On Desperate Ground (43 page)

Thompson at the ready, Kowalski led the men out. They were about fifty yards along the track when the first sliver of light beamed out from the horizon. Rose looked to the group in the trees, now clearly visible as their faces watched Rose for his signal. Irritated, he motioned for them to keep their heads down. He looked back at the other group, farther along the track. The sun was higher above the horizon, light illuminating the pine trees in front of them. Things began to take shape and focus. Rose saw movement in the trees, something large, something that didn’t belong there, something mechanical.

“HIT THE DIRT!” He stood up and bellowed, “Hit the dirt!”

The snout of a 20mm anti-aircraft gun stuck out of the trees and swiveled towards the group on the track. It was a gun emplacement, up the slope from the track as it curved to the left, into the woods. With camouflage netting draped over it, it had been invisible in the dark. The same rays of light that betrayed its presence to Rose also highlighted the four men walking along the track.
 

The gunner had seen them, but first assumed they were workers from the village. As the rays of light lengthened, his loader dropped his jaw and whispered, “
Amis, Amis!
” The gunner swiveled the gun around and down at the moment Rose yelled his warning. He looked up at the source of the noise and fired his first rounds off high.

Kowalski heard Rose as he searched the terrain ahead, and caught sight of the gun’s movement. He dove to the side of the tracks as twenty-millimeter tracer rounds flew over his shoulder. Woodis, Santiago and Burke were a fraction of a second slower and took the force of the burst as the gunner kept firing. The burning shells ripped through them as they stood in a row, throwing them back, chests burst open. They fell like rag dolls over the tracks, blood gushing between the rails, smoke and fire flowing from their clothes and flesh as the phosphorous from the tracers burned off.

As quickly as it had begun, the firing stopped. The gunner looked down the track, smoke curling out the barrel of the 20mm gun, the only sound a slight hydraulic whine as he traversed the weapon. He was sure he had seen four men, but he only counted three bodies. He swung the gun back and forth, depressing the barrel as much as possible, searching for another target. Two other crewmembers sprang out of the covered bunker in back of the sandbag emplacement, rifles at the ready. Kowalski lay under some bushes at the side of the track, slowly pulling himself into the woods. Slowly and smoothly enough for the movement not to attract attention. His Thompson was in the dirt at the bottom of the ditch. No going back for it now. He was going to have to get close enough for grenades.

Rose swore to himself, kicking himself mentally for not remembering the
Luftwaffe
anti-aircraft unit they had seen earlier. If there was one in the vicinity, there was bound to be another. And these bastards had picked themselves a perfect spot, good camouflage in the woods, covering the road and the railroad station against air attack. He thought all this in an instant while removing the lens covers from his telescopic sight. He didn’t know if Kowalski had made it. If not, this was their only chance.

The anti-aircraft gun fired again, chewing up the edge of the woods, searching for the fourth American. Rose looked behind him, wondering if there were other German soldiers in the village, and if he were going to get caught in the middle. Nothing moved behind him. Satisfied, he gripped the Springfield and brought it up to rest on the top of the wall. He sighted through the scope, knowing he had mere seconds if the gunner had spotted him.
 

One of the other crew saw him first. He raised his Mauser and got off a wild shot, hitting the side of the station above Rose. It pointed him out to the gunner, who began to turn his gun toward the station and the low wall.

Rose found the gun emplacement through the scope and fought to center his sight on the gunner. He saw a blur and knew it was the gun swiveling in his direction, as he struggled to stay focused. The gun lowered and he saw the gunner’s head clearly, his mouth open in what must have been a yell as he fired. Rounds slammed into the wall to Rose’s left, and he steadied himself, waiting for the right moment. Something flashed in his mind, a lesson one of his Force instructors had drummed into his head. There is an illusion of safety behind a telescopic sight. You have to remember that you are vulnerable when you’re shooting. The scope makes you feel powerful, but it doesn’t hide you.

He pulled the trigger. The firing stopped. He worked the bolt and found the target again. The loader was shaking the gunner, who was sitting upright, his helmet askew. As he shook him, a rivulet of blood ran down from his forehead, then he fell over. The loader stepped into his seat, and Rose pulled the trigger again. The second man fell, a bullet to the heart. More rifle fire peppered the building as the remaining two crewmen stayed away from the deadly seat on the 20mm gun. Rose dropped his head below the wall, masonry chips raining down on him from the station. When the Germans saw him drop, one of the crewmen jumped into the seat and began to fire at him with the 20mm gun. Shells hit the wall he was hiding behind and chunks of rocks began to fly off. His cover was not going to last long, and there was nowhere else to go. He curled up in a ball as rounds slammed into the stone wall and the building behind him, showering him with gritty, gray debris.

Meanwhile, Kowalski crawled closer. The trees were thick, giving him good cover, but it also meant he had to get close for a clean throw. He could hear excited, frantic yells in German and could tell the crew had their hands full. He got up and ran, darting between the last few trees. He saw the two crewmen working the anti-aircraft gun, peppering the wall where Rose was with constant fire. He took a grenade from his jacket, pulled the pin and tossed it into the emplacement, followed by another. He turned and ran into the woods, diving behind the biggest pine tree he could find.

The loader heard a clunk as something rolled against the ammunition cases stacked up behind the gun. He turned to see the grenade rolling lazily toward him. Then another clunk, a blinding stunning flash, then nothingness.

Rose heard the two blasts and knew Kowalski was alive. He looked up over the wall in time to see the secondary explosions as the packed ammunition blew up, destroying the emplacement. The explosion blew the gun out and it rolled down the slope, coming to rest in the ditch, its twisted snout pointing skyward. Rose stood, coughing out cement and rock dust, and looked behind him. He saw a few doors open, then shut quickly.
 

He signaled Mandelbaum, Luther and Mack to come down, and went to the ruined bodies of Burke, Santiago and Woodis, removed their dogtags, and dropped them in his pocket along with Rowley’s. Kowalski slid down out of the woods and joined him.
 

“You saved my life, Rosie. Again.”

Rose looked at Kowalski, thankful that he had made it, and for reminding him one life saved was better than none.
 

“I owed you one. Okay, let’s move out. Take the point.”

“Sure, Rosie.” Kowalski ambled agreeably down the track. Mack and the others stood around, looking at the dead bodies.

“Come on, there’s nothing to do here. Let’s go.” Rose motioned them to move ahead of him. Mandelbaum and Luther started off. Mack wanted to ask what had happened, but thought better of it. He jogged off after the others, Rose bringing up the rear. As he entered the woods, he looked back one more time, and saw villagers anxiously peering out of their doorways.
 

And, the three bodies.

CHAPTER THIRTY

17 April 1945

Dübener Heide
, Germany

Faust’s armored command car sped down the dusty dirt road as his
Ostwind
anti-aircraft vehicle and halftrack escort raced to keep up with him. He had left Strauch’s position at dawn as Dieter radioed the news of a distant explosion in the direction of the Mulde River.

Faust stood in the turret, beating his gloved hand on its hard metal rim as the wind and dust whipped around his head, unable to contain the surge of victory and vengeance he felt within him. It was about to happen. All his thinking, maneuvering and planning was about to bear fruit. As the car roared down the road, he felt himself close to that perfect state, a future of killing and revenge, his pain and agony held at bay. Death was his drug, Russian death, death at his hands. Nothing else kept the demons from clawing at his mind. Nothing. He had cleansed himself after the false moment of weakness when he helped Dieter. No more weakness, no more pitiful attempts at redemption. Only never-ending war. The buzzing rose to a crescendo and merged with his mind, a backdrop of fury that enveloped him, carried him forward.

There would be nothing else. He had spent every day of the last five years in one uniform or the other. What was his alternative? What would he do in civilian clothes? He’d be a defeated, humiliated man, who lost his love to his enemies and who then was in turn forced to submit. The thought disgusted him. He felt strong and inviolate in his uniform, the feel of his pistol belted tightly at his side reassuring him, iron and steel ready at hand. He knew that the day the war ended, his bastion of death would simply fall away and peace would overwhelm him, like a spring flood in a narrow valley. It was a possibility he could not allow.

“Get
Hauptmann
Neukirk on the wireless!” Faust shouted at the radio operator. “Neukirk, any sign of the Americans yet?”

“No, sir,” came the reply through the radio’s static and the noise of the fast-moving vehicle. “Nothing since the explosion. I’ve sent some patrols out but they’ve seen nothing.”

“You see, I was right about that FLAK unit, it was an excellent tripwire. We wouldn’t have known they were this close if it wasn’t for them.”

“Yes sir,” Dieter could only agree. The Luftwaffe crew was nothing but a pawn to Faust, sacrificed in his insane game.

“Do not engage the Americans until I get there. Watch them closely. I am less than an hour away. Out.”
 

Faust switched off the receiver without waiting for a reply from Dieter. There was nothing more to be said. Everything was in place, only his firm hand was needed to guide all the players to their final, deadly positions.

“Get me Benedikt now,” he ordered the operator. He snapped orders to Benedikt, telling him to move two
Maus
super-heavy Panzers up to Bad Schmeideburg, along with two of the
Jagdpanthers
for support. At a top speed of 20 kilometers per hour, they’d have to move out now to get into position.

Handing the receiver back to the operator, Faust heard a noise off to his left, a faint rumble of vehicles over the noise of his own small convoy. It came out of the woods, from a road that merged further on at a sharp angle. He was almost paralleling it now, attempting to see between the thick pine trees as he drew closer to the intersection.
 

Forms flashed between the green branches, sending up a dust cloud as a column of halftracks and trucks spilled from the forest road, turning across his front. Faust’s driver slammed on the brakes, his armored vehicle sliding to the right and almost off the road to avoid a collision. The stream of vehicles continued for a moment, until one braked to a halt and soldiers began to spill out amid shouts and commands. Several heavy machine guns mounted on halftracks swiveled in his direction as Waffen-SS troops surrounded his vehicle.
 

Faust knew he was outnumbered. He looked back to make sure that the
Ostwind
, with its powerful 37mm anti-aircraft gun, was leveled at the vehicles ahead. It was. He looked back down at the men surrounding him, suddenly aware that something was not quite right. Then he saw it. They were drunk. Many were unsteady on their feet, while some laughed with each other.

Standing in the turret, Faust assumed his most authoritative tone and barked down at them. “Who is in command here?”

His question was not answered, but it did have the effect of quieting the soldiers closest to him. They looked at each other, stupidly, as if the question was too difficult, then, in the direction of the convoy, for someone with the answer. The sound of raucous laughter drifted down the road, and a band of officers turned the corner, led by
Hauptsturmführer
Hugo Raalte, carrying a bottle of brandy. They would have looked comical if Raalte hadn’t been waving a pistol in his other hand.

“Well, well, well,” Raalte said, smiling at his officers. “Look what we have here, a
Wehrmacht
Colonel! Could this be the famous Johann Faust? Do I have the pleasure?” Raalte bowed mockingly and almost lost his balance, laughing loudly as his grinning aide righted him.
 

Faust realized there was no point in denying his identity.

“I am Colonel Johann Faust. I am engaged in a special mission by order of the
Führer
,” he stated empathetically, holding up his papers. “And no unauthorized units are allowed in this operational area. Get out of my way at once!”

“Karl,” Raalte nudged his aide. “Look, a
Führer
Order! We’ve seen those before, haven’t we? ‘Defend the Courland Peninsula to the last bullet and the last man!’ Remember that one, boys?” The men laughed, a dark menacing undertone murmuring through it. Faust realized not only were they drunk, but that all order had broken down. Was it like this everywhere?