On Desperate Ground (45 page)

Rose and Mack knelt down to look at the German that Rose had shot in the head. Rose picked up his rifle. “This is Russian. A Mosin-Nagant, standard Soviet infantry rifle. They all have them.”

“Holy shit!” Luther stepped back from the body he was checking for papers. He had opened up the tunic to look for an inside pocket. Under the German tunic was the distinctive collarless Russian infantry blouse, with shoulderboards and medals, exactly as they had seen in countless pictures and newsreels.
 

“Holy shit,” Luther repeated. “Are these guys Russians?”

“Rosie,” Kowalksi said, fearful of the answer. “Did we just kill our own allies? They coulda been wearing German uniforms over theirs to sneak through to meet up with us!”

Mack sat back on the ground, trying to focus, trying to make sense of what had happened. He noticed he still held the bloody knife in his hand and tossed it aside. He closed his eyes and held his head in his hands. He tried to put together everything he knew, to see how the Russian uniforms fit in.

Operation Gambit is headed by Johann Faust, professional soldier, intelligence operative, fluent in many languages, and a man with few scruples. Operation Gambit is after American uniforms and gear. Operation Gambit has a specific operational area, which we’re now in. No American uniforms in sight. German units withdraw from this area, except for AA defenses. Now we find four men in Russian uniforms, wearing German army tunics, with Russian weapons. No papers. Wait—if Faust had been after American uniforms, then would it stand to reason he’d also be after Russian uniforms? Maybe, but why?

Mack lifted up his head and looked at the dead body next to him, wishing that they had kept one of them alive to interrogate. Then he saw it, as clear as day on the dead man’s uniform. He knew. It all made sense. Everything fell into place, as neatly as the last pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. He knew too that Johann Faust could pull it off, if anyone could.
 

“These are Germans. They’re dressed in Russian uniforms to fool us. And I bet there’s another bunch of them to the east in American uniforms, waiting for the Russians.”

“How do you know that?” asked Rosie. “Even if it’s true, how could they fool us with these German outfits and helmets on?”

“Because they’re still waiting for our guys to get closer. Remember, they don’t know we’re here yet in force, so they’re still wearing their German tunics.”

“But how can you be so sure they’re Germans?” Rose demanded. “I think Kowalski might be onto something about Russians infiltrating through German lines to contact us.”

“Look at this.” Mack lifted up the left arm of the dead German. The cuffband read
Brandenburg
. “These guys are Brandenburgers, a special
Abwehr
unit. Commandos, experts in operations deep behind enemy lines. They know languages, weapons, everything about Allied forces. They were even speaking some Russian as well as German when they came up on us. The Russians wouldn’t just happen to have Brandenburg Division uniforms lying around. They wouldn’t use them anyway, they’d attract too much notice.”
 

“Okay, it makes sense,” said Rose, thinking it through. “What’s the part about fooling us?”
 

“It’s my bet that there are a lot more of them around here, waiting for American forces to get close. Then they take off the German tunics, and hit us. We think it’s the Russians turning on us. At the same time, there’s another Brandenburg unit dressed in American uniforms, attacking the Russians heading west.”

“That explains the big pullout!” Rose exclaimed. Now it made sense to him too. “They wouldn’t want any regular forces getting in the way of what would have to be a top secret operation!”

“Yeah,” said Kowalski, dropping his Russian patrol theory. “They’ll probably each pull back, and lead us and the Russians smack into each other. But what good does it do the Germans?”
 

“It might not really help them at all,” Rose answered. “But they might believe it will. Get the Allies fighting with each other, maybe one or the other will ask them to help. I could see Goebbels preaching about a holy war against the Commies.”

“All I know is that we don’t need another war on top of the one we have,” Mandelbaum said. “A lot of our guys will get killed for nothing.”

“And I know something about the Russians,” Mack added. “I’ve dealt with them before. They’re totally paranoid. It wouldn’t surprise them to hear the Americans are trying to push them back to their own borders. They’d believe it. We would have another war on our hands, and maybe the Nazis could survive by playing each side against the other.”

“And we’re sitting here with a busted radio,” Rose said disgustedly. “Let’s get these bodies hidden and move out.”
 

* * *

Elsa found Dieter changing into a fresh uniform and filling a pack.
 

“What’s happening?” she asked.
 

“Faust is on his way. You had better get back to your room.”

Elsa looked at his gear and weapons. There was food, a medical pack, and plenty of ammunition. She looked up at him with a great sadness in her eyes.

“You’re going to the Americans, aren’t you? It’s about to happen.”

“Yes,” Dieter said, buttoning his tunic and pulling on his field cap. “It has begun.”

He continued his preparations. There was little warmth in his face. Elsa now saw a part of him she had never know. He had not spoken much about the war. Dieter had told her about the places and people he had seen, and even the injustices, but he had never spoken about his actual experience of combat, of death and killing. Now that she saw him preparing for this dangerous journey, she saw how he shut part of himself off from her. There was a sternness in his jaw that showed determination and commitment, where she was used to seeing an easy and gentle smile. She involuntarily took a half step back from him, afraid of the man she loved.

“Elsa, you must stay here now. It’s too dangerous out there. Once I warn the Americans, Jost and Hans will bring you over with everyone else. But now you have to go back to your room and stay there.”

“How will we know if—I mean when—you reach the Americans?” 
“I’m bringing a field radio, a small unit tuned to a special frequency. Hans will listen for me, and then he and Jost will bring everyone over.”

“What about Faust?”

“You just have to worry about staying away from him while he’s here. Jost!” He yelled over Elsa’s shoulder.
 

“Coming,” came the answer from the hallway. Dieter reached out to Elsa, taking her hand in his.
 

“I have to do this. And I have to know you’re safe while I do it. We must make sure the war doesn’t go on forever.” He kissed her, softly but quickly, afraid to lose himself in her warmth and softness. Jost stood in the doorway, waiting respectfully.
 

“Jost, please take Elsa back. When Faust gets here, tell him I went out to check on the patrols.”

“Which way are you headed?” asked Jost.

“I’m going up to the observation post on the hill first, then decide from there once the patrols report in. The Americans have to be over the Mulde by now.”
 

He looked to Elsa, trying not to betray the fears he felt.
 

“Please, go with Jost. Now.” His eyes pleaded with her. She squeezed his hand and looked into his eyes, deeply. She leaned in and whispered to him. “Find the Americans. I will find you. I love you.” Then she turned abruptly and ran out of the room. She didn’t want Dieter to see her crying, not now when he needed all his strength and concentration. There would be time later for tears of sorrow or joy.

Dieter put on his pack, slung his Schmeisser over his shoulder and went to the radio room. Hans was testing the radio, setting it to a different frequency than the one Operation Gambit used to insure that Faust would not overhear their communications.
 

“Faust called in. He asked for you but I told him you had left. Hurry, he’ll be here shortly.”
 

Hans gave him the hand-held radio. Dieter slung it over his shoulder as Jost came back from delivering Elsa to her room.
 

“She’s not happy, but she’s staying put for the moment.”

“Take care of her for me, Jost.”
 

Jost looked him in the eyes, knowing Dieter meant more than caring for Elsa only while he was gone. He nodded.

“We’ll see you across the river. Now go put an end to this.”

“I’ll stay by the radio. Let us know whatever you need,” Hans said. “And God go with you.”

“We’ve been through a lot together,” Dieter said. “We’ll get through this, too. If not, well, I have been honored to know both of you.”
 

With that, Jost and Hans came to attention and saluted Dieter, not with the required Hitler stiff-arm salute, but with the regular and now proscribed traditional military salute, arm bent and the flat of the hand brought up to the brow. Dieter snapped to attention and returned the salute. He felt a lump in his throat and a great, emotional pride in his men. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He turned on his heel and walked in brisk, long strides, through the castle courtyard and toward the looming presence of Hill 182.

Back in her room, Elsa put on a pair of warm coveralls and a paratrooper’s loose rainproof smock from among the clothes Jost had gathered for her. She pulled her brown hair up and tucked it under a blue
Luftwaffe
field cap. She checked her Luger and put it in her front pocket, tucking extra rounds in the coverall pockets, and picking up a canteen and small pack with food. She looked in the mirror, and hoped that in the dark, she could pass for a man. Going to the window, Elsa looked down. There was one floor below her, about a ten-foot drop if she hung by her hands outside the window. Praying that the ground was soft, she sat on the window ledge, pulled her legs up and swung around, gripping the ledge and hanging down the side of the castle wall. She let go and dropped, hitting the ground hard but rolling. She got up quickly and looked around, then started running low, in the direction Dieter had headed.

Elsa understood that Dieter would only be distracted and worried if she went with him. He needed to think he was alone, not responsible for anyone or anything but stopping Operation Gambit. Elsa also knew that she was not about to sit idly by and wait, especially with a clearly insane Johann Faust in the same building. She would follow Dieter as best she could. At least there would be two of them heading to warn the Americans.

* * *

Lieutenant Colonel Howard Sadler stood on the hood of his jeep, binoculars to his eyes, scanning the horizon, which was broken by rolling meadows and lightly forested hills.
 

“I told you Barney,” Sadler said to his intelligence officer, “I told you, damn it, that there was nobody in front of us!” Sadler smiled broadly down at Captain Barney Canfield, who was studying a folded map in the passenger seat of the jeep.
 

“Colonel, there’s not much of the map left. Looks like this area has only a few main roads and lots of tracks and dirt roads like this one. If we stay on this road it looks like it will bring us out near Pretzsch, on the Elbe River.” 
“Then that’s where we’ll go to meet up with the Ruskies. We’ll be in the history books, Barney!” Sadler had given up on a major battle to clinch his reputation, since there were no German forces to be found. But he saw this as an even great opportunity, a daring, lightning raid deep into enemy territory to link up with the Russians. Whatever the brass might say, the public back home would love it, and that’s what counted. He clambered down from the hood and looked at the line of vehicles backed up behind him.

Sergeant Johnny DeAngelo sat in the back of the jeep, leaning against the .50 caliber mounted machine gun. He lit a cigarette with his Zippo lighter and looked down the road as Sadler had.
 

“Kinda bunched up back there, Colonel,” he said as he exhaled.
 

“Now don’t worry, Johnny, we haven’t seen a German plane in days. No reason to waste time spreading out and getting lost.”
 

Sadler turned to the map Canfield was holding, and began pointing out the route he planned to take. Over his shoulder, from the northeast, there came a high-pitched, long drawn-out screeching sound.
 

“What the hell is that?” asked Sadler, incredulous. DeAngelo swung the .50 caliber around and up as he yelled a warning. “Take cover!”

Two Me 262 jet fighters banked in a graceful arc above them, lining up to attack the bumper-to-bumper trucks, jeeps and halftracks below them. The noise from their jet engines was strange and alien to the GIs below, some of whom froze for a critical second, staring up at the strange, swept-wing shaped forms. DeAngelo saw their hesitation. He began firing the machine gun, even though the jets were not yet within range. The rapid fire sound jolted the men into action, and they piled out of vehicles and ran away from the road to take cover. The jets came in low, firing their four 30mm cannons at the line of vehicles. Shells and explosions chewed up the line, as gas tanks exploded and men who were too slow were caught in the deadly fire, their shattered bodies twisting in midair from the force of the impact.