Mechanically, Stanislaus Dombrowski and Franz Ingelmann trudged along. Doubled over by the crippling weight of their packs and the oppressive sorrow each man carried in his heart over the terrible losses they had already endured, neither spoke. Even when the big Pole took time to pause and check their location against his map to confirm their bearings, Ingelmann maintained his silence. Both appreciated the fact that the other was in no mood for the lighthearted banter that often accompanied such a long and arduous trek. There simply were no words in any of the languages either men knew that could erase the anguish they shared.
lust how complete his isolation was to the physical world he was moving through, not really seeing it or allowing himself to feel, didn't hit Dombrowski until it dawned on him that the reason the light was fading was because it was late afternoon. Coming to an abrupt halt, the Polish legionnaire lilted his head back and looked up into the sky. To his utter amazement, it was also snowing. Without thinking, he stretched out his hand and turned his open palm up to catch a few snowflakes in an effort to confirm his astonishing discovery. From behind him, Ingelmann spoke for the first time since they began their grim, silent march. "Is there a problem?"
Dombrowski didn't answer right away. Instead, he lowered his eyes and surveyed the mangled pine forest they had been moving through. As far as the eye could see, which was not very far at this moment, everything was covered with a thin layer of dirty, gray snow. "How long has this been coming down?" he finally asked.
Under ordinary circumstances, the Austrian corporal would have seized upon this statement to poke fun at his oblivious comrade. But these were not ordinary circumstances. The normally jovial and vocal Austrian gave a quick, crisp response. "An hour. Maybe more."
Still in a bit of a daze, Dombrowski continued to scan the scene before him. It was like he had just awakened from a long, fitful sleep. Only, instead of the nightmare ending when he opened his eyes, it was still there before him. A chill from this terrible realization ran down his spine. "We must be getting close," he said, more to himself than to his companion.
Sensing that this would be an excellent time to take a break, Ingelmann gripped a shattered tree that was leaning over at a sharp angle and used it to steady himself as he eased to the ground. Though sitting in the freshly fallen snow sent shivers throughout his body, the relief he felt as the weight on his shoulders lessened caused him to sigh. With his stubby FA MAS assault rifle resting on his chest, Ingelmann closed his eyes, while Dombrowski tried to sort out himself and his circumstances.
Appreciating the fact that this was going to take him a while, he settled down with his back resting against a tree stump. Slowly, almost laboriously, he pulled out the items that he would need. From the oversized cargo pocket on the side of his pants leg he retrieved his neatly folded map, which he spread out onto his lap. Next, he fished the GPS he had taken from his captain out of a pouch on his web belt. Pausing for a moment as he regarded the navigational device, the image of Captain Pascal, forlorn but still sporting a wisp of a smile, flashed before Dombrowski's eyes.
Letting his hands fall to his lap, the big Pole looked around at the snow-covered devastation. Pascal would be dead by now, he told himself. If the overdose of morphine hadn't taken him. then the plunging temperatures surely would have. At least, Dombrowski hoped that was the case. The idea that things might be otherwise sent a shiver down his spine.
With a shake of his head and a blinking of eyes, the legionnaire turned his attention back to his immediate problem. Tapping the location button on the GPS, he watched and waited for the grid location readout. Memorizing the numbers in the display, he set the GPS aside and took up the map. After finding the spot on the map that corresponded to the given grid coordinates, he made a mark on the map case with a grease pencil before lifting the map so he could study it.
Stunned, Dombrowski looked up from the map and stared straight ahead. Though he couldn't see it, there was a ridge a kilometer or so ahead. Just on the other side of the ridge, in a valley between the first ridge and another beyond, was their target. Even more incredible was the sudden realization that the very spot they were sitting in was marked on his map as a possible minefield, which intelligence believed was part of the defensive belt surrounding the missile silo.
When he had managed to collect his thoughts and calm down some, Dombrowski looked over to where his companion was resting. "Franz," he called out. "Without moving, look around you."
In an instant, the Austrian's eyes were wide open and his FA MAS firmly in hand. Methodically, he surveyed all around him, first inspecting everything that lay close at hand, then slowly looking farther afield. "What is it I am looking for?" he whispered as loudly as he dared while he continued to scan all around him.
"Mines," Dombrowski stated with greater calm than he felt at the moment.
"Dear God," Ingelmann intoned as he shifted his focus and began to inspect every patch of ground he could see.
"I am sorry. I wasn't paying attention," the Pole replied sheepishly.
"Do not feel badly, mon ami. Neither was I."
"Do you suppose that the overpressure that blew down all these trees was enough to set the mines off?" Ingelmann asked without interrupting his search.
"I would expect that is the case," Dombrowski responded without much conviction. "Either that or the information regarding their existence is wrong."
Looking over to his NCO, Ingelmann managed to crack a smile for the first time since exiting their transport hours before. "What? American intelligence wrong? How could that be?"
When he was satisfied that he was not in immediate danger, Dombrowski slowly began to get up. "We cannot be sure of anything, other than the fact that we need to go on." Though the freshly fallen snow made doing so futile, once he was on his feet, the Pole searched the ground about him.
"How far?" Ingelmann asked, without taking his eyes off the ground around him.
"Two kilometers, that way," the Pole stated, pointing in the direction of the unseen ridge. "And if you ask me, I would rather get out of this spot while there is still some light."
"I did not ask, but I do agree. Lead on, mon sergeant."
Even though the mines meant to protect the Russian missile silo had been neutralized by the same overpressure that had flattened the surrounding forests, the experience had shaken the two legionnaires. In the final leg of their journey, they exercised a great deal more caution. Because of this heightened awareness, Dombrowski perceived the presence of others in the vicinity of the silo long before they reached it. This caused the pair to redouble their vigilance as they moved forward.
When they had reached a point as close as they could go and still be able to talk in whispers without the fear of being heard, the Polish legionnaire stopped and squatted. With a slight wave of his hand, he motioned Ingelmann to come forward and join him. When his Austrian companion was down next to him, leaning forward so that Dombrowski could whisper in his ear, the big Pole told him to hold in place. "Remain here with the charge," he stated breathlessly. "I will go on and see what we are facing."