by Paul Grant
BERLIN:
REAPING THE WHIRLWIND
By the same author
BERLIN: Caught in the Mousetrap – The Schultz family series 1
BERLIN:
REAPING THE WHIRLWIND
By Paul Grant
© Paul Grant 2017
Paul Grant has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
This novel is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Thanks
In the last few years family and friends have helped me get to this point, providing support and encouragement when it has been badly needed. There are too many people to list here who fall into that category, but that in no way undermines their contribution in helping this, and other books, become a reality.
I would like to thank Judith Tomlinson for her work proofreading and editing this book. Her help and contribution is greatly valued.
My partner, Hayley, uses her precious time to provide insight on storylines, not always initially well accepted by me, but she nonetheless perseveres, and for that, and all the other support, I am truly grateful.
Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER 1
SEPTEMBER 1942, STALINGRAD
The waters of the Volga glistened in the late summer sun. At the start of the war in Russia, the Volga had been the Holy Grail. In our minds, when we reached the river, our mission would be accomplished; we could go home to our families. However, now we were there, there was something troubling me. As we looked down over Stalingrad, the smoke still rising from the first bombing raids, the sheer scale of the Steppe behind the city scared me. Knowing how far we’d already come and what we’d already been through, I took in the enormity of the landscape and, not for the first time since we’d been there, I wondered just how much of this godforsaken country there could be left to conquer.
‘Sergeant, I’ve got a little job for you.’
I sighed deeply and wiped a trickle of sweat from my temple. Lieutenant Fiebig was all smiles. I wasn’t, because I knew what our so called “little job” was to be. It meant our necks were on the line again. Your luck only held out so long; the snatching of Russian prisoners was a job I hated. I hated it because it was bloody dangerous.
‘Don’t tell me, you want a couple of “tongues”?’ I said.
The Lieutenant started to say something in reply, but I cut off his words. ‘I know you’re going to tell me it’s a great honour to be chosen for such an important task. Just be sure to put the Iron Cross on my coffin, won’t you?’
‘I’m giving you an order, Sergeant Schultz.’ It was the harsh reality and there was no point in arguing. Sensing my reluctance, Fiebig tried a more conciliatory approach. ‘Look, I wish we had more men like yours; it’d make my life a lot easier but, at the moment, all I’ve got are raw recruits just out of basic training.’
I wasn’t interested in his platitudes. I was annoyed and I wanted him to know it. ‘Keep giving us all the jobs like this and you’ll need a few more raw recruits.’
It seemed the talk was done with, as he whipped out a map from his fatigues. His remarkably clean finger and nail pointed out a position between the railway line and the huge grain silo. The Lieutenant clearly hadn’t done much front-line fighting.
‘You must leave and re-enter our lines at this point. 0100 hours start time. Password is Pilsner.’
‘Who thinks up these bloody passwords?’ I grumbled. ‘It’s Christmas since I tasted a beer.’ I felt the dry grit of the end of the summer in my mouth, struggling to even visualise a cold beer.
The Lieutenant didn’t care. ‘All clear?’
I nodded, albeit reluctantly. ‘All clear, Leutnant.’
He countered with a single, forceful dip of the head and made his way to the safety of the rear, leaving me to dream of beer and, more depressingly, to tell the men about our unwelcome, late-night mission.
***
When I found the others, there was an altercation going on. For whatever reason, Marz and Wiebke just didn’t get on. It wasn’t the first time I’d had to separate the two of them. When things were serious and we were in combat, the men were professional. However, when we came to a stop, all hell could, and normally did, break loose and it was usually Marz and Wiebke at the centre of the trouble.
‘You’re a thieving bastard, Marz...’ Wiebke had the diminutive Marz pinned to a roughly-rendered wall. Wiebke’s scarred right cheek, the legacy of a French bullet, was an angry, scarlet red.
Marz pleaded his innocence, ‘What’s wrong with you? I just traded a Nagant for it. I’ve not been anywhere near your kit.’
The others were crowded around, united in their amusement. I knew they’d intervene if it got too nasty. Until that time, the argument provided some entertaining respite.
‘And it just so happens you end up with a brand new Tokarev, the day mine goes missing from my bag? You don’t impress me with all the stuff you pilfer.’
‘No, but you don’t mind sharing what I do manage to get hold of. I might be a thief, but at least I’m not a fucking hypocrite!’
Marz was at least a foot shorter than Wiebke, even if they were actually face to face at that particular moment. The agile Marz managed to struggle free from his assailant’s grip and slide to the floor at the foot of the wall. Wiebke, however, didn’t miss the opportunity to aim a kick at Marz’s ribs in the time he was unprotected. I felt the wind rush from Marz’s lungs as the blow struck. The gathered crowd let out a collective wince. It was a cheap shot.
Marz wasted no time. He’d picked up a fair-sized half-brick from amongst the rubble and was on his feet.
Without thinking, I was in between them and grabbed Marz’s arm. ‘That’s enough...now drop it!’ I saw the anger in Marz’s eyes for a fleeting moment, then slowly it drained, and he dropped the brick.
‘Now, what the fuck is going on here?’
Both men scowled and averted their gaze, like wounded children, neither willing to break ranks first. I didn’t mind that. I liked loyalty.
‘Come on, out with it. I haven’t got time for this.’
Wiebke’s floodgates opened first, ‘He’s nicked my Tokarev. It was there yesterday, now it’s gone, and the next minute he turns up with a brand new one.’
Marz looked up at me innocently, which, more often than not, he wasn’t. ‘I traded it this morning...’
Wiebke cut in, ‘Oh, that’s bloody convenient, isn’t it?’
I don’t know if it was just my suspicious nature, or the fact I knew my men so well, but I definitely heard some sniggers from the others as I sepa
rated the quarrelling pair. Something was going on.
It didn’t stop Marz, ‘I traded it...you can go to hell. I might take certain opportunities from time to time, but I wouldn’t touch any of our kit. That would just be plain wrong.’
That brought outright laughter from all the other men and in return a look of wounded indignation from Marz. For what it was worth, on this occasion I believed him and that was in spite of his reputation. I believed him because I knew they’d been set up. The others knew something that the protagonists didn’t and I wanted to get it sorted out so we could get down to the serious business.
I turned to Scharner, ‘Come on, what’s going on?’
‘Nothing, Chief.’ He barely managed to stifle his giggles. I looked around at the others; the baby-faced Schram wouldn’t meet my eye and Meissner broke into a full belly laugh. I shook my head realising, for sure now, somebody had been had.
‘Who’s got Wiebke’s revolver?’ I asked.
The joke was out in the open. It was the cue for all to roll around on the floor, sides splitting. Even I managed to crack a smile. You had to admire their spirit. We’d been through a lot, but it still didn’t prevent the japes. Wiebke and Marz just looked totally bewildered by the whole thing.
Until that point Koegel, his long frame stretched out on the parched grass, had stayed out of it. Now his maturity descended on the group. ‘For God’s sake, give him the bloody thing back, will you?’
Slowly, Scharner took the gun from his pocket and tossed it towards Wiebke, who accepted it with little grace. ‘You shits, just you wait...’
The laughter reignited, only to intensify when Marz piped up, ‘Hey, what about an apology?’ For a moment Wiebke was unsure how to respond, but an apology, knowing Wiebke as I did, wasn’t very likely.
‘How do I know you weren’t in on it?’ Wiebke pointed vaguely in the air, now less sure of his accusations. Scharner was holding on to his stomach evidently fearful something would detach itself. By this time I’d given up on their high jinks and, with the immediate confrontation over, I propped myself up against the wall next to Koegel. I was happy to let the recriminations and fits of laughter play themselves out.
‘Anybody would think they have nothing else to do, larking like school children in the middle of all this,’ Koegel said.
‘Ah, let them get it out of their system, they’ll be back to the grindstone soon enough.’
‘Something cooking?’
I nodded forlornly, ‘We’ve got to nab a couple of tongues tonight.’
Koegel rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what it meant. He jumped up from his position in the shade and dusted himself down. ‘I’ll go and pack my kit up then and leave you to break the good news.’
The real business of our war was about to start again.
***
I looked round the group. The tension was palpable. Nobody needed to say a word. My earlier grumbling, and the men’s dispute, had evaporated. I had to focus myself and, more importantly, the men. In all of our past scrapes, and there had been a few, it was the forays out into no-man’s land and into the heart of the enemy lines when anything could go wrong. That left me feeling decidedly edgy, for good reason. We’d been shot at, bombed, lost more than half of our number and near frozen to the bone the previous winter, but crawling out into the dark unknown was the most dangerous game of all.
We checked each other for the third time. It was obsessive, but that’s what had kept us alive in the past and I liked to stay alive. There was nothing on our person that could clank or rattle. We either had a knife or a gun, but not both. All the rest of our kit was left back at our lines for ease of movement. We would need every second of time and freedom to manoeuvre if all hell broke loose.
Then it was time. I took one last look at my watch and, one by one, the men slipped out of the ditch next to the railway line. Meissner took point, more for his ability with a knife than anything. The loping Koegel was next. He preferred to use only his hands; in the end, it was all he needed. After him, Schram, then Scharner. Wiebke held the machine gun and he was followed by the agile Marz, their earlier disagreement forgotten, for now at least. I took up the rear, armed with nothing more than a Luger, which would only be used as a last resort.
Thankfully it was a quiet, moonless night, and although it was still warm, it was a more comfortable temperature in which to work. We followed the railway line to the first siding shed on the left. We suspected we were more likely to find what we were looking for around the huge grain silo that towered over the rail yard. It was no more than a hunch. We hadn’t been in position long enough to know the lie of the land or what we were up against, hence the need for sound intelligence and the reason for our mission. It wasn’t a bad guess, though; food was a very important commodity in Russia.
At the back of the siding, we sensed the first signs of enemy life. Over the past few weeks, our advance to the city limits had been relentless. We’d taken a breather in the last couple of days to replenish our supply lines. With only the river at their back, we suspected Ivan would be in chaos, but that hadn’t stopped them from defending their position with great ferocity although, apparently, little skill; their mistakes were often elementary, and tonight was to be no exception.
I joined Meissner at the corner of the siding. He put two fingers to his mouth as if he was smoking and pointed to a position on the other side of the track. I couldn’t see anything, but the heavy smell of Mahorka tobacco hung unmistakably in the warm, still air. It always amazed me how the simple cigarette often put paid to the common soldier’s existence. Meissner unsheathed his knife in anticipation. I scrambled down the line on my haunches and touched the shoulders of the next two men, Koegel and Schram. They instinctively followed Meissner. They knew the drill, so there was no need for words.
After thirty seconds, the other three followed me. The plan was simple. We were to circle the enemy’s position and take them from behind, overpowering them, without them raising the alarm. Ivan’s poor discipline in smoking in forward positions made me hope this would be a relatively painless operation, but I still wasn’t taking anything for granted.
Out in the open, the adrenalin kept our minds on the task. One slip at this point and we could all be goners. Thankfully, I knew I was working with experts. We’d been through this routine many times before. I’d stopped wondering what Germany was going to do with all these ruthless killing machines after it was all over. At that moment, my job was to get the “tongues” and all my men back in one piece.
We were now very close to the enemy. We could see the machine gun emplacement. The whiff of tobacco was interspersed with half whispers and intermittent complaining. My Russian wasn’t up to much, but I gathered they were grumbling about the lack of food. The Russians were not aware of the fate that awaited them, and, unfortunately for them, it wasn’t a three course meal. We were on our front, having crawled the last twenty metres or so to the final assault position. To my right, I knew Meissner was lying in wait with the others, even if he wasn’t visible. I checked my watch again. We had one minute.
Next to me, Scharner took out his knife. He would be first in the trench from our group. Marz readied the rope, blindfolds and gags. I unholstered my Luger in the event of requiring the last resort and Wiebke removed the safety on his machine gun. We were five metres behind their position and I knew Ivan’s back-up wouldn’t be far away if they did manage to sound the alarm. I shook my head, trying not to think too much. Thankfully, it was time to go.
We were on the move with Scharner and Marz first from our group. We were within two metres of the Russian emplacement now. Up ahead, I could see Meissner already dropping into the trench with the bulk of Koegel following hard on his heels. I heard a dull thud and a small exhalation of breath. By the time I peered over the edge of the trench, I could see Meissner had already dealt with one of the Russians and now held his knife to the throat of a petrified-looking second. The third was easily overpowered by Koegel and a g
ag stuffed into his mouth. Marz was down into the trench in one swift movement and their hands were duly bound. There were now four of us in the trench and, soon enough, the two prisoners were hooded and gagged and ready to move. The other member was slumped over the machine gun it had been his job to fire. Meissner was using the fabric on the back of the dead man’s tunic to clean the blood from his knife.
Our two prizes were hauled out of the trench and we were quickly on the way back to our lines. It had been an efficient and neat operation so far. I was relieved the messy part of the job had been accomplished without incident, but there was no room for complacency. We still had to get our two prisoners back and, no matter how compliant they were being right now, the shock of capture would soon wear off.
This time we didn’t stop at the railway siding. We were making our way in a low crouch. Meissner and Scharner were hauling one of the prisoners along up front. The other was moving faster with Wiebke’s Schmeisser muzzle for company. Koegel and Schram followed the first group and I brought up the rear. There was no need to look over my shoulder; we’d soon know if our operation had been discovered.
By now we were no more than fifty metres from our lines and making good progress. I made my way to the head of the group in preparation for re-entry to our position. Even if I was armed with the password, I knew this could potentially be the trickiest part of the whole operation.
I crouched down looking for a place for the group to take cover. From here I planned to crawl forward and try to get the attention of our front machine gun position without getting my head shot off. No sooner had that thought crossed my mind than a green flare illuminated the night sky. We all hit the ground, pulling the prisoners down with us.
‘That came from our own fucking lines,’ Schram grumbled.