Cauldron

by Larry Bond

  The phone rang, startling him a little. Just installed, few people had the number. Probably his wife.

  It rang a second time. Ward picked it up, expecting to hear Elizabeth’s voice.

  “Admiral, it’s Ross Huntington. Your wife said I could reach you here.”

  “That’s right,” Ward answered, surprised. The admiral was still only vaguely aware of Huntington’s role during the war, except that he was very close to the President. Since the war, though, the papers had been full of stories about the London Conference and its organizer. He was delighted to hear from Huntington, and a little flattered. His friend’s voice was strong and full of energy, which also pleased Ward.

  They chatted for a while, exchanging news about their families and postwar celebrations. After a few minutes of small talk, Ward congratulated Huntington on his appointment and asked how preparations were going. It was the opening the other man had been waiting for.

  “It’s going well, Jack. We’re getting a lot of support from all over Europe. The French and Germans are jumping at the chance to attend. They need all the goodwill they can get. I’ve got one problem, though.”

  “What’s that?” asked Ward.

  “I’ve got a hole on my team, Jack. I don’t have a military advisor. Defense plays a big role in all of Europe’s economies, and if I don’t have someone who can handle that part of the equation, I’m bound for disaster. Will you take it on?”

  Even as Huntington continued, thoughts whirled to the front of Ward’s mind. Dealing with dozens of European countries.

  “I’d need you for at least a year.”

  Trying to build up an accurate military picture of postwar Europe.

  “I can’t lie to you. The workload would be awful.”

  Defining a new pattern of security relationships for the postwar world.

  “I’ll do it,” Ward said. Idleness be damned. His memoirs could wait. He wanted to add a few more chapters.

  SEPTEMBER 10 — WROCLAW, 11TH FIGHTER REGIMENT

  Glumly, Major Tadeusz Wojcik reviewed his plans for the next series of tactics lectures. It was his unenviable task to make sure they folded smoothly and logically into the regiment’s existing training plan.

  He’d been transferred to the training command after the war. It was a rest, they said. He should relax, they said. You need the administrative experience, they said.

  Tad missed flying. He maintained proficiency with once-a-week hops, but milk runs weren’t the same as flying with an operational squadron. Sometimes, sitting there at his desk, he could almost hear his arteries hardening.

  He heard a rapping and looked up to see one of his staff knocking on the open door. “Major, there’s someone here to see you.” The corporal’s stunned expression did not match his prosaic words. The noncom looked so surprised, in fact, that Tad wondered if the air force’s inspector general had dropped by to rake him over the coals for misfiling some bureaucratic form or another.

  The corporal stepped aside, replaced by a man in ill-fitting civilian clothes. He spoke in accented English, which threw Tad off for a moment. He didn’t speak English that much anymore.

  The stranger reached forward and enthusiastically pumped Tad’s hand as he rose behind the desk. “Major Wojcik. I am very glad to meet you.” He paused for a moment and smiled. “I am sorry. I am glad to see you again.”

  The smile got bigger.

  Tad was at a complete loss. The stranger had longish black hair and blue eyes. He was reasonably fit, and seemed just a little younger than Tad himself. They’d met before? When? Where? Who was this guy?

  “I’m sorry, I’m afraid…”

  The grin widened some more. “Of course.” The man suddenly snapped to attention. “I am Leutnant Dieter Kurtz of the Deutsche Luftwaffe, with Jagdgeschwader Three.”

  A German? Tad’s face mirrored his puzzlement. But he’d never met…

  Kurtz continued. “I was in a MiG-29 on June 8, near the German-Polish border.”

  Recognition dawned on Wojcik’s face. “You tangled with two F-15s. I was in one of them.”

  The German nodded. “And you shot me down.”

  An image of the dogfight flashed through Tad’s memory. A night intercept that had resulted in a classic two-versus-two engagement, with the maneuvers as clean and well executed as a game between chess champions.

  It had not ended quickly, though. Move had followed countermove until Tad had finally taken a chance snapshot with his cannon and scored on the German. It had been his sixth kill and it had firmly cemented his reputation as an ace with the regiment.

  Tad remembered the MiG, sparkling in the darkness as his cannon shells struck, then spiraling down into the night, one wing gone and on fire.

  At the time, he hadn’t even thought about the other pilot, hadn’t felt anything except a grim joy at the victory. He compared that feeling with the affable stranger standing before him.

  Remembering himself, he offered Kurtz a chair, and then sat down himself. “You ejected?” Tad asked.

  “Ja, and my back was badly twisted.” The German motioned to show his posture as the ejection seat fired, but winced and quickly straightened himself out.

  Wojcik nodded knowingly. Back injuries were almost certain if a pilot’s spine wasn’t perfectly straight when he ejected. It was a common problem, but compared to being a thin red smear on the landscape…

  “Unfortunately I landed in Poland. Where your soldiers found me and took me to hospital. Where they put me in a damned big cast. As much to keep me away from the beautiful Polish nurses as to help me, I think.” Kurtz smiled, swinging his arms to show his freedom. “Now that the war is over, they have released me. And I am on my way home.” He paused. “But in the hospital I asked who had shot me down. Natural curiosity, I think.” The German grinned again. “Imagine my surprise when they were actually able to find out. But I was not so surprised to hear that I was downed by an ace — a hot pilot.”

  Tad remembered the fierce engagement. “You were pretty good yourself,” he countered.

  The German leaned forward. “When you fired your cannon, it was a lucky shot?”

  Tad nodded emphatically. “Yes. On your last turn, you slid further down than I expected, and I was pulling up…” His hands automatically came up to show the relative positions of the two fighters, elbows cocked as they moved.

  Kurtz interrupted. “I was trying to force you to overshoot. My speed brakes were open and I had cut my throttles.”

  “I did overshoot,” Tad agreed. “But only after my snapshot.”

  He looked at the work on his desk, then at his watch. It was only two o’clock, but he wanted to know more, about that dogfight and this German pilot, so like himself. He stood up abruptly and picked up his uniform cap. “Come on, let’s get out of here and go over to the O Club. I’m buying.”

  The two pilots left, hands already raised as they walked, Eagle and MiG maneuvering once more.

  SEPTEMBER 19 — BERLIN

  His suit had been carefully chosen to give him the “banker” look. Solid, respectable, not a man to take risks. The only splash of color was a fashionable tie, but Willi von Seelow had needed help with that. Like most soldiers, his civilian clothes were usually badly out of style, because they rarely wore out.

  Now Willi, along with his rapidly growing assemblage of aides, supporters, and staffers, stood watching the large-screen television set up along one of the hotel ballroom’s walls.

  Their “victory party” had started early, right after the polls closed. Food, beer, and music helped make the interminable waiting more bearable. Although Willi was confident, he believed the outcome was far from certain. His supporters, whose futures depended on his rising star, were of course sure of his victory.

  And in the end, they were right. A newsreader, with grave formality, announced, “In the election returns from Berlin, our projections now show that Wilhem von Seelow of the New Democratic Party has defeated his opponent, Ernst Kettering of
the Social Democrats, with fifty-five percent of the vote.”

  The ballroom erupted in cheers, and in midsong the band suddenly switched to a stirring march. As probable as victory had been, the new party, formed in the weeks since Schraeder’s resignation, was only now meeting its first test, special postwar elections called to form a new, untainted government.

  As suddenly as the cheers erupted, everyone hushed. A videotape of von Seelow speaking at an earlier political rally had flashed on the screen.

  In it, Willi stood behind a podium, against a map of the Berlin district he was running to represent. The video clip cut in near the end of his speech. “Let there be no doubt. Germany will be a great power in Europe — and in the world. But that power must be used more wisely than in the past. I left the army, not because I was ashamed of my service, but because the army only serves those elected to office. And those who have never seen battle with their own eyes or heard the wounded crying for help with their own ears are often far more ready for war than the soldiers they would send. Germany’s brave men and brave women must never again be asked to shed their blood for a shameful cause — for aggression against our neighbors. Never again!”

  Standing in the spotlights, his aristocratic bearing perfectly captured by the camera, Willi epitomized the good sense and decency the German people now knew had been lacking in Schraeder’s mob. Combined with a political platform that emphasized open markets, lower taxes, and a firm commitment to the new, brighter future being hammered out in London, his election had been more certain than he would have ever admitted.

  Some of his supporters had wanted him to become party chairman. In their view the New Democrats needed a national spokesman and Willi was the perfect choice. He had turned that down, though. He had no political experience, and he wanted to act — not just to give speeches.

  No, for now, the Bundestag was the place for him, although people were already speculating about what might come next. A few terms in the legislature for seasoning, then perhaps a cabinet post. After that, who could say?

  SEPTEMBER 24 — GDANSK

  Captain Mike Reynolds watched Alpha Company’s soldiers file into the belly of a C-141 Starlifter transport plane. He was sorry to leave Poland, but most of his men couldn’t have been happier. The hard work involved in rebuilding a nation ravaged by war had made them restless and eager to get home.

  Reynolds was sure he would have felt the same, if he’d had a family waiting, too, but there was precious little in West Texas or Fort Campbell for him. Poland was far more interesting.

  Nevertheless, the army said it was time to go. The speeches and ceremonies were over. The 3/187th’s battalion colors bore a new battle honor. Those who had fallen in combat were at rest — buried in a new cemetery outside Swiecie. And those who had lived had been decorated, feted by town after town on their march north, and generally given a hero’s farewell.

  Reynolds straightened up, feeling the box containing the Silver Star he’d been awarded shift inside one of his pockets. He was proud of what that medal represented — proud of what he and his men had accomplished. Right now, though, he felt mostly sorrow for the men he couldn’t bring back with him, for the Poles who had died beside them, and, oddly enough, even for the French and Germans.

  The line of soldiers shuffled ahead. Now it was his turn. The last Alpha Company soldier to leave Polish soil, he stepped onto the C-141’s ramp. Even this late in September, the dim interior of the plane was stifling in the afternoon heat, but that would change as soon as they were airborne.

  Tomorrow they would be back at Fort Campbell, and in his mind Mike Reynolds was already starting to organize his thoughts around a peacetime schedule. The war was over. Now it was time to immerse himself again in the army routine — in training and more training, and, through it all, the continuous struggle to stay ready.

  Until the next time.

  GLOSSARY

  ADC — British Air Defense Command, responsible for defending the U.K. against air attack.

  Aegis cruiser ( Leyte Gulf) — Technically called Ticonderoga-class cruisers, these ships are more commonly referred to by the name of their Aegis air defense system. This powerful combination of missiles, radars, and computers makes the “Ticos” the most powerful surface warships in the world.

  AH-64 Apache — A sophisticated, first-line helicopter gunship, the Apache carries laser-guided Hellfire antitank missiles, unguided rockets, and a 30mm cannon, along with an array of sensors so that it can fight at night as well as day. It is heavily armored.

  AIM-7 Sparrow — A medium-range (about 20 to 25 miles) radar-guided air-to-air missile, the Sparrow can be carried by most American and many other Western-built fighters. It is moderately effective, but is beginning to show its age. One problem is that the firing plane must keep its nose pointed at the missile’s target. Even though the Sparrow is fast (Mach 4), those seconds are too long to fly straight in air combat. Sparrow is being replaced by the more modern AMRAAM.

  AIM-9 Sidewinder — Almost legendary for its reliability and simplicity, the Sidewinder has appeared in dozens of versions and has been carried by scores of different aircraft. It has also been extensively copied. The missile’s guidance package, or seeker, homes in on a heat source, usually a jet exhaust, but later versions can even detect the hot skin of a fast-moving aircraft. It has a relatively short range, about ten miles, less for earlier versions.

  AIM-54 Phoenix — The longest-range air-to-air missile ever built, the Phoenix is carried only by the U.S. Navy’s F-14 Tomcat. Combined with the Tomcat’s weapons system, the Phoenix can attack targets over 60 nautical miles away. It is a big missile, and not very maneuverable, but it flies at over five times the speed of sound.

  AIM-120 AMRAAM — The replacement for the Sparrow, the long-overdue advanced medium-range air-to-air missile will allow a plane to maneuver freely after launch, since the missile has its own active radar-seeker in the nose. The missile can also receive updates on its target’s position from the launching plane. The French Mica, also in development, is similar. The AMRAAM’s range is slightly better than the Sparrow’s, about 30 miles.

  Airmobile — The term “airmobile” refers to a U.S. Army unit’s ability to be moved quickly from one place to another by air, either by cargo plane or by helicopter. It does not refer to its mobility on the battlefield. See Light infantry.

  AK-74/AKR — A replacement for the famous AK-47, the newer AK-74 is the standard Russian Army weapon and has been widely exported. It uses a smaller 5.45mm round and a 30-round magazine. The AK-74 weighs eight pounds without a magazine. The AKR is a smaller, carbine version of the AK-74 with a folding stock and a short barrel.

  AKM — A modernized, refined version of the AK-47 assault rifle, it uses the same 7.62mm round and has the same performance. It weighs nine and a half pounds and has a 30-round magazine.

  AMX-10P — A boxy tracked vehicle with a steeply sloped front plate, this French APC can carry eight infantrymen and a crew of three. The vehicle’s power-operated turret mounts a 20mm autocannon and a 7.62mm machine gun, but like other armored personnel carriers, the AMX-10P is only lightly armored.

  AMX-10RC — A six-wheeled French armored car, the AMX-10RC carries a 105mm gun equipped with a sophisticated fire control computer and ranging system. Although only lightly armored, it packs a powerful punch and is a useful scout vehicle.

  An-26 — Called Curl by NATO, this light twin-engine turboprop is similar in size and role to the F-27 Fokker transports seen at many American airports. It cruises at 270 mph and can carry a load of six tons or 40 passengers.

  ANL/ANS — The successor to the famous French Exocet, the ANS (surface-launched) and ANL (air-launched) will be longer-range (100+ miles), stealthy, and supersonic. These will present a difficult target for even the most sophisticated air defense weapons. They are due to enter service in the late 1990s.

  APC — armored personal carrier.

  Arleigh Burke- class destroyer (John Barry) — T
hese general-purpose ships carry a smaller version of the Aegis system and a moderate number of missiles. They also have good sonars and carry surface-to-surface missiles. Their only flaw is that they do not carry a helicopter. They have a pad on the fantail, but no hangar.

  ARM — antiradiation missile. This class of air-launched missiles homes in on the signal given off by a radiating radar. They can be set to attack a particular type of radar set. Once they reach the signal’s source, they explode and destroy the radar. The American HARM and French ARMAT are both ARMs.

  ASMP — A French nuclear-armed missile, it is launched from a plane in flight and flies at three times the speed of sound. It carries a 150-kiloton warhead.

  AT-4 — A Swedish-designed, shoulder-fired antitank rocket purchased for the U.S. Army, it weighs just over 13 pounds, and the rocket has a range of 300 meters.

  ATGM — antitank guided missile.

  AWACS — Airborne Warning and Control System. The acronym is often used as a nickname for the E-3 Sentry.

  B-1B Lancer — Originally designed as a strategic nuclear bomber, the Lancer operates at low altitudes and high speed. The plane is now being adapted to a conventional role and can carry dozens of high-explosive bombs. It may also be able to carry a large number of laser-guided or optically guided bombs.

  B-52 Stratofortress — Originally designed as a high-altitude, subsonic bomber, the B-52’s long lifetime has seen it in many roles. It is equally capable of dropping both nuclear and conventional bombs.

  Battalion — Consisting of three to five companies, a battalion generally contains between 800 and 1,200 men — with 50 or so tanks or APCs if the unit is armored or mechanized. Battalions are usually commanded by a lieutenant colonel, who will have a major as his executive officer. Several battalions make up a brigade.

  Battery — a group of four to eight artillery pieces. They will usually all fire at the same target. Several batteries make up an artillery battalion.