Initiative (The Red Gambit Series Book 6) (25 page)

There was something about the Russian psyche that made the Volga a serious national asset, over and above the physical barrier it represented.

When the Germans had marched into Mother Russia, it was at Stalingrad, on the Volga, amongst other places, that the invincible Wehrmacht had first floundered.

The Soviet capacity to produce the weapons of war had been carted over the large river, and installed in the Soviet hinterland, where it was safe, and could not be reached.

It was in the heart of every Russian, an inspiration and source of pride, and Camp 1001 was protected by its flowing waters.

Men from a number of important sectors of the Soviet war machine had flown into the small airbase at Akhtubinsk on the east bank of the river, looking for a number of special requirements to come together in one place, a search they had embarked on immediately the Germans had been turned back.

Fig # 188 – Camp 1001, Akhtubinsk, USSR

Representatives from the office of the People’s Commissariat for Ammunition, the Ministry of Middle Machinery, and the VNIIEF moved around the insignificant corner of the Soviet Empire, finding that their checklists were being rapidly satisfied.

Electricity, environment, concealment, access… the factors were satisfied on all counts, and more.

The preliminary reports cited the satisfactory and favourable elements of the site.

With all interested parties in total agreement, the decision was quickly reached, and the development and relocation plan was presented to Stalin and the GKO.

In a nutshell, a huge secret facility was to be constructed in the area but its existence would not be announced to their Allies.

If it became known, then it would simply be a POW facility full of German POWs.

By the time the German War was over, the nature of Camp 1001 had changed, and work started anew on enhancing its facilities.

When the Allies started their attacks on Kremlyov, Vannikov proposed shifting the entire project to Akhtubinsk, and concealing it with a large population of Allied prisoners, who could also be used as a work force for further expansion.

The facility would be declared as a prison camp to the Allies and Red Cross, in order to avoid any unnecessary deaths or, as Vannikov suggested, ‘to use their soft natures and regard for life against them.’

Colonel General Boris Vannikov, the People’s Commissar for Ammunition, was glowingly positive about 1001 and the facilities it promised, and promised quickly, the vast majority of underground work having been completed some months previously.

Within the large site, there would be sub-facilities, where Soviet engineers and scientists would continue the work of the Soviet Atomic programme.

The assembly of all major components parts would be done within Camp 1001, and the waterway provided an excellent means to transport the larger items from their own factories, and in a disguised way, which was had been one of the deal clinchers.

For the months to come, Allied intelligence had absolutely no idea, and continued to bomb both the real and distraction sites set up throughout the USSR, whilst 1001 grew and became operational.

At 1101hrs on Friday 21st June 1946, the last electrical connections were made, meaning that every research and manufacturing facility was now functioning.

NKVD Lieutenant General Dustov received the confirmation over the phone and immediately sought a connection to Moscow.

His head of security, Colonel Skryabin, arrived to confirm the report.

After the telephone conversation with Vannikov, Dustov and Skryabin decided to wreak havoc with the readiness company by way of a surprise test of their response.

By the end of the drill, the base was short one NKVD Captain, who found himself waiting at Akhtubinsk for the next aircraft to Siberia, and the readiness company had a new commanding officer, who understood fully the value of being efficient and swift in all he did in future.

It had been a hell of a morning and, as Saturday afternoon arrived, it got no better for the commander of the Allied Armies in Europe.

Eisenhower settled back, his flow of orders now ceased, the men and women of his staff dispatched to sort out the crisis in Southern Germany, where Soviet pressure had actually jolted some of his units back, the first real losses in territory since the March offensive began.

Devers had been upbeat, but Ike had seen through the bravado, despite the concealment offered by the telephone, understanding the concerns that had built up, day after day, as US casualty rates grew.

Eisenhower had decided to blood more of the Allies, and his orders to Devers and other commanders committed the South Americans and Spaniards like never before.

Ever conscious of the political need to reduce casualties amongst the main players, Eisenhower had been judicious in the use of his British, Commonwealth, and US soldiers, and had successfully reduced casualty rates, offset by a drudgingly slow advance and higher consumption of the chattels of war.

And yet, the last few weeks had seen an increase in casualties; stiffer resistance, more counter-attacks, thicker minefields, heavier use of air assets, all in areas of American responsibility.

Whilst Soviet resistance was fierce everywhere, it seemed more targeted, more resilient, more pro-active in zones where US troops were in the majority.

The figures were developed and, when Ike had last spoken with his commander-in-chief, he had suggested the possibility of a defined attempt by the enemy to increase US casualty rates.

The reasoning was as clear to the military minds in Versailles as it was to the political ones in Washington.

The United States Army was being deliberately battered to increase casualty rates and influence political opinion at home.

It was a dangerous time for the Allied armies, and matters got a whole lot worse in short order.

Answering the phone, Ike acknowledged General Bradley’s greeting and reached for a cigarette… and stopped dead.

“Say what? Say that again, Brad.”

Eisenhower grabbed a small map from his desk, all that was to hand to interpret Bradley’s words.

He listened without interrupting, seeing everything in his mind’s eye, as Bradley’s words fell onto the map in his hands, illustrating an unexpected horror.

“When did it start?”

‘Ten hundred hours.’

“At three points…”

‘Yes, Sir.’

Eisenhower examined the map and saw opportunity mixed with the threat of an unprecedented Soviet counter-attack.

“Kassel?”

‘No reports of activity, Sir.’

“Can you firm that up, Brad? Get some air up to examine it, I want to know if that’s the secured pivot of this attack, clear?”

‘Yes, Sir. Are you thinking of using the French?’

Bradley had read his mind.

“Yes, Brad, I am. We know the enemy are weak, and if this the all-out effort you suggest, it will be limited in form. If they are anchored on Kassel, as seems likely, we move the French in behind them… cross the river at…,” a ring-shaped stain from a long-since consumed mug of coffee temporarily defied his efforts to read the name, “At Hann Münden… on the Fulda River.”

Eisenhower relaxed enough to light his cigarette and delivered his instructions slowly and precisely.

“Right, here’s what we do. I’ll assemble my staff and take another look at the whole shooting match. You get some more recon in place, and get me what I need to make the decision.”

He took in more of the calming smoke, mixing it with the comfort of applied activity, before delivering the rest of his orders.

“Have your boys work the problem too, just to make sure. Meanwhile, prep the French for a rapid deployment and assault to the southeast, aimed at crossing the Fulda at Hann Münden, isolating Kassel, and driving into the rear of the forces attacking into your front. Any questions, Brad?”

‘How much time you looking at, Sir?’

Ike consulted the clock and did the calculations.

“I want firm information in hand by fifteen hundred, and no later. I want boots on the road and a firm plan before sixteen hundred comes and goes, clear, Brad?”

‘Yes, General. I’m on it already. I’ll call as soon as I have anything firm.’

Exchanging the normal pleasantries, the call ended, and Eisenhower was straight on the phone again, calling his planners to order.

The Soviet attack presented a huge opportunity to break the stalemate in front of Bradley’s Twelfth Army Group, and to do so with limited loss of American lives.

By sixteen hundred hours, a huge portion of the French First Army was on the move or about to move. The reconnaissance photos and reports supported the notion that Kassel was the hinge, and that crossing the Fulda to the east would bring unprecedented dividends.

Fig # 189 – Organisation of the Legion Corps D’Assaut, June 1946.

The shell that had chopped Lavalle down had also reaped a full harvest amongst the Normandie officers and headquarters staff that had accompanied him.

Bittrich, returned to something approaching rude health, had been spared, but every other man from the score or so members of Group Normandie’s headquarters were either dead or wounded.

Lavalle was not badly hurt, but the blood loss from numerous minor shrapnel wounds was a problem that required attention, so he was loaded on to an ambulance, together with five other casualties, one of whom expired as his litter was slid into place.

Fig # 190 – The Fulda, Germany.

The French officer had come to visit the headquarters of Camerone, in order to assess for himself the disaster that had befallen the best unit in his command.

As the ambulance sped away, the phone rang shrilly.

The duty officer answered and recoiled at the harsh voice that assaulted his ears.

“Mon Général… Général Molyneux for Général Lavalle.”

The telephone changed hands and Knocke spoke calmly and clearly.

“General Molyneux. Knocke here. I’m afraid that General Lavalle has been wounded and is on his way to hospital.”

‘Which makes you in command, or is it that idiot Bittrich. I will send a decent replacement officer as soon as possible. Meanwhile, you will renew the attack at once. Follow the plan and attack again. I want Normandie over the Fulda and defending the crossing point at Hann Münden immediately. You’re already behind schedule!’

“I regret that’s not possible, General Molyneux. It will take some time to get Alma online, and Camerone has just taken a bad beating because of those damn mortars and anti-tank guns.”

‘You have mortars! You have guns! Use them, Général Knocke, or I’ll find someone who will. Now, get your troops moving and get me my bridgehead. The eyes of the world are upon us, man!’

Knocke surveyed the men around him, who had heard the ranting voice on the phone, and who all listened in disbelief.

“Herr General, Camerone has just taking a beating. The division’s lead elements sustained over thirty percent casualties in less time than we’ve been on the telephone. We walked into intense minefields we didn’t know about, were shot at by anti-tank guns that apparently don’t exist, and were cut down by shells from mortars the enemy supposedly don’t have any ammunition for.”

‘So, a handful of casualties turns you into a frightened sheep. Develop a fucking spine, man! Whoever gave you a French uniform needs their fucking head examined!’

“I think you need to calm yourself, General. There’s no need to panic. We will cross the Fulda, but it will require more planning and more time.”

‘Shut your mouth, Knocke… just shut your useless German mouth and listen to me.’

The officers of Normandie saw a change in the facial expression of their most illustrious officer, one that they had never seen before, and one that made them see Knocke in a new light.

“I… am… listening… Herr… General.”

The controlled fury did not transfer itself into the ears of the Frenchman so intent on carving his own mark on the proceedings.

‘I am ordering Group Normandie to renew the attack immediately. Brush aside this resistance and take the river bridge at Wilhelmshausen. Discharge these orders or face courts-martial, Général.’

The silence seemed to last for a thousand years.

“No.”

‘Repeat that?’

“I said no.”

The silence was marked by a buzzing in the Legion officer’s ear.

‘Say that again and I’ll have you arrested and shot. Now, repeat your orders immediately.’

“General Molyneux… I refuse your idiotic order. I will not attack again. It’s suicidal and the order of a man out of touch with the realities of the moment. We’re neither prepared nor organised for such an attack. Come here yourself, if you wish… but I’ll not lose another man to your madness.”

Molyneux turned white with fury, his knuckles white as he gripped the receiver tight.

He shouted so loud that every man in the tent could hear his vitriolic outburst quite clearly.

‘Merde! Who else is there to receive my orders? Who is there that can fucking soldier and act like an officer in the French Army! Lavalle, give me Lavalle! Give me a French officer immediately!’

The phone in the Legion headquarters changed hands, Molyneux’s voice carrying loud and clear to the handful of men assembled in the command centre.

“Mon Général, St. Clair here. Général Lavalle has been wounded and is not on the field. Général Bittri…”

‘I don’t want that useless German bastard either. Who is the highest ranking French officer there… right now?’

He had been going to say that Bittrich had disappeared and could not be located,

St. Clair looked around him and found he didn’t like the situation he found himself in.

“I am, mon Général.”

‘Right, St. Clair. You will take immediate control of Normandie, and have that SS imbecile Knocke arrested. I want the attack renewed immediately. The plan is sound… follow it to the letter! You will take and you will hold the bridge at Hann Münden, so that the rest of the Corps can move forward. Do you understand your orders, St. Clair?’

“I understand your orders, mon Général. I regret, but I’m unable to carry them out.”

Molyneux nearly passed out with rage, his brain so assailed with the thoughts of such incompetence and clear mutiny on the part of his officers that his reason, what little of it he had been able to call on, left completely.

‘Cochon putain! Arrest yourself! Arrest everyone! I’m coming immediately! I’ll have you all shot! Merde! Shot I say!’

The phone went dead.

At Corps headquarters, Molyneux raged at anyone and everyone, all efforts to calm him down failing badly.

Assembling a platoon of military policemen, Molyneux delivered a pep talk, emphasising the treachery of the ex-SS officers who they were about to arrest and shoot.

He climbed aboard his vehicle and the entourage swept out of the Legion Corps headquarters in the cloister of St-Maria-Himmelfahrt, Warburg, speeding up rapidly, intent on consuming the twenty-five kilometres to the frontline as quickly as possible.

In the Citroen staff car, Molyneux continued to work himself into a frenzy.

St. Clair handed the receiver back to the duty officer.

In a tent full of silent and incredulous men, there was a feeling of total shock… almost despair.

“We are to arrest ourselves. He’s coming forward to take personal command. He’s gone fucking crazy!”

No one who had heard anything of the heated exchange could argue against St. Clair’s view.

Knocke, with a face like thunder, moaned as the medical orderly continued to tease at the piece of shrapnel in his forearm.

“Then we must act immediately.”

He held out his hand imperiously for the telephone handset.

“Get me General De Lattre immediately.”

As Knocke waited for the call to be put through, a damaged Aardvark was towed past the tent, its mesh screening mangled and blackened.

Knocke doubted that the crew had come away unscathed.

Close behind the towing vehicle came a battered Wolf, which slithered to a halt and permitted a smoke-blackened figure to dismount.

The new arrival threw up a casual salute to his commander and made his report.

“Brigadefuhrer,” Uhlmann had not yet bothered to master the French ranks, “I’ll need two hours to sort my regiment out… ammunition and fuel… spare crews… we took a heavy hit. Here’s my initial report.”

Uhlmann handed over the hastily prepared document, and then proceeded to recite the basics from memory.

“I have thirty-six dead, one hundred wounded. That Aardvark,” he pointed at the disappearing trailer, “Is probably the only thing we’ll salvage off the battlefield at the moment. I’ve lost two of the Panthers for now, although mine only lost a track, which is why I borrowed this little beast.”

The Wolf showed the signs of heavy action, clear silver scrapes where machine gun bullets had pecked away at the armour, and two larger scars where something bigger had come close to ending its life.

“All four of the aüfklarer Antilopes are gone. Heavy losses amongst the crews.”

He gratefully accepted a mug of coffee and a cigarette.

“Three Hyenas are gone, plus my support infantry took a hammering.”

He remembered something he should have said earlier.

“Krause is dead. His Felix took two solid hits… burned out.”

Another old campaigner was gone.

Uhlmann paused whilst Knocke shook his head and grasped his Panzer commander’s shoulder.

“Anyway, it’s all in the report. We walked into a fucking firestorm, Brigadefuhrer. What went wrong? Why didn’t we know about what we were facing?”

Knocke gave a shrug, the telephone still pressed to his ear.

He covered it with his hand and spoke softly.

“An intelligence failure,… a reconnaissance failure, Rolf. Someone simply didn’t do their job. We will find out… yes… yes, I want to speak directly to General De Lattre… no… you will get him on this line immediately… that is an order… now!”

Knocke turned his conversation back to Uhlmann.

“We will find out in time, but for now, we need to find a weak spot and plan for another attempt. Our beloved Molyneux is on his way up here to lead us to victory, although we’re all under arrest for disobedience of his orders.”

Rolf choked on his cigarette.

“What?”

“He wanted us to attack again… same plan… no reorganisation, just attack again.”

Uhlmann exchanged looks with St. Clair and the rest of the officers present.

He opened his mouth to speak but Knocke cut him short.

“General de Lattre? General Knocke here…. no… I’m afraid not, Herr General. I’m reporting a defeat… we were stopped dead by a large enemy force that we didn’t know about… no… no, not there. No… we didn’t get that far, Sir… Route 3323, one kilometre west of Wilhelmshausen… heavy… roughly forty percent of my lead units and,” Knocke looked at Uhlmann as he examined the report, taking Uhlmann’s shrug as confirmation, “And unusually high casualties amongst the unit commanders. It’ll take some time to get my men back on line for another attack, and we’ll need to revise the plan. Also, General Molyneux has ordered our immediate arrests and is on his way here to ensure matters are carried out to his satisfaction.”

Knocke listened intently, nodding to a man many kilometres away, occasionally humming a positive response.

“Yes, Herr General. General Bittrich is out of contact at the moment, but I’ll confirm his temporary position as soon as I contact him. My commanders think it’ll be two hours before we can get back into the fight. We will have a plan by then. You’ll have your bridgehead, General de Lattre… but… th…”

De Lattre butted into the conversation, understanding the issue that needed to be addressed.

“Yes, I understand that order, General.”

Those watching saw a smile declare itself.