Impasse (The Red Gambit Series)

by Gee, Colin

  Marshal Rokossovsky arrived, endorsed Petrovich’s moves and suggestions, and continued the good work, as well as making a bold decision to redeploy some forces into their second positions prior to the attack, relinquishing those further forward in exchange for reduced casualties.

  Whilst the 3rd Red Banner Central European Front was coming to full readiness, Nazarbayeva had taken the plunge, hanging her career, and possibly more, on another phone call.

  “Comrade Nazarbayeva. Do you frontline soldiers never sleep?”

  “My apologies, Comrade General Secretary.”

  The call lasted two minutes, which was also close to the time that Stalin spent on the telephone with Konev immediately after finishing his call with the GRU general.

  Finally, the bald commander of the Red Army in Europe relented and called Rokossovsky with the warning.

  The wily Polish Marshal gave no hint that his forces were already on the alert, content to claim the glory should the intelligence prove true and, if not, he now had Konev’s orders to fall back on.

  0153 hrs, Monday, 2nd December 1945, Headquarters of SHAEF, Trianon Place Hotel, Versailles, France.

  Major Foster approached clutching some new paperwork, presenting it for her commander’s attention and signature.

  “Nervous, Anne Marie?”

  “Yessir.”

  Eisenhower grunted.

  “Well, so you should be. This isn’t going to be a walk in the park; just the first step on a long trail to victory.”

  He stopped short, realising he had just quoted from a speech he was working on.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to lecture. But...”

  His voice tailed off.

  Tedder’s aide was moving quickly through the throng of officers, one man in a sea of men, but one that stood out as having purpose in his movements and, to Ike’s eye, a purpose that was not going to bring positive news to his attention.

  For once, Eisenhower’s memory failed him and he could not recall the man’s name.

  “Squadron-Leader. You look like a man on a mission.”

  “Sir, Marshal Tedder thinks you should see this immediately.”

  Eisenhower read the report and the colour drained from his face.

  “Walt... Brad... George... gentlemen.”

  He held up the report, almost as a lure, bringing his senior advisors into a huddle.

  “Arthur sends us news that his night assets have detected large scale movements by Soviet units in the area of our diversionary attack.” The report made its way to Bradley, then Bedell-Smith, doing the rounds as each man used the time to arrange his thoughts.

  “Ok, Gentlemen. This would seem to indicate that the enemy knows we’re going to attack. They may not know the timings, of course, but this is not regular activity as I see it.”

  He turned to the RAF officer who shook his head in support of Ike’s belief.

  “So, do we halt the attack? Do we let it go on in? Do we have any other alternatives?”

  Both Patton and Bradley went to speak and, unusually for George Patton, he permitted Bradley to continue without interruption.

  “Sir, this is a diversionary attack. Its success is based around providing a diversion and drawing some of the enemy’s assets down.”

  Ike consulted the report again and continued, quoting directly.

  “Evidence of redeployment by many Soviet units in the area of Rainbow Black’s deployment and beyond. Movement considered likely repositioning of forces to alternate positions.”

  He tapped the paper with the back of his fingers.

  “Here...this bit. Sizeable forces seem to be moving south from the Cologne area. The hounds are going to fall upon them.”

  He gently placed the paper on the small table and took up a new cigarette.

  Patton took his chance.

  “Ike, we gotta let ‘em go on in. As Brad says, it’s a diversion, and it seems it sure as hell got the bastards’ attention already.”

  His finger poked the report.

  “They’re shifting their assets in case we take them out with pre-planned barrages. Hell, we might even get some hard intel from the air boys as to where they’ve relocated. Either how, we gotta let ‘em go, Ike.”

  It made sense, although there was not a man there that didn’t understand that the price had just gone up and that many more would die.

  His mind made up, Eisenhower called the Comms Officer.

  “Get me General Devers on the phone, then General De Lattre please.”

  Von Vietinghoff clicked his heels, coming to the attention.

  “Herr General, if you please. May I speak with the ground commander myself?”

  Not a man there failed to understand why that request had been made.

  “Certainly, General. And please give them my best wishes and my sincere apologies that I cannot relieve them of this onerous duty.”

  Von Vietinghoff saluted and went to place his own call as Eisenhower took the phone’s handset and started to brief General Devers as to what his command was about to walk into.

  0217 hrs, Monday, 2nd December 1945, Forward headquarters, Assault units for Operation Rainbow Black, Pfalzburg, France.

  The main headquarters was safely placed out of harm’s way at Sarrebourg, but those who would directly control affairs were somewhat closer to the action, five kilometres behind the jump off point, north of Saverne.

  In the town hall of Pfalzburg, or Phalsbourg, depending on which nation had prepared the map that day, a number of officers were gathered, taking and issuing final orders.

  When the phone had rung, it had not seemed out of the ordinary, submersed in a sea of such phone calls and the general hubbub of a military headquarters preparing for combat. Its content had announced itself as important by the look of thunder that it brought to the face of the Legion General. As he listened to the words of a German General, many miles away in Versailles, a quiet descended on the room, as more and more noticed the genuine pain that spread across Lavalle’s face.

  “I see. Thank you for letting us know, Herr General.”

  The silence was complete as Lavalle finished the call.

  “Yes, I’ll give them your best wishes. Thank you, Herr General.”

  A number of minds were already working overtime, piecing together the little information they had.

  ‘A German General... is ringing us direct... best wishes.’

  Lavalle had the floor.

  “That was General Von Vietinghoff, ringing from SHAEF main headquarters.”

  Ernst-August Knocke pre-empted the moment with a few simple words.

  “They know we’re coming, don’t they?”

  Eyes that had sprung to the black clad Legion Officer slowly returned to their commander, Lavalle, who could only agree.

  “Yes, they know.”

  St. Clair, who had been about to leave for his forward post, asked the question foremost in the thoughts of all.

  “And they still want us to go, Mon General?”

  “Our orders stand.”

  “Scheisse verdamnt!”

  “Agreed, Derbo. Now, legionnaires, let’s use the time left to do what we can.”

  In truth, that was very little, except to let their men know that the enemy was not going to be asleep, but wide-awake and ready for their attack.

  Lavalle took Molyneux’s phone call, only half-listening to the man’s exhortations and revellings in the glorious opportunities presented by war.

  He excused himself and cut the call short, terminating Molyneux in mid-rant about the value of the bayonet.

  Knocke looked at him enquiringly.

  “I believe our leader feels we should bayonet charge them and put them to flight before marching on Berlin.”

  The smile was genuine, as was the calm that the legend exuded.

  There was no one else in earshot, so Knocke spoke as they normally did in private.

  “To be frank, Christophe, I’m glad that Plummer is there to keep a rein on the
man. It saves me disobeying orders. Anyway...”

  As he spoke, he sketched a new fire plan on the spare map he had just unfolded.

  Lavalle examined it and could only agree.

  “That would fit in with the projections you made on secondary positions. Shame we can’t get anything more from headquarters, but I see no sense in wasting our ammo on empty trenches. We’ll go with that, Ernst.”

  Knocke made to move away but Lavalle intercepted him, taking hold of the map.

  “I’ll speak to the Arty. You get yourself to your HQ now. Look after yourself, Ernst. Good luck.”

  “And good luck to you, my friend.”

  They shook hands as friends and saluted as comrades in arms before Knocke left the building.

  As the jeep bounced down the road, Ernst Knocke found himself thinking about the trials ahead and his normal confidence surfaced.

  Confidence in the abilities of his men was a given.

  Confidence in the abilities of Legion officers like Lavalle and St.Clair had been well earned.

  Confidence in the abilities of those who stood in overall command...

  ‘Scheisse!’

  0240 hrs, Monday, 2nd December 1945, Headquarters of 3rd Red Banner Central European Front, Hotel Stephanie, Baden-Baden, Germany.

  Rokossovsky and Trubnikov walked outside and took in the chilled air.

  The senior man drew in a bracing lungful and surveyed his surroundings.

  “No more snow arriving, tovarich. What’s here won’t melt but, if we’re to believe the cloud readers, it won’t snow for another two days at least.”

  The Marshal breathed more deeply, as if sampling the air would supply him with insight on the matter.

  “Are you sure you don’t want pre-emptive artillery, Comrade Marshal.”

  Rokossovsky shook his head.

  “I don’t think so, tovarich. Let them settle in where they are now. There will be plenty of time for them to get rid of their ammunition when the enemy starts up.”

  The ammunition issue was a constant thorn in their side now.

  “Besides, it might pay us to let the enemy think they have us on the hop, eh?”

  Trubnikov wasn’t sure about that, but his boss was, so that was good enough for him.

  Rokossovsky took in the night sky, clear and crisp, the stars giving a remarkable display.

  “Air thinks we’ll have good numbers up over the battlefield at first light. If they come.”

  Trubnikov nodded and fished in his tunic pocket, producing an ornate crystal and silver flask.

  Flicking the top, he offered it to Rokossovsky who took a deep draught and handed it back before the effects hit him.

  He coughed his way through the traditional toast.

  “Na zd...zdoro...vie.”

  “Na zdorovie!”

  The Deputy Front Commander acknowledged the toast with a raised flask and took his own deep pull on the contents.

  Trubnikov’s throat expressed its own objections immediately.

  Rokossovsky raised an eyebrow.

  “Savage stuff, Comrade Trubnikov. What exactly is it that’s burning my insides out?”

  After another cough, a reply was forthcoming.

  “Apparently, Starshina Fillitov has access to an unlimited supply of it, which was supposedly liberated from an enemy headquarters store. He said it’s Napoleon brandy, but my vote goes for turpentine.”

  The two shared a laugh, despite the tensions of the hour.

  “Another, Comrade Marshall?”

  “I think not, tovarich. We’ll need a clear head if General Nazarbayeva is to be believed.”

  It was 0258 hrs.

  Fig#88 - La Legion Corps D'Assault, Spectrum-Black, 2nd December 1945.

  I knew that, if the feat was accomplished, it must be at a most fearful sacrifice of as brave and gallant soldiers as ever engaged in battle.

  General John Bell Hood CSA

  Chapter 111 - THE WARCRIMES

  0310 hrs, Monday, 2nd December 1945, Assault force, Monswiller, Alsace.

  The Legion artillery, plus that of the 16th US Armored Brigade, as well as numerous extra batteries attached for the operation, opened fire at 0300hrs precisely, lashing the designated enemy positions with high explosives and deadly pieces of metal moving at high speed.

  Some batteries continued to fire upon the old locations, the change of orders not having arrived in time.

  Others, better informed, dropped their ordnance amongst the occupied positions of the suspected second line, or those areas where artillery and support units might have displaced to.

  Generally, the warning to Rokossovsky’s units had been successful, and few men were killed in the torrent of shells.

  Soviet artillery and mortars opened up in reply, shooting blind, but knowing that the enemy had to come certain ways.

  The Soviet fire had some success, but the Allied radar troops were in position, and the counter-battery units, silent until fed the right ingredients, served up death to many of the Red Army artillery and mortar crews.

  At 0310 hrs, the order was given, sometimes in German, sometimes in French, occasionally in English.

  “Vorwärts!”

  “En avant!”

  “Advance!”

  DerBo’s Gebirgsjager Battalion immediately pushed forward on Routes 133 and 178, their mission being the occupation of Dossenheim-sur-Zinsel, Neuwiller-lès-Saverne, and La Petite Pierre, for the purpose of securing the northern flank of the attack.

  If all went to plan, the Mountain troopers would hardly be involved.

  Part of Pierce’s 16th was in direct support, with the rest of the 16th a few kilometres to the south, tasked with gaining ground as far as Pfaffenhoffen in the first instance, and also to act as a secure northern buffer to cover the main Legion thrust that intended to go to, and through, Hagenau.

  The plan was also to threaten the isolation of Strasbourg, an area that had drawn large Soviet reinforcements since Operation Thermopylae had virtually annihilated the Soviet 19th Army. That the remnants of that army, hastily assembled into a Special Combat Brigade, had been slotted into the line on the focal point of the Legion assault was considered a wonderful bonus, for they would remember the Legionnaires, and that would be to the Allies’ advantage.

  In addition, the Legion Corps was tasked with threatening Karlsruhe, something that the Allied leadership felt would not be ignored by Soviet command.

  Some large Red Army formations lay to the north, formations that SHAEF planners wanted to see moved away before Spectrum Blue was initiated.

  Eisenhower had already discussed the possibility of delaying Patton’s attack for twenty-four, perhaps even forty-eight hours, agreeing that the decision did not yet need to be made. He decided against consulting Patton on the matter, knowing only too well what the man would say.

  0403 hrs, Monday, 2nd December 1945, Mobile Command Group, 16th US Armored Brigade, two kilometres south-west of Hattmatt, Alsace.

  Brigadier-General John L. Pierce was unhappy, and he let his staff know it.

  The prongs of his advance had made quick progress, the 16th pushing ahead on a frontage of just under four kilometres.

  It was not wasted on him, nor on those who received the same reports, that positions expected to be manned seemed to have been hurriedly vacated, with only a few hastily laid booby-traps left behind by their former owners.

  Fig#89 - Operation Spectrum Black, Alsace, 2nd December 1945.

  The main southern push had moved over the small watercourse, La Zinsel du Sud, making the junction of Routes 716 and 116 on schedule.

  Moreover, at very little cost.

  Pierce was not to know that his southern prong should have met resistance on the small river, but an error on the part of one Soviet Colonel, withdrawing past his allotted stop line, meant that the way was left clear.

  Not so for the northern force, where the lead infantry and recon elements ran straight into a determined enemy with a lot of firepower.
It had stalled at the La Zinsel, but this time the same frozen dribble of water had cost him a whole bunch of his doughs, as well as the 18th’s Armored-Infantry’s battalion commander.

  Pierce’s vehicle, an M9A1 half-track stuffed with the paraphernalia of command, was pulled over under snow-laden trees. The breeze was strong enough to stir the branches and occasionally dislodge a white deposit to fall on the cameo below like a one-sided snowball fight.

  The 16th’s senior officer had his normal set-up erected; a trestle table surrounded by a canvas screen, with a camouflaged sheet roof strung from the half-track to a pair of poles, all of which provided sufficient shelter and area for him and two others to work.

  Consulting the situation map, a solution presented itself immediately.

  “Here’s what we do. 18th will keep up the pressure, but keep it low key. No hero stuff. We shift one of their companies north and cross here... at the end of this track. It’s frozen good enough for foot infantry to cross. They can pick up their tracks later.”

  His CoS was furiously making notations.

  “They then turn south and come into the top end of the defences.”

  Pierce checked his map in the half-light.

  “The Rangers can send a company, no, two companies to the south. In fact, send the whole unit. Tell Lieutenant Colonel Williams to cross the Zinsel eight hundred metres to the south of Hattmatt and form a block oriented to the east and south-east. He’s then to strike northwards, in support of a further infantry attack by the 18th. Tie in with Hetherington on timing, but the pair of them must get this sorted a-sap. Clear, Edwin?”

  Colonel Greiner understood the orders and moved into the halftrack to get the signallers ready, once he had formulated the orders in a proper military fashion.