The Ten Thousand

manner, Rudi Buhle was never at a loss for a quick comment. His ready smile often served to cheer up the darkest face. And if anyone needed a little cheer, it was Friedrich Seydlitz.

Left with only his company to hold an area that the entire battalion had been stretched to defend a few hours before, Seydlitz had been a nervous wreck. Throughout the early evening his tank platoons, now spread out to the point where they could no longer support each other, had sent him a steady stream of sighting reports. That the enemy was still across from them and active was driven home twice when artillery barrages came crashing down on, around, and behind Seydlitz's location. Of course, Seydlitz's tired mind never was able to make the connection that the artillery attacks, normally lasting less than a few seconds, came after he contacted the brigade command post he had been ordered to report to. It simply did not occur to him that the Americans were using his radio transmissions to locate him and his company.

Stretching, Seydlitz yawned while Buhle sat on the turret of Seydlitz's tank and waited. Ready and more alert, Seydlitz turned to Buhle. 'I see that you have finally decided to venture out into the night to find us.'

Buhle grunted. 'Finally? Finally? I've been on the road since before dawn this morning looking for the battalion. Where the hell have you all been?'

'We have been here all day. Don't you ever read the battalion orders?'

Folding his arms, Buhle leaned back. 'My dear Friedrich, I have not seen a copy of the battalion's orders in almost a week. I am reduced to leading my little supply column around the countryside like a band of gypsies asking everyone I come across, 'Ah, excuse me, good sir, but have you seen the 26th Panzer Battalion? Yes, panzer battalion, you know, a collection of tanks and soldiers'.' Seydlitz watched Buhle gesturing while he spoke. Then he stopped and leaned forward. 'And do you know something, Friedrich? I have had to stop asking civilians. I can no longer depend on the people we are supposed to be defending. One old man I asked this morning said he had seen you and gave me detailed directions on how to find you. It wasn't until we found ourselves running down a dead- end road that I realized that the old bastard had lied to me. A fellow German. Our countryman. And he lied to me.'

Buhle's carefree manner had disappeared. In its place was a mixture of confusion and scorn. Though Seydlitz himself knew that not all Germans agreed with what the Chancellor was doing, intentional obstructions of the war effort, like the one that Buhle was describing, were an entirely different matter. It was, Seydlitz thought, treason.

After a long and heavy pause, during which Buhle calmed himself and caught his breath, Seydlitz reached out and placed his hand on Buhle's shoulder. 'It will be all right, my friend. Surely you know that?'

Though Seydlitz's voice and reassurance were anything but convincing, Buhle nodded his head. 'Yes, yes, I know.' When he was ready, Buhle continued his story. 'Now I just ask military personnel for directions. And even they are not very helpful. Christ, Friedrich, the whole division is screwed up. Brigades and battalions are intermixed. Supply trains and artillery units are stumbling over each other. Command posts are passing out information that is out of date. Even the Feldjagers don't know what they're doing. Earlier this evening they sent me south of here in search of the battalion. They told me that American units and raiding parties were roaming around throughout this area and that the battalion had pulled out of here earlier today. Everyone in the rear is running around like chickens without their heads. You are lucky, Friedrich, being up here where you at least know what you're doing.'

When Buhle had finished, Seydlitz considered Buhle's last comments. Buhle obviously had his problems. But to imagine that it was better to be up front hanging your ass out and waiting for someone to swat it was not what Seydlitz would consider lucky. And the idea that he, Seydlitz, knew what was happening was a little much. Still Seydlitz said nothing. He was too tired and there was far too much to do. His company needed to be rearmed and refueled. But he could not let Buhle get away without comment. Though he found it strange that he would be defending the Feldjagers, or military police, a branch of service that Seydlitz never did like, he couldn't resist the urge to bust the supply officer's bubble. Leaning over, Seydlitz tapped Buhle on the shoulder. 'Rudi, the Feldjagers were right, a little. The rest of the battalion left here late this afternoon. They are south of here, in an assembly area, waiting to continue the attack to the west. My company is the only one here.'

The sudden realization that he had not seen an end to his seemingly aimless wanderings hit Buhle hard. Even in the dark, Seydlitz could see Buhle's shoulders slump forward. In the two years in which he had known Buhle, Seydlitz had never heard him talk so or be at a loss for a joke. Now finding that he had an opportunity to be the cheerful one, Seydlitz slapped Buhle on the arm. 'Cheer up, my old friend. Things could be worse. You could be sitting on the side of some road waiting for the Feldjagers to figure out what they were doing instead of earning an honest living pumping fuel and passing out ammunition, both of which, by the way, my company needs.'

Taking two deep breaths, Buhle prepared to climb down off of Seydlitz's tank, but paused. 'You know, I'd rather face enemy fire than to tell my drivers that we're not staying here for the night. To a man, they're dead on their feet.'

Seydlitz laughed. 'Don't give me that shit, Rudi. Your drivers haven't used their feet all day except for pushing the accelerator down.'

With a chuckle, Buhle corrected himself. 'Okay, they're dead on their asses. Now let's get on with this. I have a feeling this will be another long night.'

Though they were only five kilometers northwest of Bad Hersfeld when she woke up, Hilary Cole had no way of knowing that. As if awakening from a drunken stupor, it took her several minutes to realize that the truck was stopped, the engine was running at an idle, and the driver, leaning against the door and window on his side, was sound asleep. Looking outside the cab, she noticed that they were parked off on the side of the road right behind a truck only a few feet to their front. Though she wondered why they were stopped, she felt no great desire to go out into the cold and find out. The driver had left the heater on, the cab was warm, the steady hum of the engine had a tranquilizing effect, and she couldn't do anything anyway to improve their situation even if she knew. They were stopped, no doubt, by some MPs waiting for the road ahead to clear or for another convoy to pass. The military police were always doing things like that.

That they were sitting behind an engineer bridge unit that was waiting for their orders to move didn't matter to Cole. What did matter was that she was being left alone and that she could go back to sleep. Someone no doubt with more horsepower than she had was out there in the cold night stumbling around trying to sort the column out. Best to stay where she was and get some more sleep while she could. That, she knew, would end soon enough.

The rearming and refueling of Seydlitz's company had taken longer than Buhle would have liked. That it did shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone. Both his men and Seydlitz's were dead tired. Most wandered around during the resupply operations like zombies, barely knowing what they were doing or even where they were. While he watched, it amazed Buhle that anyone could expect men in that condition to think and act, let alone fight. Perhaps, he thought, this was what everyone meant when they said that war was insane.

Though he would have liked to coil up behind Seydlitz's tanks for a few hours and allow his drivers to sleep before pushing on back into the night, the news that the battalion was preparing to continue the attack to the west demanded that he continue. For if the fuel levels of Seydlitz's tanks were any indication, the rest of the battalion would not be able to go very far with what they had. So with great reluctance Buhle ordered his drivers to mount up, re-formed his column, and led it back out onto the hard-surfaced road that had taken them there.

When Buhle's column reached the juncture where the forest trail that they had been following met the hard-surfaced road that would take them back to Hunfeld, Buhle tapped his driver on the shoulder and pointed to his right. The driver, barely awake, simply turned the wheel and pulled out onto the hard-surfaced road. At first he slowed, since the trucks following needed time to make the turn and catch up to Buhle's little Volkswagen staff car. To make sure that all of his trucks were still with him and made the turn, Buhle opened his door slightly, leaned out, and turned his head to the rear to watch. His senior sergeant, riding in the cab of the last truck, would flash a green-filtered flashlight toward the head of the column when he was on the road. Until then, Buhle simply hung on to the door with his right hand, the dashboard with his left, and stared off into the darkness watching for the signal.

Actually, Buhle thought, this wasn't half bad. The cold air flowing around his neck felt good. It helped to wake him up and clear his mind. He needed to stay alert. He needed to keep himself, his driver, and every man in his column awake and alert. Before this night was over, Buhle mused, he was going to have to use every leadership