But this so-called important trip had turned out to be a complete waste of his time. Front Intelligence had messed it up again - there was no evidence here of any ballistic missile research or capability. This was a chemical warfare factory, and from the looks of things had been closed down several weeks ago. The Germans had fled, leaving all their paperwork and documents behind. There was nothing remotely useful, unless you counted the chemical weapons. He’d already ordered his team to remove every document for further analysis, and although chemical weapons were not his particular field, he doubted his masters would find anything particularly new. The Soviets already had a powerful arsenal of similar agents, but so far had declined to use them. With the war almost won, there was hardly any need…
He glanced at his watch. It was time to leave and get back to Front HQ in Krakau. Rybalko was not especially looking forward to reporting a lack of success to Andropov, but that was hardly his fault. If the Lieutenant General was going to be angry and disappointed, then that was his problem, and he should take it out on those desk-bound idiots who had screwed up in the first place.
‘That’s it,’ he announced to all his men within earshot. ‘Load everything that we can carry onto the transport. Then we’ll get back to base.’ His men rushed to complete their final few tasks, and then began to head towards the trucks. Rybalko wanted to get away as soon as possible. They had already spent enough time in this dreary place.
Good. We’ll be out of here in a moment. It wasn’t the proximity of the enemy that worried him, although he knew they were only just across the river. No. One of his team had been sent into the local town to act as liaison to the local Russian regimental commander, who was responsible for this area and the defense along the Oder. The man had come back wide-eyed and shaking. All the local civilians in the town were dead - brutally executed, shot, impaled on farm instruments, repeatedly raped until death – even the children…None of the troops there were sober. They were all Mongolian brutes, sky- high on vodka and captured brandy – most of them probably comatose by now. Rybalko shuddered. It was something he had no desire to see.
He took a last look around, turned off the light switch and walked out of the main office block towards the waiting transport. There was no sound from the courtyard where the trucks were parked. Funny – they should have their engines turning over. Maybe the men are too busy loading up at the rear. As he moved closer to investigate, a dark blur shot forward and, clamped a hand over his mouth, pinioning his body back and slamming him against the door. He felt a sharp prick in his neck.
‘Careful, tovarisch,’ a hard, no-nonsense voice said in passable Russian. ‘Don’t move. This knife could make an awful mess of your uniform, and you being an officer-type wouldn’t like that one little bit. So do me a favour – no sudden moves, otherwise you might end up like some of your comrades here. Understand?’ The knifepoint pushed in a little harder.
‘Y…Yes’. Rybalko stammered, all the time aware of the stabbing pain in his neck. There was little he could do. In front of him all his men were lying on the floor. How many of them were still alive? He swore quietly to himself. Where were the troops guarding this area? If he ever got out of this alive, he would make sure the Mongolian colonel in charge would suffer a suitable punishment for what had happened here tonight.
They were nearly home, almost back at the river. The operation had been a resounding success. The engineer specialists that accompanied Kruger and his men had managed to open most of the tanks that stored lethal chemicals and dump them into a nearby watercourse, one of the numerous streams and tributaries in the area that ultimately led to the Oder. It did not matter if the river became polluted downstream. The fish and local wildlife would die, but so what? The ecological damage would only be temporary, and Nature would ultimately remove the toxins and the river would recover. At least that’s what he had been told, and that was what he chose to believe, even if he was not completely comfortable with the rationale. But he had his orders, and that would have to do. As for the rest of the factory, Kruger had made sure that enough explosives were planted to blow the whole area to hell and back, including anything that could possibly incriminate German research into chemical weapons.
There had been no opposition, not unless you counted the captured Russians caught in the act of looting the factory of its secrets. None of them came across as hardened soldiers. They were not front line troops, he judged, but looked more like rear echelon types. The captured officer appeared to be much more interesting, however. His shoulder lapels gave him away as belonging to the rocket artillery corps. Kruger had seen those before, and was well aware of their significance. Standing orders were quite explicit – any enemy officers, especially those of field rank and above, and in certain categories of specialty, were to be taken alive and transferred to the rear for immediate interrogation, if at all possible. This one fitted the bill. The rest, those who hadn’t died resisting, were ordinary cannon fodder. They were almost certainly of no use, and would be destined to go straight to the nearest POW camp. Poor bastards. He had an idea of what sort of fate awaited them there.
He checked his watch and then scanned the vicinity. Still no reaction from the Russian defenses, but that would change as soon as the factory blew up. That was what Sassenheimer’s troops were covering them for. His paratroopers had now reached the river’s edge, herding the captive Russians in front. Meinert was keeping a close eye on their commanding officer – he was the prize catch, the icing on the cake of tonight’s mission. Another quick glance at his watch…thirty seconds to go…’Everybody flat on the ground,’ he hissed, throwing himself onto the wet Silesian earth. Shouts were repeated, some of them in Russian. Soon everyone lay flattened on the muddy landscape. Ka-boom. A thunderous explosion rocked the ground where they lay. Even though they were over a kilometre distant from the blast site, the detonation and shock blasts were extremely impressive. A volley of secondary detonations rent the air. Probably some of the storage tanks going up as well. Those chemicals sure make damn good explosives.
After what seemed like an age, but was probably less than thirty seconds, the light from the blasts subsided. Kruger could see several large fires raging where the factory had once been Their fuses had given them enough time to clear the immediate area, but not enough to get back across the river. That couldn’t be helped, not with the general shortage of equipment and ammunition at this stage of the war. The Russians would soon show up, and it was definitely time to be gone. He stood up.
‘Into the boats and back across now!’ Immediately, his men began to move to the canvas craft and maneuver them back into the water. Another five minutes and they should be safe, back on the friendly side of the river. Another successful mission for the élite of the Fallschirmjäger.
Between Höxter and Göttingen 1545 12/3/1945
The early spring sun cast a pale, lukewarm glow over the countryside, giving an artificial warmth to the villages and fields that in reality did not yet exist. Winter’s icy grip was only slowly being relinquished, and the trees and fields still looked gaunt and lifeless. The heavy snowfalls had recently melted, transforming the sodden landscape into a mud bath. The war was yet to touch this area of the Reich, but even now, the roads were busy with refugee traffic, many of them innocents who were fleeing westwards from the Soviet onslaught in the East, but only a few eastwards from the approaching Americans and British.
They were speeding along in the back of Schellenberg’s Mercedes, comfortably insulated from the frigid temperatures outside. A lot had happened since his admission to the Krankenhaus Hohenstein, and not just his almost complete recovery. The war had gone disastrously for Germany. Not long after Schellenberg’s first visit the front in Normandy collapsed. As a result the Allies had scored a dramatic victory. Only shattered remnants of two once powerful armies escaped from the encirclement and destruction at Falaise and fled back to the borders of the Reich, hotly pursued by the enemy. But there, a miracle of improvisation turned t
he tide of fortune. Units were scraped together and rapidly reconstituted. The Westwall, the almost obsolete fortifications also known as the Siegfried Line, had played its part in anchoring the German defense. Together with the worsening Allied supply situation and the autumn mud and winter snows, the front was stabilized.
The ensuing breathing space had given Hitler the chance to create a strategic reserve for the first time in several years of hard defensive fighting. With this powerful force he hoped to repeat the events of May 1940. Then, German armies had driven through the difficult terrain of the Ardennes and bypassed the Maginot line to strike behind the French, British and Belgian armies. This unorthodox attack had taken the Allies by surprise, created widespread shock and confusion, and within a few weeks produced a resounding victory. Now, nearly five years later, a similar strategy would isolate and surround the British and Canadian armies in Belgium and Holland, destroy their supply lines and alter the course of the war in the West.
Instead of driving to the Channel coast as before, this time however the objective would be the port city of Antwerp. Attacking from a completely unexpected direction would throw the Allies into confusion, just like 1940 all over again. The winter weather would negate the overwhelming power of the enemy air forces and ensure another unlikely victory.
It was the last desperate throw of the dice. The odds were heavily against success, but Hitler had decided to risk all anyway and chance his arm once more. It was either that or wait for the inevitable. However, this time the result was a failure. The Allies were far stronger now than they were in 1940 and much better led and equipped. The furthest advance had barely reached halfway to Antwerp before it was stopped and smashed. The strategic reserve, that precious commodity that had taken months to carefully build up, was squandered in a few weeks of heavy fighting. And at this stage of the war there could be no hope of ever recreating it.
The soft leather seats in the rear of the Mercedes squeaked and rustled as he tried to get into a more comfortable position. Eight months of rehabilitation had seemed never ending, a constant struggle to keep his spirits up as his body began the painstakingly slow process of recovery. He would never forget the euphoria at the first sign that his nervous system was recovering-the sensation of pins and needles and muscle twitching in his neck and chest. Arms and legs had taken much longer, and then there was the exhausting and relentless physical therapy, first in a wheelchair and then shakily on his wasted legs. The nurses and physical therapists were wonderful- supportive, cheering him up when he became despondent about his slow progress, and chivvying him along to try even harder than before.
Things were much better now. He still felt weak and wobbly on his feet, and his muscles were still some way off regaining their full bulk, but he had now reached the stage where he could support himself and get around without too much difficulty. As every day went past his muscles grew stronger, and he felt more in control. Mobius had pronounced his almost complete satisfaction with Simon’s recovery. There were only a couple of areas that were still not quite as the Professor wished. Fine motor control and sensation in his hands and feet were not quite fully back to normal, and there was a question mark as to whether they ever would be.
‘I don’t think you’ve quite got the manual dexterity required to become an eye surgeon,’ Mobius had chuckled, and then lowered his voice, making sure it did not carry. ‘But then, who knows for sure? The war won’t last much longer, and I suspect you’ll be looking for new employment soon.’
So now, here he was, sitting in the back seat of Schellenberg’s comfortable limousine as they sped along towards destinations unknown. The glass partition between them and Hansen, the driver, was raised, sealing them off, almost like an enveloping cocoon. The general had visited him twice over the intervening months, whenever his duties and commitments allowed, but talked little about events that were happening outside. Simon suspected that his progress was being closely monitored by phone calls to Mobius, and no sooner had the Professor pronounced his final discharge date than Schellenberg had turned up to whisk him away. The Brigadeführer had been his usual polite and affable self, but had said little else since. Simon felt it was time to probe deeper.
‘What’s the latest situation, sir? I’ve only had hearsay to go on, plus a few out of date copies of the Volkischer Beobächter.’
‘Not good, I’m afraid.’ Schellenberg roused himself from his thoughts and turned to face his fellow officer. He looked grim. ‘The Russians are only forty miles from Berlin, not a comforting thought. We’ve managed to stop them short of the capital. Hitler’s health has not been the best, not since the abortive Bomb plot last July. I presume you’ve heard of that?’ Simon nodded. ‘It’s all been hushed up, but I suspect he may have had a minor stroke caused by the after-effects of the explosion. The Führer was simply unable to cope with the workload. Elsewhere in the East, things are not quite so bad.
‘I’m more worried about the West, though. Since the failure of the Wacht am Rhein attack, everything’s gone pear-shaped.’ Schellenberg was referring to the codeword for the Ardennes counter-offensive. ‘The Allied armies are in the process of clearing the entire area west of the Rhine. Yesterday there were a few unconfirmed reports that American troops have already reached the river at Obercassel and are trying to cross over. All the bridges are prepared for demolition, but even if they’re all destroyed that won’t stop them. Sooner or later, their armies will cross over. Once they do that then the war will be finished. There’s very little left of our armies on this side of the river to stop them from what I can tell.’
‘So what are you doing now?’
‘Not a great deal. Routine paperwork mainly. There’s still some call for military intelligence reports, but you don’t need a crystal ball to see how heavily the odds are stacked up against Germany now. Berlin is heavily damaged. A lot of the buildings in the centre are lying in ruins. Even RSHA has not escaped the destruction. Most of the top floor is out of action. The Reichsführer is working less and less in the capital, thanks to the relentless bombing.’ A quick smile crossed his features. ‘Don’t worry we’re not heading back there today. I keep my promises.’
Simon recalled Schellenberg’s words the night that Brandt died. The memory of those events was still disturbing and unpleasant. He shivered involuntarily.
Schellenberg was watching him closely. ‘There are still some things that we need to discuss, now that you’ve recovered. Mobius has sent me his final report on your progress. He says that you are still not fit for combat duties, which is actually very convenient for what I have in mind. What do you think about becoming a combat instructor in Panzer tactics? That should be ideal for a man still not yet fully recovered.’
‘I don’t know, sir.’ The suddenness of Schellenberg’s proposal had taken him by surprise. ‘I’ve never thought of that before.’
‘Well, I think you’re admirably qualified. Your combat record speaks for itself. Himmler set up a new SS Panzer school near Sondershausen at the beginning of the year. There’s a place on the instructing staff there for a man of your ability. That’s where we’re heading today, and not the Wehrmacht’s armoured warfare school at Paderborn. It’s all arranged.’
‘What about the failure of my visit to England?’ It was something that had been at the back of Simon’s thoughts while he recovered, and still worried him. Would Himmler still hold a grudge? He would not tolerate failure, unless there was an acceptable reason to explain it away.
‘Relax, Sturmbannführer.’ Schellenberg drawled, waving a gloved hand in the air. ‘The mission failed, and, naturally, he was displeased. But that’s small beer now. There have been many things to occupy his mind since then. I managed to persuade him that the lack of results was in no way due to your efforts, which were commendable, hence your promotion. Rather, the absence of success was due to a combination of bad luck and unfortunate timing.’
‘But what about the invasion- correct me if I’m wrong, sir, but the Allies onl
y landed in Normandy and not the Pas de Calais as well. Isn’t that so?’
‘Yes. You’re right. It was a gigantic bluff all along. The Allies kept us guessing until it was far too late to do anything about it. After that, the armies in Normandy were destroyed. The 15th Army in the Calais area was swept up in the retreat. MI6 was at the bottom of it, I’m certain of that. From what we can now piece together, Rothermere’s first report was quite genuine. The intelligence we have on the enemy order of battle fits in with that. So who knows why Rothermere told you what he did? Maybe he was unaware of MI6’s deception plan, and that it fooled him as well. As you say, he told you that it was the Calais area, but MI6 could have easily planted disinformation like that for him to access- once they’d realized about the leak of his first report. On the other hand, maybe he had a last minute change of heart, and the stress of it all was too great for him. Alternatively, he could have been working for MI6 all along, but that’s most unlikely. I very much doubt if they would have risked letting him expose the true details of Allied strength.’
Simon kept silent. Had Schellenberg accepted his side of the events in London, or did the master spy still have any reservations? It was difficult to be sure- it was best to keep quiet and no longer mention the subject. The good news was that Himmler appeared to be no longer interested in him. Hopefully the same would apply to his father. The only worrying thing was that he had not heard from him for several months.
The Fall of the Father Land Page 8