“I want you to visit every town that’s got so much as a single rotting wharf. Talk to the locals. Find out if any strangers bought or leased a boat like that recently. And if they did, see if you can dig up who they were or claimed to be.” The chief of station showed his teeth again. “Technology can only take us so far, fella. Now we’re down to pure, slogging legwork. In this case, using your legs.”
Great, Vance thought gloomily, join the CIA and get to see a dozen stinking German fishing villages. He folded the sketch in half and left, inwardly fuming at an assignment that seemed certain to be tedious, demeaning, and futile. He passed other young officers waiting outside the station chief’s office for their own orders.
The lambs were going forth to stalk lions.
MARCH 4 — WASHINGTON POST
STRASBOURG, FRANCE
— European foreign ministers meeting here stunned the world today by signing a series of sweeping agreements designed to produce a new, continent-wide alliance — the European Confederation. If ratified by the respective national governments, these treaties would establish a common currency, a single, multinational army, closer links between national police forces and judicial systems, and unified trade and foreign policies.
As a first step, France and Germany announced their own plans to fully integrate their armed forces, intelligence services, and police units. Other nations joining the confederation are expected to follow suit in the coming weeks.…
CHAPTER 12
Threat Warning
The first unmistakable signs of the new European order were already reaching Germany’s armed forces — right on the heels of a fast-moving rainstorm.
A cool, damp breeze ruffled Lieutenant Colonel Willi von Seelow’s uniform coat as he stood waiting near the headquarters helipad. The brigade staff, a little knot of officers and senior noncoms, stood at ease around him, chatting softly as though worried that they might be overheard by their august visitor even before his arrival.
He shifted his weight, frowning slightly as he felt the ground give under his feet.
The brigade’s parade ground stretched for several hundred meters to either side, still a little muddy from yesterday’s rains. More mud-filled ruts had been “plowed” by the 191st Panzergrenadier Battalion’s tracked armored vehicles. Forty-two Marder APCs were lined up by companies and platoons, with two command tracks out front. Self-propelled 120mm mortars, trucks, and other “soft-skinned” vehicles were drawn up in neat rows behind them. Bundled against the cold and fitted with full combat gear, the battalion’s five hundred men and officers milled around their vehicles, waiting like the brigade staff.
Von Seelow was especially proud of the 191st. He’d served with the battalion as a company commander for several months after transferring over from the defunct East German Army. His old comrades had done well during the winter troubles. Despite being underpaid, outnumbered, and loathed by many of their fellow countrymen, they had kept the peace all winter long. Of course, several months spent enforcing the government’s martial law decrees had eroded their “conventional” combat skills, but at least these men were now battle-hardened. They had seen a few of their comrades die and many others injured. They were veterans.
He glanced at the officer standing beside him.
“You wait and see, Willi. A Frenchman commanding German troops. It will be a disaster.” Lieutenant Colonel Otto Yorck shook his head. Only a little shorter than von Seelow, his bleached blond hair and faded blue eyes made him look more like a ski instructor than an army officer.
Von Seelow smiled. As CO of the 191st, Yorck had a reputation for straight talk, even when it might be more politic to keep silent. He had also been a ready friend in the brigade’s hierarchy, one of the few fellow officers who didn’t seem to care about Willi’s eastern birth.
Privately, of course, he shared Yorck’s feelings. Under the newly signed Articles of the European Confederation, the French and German armed forces were being joined at the hip, blended together to form a new multinational army. This new EurCon II Corps, for instance, would include not only the German 7th Panzer and 2nd Panzergrenadier divisions but also the French 5th Armored.
Close military cooperation between the two former NATO allies was nothing new. In just one example, German and French airborne divisions had worked together during annual Colibri, or Hummingbird, exercises since 1963. One combined Franco-German army corps already existed. Formed during the early 1990s, it had symbolized a “European” approach to security issues. As a military unit, though, the corps had never been much more than an experimental unit.
What was happening now, though, was a very different and vastly more complex process. The two nations were trying to merge their military command, communications, intelligence, and logistics functions into a single seamless whole. And all in a matter of months. The language barrier alone was formidable, but there were also significant differences in operating procedures, even basic organizations. For example, at full wartime strength, the 7th Panzer Division could field more than three hundred Leopard 2 tanks, nearly two hundred Marder APCs, and seventeen thousand fighting men. Its closest French counterpart, the 5th Armored, was only a little over half that size.
But this new drive for unity was going forward, even at breakneck speed. Moreover, it was a curious merging. Most of the corps and higher joint commands were being given to French officers, some newly promoted for their billets. Even the new II Corps, with its two German divisions, now had a French commander.
There’d been a lot of grumbling against Schraeder and the rest of the German leadership. Many of the more conservative officers were complaining about being sold out by their own leadership. The idea of allying with the French, recent partners but longtime enemies, made Willi uneasy as well. The French certainly seemed to be well in charge.
Willi winced inside. His father, Colonel Hans von Seelow, and his grandfather, the old general, were certainly spinning in their graves.
The radio on his belt crackled. “Private Neumann to brigade. Helicopters in sight.” Even as he looked for Colonel Bremer and nodded, shouts rang out across the parade ground, “Stand auf!”
The once-quiet compound burst into activity. Equipment rattled and boots thudded into the soft, rain-soaked ground as the panzergrenadiers shook themselves into close formation.
Von Seelow acknowledged the transmission, then took his own place in line. Silence settled over the compound. Some men were shivering. The late winter wind had a sharper bite when you couldn’t move to stay warm.
Their wait was mercifully short. Only moments after the brigade staff and the battalion took their places, a dark dot appeared just over the skyline, quickly growing into a clattering gray-green helicopter. It flew low overhead and then circled, sliding downward toward the marked landing area.
Even though the brigade staff stood a discreet distance away, Willi had to brace himself against the Puma’s rotor blast.
The troop carrier settled heavily onto the helipad, kicking up a fine, cold gray mist. A descending whine matched the slowing rotor blades. When they stopped turning, the Puma’s door slid to one side, and Général de Corps d’Armée Etienne Montagne alighted.
As Montagne’s foot touched the ground, shouts of “Achtung!” echoed across the parade ground. Out of the corner of his eye, von Seelow watched the 191st snap to attention.