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"But, well, there's something I find rather strange," the general suddenly changed the subject, "Why was it that the last Soviet group, the one responsible for monitoring our train, had a problem? And why did it happen during the climb? And why did they have to hide in the clouds?"
"I think they must have something they can't bring themselves to say, General. Just like how we kept things from General Patton, didn't we? Sometimes being too serious isn't a good strategy; being careless can bring peace, can't it?"
“It seems you understand these things quite well, Clay.” Eisenhower seemed pleased, as if he didn’t care about the trivial matters of the past few days.
“It is my duty, General.” The lieutenant general smiled slightly. “Then there is one more thing I would like to discuss with you… regarding Operation Magic Carpet?”
Do you think Europe is truly at peace now?
The lieutenant general pondered for a moment.
"No, General."
"Why? Can you explain it?"
"The Berlin affair is not over yet, is it? The identity of the unidentified forces that launched the military operation in Berlin has not yet been determined, right? So Berlin is now an unstable chemical reaction vessel. The Soviet army is dealing with it, and we are watching from hundreds of kilometers away. But that doesn't mean we are just a group of spectators. We are the United States, and the Soviet Union also recognizes that the Yalta Agreement is still valid. Therefore, we have a responsibility to take full account of the Berlin affair and must be prepared for any further unexpected events that may occur in Berlin."
"So, what's the answer?"
"Operation Magic Carpet, remain suspended."
“That’s right, Clay.” Eisenhower was very pleased.
“Alright, now.” He waved his hand. “You prepare to draft the order telegram to the troops stationed on the border. I’ll take care of the message to the Pentagon.”
"No problem, General."
……
The sun, still hanging over the western mountains, retained the last vestiges of its red disc, like half a pearl resting on a sand dune.
As it sets, darkness is not far off, leaving only this last glimmer of sunlight lingering over the earth.
This is Hof, a city in Germany, located about 230 kilometers east of Frankfurt am Main, about 110 kilometers northeast of Nuremberg, and about 240 kilometers north of Munich.
It is only 5 kilometers away from the nearest border between the US and the Soviet Union in the German-occupied zone.
A sliver of the evening sun fell on a small hill in the north of the city, where clusters of trees and bushes stood quietly in the shadows.
Upon closer inspection, on the hillside facing north, nestled between two large trees, a gleaming black metal cannon barrel emerged from the shelter of the branches and leaves.
Beneath the cannon barrel, two helmeted soldiers lay quietly, carefully observing the ground ahead through binoculars.
"Damn it, when are we going to get out of this shitty place...?"
“Shut your mouth, Grenier. Your bad breath is worse than the smell of cigarettes and alcohol on you…”
"You smell good, you ate all my gum, didn't you see which blind little butterfly or bee came over and seduce you, you bastard, Geraint?"
Geraint refrained from cursing back. He just felt an itch on his back, so he reached back to scratch it while glancing at the big guy parked behind him.
The dark metallic hull was flat and narrow. A large white five-pointed star lay in a ring, perched like an octopus on the center of the sloped armor on its front. To the lower right, the barrel of an M1919 machine gun protruded from there. Six pairs of round road wheels were evenly spaced on both sides of the hull, their dirty tracks having been grime-covered in the muddy yellow soil for a long time.
The turret atop the vehicle was large and sturdy, shaped like a mooncake, with a row of spare tracks attached to both sides. On the vehicle, soldiers' packs and helmets, fuel drums, and uniforms wrapped in Mexican chicken burritos were crammed into and hung on the vehicle, making it look like a heavily laden old camel.
At the rear of the turret's top, the M2 heavy machine gun, clad entirely in black, stood like a crow, gazing at the sky obscured by leaves and branches. In front of the turret, at the very center of the arched gun shield, a 90mm tank gun stood erect, pointing directly at the northern land.
This robust steel monster was the most powerful armored tiger the US military could muster at the time, the M26 "Pershing" heavy tank—yes, it was still called a heavy tank then, and it wasn't until the following year that it was classified as the same class as the M4 Sherman.
Just as Geraint and Grenier continued to stare ahead through their binoculars, the commander's cupola hatch of the M26 tank opened.
"Hey buddy!" A guy wearing a tank crewman's helmet stepped out from inside. "Where did you guys put the extra canned offal?"
"I have a can of food I haven't finished eating. Would you like to take it and chew on it? If you don't have enough, I'll rummage through the bag next to me!"
"Anything edible is fine as long as it's not dog poop!"
“Well, okay, you said it.” Geraint got up and sat on the ground, picked up a can of Spam luncheon meat that was next to him, took out his small spoon, put it in his mouth, and then threw it with all his might at the tank turret.
"Good shot!" The tank commander caught the can in his clasped hands, feeling it was a little hard.
“I hope your fingers aren’t your only utensils, buddy.” Geraint turned back around.
"Oh ho? Let me see."
The commander let go, and good heavens, although the can lid had already been ripped off by the guy lying on the ground, the luncheon meat was still stuck to the inside of the can like shit, not a single bit of meat had leaked out—although in the soldiers' eyes, whether this stuff could even be called meat was questionable.
"Okay, okay..." He stuck his index finger in and, like picking his nose, plucked out a lump of this nightmarish thing. Then he closed his eyes, suppressed all his expressions, and put it in his mouth and chewed it.
"You bunch of sons without asses!" he shouted into the tank, his voice low. "How the hell did you guys manage to finish that pile of chocolates so quickly?!"
"First come, first served, sir! You promised we'd take care of our own mouths and stomachs!"
"Okay, okay, they're all such good brothers..." The train conductor broke down and simply let go of all his burdens, swallowing the rest of the luncheon meat like a monkey grabbing mud.
"Cough, sigh..." The tank commander put the can into the garbage bag next to him and didn't go back into the turret. He lay on the roof of the vehicle, crossed his arms and rested his chin on them, glaring angrily into the distance.
His breath mingled with the wind seeping into the bushes, brushing against his arm. A loose thread on his arm, near the emblem of his master, vibrated gently in the mixed airflow.
An equilateral triangle is divided into three equal parts: top, left, and right, each represented by yellow, blue, and red respectively. In the center, a tank track and a red lightning bolt are depicted.
All armored divisions in the U.S. military use this electrician-like insignia, differing only in the Arabic numerals at the top center. This tank commander's insignia has the number 2, while the division's nickname is displayed below the base of the triangle: "Hell On Wheels."
That's right, this is an M26 tank belonging to the 2nd Armored Division of the U.S. Army. The nickname "Hell's Wheel" was also coined by the fiery General Patton.
However, the train conductor is not confident because of his past glorious experience, nor does he feel safe in the slightest because of the mighty beast beneath him.
……
Four days ago, something happened in Berlin. He, his crew, and the two soldiers in front of the tank were all assigned to this place after a series of troop movements by the higher-ups.
The tanks are here, the positions are here, they eat here, they sleep here. They have spent four days in fear and three sleepless nights like this—who knows if the Russians on the other side will be the first to fire? Will they be the first to die in the envisioned US-Soviet war?
Perhaps God wanted him to relax. Unlike Jonathan and his men who took the last military train back to Frankfurt, the railway line connecting Hof was Leipzig to Nuremberg. Therefore, the area under the jurisdiction of the 2nd Panzer Division did not witness firsthand the aerial crisis that occurred on the border on the afternoon of the 30th. The tank commander and his comrades, unaware of the incident, did not raise their anxiety by even a level.
Even so, his brow didn't relax much—looking ahead through his binoculars, in the middle of the road in the distance, on the Soviet side, stood a massive IS-2 tank, considered by the Americans to be on par with the German Tiger II. The IS-2's gun was pointed in their direction, while the T-34 tanks lined up on either side of the open ground further solidified the balance of armored forces on the US-Soviet border.
After sunrise on the 31st, the parts of this steel torrent appeared here, and the tank commander had no reason not to be terrified by the sight for two whole days—even though he understood that the Russians did this for deterrence rather than for actual combat.
Good heavens, I can't believe they haven't even started fighting yet...
The tank commander sighed and prepared to return to the turret to take out his water bottle.
"Hey! Guy!"
As he was drinking water, a soldier ran up from behind the tank and waved at him.
"What's wrong?"
"We've received good news and bad news from above. Which would you like to hear first?"
"Good news? What the heck? Did the generals find some beautiful woman's high heels?"
"Wrong! The general said that Ike gave the order to prepare to withdraw from here. They've made peace with the Russians!"
"What the hell?"
"If you don't believe me, I can arrange a dedicated phone line to Frankfurt for you!"
The tank commander could hardly believe his good news. He stood there for a long time before finally letting out a sigh of relief and climbing into the tank.
"Hey! Wake up! Something good has happened!"
The messenger waited quietly, and then there was a burst of joy inside the tank. It was quite a while before the head popped out again.
"Oh, and then, what's the bad news?"
"The bad news is, for safety's sake, your group will be on standby here all night, keeping an eye on the Russians' movements! Report any developments immediately!"
"Ugh! Shit!" The tank commander angrily slammed his fist into the turret's rear end. "I want to cut down this whole damn forest! What the hell do you think I'd get so lucky with?!"
Do you really want something good to happen?
"If you're kidding me, I'll leave you hanging on the engine radiator, you believe me?"
"Alright then, buddy." At this moment, the messenger took out a large paper package and a bottle of red wine. "If you think this is a tough job, I'll give these to the soldiers on the other fronts as overtime pay for a midnight snack!"
"Damn it, get it to me right now!" The tank commander scrambled off the tank, rushed to him, snatched the bottle, bit off the cork, and gulped it down.
"Yay! Harry's fucking Luya!—"
"Sir!" At that moment, the tank loader opened the turret hatch above his head and crawled out. "If you don't leave us some, I'll have 'Bread' start the tank and crush you!"
"Um...cough!" The tank commander wiped his mouth. "Wake up those two who were lying dead in front of the tank! I'll leave you a few more! You hear me? That's an order!"
"Stop spouting that damn bureaucratic nonsense!"
"Hey! You there? Geraint? We have some drinks here, want some?"
"Ah!" The two men lying on the ground dusted themselves off and got up. Before turning around, they took one last look at the road across the street through their binoculars.
……
On the highway, Soviet infantry were removing obstacles one by one. T-34 tanks on the open ground were also busy moving about, while IS-2 tanks in the middle of the road were slowly rolling their tracks, belching black smoke from their diesel engines, as they moved away from the American lines of sight under the fading light of the sky.
Further back, Soviet troops appeared to be loading crates of supplies onto their trucks. Red Army soldiers also began to line up, making final preparations for their departure.
……
"Geraint! Hiccup... I'll go to sleep first tonight."
"No problem... Phew, the Russians are finally gone..."
……
"Comrade, have we completed our mission?"
"It's done, but only temporarily..."
"Why? Where are we going?"
"If we're lucky, we might be able to return to Rüdesdorf; if we're unlucky, it might not be long before we have to build positions opposite the British..."
第114节 总集篇二：美苏欧洲边界危机·1945年10月-11月（1）
On October 28, 1945, Britannia launched its invasion of the world, and the Berlin Incident broke out.
Due to the suddenness of the event, both the US and the Soviet Union were caught in a situation of information asymmetry, with extremely limited intelligence regarding the so-called "unidentified armed forces" within the city. Against the backdrop of the impending fall of the Iron Curtain of the Cold War, the US and the Soviet Union adopted nearly identical approaches to the situation in Berlin—the outbreak of US-Soviet war may be imminent.
U.S. Army General Dwight Eisenhower, then the highest-ranking U.S. military officer in Germany, immediately ordered the deployment of U.S. troops stationed in the American-occupied zone of Germany to the Soviet-occupied border upon learning of the situation in Berlin. While U.S. forces constructed positions near the border and closely monitored Soviet military movements, Eisenhower specifically requested the Pentagon—the headquarters of the War Department and the Army General Staff—to suspend Operation Magic Carpet, the repatriation of military personnel to the U.S. mainland, in preparation for an irreversible deterioration of the situation in Germany.
Soon, Ike received news that the War Department and the Army General Staff had agreed to suspend Operation Magic Carpet. The troops stationed there were ready to fight at any time, and the American soldiers who were preparing to go home had to stop their return journey, becoming pawns in a new round of crisis in Europe.
[Author's note: Operation Magic Carpet officially began in October 1945 and ended completely in September 1946, successfully bringing eight million American soldiers from Europe, the Pacific, Africa, and other regions back home.]
Here's something I mentioned in the second side story:
George Marshall, a five-star general in the United States Army, served as Chief of Staff of the United States Army during World War II. It was after Eisenhower's outstanding performance in an exercise that he was recommended by Marshall to be promoted from colonel to brigadier general and become Marshall's deputy chief of operations. Marshall also appointed Eisenhower as the Supreme Allied Commander in Europe. Eke therefore had great respect for him.
Historically, after the end of the war in Europe, Marshall had repeatedly told then-US President Harry Truman that he wanted to resign and retire due to "exhaustion." It's quite possible that if it weren't for the Britannian invasion changing the course of events, 21 days after the Berlin Incident, on November 18, 1945, with the conclusion of his farewell ceremony at the White House, Marshall would have officially left his post as Chief of Staff, and Eisenhower would have succeeded him.
……
The camera turns to the other side.
Soviet Marshal Georgy Zhukov, then the Supreme Commander of the Soviet forces in Germany, also ordered the Soviet troops stationed in Germany to be placed on full combat readiness after learning of the situation in Berlin, and to closely monitor the military movements of the US forces. As Zhukov's telegram traveled 1,600 kilometers to Moscow, millions of Soviet soldiers, awaiting the arrival of the Cold War, entered the newly dug trenches.
On one side were the U.S. Army's Third and Seventh Armies; on the other side were the Soviet Red Army's Fifth Shock Army and Second Guards Tank Army. What did they have in common? If they could be considered, it was that their guns were loaded and their ammunition was in their cannons.
Germany became the chessboard for the first post-World War II power struggle between the Soviet Union and the United States.
Sorry, dear readers, that's all for tonight's recap. My eye is a little injured today, so I need to rest. I'll tell you the whole story tomorrow, okay? See you then!