by Colin Gee
“And you don’t know where they were going after Kannonzaki?”
“No, Takeo-san. I heard rumours that a number of dignitaries would be going board before they sailed… extra comforts were installed for them… I do know that the vessels were fully provisioned, which was a rarity in those times of course.”
Kagesawa suddenly started a bout of coughing which immediately became a serious problem, as blood foamed at his lips and nostrils.
A nurse bustled over from her duty station and tended to the wounded man.
“You should go now.”
In the way of nurses the world over, her words were an instruction, not a request.
The two US officers stood and took their leave.
The bout of coughing got worse and a doctor joined the throng around the bedside.
“Arigato, Kagesawa-san.”
Outside the hospital, Takeo did all the talking.
“Lootenant, we gotta get back to base immediately, cos unless I’m very much mistaken, the Combined Fleet still has two huge submarines out there somewhere … cloaked in secrecy… unaccounted for… and carrying some important people.”
He skim read the last page again before folding them and slipping them into his breast pocket.
‘Special type submarines…chikushō!’
By 1800 hrs, Waynes and Takeo had assembled the evidence to take before their section chief; evidence that two huge submarines had been assembled and sent to sea with next to no history of their existence, probably carrying some important personnel, and were most likely still at large.
The section chief had disappeared for the day so the two excited men set everything aside ready for an early morning presentation.
Waynes couldn’t sleep and took to examining the contents of a bottle of bourbon.
Takeo couldn’t sleep either, but went to bed anyway.
As he fell into a fitful sleep and Sunday became Monday, a life ended in Urakami First Hospital, as Kaigun-shōsa Daisuke Kagesawa slipped from this world into the embrace of his ancestors.
1200 hrs, Monday, 4th November 1946, Former SS-Artillerieschule Beneschau, Beneschau, Czechoslovakia.
The group had congregated on the verandah of the commandant’s house at the former SS Artillery School, where they had exchanged news and smoked cigarettes together.
Just prior to the start of their meeting, two of the brand new Sabre jet fighters had swept overhead, creating a favourable impression on the ground troops below.
Rumour had it that they had many teething problems but, to the men on the ground, they were pretty birds and friendly air was always welcome.
“It’s time, messieurs. The Général awaits you.”
Cigarettes were hastily thrown and uniforms tugged into place before the senior officers of the Legion Corps D’Assaut filed into the room set aside for their critical meeting with De Lattre.
It fell to the French general to break the bad news, even though it was in many ways not news at all.
“Simply put, the Corps can no longer sustain itself, even with the new influx of vetted personnel. You’ve lost too many men to the German Army. I’m here to offer all German personnel an honourable release so you can return to your own army, with the grateful thanks of France.”
Even though they all knew it was coming, it was still a shock.
Many of the officers present were old Legion or French, or both, and they also knew that their futures hung in the balance. Some eyes swivelled to Bittrich, the most senior German legionnaire, but most focussed on the man in the centre of the room.
None the less, it was Bittrich that spoke first.
“For myself, I’ll return to the Wehrmacht as soon as is convenient. I have been offered a position in the new German Legion, which will carry forward the élan and spirit of this legion and the force from which many of us came.”
A silent dismay fell upon the listeners who had hoped beyond hope that the Corps could stay intact, in some way or other.
One or two German officers spoke their agreement with Bittrich’s decision, but everyone, De Lattre included, understood that one man of great importance had yet to speak.
“So, who else will take up the offer and return to Germany?”
De Lattre asked to try and provoke a response from Knocke, the clear focus of attention.
A few more men raised their hands in response, a total of eleven men signalling their wish to depart.
But Knocke’s hands stayed firmly in his lap.
“And who will stay and serve La Legion?”
There were no hands raised, even though only a few had thus far indicated their choice.
Knocke rose slowly and, as was his habit, tugged his tunic into place.
“Legionnaires… for that is what you all are… the choice is simple. Return and join our new army and serve Germany, or remain here and serve France. For my part, this is an easy choice. I gave my word to serve, so serve I will. All of us here served before, different masters in different times, but with the same common enemy as the men we fight alongside now. We wore our uniforms with pride, and served alongside our comrades through good and bad times.”
He looked around the room, seeking the more junior men in particular.
“And now we are here, consistent to our word, serving with our comrades, old… and new… and have the same spirit… the same élan… the same incredible togetherness that drove our men to the gates of Moscow, and helped them endure the unendurable.”
He pointed out well-known faces… Haefali… St.Clair… Beveren… Desmarais… Durand.
“These men are my comrades as every German serving in the Corps is my comrade. In honour, I cannot go back on my word, neither can I desert my comrades. I will remain as a legionnaire.”
Knocke retook his seat in silence.
“Thank you, Général Knocke.”
The tension slipped away in an instant and De Lattre dropped in behind the small desk, on which sat four different scenarios, depending on what went on from this point forward.
But that was for tomorrow.
“So, messieurs, I must ask again. Whomever wishes to return to the German Army may do so with honour. This is a big decision for all of us, so please, consider it overnight. I have officers who will be visiting all units throughout the afternoon and evening to inform the men and offer them the same choice.”
The compassion evaporated from De Lattre’s voice in an instant.
“Those who wish to depart should report to their parade grounds at 1100hrs tomorrow, where they’ll be required to sign release papers, receive back pay, and will be required to hand over relevant equipment. Any insignia may be retained as a mark of our gratitude for your service.”
“Senior commanders will report back here at 1300 tomorrow with the revised personnel levels of their units, at which time we’ll work out what sort of force we have to command.”
He rose to his feet, as did the rest of the room.
“For those of you that decide to return to your own army, I can only understand, and thank you for your gallant service. For those of you that decide to stay… thank you. Honneur et Fidélité, mon braves. Dismissed.”
[Beneschau is modern-day Benešov.]
“General Gehlen, a pleasure… and a surprise.”
“General De Walle. I felt it correct not to announce or parade my arrival. What I have to discuss is delicate.”
The Belgian indicated the silent man who took up position at the doorway.
“My man, Strauch… here to guarantee my safety in this increasingly dangerous time.”
They gravitated towards a pair of comfortable seats that seemed somehow out of place in the stark barracks building.
Ever the professional, Gehlen got straight down to business.
“I’ve made no progress on your note, except to discover that there are a number more Uspenkas in the Soviet Union. The rest of the message means absolutely nothing to anyone.”
De Walle’s look of disappointme
nt was writ large on his face.
“However, yesterday evening I received the information I’ve been waiting for… or rather… information arrived… revealing and worrying information.”
He removed a file from his inner coat pocket and handed it over.
“I’ve spoken to no one of its contents.”
The file, written in German, with excerpts of documents in Polish and Russian, had been heavily censored, something that disappointed the Belgian intelligence officer.
Again, Gehlen understood his thoughts.
“The files mainly came pre-censored. It was necessary for me to censor three pieces in the main file. I am sorry. The translations of the Polish and Russian documents are in the back of the file.”
“Thank you.”
De Walle read the main file with incredulity, and then examined the translations, which did nothing to drop his level of astonishment.
He looked up at Gehlen, who extended a hand holding a cigarette case.
“Thank you. Astonishing.”
“I have to ask, General. Are we free to speak openly?”
“Yes.”
“Good. So, in brief, we have discovered from these files that the Steyns, both David and Jakob, were falsely listed as dead. You were correct, by the way. Belzec records simply do not exist, except for the one we found, a record that was most secret… a record associated with something known as the Uranprojekt.”
He left the word hanging for De Walle to consume.
“Scheisse!”
The Belgian knew nothing specific about the Uranprojekt, simply its purpose.
Which was to produce nuclear weapons for Nazi Germany.
“It seems both men were associated with the Uranprojekt, by working in a Geheime Auergesellschaft experimental facility in Konitz, Pomerania.”
He fished out a photoreconnaissance set that covered the area, taken by Allied aircraft over the space of two years from 1943.
“Nothing there. That’s how secret it was. It’s simply not there. I’ll have my men check the area out, but it’s simply not listed on the official documentation of known facilities of either the Reich or the Soviets.”
Gehlen extracted another document from his pocket.
“This document does not exist and cannot be referred to at this time. That may change, but for now its contents must remain strictly between us, Georges.”
“As you wish, Reinhard.”
The highly secret list of which German scientist and intelligentsia had been acquired by the Soviet ‘Osoaviakhim Project’ made for interesting reading in its own right.
“This is more comprehensive than the official list.”
“I have my orders, although sometimes I don’t understand them… but I felt that I would share this with you… on the basis of it remaining between us.”
Both the Steyns were listed as being removed to the USSR by officers of ‘Osoaviakhim’.
Of greater interest in so many ways was the heading under which they were placed.
‘Nuclear research and weapons section - VNIIEF.’
“VNIIEF…Merde.”
The VNIIEF, the acronym for the All-Union Scientific Research Institute of Experimental Physics, was a flag for any intelligence officer, although so little was known about its abilities and progress.
“I think you’ll agree that this information makes the understanding of Knocke’s message all the more important.”
“I agree, Reinhard… but if I’m not supposed to know about it, how would I know whom to ask?”
“Have you heard of Farm Hall?”
“No.”
“It’s in England… a place called Godmanchester… it’s where a number of German scientists were kept and interrogated after the last war.”
“Damn… yes… I’ve heard of it, yes.”
De Walle offered up his pack, which Gehlen declined.
The Belgian lit a cigarette, all the while concentrating heavily on the espionage goldmine to which he was slowly becoming privy.
“One of my agents was within that process… an interpreter and interrogator… he became friends with a number of those imprisoned there.”
“And that enduring friendship will enable him to speak to them… quietly… without anything official.”
“I think that would be wise, Georges.”
“Good… but again I see this… err… reluctance to do things officially… which I simply don’t understand. What is the problem, Reinhard?”
“I’m being excluded from matters within my own sphere. My men are either being moved from their positions to where they can no longer keep me informed or, in some cases, being removed in accidents.”
“Mon Dieu.”
“Do you have anyone in a position who might be able to help me understand what is going on within my own government?”
Coming from Germany’s spymaster, that was a huge confession of his own weakened position.
De Walle weighed his answer carefully, just in case it was a play by the German. Trust only goes so far in the espionage game.
“I will carefully find out, Reinhard.”
“Thank you. But remember this name. Diels. Don’t trust him… ever. Now, I will go. As soon as I get anything on the note from my man, I’ll come and see you personally.”
They rose and shook hands.
“And I’ll let you know if I can find out anything about what is going on in Germany.”
Strauch opened the door and checked around before allowing the two senior men to leave.
1050 hrs, Tuesday, 5th November 1946, Headquarters of Camerone Division, Kuttenberg, Bohemia, Czechoslovakia.
The door opened and the morning sunshine flooded the room.
“Good morning, mon Général.”
”Good morning, Colonel Haefali. Are the men assembling on the field?”
“Yes, they are, Sir.”
Camerone’s base area didn’t have a defined parade square, but a vast and level grass field served just as well, and it was here that Knocke had dictated that those who wished to leave Camerone should assemble.
“Your car is ready, Sir.”
Knocke rose and opened the curtains, completing the illumination of the room, something he had not allowed until the moment of truth was upon him, preferring the relative darkness to insulate him against what was to come.
The previous afternoon and evening he had travelled through his units and spoken with the men, shaking hands, accepting a cigarette or a coffee, and discussing the concerns that were brought on by the French offer of a return.
As men sought his view, he focussed on each man in turn, advising that they should do what was right and honourable for themselves.
When pressed, as he always was, he confirmed his intent to remain in the Legion but each time he advised that the enquirer should look to his own needs and desires and not be influenced by others.
He declined to enquire as to their thoughts, and always stopped men who pledged their loyalty to him, constantly reminding his soldiers that their loyalty was owed to no one man.
This morning he had elected to dress in his preferred formal uniform of a dark blue French tunic, blue waist sash, black trousers, German combat boots, and gaiters.
As was the case for all men in the Legion Corps, the blue and red divisional armband graced his left sleeve and rank markings were carried on the collar.
The whole uniform was replete with the medals awarded a courageous man, as ever, the Mérite over the top of the Knight’s Cross.
Carrying his black officer’s kepi under his arm, Knocke strode out of the room.
“Come on then, Albrecht. Let’s see what we have left.”
Haefali kept his own counsel on that, for he had just come from the field and knew what lay in store for his commander.
The Kfz 71, Knocke’s recently acquired Krupp vehicle, made the short trip to the parade field in quick time, although the sight of men drawn up in parade order around the area could not be avoided from d
istance.
With a heavy heart, Knocke understood that the vast majority of Camerone was on the field in front of him; nearly five thousand men, give or take those on leave, in sickbay, or on important duties elsewhere.
They would all be given their opportunity later.
But for now…
“Mein Gott, Albrecht.”
Haefali shook his head.
“As you say, mon Général.”
The Krupp drove through a gap in the ranks and onto the centre of the field, where eighteen men were drawn up in three lines of six.
Knocke was taken aback, and then immediately understood, a faint reaction that Haefali noticed, which finally allowed him to smile.
“Yes, mon Général. Eighteen… just eighteen.”
The Krupp came to a halt and Haefali stepped out first.
“Parade… Parade… atten… tion!”
Thousands of feet stamped into the attention position.
Haefali swept a magnificent salute in his commander’s direction, which was returned in kind by a still shocked Knocke.
“These men wish to leave and rejoin the German Army, mon Général.”
Knocke nodded and moved forward, speaking to the eighteen men as a group, but not so the parade could hear.
“Your decision is honourable, Kameraden. Report to the duty officer’s hut, where you can complete the administration. There will be transport arranged to take you to the nearest German army facility. Thank you for your service… and for your comradeship. I wish you all well. You are dismissed.”
Haefali stepped in.
“Section…right turn.”
“By the front, double… march!”
Knocke threw up a salute as the men marched off, rather than dismiss into an aimless walk in front of their former commander.
Knocke and Haefali watched them depart, silently, one wondering what would happen next, one knowing only too well.
“Mon Général, if you will indulge me please?”
Knocke could only nod.