The Red Line

• • •

The moment the time elapsed, an initial 1st Cavalry platoon headed into the heart of Germany. Thousands of their countrymen soon followed.

On the temporary bridges their engineers had constructed, they crossed the Rhine’s flowing waters and moved ever deeper into Germany. With devastation and destruction at every turn, it would take the lead elements ten days to reach the eastern border. On the way, they saw incalculable numbers of Russian soldiers. None, however, was still breathing. Whenever they found the body of a fallen American, they’d stop and mark the remains for the graves-registration teams that would follow. It would take some time, but most of America’s dead would eventually find their way home.

When they reached the German border with Poland and the Czech Republic, they stopped. The President had decided there would be no more killing. He’d promised that his soldiers would go no farther. It was a promise he’d keep. The Americans would dig in and rebuild their defensive positions. Their first task would be to reconstruct the fences the Russians had destroyed. New guard towers would soon follow. The border’s bleak images would stand for decades to come as a vivid admonition of just how far man remained from truly learning the lessons from his five days of abject folly.

The damaged building where Robert Jensen and his platoon had lived during their challenging months at the border was soon repaired and occupied by the 1st Cavalry. The constant vigil that had become a way of life in this starkly somber place would commence once again.

The war was over, but it would take much, much more for the peace to be won.

EPILOGUE

October 30—4:47 p.m.

McMichael Community Hospital

McMichael, Minnesota

Conceived in the final fleeting moments his parents shared before their crushing separation, George O’Neill Jr. was born on a late-October afternoon as the first brief snowfall of the year sprinkled itself upon the expansive farmland of western Minnesota.

The birth had been an exceptionally difficult one, for his mother’s injuries were still quite severe. Giving birth in her condition had been highly dangerous. The doctors had urged her to consider terminating the pregnancy, but Kathy wouldn’t hear of it. She’d already lost a daughter and nearly her first son. She couldn’t contemplate losing another child.

With unwavering determination, Kathy survived the perilous ordeal. And a healthy child had entered the world. With his arrival, her battered spirit was partially restored.

Her shattered body, however, would never return to anything nearing its prewar state. The doctors had performed the best they could, but with the extensive trauma she’d suffered, they’d only been able to do so much. For the rest of her life, she’d carry deep scars from her fateful German days.

Her children would never know her as anything but stooped and broken. But that mattered little to the resolute young woman. She was alive. She was loved. And for the moment, there was cause to celebrate her new son’s appearance.

His father wasn’t there for the child’s birth. George O’Neill remained more than four thousand miles away from his family and the woman he adored. Kathy hadn’t seen him since their hurried, tearful good-bye on the second-floor landing.

Even though his enlistment had ended three months earlier, the Army had involuntarily extended his term of service. He was back at Patch Barracks working eighteen-hour days to help create a new American command and control system. Given ample time and significant resources, he’d build one nearly invulnerable to attacks from any source. With his efforts, such a system was slowly taking form.

He understood that what he was doing was quite important, but without Kathy at his side, his life had little meaning. When the interminable days in Stuttgart would end and his country would allow him to return home was as yet undetermined.

O’Neill would receive not a moment’s recognition for his efforts during the war. But he never once cared. In his mind, he’d done nothing but what was asked of him. How the war would have ended without his contributions was something he never gave even a passing thought. Only a small number of people were even aware of the difference he’d made during the horrid conflict.

For the remainder of his life, he’d never speak a single word about it. Not even Kathy would know what he’d accomplished in one of his country’s darkest moments.

He missed his family dearly. And Kathy felt each tortured hour without him. Both longed for the moment they’d be one again.

He contacted her whenever he could. Still, he had little time and even less energy to do anything but send an occasional e-mail. Kathy eagerly devoured each sporadic message a hundred times over. All were read again and again, with every new reading bringing her both sorrow and joy.

There were even a few deeply cherished phone calls on those rare occasions when he could find the time.

He was aware she’d been severely wounded but had yet to completely comprehend the magnitude of her injuries.

He knew his son was on the way.

A few hours after little Georgie, as the family would call him, had arrived, his proud father received the welcome news of his birth. The eagerly awaited e-mail made his longing for Kathy almost more than he could bear.

The days were without end for them both.

• • •

Kathy’s mother put the final touches on the precocious child’s first birthday cake. She looked at her handiwork with self-assured satisfaction. No one could deny her ability to create a beautiful cake. She knew it would taste as good as it looked.

She walked into the living room. Her daughter was propped in a chair, watching the boys play.

“Kathy, the weather’s going to turn quite bitter in another couple of days. Before it does and winter sets in, why don’t we put on the boys’ jackets and take them out in the yard?”

“What about Georgie’s cake?”

“It can wait for a few minutes more. We’ll start his party after we’re done outside.”

“Okay, Mom.”

Her mother began helping her to her feet and slowly moving her toward the doorway.

• • •

A warmly bundled Kathy sat in a rocking chair on the comfy farmhouse’s front porch. She was enjoying the fleeting warmth of a fading fall sun while she watched her mother play with the boys.

Three-year-old Christopher, his energy boundless, ran to every corner at breakneck speed. His younger brother, his first toddling steps just days old, did his best in a futile attempt to be a part of the game. Their grandmother chased after them, enjoying each moment of her time with the children.

Kathy’s mother suddenly stopped, her senses telling her something wasn’t quite right. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the reason for her sudden alarm. She peered down the lengthy drive leading to the highway, staring intently at a distant figure walking up the farm’s dirt road toward them.

Kathy soon noticed her mother’s gaze. She stopped rocking, puzzled by her sudden actions. She looked up to see what it was that had attracted her mother’s attention.

Someone was coming toward the house. From the person’s size and gait, it was obviously a man. He was, however, still too far away for either of them to determine much more. The figure continued unerringly down the stretching path, his progress steady. His features slowly took form.

Both mother and daughter could just make out that his hair was dark. The gangly form appeared to have a duffel bag, or something of the sort, slung over his shoulder. Step by solitary step, he neared.

The seconds passed.

A growing smile slowly crept onto the corners of Kathy’s mouth. It soon seized her soul. It had been twenty-one months since she’d last seen her husband. But there could be little doubt. Their wretched time apart was at its end. The celebration they’d soon have would be a glorious one.

For the first time in nearly

two years, her pain disappeared.

“George!” she screamed.

• • •

At the exact moment of George O’Neill’s arrival in Minnesota, on a porch nearly a thousand miles south, Linda Jensen knelt with her daughters. She’d planned on sharing the modest home with her husband for the remainder of their days. But as it had been for far too many who’d found themselves in the grips of this vicious struggle, the fates hadn’t been kind.

She silently prayed her husband’s sacrifices hadn’t been in vain. She pleaded with her God to somehow show the way for mankind to learn the lessons of its five evil days.

She begged Him in His mercy to provide humanity with the compelling wisdom to never again contemplate the need for war.

Photo by Piercarlo Abate

Walt Gragg lives in the Austin, Texas, area with his wife, children, and grandchildren. He is a retired attorney. Prior to law school, he spent a number of years in the military. His time with the Army involved many interesting assignments, including three years in the middle of the Cold War at the United States European Command Headquarters in Germany, where the idea for The Red Line took shape. In this assignment, he was privy to many of the elements of the actual American plan in place at the time for the conduct of the defense of Germany. While there, he also participated in a number of war games that became the basis for many of the book’s events. The Red Line is his first novel.