West and East

Hans-Ulrich shook it. "I never expected any of this," he muttered.

"Well, you've got it. Enjoy it." Steinbre

"Oh, joy." Now Hans-Ulrich's voice sounded distinctly hollow. That was an honor he could have done without. He'd be the only sober guy at a party-no, two parties-full of rowdy drunks. They'd get rowdy on his Reichsmarks, too, and it wasn't as if he were rolling in them.

"You could even unbend a little yourself," the squadron commander said. "It's not as if you haven't got a good excuse."

"I don't care to do that, sir, thank you." Rudel stayed within military discipline. He also stayed stubborn.

"Well, have it your way. You've earned the right this time." Colonel Steinbre

Hans-Ulrich could be stubborn about several things at the same time: a Renaissance man, of sorts. "You need to give Albert something, too," he said. "If we'd got hit, he'd be roast meat just like me."

Steinbre

Sarcasm went over Rudel's head as often as not. This time, his ears burned. "Yes, sir," he mumbled.

"Well, good. Now get out of here so I can pin it on him. He's due in"-Steinbre

Thus encouraged, Hans-Ulrich got. Sergeant Dieselhorst wasn't coming yet, which was good. If he saw the Knight's Cross, he'd figure he was in line for a medal, too. This way, it would be a surprise-and the nice kind of surprise, at that.

Several groundcrew men walked out of a revetment where they'd been working on a damaged Stuka. As usual, their chatter was two parts technical jargon, one part filth. One of them waved to Hans-Ulrich: not much spit and polish on a working air base. The wave came to a jerky stop when he saw the new medal at Rudel's throat. "Heilige Scheisse!" he said. "That's a Ritterkreuz!"

The noncoms in greasy coveralls swarmed over Hans-Ulrich, pumping his hand and pounding him on the back. Then, before he could do more than squawk, they hoisted him onto their shoulder and carried him back to the airstrip. "Look!" one of them yelled. "He's flying!" The others thought that was so fu

Pilots came out of their tents to see what the fuss was about. They started yelling and beating on Hans-Ulrich, too. "You've got balls, you little squirt," one of them said-he was twenty-five, a whole two years older than Rudel. "Now if you only had some brains."

"Hey, he thought up those antipanzer guns," another flyer said. "Maybe he's not as dumb as he looks."

"Maybe he's not as homely as he looks, either, but I wouldn't bet on it," the first man said. They all laughed like lunatics. Hans-Ulrich didn't think he was particularly homely, but nobody cared what he thought. The first flyer went on, "We ought to find out what the French girls think."

Everybody cheered-everybody but Rudel. Several of the local girls could be friendly… for a price. Being friendly with them came with a price, too. Several flyers had come down with drippy faucets. The medics had some brand-new pills that could actually cure the clap, but Colonel Steinbre

As for Hans-Ulrich, he said, "Spare me, please." The other Germans laughed, some of them not so good-naturedly now. What kind of pilot was he if he didn't want to drink or to screw? It wasn't that he didn't have animal urges of his own, either. He did-did he ever! But he didn't feel like wasting them on French popsies who probably smelled like garlic.

"We weren't asking what you thought of the girls, Rudel," the twenty-five-year-old said. "We want to know what they'll think of you."

"I don't care." Hans-Ulrich started to kick in earnest. "And put me down, for heaven's sake!"

They did, none too gently. He was just working his way through the Luftwaffe pack when Sergeant Dieselhorst came back from Steinbre

Eventually, the two men from the Stuka crew managed to shake hands with each other. "Well, sir, here's another fine mess you got me into," Dieselhorst said, sounding like a Laurel and Hardy film.

"As long as we keep getting out of them," Rudel answered.

"I'll drink to that," Dieselhorst said, and everybody cheered-not least because everybody knew Hans-Ulrich wouldn't. The sergeant went on, "The old man told me you got promoted, too. You can watch us get plowed on your cash-twice."

That put the focus back on Rudel. Thanks a lot, Albert, he thought. The flyers and groundcrew men bayed like wolves, anticipating their sprees. They teased Hans-Ulrich about not joining in. "If you're wasted, too, you won't give a rat's ass about what it costs," someone said. Half a dozen men roared agreement.

"Not then," Rudel said.

"Why worry about afterwards?" another pilot asked. "Afterwards, the enemy's liable to smoke us. Don't you want something fun to remember while you're going down in flames?" Rudel didn't answer, and a lot of the good cheer drained out of the gathering. Some questions cut too close to the bone.

Chapter 13

Theo Hossbach, Heinz Nauma

"Hot damn," Stoss echoed. Theo, as usual, kept his mouth shut. It wasn't that he disagreed with his crewmates; he just didn't feel like talking.

With some help from the Poles, the German panzers had smashed through the Red Army and cut a hell of a lot of Russians in this invaded chunk of Poland off from their homeland. Now German and Polish troops were methodically mopping them up.

That was all very well. It would have been better than all very well if only the Russians hadn't just poured across the rest of the Polish border. How hard could the Poles fight? If the Russians cut a couple of railroad lines… Theo glanced over at their Panzer II, an angular shadow in the long, slowly deepening northern twilight. In spite of the surprising Soviet panzers, it had come a long way and done a lot of hard fighting without taking much damage in return.

But it ran on gasoline. If the gasoline couldn't get through, the machine was nothing but nine to

"So what's going through your thick head now, Theo?" Nauma

"Gasoline." Theo doled out a word.

"Now why would you worry about something like that?" Adalbert Stoss said. "It's not like we need it or anything."

"Heh," Nauma