CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Michael Esterling stood on the ridgeline, overlooking the valley surrounding the Rhine River. A longtime student of history, he marveled at the region so pivotal in every German war to date. And no wonder. The river fed the heart of Europe with its tributaries, nourishing bountiful harvests and shipping lines for centuries. In places, he could still see traces of trellises where grapes made these vineyards famous.

  That was before a nuclear arsenal destroyed its grandeur and the fallout buried its hope.

  Not since the second world war had the cities and towns along this waterway been so trodden and reduced to rubble, and viewing the valley made him think of General Patton. The first time the iconic tank commander rolled over these same bridges and northwest into Heidelberg, he might have viewed it with equal sadness, wishing he could have viewed the area in its luscious prime.

  Esterling cringed.

  Patton had met his death thirty kilometers away from the rubble below, and Michael shuddered to think he and Jake would meet a similar fate. He turned his attention to the encampment between this hill and the western river bank. There, Colonel Titus rested his column of soldiers. They did not have to feign exhaustion after their quick march from Stuttgart—more than eighty kilometers on foot to keep ahead of the invasion force.

  “They barely made it,” Jake pointed out, handing over his binoculars. On the far side of the city, the Russians had entered the valley. “A few more hours and they would have overtaken them on the road.”

  “Will they attack tonight?”

  “I don’t think so,” Jake said. “This valley is the best place to cross the Rhine while keeping such a large force intact, but it’s vulnerable to the higher ground on three sides. No, I think they’ll assume we’re leading them here with purpose and proceed with caution. At the very least they’ll scout these hills and inspect the bridges first.” He turned a nervous eye to the nature preserve southwest of their position. The hills he mentioned hid the bulk of their own force—a pitiful showing until Richter and the German forces move into position overnight.

  “We’ll succeed,” Michael assured him, “Adam and Eve said we would.”

  “I believe them too, but I’ve got my doubts. Our artillerymen have zero experience with antique cannons, and the cavalry have only been riding horses for a few months. We’re literally out-experienced and unprepared.”

  “So was George Washington.”

  “You aren’t George Washington, Mike.”

  “No...”

  Michael felt like the iconic leader, and the battle ahead was very much like facing the British in New York. All he had to do was defeat this invasion force and secure his leadership over the fractured people surviving in the region. Of course, the British never gave Washington a true opportunity to end the war until Yorktown, but this time the leader of the free world knew the future held victory.

  “Wait, that’s not right!” Alarm filled Jake’s voice as he snatched back the binoculars.

  “What isn’t?”

  “The Russians. They’re over-pursuing. Look there,” he pointed to the south. Several vehicles had already pushed across the Maxau Rhine Bridges.

  “I thought they’d focus on the Rudolph von Habsburg.”

  “So did I, but they’re in a hurry to end this.”

  “Our line is west of them. Won’t we still be able to attack their southern flank?”

  “Not like we’d planned, and Richter’s not ready in the north.

  “Then we’ll have to deal with what they gave us. Strike now, Jake. We will win!”

  “No,” Braston argued. “We should stick to the plan. Titus will have to fight this skirmish alone and hopefully know enough to move his line northward to rally with us.”

  “At least use the artillery,” Michael insisted. “Soften their attack while he gets free.”

  “No,” Braston argued. “If we give away our positions before Richter’s forces are in place, the Russians will split, taking the same advantage we’d hoped for. Worse, they’d catch Richter on the open field by himself. If they do that, there’s no path to victory.”

  “Titus and his forces will be killed, Jake. Fire on those trucks and turn the enemy before they cross.”

  “If we fire our cannons,” Jake yelled, “they’ll split their forces north to Frankfurt and south to cross at Strasbourg. Then they’ll blow those bridges and we’ll be flanked between them.”

  Esterling paused. The children promised we’d win, but do we do so by attacking now or by waiting? The wrong decision would cost them the battle. He watched Jake carefully for any indication the man meant betrayal. He’s resisting my leadership, so of course he wants to usurp me. He set his posture.

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   “Do it,” Esterling commanded.

  “It’s premature, Mike. I won’t.”

  “Change the script, Jake!” Esterling hadn’t meant to snap, but his frustration won out. Jake was the military brains, but he was the political leader the world needed.

  “Script? Mike, this isn’t a campaign. No offense, but this is a damned war!”

  “Just like that? You’ll defy me? I guess they were right all these years.”

  Braston seemed puzzled. “Who’s right? What are you talking about?”

  Jake had forgotten his place. Friend or not, Michael Esterling was in charge, and the children assured him everything depended on his leadership. “There was a saying around the fraternity,” Esterling said to the general. “No one can say no to Jake Braston. Well I just did and you refused an order.”

  “An order? You trusted me to run the military side of things. What are you doing, Michael? I’m only advising you allow more of them get across, so we can make it sting and give them pause. Your plan will poke the bear into using its full strength.”

  “So this is it? How you betray me? Adam and Eve said one of you would eventually, I never thought it would be you!”

  “Have you gone mad? I wouldn’t...”

  “Send the damned signal, Jake!” His shout caused heads to turn in the junior ranks, and several officers began to mutter dissent. “Now!”

  The anger on Jake Braston’s face clearly showed the man’s arrogance. How dare he defy me? Michael thought.

  But finally the general moved, calling over a lieutenant and passing along the order to attack. Soon, the sound of trumpets could be heard followed several minutes later by the retort of cannon fire. In the valley several rounds exploded, halting the progress of Russian vehicles. Across the riverbank, the enemy scrambled to dig in and set their positions.

  “There,” Jake said with a hint of finality in his voice. “You kept them from crossing, but now we’ve given away our positions. We’ll be sitting ducks in a few minutes.” He pointed across the river and shoved the binoculars into Michael’s chest.

  Esterling lifted them and pointed the lenses in the direction he’d pointed. A large line of trucks veered north of Waghäusel along Highway 5, clearly making their way to Mannheim and the bridges there. A few minutes later, an equal number turned south along Highway 36. Jake was right. The Russians had split their forces and moved to flank his own.

  “We need to go,” Braston muttered. “This is over before it started, and we need to retreat to Ramstein.”

  “No. Adam and Eve promised we’d win! Lieutenant, signal all forces to charge the enemy remaining in Waghäusel. Get everyone across those bridges now.”

  “That’s suicide,” Jake cautioned.

  “They promised I wouldn’t fail, as long as I took charge!”

*****

  Benjamin Roark jumped to his feet as soon as the first cannons fired. The echo shook the countryside, causing his chest to vibrate like a bass drum. He bent, scooped up his rifle and rucksack, and hastily pulled his arms through the straps. A second volley sent him racing to the Colonel’s tent. The officer stood out front, staring south through a pair of binoculars.

  “What happened?” Ben demanded.

  “The Russians followed us instead of camping in Germersheim.” Frank explained. “They sent a force across the southern bridge to cut us off and Jake fired down on them.”

  “But that’s not a problem, right? They’ll still pursue?”

  “Not a chance. They realized it was a trap and split their force. Trucks are moving north and south to cross further up and down the river to flank. That’ll tie Richter up and prevent our southern attack.”

  “What will Braston do?”

  “At this point, Roark, I’ve no idea. I can’t believe he gave away our positions. Foolish! He’s smarter than that!”

  “Colonel!” A master sergeant from the signal brigade hurried over, panting and out of breath. “The general just ordered us to join ranks and be ready to cross the Rhine.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding! Jake Braston’s lost his mind! Roark, get up that hill and confirm these orders!”

  “Aye, sir!” Ben hurried away, sprinting to the horses and choosing one already saddled. With a private holding the reins, he placed his left foot in the stirrup and pulled himself up, swinging his right leg over like in a western movie. If he had time to think about it, he would have snickered at the thought of racing off to warn John Wayne or Gary Cooper, much less Jake Braston. With a kick he galloped toward the general’s headquarters atop a nearby hill.

  The countryside raced by in a blur of greens and grays as the heavy snow packed beneath the pounding hooves of his steed. Thankfully it hadn’t formed ice on top like he was used to back home. With eyes focused on the hill he kicked the flanks harder, driving the poor beast even faster toward their destination.

  General Braston met him a-ways from the headquarters’ tent. Ben dismounted and saluted.

  “Roark, I’m glad you’re here,” the senior officer said. His face appeared haggard, as if worry had overly stressed him. “Esterling pulled rank and ordered that attack. Now he’s sending full strength across the bridges.”

  “Titus said that’ll get us all killed. He sent me here to confirm the message.”

  “I’ll send someone to confirm, but you aren’t crossing that bridge. I need you to do something else.”

  “Anything, General! What do you have in mind?”

  “I need you to sneak across that river and into Waghäusel. Find the Russian general named Ivan Petrov and kidnap him. Get him to me as quick as possible.”

  “Why take him?”

  “Because I was promised we could still win if we did.”

  “How do you know that the person, whoever told you, was correct?”

  “I guess we’ll know if you find Petrov at these coordinates, in a department store—a Sonderposten or something, whatever that is.” Braston handed over a piece of paper.

  Ben stared at the name. “It’s like a Walmart, I think, but I’ve never shopped in one. Who gave you this?”

  “Doctor Yurik. She said to trust you alone to bring him back, and that you’d find him holed up in this building.”

  “She said to send me? Then Adam and Eve said this was the path to victory?”

  “You know about them?” Braston asked, surprised.

  “Stephanie and I are friends, and friends talk, sir. If the children said it’s the way, then we should listen. I need help, though. This isn’t something I can pull off alone.”

  “I’ll hand pick the men myself.”