The Red Line

The MPs and medics stared in disbelieving silence at the grisly nightmare unfolding all around them. They were experts at handling emergencies. But they’d never before faced anything approaching this.

The panic that gripped the German refugees was absolute. Many of the shocked survivors left their expensive automobiles and ran into the open fields on both sides of the roadway. In a futile attempt to escape, others mindlessly slammed their cars into those blocking their path.

The eighty-three-year relationship between the Germans and their American conquerors always had been a somewhat uneasy one. Like an arranged marriage, the two sides had been involved in over eight decades of an extended love-hate relationship.

At this moment, the deep-seated resentment many Germans held for the Americans boiled over. The shocked German survivors stared at the thousands of dead and dying on the fiery autobahn. Fear and anger overwhelmed them. They needed an outlet for their pent-up rage. They needed to strike out at something.

The hospital convoy was right in front of them.

CHAPTER 50

January 31—6:45 a.m.

Wurzburg Hospital Convoy

A Half Mile from the Heidelberg Turnoff

The Americans sat in the center of the confused queue of terrified souls. A badly burned German woman kneeling in the snows cradled the charred remains of her only child. The grief-stricken woman shrieked for blood. Out of her mind over the loss of her three-year-old son, she screamed for death for the Americans.

In a flash, the Germans turned on the medical formation. At the front of the convoy, ten angry people became twenty. In a few heartbeats, twenty became one hundred. Men, women, and children as young as ten joined the ballooning crowd. One hundred grew to one thousand. A large group of cajoling skinheads pushed their way to the head of the swirling mass of furious souls. Intent on revenge, the incensed mob closed in on the Americans. There was menace in their eyes and rage in their hearts. They needed to lash out to vent their insatiable frustrations in any way they could.

Six MPs and the four soldiers of the forward Stinger teams waited to stop the surging throng. The Germans came on. The defenders fired a warning volley into the air from their M-4s. The mob hesitated for the slightest of moments. But the perverse brown shirts weren’t going to back down. They burst forward. From thirty yards away, the Germans hurled sticks and stones. The ever-burgeoning crowd rushed the beleaguered Americans. In the cab of the third ambulance, Ramirez watched as the infuriated Germans raced toward the MPs.

The autobahn’s roaring fires had cut off the remainder of the MP detachment. For the moment, the ten soldiers at its head were alone in their defense of the lead elements of the convoy.

The Americans hesitated, not anticipating the incalculable fury of the wrathful riot. The soldiers fell back a few steps. The lead ambulance was scarcely ten yards behind them. There was nowhere left to go. The Americans were out of options. They lowered their M-4s, and when the lieutenant gave the order, they fired. Twenty Germans dropped on the frigid asphalt.

The crazed mob stopped dead in its tracks. Fifty stones whistled through the air. Four soldiers were felled by the stinging stones. Streams of blood ran down the MPs’ faces.

The Germans saw their opening. The rabid gathering, growing larger by the second, charged the dazed Americans. The soldiers staggered backward a few stumbling steps. They squeezed the triggers on their M-4s a second time. A dozen more in the melee went down. The throng slowed, but propelled by its sheer numbers, it refused to stop. The soldiers fired a final burst from point-blank range. The dead dropped around them once again.

The lethal swarm was right on top of the Americans. They closed in from all sides. Hundreds more joined in on the attack. The seething rabble wanted blood. There was nothing more the MPs could do. They tried to fight back, but it was no use. The defenders disappeared as the weight of the surging multitude washed over them. All ten went down beneath the frenzied crush of rampaging people.

The Germans started savagely beating the fallen Americans. In less than a minute, three of the MPs were stomped to death by the jackbooted brown shirts. In five minutes of sheer terror, each of the Americans lost his life. There were satisfied smiles on the killers’ faces as the thugs surveyed their handiwork.

Nevertheless, the horde’s uncontrollable lust was far from sated. Their boundless fury had yet to be appeased. The vexed crowd needed much more of the twisted gratification they’d just experienced. They turned to lash out again. In their path waited the lead ambulance. Inside its cab, the driver and his partner saw the irate masses rushing for them. Too late, the medics reacted. The soldiers grabbed the M-4s propped between them in the seat. But the neo-Nazis were soon upon them. A dozen rocks smashed the ambulance’s windshield. Inside the cab, the pair dove for cover. Angry hands clawed at the door handles. The doors flew open wide. The insane throng dragged the screaming Americans from the truck. They threw them upon the cold, hard ground. A swirl of feet, fists, and stones smashed the defenseless soldiers.

It was quickly over. Every bone in the medics’ bodies had been broken. At the head of the column, the number of American dead had grown to twelve.

Still, after three days of watching a million of their countrymen die, it wasn’t nearly enough. The ambulance, with its white American star, was theirs for the taking. The crowd rushed forward on both sides and began furiously rocking the vehicle. Inside, the doctor and his injured patients tumbled into the narrow aisle. Stitches and tubes were ripped from those who’d fallen in battle while attempting to protect German soil.

With a mighty shove, the ambulance fell onto its side. It slid into the wide ditch on the edge of the autobahn. Two of the wounded soldiers were dead before the wild-eyed attackers ripped open the doors.

The skinhead-led legion dragged the Americans from the rear of the ambulance. Once more, they vented their hysterical rage. Even the dead soldiers were pulled from the vehicle and assaulted. The mangled bodies of the doctor and his patients were tossed into the snows like broken rag dolls.

The crowd turned toward the second ambulance. Thirty yards behind the first, the Americans in the cab had witnessed what had happened to their friends. They were standing on the roadway with their rifles at the ready. The pair of medical technicians had never fired a shot in anger in their lives. But they weren’t going to let that get in their way. The moment the ravaging host turned toward their ambulance, they opened fire. The pair fired over and again as the intemperate rabble raced across the pavement toward them. A dozen or more dropped beneath the medics’ gunfire. The mob faltered, but its immense weight pushed it forward once more.

The Americans continued to fire. The number of bodies in front of their ambulance grew. Both soldiers’ ammunition clips held thirty rounds. Each ran dry at nearly the same moment. The inexperienced medics clawed at their pistol belts for a replacement.

The debas

ed surge, led by those with years of pent-up anger in their sadistic souls, was soon upon them. The soldiers went down beneath the onrushing crowd. They were dead in seconds. The sound of their cracking skulls could be heard over the insanity of the mob. From the cab of the next ambulance, Ramirez watched the mounting horror in disbelief. The wretched host, their rage continuing to boil, rushed to destroy those within the rear of the second ambulance.

Another ambulance was tossed onto its side. Bloodstained hands reached into the rear compartment. Seven more bodies were soon strewn about on the bitter highway.

Still, the vengeance-filled swarm hadn’t had enough.

They turned toward the third ambulance.

Seven MPs had extricated themselves from the fiery column. They were running at full speed toward the unholy scene. In another two minutes, they’d be in a position to help their countrymen.

Ramirez looked over at the ambulance driver. The terrified soldier sat frozen in fear.

“Get out there and stop them!”

The soldier stared at Ramirez, incomprehension spreading across his frightened face.

“Dammit! The least you can do is get out there and go down like a man.”

With his good arm, Ramirez grabbed the soldier’s rifle. He shoved it toward the driver. The driver reached out to take the weapon. But he’d hesitated a fraction of a second too long before mustering the courage to act. As the tips of his fingers touched the M-4’s plastic stock, the driver’s door flew open. Blood-soiled hands tore the screaming soldier from his seat. The mob was on him in an instant. It wouldn’t be long before his screaming would stop.

Another group moved toward the passenger door. Ramirez was waiting. The door was ripped open. The determined soldier stared into a pair of evil eyes set deep within a shaved German skull.

Cradling the driver’s rifle under his left arm, Ramirez calmly blew the skinhead’s face off with a single shot. The nearly headless body fell back into the crowd. Ramirez sprayed a quick, three-shot burst. Two more neo-Nazis fell. The mob hesitated.