The steel helmets bobbled on their small heads
them were having trouble balancing their au
Major General Helmut Kladen thought they
group of children playing war games in theix
forms. The squad leader， a boy of perhaps fol
up to the front of the open OKW staff car and
chauffeur for his transit papers. The others ga
the gray Mercedes and stood silently， staring al
sat stiffly erect in the luxurious leather of the re
One of the taller children mustered the coura
could touch the Knight s Cross， with Oak LeaJ
]rested on a red silk foulard at Kladen s throat. C
laodded， and the boy came forward. He fond]
with great reverence， then quickly stepped b.\"
p~ed something to his comrades， who nodded
bridge shook suddenly from the concussion q
Soviet artillery at the Seelow salient. Kladen
uncomfortable and snapped， \"Schnell! Schnel
who was examining their papers.
The squad leader smiled at Kladen and
chauffeur to go on. The driver slipped the Mer
gear， and it rolled slowly across the bridge.
back at the child soldiers. A pall of gray sn
burning city of Berlin some fifteen kilomet
settled over the bridge， lending a ghost-like
small figures in their ill-fitting nniforms.
Kladen lit a long pink Russian cigarette and
sadly; the thought of the children holding
pressed him. They were waiting for Wenck s
the army group that would save Berlin from
hordes. But there was no Twelfth Army. It
ceased to exist. The Twelfth Army was a myth
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