"Do the projections take into account the wretched weather on that part of the planet at this time of its year?" Kirel stroked computer keys. A corner of the screen that displayed the simulations map went first to a satellite image of endless storm systems rolling east from Deutschland toward Poland, and then to a video of wind whipping crystallized frozen water across a desolate landscape that resembled nothing so much as the inside of some tremendous refrigeration plant. "Our males and our equipment do not perform at optimum levels in such conditions."

"Truth. But we have improved over our levels during the previous local winter," Atvar said stoutly. "And the cold, ironically, also hinders the activities of the Deutsche. Their poisonous gases are far less effective now than when the weather is warmer. We've also succeeded in developing filters to keep most gases out of the interior compartments of our fighting vehicles. This will boost both performance and morale."

"Except, perhaps, among the infantrymales still compelled to leave their fighting vehicles from time to time and perform their duties in the open," Kirel said.

Atvar sent him a dubious look. Ever since Straha's attempted coup, Kirel had been scrupulously, almost ostentatiously, loyal. Unlike Straha, he did not believe in adventure for its own sake. Indeed, he hardly believed in adventure at all, as witness his protests against the upcoming campaign. But his very conservatism, a quality that endeared him to most males of the Race, might yet make him the focus for disaffected shiplords and officers. Atvar had enough troubles worrying about the political effects on his campaign on the Big Uglies. When he also had to worry about its political effects on his own males, he sometimes thought be was having to bear too heavy a burden.

"Let us look at the benefits of success," he said. "With Deutschland defeated, the whole northwest of the main continental ma.s.s comes under our control. We gain improved positions for any future a.s.saults, whether by air alone or with ground forces, against Britain. We go from active combat to pacification over that whole area, freeing up troops for operations elsewhere. And the psychological impact on the remaining Tosevite not-empires will be profound."

"Truth, all of it, Exalted Fleetlord," Kirel said. "But, as the saying goes, to get the hatchling, you first must have the egg."

Atvar's tailstump lashed harder now. "Let us not mince words, Shiplord," he said coldly. "Do you advise me to abandon this planned effort, or shall we go forward with it? Proceeding in the face of your obstructionism is difficult."

"I obstruct nothing, Exalted Fleetlord," Kirel said. Almost involuntarily, he hunched down into the posture of obedience. "I merely question methods and timing to obtain the best possible results for the Race. Have I not labored long and hard to support the implementation of this plan?"

"Truth." Atvar knew be sounded reluctant to admit as much, but he couldn't help it. Externally, Kirel had done as he'd said. The fleetlord had been inferring the thoughts behind his actions. Maybe he was wrong. He hoped he was. Sighing, he said, "Blame it on Tosev 3, Shiplord. Anything that has anything to do with this cursed planet goes wrong one way or another."

"Exalted Fleetlord, there we agree completely," Kirel said. "As soon as we detected radio signals from it, we should have realized all our previous calculations needed revising."

"We did realize that," Atvar said. "What we didn't have, what we should have had, was a feel for how much how much revising they needed." revising they needed."

"And yet," Kirel said in tones of wonder, "we may yet succeed, in spite of having to abandon plans already made."

For a Big Ugly, as Atvar had seen time after time-generally to his consternation-abandoning plans and making new ones on the spur of the moment (or even going ahead and acting without making new plans) was so common as hardly to be worth noting. For the Race, that att.i.tude started at traumatic and got worse from there. Routine, organization, forethought-thanks to them, the Empire had endured for a hundred millennia and made two other species reverence the Emperor in the same way the Race did. Adhering to routine on Tosev 3 as often as not led straight to disaster, for the Big Uglies antic.i.p.ated and exploited routine behavior.

But deviating from routine had dangers of its own. The routine pattern was often the best one; deviations just made things worse. And the Race wasn't good at thinking under such stress: the snap decisions males came up with were usually bad decisions. The Big Uglies exploited those, too.

Atvar removed from the screen the map of the planned campaign against Deutschland. In its place he subst.i.tuted a detailed chart of an urban area on the lesser continental ma.s.s. "As you say, we may yet succeed," he told Kirel. "Here in Chicago, we have reversed the setbacks the American Tosevites inflicted upon us when the weather first turned, and are now moving forward once more. If the trend continues, the entire city may be in our hands by the end of local winter."

"May it prove so," Kirel said. "Even if we do achieve victory there, the cost has proved very high. We threw many males, many fighting vehicles, many landcruisers into that grinding machine."

"Truth," Atvar said sadly. "But once having begun the campaign to wrest control of the city from the Big Uglies, we had to go forward with it. If we abandoned it, the Tosevites would conclude we dared not press our attacks in the face of stiff opposition. We invested more than our males in the fight for Chicago; we invested our prestige as well. And that prestige will rise with a victory."

"This is also truth," Kirel agreed. "Once joined, the battle could not be abandoned. Had we been able to antic.i.p.ate the full cost, however, we might not have initiated the battle in the first place." He let out a hissing sigh. "This has proved true in all too many instances on Tosev 3."

"Not always, though," Atvar said. "And I have a special reason for hoping the conquest of Chicago will be successfully completed. Somewhere in the not-empire called the United States skulks the oh-so-redoubtable shiplord Straha." He laced his voice with all the scorn he could muster. "Let the traitor see the might of the Race he abandoned. Let him have some time to contemplate the wisdom first of revolt against me and then of treachery. And, when our triumph is at last complete, let us bring him to justice. On Tosev 3, his name shall live forever among the colonists as a symbol of betrayal."

The Race's memory was long. When Atvar said forever, he intended to be taken literally. He thought of Vorgnil, who had tried to murder an Emperor sixty-five thousand years before. His name survived, as an example of infamy. Straha's would stand alongside it after the conquest of Tosev 3 was complete.

Mordechai Anielewicz strode down the sidewalk, as if enjoying every moment of his morning outing. That the temperature was far below freezing, that he wore a fur cap with earflaps down, two pairs of wool trousers one inside the other, a Red Army greatcoat and felt boots, and heavy mittens, that his breath smoked like a chimney and crystals froze in his beard and mustache-by the way he strolled along, it might have been spring in Paris, not winter in Lodz.

He was far from the only person on the street, either. Work had to get done, whether it was freezing or not. People either ignored the weather or made jokes about it "Colder than my wife after she's talked with her mother," one man said to a friend. They both laughed, building a young fogbank around themselves.

The Lizards were busy on the streets of Lodz, too. Alien police, looking far colder and more miserable than most humans Mordechai saw, labored to get traffic off the main east-west streets. They had their work cut out for them, too, for as fast as they shooed people away, more spilled onto the boulevards they were fighting to clear.

Not all of that was absentminded cussedness; quite a few men and women were being deliberately obstructive. Anielewicz hoped the Lizards didn't figure that out. Things might get ugly if they did.

Finally, the Lizards cleared away enough people and wagons to get their armored column through. The males peering out of the cupolas of tanks and armored personnel carriers looked even more miserable than the ones on the street. They also looked absurd: a Lizard wearing a s.h.a.ggy wolfskin cap tied on under his jaws resembled nothing so much as a dandelion gone to seed.

Four tanks, three carriers... seven tanks, nine carriers... fifteen tanks, twenty-one carriers. He lost track of the lorries, but they were in proportion to the armored vehicles they accompanied. When the parade was done, he whistled softly between his teeth. West of Lodz, the Lizards had something big laid on. You didn't have to be Napoleon to figure out what, either. West of Lodz lay... Germany.

Still whistling, he walked down to the Balut Market square and bought a cabbage, some turnips, some parsnips, and a couple of chicken feet. They'd make a soup that tasted meaty, even if it didn't have much real meat in it. Next to what he'd got by on in Warsaw, the prospect of a soup with any meat in it-the prospect of a soup with plenty of vegetables in it-seemed ambrosial by comparison.

He wrapped his purchases in an old ragged cloth and carried them back to the fire station on Lutomierska Street. His office was upstairs, not far from the sealed room where people took refuge when the n.a.z.is threw gas at Lodz. If they'd known what he knew, their rockets would have been flying an hour earlier.

He fiddled around with the draft of a letter for Mordechai Chaim Rumkowski to present to the Lizard authorities, asking them to release more coal for heating. Having to rely on the Lizards' dubious mercy grated on him, but every so often Rumkowski did win concessions, so the game was worth playing. Rumkowski had begged Himmler for concessions, too, and won a few. As long as he could be a big fish in the little pool of Jewish Lodz, he'd debase himself for the bigger fish in the bigger pools.

People wandered in and out. Bertha Fleishman's sister had had a baby girl the night before; along with everyone else, Anielewicz said mazeltov. mazeltov. Even as people kept blowing one another to bits, they were having babies, too. He'd seen that in the ghetto. In the midst of horror worse than any he'd imagined, people kept falling in love and getting married and having children. He wondered if that was absolutely Even as people kept blowing one another to bits, they were having babies, too. He'd seen that in the ghetto. In the midst of horror worse than any he'd imagined, people kept falling in love and getting married and having children. He wondered if that was absolutely meshuggeh meshuggeh or the sanest thing they could possibly do. or the sanest thing they could possibly do.

Finally, three o'clock rolled around. That hour corresponded to a change of shift at the telephone exchange. Anielewicz picked up the phone and waited for an operator to come on the other end of the line. When one did, he called his landlady, Mrs. Lips.h.i.tz, and told her he'd be working late. She bore up under the news with equanimity. He tried again. When he heard the operator's voice, he asked her to put him through to Rumkowski's office. He asked a meaningless question about the upcoming request for more coal, then hung up.

Muttering under his breath, he picked up the telephone once more. When the operator answered, he brightened. "Is that you, Yetta?" he said. "How are you this afternoon, darling?"

"Saul?" she asked, as she'd been trained to do. Yetta wasn't her real name. Mordechai didn't know what it was, or what she looked like. The less he knew, the less he could give away if he fell into the Lizards' hands.

"The same. Listen, sweetheart, I need to talk to Meyer the baker. You know the one-his shop is right next to the Balut."

"I'll try to put you through," Yetta said. "We've been having some trouble with the wires down there, so it may take a while. Please be patient."

"For you darling, anything," Anielewicz said. The Balut was code for Breslau, the nearest major city in German hands; had he wanted Poznan, he'd have asked for an establishment on Przelotna Street. Telephone lines between Lodz and Breslau were supposed to be down. In fact, they were were down, but here and there illicit ground lines ran between Lizard-held territory and that which the Germans still controlled. Getting through on those lines wasn't easy, but people like Yetta were supposed to know the tricks. down, but here and there illicit ground lines ran between Lizard-held territory and that which the Germans still controlled. Getting through on those lines wasn't easy, but people like Yetta were supposed to know the tricks.

Mordechai hoped she knew the tricks. He didn't want to call Breslau, not so you'd notice, but he didn't see that he had any choice, either. The n.a.z.is, curse them, needed to know something large and ugly was heading their way. One reason the Lizards were relatively mild in Poland was that they had the Germans right next door, and needed to keep the locals contented. If Hitler and his crew folded up, the Lizards would lose their incentive to behave better.

Gevalt, what a calculation to have to make, what a calculation to have to make, Anielewicz thought. Anielewicz thought.

Sooner than he'd expected, the phone on the other end of the line started ringing. Somebody picked it up. "Bitte?" "Bitte?" came the greeting in crisp German. The connection was poor, but good enough. came the greeting in crisp German. The connection was poor, but good enough.

"Is this the shop of Meyer the baker?" Mordechai asked in Yiddish, and hoped the n.a.z.i on the other end was on the ball.

He was. Without missing a beat, he answered, "Ja. Was wilist du? "Ja. Was wilist du?-What do you want?"

Anielewicz knew that was the du du of insult, not intimacy, but held on to his temper. "I want to give an order I'll pick up a little while from now. I want you to bake me fifteen currant buns, twenty-one onion bagels, and enough bread to go with them. No, I don't know how much yet, not exactly; I'll try to call you back on that. Do you have it? Yes, fifteen currant buns. How much will that come to?... Meyer, you're a of insult, not intimacy, but held on to his temper. "I want to give an order I'll pick up a little while from now. I want you to bake me fifteen currant buns, twenty-one onion bagels, and enough bread to go with them. No, I don't know how much yet, not exactly; I'll try to call you back on that. Do you have it? Yes, fifteen currant buns. How much will that come to?... Meyer, you're a gonif gonif and you know it." He hung up in a good display of high dudgeon. and you know it." He hung up in a good display of high dudgeon.

A voice came from the doorway: "Laying in supplies?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, Nussboym," Mordechai answered, hoping he sounded calmer than he felt. "I was going to bring it all in so we could celebrate Bertha's niece. Children deserve celebrating, don't you think?" Now he'd have to go over to Meyer's and buy all that stuff.

David Nussboym walked into Mordechai's room. He was several years older than Anielewicz, and a lot of the time acted as if he thought Mordechai had no business doing anything more than wiping his snotty nose. Now, scowling, he spoke in the manner of a professor to an inept student: "I'll tell you what I think. I think you're lying to me, and that you were pa.s.sing on code of some kind. There's only one kind of code you're likely to be pa.s.sing, and only one set of people you're likely to be pa.s.sing it to. I think you've turned into Hitler's tukhus-lekher tukhus-lekher."

Slowly, deliberately, Anielewicz got to his feet He was three or four centimeters taller than Nussboym, and used that height advantage to look down his nose at the older man. "I'll tell you what I think," he said, his voice silky with menace. "You gabble on about tukhus-lekhers tukhus-lekhers-I think you can lick my my a.r.s.e." a.r.s.e."

Nussboym stared. n.o.body had talked to him like that since the Lizards ran the Germans out of Lodz. He'd had a year and a half to get used to being somebody. somebody. But he also had considerable native spirit, and the awareness that those in authority backed him. After drawing back a pace in surprise, he thrust his chin forward and snapped, "I wouldn't talk so fine if I were you. I've been doing some quiet checking, Mr. Mordechai Anielewicz-oh, yes, I know who you are. Some males of the Race back in Warsaw would be very interested in having a word or two with you. I haven't said anything to my friends there because I know these things can be misunderstandings, and you've done good work since you got here. But if you're going to bring the n.a.z.is back into Poland-" But he also had considerable native spirit, and the awareness that those in authority backed him. After drawing back a pace in surprise, he thrust his chin forward and snapped, "I wouldn't talk so fine if I were you. I've been doing some quiet checking, Mr. Mordechai Anielewicz-oh, yes, I know who you are. Some males of the Race back in Warsaw would be very interested in having a word or two with you. I haven't said anything to my friends there because I know these things can be misunderstandings, and you've done good work since you got here. But if you're going to bring the n.a.z.is back into Poland-"

"G.o.d forbid!" Mordechai broke in, with complete sincerity. "But I don't want the Lizards in Germany, either, and you can't understand that side of the coin."

"I want Hitler dead. I want Himmler dead. I want Hans Frank dead. I want every n.a.z.i b.a.s.t.a.r.d with SS on his collar tabs dead," Nussboym said, his face working. "That wouldn't begin to be payment enough for what they did to us. I'd sooner kill them all myself, but if I have to let the Race do it for me, I'll settle for that."

"And then what happens?" Anielewicz demanded.

"I don't care what happens then," David Nussboym answered. "That's plenty, all by itself."

"But it's not, don't you see?" Mordechai said, something like desperation in his voice. "After that, who stops the Lizards from doing exactly as they please? If you know who I am, you know I've worked with them, too. They don't make any bones about it: they intend to rule mankind forever. When they say forever, they don't mean a thousand years like that madman Hitler. They mean forever, and they aren't madmen. If they win now, we won't get a second chance."

"Better them than the Germans," Nussboym said stubbornly.

"But you see, David, the choice isn't that simple. We have to-" Without changing expression, without breaking off his flow of words, Amelewicz hit Nussboym in the belly, as hard as he could. He'd intended to hit him in the pit of the stomach and win the fight at the first blow, blitzkrieg blitzkrieg-fashion, but his fist landed a few centimeters to one side of where he wanted to put it Nussboym grunted in pain but instead of folding up like a concertina, he grappled with Mordechai. They fell together, knocking over with a crash the chair on which Anielewicz had been sitting.

Mordechai had done a lot of fighting with a rifle in his hand. It was a different business altogether when the fellow you were trying to beat wasn't a tiny spot seen through your sights, but was at the same time doing his best to choke the life out of you. Nussboym was stronger and tougher than he'd figured, too. Again, he realized being on the opposite side didn't turn you into a sniveling coward.

Nussboym tried to knee him in the groin. He twisted aside and took the knee on the hip. He would have thought it even less sporting had he not tried to do the same thing to Nussboym a moment earlier.

They rolled up against Mordechai's desk. It was a cheap, light, flimsy thing, made of pine and plywood. Mordechai tried to bang Nussboym's head against the side of it. Nussboym threw up an arm just in time.

A heavy gla.s.s ashtray fell off the desk. Anielewicz was d.a.m.ned if he knew why he'd kept the thing around. He didn't smoke. Even if he had smoked, n.o.body in Poland had any tobacco these days, anyhow. But the ashtray had been on his desk when he got the office, and he hadn't bothered getting rid of it.

It came in handy now. He and David Nussboym both grabbed for it at the same time, but Nussboym couldn't reach it Mordechai's arm was longer. He seized it and hit Nussboym in the head. Nussboym groaned but kept fighting, so Mordechai hit him again. After the third blow, Nussboym's eyes rolled up and he went limp.

Anielewicz struggled to his feet. His clothes were torn, he had a b.l.o.o.d.y nose, and he felt as if he'd just crawled out of a cement mixer. People crowded in the doorway, staring. "He was going to tell the Lizards who I am," Mordechai said. His voice came out raw and rasping; Nussboym had come closer to strangling him than he'd thought.

Bertha Fleishman nodded briskly. "I was afraid that would happen. Do you think we have to shut him up for good?"

"I don't want to," Mordechai answered. "I don't want any more Jews dead. He's not a bad man, he's just wrong here. Can we get him out of the way for good?"

She nodded again. "He'll have to go east, but we'll manage. I have enough Communist friends to be sure he'll get into Russia without ever having the chance to speak his piece to the Lizards."

"What'll happen to him there?" Anielewicz asked. "They're liable to ship him to Siberia." He'd meant it for a joke, but Bertha's sober nod said it was indeed a possibility. Mordechai shrugged. "If that's how it is, then that's how it is. He'll have a chance to stay alive there, and we'd have to kill him here."

"Let's get him out of here for now," Bertha said. More quietly, she added, "You ought to think about disappearing, too, Mordechai. Not everyone who favors the Lizards is as open as Nussboym. You could be betrayed any time."

He bit his lip. She was right He knew she was right. But the idea of going on the road again, finding another alias and joining a partisan band, pierced him with a chill worse than any winter's gale.

"Good-bye, Lodz. Good-bye, flat," he muttered as he took hold of David Nussboym's feet.

.18.

Heinrich Jager felt like a table-tennis ball. Whenever he returned from a mission, he never knew where he would bounce up next: to Schloss Hohentubingen to help the men with the thick gla.s.ses and the high foreheads drive the explosive-metal bomb project forward, off on another run with Otto Skorzeny to tweak the Lizards' snouts, or to lead panzers into battle, something he actually knew how to do.

After he got back from Albi, they'd stuck him in a panzer again. That was where the powers that be stuck him when the war was going badly. If the Lizards overran the Vaterland, Vaterland, everything else became irrelevant. everything else became irrelevant.

He stood up in the cupola of his Panther. The wind tore at him, even through his reversible parka. He wore it white side out now, to go with the panzer's whitewashed turret and hull. The machine, large and white and deadly, reminded him of a polar bear as it rumbed east from Breslau. As for the parka, it kept him from freezing. Next to the makeshifts the Wehrmacht Wehrmacht had used two winters before in Russia, it was a miracle. With it on, he was just cold. That seemed pretty good; he knew all about freezing. had used two winters before in Russia, it was a miracle. With it on, he was just cold. That seemed pretty good; he knew all about freezing.

His gunner, a moon-faced corporal named Gunther Grillparzer, said, "Any sign of the Lizards yet, sir?"

"No," Jager answered, ducking back down inside the turret to talk. "I tell you the truth: I'm just as glad not seeing them."

"Ach, ja;" Grillparzer said. "I just hope that call from the d.a.m.ned Jews wasn't a pack of d.a.m.ned moonshine. For all we know, the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds want to make us motor around and burn up petrol for no reason." Grillparzer said. "I just hope that call from the d.a.m.ned Jews wasn't a pack of d.a.m.ned moonshine. For all we know, the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds want to make us motor around and burn up petrol for no reason."

"They wouldn't do that." I hope they wouldn't do that, I hope they wouldn't do that, Jager added to himself. After what the Jager added to himself. After what the Reich Reich had done to the Jews in Poland, how could he blame them if they wanted revenge? Aloud, he went on, "The commandant seems convinced the call was legitimate." had done to the Jews in Poland, how could he blame them if they wanted revenge? Aloud, he went on, "The commandant seems convinced the call was legitimate."

"Ja, Herr Oberst," Grillparzer said, "but those aren't angels that come out the commandant's a.r.s.e when he squats on the WC, are they?" Grillparzer said, "but those aren't angels that come out the commandant's a.r.s.e when he squats on the WC, are they?"

Jager stood up again without answering. Russians and Lizards-and SS Einsatzgruppe Einsatzgruppe men-followed orders without thinking about them. The men-followed orders without thinking about them. The Wehrmacht Wehrmacht trained its soldiers to show initiative in everything they did-and if that made them less respectful of their superiors than they would have been otherwise, well, you had to take the bad with the good. trained its soldiers to show initiative in everything they did-and if that made them less respectful of their superiors than they would have been otherwise, well, you had to take the bad with the good.

They reached the crest of a low rise. "Halt," Jager told the driver, and then relayed the command to the rest of the panzers in the battle group: an ad hoc ad hoc formation that essentially meant, formation that essentially meant, all the armored vehicles we can sc.r.a.pe together for the moment. all the armored vehicles we can sc.r.a.pe together for the moment. "We'll deploy along this line. Hull down, everyone." "We'll deploy along this line. Hull down, everyone."

When a polar bear prowled through ice and snow, it was the most deadly predator in its domain. Foxes and badgers and wolverines stepped aside; seals and reindeer fled for their lives. Jager wished-oh, how he wished!-the same held true for his Panther, and for the Panthers and Panzer IVs and Tigers with it.

Unfortunately, however, in straight-up combat it took anywhere from five to a couple of dozen German panzers to knock out one Lizard machine. That was why he had no intention of meeting the Lizards in straight-up combat if he could possibly help it. Strike from ambush, fall back, hit the Lizards again when they stormed forward to overwhelm the position you'd just evacuated, fall back again-that was how you hurt them.

He wished for a cigarette, or a cigar, or a pipe, or a dip of snuff. He'd never tasted snuff in his life. He just wanted tobacco. There were stories that people had killed themselves when they couldn't get anything to smoke. He didn't know if he believed those or not, but he felt the lack.

He had a little flask of schnapps. He took a nip now. It snarled its way down his gullet. It might have been aged half an hour before somebody poured it into a bottle. Then again, it might not have. After he drank, he felt warmer. The doctors said that was nonsense. To h.e.l.l with the doctors, To h.e.l.l with the doctors, he thought. he thought.

What was that off in the distance? He squinted through swirling snow. No, it wasn't a horse-drawn wagon: too big and too quick. And there came another behind it, and another. His stomach knotted around the schnapps. Lizard panzers, heading this way. Down into the turret again. He spoke two brief sentences, one to the gunner-"The Jews weren't lying"-and one to the loader-"Armor-piercing." He added one more sentence over the wireless for the benefit of the battle group: "Hold fire to within five hundred meters."

He stuck head and shoulders out into the cold again, raising binoculars to his eyes for a better look. Not just Lizard panzers coming this way, but their personnel carriers, too. That was good news and bad news. The panzers could smash them, but if they disgorged their infantry before they were hit, they were very bad news. Lizard foot soldiers carried antipanzer rockets that made Panzerschrecks Panzerschrecks look like cheap toys by comparison. look like cheap toys by comparison.

The panzer troops he commanded had plenty of fire discipline, danken Gott dafur. danken Gott dafur. They'd wait as he had ordered, let the Lizards get close and then hit them hard before dropping back to the next ridge line. They'd- They'd wait as he had ordered, let the Lizards get close and then hit them hard before dropping back to the next ridge line. They'd- Maybe the crew of the Tiger a few hundred meters away hadn't been paying attention to the wireless. Maybe their set was broken. Or maybe they just didn't give a d.a.m.n about fire discipline. The long-barreled 88 roared with the leaders of the Lizard force still a kilometer and a half away.

"Dumbheaded pigdog!" Jager screamed. The Tiger scored a clean hit. One of the personnel carriers stopped dead, smoke spurting from it. Through the dying reverberations of the cannon shot, Jager heard the crew of the Tiger yelling like drunken idiots. The resemblance didn't end there, either, he thought bitterly.

He ducked into the turret once more. Before he could speak, Gunther Grillparzer said it for him: "The Lizards know we're here."

"Ja." Jager slapped the gunner on the shoulder. "Good luck. We'll need it" He spoke to the driver over the intercom. "Listen for my orders, Johannes. We may have to get out of here in a hurry." Jager slapped the gunner on the shoulder. "Good luck. We'll need it" He spoke to the driver over the intercom. "Listen for my orders, Johannes. We may have to get out of here in a hurry."

"Jawohl, Herr Oberst!"

They were agood crew, probably not quite so fine as the one he'd had in France-Klaus Meinecke had been a genius with a cannon-but d.a.m.n good. He wondered how much that was going to help them. Exactly what he'd feared was happening. Instead of motoring blithely down the highway toward Breslau and presenting their flanks for close-range killing shots, the Lizard panzers were turning to face his position straight on. Neither a Tiger's main armament nor a Panther's could penetrate their glacis plates and turrets at point-blank range, let alone at fifteen hundred meters.

And the personnel carriers were pulling back even farther. He got on the all-panzers circuit: "They know we're here now. Panzer IVs, concentrate on the carriers. Gott mit uns, Gott mit uns, we'll come out of this all right." we'll come out of this all right." Or some of us will, anyhow, Or some of us will, anyhow, he glossed mentally. Some of them wouldn't. he glossed mentally. Some of them wouldn't.

The Panzer IVs along the line of the ridge opened up, not only with armor-piercing sh.e.l.ls to wreck the personnel carriers but also with high-explosive rounds to deal with the Lizards who'd left before being hit. The order was cold-blooded calculation on Jager's part. The IVs had the weakest cannons and the weakest armor of the machines in the battle group. Not only were they best suited for handling the carriers, they were also the panzers Jager could best afford to lose when the Lizards started shooting back.

He'd hoped the Lizard panzers would come charging up the slope toward his position, cannon blazing. The Russians had made that mistake time and again, and the Lizards more than once. That kind of rush would give his Panther and Tiger crews close-range shots and shots at the Lizards' side armor, which their cannon could penetrate.

The Lizards were learning, though. Their panzer crews had been through combat, too, and had a notion of what worked. They didn't need to charge; they could engage at long range. Even at fifteen hundred meters, a hit from one of their monster sh.e.l.ls would blow-did blow-the turret right off a Panzer IV and send it blazing into the snow. Jager clenched his fists. With luck, the commander, gunner, and loader there never knew what hit them.