Casca 40: Blitzkrieg

by Tony Roberts

  The political situation in Europe was getting more and more tense. Poland’s alliance with Britain and France meant Germany was faced yet again with the real prospect of war on two fronts. Hitler was determined to push his luck till breaking point, Langer was convinced, and so far the weakness of Britain and France in the face of Hitler’s aggressive territorial demands had encouraged more of the same. It did seem now, though, that the erasing of Czechoslovakia was the final straw. If Hitler tried to push his luck once again then war seemed inevitable. Langer worried the resurgent Germany wasn’t ready yet, and to take on what seemed the strongest military force in Europe – France – at this time was madness.

  The last big war – The Great War – Langer had been in the British army and found it a right mess. Stalemate in France had been followed by stalemate in Gallipoli. He’d become disillusioned by the stupid tactics of the generals and had quit the slaughter and somehow ended up in Russia where all hell broke loose and he’d gotten mixed up in something that still sent shudders down his spine. It had given him a burning hatred of communism and he’d fought against it ever since. The Soviet Union now seemed a threatening presence to the east, and it was clear Hitler’s fascist National Socialism was on the opposite side of the political compass. Sooner or later the two countries would come to blows, whether through political differences or Hitler’s obsession with gaining the Germans living space at the expense of the Slavs. When that came, Langer was going to be there, he was sure.

  Training was hard. Gus and the other drivers were placed in open-topped versions of the Panzer I, those without roofs or turrets, and went on cross-country drives. Gus soon found a farm close to the route and ‘got lost’, emerging an hour later with a suspicious package in the rear and it was only a week later that an irate farmer complained of one of his pigs going missing after a tank had demolished a fence. Gus swore he was innocent, but he swore at most things. By this time, however, Langer had an interest of his own.

  This had come about during one of Gus’ driving periods. Langer, bored and inquisitive, wandered towards the administration block, a collection of buildings where the divisional depot and HQ were housed. He sauntered into the depot and idly noted the stack of wheels, tracks, ammunition and spare machine parts. Next to it was where the paperwork was processed, an office block. He saluted a leutnant who was leaving and wandered along a corridor, glancing through the windows into each office.

  An office worker suddenly came out of one of the rooms, carrying a stack of paper, and collided with him. The paper fell to the floor and the clerk, a woman, gasped in shock and dismay. “Oh, look what you’ve made me do!” she exclaimed and bent down to pick the paper up.

  Langer got a view down her cleavage and liked what he saw. A full figure, early twenties, long blonde hair swept high from the forehead and cascading down her back. Red lipstick, a tight skirt that accentuated her full hips. She was wearing a black knee length skirt, a white blouse and upon it were the Nazi insignia and the divisional motif of the three-barred representation of the Brandenburg Gate. Langer bent to help but his hand was smacked sharply. He looked at her in surprise. “Don’t want help?”

  “Secret! Not for your eyes, soldier! For the eyes only of General von Schweppenberg.” Her voice was severe, authoritative.

  “Afraid I’m a spy, huh?” Langer teased her.

  “Don’t mock me! You’ve done enough damage as it is with your clumsy behavior.”

  “Touchy,” Langer grinned, standing up. “Sorry I caused so much damage to the smooth running of the division. You going to report me to the general?”

  She stopped, brushed back a lock of hair and studied him. She was shorter than he, had clear blue eyes, straight nose and full lips. There was a long moment that passed, then she smiled slightly. “New here are you?”

  “Yes, just this week. How did you know?”

  “Your uniform is clean.” She admired the black tunic and trousers he was wearing. “And I’ve not seen you around before. I’m Heidi Rossler.”

  “Carl Langer. From Berlin.” He was truthful in that. His new identity had been born in Berlin, so he supposed that was where he should say he’d been born. To tell her the truth, that he was Casca Rufio Longinus from Tuscany, former Roman soldier, would get him into trouble.

  “Pleased to meet you, Carl Langer. You’re shortly to be sent to Bergen for gunnery practice. I typed out the orders earlier today. I remember your name as being down on it.”

  “Ah. Learn to shoot straight. Should be easy.” He looked at her closely. “You live nearby?”

  “In Zossen. I travel here each day. Why do you ask?”

  Langer could sense an opening. “I’m off duty until tomorrow morning. Perhaps you’d like some company on your journey home? Maybe via a place to eat and drink?”

  “You’d need a pass out of the camp. You haven’t been here long enough to get one.”

  “In that case, maybe a drink or two in the camp café?”

  She studied him for a moment. “Why not? You can bring me up to date with things in Berlin. I haven’t been there for months. I’m off duty at six.”

  Langer grinned, then made a mock salute with a curt bow and a click of his heels. “It will be a pleasure, Heidi Rossler.”

  So now Langer had a new interest. Gus would be surprised, Langer thought as he strode lightly away from the buildings. He would have to make sure he was as smart as possible. His uniform of black was made up of a floppy beret with the insignia at the front, short jackboots, long baggy trousers tucked into the boots, and a double breasted waist length jacket. A wide black leather belt was adorned with a silver buckle, and the jacket had a symbol of an eagle holding a swastika.

  He would have to ensure it was as smart as possible for his date.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Leutnant Erich Farben studied the reports of immigrants that had been given him. Carlos Romano had entered Germany from Spain in March on a flight from Barcelona. His profession had been entered on the entry document as a construction worker. Farben snorted. Romano hadn’t worked anywhere, according to the hotel owner, in the weeks he’d been there, and had stayed mainly in his room. The unknown corpse in the hotel trash was still an unknown but Farben had a flash of inspiration; he would send another request to Tempelhof airport for recent arrivals from Barcelona, in say the last week or two, for a man matching the description of the deceased. Perhaps the two had known each other. It was odd that two Spaniards who had fought to the death in a foreign capital would have done so without knowing each other.

  Farben enjoyed the hunt. His calling as a policeman satisfied his analytical and curious mind; the more complex the case the better he performed. Once he got on the scent he never let up, and his superiors acknowledged this, which was why he often got the horrible looking cases. He took to them like a duck to water. He disliked the thugs of the Gestapo who destroyed the delicate methods of proper investigation with their torture chambers and violence. They may get results but often it was through luck or fear, and frequently their victims bleated the answers the Gestapo wanted even if it wasn’t true. It was like the medieval inquisition; they got confessions from people who had never committed the crimes they had been accused of. It was similar today. Farben hated their ways.

  He picked up the black bakelite telephone on his desk. “Put me through to the Spanish embassy,” he barked to the operator in the bowels of the police building. He waited, drumming his fingers on the table, then stopped as a voice squawked into his ear. “Good morning. Police Leutnant Farben here. Please put me through to your visa application department.” He wanted to check on all names who had applied for a visa during the past couple of months from Spain. A list of names would be a good start in tracking down the unknown body in the mausoleum. Then perhaps he could find out more about this Carlos Romano.

  * * *

  Gus was delighted at Langer having a girl in camp. He slapped his friend across the shoulder, nearly knocking him over. “You horny littl
e bastard!” he boomed, startling crows out of nearby trees. “While I’ve been learning to flatten the countryside and enemies of the Third Reich you’ve been sniffing up skirt!”

  “Gus, we’ve only just been out once for a drink to the camp canteen! I don’t think that qualifies for sniffing up skirt.” Langer was taken aback by Gus’s enthusiasm.

  “Rubbish. This calls for a celebration. We need to hit the town.”

  “That needs special permission, and we’ve not been here long enough to be given them. And besides, I’m off next week to Bergen to train at shooting, so we’ve only got four days and there’s no way we can get passes in that time!”

  Gus laughed loudly. “Ho, ho! Fear not, my Casanova, leave it to Gus. Zossen will never be the same again.” He winked and ran a finger down the side of his nose.

  Langer grunted. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Zossen? Why Zossen?”

  “Ah. Zossen is the headquarters of the Wehrmacht, isn’t it? You saw those rows of buildings off the road as we passed through the town? The town’s full of headquarters staff, and that means legions of girls.” He rubbed his hands together. “You of course, are not allowed to sample them, since you’ve been crazy enough to shackle yourself to one woman, but Gus here, yes!” He walked off, the widest grin on his face possible.

  Langer watched him until he turned a corner out of sight. He shook his head and muttered about conspiracies before heading for the offices to warn Heidi about the unavoidable evening within the next four days. Langer had no doubt that Gus would deliver as he’d promised, but how he couldn’t say.

  During the next couple of days Langer learned about the technical side of the Panzer I and, to his surprise, the Panzer II. He wondered if Gus and he would be given one of the bigger IIs. If that was the case, they’d be assigned a third crewman, a loader who doubled as a radio operator. The loader was necessary as the main gun on the II was a 20mm cannon and it would be too much to fire and load the bigger gun during combat. Langer asked about what tank would be assigned to him but he got a non-committal answer from the training sergeant.

  Nobody else knew, either. His fellow trainees were all in the dark about what they’d be handed but it wouldn’t be too long. The country was getting into a heightened sense of tension. The British and French had vowed to protect Poland but Hitler had demanded the ‘Polish Corridor’ anyway, a strip of land that separated East Prussia from the rest of Germany. It had been German until the end of the Great War when the Treaty of Versailles had handed it to a newly created Poland. Germans had always resented it and the city of Danzig, at the tip of the corridor, had been made a ‘Free City’, something else that annoyed Germans.

  Hitler was now making noises about having Danzig returned to Germany but the League of Nations and Poland were opposing. Gus nodded emphatically. “It’ll be war; we’ll be at the Poles’ throats before you can whip the knickers off a tart, just you see.”

  Langer nodded. He couldn’t see any other outcome, nor could the others in the camp. Training suddenly went up in intensity and live ammunition was stockpiled. The buzz that went round brought out the best in the men; they wanted to compete with each other to show they were the best.

  Gus came bulldozing into the barracks the third afternoon just as Langer was settling onto his bunk after a few hours of tactical school. His aptitude for combat, something he’d learned over the centuries, gave him a head start over the other commanders. The tactics the school was teaching were something new. The idea was to smash through enemy lines using tanks in a wedge and in overwhelming numbers, then let the infantry following behind widen the breach and take care of the disorganized enemy formations while the tanks rushed on, disrupting supply lines and preventing defense in depth, which is what had dominated the fighting in the Great War.

  Langer had seen this sort of thing before, but nobody here had probably heard of Subedei, let alone studied him. Langer smiled at the memory of the tough, wiry, hard-bitten Mongol general who had used lightning quick cavalry to rip through enemy land and deny them supplies and time to get settled into defense. Perhaps someone high up had read accounts of him? Langer didn’t know nor did he care. He knew the tactics and the tactical officer had commended him on his perception and quick learning. “It’s nothing sir,” he’d been tempted to reply, “I did this seven hundred years ago.” He resisted the temptation.

  Gus broke his train of thought. “Here they are, my love-struck romeo!” He waved a sheaf of papers in the air, shaking the floor as he tramped up to the bunk. “Passes to paradise – at least it is for me! You and your woman can enjoy gazing into each other’s eyes while I fornicate myself into a stupor!”

  “Gus, how the hell did you manage to get them? Are they genuine?” Langer sat up in surprise and scanned the passes Gus thrust into his hand.

  “Of course they are! Do you take me for some sneaky underhand criminal type? Me? The best driver in Berlin?” Gus tried to look wounded but failed.

  “Alright, alright, I believe you,” Langer said, not looking up. The passes did look okay, but with Gus you just couldn’t tell.

  “I got these done by your lady love, in fact,” Gus said smugly. “I told her of my need and the fact I couldn’t go alone and needed my comrade and commander Carl Langer, sergeant by the grace of God and the Führer, to accompany me. I also said she would be needed to keep an eye on you.”

  Langer sighed and passed the papers back to Gus. “You’re impossible, Beidemann. One of these days someone’s going to best you. Although,” Langer frowned, “who that may be I don’t know. So we’re going to hit Zossen tomorrow night? You’d best clean your uniform up and be presentable to the good women of the town. It’s covered in oil and dirt.”

  “Hm,” Gus studied his soiled clothing. “You’re right, Carl my eagle-eyed friend. I’ll clean myself so much I’ll be lusted after by all these love-starved ladies for miles around!”

  Langer laughed as Gus thundered out of the barracks and wondered what the hell was awaiting them the following night. He soon found out as Heidi and he were told by Gus to wait by the office block for him as darkness fell. The air was warm. Spring was fully upon them and the two stood quietly for a moment, watching as the moths and gnats fluttered about the harsh light of the lamp hanging from the edge of the wooden roof of the office block. Blackbirds were shrilly chirping their territorial rights to others in the distance by the tree line, and a few people crunched along the path going to or coming from the building behind them. The scent of Heidi’s perfume wafted to Langer and he slid an arm round her waist.

  She stiffened a second, then relaxed and smiled up at him. Her lips, red with glossy lipstick, appealed to him, but he decided against the impulse to kiss her there. Maybe later. “What do you think Gus is up to?” he asked instead.

  “Who knows?” Heidi replied in that husky voice Langer had rapidly come to enjoy. “He faked the General’s signature when he authorized your passes. He’s capable of anything!”

  “What?” Langer stared at her. “He faked…” he lowered his voice. “Faked the General’s signature? Good God, we could be arrested for that!” Langer had a vision of Nazi jails, then dispelled it. “The damned fool. I suppose you conspired with him?”

  Heidi nodded. “He was very – persuasive. And besides, all the correct stamps were on it. How he got them I don’t know. But you have to be back here by daybreak.”

  Langer grunted. Gus was a nightmare. A car was approaching from the camp direction and as it neared, they could see the huge bulk of Gus driving it. Langer’s mouth fell open. It was a 1936 Mercedes-Benz 540K, open-topped, with a leather upholstered rear bench seat and two similarly fitted front seats. The smoothly curved up-swept front mudguards accentuated the graceful lines of the car and it glided – there was no other way to describe it – to a halt alongside the two.

  “Good evening, good sir,” Gus boomed, his face serious under a peaked flat-topped chauffeur’s cap. “I understand you are traveling to Zossen with the
beautiful lady? Please, step aboard for the comfortable ride of your life.”

  “Where the hell… oh never mind.” Langer opened the single right hand door for Heidi and she maneuvered herself into the back seat, Langer following suit, slamming the door shut. They sat down and Gus released the brake and moved off towards the distant camp gates where two guards stood watching the approaching car. “You maniac,” Langer said evenly, eyeing the nearing guards with apprehension. “This has got to be a senior officer’s car.”

  “Of course, and Gus has borrowed it for the night. Don’t worry, my petal,” Gus grinned, eyeing the guards who came stepping across in front of the striped barrier, “we shall return safely here before Colonel Klein returns from his sojourn with the fertile maidens of the Reich.”

  Langer caught Gus’s eyes in the mirror. He made an exasperated noise and waited as the guards came up to them as Gus halted the car. Gus thrust the papers into the nearest guard’s hand. “There you are, Walter,” he boomed confidently, “all correct and in order. I even have written permission from the Herr Colonel to use this vehicle.”

  “I don’t doubt it, Beidemann,” Walter said, scanning the forgeries. He waved the papers at the two in the rear. “I’m on duty until four in the morning. Be back before then or these papers won’t be acceptable.” He slapped them into Gus’s hands and waved the other guard to raise the barrier. As Gus drove through Langer tapped him on the shoulder. “What was that all about?”

  “Ah, well you see, Walter owes me money at cards, and I told him to forget it if he lets us through tonight.”

  Heidi giggled and Langer threw himself back into the deeply comfortable seat. “You’re impossible, Gus.”

  “But good, hey?”

  They drove into Zossen and parked amongst the other cars outside the Der Schwarze König tavern. Inside the vast majority of the clientele were either soldiers or neatly dressed women. Gus stood for a moment in the doorway, blocking it, and eyeing up the potential prey for his night out. Langer took Heidi into the main room and ordered drinks for them. Gus barreled past, towards a knot of chatting women and thrust himself into their midst, like a howitzer shell exploding.