Order of Battle by Ib Melchior Read Free Book Online Page B

Sudetenland. The Czechs would be very interested.
    They had arrived in the picturesque little town of Kronach, where the forward echelons of XII Corps were headquartered, the day before, in time to attend the memorial services for President Roosevelt, held in the gardens behind the Corps HQ buildings. The moving commemorative address had been given by the Corps CG, Major General “Matt” Eddy.
    The sudden death of the Commander in Chief had been deeply felt by everyone. Erik, though he’d never even seen him, felt a sharp personal loss. FDR had been President ever since he was old enough to remember. It was as if part of the United States was gone.
    Erik perched himself on the corner of a desk and began to riffle through a stack of mimeoed intelligence reports. Don sauntered over to the window. He looked out.
    From a rocky hilltop on the opposite bank of the river the great medieval fortress Feste Rosenberg looked down majestically on both the old and the new sections of the town of Kronach—seemingly without paying any special attention to the complex of two- and three-story brick buildings with gray tile roofs that housed the Corps CP.
    Don had an excellent view of the old castle. He enjoyed it. In fact, he’d enjoyed seeing—and being in—a lot of places. In England, in France, in Luxembourg—and Germany. To his own great surprise he found that his interest in actually seeing places linked with history could go hand in hand with the grim business of wartime counter intelligence work. A little guiltily he sometimes thought of himself as a tourist in GI boots—although he’d never admit it, least of all to Erik, who’d tramped all over Europe and spoke five or six languages fluently. Just as well. It sure was an advantage to someone born and raised in Amarillo, Texas, who had trouble even with English!
    Don contemplated the massive stone castle on the hill. Proud. Forbidding, he thought, even under enemy occupation. Well, it wasn’t the first time. History did have a way of repeating itself—even if it occasionally took a little time. Some three centuries before, the Swedish king Gustavus Adolphus had made his headquarters in Feste Rosenberg when he had invaded Germany, bent on liberating his German Lutheran brothers. This century it’s the Jews’ turn, Don thought wryly.
    He wondered idly where that bit of useless information came from. Part of that ninety percent of his college education he was supposed to forget? Only hadn’t?
    Don joined Erik. Major Lund was finishing up. He walked the general and the two colonels to a large map on the wall next to the area situation map. The map bore the legend:
Unconfirmed Installations in
R  E  P  O  R  T  E  D   R  E  D  O  U  B  T   A  R  E  A
    It showed the Alpine regions of Bavaria, Austria and Italy, with the city of Munich to the north. A large area in the center had been marked off with a heavy broken line and was studded with military symbols. Lund indicated the map.
    “There it is,” he said. “Up to date.”
    “And unconfirmed,” the general commented dryly.
    “Yes. But indications show that the Nazis are preparing for a bitter fight from there.”
    “Sort of a last stand, you mean.” The general sounded vaguely patronizing. Brigadier General Millard P. McGraw was a combat officer. He didn’t think too much of desk officers and tabletop campaigns.
    “Exactly.” Major Lund turned to the map, continuing the briefing he’d given hundreds of times before. “As you can see, sir, the actual area of the National Redoubt—the so-called Alpine Fortress —takes in parts of the Bavarian Alps, western Austria and northern Italy—some twenty thousand square miles of virtually impregnable mountain terrain.”
    “Quite a piece of real estate!” said one of the colonels, impressed.
    “You bet! Hitler’s own stronghold—Berchtesgaden—lies right in the center.” He pointed it out. “Right—there.”
    The general