Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series)

by Gee, Colin

  More soldiers arrived to assist in the fight, and a medical unit was called over, the American being placed in their hands.

  As the wounded man was lifted carefully onto a stretcher, he turned his head to Chekov.

  “Spassiba Comrade.”

  Chekov smiled. ‘Close enough Amerikan, close enough.’

  “Dosvidanya Amerikan.”

  Chekov stumbled and limped over to the village, where he noted Iska and the ancient truck driver in animated conversation about the battle, occasionally interrupted by the medics at work. The former was receiving medical attention from a male doctor and his companion seemed to be relishing having his head bandaged by a wonderfully attractive young nurse.

  Their laughter was infectious and by the time Chekov got to them, he was smiling for no reason whatsoever.

  Clearly the two had acquired a bond somewhere along the line and he would enquire later, but for now, he had to look after his men.

  Iska formally introduced him to the old soldier and dismissed Chekov’s concern at his wound. Making sure both Pavel Iska and Pyotr Harunin were fine, for that was the old man’s name apparently, the commander did the rounds of his battered troops.

  ‘13th Guards Rifle Division? Who would have thought that?’

  Silence fell across the valley and the gutter fight that had been the Battle of Trendelburg came to a final close.

  Deception, in order to be fully effective, must be practised upon friend and enemy in equal measure.

  Georges De Walle

  CHAPTER 52 – THE FRENCH

  1001 hrs Saturday 11th August 1945, Headquarters, US Forces in Europe, Trianon Palace Hotel, Versailles, France.

  Eisenhower had been awake for some time, woken from his light slumber by an agitated orderly summoning him to a crisis in the making.

  Without shaving or washing, he had responded and discovered that his enemy had not slept and had used the worst thunderstorms in a hundred years to mask assaults along a broad front.

  The phone lines were humming as his senior commanders called in with situation reports, more often than not negative reports describing enemy progress and allied units being pushed back.

  Now, as morning really took hold, there seemed to be a surreal pause in operations. Almost as if the enemy were collectively taking a breather and gathering themselves for another effort.

  Up to the lull, there had been little good news and a lot of bad. The recently confirmed loss of Trendelburg meant that the American units on the Weser had only one route to escape by, and Eisenhower confirmed with both Bradley and Tedder that this route would be preserved and defended at all costs.

  The new numbers on Ground-Attack aircraft were encouraging, with disbanded and dispersing squadrons pulled back together in record time. Nothing like the power he had at his disposal a few months back but better than it was last Monday and getting better every day.

  McCreery’s brief call told Ike all he needed to know about the ongoing assault on Hamburg and he knew it would be a close run thing, despite the heroic efforts of the allied forces defending the city.

  Eisenhower took advantage of the quiet and made himself presentable, following his ablutions with a proper breakfast.

  The last information he had been given the night before was a definitive intelligence estimate on the Soviet Fuel situation. He had been wrong. That was not their Achilles heel.

  “Damn!”

  Ike remembered his curse faintly echoed around his bedchamber, almost taunting him but after a reasonable sleep, he had put the disappointment behind him.

  Relaxing back into his chair, he received the first written reports from the night’s actions. Ground attacks up and down the front line, one where the air force continued its good work in interdicting enemy fighters and bombers, and another in which the bomber force reported being on target on all of its objectives. That was nothing unusual as the Bombers always claimed that. An erosion of his photo-recon capability was of great concern to the General, as so much that was claimed went unconfirmed.

  As a resolution, more Mosquitoes were being temporarily converted and allocated to air-recon work but their losses were great too.

  Sucking greedily on his cigarette, Ike looked at a passing orderly and gave her the universal hand signal for coffee.

  The smile that came back made Ike’s morning nearly as much as the coffee when it arrived.

  Perfect.

  Bringing his mind back to the problems at hand he started at the top of the map as usual.

  As he examined the British positions, he received a brief note from McCreery’s headquarters. Hamburg had been held by a thread but, by all accounts, the commies had pushed very hard. Reinforcements were being moved in but such levels of combat could not be sustained indefinitely and withdrawal was an increasing possibility to preserve his force.

  Ike nodded to himself, understanding that if such a decision had to be made it was McCreery’s to make.

  As he put down the British report, he decided on another cigarette and a general appreciation of the front before the rescheduled main briefing, or rather the second main briefing of the day.

  Across the towns and villages of Germany, the Red flags flew, more now than earlier, showing the successful advances of the Soviet Army.

  Eisenhower’s first decision had been a preservation of his force, something that had been reasonably successful to date. He winced as he reflected on Gottingen and the events that resulted from the issues there, and hoped above hope that his units could escape. Gottingen was a mistake, an error of judgement by both himself and Bradley, for which historians would criticise them well into the next millennium.

  The relative failure of the spoiling attacks had wasted some valuable assets and that lesson was learned.

  Ike leant forward and examined a one page listing on major ground units on their way to Europe.

  Outwardly, he exuded confidence that the Allied line would hold until the new forces arrived, at which time they would start rolling back the enemy.

  Politically, the US Government appeared totally committed and had swung its industry back fully into wartime production, or at least had stopped the process that was converting factories back to peacetime production.

  Materiel wise, he did not expect shortages, nor were problems anticipated with the very necessary liquids of war, although Soviet sabotage had caused a blip for two days.

  It was in manpower, and more specifically trained manpower where his problems would come.

  A man can be trained to hold and fire a rifle quite quickly, but to understand military manoeuvre and tactics was a longer process. Specialist troops took even longer, and losses in those had been quite high in the last few days.

  Without a doubt, there would be an issue with pilots for a while but the training programmes had not been reduced as many others had, something that Ike hoped would prove advantageous.

  Lighting up another cigarette, a new line of thought developed

  ‘Specialists?’

  If it was going to be a problem for the allies, would it be a problem for the Reds?

  His brain sought an example. The Red Army was full of artillery troops, but it was known that literacy levels were low and that the units were run by officers who understood the mechanics of war. The soldiers were there just to discharge their orders and not perform technical duties over and above those learned by rote and performed like automatons, or at least that was the belief.

  ‘So, is that the same for others units?’

  An interesting thought.

  Ike stubbed out his cigarette, using his free hand to beckon a newly arrived Hood to his side.

  “Good morning Sir. How may I be of service?”

  “Good morning Thomas. I hope your trip was successful?”

  Colonel Hood had spent a day away liaising with the French at their new headquarters in Nancy.

  “Yes Sir it was. I will have the report ready for your evening brief.”

  Unusuall
y for Hood, he drew closer to his Commander and whispered conspiratorially.

  “I will also prepare a separate report on a matter I became aware of. Someone was indiscrete within my earshot Sir, and I believe you may wish to know of it, but not officially.”

  “Intriguing statement Thomas, I shall look forward to it. Thank you. Now, for this moment, I want you to scare me up some information on the Soviet specialist units, artillery, engineers, and the like.”

  “For what specific purpose Sir?”

  “I’m looking to get a feel of their deployment and use, which are performing as they should or as expected and which are not.”

  The Colonel made a note on a small pad, his pencil working furiously. Ike sensed rather than saw that the man needed further focus.

  “I see our forces having difficulties with specialists, from pilots through to drivers, Thomas. I want to know if the Red Army has similar issues ok? The more information I can get on them at the moment the better.”

  “I understand fully General.”

  The Colonel came to attention and went on his way, seemingly ignoring but actually just not hearing Eisenhower’s parting words.

  “And I will look forward to your reports later Thomas.”

  Ike took another cigarette and turned to the head of the small queue that had formed.

  “Good morning Anne, and how are you this morning?”

  Receiving the normal response, a report changed hands. There was a contrite apology and covering explanation as to how some parts of it had been missed for the last few days.

  General Clark had sent a message regarding the extraordinary visit he had received from an escaping officer of the Waffen-SS, and the intelligence the man had passed him, enabling some sort of early warning to go out, saving many lives.

  USAAF Intel had done some work on the information therein and generated some interesting possibilities. Using the escaping prisoners debriefs, cartographical interpretation and civilian reports, Intelligence had identified five other possible sites for the same sort of concealment, all of which were in central and southern occupied Germany.

  RAF Air Recon and British Military Intelligence had picked up twitches at three of the locations but found nothing conclusive.

  Photos taken by a Spitfire reconnaissance aircraft over the forest south-east of Gardelegen showed what looked like smoke from a fire in the woods, but as the annotation stated, it could as easily be a steam train, plus there was evidence of increased road traffic to the area to add to the pot.

  The large wooded area between Suhl and Schmeidefeld had drawn attention because of the ferocious AA fire that greeted some passing Thunderbolts, who were driven off by the swift arrival of Soviet fighter aircraft. Both photo-recon aircraft sent out had not returned, in itself a possible pointer.

  The final possibility was underlined and emphasised in Red.

  ‘Where the hell is Ceske Kubice?’ enquired Eisenhower of himself, and then aloud of the Captain.

  “Czech border region, approximately fifty miles north-east of Regensburg Sir.”

  Most significantly, this was intelligence from an on the spot source, albeit more negative than positive input.

  ‘Villagers cannot use this road; this area of woodland is now restricted and guarded by army and NKVD units. Curfew imposed commencing two hours before dusk.’

  Ike read and reread the next line.

  “Increase in train traffic, particularly at night time. Tuesday night 12. Wednesday night 17.”

  He looked at the Captain encouraging her response.

  “Contact has been lost with the informant. No messages since Thursday Sir.”

  As Ike read on he felt his senses start to sharpen, hairs prickling on the back of his neck, wondering if the clandestine Manchurian units had actually been located.

  “Anne, make me another copy and then pass it onto Marshall Tedder. Ask him to provide me with a strike plan to hit these targets tonight. Please tell him I consider this a matter of the highest priority.”

  Impressed with the importance of her mission, the pretty young officer fairly skipped away to do her commander’s bidding.

  Eisenhower moved to the next offering, reports on submarine attacks in the Atlantic. One particularly unwelcome paper recorded the sinking a full troopship returning to Europe with veteran soldiers and striking an entire tank-destroyer group from the Allied inventory.

  As he read the painful pages, his attention was suddenly piqued by a highly polished pair of shoes that halted a respectful distance from his chair.

  He finished the paragraph and slid his thumb into position to show him where he had to start reading from and looked up.

  His eyes took in the immaculate vision of Rear-Admiral Sir Roger Marais Dalziel and knew that something good was about to happen.

  Standing, he responded to the naval salute offered up by Dalziel and then extended his hand.

  “Excellent timing Sir Roger, I need to speak to you about the Atlantic.” Moving his head slightly to address the waiting officers.

  “Unless anything is particularly urgent, please give the Admiral and I fifteen minutes gentlemen.”

  A chorus of mutters indicated nothing of epic importance and the space suddenly belonged solely to Ike and the British officer.

  Extending his hand to the adjacent chair, Eisenhower resumed his seat and poured coffee for both of them.

  “Actually I do want to speak about the Atlantic but by the look on your face you have something you want to tell me Sir Roger?”

  “That I do Sir, and hopefully I will brighten your day.”

  Reaching into his ancient briefcase the intelligent officer extracted a report laden with the external paraphernalia of utmost secrecy.

  “Your eyes only for now Sir, if you please.”

  Eisenhower nodded his understanding.

  “Want to give me the précis Sir Roger?”

  “I thought you’d never ask Sir,” he smiled the words as much as spoke them, “Rather proud actually. We found two more communist agents at Bletchley, bringing the total to four.”

  “And this is good news Admiral?” Eisenhower was imagining the horrors these agents, well placed in his communications, could have wrought.

  “I understand your angst General. There has been damage but it has already been done and we will learn the lessons of that. What is more interesting is the future and how we may profit from this debacle.”

  “We will profit by not making the same mistake again I would imagine,” Ike spoke abruptly, not in irritation but aware that there was something else.

  “Ok Admiral, hit me with it.”

  “They all now work for us, Sir.”

  That statement opened a very intriguing line of discussion.

  1910 hrs Saturday 11th August 1945, Headquarters, US Forces in Europe, Trianon Palace Hotel, Versailles, France.

  Eisenhower had eaten heartily of his evening meal and felt as full as he had done for a long time.

  He had gone back out into the main room to sit and look at the situation map as he enjoyed a large coffee.

  Colonel Hood approached carefully, similarly stuffed with beef and onion stew, potato cakes, turnip and carrots, all covered with the finest thick gravy.

  “Good evening Sir.”

  “Colonel Hood. Dinner lies heavy on you too eh?”

  Gestured to the adjacent chair, he placed a report on the table in front of his General.

  Eisenhower, drinking the last of his coffee inclined his head to read the cover and screwed up his face at the title.

  “Assessment of French Military Capability – 11th August 1945.”

  More coffee arrived and Colonel Hood was graced with his own china mug, although he was considered a total philistine for indulging in sugar.

  “It’s been a heck of a day Colonel.”

  “That it has Sir.”

  “OK then Thomas, give me the bottom line on our Gallic Allies please.”

  Drawing deeply on his ciga
rette, Eisenhower was treated to Hood’s appraisal of the present French capability, as supplied by the US Liaison Officer to the French 1st Army, as well as the French staff themselves. All of which was tempered with his own eye for the things that some may wish to be kept hidden.

  “We know the regular and colonial formations can do the job, Sir. Heck, they did magnificently in Italy and beyond.”

  Hood took a quick gulp of his coffee.

  “All the prime formations are at good strengths and maintain their fighting ability.”

  The Colonel leant across and flicked open the folder, producing a list of units that were not so blessed.

  “These formations were pretty much all built out of FFI forces and, to be blunt and using General De Lattre’s own words, are about as much use as a Sunday school coach party.”

  Eisenhower raised an eyebrow.

  “Well actually he added some extra words; I cleaned it up a bit Sir.”

  The General grinned, imagining exactly what the dapper French officer might actually have said.

  “Oh do go on Thomas.”

  “Only the Alpine Division is going to be retained for possible front-line duties, the rest of the FFI based units will be withdrawn to France for re-training and security duties, freeing up some more experienced forces for your disposal.”

  That certainly made sense and was very welcome to a General who needed quality manpower badly.

  Colonel Hood sensed that and quickly moved before his Commander got too carried away.

  “One General on the staff there told me that in the short term he expected no more than three worthy divisions to come out of that process.”

  Eisenhower did the maths and still figured he was in profit on the deal.

  “The French participation in the mobilisation of German soldier prisoners is extremely good.”

  Eisenhower nodded.

  “Extremely good Sir, so much so that it is almost embarrassing in its swiftness and completeness.”

  That seemed a strange statement and it was not going to go unchallenged.