Roberto Bolaño - The Third Reich

Winter 1940. The First Russian Winter Gambit should be played when the German Army has penetrated deep into the Soviet Union so that the German position, together with the adverse weather, favors a decisive counterattack able to destabilize the front and create pincer movements and pockets. In short: a counterattack that makes it necessary for the German Army to retreat. For this to happen, however, it’s essential that the Soviet Army have enough reserves (not necessarily armored reserves) to launch such a counterattack. In other words, where the Soviet Army is concerned, in order to use the First Russian Winter Gambit with any likelihood of success one must have maintained at least twelve factors along the border during the Autumn Unit Construction phase. Where the German Army is concerned, playing the First Russian Winter with a high degree of confidence implies something crucial about the war in the East, something that annihilates any Russian defenses: the destruction, in each and every previous turn, of the maximum number of factors of Soviet force. Thus the First Russian Winter is rendered innocuous, which, in the worst of cases, only slows the German Army’s advance into Russia, and, where the Soviets are concerned, means an instant reordering of priorities: instead of seeking to fight, it must retreat, leaving large swaths of land to the enemy army in a desperate attempt to remake its borders.

In any case, El Quemado doesn’t know how to play FRW (because I didn’t explain it to him, of course), and the best that can be said about his movements is that they’re confused: in the north he counterattacks (he scarcely grazes my units) and in the south he retreats. At the end of the turn I’m able to establish the front along the most advantageous line possible, through hexes E42, F41, H42, Vitebsk, Smolensk, K43, Briansk, Orel, Kursk, M45, N45, O45, P44, Q44, Rostov, and the approaches to the Crimea.

On the Mediterranean front the English disaster is absolute. With the fall of Gibraltar (without too many losses on my part), the English Army in Egypt is caught in a trap. There’s no need even to attack it: the lack of supplies, or rather the length of supply lines, which must be routed English port–South Africa–Gulf of Suez, guarantees its inefficacy. In fact, the Mediterranean, except for the Egyptian Army and an infantry corps stationed in Malta, is all mine. Now the Italian fleet has free passage into the Atlantic, where it will join the German war fleet. With it and with the few infantry corps stationed in France, I can now begin to think about invading Great Britain.

Plans simmer at the General StaffCommand: invade Turkey, penetrate the Caucasus from the south (if it has yet to be conquered), and attack the Russians from the rear in order to secure Maikop and Grozny. Short-range plans: in the Strategic Redeployment phase, transfer the maximum number of air factors deployed in Russia to support the invasion of Great Britain. And long-range plans: for example, calculate the line that the German Army will hold in Russia by the spring of ’42.

It’s annihilation, a victory of arms for me. Thus far, I’d hardly spoken. The next turn could be devastating, I said.

“Could be,” answers El Quemado.

His smile indicates that he believes otherwise. The way he circles the table, moving in and out of the light, is gorillalike: calm, confident. Whom does he expect to save him from defeat? The Americans? By the time they enter the war, Europe will probably be entirely controlled by Germany. Perhaps the remnants of the Red Army will still be fighting on the Eastern front, in the Urals; there’ll be no significant resistance, in any case.

Does El Quemado plan to play to the bitter end? I’m afraid so. He’s what we call a mule. I once faced a specimen of the genus. The game was NATO: The Next War in Europe and my opponent was playing the part of the Warsaw Pact troops. He was winning at first, but I brought him to a halt just before he reached the Ruhr Valley. From that point on, my air force and the Federal Army clobbered him and it was clear that he had no chance of winning. Even when his friends begged him to give up, he kept going. The match was completely emotionless. In the end, when I had won, I asked why he wouldn’t give up when even to him (a complete dolt) his defeat was obvious. Coldly, he confessed that he expected that I, worn down by his persistence, would finish him offwith a nuclear attack, and there would thus be a fifty percent chance that the initiator of the atomic holocaust would lose the game.

He hoped in vain. I’m not the champ for nothing. I know how to wait and be patient.

Is that what El Quemado is waiting for before he surrenders? There are no atomic weapons in Third Reich . What is he waiting for, then? What is his secret weapon?

With Frau Else in the dining room:

“What were you doing yesterday?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing? I looked everywhere for you and I didn’t see you all day. Where were you?”

“In my room.”

“I went looking for you there too.”

“What time?”

“I don’t remember. At five and then later, at eight or nine.”

“That’s odd. I think I was back by then.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“All right, it was a bit later. I went out for a drive; I ate in the next town, at a place out in the woods. I needed to be alone, to think. You have very good restaurants around here.”

“And then?”

“I got in the car and drove back. Slowly.”

“That’s all?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a question. It means did you do anything other than drive around and eat?”

“No. I came back to the hotel and went up to my room.”

“The watchman says he didn’t see you come in. I’m worried about you. I feel responsible, I think. I’m afraid that something bad will happen to you.”

“I know how to take care of myself. Anyway, what could happen to me?”

“Something bad… Sometimes I have presentiments… A nightmare…”

“You mean I could end up like Charly? First I’d have to be into windsurfing. Which, between us, is a sport for morons. Poor Charly. Deep down I’m grateful to him. If he hadn’t died in such an idiotic way, I’d be gone by now.”

“If I were you I’d go back to Stuttgart and make up with that… child, your girlfriend. Right now! Immediately!”

“But you want me to stay, I can tell.”

“You scare me. You act like an irresponsible boy. I’m not sure whether you can see it or you’re blind to it. But don’t listen to me, I’m nervous. It’s the end of the summer. I’m usually a very levelheaded person.”

“I know. And very beautiful.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Yesterday I would rather have stayed here with you, but I couldn’t find you either. The hotel was full of retirees and I was suffocating. I needed to think.”

“And then you were with El Quemado.”

“Yesterday. Yes.”

“He came up to your room. I saw the game. It was all set up.”

“He came up with me. I always wait for him at the front entrance. To be safe.”

“And that was all? He went up with you and didn’t come out again until past midnight?”

“More or less. A bit later, maybe.”

“What did you do all that time? Don’t tell me you were playing.”

“Actually, we were.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“If you were really in my room you must have seen the game board. It was right there.”

“I saw it. A strange map. I don’t like it. It smells bad.”

“The map or the room?”

“The map. And the pieces. Actually, everything in your room smells bad. Doesn’t anyone dare to go in and clean? No. Maybe it’s your friend’s fault. Maybe it’s his burns that stink.”