by Harold Coyle
Wilson, oblivious to the fumbling of her staff and the staff's of her cabinet, prepared herself for the press. Taking the script in her right hand, Wilson reached across with her left hand and put it on her press secretary's arm. "Please do me a favor, Maggie, and don't make a face this time if I stray from your prepared text. You know how I love to play the room."
"Oh, no problem, Madam President, you go right ahead and improvise all you want. You know you're at your best when you do that."
Yes, Wilson thought. She always did her best when she trusted her instincts. As she watched the big hand of the clock inch toward twelve, she regretted that she hadn't trusted her instincts on this current issue. While Pete Soares was a great political advisor and Terry Rothenberg was a shrewd lawyer, they needed to think more on their own and not take as gospel everything their advisors in the State Department and the Pentagon fed them. They had made too many mistakes on this one and needed to make sure that didn't happen again, provided, of course, she could pull their collective chestnuts out of this fire.
"One minute, Madam President."
Drawing two deep breaths, Wilson flashed her best campaign smile and prepared to step into the lions' den.
"Damn them. DAMN THEM TO HELL!" Lunging forward over his desk, Chancellor Ruff thrust his finger at his military aide. "You go and find the lowest bathroom attendant in this building. Have him get on the phone and tell that little fat Jew Secretary of Defense that if I wanted to talk to him, I would have called him." Pushing himself away from his desk, Ruff looked at Colonel Hans Kasper for a moment. "Who does that whore think she is dealing with? Does she believe that Germany is still a vassal state, to be dealt with at her convenience?"
Kasper did not flinch. He had no intention of finding a bathroom attendant, since there were none in the building, and, more importantly, Ruff's comment was simply part of an elaborate play being enacted for the benefit of members of the cabinet who were not privy to the script. Ignoring Ruff's last comment, Kasper excused himself, playing his role to the hilt. "I will personally tend to the call immediately, Herr Chancellor." Pivoting smartly on his heel, he left the room to Ruff and the cabinet members that had assembled in his office.
When the door was closed and he had regained his composure after his well-controlled outburst, Ruff turned to the members of his cabinet. Though he had no idea of the folly in Washington that had resulted in what Ruff considered an insult, the timing of it couldn't have been any better for Ruff. "That, my friends, is what the Americans think of us. That is why it is time, in my opinion, to bring this unnatural state of affairs to an end. We no longer need an army of occupation to remind us that they defeated us. We no longer need to have foreigners rub our noses in the sins of our fathers. The past is over." Ruff pounded his fist on the desk to emphasize his point. "OVER! OVER! It is time that WE made the Americans understand that."
Across from him, the members of his cabinet listened to him in silence. Some showed their agreement with a simple nod or a gesture. Others, uncomfortable with Ruff's manner and what they believed his line of thinking, grimaced or shifted restlessly in their chairs. This did not surprise Ruff. He already knew who could be trusted and who needed to be kept in the dark. In time, everyone, even the dullest idiot, would come to understand what he was after. But he expected by then to have presented the German people a fait accompli, one which, when they came to understand what was at stake, they would support. Until then Ruff had to ensure that they continued to pretend that they were what his Foreign Minister, Bruno Rooks, called the innocent rape victim.
Standing up, Ruff looked about the room, then turned his back to the members of his cabinet as he limped across the room to a window. The storm that had started that morning continued unabated.
From behind him, Thomas Fellner, the Interior Minister, was the first to speak. "I believe we need to send a high-ranking representative to the United States, preferably Herr Rooks. He could be there by tomorrow morning to meet with President Wilson. Once we understood what they had in mind and what they intended—"
Pivoting, Ruff thrust his right arm down, jabbing his index finger toward the floor to emphasize his anger as he shouted, "NO! NO! I will not send a member of my government hat in hand crawling to that bitch, for any reason. Not tonight, not tomorrow, NOT EVER!" Folding his arms across his chest, Ruff took a deep breath and threw his head back before he continued. "Think, Thomas, think. Think of what that would tell the world. The leaders of the other nations in Europe would see that and say, 'Ah, see how Germany, the good little client state, runs to the United States for instructions.' Is that what you want, my friend? No. Germany is the offended party. Germany is once again captive to a unilateral American action that has gone astray." Taking a few steps forward, Ruff thrust his right arm up, finger pointed to the ceiling. "No, my comrades. Germany will not roll over like an obedient puppy dog, allowing the Americans to come and go as they please. Not this time. Not while I am Chancellor."
As if on cue, Rudolf Lammers, the Minister of Defense, spoke out. "What other options, Herr Chancellor, do we have? As we sit here beating our chests in righteous indignation, the Americans are already flying nuclear weapons into our country from the Ukraine. This is an act, if I may remind all of you, which is in clear violation of every disarmament agreement we and the United States have been party to since the collapse of the Eastern bloc. By tomorrow morning, if we do nothing, the weapons will be transferred to larger aircraft and flown back to the United States. The Americans will have, as a result of their deception and our ineptitude, achieved their objective, at our expense."
"That," Ruff added, "is exactly my point. While we sit here wringing our hands, wondering what to do, the Americans forge on with their plan. We must act. We must take action to ensure that the United States, as well as the rest of Europe, understands that we are not a puppet on a string to be jerked about whenever it pleases them. German sovereignty and self-determination, not to mention our pride and integrity, must be respected."
As in the past, Fellner raised the voice of concern and caution. Not that Ruff didn't expect it. In fact, he had counted on Fellner to do so. "What, Herr Chancellor, do you propose to do at this point? Outside of official protests, the only other option that I see is direct action against American operations within our borders. Are you proposing that we take such measures?"
Fellner's comments could not have been any more timely or better put than if Ruff had written that part of the script himself. For Ruff, the fact that Fellner, the voice of reason within the German cabinet, a man viewed by everyone in Germany and Europe as being the epitome of what a good peace-loving German should be, was the first to mention direct action was critical. For several moments, Ruff let Fellner's comments hang in the air, acting as if he were thinking about them. When he was ready, Ruff moved back to his desk, limping slightly. When he spoke, Ruff looked down at the floor, voice soft, reflective, almost as if he were speaking his thoughts rather than addressing his ministers. "That, my friends, is what we must now discuss." Then, as if a moment of indecision had passed and he had regained his resolve, Ruff looked up. "If you would, there is much to do and not much time. I would like to speak with Herr Rooks and Herr Lammers for a few minutes in private." As the cabinet members began to rise from their chairs, Ruff called out, "Excuse me, gentlemen. I am sorry. I have forgotten that I am scheduled for a press conference that should have started five minutes ago. We must as soon as possible inform the German people about what is happening in order to calm their fears and let them know that we are doing something." Looking around the room as if he were trying to decide who should serve as his substitute, Ruff stopped when his eyes came to rest on Fellner. "Would it be possible, Herr Fellner, for you to take it for me?"
Though he would have preferred not to, Fellner nodded. "Yes, Herr Chancellor, I will. How much do you want me to tell the press? Is it appropriate at this time, Herr Chancellor, to mention that we are considering declaring a state of emergency?"<
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Ruff struggled to conceal the joy he felt when Fellner mentioned a state of emergency. Such a declaration would allow Ruff as the Chancellor to take action without having to consult the Bundestag. "Do as you see fit, my friend. It just might be wise to bring out some of the concerns we have expressed in this meeting."
Rooks and Lammers looked at each other with a knowing glance when Ruff made that comment
After a moment, Fellner agreed. "Yes, perhaps it is best if we begin to tell the German people the truth and prepare them."
"Yes," Ruff repeated solemnly, "I suppose you are right."
When the rest of the cabinet was gone, Colonel Kasper entered the room. "Herr Chancellor, General Lange and General Schacht are waiting."
Waving his hand, Ruff ordered Kasper to show them in. Walking over to Rooks and Lammers, Ruff shook their hands. "It has begun, my friends, it has finally begun. Now all we need to do is to see if the commander of the 1st Parachute Division can deliver as he has promised."
Both Ruff and Lammers knew there was no need to discuss options. The direct action that Fellner had mentioned had already been decided upon several days before. Orders to the units involved had already been issued. Units of the Bundeswehr that were to execute those orders were on the move at that very moment The meeting between Ruff, Rooks, Lammers, and his military chief's was nothing more than a final review of the situation and any last-minute coordination that needed to be made.
If all went well, within twelve hours Germany would be a nuclear power.
The evacuation of the remnants of Company A back to the heart of Slovakia brought little comfort or joy to the survivors. While it was reasonable that they would be treated separately and kept for a while due to their exposure to radiation, the treatment that the rangers of Company A received by everyone they came across was, in Ilvanich's mind, inexcusable. The danger from any radiation that the rangers had come into contact with in the Ukraine had long since been dealt with. That did not stop treatment, however, which Ilvanich considered to be cruel and unjustifiable to the men who now looked to him for answers.
Unable to restrain himself any longer, Ilvanich finally overcame his reluctance to complain and began to exert himself in the manner that was more natural to him and befitted the situation. Almost springing up from the cot where he had been sitting simmering, Ilvanich turned to Fitzhugh and the platoon sergeants who sat gathered around the cot next to Ilvanich's, picking through their cold MRE meals in silence. The Russian major's sudden move, coupled with the determined look on his face, brought a hush throughout the cot-filled tent that served as a ward for the survivors of Company A.
Looking down at the upturned faces, Ilvanich began to speak, loud enough so that everyone in the tent and the adjoining tent where the nurses were on duty could hear. "This treatment is abominable. We are not lepers, and I cannot sit here and watch you people be treated as such." Finished, Ilvanich marched to the entrance of the tent that led to where the nurses were.
The sudden shouting startled Captain Hilary Cole, senior nurse on duty. Like most of the staff of the 553rd Field Hospital, she had mistaken the sullen discontentment of the rangers for shock and grief. Cole had just managed to stand up and turn to the tent flap that separated the tent where her station was from the tent where the rangers were when the flap was pulled open from the other side. Pausing, Cole watched as the one who had been identified as the Russian major entered her tent with a determined look that bordered on anger. Close behind him, in his shadow, came the young second lieutenant. When the Russian was in front of Cole's desk, he stopped, causing the lieutenant to take one short step to the Russian's left.
Still unsure of the relationship between the Russian major, whom all the rangers took their orders from, and the American lieutenant, Cole looked from one to the other. Though he was dressed in the same maroon bathrobe that the rest of the rangers were wearing, there was no mistaking that the major was the officer in charge. "What seems to be the problem, Major?"
Cole's soft voice, her blue eyes set in a thin heart-shaped face that was framed in blond hair that Ilvanich thought was too short, momentarily took the edge off of his anger. Looking down at her, Ilvanich thought for a moment, refraining his angry demand into as diplomatic a request as he could manage. "Please inform your commanding officer that I must speak to him."
For a moment Cole looked at the Russian, wondering whether she should find out what he wanted or just go ahead and do as he demanded. Looking into his eyes, dark eyes that were fixed in an unblinking stare, she decided to simply pass the message. Picking up the phone on her desk, Cole dialed the commander's office.
Saying nothing and betraying no reaction, Ilvanich listened as the nurse passed on his demand. "Hi, Anna? Is the colonel in? Good. No, I don't need to talk to him, but the Rus— I mean the major in charge of the rangers would like to talk to him now. No, I don't know, but I think he better come over right away. The Rus— I mean the major is waiting here in my office." There was a pause while Cole waited for an answer. During the pause, she looked down at the phone, avoiding Ilvanich's stare. "Great, I'll tell him." Hanging up the phone, Cole looked at Ilvanich, forcing a smile. "The colonel will be over in a minute. If you would return to your area, I'll call you when he is here."
Cole's request brought back Ilvanich's anger. Clenching his fists and narrowing his eyes, he almost hissed when he spoke. "We are not some kind of dangerous things that you can stuff into isolation and forget. Those things in there are your fellow countrymen, elite combat soldiers. Those soldiers have been through a lot in the last seventeen hours and deserve to be treated like the men they are."
For a moment Cole felt the urge to back away from the angry Russian but didn't. "Major, I have my orders. You and your men are to remain in isolation until we can evacuate you back to Landstuhl in Germany." From the other end of the tent where Ilvanich stood, two military policemen who had been posted outside came through the tent flaps when they heard Cole's and Ilvanich's exchange. When she heard them, Cole turned around, motioning that they were to stop where they were and keep out of this for the moment. For several awkward seconds they all looked at each other, wondering what to do next. Only the appearance of Colonel Sandy Holleran, commanding officer of the 553rd, broke the stalemate.
The white doctor's coat that hung over his standard-issue battle dress fatigues was open in the front, accentuating a waistline that was several inches larger than was militarily acceptable. But Holleran was a doctor, a good one who even had a knack for command. So his weight, though deemed somewhat excessive, as well as hair that was slightly too long, was overlooked. When he was in the tent, Holleran looked about. Seeing that everyone was on edge and ready to jump, he decided to take it slow and easy. With a quizzical look he turned to Cole. "What seems to be the problem, Captain?"
Though there was no emblem of rank showing, Ilvanich assumed, by the doctor's demeanor and the deference the MPs showed when he entered, that this was their commanding officer. Coming to a position of attention, Ilvanich spoke before Cole could answer. "Sir, I requested a meeting with you to discuss the manner in which my men have been treated."
Without pausing, Holleran walked up to Cole's desk, grabbing a chair for himself and motioning for Ilvanich to take a seat across from him. Holleran watched as the Russian major moved over, followed by the young American lieutenant who stood behind him. Though he had no idea how it came to be that this Russian had become the commander of an American ranger company, there was no doubt, from what he had heard and what he saw, that the rangers accepted him as such, and Holleran spoke as if this were a natural everyday occurrence. Turning his mind to the matter at hand, Holleran opened the conversation. "Before we get started, I must tell you, Major, in all candor, that the situation we are facing here is entirely new to me and my staff. None of us have ever had to deal with radiation casualties."
Ilvanich leaned forward and cut Holleran off. "We are not casualties. Yes, we have been exposed to radiation
, but none of us are suffering from any adverse effects." Ilvanich, of course, was lying. Several hours after reaching the rest of the ranger battalion, both he and Rasper had thrown up. Speaking in private to Rasper, Ilvanich told him that they were both suffering from the effects of radiation. Rasper, his face showing no signs of emotion, merely looked down at his boots and nodded as he spoke, "Yes, sir, I know." Then looking up at Ilvanich, with the hint of a plea in his eyes, Rasper asked if Ilvanich would keep it quiet. Other than the nausea he felt, Rasper said that he was all right So the two men kept their problem to themselves. There was, they felt, no need to panic the rest of the company or anyone else.
That, however, didn't keep everyone they came into contact with from keeping them at arm's distance. This Ilvanich understood. It was expected, since the rangers under his care carried with them radioactive fallout on their clothes, equipment, and even their skin. Before entering the ranger battalion perimeter, Ilvanich had the rangers of Company A halt in a wood lot. There they discarded their outer clothing, overshoes, web belts and suspenders, and anything that was not absolutely critical. Ilvanich then had them do a hasty decontamination of all the equipment they retained, including their protective masks and weapons, by rubbing them down with snow. Still their actions did little to still the fears of whoever came into contact with them. From the beginning everyone, from the battalion commander on down, treated the survivors of Company A as if they were infected with a deadly plague.
Ilvanich leaned back in his seat as he recounted to Holleran their travails. "First, the ranger battalion commander places us outside their regular perimeter. Though we were covered by interlocking fires from the rest of the battalion, my men sat there looking at me and then back where the rest of the battalion was wondering what was going on. When the helicopters came, stripped of everything, including seats, so they could be decontaminated easier after we were delivered, the crews treated us like we all had the AIDS virus. If it wasn't for the intervention of one of the crew chief's from a medical evacuation helicopter who gave us the rations from his own crew, none of us would have had anything to eat."