Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series)

by Gee, Colin

  Last but one are the papers and letters of General de Division Christophe Lavalle, soldier of France and officer of the Légion Étrangère, who escaped the conquest of his country and found ever-lasting glory at Bir Hakeim and beyond with his beloved legionnaires. It was his relatives who were able to smooth my way into the records of the Légion Étrangère, without which access much of this story could not have been properly told.

  Lastly, came the documents of and recorded interviews with Brigadier-General Marion J. Crisp, US Paratroops, who carried his carbine from D-Day to the final battle and upon whom fell a terrible responsibility in those last bloody days.

  The intertwining of their war is remarkable and will be revealed as the text progresses.

  I was able to piece together the last mission of Flight Sergeant Andrew McKenzie VC from enemy accounts and squadron records only, but what he achieved is well known today and I have just added a little meat to the bones of what this bravest of men did one hazy summer’s day. I am proud that my research was able to ensure that his incredible bravery and self-sacrifice was finally rewarded.

  During my research, I came across many tales of heroism and sacrifice but one will be included here because it was the wish of his enemy that he should be so acknowledged. Without that wish and the accompanying testimony of his enemies, as in the case of McKenzie, the actions of Starshiy Serzhant Ivan Alexeyevich Balyan would have been secret for eternity. Thanks to his enemies and their professional admiration for what he achieved, his story will be written here and, on reflection, his Motherland may wish to afford him the honour his sacrifice demands.

  It was beyond me to be able to get access to the records of the former Deuxieme Bureau but I was able to interview some former employees off the record and I thank them for their invaluable assistance and admire your courage by risking much to ensure some worthy people get the recognition they deserve.

  With the help of all these documents, the personal memories of the above, and others, I have been able to put together a story of the last two years of World War Two, years which cost many lives and which left such an indelible mark on those who fought on both sides.

  I need not overly set the scene, for the events up to the German capitulation in May 1945 are well known and well documented. Europe was in ruins after the armies of many nations had rolled over it. The world waited for the end as the relentless steamroller of the United States of America’s industry continued to roll over weakened Japan.

  In those heady summer days of July 1945, the Allied and Soviet armies in Europe licked their wounds after their trials against Nazi Germany whilst the politicians bickered and argued over the small print of victory. Niggles between allies started to become more serious and tolerances became fragile. Agreed boundaries became points of argument, ground taken at the loss of life of comrades is not easily given over to another, and in four instances, shots had been fired and deaths occurred. None the less life suddenly felt good for most, for they were unaware of the agendas of the powerful, and men who had been fighting, in some cases since 1939, could look up and feel the sun on their faces and not feel afraid that death would visit them that day.

  It was the pause but they didn’t know it. Un

  Do not rejoice in his defeat, you men. For though the world has stood up and stopped the bastard, the bitch that bore him is in heat again.

  Berthold Brecht

  Chapter 1 - ‘THE DECISION’

  0748 hrs Tuesday, 12th June 1945, The Kremlin, Moscow, USSR.

  It was a simple piece of paper. What complicated the day greatly for the reader was the information typed upon it, words which had been days in transit from their source half a world away until now, when they were produced in front of the General Secretary of the Communist Party of the USSR’s Central Committee.

  Clad as always in his simple brown tunic and trousers, he frowned deeply, re-read the information, and then looked up at the man standing the other side of the impressive Tsarist wooden desk.

  ‘So Lavrentiy. Are we sure of this?”

  The man, short and prematurely balding, removed his wire frame glasses and, withdrawing a white cotton handkerchief from his suit pocket, studiously polished them. Such was his habit when he was considering his answers very carefully; a practice that was very wise when dealing with the General Secretary, even for a man as powerful as Lavrentiy Beria, head of the NKVD.

  “You know that with this agent and agent Gamayun we have properly infiltrated their inner project and extracted much information to aid our own research Comrade. Alkonost is an ideological agent who has been 100% reliable and I do not see any reason to doubt a report now.”

  The General Secretary leaned back in his modest chair and drew deeply on his pipe, looking around his place of work and thinking.

  “They are that advanced?”

  “It seems so Comrade.”

  “We have received no notification of this from our other assets?”

  “None whatsoever Comrade General Secretary. All have been quiet for some time and our messages go unanswered. Not unusual for any agent and certainly not those within Manhattan. We have directed them to take no risk unless the information is crucial, particularly ‘Gamayun’ and ‘Alkonost’.”

  The office was capacious and reasonably furnished, the most important and imposing piece therein being a huge table set centrally. Some trappings of Imperial times could be seen hung on the wall but for a man in his position the room could have been thought of as comparatively austere when viewed side by side with the other chambers of the old palace. None the less, the power was wholly focussed here, and in particular in the person of the man puffing away thoughtfully on his simple pipe.

  “Some light, comrade” was the implied instruction, accompanied by a gesture with the smoking stem towards the nearest heavy velvet curtains.

  Beria walked to the window and opened the long curtains. Sunlight streamed in, causing them both to squint until they grew accustomed to its brightness. He paused briefly at the window, looking down on the Kremlin walls, where a detachment of his NKVD troops was being inspected by a young and extremely keen major.

  It was nearly eight in the morning but both men had been working for some hours already.

  “Our own project Lavrentiy? I assume we have made no great headway since your last report?”

  This was a subject of embarrassment to both of these men. The possibilities of fission research had originally been ignored by Stalin in favour of other, more understandable concepts. The first warnings that the Motherland was years behind in something extremely important were from Georgy Flerov, a notable Soviet nuclear physicist. He pointed out that, despite the discovery of fission in 1939, the West’s scientists published no further papers. This suggested that they were working on an atomic programme that was being kept secret. Assets in Britain sent further information confirming the existence of an American Atomic Research project and so the USSR had commenced her own atomic programme in September 1942. Until then it had not been considered important enough, an opinion that both men had held, quickly discarded, and now bitterly regretted.

  “Nothing too dramatic, Comrade Secretary. I am satisfied that the scientists and technicians are working flat out and there is some progress by other unexpected means, as well as the information gained by our agents in place. We have made some interesting advances in the physics with Serov’s interrogation of the Germanski scientists, and the facility that Rokossovsky so kindly delivered intact has yielded more useful pieces of the jigsaw. Of course, the oxide we discovered in Oranienberg and Glewe will greatly assist our progress, particularly as I have it on good authority that it is already of the correct grade. The information Agents Alkonost and Gamayun have been supplying has greatly assisted the programme, particularly with the previous two reports we were sent, which seem to have allowed us to make good advances Comrade.”

  Rummaging in his briefcase, Beria produced a small file containing a technical brief, authored by one of Ru
ssia’s most eminent scientists.

  “Here we have Comrade Kurchatov’s recent report on how the information on the use of purified graphite and method of isotope separation supplied by our pet German scientists has greatly assisted progress and will undoubtedly bring forward our own completion date. I asked him to put it in simple terms that I could understand.”

  Passing the file forward Beria knew better than to look too smug, especially as that was not quite what he had said to Comrade Kurchatov.

  “We also have other agent assets, code names Mlad and Kalibr, both at the Amerikanisti facilities and we hope for more information from them but we have again been unable to get messages through to them and have received nothing for some months. In any case, they have been of limited value to date.”

  Wishing to be as upbeat as possible, Beria concluded positively, “Comrade General Secretary, if we were to acquire no further information from this time forward, we would anticipate having a weapon available for testing by mid-1948, possibly sooner.”

  Stalin automatically deducted a few months from that as everyone always hedged their bets when it came to timings. Placing his pipe to one side and lighting a cigarette, he read the document, understanding little, and took the copy intended for him before handing it back.

  A significant piece of information included in one report was that scientists working on the American project had started to feel that this technology should be shared, not become the province of a single state or alliance, war conditions aside.

  “Of note to me is this comment from your agent regarding attitudes amongst the American scientists in New Mexico. What plans do you have to make use of this new wave of feelings Lavrentiy?”

  This question was obviously anticipated and so the answer flowed freely.

  “That greatly depends on what the GKO directs, Comrade General Secretary,” knowing full well that the State Defence Committee as it was known in full, would do pretty much what they were told or receive a one-way trip to a basement room in the Lubyanka.

  “At this time we have solely an intelligence gathering operation and if we are to remain as that then these assets will be carefully stroked into place and we should gain more information to accelerate our own programme. If it is decided to take the different route previously discussed then some physical interference with the American project will definitely be possible with the existing agents. At our present assessment, I have discounted that on the basis of risk to our agents in place against the quality of information we receive.”

  A moment’s pause to mentally check his lines.

  “Greater sabotage would probably be possible with this new development, provided recruitment was carefully done. That recruitment will take time, time which we do not have.” Despite the secure nature of his present location, Beria could not help a swift conspiratorial look around before speaking in a quieter voice.

  “On the time scale we are still considering for Kingdom39, I think there is insufficient time to involve these new possibilities.”

  More puffs on the cigarette, this time lighter in nature but decidedly more urgent.

  “I agree comrade. The Americans are more advanced than we thought. How can that be without your agents knowing of it sooner?”

  Although he knew the answer, Stalin asked anyway, for he liked to keep people on their toes.

  “There are at least three separate major sites where research continues, certainly more, and the capitalists use compartmentation Comrade General Secretary. Separate sides of the project develop away from each other and then the finished projects are brought together, unless there are issues that encroach on another’s development. Our agents have limited access to information in their roles so we have been lucky that these scientists have been loose-tongued over dinners and games of chess or we would not have found out much of what we already know.”

  Stalin interrupted with a light gesture of the hand.

  “In any case, that is not important. What is important is how we respond. What are our options?”

  Even though he had this part of the conversation with himself a number of times in his own office, it was still a very delicate moment for the head of the NKVD.

  ‘The options we should consider are these.”

  A nervous clearance of the throat and the chairman of the NKVD commenced.

  “We can abandon Kingdom39.” Stalin’s face remained impassive and Beria continued. “I do not see that as an acceptable alternative.”

  He received no clue from the General Secretary’s facial expression or posture as to whether he was being well received or if each point was to be discussed in turn, so decided to carry on regardless.

  “We can delay it until more favourable conditions exist. However, the re-establishment of a working German puppet state would be more likely, with the attendant problems that that would bring us. At this time, the capitalists are burdened with millions of German prisoners and still more refugees, all of which works in our favour. The German is cowed and beaten and out of the equation, but not indefinitely so and it is an essential of our operation that no large-scale organised German resistance is possible, so the reasons for deciding our present timescale were sound and remain so. This new information introduces nothing to encourage delay in military or political terms, especially as our negotiations with the slant-eyes would appear to be bearing fruit.”

  The gentle nodding from the dictator was all Beria now needed.

  “Our country and people are on a war-footing. Our army is in the right place and at its peak. So is our ability to produce the goods of war. Our maskirova so far is working and effective already, and merely needs to be increased when it is decided to pursue this venture.”

  Now he knew which way the land lay, he reached deeper into his briefcase and passed over a detailed synopsis of some recent messages.

  “I have here reports from agents across Europe indicating poor morale amongst western allied troops; homesickness and the like. They are less capable of sustaining casualties than we, which is proved comrade.” That was a statement that meant very little, for it mattered not a jot to either of them how many casualties were sustained in the course of achieving their goals. Even if a million more mothers cried tears of loss it would be as nothing.

  “Some of our military personnel have fraternised with them on my orders, attended exercises, exchanged pleasantries and watched their soldiers perform badly, indicating inexperience or lack of combat ability.”

  “The Amerikanisti particularly have issues. Some of their soldiers are of good quality of course but if you see page fourteen onwards you will see an appreciation of the abilities and readiness of all units, theirs, and the other allies. We have gained quality intelligence on every single divisional sized unit in their order of battle Comrade General Secretary.”

  Searching his memory, he continued.

  “The American paratroopers are particularly good but are few in number Comrade, a mere three divisions only.” And that was actually the first bit of information that was not accurate, for there were actually five in existence at that time.”

  “Again, some of their tank and infantry divisions fought well, but many are relatively untested and of average quality. Remember the new division that the Germans captured during their Rhine campaign?”

  Stalin searched his memory and found the information needed. A brand-new division, ‘...was it the 106th...?,’ had been placed on front-line duty in the Ardennes and had surrendered wholesale to the Germans attacking during the Battle of the Bulge.

  “Also remember when they first arrived in Africa, their number one infantry division turned tail and ran when the Afrika Korps attacked them at Kasserine,” the accompanying chuckle was soft but Stalin didn’t miss it.

  “The Amerikanisti rely on numbers and firepower to achieve their victories but they are soft Comrade General Secretary. We have numbers. We have firepower. We are not soft as they are soft.”

  A swift glance down at the doc
ument brought forth further information.

  “Their Marine Divisions have quality but are all concentrated against the slant-eyes so are of no concern to us at this time.”

  “The British and their crony states are bled dry. They can fight but are weak and cannot stand against us for long. That island of theirs will be a different matter of course but we will develop the means to cross the divide in time.”

  Almost as an afterthought, Beria added, “With only a handful of divisions, the useless French can be discounted obviously.”

  And with a shared nod of heads, a once proud nation was dismissed as an irrelevance and the file returned to Beria, minus one copy.

  “In any case, our proposed arrangement with the slant-eyes will ensure that they must all dedicate resources to the Pacific, no matter what the demands of Europe.”

  Stalin looked unconvinced on that point and pressed Beria.

  “Will their presence be enough alone Lavrentiy? They have virtually no ability to project power or threat any more. Their navy is almost destroyed, their air force crippled and their army lacks decent weaponry. They have only manpower and spirit as I see it. I do not think those will fix sufficient American forces in place.”

  Beria felt triumphant inside as he produced a proposal document from his deceptively capacious case.

  “This is a matter on which you have expressed reservation before Comrade, so I have looked into it and believe that this proposal might meet your concerns.”

  This file required time and another cigarette to examine properly, so Beria stealthily shifted back to the window in time to see the inspection parade dismiss. The wait was interminable.