implicated in this action if we allow the Americans to continue to use our nation as a springboard for their military adventures.' Ruff, his face red, stopped. He needed to compose himself, to calm down. When he was ready, Ruff continued to question Paul. 'Will the Americans be able to achieve their goal using only one reinforced brigade?'
Glancing from Ruff to Paul, Schacht watched and waited for Paul's response. 'Their operation, from what we know, relies on speed and surprise. The ranger battalion, supported by special operations helicopter units, will have little trouble securing the two depots where the nuclear weapons are secured. This is a drill that they have practiced many times. The rangers will be reinforced later in the day by a dismounted infantry battalion airlifted into Svalyava. Together, rangers and infantry, supported by attack helicopters and close air support, will be able to hold the airhead while the weapons are evacuated. All of this will take less than forty-eight hours.'
'Then, Colonel, why the ground attack?'
Now, Schacht thought, it was the colonel who was acting like a university professor.
'The ground attack is insurance, Herr Chancellor. If the weather prevents the removal of the nuclear weapons by air, the Americans will be able to open up a ground corridor that will be used to move the weapons as well as the rangers and the infantry out of the Ukraine. In addition, the Ukrainians will need to commit forces against the ground attack, forces that would otherwise be free to counterattack the American rangers. In the initial confusion of the American attacks, the Ukrainian commanders in the region may hesitate if they are unsure which is the main effort. It will take them time to gather intelligence, determine where the greatest threat is, and then develop plans and issue orders to deal with the situation. And while they do this, the Americans will be removing the weapons which they came for.'
'And where,' Ruff asked, 'will the Americans take these weapons?'
Paul, not knowing, did not answer. For a moment this surprised Ruff. It should not have, since Paul's section was compartmentalized from other sections under Schacht's control. Schacht, wanting to put his energetic subordinate in his place without making a scene, allowed the pregnant pause to continue for a few more moments before he finally answered Ruff. 'Sembach Air Base, Herr Chancellor. The Americans will use tactical airlift C-130s, I believe, to move the nuclear weapons either directly from the depot in the Ukraine or from a temporary site in Slovakia. From Sembach, the weapons will be transloaded to C-141s and flown to the United States for disposal.'
'How sure, General Schacht, are you of your information?'
It was Schacht's turn to brag about his knowledge. 'I was handed, this afternoon, a copy of the United States Air Force Europe's security and movement plan for what they are calling Operation Desperate Fumble.'
Though Ruff was curious as to how such a document had been obtained, he decided not to pursue the matter, not now. There was much to be done, much damage that needed to be repaired. Although the American action had threatened to ruin one of his goals, their plans offered him, and Germany, the opportunity to achieve something even greater. Without any further discussion, Ruff dismissed Schacht and Paul. They had provided him with more than enough information for now.
When they had left, Ruff leaned over his desk and buzzed his personal aide on his intercom. 'Is the Ukrainian ambassador here yet?'
A crisp, sharp 'Yes, Herr Chancellor' came back over the intercom speaker.
'Has he been briefed yet?'
'Colonel Kasper is finishing that now, Herr Chancellor.'
'Fine, fine. Please inform Colonel Kasper that I would like him to bring the Ukrainian ambassador into my office as soon as he has finished. And after you do that, inform General Lange that I will need to see him and his plans and operations staff immediately following my meeting with the Ukrainian.' Without waiting for a response, Ruff flipped the intercom off and straightened up. That effort caused a spasm of pain in his right leg, a spasm that began from a knee long ago shattered by a grenade and never healed.
When the pain had subsided, Ruff opened a desk drawer and removed a highly polished wooden box. The box, measuring a little under a half a meter long, was trimmed with shiny brass hinges and a lock. Placing the box before him on his desk, Ruff reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small key.
He paused for a moment after unlocking the box. For opening the box was to him a small ceremony to be cherished, something not to be rushed. When he was ready, Ruff slowly lifted the lid, revealing a black-handled knife in a black metal sheath nestled in blood-red velvet. Ruff ran his fingers along the knife, slowing when the tips of his fingers fell upon the Hitler Youth crest inlaid in the knife's handle. This knife to anyone else would be nothing more than a piece of metal, at best war memorabilia. But to Ruff it was his sole connection to his youth, a youth that came to a crashing end in April of 1945 when all of his dreams and all of his hopes, like his family, were brutally wiped away by an uncultured and brutish conqueror.
But even more than a link to his past, the black knife symbolized Ruff's quest born in the tortured mind and broken body of an eight-year-old boy who had nothing, not even his dreams. The idea of using this knife, his knife, to exact revenge had soon been replaced by practical concerns of survival in a devastated and defeated country. But the desire to exact that revenge was never far from Chancellor Johann Ruff's mind, just as his knife was never far from his side, ready to be used when the time was right.
CHAPTER 2
While every wild gyration of the UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter caused Sergeant George Couvelha's heart to skip a beat, Specialist Kevin Pape, strapped into the nylon seat next to him, was leaning back and enjoying the ride. To Pape, being in a helicopter zipping along, through, and around every fold of the earth at high speed was the next best thing to sex. You could feel every maneuver, every twist, every turn. Pape especially enjoyed it when the helicopter went up and over hills. As the pilot came to a hill or ridge that could not be flown around, he would grudgingly pull his stick back, causing the helicopter to pitch up and forcing his passengers down into their seats. Once he was clear of the bothersome hill or ridge, the pilot would thrust his stick forward, causing the helicopter to dive, giving everyone on board a momentary lift. One could almost feel his internal organs, in particular the stomach, move up a few inches as if they were floating. While it was popular to compare the sensation of flying in a helicopter like this to a roller coaster, Pape thought such a comparison was all wrong. After all, as Pape liked to point out, roller coasters were safe. Almost no one ever died while riding on a roller coaster. A helicopter, however, being piloted by a twenty-two-year-old warrant officer, aided only by a navigational system built by the lowest bidder and night vision goggles that turned everything black and green, moving at one hundred plus miles an hour less than one hundred feet above the ground on a pitch black night, was an entirely different matter. That, Pape would gleefully point out to his drinking buddies, was a truly frightening experience.
Yet Pape felt no fear that night. Even when the pilot, misjudging a hill mass, almost stood the helicopter on its side, Pape didn't bat an eye. He was at nineteen a true adrenaline freak. No ride was too dangerous, no challenge too frightening. That was why he was a ranger. Rangers were always doing something neat, something that was just a little bit unconventional and a tad dangerous. Though, like everyone else in the United States Army, Pape had to tolerate the day-to-day routine BS, the rush of a mass parachute drop or a day on the rappelling towers more than compensated for the occasional tour of guard duty or post police detail. Besides, for him the rangers were just a beginning. When his current enlistment was over, he intended to re-enlist for Special Forces. In Pape's nineteen-year-old eyes, they were the ultimate danger junkies.
That he might not make it through his current enlistment was the furthest thing from Pape's young mind that night. He knew where they were going, and he knew what they were after. That there would be shooting was a
