by Gee, Colin
Von Hardegen could not deny that it was true, but was tactful enough to not confirm it.
“We were all lucky, Herr General, and we all played our part today.”
That was undoubtedly true.
The others pressed forward, slapping shoulders, shaking hands, relieved to still be alive, and attributing it all to this man and his tankers.
Modest as ever, Von Hardegen just shrugged and smiled through the barrage of praise. As it subsided, he interrupted, for he had an important matter to address.
“Now, meine Herren, I have some business to attend to, and ask if you will be my witnesses.”
He turned on his heel and walked out.
Off to the left, a German panzer NCO stood, his hands tied behind his back, placed against a tree on the edge of a cinder track.
In front of him stood a line of his peers, grim-faced men, there to perform a duty and salvage some pride for their unit.
The eight men, all members of Europa’s 3rd Kompagnie, stood ready, Kar98k rifles held in the attention position.
To one side stood the 3rd’s commanding Captain, his face still like thunder, the way it had set ever since the destruction of the Berg Bridge.
Turning to the Allied officers behind him, Von Hardegen enlightened them, their eyes narrowing, focussing on the prisoner before them.
Turning back to face his men again, Von Hardegen clicked to attention.
“Proceed, Herr Hauptmann.”
Out of the corner of his eye, the ‘Europa’ commander watched as two men painfully exited the second halftrack.
The first, a heavily bandaged German, the gunner of JagdPanther 414, had been blown out through the rear hatch, his survival unseen by Jablinski. The second man was an American, with both arms in plaster, because Garand bullets had smashed his bones. He was the 4th US Infantry NCO, who had stumbled upon the scene in the sandbagged position.
Their evidence had been damning and unequivocal.
Jablinski had been confident enough to try to slip back into the unit, as if nothing had happened, and, for the most part, had been successful. That is until a burned and angry Panzerkanonier spoke to the 3rd Kompagnie commander.
The same officer now spoke, listing the charges, and the verdict of the field courts-martial, as chaired by Von Hardegen.
There were no frills attached, no last words, or final cigarette.
With a nod from Von Hardegen, the firing squad commander got on with business, the time from first order to weapon discharge just under seven seconds.
Despite the obvious demise of the man, the Panzer Hauptmann still added to the injuries suffered by the Russian spy. He put a bullet in the corpse’s brain, solely for his own satisfaction, rather than ensuring life was extinct.
1145hrs, Wednesday, 24th October, 1945, Headquarters, 2nd Red Banner Central European Front, Schloss Rauischholzhausen,
Petrov finished his briefing, the headquarters of 2nd Red Banner so quiet, that the sound of a circling aircraft almost filled the room.
Apart from the destruction wrought upon the 5th Guards Mechanised Corps and 34th Guards Rifle Corps, there was the not insignificant matter of the destruction of the 6th Pontoon Bridge Brigade.
Three full artillery regiments added to the list of losses, along with numerous smaller units, mortar battalions, tank companies, and the like.
North of Sittard, 40th Rifle Corps had been badly handled by the British Red Devils, soldiers that lived up to their name and fought with incredible ferocity.
Gradually, the staff officers started work on reassembling their shattered units, to make them ready for another day.
Two of Konev’s armies were badly knocked about, perversely, the two that had formed the spear point of his plan to cross the Maas, which plan now lay in tatters. In addition, the failure of his effort meant that the overall operation had been jeopardised, without the balance of tangible success, something that Zhukov would use against him when he found out.
‘If he finds out?,’ Konev mused.
Worse was the supply situation, some of his units having been incapable of properly defending or attacking, for want of bullets and shells.
And worst of all, the situation had no resolution in sight, the consumption rates higher than predicted, the losses due to partisans the same, the only thing lower than predicted being the amounts arriving from the Motherland, after the losses sustained by enemy air attacks and armed groups on the ground.
‘How can it get any worse?’
Again, the room filled with heavy silence, the low hubbub abating instantly.
Konev became aware that Petrov looked decidedly uncomfortable, eyes widening as he took in the new arrival.
The commander of 2nd Red Banner understood immediately.
“Greetings, Comrade Marshal Zhukov.”
“Greetings, Comrade Marshal Konev.”
“Tea, Comrade?”
“Later, thank you. First let us deal with what the fuck you have done here, and your answers better be damn good.”
The two NKVD Generals and their accompanying men filled Konev’s vision.
“Your office, Comrade?”
The two moved off into the separate private office.
The staff worked on through the tirade, as the constant shouting, all by Zhukov, escaped through the glazed door.
Wishing to keep their heads, they worked diligently under the close and unwelcome scrutiny of the implacable NKVD officers, even Tarasov, who had kept Zhukov supplied with the minutiae of Konev’s plans from start to finish.
One thought puzzled him.
Had Zhukov permitted the attack to go ahead in case of success, or had he turned a blind eye, in the hope that Konev would fail, and so fall?
No matter what happened in the next few minutes, and the hours ahead, one thing was certain.
2nd Red Banner had been stopped in its tracks.
3RD RED BANNER CENTRAL EUROPEAN FRONT - MARSHAL ROKOSSOVSKY
All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable to; when using our forces, we must seem inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near. Hold out bait to entice the enemy. Pretend disorder, and crush him.
Sun Tzu
Chapter 93 - THE TURNCOAT
1112hrs, Sunday, 14th October 1945, Headquarters, 1st Legion Chars D’Assault Brigade ‘Camerone’, Baden-Baden, Germany.
“You’ve done well so far, Knocke. My generals are pleased, although you did get very close to the Enz, did you not?
Kowalski looked smug.
Ernst-August Knocke pursed his lips, failing to hide his contempt for the man opposite.
“It was not easy.”
That was actually completely untrue, as rumours of the Legion’s movement north of the River Enz had been unfounded in any case, but, none the less, the apparent act of compliance was welcome.
“Not easy, but you managed it, Knocke. Good boy.”
Kowalski was deliberately provocative, all the time assessing how well Knocke was controlled by the possession of his family.
“We have another task for you, one that requires you to move backwards at the right time. Even you should be able to manage that.”
Knocke had his own agenda to follow.
“And my family? They are still safe with you?”
As Kowalski had no idea of the events on the Baltic Coast at Fischausen, he answered easily.
“Your family are quite well; and quite safe.”
Opening his blouse, the Soviet intelligence officer extracted an envelope.
“And to make sure they stay that way, we need you to ensure that this goes smoothly.”
He dropped the item on the desk in front of the Legion officer. Knocke neither eyed it, nor picked it up, sensing that the man opposite had his own agenda.
“I am told that this will be the last thing to be asked of you, Knocke.”
Kowalski produced another ph
oto of the whole family, albeit tainted by the ever-present NKVD officer.
“Then, they will be free to go, and you can join them, if you surrender and identify yourself to one of our units.”
The Russian gestured at the envelope.
“There is a safe passage note inside.”
Knocke nodded gently.
“And where would we go, Major?”
“By the time you need to choose, the Soviet Union will include most of Europe, so the choice would be considerable.”
Knocke grunted, mentally removing one item from his list of things to do to keep up appearances.
Kowalski grunted, mentally removing one item from his list of things to do to confirm Knocke’s continued subservience.
“Your side is losing in any case, Knocke, and this,” he casually gestured at the envelope, “Ensures less will die, before our victory is complete.”
Biting back his first response, Knocke merely shrugged, trying to convey some sort of agreement.
“So, Herr Maior, what would you have me do?”
Kowalski indicated the envelope.
“We want you to make a hole.”
1232hrs, Friday, 19th October, 1945, Headquarters, Command Group ‘Normandie’, 1st Legion Chars D’Assault Brigade ‘Camerone’, Railway Station, Lipsheim, Alsace.
The Legion Corps had tasted its first defeat, albeit one that was expected, given the circumstances.
Successful actions at Gaggenau and Rastatt had come to nought, as Soviet forces in the Saar broke the American lines and drove southwards, forcing the Legion to retreat at speed, for fear of being cut off on the east bank of the Rhine.
Two rearguard groups, one at Achern, and a larger one at Appenweier, had been overrun and destroyed.
The blame for that lay fairly and squarely on the shoulders of Molyneux, and his previously unsuspected ability to withdraw more swiftly than was necessary.
Thanks to his interference, neither group had been left with artillery cover or dedicated air support, and both, in turn, were eliminated.
Knocke had been furious, even though neither group belonged to ‘Camerone’, as the ineptitude of it all spelt out future danger to every man in the Corps.
There were even moments when those in ‘the know’ wondered if Molyneux had any family under the protection of the NKVD, so complete was his ability to withdraw and undermine well-laid plans.
In any case, much of what was planned for the Legion Corps was kept from Molyneux. De Gaulle’s strange continued insistence, in the face of growing pressure, that the General remain in charge of the Legion, was difficult for anyone in French First Army to grasp. However, it was offset by De Lattre’s insistence that, for the sensitive operation ahead, Molyneux knew as little as possible.
The loss of Strasbourg was imminent, and was not down to Molyneux’s incompetence, rather the unsanctioned withdrawal of a neighbouring American unit, which permitted the old city’s flank to be turned, rendering her defence nothing short of suicidal.
Lavalle had some good news for the small group that knew ‘everything’.
“The preparation is complete, Gentlemen. Once Général De Lattre approves the operational planning, then we can commence, immediately our Russian friend gives the word.”
The battleground had been of the Soviet’s own choosing, fit for them to penetrate to the heart of the Allied defence, reaching the Swiss border, and opening up the possibilities of a drive into the French interior.
It was flat, reasonably dry, and almost perfect for a precise deep attack in strength, such as the Legion anticipated the enemy plan to be.
It was also a perfect killing ground.
“Ernst.”
Lavalle ceded the floor to the man who had conceived the plan.
“Gentlemen, once we know the timetable, and the timing of the enemy attack, we will initiate the withdrawal, as outlined in the Soviet document, falling back in front of their advance towards Colmar.”
Listening in was the cream of the Corps’ officers, Legionnaires and Americans, men who understood they were just about to be given an opportunity to inflict a huge defeat upon the communist forces.
“The valleys will be sealed with mines and other works, and defended sufficiently enough to discourage their reconnaissance. It will be a fine balance, meine herren, but they must not appear overly defended, or important. Nothing to encourage their interest, for obvious reasons.”
A chorus of assent encouraged Knocke to continue.
“Whilst we are openly falling back, we must not lose opportunities to hurt the Russian. In the opening stages, if we stick occasionally and bloody their noses, we will discourage too close a pursuit. That will help our withdrawal at the start.”
He grinned at the men around him.
“Don’t stick too well though, we want them kept hungry!”
The laughter showed that his experienced commanders were confident and at ease.
“Seriously, Kameraden,” Knocke occasionally lapsed back into the language of another time, “If you do stick, don’t lose the flank of the adjacent unit. We cannot afford gaps.”
Knocke tapped the map.
“Unless opportunities present themselves. We will hold for a while. The Aubach is where ‘Camerone’ and ‘Alma’ will first stand, and then we will invite them on to us, give them time to stack up before we move away, this time keeping them close if we can, as we give more ground.”
He moved past Selestat.
“We will cede Selestat to them. The capture of a major city will encourage them to believe.”
His finger drew a line between two points further to the south.
“Here, this line between Guémar and Elsenheim, this is where we will stand and hold them.”
He looked around the ensemble, his eyes dwelling on those whose units would eventually occupy the indicated defensive line.
“Your officers have already inspected the prepared positions. Any issues?”
St.Clair spoke.
“Sir, there was an issue with some badly sited secondary positions that has now been resolved.”
Von Arnesen followed.
“That was also an issue for us, Sir. Distances were wrong, and often they were too obviously placed. New alternatives have been prepared.”
Knocke accepted that his officers had resolved the issues, and continued the brief.
He cupped his hands around the area north of that defence line, embracing Selestat to the banks of the Rhine.
“We will halt them south of Selestat, and their next echelons will push forward, because we will have conditioned them to expect our withdrawal.”
With little movements of his hands, Knocke began to sweep the imaginary Soviet units into a pocket.
“They will press together in this area.”
Each man present could see it clearly, the hands holding Soviet mechanised units, bunched together, and ripe for the plucking.
“And, on the command, we will visit hell upon them.”
One American voice rose above the hubbub of excitement.
“Amen to that, Général Knocke.”
Brigadier General Pierce’s newly designated 16th US Armored Brigade had a pivotal role to play, partially because it was relatively fresh, partially because it possessed some of the USA’s newest tools of warfare, and partially because Pierce had sought the honour, and the opportunity to expunge the sad memories of August that it represented.
In harness with the detached Panzer regiment from ‘Camerone’, the 16th had a vital part to play in executing Plan Thermopylae.
The plan required the strength of ‘Camerone’, ‘Alma’, ‘Tannenberg’, and the 16th US, a force representing the cream of the Legion Corps’ units.
However, unknown to those in the briefing, the inclusion of ‘Tannenberg’, not part of the ‘Normandie’ Group, had resulted in a leak of information, one that brought an unwelcome visitor to their door, in the shape of General Molyneux, commander of the Legion Corps D’Assau
lt.
The convoy screeched to a halt outside the station building, the sounds of doors slamming and imperious shouts rose as the entourage deployed.
Those present in the waiting room that served as the temporary headquarters for ‘Normandie’, resigned themselves to a haranguing at the very least. After all, much of what had been planned had been done without Molyneux’s knowledge.
Only De Walle seemed unfazed by the sound of marching boots, growing louder, as the man himself arrived at the door and entered with a flourish.
The assembly sprang to attention, and saluted.
As was Molyneux’s custom, he touched his cane to his cap in return.
Lavalle stepped forward.
“Welcome, mon Général. We did not know you were coming. Some coffee before I update you on our situation?”
“You were not informed of my arrival for a particular reason, Lavalle.”
He looked the immaculate soldier up and down, as if he was inspecting some dog mess in the street.
“You were not informed of my arrival, so that I could catch you and your little group in the act.”
For the first time, Lavalle and the others became aware of the two caporal’s, armed with Thompsons, innocuous at first, but now so obviously out of place, and present for a single purpose.
“I am here to arrest you all for treachery, for your intended betrayal of France!”
“There is no betrayal here, mon Général!”
“Really, Lavalle? Really?”
Molyneux lunged at the map, sweeping it up and inspecting it closely.
Finding nothing to support the information he had received anonymously, the infuriated General went at it head on.
“This map shows me nothing. No mark for a line of defence, no line for holding the enemy up, no plans for offense; nothing!”
Knocke went to speak.
The cane shot out like a rapier, falling just short of the German’s chest,
“You shut your mouth, you German bastard!”