THE TEN THOUSAND

by Harold Coyle

  Hence, the commitment of the 17th Airborne to secure Bremerhaven, round-the-clock air cover from bases in Great Britain, and the dispatching of a Marine expeditionary force to the Baltic to threaten the German coast became possible. Along with these operations came the opening of all communications nets and channels, followed by a virtual avalanche of messages, requests for information, directives, and helpful advice from Pentagon staff officers who were far removed from the trauma of the battlefield. Tasked with updating their own charts and briefings, well-meaning Pentagon staff officers immediately inundated the Tenth Corps staff with message after message requesting information that the Tenth Corps staff had no need to accumulate or track. The Tenth Corps staff, which had been quite happy to operate as an independent entity, free from the curse of modern communications that allowed higher headquarters to talk to practically anyone, soon found itself in danger of being paralyzed by these requests.

  All these requests came on top of the need to deal with the current battle, the drafting of new plans that would incorporate other American units coming into the theater, and the necessity of moving every twelve to twenty-four hours. When faced with the imperatives of dealing with the current battle and preparing for the next, the staff of the Tenth Corps, almost to a man, ignored the requests for information and the advice from Washington. When this happened, the well-meaning Washington staff officer informed his commander, who had tasked him to get the information, that the Tenth Corps was not cooperating. The higher-ranking officer in Washington in turn sent a message to a higher-ranking staff officer on the Tenth Corps staff repeating the request. The higher-ranking officer in Germany, with no more time to deal with outside requests than his subordinate, did as his subordinate had done; he ignored the request. Back in Washington this started a whole new chain of calls, message generation, etc., until finally almost all requests for information were being addressed to General Malin himself. It was a system gone berserk, and Malin intended to stop it.

  He had to, for important orders and information were being crowded off the communications channels by mindless correspondence. Operation En Passant, a directive signed by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff himself, had been lost in the flood of lesser messages. It wasn't until the Chairman called Malin and asked for Malin's opinion on the operation that Malin, who had still not seen the directive and was therefore caught off guard, began to appreciate the seriousness of the communications glut. Even Malin's chief of operations, Brigadier General Jerry Prentice, was unaware of Operation En Passant. A quick search found that the message was still waiting patiently in an electronic computer queue in Washington for its turn to be bounced off a satellite and down to the Tenth Corps.

  Unable to apply the normal planning procedures, Malin, Prentice, and selected staff officers came together, quickly worked out their end of Operation En Passant, and then scattered throughout the corps area to personally issue the necessary orders to units that would play. Prentice, the senior officer involved, had himself gone to the most important Tenth Corps participant, Company A, 1st Ranger Battalion, 77th Infantry.

  Without knocking, Jerry Prentice strolled into Malin's office and took a chair next to Malin's desk. "I almost didn't find them."

  Big Al, looking for any reason to stop reading the drivel that overwhelmed his desk, smiled and eased back in his seat. "Map reading a little rusty, Jerry?"

  Prentice shook his head. "No, the grids were right on. Couldn't have been any better. The problem was that they were too well hidden." Knowing that his commander appreciated a good story every now and then to help break the stress and strain of command, Prentice leaned back in his seat, accepted a cup of coffee from Malin's aide who had suddenly appeared as if by magic, and related to him his problems and observations. "The grid for Ilvanich's assembly area turned out to be in the center of a large abandoned warehouse complex just outside of town here. My driver and I came to the most obvious entrance but found it was blocked by a large disabled truck. So we went around the corner and found another entrance. It too was blocked. Doubling back, we went around the third side of the complex and, guess what?"

  "It was blocked."

  Prentice, seeing Big Al was enjoying hearing about Prentice's trials and tribulations, slapped his knee with one hand. "That's right. How'd you know? Anyway, we stopped and looked at the map and the warehouse complex. Now the fourth side of the warehouse butted right up against a wooded area that showed no access to any main road or the rail lines. That's why I didn't try that side. But seeing no way in from any of the roads, I decided, what the hell. We parked the humvee and I walked along the fence of the—"

  "You walked? One of my staff officers got out? I don't believe this!"

  He was definitely enjoying this, Prentice thought. This was the first time in almost a week that Big Al had actually laughed. So Prentice went on with his story. "Yes, sir. I walked. Read about that once. Seems the Army used to do that all the time. Anyhow, I started walking along the fence, and I found a section that looked like it had been cut, then wired back. Turning to the woods, I couldn't see any tire marks, but I could see a forest trail several meters inside the tree line. Going back to the fence, I shook the chainlink and tried to force my way in. I was about to succeed when I heard the bolt of a machine gun slide back, followed by a low, solemn 'Halt, who goes there?' "

  "So what did ya do?"

  "I did, sir, what any self-respecting general officer would do. I froze in place. Don't forget, these were rangers I was dealing with. After a minute or so, when the ranger had finished having his fun watching a general officer stand perfectly still while trying to keep from shitting his pants, a sergeant wearing an American Army parka, German Army field pants, and boots from God knows where came up to the fence and asked me for the password."

  "Don't tell me, don't tell me, you forgot the password."

  Prentice shook his head. "Sir, I never knew the password. That's my driver's job. Anyway, I'm standing there, hands on the fence, feet spread apart, waiting for the sergeant to do something while his sentinel, hidden God knows where, trains a loaded gun on me, when Ilvanich comes up. Now he's wearing a Russian Army field cap, a German Army parka, American camouflage trousers, fur-lined boots, and is carrying a shotgun that he got from God knows where in the crook of his arm. He comes up to me, stands face-to-face, and asks, in perfect German, 'Was wollen Sie?' "

  By now, Big Al had a grin that ran from ear to ear. "I would have loved to be there. It does my heart good to see a general reminded every now and then that they too are human."

  "Well, if you'd been there, I have no doubt that you'd have been hanging on to the fence next to me. I finally convinced Ilvanich that I was the real thing, after taking out my wallet, laying it on the ground, stepping back ten meters, which by the way put me into the woods, and waiting there till they checked my wallet for ID."

  "Well, Jerry, I would just like to say I'm glad there's still someone else besides me in this corps that knows how to handle general officers."

  "Well," Prentice continued, "they finally let me in, escorted me to this warehouse where they're set up, and then offered me a breakfast of fresh bread, hot wurst, and cold beer, compliments of the German Army. You know, those guys eat better than we do. Anyhow, while I was there I didn't see a single soldier dressed the same way or any American Army vehicles. And there was a detail painting new bumper markings on their trucks, getting ready to deal with the 1st Panzer Division."

  "The morale of the soldiers, no doubt, was excellent."

  Prentice nodded. "They were alert, appeared to be well rested, clean, and animated. Every weapon I saw was clean, properly lubricated, and handled with respect. Except for the ungodly uniform combinations, they were the best-looking troops I've seen in this corps in the past two weeks."

  Malin got serious now. "Doesn't surprise me in the least. They're a good unit and they've got a great record. They have been given some of the dirtiest jobs and pulled every one off brilliantly. And
when we've left them on their own, they've gone out and pulled off some really incredible stunts, every one of which has been of immense material benefit to us and served to shake up the Germans. And best of all, they've done it without the loss of a single man."

  The smile on Prentice's face disappeared after Malin's last comment. Seeing the change in mood, Big Al also dropped his smile, looking down at the edge of his desk instead. Both men knew that the mission they had just assigned to Ilvanich and the rangers of Company A would be even under ideal circumstances a bloodbath. Prentice finally broke the silence. "After Ilvanich had assembled his senior leaders, I laid out the maps of the weapons storage site, the surrounding area, and the operations graphics. As I briefed them on the mission, no one said a word. When I finished, everyone, to a man, looked at Ilvanich and he looked at them. Finally he looked over to me and said, 'It shall be done.' There were no questions, no complaints, no sign of fears or doubts, no false heroics. Just Ilvanich's simple statement."

  Leaning back in his seat as far as it would go, Malin folded his hands over his stomach and mused. "I wonder if those brilliant minds back in Washington, the ones who dream this stuff up, would issue the orders they do if they had to deliver them to the men expected to carry them out, face-to-face, like you did."

  "Of course they would, sir. As long as there are young men in this world willing to accept orders from old men like you and me, people like those in Washington will continue to generate them and issue them."

  Malin nodded his head but said nothing. Instead he took another minute to reflect on what they had just asked Company A, 1st Ranger Battalion, to do before pushing all thoughts of that operation to one side of his mind to make room for the next issue he needed to talk to Prentice about.

  * * *

  After sequestering himself in a comer office for the better part of an hour, Ilvanich called in Fitzhugh, both platoon leaders, their platoon sergeants, and all squad leaders. Taped up on the walls of the office were the maps, photographs, diagrams, and operational graphics of the nuclear weapons storage site west of Potsdam that this group of men were to attack and seize. Since most of the assembled leaders had heard Prentice's order to Ilvanich firsthand, Ilvanich skipped the preliminaries. Using a map spread out on the table set in the middle of the room he had used in developing his own plan, Ilvanich briefed his command. "This operation is rather similar to the one we executed in the Ukraine. We break in, secure the weapons, and prepare a landing zone for follow-on forces. Those forces are heliborne Marines coming in from the naval squadron sitting in the Baltic. When they arrive, we assist them in securing the area while the weapons are removed, and then we are evacuated." Ilvanich paused, looking around the room at the company's leadership as he waited for them to accept this. They, like he, knew this was not the same.

  After an appropriate pause, Ilvanich folded his arms across his chest and continued. "Unlike the Ukraine, we will be outnumbered. The unit guarding the site is the 2nd Battalion, 26th Parachute Brigade, one of the best units the Bundeswehr has. That battalion has light armored vehicles, heavy mortars, and will outnumber us in riflemen by a factor of six to one. Add to that the following. Surprise will be minimal, since the Germans expect us to try for the weapons. Support from the Navy, Marines, or Air Force will be nonexistent for the first twenty to thirty minutes because the planners in Washington do not want to betray the purpose of the mission by having helicopters headed for or near the target until we have secured the weapons. And best of all, the storage site itself, built by the Red Army in the 1950s, is surrounded in all directions by flat fields, with no place to hide, for a distance of two kilometers."

  From across the table, Sergeant First Class Rasper murmured, "They'll see us coming forever."

  Ilvanich looked up at him. "Exactly. So stealth will be impossible."

  "Hence," Rasper added, "the brass-balls approach."

  Throwing a pencil that he had been using as a pointer down onto the table, Ilvanich sighed. "Yes, that's right. We go in there using the German convoy technique. Though the Germans guarding the site will suspect that we are not reinforcements, they will not know our intentions for sure. We go as far as we can go playing Germans, and then, when they move to stop us, we shoot our way forward."

  Again there was silence. Finally Second Lieutenant Fitzhugh asked the question that everyone else had been pondering. "Major, do they really expect us to make it all the way to the weapons and secure them, and a landing zone?"

  Having spent the last weeks with the American rangers as their leader and in word and deed becoming one of them, Ilvanich looked around the room at each man's face. Letting his arms fall to his sides, Ilvanich shook his head. "No, I truly don't think so. Though the general didn't say so in so many words, the Marines don't expect to find many of us still standing when they arrive."

  The anger in Rasper's voice was unmistakable. "Then why in the hell are they throwing us away? Isn't that what they're doing, sir? Throwing us away?"

  Leaning forward and resting the knuckles of his hands on the table, Ilvanich admonished Rasper. "We are not being thrown away. This is a desperate plan made necessary by a desperate situation. It is a political necessity. To secure the support of the other nations in Europe for the intervention of the 17th Airborne and the deployment of the Air Force from Britain, the American President pledged to stage a raid to secure the weapons immediately. For an operation against a target like this to succeed with minimal losses and a good chance of success, you need a great deal of time to gather intelligence, formulate your plan, rehearse that plan, and coordinate the efforts of all forces involved. When time does not permit, like now, you cut corners, go for what your planners call a quick and dirty solution by using whatever you have at hand, and hope for the best."

  Easing off a bit, Ilvanich stood upright again and explained while the leaders of Company A listened in stone-cold silence. "The Germans are ready for an airborne assault. They are counting on that. Their heavy automatic weapons are placed to achieve maximum elevation and grazing fires across all likely landing zones within the storage site. Were the Marines to go in there with all these weapons in place, fully manned, even with a preliminary air strike, most would die before the first helicopter set down. Our sole purpose is to go in there and raise hell with the neat well-planned German defense. We are the first punch that will attempt to smash a hole into the defensive perimeter that the Marines will be able to exploit. Failing that, our goal will be to keep the German battalion in an uproar and off balance until the Marines arrive." Slowly Ilvanich began to walk about the room, placing his hand on the shoulder of each of the rangers assembled there as he went by. "That is why everyone who is a combat leader is here receiving the plan from me. When I go down, Lieutenant Fitzhugh will know what is expected and carry on. After he is gone, Sergeant Rasper will lead the company. Then Sergeant Johnson. Then the platoon sergeants. Then the squad leaders. And when they're gone, even when the last man in this room is down, I expect each and every ranger to carry on."

  When Ilvanich stopped, his back was to the assembled group. Turning his head slightly, he looked over his shoulder. His voice was solemn now, almost hesitant. "We, the American general and I, do not endorse suicide missions. It is not part of the traditions of either of our countries. But, like he told me and I told you, desperate times call for desperate solutions. I therefore asked the general that I be allowed to leave behind any man who does not want to go. This will be a purely voluntary mission." Pivoting slowly on his heels, Ilvanich put his hands behind his back as he looked again at each of the rangers in the room. "Go back to your men and tell them what I have told you. Tell them what we will be doing and why. Then let the men decide, each one for himself. I place no time limits on their decision, no special conditions. If when we load the trucks tonight, they choose not to get in, then so be it. Is that understood?"

  After all of them had nodded or mumbled a muted response, Ilvanich walked back up to the table and continued. "Now I
expect each squad leader to bring his men up here and, using all of this information and photos, go over the plan with every man. I expect each and every ranger in the company to know where all of the heavy weapons are located and where the key points of the German defense are. Unless there are further questions, you are dismissed."

  With that, the assembled rangers saluted and filed out of the room without another word, leaving Ilvanich alone to continue his study of the maps, photos, and graphics.

  CHAPTER 19

  23 JANUARY

  Unable to sleep or sit, Abigail Wilson wandered about the room that served as her private study. Though she could have gone down and joined the others in the War Room buried beneath the house that had been home to some of the most important men in American history, Wilson knew that her presence there would only serve to heighten the nervous apprehension that always seemed to hang in that room like a cloud. Through years of practice Wilson had learned the fine art of hiding one's emotions and acting as those about you expected. Yet there were times when she simply could not stuff her emotions away like so much dirty laundry. She never made excuses for this, a trait that some of her male opponents in private referred to as a flaw. Instead she trusted her own instincts, for she knew there were times when it was wise to remove herself from public view and in private give free rein to whatever emotions swept over her.