“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Skorzeny slugged back the rest of his coffee, made a horrible face. “This Dreck is even worse after it cools down. Damn, Jager, you disappoint me. I expected you to run me right down the Grande Rue in Besancon and on to the citadel, cannon blazing.”
“Good luck,” Jager blurted before he realized the other man was joking.
“How’s this, then?” Skorzeny said, chuckling still. “Suppose you lay on an attack-a few panzers, artillery, infantry, whatever you can afford to expend and seem convincingly aggressive without hurting your defense too much-on the eastern half of the front. I want you to draw as much attention as you can away from the western section, where I, a simple peasant, shall pedal my bicycle-you do have a bicycle around here for me to pedal, don’t you? — into Lizard-held territory and on down to Besancon. I have a way to get word to you when I shall require a similar diversion to aid my return.”
Jager thought about the men and equipment he would lose in a pair of diversionary assaults. “The rangefinder is as good as all that?” he asked.
“So I’ve been told.” Skorzeny gave him a fishy stare. “Would you prefer formal written orders, Colonel? I assure you, that can be arranged. I’d hoped to rely more on our previous acquaintance.”
“No, I don’t need formal orders,” Jager said, sighing. “I shall do as you say, of course. I only hope this rangefinder is worth the blood it will cost.”
“I hope the same thing. But we won’t find out unless I get the gadget, will we?”
“No.” Jager sighed again. “When do you want us to put in the diversionary attack, Herr Standartenfuhrer?”
“Do what you need to do, Herr Oberst,” Skorzeny answered. “I don’t want you to go out there and get slaughtered because you hadn’t shifted enough artillery and armor. Will three days give you enough time to prepare?”
“I suppose so. The front is narrow, and units won’t have far to travel.” Jager also knew, but could not mention, that the more men and machines he fed into the assault, the more would be expended. War assumed expending soldiers. The trick was to keep from expending them on things that weren’t, worth the price.
He moved men, panzers, and artillery mostly by night, to keep the Lizards from noticing what he was up to. He didn’t completely fool them; their artillery picked up on the eastern sector of the front, and an air strike incinerated a couple of trucks towing 88mm antitank guns caught out in the open. But most of the shift went through without a hitch.
At 0500 on the morning of the appointed day, with dawn staining the eastern sky, artillery began flinging shells at the Lizards’ positions near the Chateau de Belvoir. Rifle-carrying men in field gray loped forward. Jager, standing up in the cupola as a good panzer commander should, braced himself as his Panther rumbled ahead.
The Lizards’ advance positions, being lightly held, were soon overrun, though not before one of the aliens turned a Panzer IV to Jager’s right to a funeral pyre with a rocket. He didn’t see any enemy panzers, for which he thanked God; intelligence said they’d pulled back toward Besancon after the rough time he’d given them in their latest attack.
But even without armor, the Lizards were a handful. Jager hadn’t pushed forward more than a couple of kilometers before a helicopter rose into the sky and peppered his force with rockets and machine-gun fire. Another panzer, this one a Tiger, brewed up. He winced-not only a powerful new machine, but also a veteran crew, gone forever. A lot of foot soldiers were down, too.
He got in sight of the main. Lizard position outside the Chateau de Belvoir, lobbed a couple of high-explosive shells at the chateau itself (not without an inward pang at destroying old monuments; he’d thought of archaeology as a career until World War I sucked him into the army for good), and, having taken enough casualties to provide the diversion Skorzeny wanted, withdrew to lick his wounds and wait to be called on to sacrifice again.
“I hope the Lizards don’t follow us home,” Klaus Meinecke said as the Panther made its way back to the start line. “If they do, they’re liable to catch us with our pants down around our ankles.”
“Too true,” Jager said; the gunner had found an uncomfortably vivid way to put words to his own fears.
Maybe the Lizards suspected the Germans of trying to lure them into a trap. Whatever their reasons, they didn’t pursue. Jager gratefully seized the time they gave him to rebuild his defensive position. After that, he went back to watchful waiting, all the while wondering how Skorzeny was going to get word to him that he needed more strong young men thrown into the fire.
A week after the diversionary attack, a Frenchman in a tweed jacket, a dirty white shirt, and baggy black wool trousers came up to him, sketched a salute, and said, in bad German, “Our friend with the”-his finger traced a scar on his left cheek-“he needs the help you promise. Tomorrow morning, he say, is the good time. You understand?”
“Oui, monsieur Merci,” Jager answered. The Frenchman’s thin, intelligent face did not yield to a smile, but one eyebrow rose. He accepted a chunk of black bread, offering in exchange a swig of red wine from the flask on his belt. Then, without another word, he vanished back into the woods.
Jager got on the field telephone to the nearest Luftwaffe base. “Can you give me air support?” he asked. “When their damned helicopter gunships show up, I lose panzers I can’t spare.”
“When I go after those gunships, I lose aircraft I can’t spare,” the Luftwaffe man retorted, “and aircraft are just as vital to the defense of the Reich as panzers. Guten Tag.” The phone line went dead. Jager concluded he was not going to get his air support.
He didn’t. The attack went on nonetheless. It even had a moment of triumph, when Meinecke incinerated a Lizard infantry fighting vehicle with a well-placed round from the Panther’s long 75mm gun. But, on the whole, the Germans suffered worse than they had in the first diversionary assault. That had put the Lizards’ wind up, and they were ready and waiting this time. Maybe that meant they’d pulled some troops from the western section of their line. Jager hoped so; it would mean he was doing what he was supposed to.
When he’d soaked up enough casualties and damage to make the Lizards believe (with luck) he’d really tried to accomplish something, he retreated once more. No sooner had he returned to the jumping-off point than a runner came panting up and said, “Sir; there’s a Lizard panzer advancing on our front line about five kilometers west of here.”
“A Lizard panzer?” Jager said. The messenger nodded. Jager frowned. That wasn’t a bad as it might have been, but even one Lizard panzer made a formidable foe. Poor Skorzeny, he thought: they must have caught on to his scheme this time.
Then anger surged through him at having to mount diversionary attacks in support of a plan that hadn’t been likely to succeed anyhow.
“Sir, that’s not all,” the messenger said.
“What else, then?” Jager asked.
“The panzer has a white flag flying from above the drivers station, sir,” the fellow answered, with the air of a man reporting something he doesn’t expect to be believed. “I saw it with my own eyes.”