Chapter Thirty-Three: The End of the European Dream
Do not confuse “duty” with what other people expect of you; they are utterly different. Duty is a debt you owe to yourself to fulfil obligations you have assumed voluntarily. Paying that debt can entail anything from years of patient work to instant willingness to die. Difficult it may be, but the reward is self-respect. But there is no reward at all for doing what other people expect of you, and to do so is not merely difficult, but impossible.
Near Madgeburg, Germany
“Let me get this straight,” Generalmajor Günter Mühlenkampf snapped. His voice was understandably annoyed. “You are basically heading to the English Channel, whatever else happens, and I am invited to take my men and come with you? Right?”
Captain Stuart Robinson nodded once, briefly. The retreat from Poland had been nightmarish, even with the addition of a handful of other stragglers from Germany, France and even Spain. Mathews’ brief low-powered radar sweeps had revealed an enemy aerial presence that dwarfed anything they'd seen on exercises, or even when the Americans had moved into Iran. There had been thousands of aircraft in the sky, from fighters on patrol to transports moving Russian soldiers forward to the battlezone. They’d kept their heads down and inched west.
It hadn’t been easy. They had had to shoot down a Russian bomber that had located them and that had brought more attention to their general location; the ‘Devil’s Cross’ aircraft, the Russian copy of the A-10 Warthog, had hunted for them with deadly determination. Luck had been with them; the Russians had missed them, that time. A day later, they had stumbled into a Russian patrol; the Russians had been just as surprised and both sides had broken off the contact after a brief exchange of fire. They had reached a German military camp only to discover that it was in ruins; they had decided to avoid the cities and keep moving. Along a deserted autobahn, they had encountered German Military Police, who had escorted them to Mühlenkampf’s camp; Robinson had taken a deep breath of relief before realising that the Germans were in worse condition than his men.
Mühlenkampf had explained it, on their first meeting; the Germans had received the main brunt of Russian malice. Robinson, who had been in Poland, had his doubts about that, but it hardly mattered. The Bundeswehr had been battered right from day one; a combination of riots and insurgencies in the cities, mixed with air and missile attacks. Mühlenkampf himself had been lucky; as far as he knew, he was the only surviving German General Officer… and the seven hundred men under his command, all from scattered units, the largest surviving German body. He had been bitter; he’d managed to pull together a larger force, but some of his units had caught the attention of Russian bombers and been pounded into scrap.
Robinson had held out hope… until he had seen Mathews’ success, linking to a civilian satellite that had been able to provide directions for linking into an American military communications satellite that had been loaned to Britain. The laser-link had been established and a great deal of information had been downloaded, more than Robinson would normally have expected from anyone. The Russians were grinding their way into Germany from two directions at once… and unless his force moved now, they would be caught and destroyed.
“Yes, I suppose you could put it that way,” he said, turning back to Mühlenkampf. The German had an unfortunate name for many reasons; he didn’t deserve to be abandoned. He felt shame, mixed with an odd combination of impatience; the men under his command deserved better than to be thrown away in a fruitless last stand. They would fight like mad bastards if they were cornered, but he wanted to avoid a last stand if it was even remotely possible. “Orders are orders.”
Mühlenkampf glared at him. “The Fatherland is under attack,” he said. He didn’t seem anything like old enough to remember the long period of Soviet occupation and East German repression, but his father-in-law didn’t look that old either. He wondered briefly what had happened to Hazel and her father; the military link didn’t allow them any time for personal messages. He could only hope that she was safe. “I have a duty to defend it.”
Robinson stared around the camp. It didn’t look like a military camp, something that probably worked in its favour; the Russians had bombed, for no apparent reason, a German Boy Scout camp. It had probably looked like a military camp from the air or some reason like that; even the Russians wouldn’t have killed a few dozen children if they had known that that was what they were doing. Mühlenkampf’s camp had a handful of heavy tanks, all carefully camouflaged, a few dozen smaller vehicles, some of them without fuel, and the British CADS. The handful of soldiers from other countries brought even less to the coming confrontation.
On cue, a rumble of thunder split the air.
He had studied the downloaded information and passed all of it onto Mühlenkampf. His own experience with military matters had convinced him that the Russians were running the risk of friction — the effect of small failures acuminating to make operations delayed or impossible — but it looked intimidating on the map. The Russians would either cut Germany in half or they would seal the escaping British units off from retreat; if that happened, it would be time for a last stand. He had no illusions; the most his force could do would be to slow the Russians down for a few minutes.
“Answer me a question,” he said finally. “Can you defend it?”
Mühlenkampf’s face worked furiously. Robinson felt sorry for him; the admittance that the Germans couldn’t stop the Russians for long had to cost him badly. His force had no communication outside their local area; they might be able to slow the Russians, but in the absence of real air cover, they would get pounded and crushed. There were no supply lines, no reinforcements; he had requested that the Americans provide communications to other German units, but there were only a handful of organised units left. The jamming made it impossible to even call up the reserves, or even offer an amnesty to deserters who returned to duty.
“I have my duty,” he said finally. “My men are all volunteers; they decided to stay with me and fight.”
“Come with us,” Robinson insisted. The Russians would notice them leaving, but they had the CADS for air cover; they might even pick up other anti-aircraft units if they looked organised. “We can get to Britain and use it as a springboard to regain Europe…”
“Don’t be foolish,” Mühlenkampf said, dryly. Robinson was reminded helplessly of Captain Jacob Anastazy; the Pole had left them when they had encountered a scratch force of Polish infantry, preparing to head underground to continue the struggle at a later date. “Unless the Americans get involved… and thanks to our lords and masters, that’s not likely to happen… Germany is lost.”
“We don’t know if that is what will happen,” Robinson urged. “There’s a Frenchman trying to pull together a defence line in France. You could add your forces to that…”
“If we get that far,” Mühlenkampf said. He shook his head. “Do you remember the Iraq War, or Iran?”
“I was barely teething at the time,” Robinson said. “I thought German units weren’t involved in the fighting…”
“There was a small mission sent to observe the Yanks at work,” Mühlenkampf said. “They dominated the skies” — he nodded upwards — “rather like the Russians are dominating our skies, and had weapons that could pick off a single tank from high attitude. The tanks I have here, as far as I know, are the last tanks in Germany… and if I try to move them to England, we will be seen moving and destroyed.”