Endgame (The Red Gambit Series Book 7)

by Colin Gee

  Dalziel produced one final piece of paper.

  “This is an American report from April ’45, which mentions a young local girl, Ida Weisenbacher, who claimed to have seen SS soldiers putting items into Lake Toplitz in February.”

  He handed over a copy to each of the listeners.

  “The report had little credence over and above any other report at the time. There were constant reports from people trying to ingratiate themselves with the new occupiers, and Weisenbacher’s was no different.”

  Churchill looked up from the paper, examining the Rear-Admiral over the top of his glasses.

  “But it was different I assume?”

  “Yes, Prime Minister, in as much as it was true. Kaltenbrunner was a frequent visitor to the area in happier times, and she named him as one of the men she saw dumping items in the water.”

  No one gave voice to the thought that such a piece of information should never have been buried or ignored.

  Dalziel continued.

  “When the Soviets took over the area, it appears that she told her story to someone else, which resulted in the lake being investigated. We only found this out when the area was reoccupied. Fraulein Weisenbacher has disappeared, but some of the local population spoke of Soviet activity that resulted in the removal of many objects from the lake, roughly around the end of June, beginning of July.”

  Dalziel brought the pile of paperwork together neatly, ensuring all the edges were perfectly aligned as he delivered the final piece of information.

  “We are aware that NKVD Colonel General Serov was in the area at the time. He was the man charged with recovering the German uranium oxide and other sensitive items.”

  “Good lord. We seem to have escaped a disaster by the skin of our teeth, Sir Roger. Damnedly well done to all involved… Damnedly well done. And the money is where now?”

  “What was recovered from the sea is now safely within the Naval arsenal at Scapa Flow, under increased guard.”

  Somerville eased himself on his seat.

  “Prime Minister. That was under my orders. My inclination was to burn the bloody lot of them, but I assumed Bank of England would want a look at the damn things.”

  “Quite right too, Sir James. I’ll get Hugh Dalton on it immediately. I’ll have him liaise directly with you.”

  “Splendid, Sir.”

  “Thank you again, Sir Roger. I won’t forget this, I can assure you.”

  Churchill stubbed his cigar out with a celebratory flourish and stood, cueing the others in to do likewise.

  “One last thing, Sir Roger.”

  “Sir?”

  “The dollars. Where are they?”

  “Haven’t the foggiest idea, Sir. No intelligence on them whatsoever.”

  “Best we give our cousins a warning then.”

  “Yes, Prime Minister.”

  Dictators, unlike Democrats, depend on a small coterie to sustain their power. These backers, generally drawn from the military, the senior civil service, and family or clan members, have a synergistic relationship with their dictator. The dictator delivers opportunities for them to become rich, and they protect him from being overthrown.

  Bruce Bueno de Mesquita.

  Chapter 180 - THE SCHEMERS

  1107 hrs, Saturday, 30th November 1946, 2nd Grenadier Guards Maintenance Section, Kolberg, Poland.

  The gathering at the maintenance section was graced by nearly all the senior officers from 2nd Grenadier Guards, including its commander, Lieutenant Colonel Cecil Keith.

  ‘C’ Squadron’s commander was absent, still looking for the missing items whose absence had drawn so much unwanted attention upon the maintenance section.

  2nd Lieutenant Charles, recently returned from his officer training, was under the spotlight from the moment Keith and his entourage had arrived.

  “Is this your signature, Lieutenant?”

  “No, Sir.”

  Pansy Flowers handed another document over to his commander, who turned to Corporal Wild.

  “Is this your signature, Corporal?”

  Making a play of checking closely, Wild shook his head.

  “So neither of you signed for these acceptance forms, so neither of you are responsible for this missing vehicle or the other one.”

  They wisely stayed silent.

  Keith’s attention turned to Flowers, the WO2 in charge of all matters paperwork within the maintenance section.

  “So, Flowers, what have you got to say for yourself? 27th November these vehicles were signed out. The 27th, man!”

  “Colonel, Sir, I can’t say. I wasn’t here when the vehicles were signed out. Either of them. I’ve just got back from a spot of leave in Rostock, Sir. It was Lieutenant Charles’ enquiry that prompted my checks on the paperwork, as I noticed both vehicles had gone. I’d noticed their absence previously, but assumed they’d been picked up… err… by the right parties. Sergeant Ferris was responsible for signing the two vehicles out. He’s just in from England, so he wouldn’t know either Lieutenant Charles or CSM Head by sight.”

  The Colonel interrupted.

  “So where is Ferris now?”

  “Sir, he’s out with the redcaps trying to spot those responsible for… err… removing the vehicles.”

  Godfrey Pike, B Squadron’s commander, piped up.”

  “Sir, I was with Peter Carington when he interviewed Ferris. He provided a good description of all four men. Procedures were followed. The sergeant’s not to blame as Peter and I see it.”

  Pike was never slow in stating his opinion.

  “After all, I mean, who on earth steals tanks and transporters?”

  Keith, whose battalion was light two Centurion Mk IIIs, two Diamond T M-19 tank transporters, and their M-9 trailers, controlled his anger.

  “Well quite clearly someone does, Pike!”

  He swallowed and forced himself to calm down.

  “Right. We’ll sort out the whys and wherefores of this bloody mess later. For now, I want parties out searching for the vehicles first and foremost. Find them, we find the swine who did this, and heaven help them if I get my bloody hands on the sods. I’ll have their guts for garters.”

  He turned to Charles and Wild, wagging an admonishing finger.

  “And if I find out that you lot have anything to do with this, I can guarantee you an extremely unpleasant time before your courts-martial!”

  He leant forward.

  “Are we clear, Lieutenant… Sergeant?”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  “Right… get out there and find your bloody tank!”

  Keith strode from the office with the rest streaming in his wake, almost running in an attempt to keep up.

  Charles and Wild remained at attention long after it was necessary.

  Flowers, also at parade attention, broke the silence.

  “Fucking hell. He’s not a happy puppy, is he?”

  Charles relaxed and moved closer to Flowers.

  “For that matter, Sarnt-Major… neither am I. That’s my bloody tank that some bastard is gallivanting ‘round the Polish countryside with and, quite bloody frankly, I’m not fucking happy! If I find that your man Ferris has anything to do with this, then I will visit myself upon you… mates or no fucking mates. Understand, Pansy?”

  “No need for that, Andy… no need at all…”

  “There better not be, old son, or I’ll have a set of garters of my own. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal.”

  “Excellent. You hear anything, I wanna hear it before the echo’s died away or else.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Good. Now, we’re off, and woe betide anyone who is involved in this fucking abhorrence!”

  “Right, Laz. Before some other busybody works out that we don’t have a tank, get the boys rounded up, organise a jeep, and we’ll go off on a jaunt and find Lady Godiva smartish. Can’t have gone far, and unless I miss my mark, we should start with either the Coldstreams or the Irish… and I’m betting that o
ur dear friend Cuthbert le Lièvre from His Majesty’s Coldstream Guards has a hand in this… you mark my words, Laz.”

  “I hear you, boss. Never forgiven us for the kipper wheeze.”

  In the German War, le Lièvre and Charles had a run in over a shared route, where the Coldstreams were off course and on the wrong road.

  The Channel Islander had crossed their paths a few times since, one of which had resulted in bad feeling and, by way of a reprisal, Lazarus Wild introducing two fish into the exhaust system of le Lièvre’s tank.

  Such things never go unrevenged, and it was Charles’ hunch that the Coldstreamer had a hand in recent events.

  1311 hrs, Sunday, 1st December 1946, Pardubice, Czechoslovakia.

  The meeting was jovial, even though none of the visitors were getting what they wanted.

  Not that they had expected to, given the shortages.

  New vehicles had been allocated from France, from American sources, and even from Germany, the latter for reasons that were not wholly clear to the Legionnaires of Camerone and Alma, but they were not about to refuse.

  Over the weeks, the foraging parties had turned up with some surprises, some of which were cherished additions to the order of battle, others received less warmly, depending on their state or nature.

  All in all, the reforming units of the Legion Corps D’Assaut received a reasonable boost from official and unofficial sources.

  Uhlmann was just into his questioning on the mechanical state of three Felix vehicles from his regiment when items from a clearly unofficial source arrived in clouds of diesel smoke and much rattling of chains.

  The four officers looked up from their table and, collectively, their jaws dropped.

  Fiedler, the workshop’s commander, immediate thoughts turned to where he could get the spares from.

  Felix Jorgensen thought nothing of them particularly, as they clearly weren’t going to be for his anti-tank unit.

  Uhlmann admired their lines and appreciated the fact that he was looking at something that was probably extremely potent on the modern battlefield.

  “They’ll do, whatever they are, Walter.”

  Fiedler shook his head in mock sternness.

  “No can do, Obersturmbannführer. You don’t get heavy tanks. You know that.”

  “Looks like a medium to me.”

  “Not my decision but, whatever it is, I’m thinking it’ll go to the heavy tank company no matter what. They’re light on vehicles and these will do nicely. Not my decision, Obersturmbannführer.”

  Rolf knew he was right, but wanted to have a look at these new vehicles close up.

  He moved off, and the other followed out of curiosity.

  The young officer in charge of the two transporter vehicles saw Uhlmann’s approach and jumped down, saluting impeccably.

  “Beg to report, Obersturmbannführer, Untersturmführer Jung, 3rd Kompagnie, 1st Chars D’Assaut reporting. We’ve returned, following the successful discharge of our orders, with new vehicles for the division.”

  Uhlmann smiled at his own young officer, whom he knew well without the introduction.

  “Well then, Heinz… what do we have here eh? No, first tell me how you came by them?”

  Jung gestured to the man in command of the second transport, who alighted from the tank transporter.

  “Now I understand! You’ve been led astray by that old rogue!”

  Their relationship was well known, so no one was at all surprised when salutes were hasty and comradely hugs and slaps were long and clearly heartfelt.

  “What have you done, Johan, eh?”

  Braun, smiling from ear to ear, merely shrugged.

  “I followed the express orders of my superior officer, Sir.”

  Jung, now surrounded by more men from the foraging party, stood up to the senior NCO.

  “Sir, I beg to report that I was persuaded to steal from our allies, on the basis of information gleaned from some drunken British guardsmen. I would not have done so without immense pressure from the Sturmscharführer, and would advise that he is arrested immediately.”

  Uhlmann slapped Jung on the shoulder.

  “Well spoken. I’ve often thought of doing that myself!”

  “Well, think again, the pair of you. I was just discharging my orders… orders… as it happens… written by you, Obersturmbannführer.”

  “Damn. You escape again.”

  The laughter was universal and the whole group were relaxed.

  Cigarettes went round before Uhlmann posed the question.

  “So, what have you got here?”

  “These are the very latest British tanks. The opportunity to take this was too good to pass on. They’re Centurion tanks. 84mm gun that can use the new ammo. We’ve picked up some of that as well. No spares for the engine, but we can work on that. I’ve had a play inside and it seems pretty good. Stabilised gun system, all sorts of lovely toys. I’m assuming you’ll let me have it as my own tank. Seeing as I know all the bad things about you?”

  Everyone laughed except Fiedler, who was quick to interject.

  “No, Sturmscharführer. As I was explaining when you drove in, these will be slated for the Schwere Panzer Kompagnie, you can be assured of it.”

  Braun prepared to challenge but Uhlmann waved him down.

  “That’s the way of it, Johann. However, I can say I’ve set aside a turbine Schwarzpanther just for you to ride in, if that helps?”

  Braun weighed it up and figured he had done all right.

  Not that it mattered of course.

  Uhlmann climbed onto the trailer.

  “Come on then. You going to show me around this beast?”

  “Of course.”

  “What’s this?”

  “Ah. It’s a naked woman.”

  “No it isn’t. Even I can see that!”

  “Lady Godiva rode through her home town naked. That’s what it says.”

  “I prefer pictures. Anyway, show me.”

  The two heaved themselves up and dropped into the turret of what had, until recently, been Charles’ Centurion tank.

  1312 hrs, Sunday, 1st December 1946, Dai Ichi Life Insurance Building, Tokyo, Japan.

  Far East Command, more commonly referred to as FECOM, had been in being for a little over two months.

  Its commander, Douglas MacArthur, did not feel valued, despite the huge ‘empire’ over which he held sway.

  His command of the Pacific War that ultimately laid low the Empire of Japan had been constantly overshadowed by the German War, and subsequently the war against the Soviet Union, in which Japan played a minor part… or at least that was how the papers so often played it, despite his own large set piece battles on land, at sea, and in the air.

  The great crusade against the evil Empire had been the focus of American rage following Pearl Harbor, slipping to sharing newspaper inches with Northern Europe, Italy, and the other places from where fascism had been driven.

  The focus swung wholly back to him after the German capitulation, and he enjoyed the media spotlight upon his generalship at Okinawa, even though the fighting dragged on and on, way past the deadline he set and reset, and on into August.

  When the acts of surrender on Okinawa were accepted, MacArthur had taken centre stage, but events in Europe always overtook him, and he was singularly hacked off with it all.

  Set against the background of a disgruntled C-in-C, the staff of FECOM worked hard to do everything well and give MacArthur little to find fault with.

  His relentless need to have invasion plans for Siberia updated drew constant groans from the men and women under his command, but they set to it

  MacArthur’s first idea had to be to name the projected Siberian invasion after the commander of the last US forces to set foot there, the American Expeditionary Force Siberia, which landed in August 1918.

  His advisors quickly advised, and he quickly understood that Operation Graves, named for Major General William S. Graves, should be consigned to the w
aste bin as wholly inappropriate.

  It was subsequently replaced with the more upbeat ‘Operation Tiger’.

  The sister operation, designed to explode out of China to numerous points west and north, was known as ‘Operation Cougar’

  The staff of FECOM kept both constantly updated, integrating new units into the plans, removing those who returned stateside, upgrading expectations when new equipment arrived, or downgrading when some other theatre required an asset they had marked down for use.

  Today, MacArthur was taking lunch with two of his senior men, Admiral John H. Towers, the C-in-C Pacific Fleet, and Lieutenant General Ennis C Whitehead, C-in-C PACUSA, the unified command group for the US Air forces in the Pacific.

  As usual, lunch did not obstruct military business, although it was taken at a slower and more relaxed pace.

  MacArthur slipped a piece of beef into his mouth and used the redundant fork to point at the folder sat alongside the naval officer.

  “That the latest Tiger updates on the carrier force problem, John?”

  Clearing his mouth, Admiral Towers spoke as he loaded another forkful.

  “No, Sir, that it isn’t. The temporary loss of Task Force 58 is a bitch, that’s for sure, but if Tiger becomes a reality tomorrow, we can still run an effective prosecution of the existing plan. Just need to shuffle the assets some.”

  Again the fork selected the folder.

  “So what’s that you’re dragging along? Mess accounts?”

  They chuckled together, the ‘Top Secret’ markings clearly marking the contents as anything but.

  “No, Sir. Something better examined without the plates and cutlery getting in the way.”

  MacArthur nodded his understanding.