David Robbins - Last Citadel

Major Grimm began the long walk back around the table. ‘So you see, Captain de Vega, those ten Tigers you delivered to us are crucial. There are only a hundred and thirty-three of them out of all our tanks in Russia.’

Colonel Breit stepped to Luis, laying a hand to his arm.

‘You did a great service seeing those Tigers through. We don’t have a numerical advantage against the Russians. The Führer is counting on these tanks to even the score. Yours was the final shipment of Tigers. Captain Thoma?’

‘Yes, mein Herr?’

‘Captain Thoma here commands one of Leibstandarte’s armored companies.’ Colonel Breit kept his hand and eyes on Luis. ‘Out of the forty-two Tigers in the SS Corps, we have fourteen in our division. Sixty-two Mark IIIs. Thirty-three Mark IVs. And… how many T-34s, Captain?’

‘Twenty-five.’

‘Twenty-five Russian tanks we will turn against their former owners. So. There we are. Captain Thoma here will find you suitable quarters. I am assigning you to my staff, Captain de Vega. I assume you have no pressing orders requiring your return to Germany?’

‘No, Colonel.’

‘Good. From what Major Grimm tells me, I can use a steadfast manner like yours around this table. Settle in and report to me here at oh-five-hundred.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Colonel Breit nodded to Thoma and left the room. Major Grimm gave both young captains an approving nod and followed in the colonel’s wake. The two orderlies went behind them. Thoma hung on to the long stick.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘good for you.’

Luis was conflicted about the assignment to Colonel Breit’s tactical staff. How much of the battle would be fought in this room? Real lives won’t be taken, real ground won’t be gained on this colossal paper plate. Standing here during the battle he might win for himself one of the merit badges worn by officers like Breit. But what he craved was the Iron Cross worn by Erich Thoma.

‘Tell me something,’ Thoma asked him. ‘How did you get to be called la Daga ? As soon as Major Grimm told me I said: Now that’s a wonderful nickname. Tell me the truth. Was it some bullfighting thing you did?’

Luis folded his arms, reluctant, but Thoma’s grin fanned a spark inside him. He had not had a friend in almost a year. He’d been an invalid, a recovering patient, surrounded by nurses and doctors who’d marveled at his willpower to heal and return to the war, but no one had dared enter the bulging eyes and white, straining frame to see if the heart and soul of the Spanish soldier had shrunk, too. They had not. Thoma stood now cajoling Luis, wanting a secret, something from beneath the flesh to share, something only for the two of them to know.

There was not much room anymore in Luis, he admitted this. He looked at smiling Erich Thoma and found there was enough for a friend.

‘No. It wasn’t from bullfighting.’

Thoma grinned. ‘And?’

‘In Barcelona, there’s a long boulevard through the old quarter down to the water, La Rambla . Gypsies used to walk along the stalls and mix in with the tourists. They taught me how to come up behind tourists and slit their pants pockets with a razor.’

‘Why?’ Thoma’s face was incredulous.

‘To get their wallets.’

‘ Gott im Himmel ,’ Thoma cried. ‘You’re a pickpocket!’

‘Shhhhh.’ Luis waved his hands at the laughing captain. Thoma pretended to compose himself, then burst out guffawing again.

‘That’s better than any bullfighting story! That’s beautiful. You stole wallets!’

‘Alright,’ Luis said. Alright. Get it out of your system.’ He looked about to see if anyone else could hear this outburst from Thoma, but they were alone. Luis admired the wellspring from which Thoma laughed, it all seemed so rooted in him, so confident and authentic; at the same time, Luis was sorrowed by the knowledge that he no longer had such depths himself. Erich Thoma was the man Luis would have been.

‘Now it’s your turn. Tell me something. The truth, as well.’

Thoma cleared his throat and smoothed down his hair, worn longish for a combat officer. His face crinkled.

‘Citadel.’ Luis gestured at the campaign map. ‘I want to know about the battle.’

Thoma stepped to the map, lowering the long stick like a lance.

‘One thing’s for certain. It’s going to be one for the record books.’ He hovered the stick over the map. All the great generals are here.’ He tapped the stick to a set of black blocks on the northern shoulder of the bulge. ‘In the north, running the show, we’ve got Field Marshal von Kluge. He’s not so sure about the operation and has said so. Hitler, I think, has more confidence in General Model.’ He laid the stick to a collection of blocks in the north bearing the 11th Army signet, Model’s force.

‘Problem with Model is, he’s the one who’s been dragging his feet, making us all wait with his demands for more and more armor when we should have jumped off months ago. It’s July now, and he’s got his tanks and guns, but in the meanwhile the Reds have used the time to dig in like ticks.’

Luis took in the thickness of the red blocks. The analogy was apt, the map seemed bitten and swollen ruby by them.

Thoma swept the stick over the southern shoulder of the bulge.

‘In the south we’ve got our genius Field Marshal von Manstein. For the most part Citadel is his brainchild. And the best fighter in the bunch is down here, too, with 4th Panzer. Papa Hoth. Next to us here… on the SS right flank is Army Detachment Kempf. It’s an ad hoc collection, really, strong enough on paper but Werner Kempf has never commanded this many men before. He’s got to keep up on our right.’

‘How about the Russians?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Thoma chuckled, touching the stick to the hillocks of clustered red blocks inside the bulge, north, middle, and south. ‘They’ve brought out their top guns for this one, too. Central Front is under Rokossovsky. Voronezh Front under Vatutin. In reserve at Steppe Front, Koniev. And over all of them is Georgi Zhukov, who kicked our asses in Moscow and Stalingrad. I can’t wait to meet Georgi.’

‘Thoma.’

‘Yes, de Vega.’

This was the first time either man had not called the other ‘Captain.’

‘What do you think? Personally?’

‘Me? I’m just a soldier, I don’t have my own block. But I’ll tell you this. The Reds have got more of everything, men, guns, tanks, planes, we’ve hemmed and hawed long enough to give them all the time they needed to get ready for us. There’s aerial photography for every foot of the salient, but it’s been hard to estimate the Reds’ strength. They’re so damn good at disguising their forces and using fake positions. Even so, hanging over all this is one big fact that every one of these blocks is aware of, red or black. Up until now, in every German offensive, the Soviets outnumbered us then, too. But you know what? Not once have they stopped a German advance before we got far behind their lines. We’ll go deep on this one, too, you can count on it. The question is, will we get to Kursk? And will we get there before the Americans hit shore in Italy and Hitler pulls the plug on Citadel?’

‘Where are you?’ Luis asked. ‘Where’s Leibstandarte?’

‘In the heart of II SS Panzer Corps.’ Thoma dabbed the stick in the center of the southern lines. ‘Right here, to the left of Das Reich and Totenkopf . We’re going to be in the vanguard. Leibstandarte will make straight north. Right along here. Citadel jumps off in two days.’

Luis leaned forward to read the map under the point of Thoma’s stick. Red blocks crowded along the path.