Read Online Red Inferno: 1945 by Robert Conroy - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Conroy
Tags: United States, Fiction, General, Historical, Historical - General, Fiction - Historical, World War II, World War, 1939-1945, War & Military, Alternative History, Soviet Union, American Historical Fiction, Foreign relations
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battalion strength, if that.
Miller turned to his radio operator. “Did anyone make contact with Colonel Brentwood?” The radioman, busy with his dials and switches, nodded affirmative.
Brentwood had the point of the column. His tanks and vehicles were closer to Berlin than anyone else, and that concerned Miller. Actually, Brentwood concerned Miller. He was a fire-breather who thought Patton was the new messiah and attack was the only way to wage war. Even though he had yet seen little or no combat, Brentwood was consumed with the urge to be the first American in Berlin and had volunteered for the point position. Miller had acquiesced and now wondered if he hadn’t made a mistake.
Miller had heard the jokes that Brentwood wanted to run for Congress after the war. Under other circumstances, Brentwood would have been an ideal leader for the column. Now, however, things had changed. Yesterday they needed someone with a little daring. Today they needed utmost caution, and that was not Colonel Thomas Brentwood. However, his unit now led Miller Force and his tanks were rumbling toward Berlin.
“Son, does he understand he is to stop immediately?”
“Yes, sir. He was given your order in clear terms.”
“I assume you did not actually speak to him.”
“No, sir, but I did spell it out in no uncertain terms to his radio operator.”
Miller wasn’t confident. “Son, get him on the line directly.”
A few moments later, the radio operator said he couldn’t make contact, and Miller felt a chill going up his spine.
Miller nodded and walked a few steps away from his command vehicle. To his rear was the river, the Havel. To his right was the small, ruined, and nearly abandoned city of Potsdam. To his front he could see the rolling clouds of smoke in the distance that marked the dying of the Third Reich in Berlin. He wondered which curl of smoke might be Hitler. Serve the bastard right if he toasted, Miller thought.
In front of him was the autobahn and it was choked with American trucks and tanks. Groups of civilians, refugees from Berlin, trudged slowly on the grass alongside the road. All they wanted to do was get away from the war. Miller wondered what they would do if they knew they might be moving right back into it.
He looked up again. A couple more Stormoviks had appeared above the column. Why did they remind him of vultures gathering over a kill? Would they recognize the change in the American stance? If they did, would it make a bit of difference?
And what the hell was Brentwood doing?
T ONY “ THE T OAD ” T OTELLI was nervous. One of the advantages of being in the command tank with the ambitious Colonel Brentwood was the fact that he could overhear all the communications that the colonel sent and received. Tony had heard the order to halt and then heard Brentwood mutter and swear that it was the stupidest piece-of-shit order he had ever received. Brentwood said they were within spitting distance of Berlin. Hell, for all Tony knew they might actually be in the damned city.
Certainly, they were on the outskirts of the German capital. The wooded and semi-built-up nature of the area was changing and there were more and more buildings and homes. Also, he could see an open area that the colonel had assured himself was the beginning of Gatow Airport.
“Sir, do you want me to stop?” Tony asked hopefully.
“Not yet,” the colonel muttered. Tony could barely hear him over the rumble of the Sherman’s engine. He sighed and kept the tank slowly moving forward. Tony was a good driver and that was one of the reasons the colonel had selected him. While Tony’s squat and dark physical appearance accounted for his nickname, his short size made him ideal for a tank with a full colonel jammed in along with additional communications equipment on top of its normal crew. Tony just didn’t take up much room.
Tony wished he was back home in New Jersey, where the vehicles he had driven were expensive cars.
Miller turned to his radio operator. “Did anyone make contact with Colonel Brentwood?” The radioman, busy with his dials and switches, nodded affirmative.
Brentwood had the point of the column. His tanks and vehicles were closer to Berlin than anyone else, and that concerned Miller. Actually, Brentwood concerned Miller. He was a fire-breather who thought Patton was the new messiah and attack was the only way to wage war. Even though he had yet seen little or no combat, Brentwood was consumed with the urge to be the first American in Berlin and had volunteered for the point position. Miller had acquiesced and now wondered if he hadn’t made a mistake.
Miller had heard the jokes that Brentwood wanted to run for Congress after the war. Under other circumstances, Brentwood would have been an ideal leader for the column. Now, however, things had changed. Yesterday they needed someone with a little daring. Today they needed utmost caution, and that was not Colonel Thomas Brentwood. However, his unit now led Miller Force and his tanks were rumbling toward Berlin.
“Son, does he understand he is to stop immediately?”
“Yes, sir. He was given your order in clear terms.”
“I assume you did not actually speak to him.”
“No, sir, but I did spell it out in no uncertain terms to his radio operator.”
Miller wasn’t confident. “Son, get him on the line directly.”
A few moments later, the radio operator said he couldn’t make contact, and Miller felt a chill going up his spine.
Miller nodded and walked a few steps away from his command vehicle. To his rear was the river, the Havel. To his right was the small, ruined, and nearly abandoned city of Potsdam. To his front he could see the rolling clouds of smoke in the distance that marked the dying of the Third Reich in Berlin. He wondered which curl of smoke might be Hitler. Serve the bastard right if he toasted, Miller thought.
In front of him was the autobahn and it was choked with American trucks and tanks. Groups of civilians, refugees from Berlin, trudged slowly on the grass alongside the road. All they wanted to do was get away from the war. Miller wondered what they would do if they knew they might be moving right back into it.
He looked up again. A couple more Stormoviks had appeared above the column. Why did they remind him of vultures gathering over a kill? Would they recognize the change in the American stance? If they did, would it make a bit of difference?
And what the hell was Brentwood doing?
T ONY “ THE T OAD ” T OTELLI was nervous. One of the advantages of being in the command tank with the ambitious Colonel Brentwood was the fact that he could overhear all the communications that the colonel sent and received. Tony had heard the order to halt and then heard Brentwood mutter and swear that it was the stupidest piece-of-shit order he had ever received. Brentwood said they were within spitting distance of Berlin. Hell, for all Tony knew they might actually be in the damned city.
Certainly, they were on the outskirts of the German capital. The wooded and semi-built-up nature of the area was changing and there were more and more buildings and homes. Also, he could see an open area that the colonel had assured himself was the beginning of Gatow Airport.
“Sir, do you want me to stop?” Tony asked hopefully.
“Not yet,” the colonel muttered. Tony could barely hear him over the rumble of the Sherman’s engine. He sighed and kept the tank slowly moving forward. Tony was a good driver and that was one of the reasons the colonel had selected him. While Tony’s squat and dark physical appearance accounted for his nickname, his short size made him ideal for a tank with a full colonel jammed in along with additional communications equipment on top of its normal crew. Tony just didn’t take up much room.
Tony wished he was back home in New Jersey, where the vehicles he had driven were expensive cars.
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