He nodded towards the east. “That information you brought has the Russians coming down the nearby autobahn,” he said. “We don’t have enough explosives to take down any of the bridges and I don’t want to waste tank shells, but we can ambush the Russians, slow them down, keep hitting them until we run out of fuel, abandon the tanks, and then go underground. It won’t be long before we can set Europe ablaze with resistance to the Russians.”
Robinson hoped that he was right. Aldershot had bashed some military history into his head and he could remember that resistance had been a hit-or-miss affair in the Second World War. The history books had argued backwards and forwards about how important the role of the various resistance groups had been, but it would be a long time before Mühlenkampf could build up the resources needed for an underground war. Unlike Iraq, Europe had no massive stockpiles of basic weapons, left around for just anyone to take; Mühlenkampf would find gathering weapons difficult, at least until the Russians got careless.
“I wish you the best of luck,” Robinson said finally. “I have my orders.”
“Yes,” Mühlenkampf said slowly. “Do you think that you can get the CADS back to Britain?”
Robinson had wondered about that. “You want me to leave them here,” he said. “Can your people operate them?”
“They’re EUROFOR-standard vehicles,” Mühlenkampf said dryly. “There will be soldiers who know how to use them in my force.”
“I’ll just see,” Robinson said. He saluted and wandered towards one of the groups of soldiers, mainly British and French; they stood up and saluted as he approached. They looked tired, battered, and shocked; none of them had really anticipated a weeklong nightmare that wasn’t over yet, if it was ever over. “At ease…”
They relaxed. “We have finally some orders from home,” he informed them. The sense of relief was easy to sense. “We have been ordered to make our way to the coast and hopefully board a ship to return to Britain, in preparation for the time when we will return and kick the Russians arse.” There were some tired chuckles. “The main body of the Germans intend to remain here and fight; I ask now, does anyone want to remain here and join them?”
There was a long pause. “I’ll take that as a no,” Robinson said. “Be ready to move out in one hour.”
He saw Captain Mathews working on one of the CADS. “We have a problem with one of the engines,” he said, shortly. “I think there was something wrong with the last batch of fuel.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Robinson said. “General Mühlenkampf has asked that we leave the CADS behind when we move, as they will be far too easy to spot from the air. If one of them is almost immobile…”
“Yes,” Mathews said. He paused. “I think that he’s right; we do owe him the best chance we can give him… and, anyway, with these engines we might not get this baby to a ship.”
“I asked the others if anyone wanted to remain behind,” Robinson said. “What about you? Mühlenkampf thinks that his people can operate them, and they could just flip on the auto-fire program; do you want to remain behind?”
Mathews hesitated. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ll feel like a heel for running out, but it would be a futile last stand for all of us, so… if I have to die, I want it to be worth something.”
“I know,” Robinson said. Mere words seemed inadequate. “We’re taking the two lorries as far as we can, so get there in an hour with your men, if they don’t want to remain behind. I’m going to report to Mühlenkampf and let him know.”
Mathews lifted an eyebrow. “You’re not going to tell them back home what we’re doing?”
“Of course not,” Robinson said, bitterly. “It would only upset them.
Mühlenkampf was studying a tank when Robinson found him. The Germans had had one lucky break; they had recovered a fuel tanker that had been disabled by a Russian attack, but through sheer luck the fuel hadn’t exploded and added to the damage on the roads. The Russians had strafed several civilian vehicles by accident; all over Germany, people would be running out of fuel. Robinson didn’t want to even think about the effects on civilians, caught up in a meat-grinder; the fools who said that war was glorious had never seen the effects on those caught up in the fighting. Robinson had known the job was dangerous when he had taken it; the civilians had not even been consulted about the war.
Of course not, he thought, as Mühlenkampf stood up. They would have voted against it and did vote against it, but there is no point in passing resolutions in favour of being vegetarian if the wolves are of a different opinion…
Mühlenkampf’s eyes were bitter. “Well?”
Robinson ignored the tone. “You will have the CADS left behind,” he said, fighting down the sense of shame at abandoning both Mühlenkampf and the CADS. “Captain Mathews has agreed to leave them for you — incidentally, something that our orders technically forbid. We also have something else for you; we’re taking one of the satellite phones from the CADS, but the other will remain with you. The American intelligence information will be yours for a while.”
“They’ll cut me off eventually,” Mühlenkampf predicted. “If they don’t get involved, they won’t want to be in the position where they have to say no to me, so they’ll cut me off, just like they do to every group that trusted them and outlived their usefulness.”
Robinson held out a hand. “It’s been interesting,” he said. Mühlenkampf snorted, but took the proffered hand anyway. “I do wish you the best of luck; give them hell, from me.”
The sound of an aircraft echoed in the far distance. “We’ll do the best we can,” Mühlenkampf said. He scowled. “One of my runners has reported Russian tanks probing towards us, so if you don’t mind…?”
“We’ll be on our way,” Robinson said. He led the way towards the two lorries; a handful of soldiers had decided to volunteer to remain behind, leaving him with twenty-one soldiers, and the redoubtable sergeant. The German lorries were open-topped, something that would allow the soldiers a chance to jump for cover if they were detected and attacked; a covered truck might be harder for the Russians to notice, but if the Russians decided to blast it on general principles, his men would be roasted before they could escape. “Good luck, sir.”
He waved as the lorries started their long trip to the west.
They never saw one another again.
The autobahn was massive, large enough to hold four lanes running in each direction, and almost completely deserted. Mühlenkampf watched as his force settled into its position, waiting with inhuman patience for a chance to take a shot at their tormentors. The original series of autobahns, it was generally believed, had been started by Hitler, but that wasn't true; Hitler had only taken an idea from the previous government and run with it. They had thought in terms of military vehicles moving from west to east; later governments had kept one eye on the military possibilities, until the threat from the east had vanished. Europe had built new roads, linking Europe together… and the Russians were using them to invade. Their tanks would smash up large sections of the road, but they wouldn’t care about that; they only cared about speed and the desperate requirement to get as far into Germany as possible.
Mühlenkampf ground his teeth as he waited. He had seen how political correctness had ripped through the Bundeswehr; there was no longer pride in serving Germany. A law had been passed, forbidding his soldiers to wear their uniforms in public; young Germans tried to avoid the military as a career, fearful of being disdained in public by their fellow youths, particularly the girls. The Bundeswehr was hardly the Waffen-SS — they were professional soldiers who acted in professional manners — but they were shunned. Their fellow professionals respected them; what did it say about Germany when they had more respect from foreigners than their own people? What did it all mean anyway?