by Harold Coyle
Like a tag team wrestling match, Wilson took over from Rothenberg. "Congressman Lewis, we appreciate your concerns and understand your feelings." Though angry at having her carefully prepared briefing upset by Lewis, Wilson maintained the calm, steady demeanor that had made her famous and politically unbeatable. "Believe me, we have looked at every option and weighed all the risks. If there were another way to resolve this, I would have been the first to try it. We cannot, however, allow continued nuclear proliferation. It is time to draw the line."
Lewis, about to comment on Wilson's melodramatic use of "It is time to draw the line," bit his tongue. This was no time, he thought, for personal attacks. Best, he reasoned, to stick to the critical issues at hand. Looking down at his hands, now folded in his lap, Lewis spoke in a low and controlled voice. "Do we know, Madam President, who this nation is? I mean, wouldn't it be easier just to tighten the blockade on the Ukraine?"
Taking his turn, Soares responded to Lewis without commenting any further on Lewis's question of the blockade. "No, Congressman, we do not know who has approached the Ukrainians. Our source within the Ukrainian government only knows that the offer was made and the details about the transfer of the weapons are currently being discussed."
"So, when in doubt, send in the Marines."
Wilson looked Lewis in the eye. "Yes, Congressman, something like that."
"What do the Czech and German governments have to say about this impending invasion?"
In a rather offhanded manner, one that surprised most of the assembled senators and congressmen, Rothenberg brushed off Lewis's concerns. "This is not a matter that concerns either of those governments directly. Besides, for reasons of operational security it was felt that the fewer governments involved the better. The request made by the Commonwealth directly to President Wilson is not a matter that directly concerns any of the other European countries at this time. After the operation is under way, they will be briefed. Given the purpose of the operation and its objective, they will see the wisdom of our decision and support us."
For a moment there was silence. Then Lewis in a rather subdued manner asked Rothenberg if he really thought that the Germans would calmly allow U.S. forces to use their country as a jump-off point for the invasion of another country.
Soares's response sounded like a lecture. "I need not remind you, Congressman Lewis, that it has been the policy of Germany since unification to disarm. This includes nuclear weapons." Soares paused to correct himself. "Especially nuclear weapons. Besides, since the foundation of the Federal Republic of Germany, the policies of our two nations have been as one. We, after all, were instrumental in bringing about the unification of the two Germanys. They will not, Congressman Lewis, forget that."
Lewis was about to remind Soares that it was our postwar policies, not to mention our occupation of Germany after World War II, that had created the division of Germany into two parts, but decided to let the matter drop. He was, he realized, howling at the moon. The decision to use military forces to cover for a lack of an effective foreign policy had been made. Dropping his head, Lewis folded his hands on the table and lapsed into silence.
Satisfied that the threat to her briefing had been beaten back, Wilson looked about the room. "There is much to cover, gentlemen. I do appreciate Congressman Lewis's concerns. They reflect very real and sincere feelings. I assure you, those concerns will be put to rest before you leave this morning. Now, Pete, if you would please continue."
Though he didn't appear to be paying attention to the colonel as he delivered his report, Chancellor Johann Ruff heard every word and understood what they meant to him and Germany. Outside the window he could see nothing of Berlin. Only a few stray flurries, illuminated by the lights of his office, heralding the coming of another winter storm, were visible. It was dark and bitter cold outside. Just like his mood, Ruff thought. Pivoting on his good leg, Ruff turned away from the foreboding scene and toward the two general staff officers who had brought Ruff news that he had not wanted to hear.
For a second he looked at the two officers. The contrast between them was remarkable. General Walther Schacht, chief of the General Staff's intelligence section, was comfortably seated in a chair with his long legs jutting out while his head, canted to the side, rested on the hand of his left arm, which in turn rested on the arm of the chair. It seemed to Ruff as if Schacht was bored as he listened to Colonel Gerhard Paul render his report. That, however, was only natural. Bavarians, Ruff thought, were easily bored when dealing with serious matters. Paul, a native of Leipzig and chief of Schacht's Eastern Europe Department, chose to stand while he briefed his Chancellor on the situation in the Ukraine. Everything about Paul was militarily correct. From his erect, almost ramrod stiff position of attention, to the clarity and conciseness of the report that he delivered, Paul was what Ruff expected soldiers to be. It had been, Ruff thought, a mistake to exclude the senior officers of the East German Volksarmee from the West German Bundeswehr at the time of unification. He was glad that he had finally been able to reverse that decision. It gave those officers raised in the lax atmosphere of the Bundeswehr worthy role models.
When Paul finished, the room fell silent as the two general staff officers waited for Ruff to speak. Shuffling over to his desk, Ruff stood next to it, leaning against the side of the desk in an effort to relieve the pressure on his bad leg. Though it would have been wise to sit, Ruff chose to stand during this meeting. It was, after all, a very serious matter. Besides, in his own way Ruff was testing General Schacht. It seemed to Ruff that if he, the Chancellor of Germany, was standing, then protocol would dictate that Schacht should also stand. But Schacht didn't, and therefore failed Ruff's little test.
"Are we sure, Colonel Paul, that the Ukrainians know nothing about this?"
Without hesitation, Paul responded to Ruff in a crisp, no-nonsense manner. "The Ukrainians have been mesmerized by the buildup of Russian forces. None of their intelligence summaries over the last four days even mention the possibility of action by the Americans. It is as if the Americans are not there, even though the Americans have made no effort to cover the deployment of forces into eastern Slovakia."
"Then it would seem," Ruff stated in exasperation, "that the Ukrainians, like us, have fallen for the American deception plan that their deployment into the Czech and Slovakian republics was an effort to discourage the Hungarians from grabbing land that probably is rightfully theirs."
Ruff's tone and manner reminded Schacht of a professor of history, not a chancellor. Lifting his head off his hand, Schacht shook his head as he spoke. "I am still convinced that the initial purpose of the American deployment into the Czech and Slovakian republics was nothing more than that, an effort to put pressure on the Hungarians. And by the way, they succeeded. Hungarian units have begun to move back from the Slovakian border." Schacht waved his hand over his head. "This new matter is entirely different. As much as I admire the Americans, I do not think that they are capable of such an effective deception operation. My American section, after careful re-examination, finds nothing to support such a claim."
"Whether or not it was planned, Herr General, the fact remains," Ruff shot back, "that the Americans have decided to take action unilaterally with forces supposedly committed to NATO and stationed in our country without bothering to consult us."
"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 t
o 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
7 JANUARY
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 kn
ew what they were after. That there would be shooting was a given. After all, it was ludicrous to think that the troops guarding the nukes would just step aside and hand them over. As Pape's platoon leader pointed out, the first reaction of the Ukrainian guards when they saw a battalion of rangers armed to the teeth and spoiling for a fight come boiling out of the night wasn't going to be a challenge and request for a password.
It was therefore no surprise that the commander of the 1st Ranger Battalion, 77th Infantry, translated the line in his operations order directing him to use minimum force to mean swift, violent, and overwhelming firepower applied in the shortest amount of time. Such aggressive thinking was infectious and, to the rangers, welcome. Pape's company commander, carried away by what the first sergeant called the spirit of the bayonet, restated the phrase minimum force to mean using the fewest bullets in the shortest amount of time to kill the most Ukrainians. At their final briefing the young captain told his assembled troops that he expected them to "go in, blow away anyone that gets in our way, secure the nukes, and wait for the Air Force. No muss, no fuss."