Initiative (The Red Gambit Series Book 6) (52 page)

“Nazarbayeva.”

She listened.

“No, thank you, Comrade Leytenant. Tell my driver I’ll be staying here tonight.”

Replacing the receiver, she paused for effect.

“Six… I’ll attend to six personally, Comrades.”

Poboshkin raised an eyebrow, seeking information.

“Through my personal contacts, Comrade Polkovnik.”

He understood fully.

“Comrade Rufin, what else do you have, before we set to this task?”

“The Germans, Comrade Mayor General. It’s a stupid little report of no consequence… or so it seems… but I think it might help you in this moment.”

She examined the paperwork and smiled.

“Medals?”

“Yes, Comrade Mayor General. These four firms produced medals for the Nazi pigs and, it seems, are about to do so for the new Germanski government.”

“So I see… but what exactly am I seeing?”

“I quickly checked the register of destroyed German infrastructure, and those four are the only facilities that survived intact enough to start any sort of production, except for some still within our lines.”

“So these four are the only German firms available to make their medals?”

“Yes, Comrade Mayor General.”

“I see. Continue, Comrade.”

“That message has been transposed from the original German to Russian.”

“Yes?”

“Here is the original German report.”

She compared the two quickly, not absorbing the content.

“Fine... my German’s a little rusty, but that seems to be accurate.”

“No, Comrade Mayor General, it isn’t. Comrade Pinkerova is our language specialist.”

He passed another two pieces of paper to the woman officer, copies of the original documents, but held up a hand to stop her proceeding, and turned to Pinkerova

“Do you agree with the additional notations, Comrade?”

Pinkerova examined the extra notes and nodded her agreement.

“Yes, Comrade. They are correct.”

Rufin returned to addressing the wider audience.

“As you see, Comrades, the report speaks of an order from their Army Headquarters, sent to those four manufacturers, an order for new medals in the new style. It is broken down into replacements for existing awards, what they call de-Nazification, and for new awards.”

Nazarbayeva hid her impatience well, just not well enough, and Poboshkin picked up on it… and acted on it.

“For the Motherland’s sake, man, get on with it!”

Rufin’s ruffled feathers were obvious, but he pressed on.

“Comrade Mayor General, it is estimated that the Germanski awarded some four million second class medals in their whole war, from 39 to 45. They have asked for roughly two and a half million for replacements which, I have reasonably assumed, is because many holders were killed.”

He cut Poboshkin a look and continued.

“The figures for first class awards and the Cross also seem to tally nicely. Each company is asked to produce a quarter of the awards, so that would be six hundred thousand of the second class award each.”

He accepted the two reports back from Pinkerova and set them before his commander.

“Here’s the original, which lays out the replacement medal requirements… and here’s where it states about the new requirements. The medal is apparently different in both cases. Our problem lies in the translation.”

He pointed at both as he read the upside down words.

“It was mistranslated, Comrade Mayor General. Instead of saying that these four companies produce a quarter of four hundred thousand new style second class awards, or of the higher medals… it actually says each…”

“What?”

“The Germanski High Command is ordering over one and a half million new Iron Cross second class medals to award its soldiers.”

“Mudaks!”

All eyes turned to Pinkerova, who went the very brightest of bright reds.

“Apologies, Comrade Mayor General!”

Nazarbayeva laughed and smiled.

“I agree. Mudaks! They think they’ll need them. Comrade PodPolkovnik, concentrate on the Germanski first. I want answers to the questions that this poses.”

She held up the mistranslated report.

“Comrade Mayor Rufin. The Motherland thanks you… and I thank you. Well done. Now, get the staff up and in… if they’ve gone off duty… are on leave… sick… no excuses… everyone gets on with this now. Go!”

Her officers split like a bursting star and she was alone with her thoughts almost immediately.

Taking a moment to steady herself, Nazarbayeva picked up the telephone.

“Communications office.”

“General Nazarbayeva here. Get me a secure line to Moscow… office of the NKVD Deputy Chairman…”

The communications personnel did their work efficiently and within a few seconds there was a voice at the other end of the line.

“Mayor General Kaganovich’s office, Polkovnik Oberunov speaking.”

“Comrade Oberunov. General Nazarbayeva here. I need to speak to the General immediately.”

“I’m afraid he left orders not to be disturbed under any circumstances, Comrade Mayor General.”

“I understand your reluctance, Comrade Polkovnik. But I assure you that the deputy chairman will want to take my call.”

Aware of the developing relationship between the GRU and NKVD generals, Oberunov made a judgement call.

“Are you in your office, Comrade Mayor General?”

“28284… we relocated to 28284. The military exchange will route properly.”

She used the code number for Torgau, rather than the name, just in case.

“Wait by your phone please, Comrade General. I will contact the deputy chairman immediately.”

The phone went dead and she slid it back on the receiver, wondering if she should have had the Asbach… and equally pondering if she should have another.

The shrilling of the telephone ended the mental struggle.

“Nazarbayeva.”

“Comrade General, Kaganovich here, still dripping from the steam bath. What’s so important that you track me down so mercilessly?”

She told him.

He reacted appropriately.

“Blyad!”

He then told her something she didn’t know.

“Mudaks! And that information is how old, Comrade Kaganovich?”

“This afternoon. I was having it verified before I arranged to meet you prior to the Saturday briefing.”

“But your gut feeling is that it’s correct?”

“My source has never been wrong yet.”

“So it is all about the Germanski then.”

“Maybe not all, but certainly it appears we might have underestimated them. What will you do?”

“When will you confirm this all by?”

“Hopefully by tomorrow, day after at the latest.”

“As soon as I have everything in order here, I’m getting on the first plane to Moscow. The GKO will need to see this… and to understand it… I’m not going to trust it to a telephone call.”

“No, you’re correct not to. I will pursue my verification and let you know as soon as I have it… or not… as the case may be.”

“Thank you, Comrade Kaganovich. I’ll keep you informed.”

“Tread carefully, Tatiana. Goodbye.”

The click underlined the statement, and Nazarbayeva stared at the inanimate object, seeking further clarification… which was clearly not forthcoming.

She gently seated the handset, treating it like an unexploded bomb.

“Comrade Poboshkin!”

Her aide appeared in the doorway, and Nazarbayeva waved him to a seat.

“Number six has proved… err… interesting… and supports our theory. Comrade Kaganovich is confirming the information right now. It appears that the British are having a service of thanksgiving for the end of the Japanese conflict, on Sunday… this Sunday… July 27th.”

“Right…”

“Kaganovich’s agent is a British policeman… their London police force… he has seen the dignitaries list…”

“Let me guess, Comrade… might it contain numerous senior commanders of the American forces that we have as possibly being replaced by Germanski units?”

“Not quite, Comrade, not numerous… all.”

“What?”

“According to Kaganovich, the list specifies senior officers from the 12th Army Group… every corps commander, army commander, except that ass Patton, plus Bradley, Eisenhower, and even Bedell-Smith.”

Poboshkin was speechless.

“Eisenhower and Bedell-Smith… well… they can get by without them… but taking out nearly every other senior commander. Even if they leave experienced second in commands in charge… well… it’s without precedent.”

“Not if the Americans are out of the line…”

He paused as his mind flicked a switch.

“Or if the attention of our army is going to be focussed elsewhere.”

“As we suspected, Comrade, the two things are interlinked. We have all missed the probable expansion of the Germanski forces, and it is they who are going to launch the attacks now, a situation we have contrived by the success of the Vasilevsky plan to target the Amerikanski.”

“Now we know what to look for, I’m sure we’ll find more evidence, Comrade Mayor General.”

“We better had, because I’m flying to Moscow tomorrow, and I want to take as much proof as I possibly can.”

“Then I’ll get back to my desk… if there’s nothing else, Comrade?”

“Get me everything you can, Andrey Ivanovich. Everything you can.”

The patient’s eyes flickered, implying that he was waking up, something that immediately prompted the nurse to summon the doctor.

Emaciated by the after-effects of disease and the terrors of the Russian Front, the medical Captain limped over and examined the medical miracle that was Hubert Aschmann.

Punctured in a dozen places, Aschmann had received the largest quantity of blood anyone in the experienced German medical facility could remember.

He was now without some God-given parts of his body, such as spleen, a portion of liver, part of his intestine, a thumb, an ear lobe, six teeth, and a testicle.

Bordered in red, the tag still affixed to the shredded remains of his tunic, informed anyone with half an eye that he had been close to the end, as if the state of the tunic itself was not enough evidence of his luck.

“Well, Herr Oberleutnant, you’ve been one hell of a lucky man.”

As he spoke, the doctor examined the wound sites, each revealed in turn by the beaming nurse.

“No infection… none whatsoever… testament to the pharmaceuticals supplied by our Allies… and the diligence of our nurses, especially Agnetha here.”

Her smile broadened with the clear recognition of her efforts by the unit’s top battle surgeon.

Speech for Aschmann was a studied affair, although he managed unexpected clarity.

“I’m thirsty.”

A glass of water magically appeared and the nurse held his head to allow him to savour the cold fluid.

“Thank you. How long have I been here, Doc?”

“Two days, give or take a minute or two. Nurse, I think this needs more frequent dressing.”

“It will be done, Herr Hauptmann.”

Aschmann looked extremely concerned, as Doctor Grüber had been fiddling with items of great importance to the as yet unmarried man.

“Calm yourself, Aschmann, don’t look so glum. It will still all work and will be hardly noticeable… provided our nurse gives the area the attention it deserves.”

Agnetha Folstein blushed heavily.

A noise behind the two clinicians grew into raucous laughter, and quickly drew out the different side of Hauptmann Grüber.

“Silence! What the hell do you think this is, a Scheisse kindergarten? It’s a hospital, now shut up or I’ll sign you off and send you back to fight the communists!”

The laughter dropped to sniggers immediately, sniggers that grew in volume until they manifested into the bandaged personas of Janjowski and Von Scharf.

“I’d watch this one I were you, Nurse Folstein. He’s a terror… and still available. I can protect you, of course.”

Aschmann laughed at Janjowski’s humour and went to playfully punch his arm, but failed miserably.

“Lie still, you fool!”

Hubert Aschmann took some time to examine his left arm and realised it was immobilised.

Grüber answered his question.

“You lost the thumb, and both the hand and arm are broken. Nothing dramatic, Oberleutnant, just messy, so I wanted it all immobilised… so there it is. Everything will work… given a little time, of which you’ll have plenty.”

He looked at the two waiting officers and decided on discretion.

“I’ll leave you three to it… but Nurse Folstein’s word is law, and if you give her any trouble, then I’ll hear about it. Klar?”

They mumbled their responses through smiles and waited until the Doctor had left the bedside.

Aschmann coughed a greeting, and felt pain shoot through his body.

“Steady, Hubert. I know you’re pleased to see me but stay calm, man!”

Another bout of coughing brought Aschmann time to conjure a response.

He first worked his jaw to make sure he would manage the words he had selected.

“Up yours, Kas.”

Janjowski sat on the bed, contrary to ward rules, resting his damaged leg, whilst Von Scharf placed an inflatable ring on a folding chair and lowered himself onto it with great care.

He caught Aschmann’s quizzical eye.

“If you say one fucking word, it’ll be the penal bataillons for you.”

Janjowski made a great play of hiding his mouth from view, but stage whispered so that even his words penetrated the bandaged head of a ‘Berlin’ Division Grenadier officer at the end of the ward.

“Hit in the ass. Can you believe it, eh? Managed to get all of his towering bulk into cover, but left his little button up so Ivan could put some shrapnel right on the bull’s eye.”

Von Scharf growled playfully.

“There are vacancies for Leutnants as well as Oberleutnants in the penal units… remember that before you flap your lips.”

“Excuse him, Hubert, he’s very tired.”

“Shut up, you schwein. How are you feeling, Aschmann?”

He could feel the stitches pull as he talked, so tried to move his jaw less.

For some reason, his companions ignored the resulting unintended comedy voice.

“Like shit to be honest. What happened on that fucking hill?”

“They hit us with a full regiment of Stalin’s Organs. We lost a lot of good boys.”

Their humour turned to silent regret as silent faces came into their minds.

“Keller?”

Von Scharf shook his head, displaying a smile that split him from ear to ear.

“He’s on another ward here. There’s a communal area where you can take in a cigarette and a drink… non-alcoholic of course… I ran into him there this very morning. He’s well… well… as well as can be expected. He got it in the back and legs. Not serious apparently. Schneider’s here too.”

Even though it hurt, he made sure his words were pronounced clearly.

“He did well in the battle, Herr Hauptmann. I’ll write him up as soon as…”

He went to hold up his left hand… and remembered he couldn’t.

“As soon as I’ve learned to write right-handed.”

“From what I hear, everyone did very well… except some idiotic swine who decided to go on an Olympic sprint just because he was pleased to see the boys in black grace the battlefield.”

Aschmann was on the cusp of biting, then realised his commander was simply baiting him.

“I confess… the excitement of seeing the death or glory Hussars simply overtook me, Herr Hauptmann.”

Serious for a moment, Von Scharf eased his damaged posterior and leant forward to squeeze Aschmann’s shoulder.

“It was a good effort, Hubert. A damn fine effort.”

That it had failed was also true, but not because of a lack of effort or a lack of bravery on Aschmann’s part.

“Anyone of the other rogues here, Herr Hauptmann?”

“Hauptmann Sauber is here. Not good. Part of our regimental headquarters was moving up and got caught in the barrage. I’ve heard that Bremer was badly wounded… not sure about that. Sauber’s very chewed up. Oh, and that Signaller Finze is here too. He’ll be getting a write-up from me… one of many.”

Janjowski pulled out a notebook and showed it to Aschmann.

“Without any testimonial from you or your company, I’ve already got seventy-six recommendations down here…”

Von Scharf cut in.

“I decided that Kasper needed gainful employment, so he’s collating all the reports for the Third Bataillon, seeing as most of it’s in the facility.”

There was no real humour in his statement.

“Third was flayed by the rocket strike. With those we lost repelling the attacks, the Bataillon is combat ineffective. In fact, there’s a rumour going round that the whole division is going to be broken up.”

“Why?”

“After we got swatted off the hill, the rest of the division got bogged down in some heavy fighting to the east. Shitty stuff, from what we hear. There’s quite a few of ours in here from the other units. Tales run from Soviet counter-attacks with waves of tanks, horrendous artillery, down to a terrible error by our RAF friends.”

“English bastards!”

The words were spat from the mouth of a bandaged man in the bed across from Aschmann.

He said no more and dropped back onto his bed, exhausted by the small effort.

“From what we hear, RAF ground aircraft dropped fire bombs and high-explosive all over the 897th’s assault elements and the Feldersatz-Bataillon. Over four hundred killed and many, many wounded. Stopped the attack in its tra…”

“We shot down four… four of… of the bastards though…”

The bandaged man again collapsed, this time expressing blood and mucus with each convulsion.

Folstein arrived from nowhere and tended to the dying man.

They watched as an injection was administered, bringing peace to the tortured body.

Von Scharf stood gingerly.

“Anyway, Hubert. I feel the need to stretch my legs. I’ll drop back in later. Rest up and get yourself better, Kamerad.”

Janjowski also took his leave, and the two continued on their rounds of the wounded survivors of Third Battalion, a process that took a lot less time than they had hoped.

As a result of an investigation into the circumstances surrounding the battle on and around Height 462, the loss of the panzer force, and the high casualties sustained by 266th Infanterie Division, no blame was laid on any of the senior DRH officer.

The commanding officer of the typhoon wing that inflicted the horrendous casualties on the 266th, two of the squadron leaders, the ground attack sector commander, and the RAF forward liaison officer were all put before a courts-martial, where only the FLO was acquitted.

The German Council received a written apology from no lesser person than Prime Minister Winston Churchill, hand-delivered by Tedder, with endorsements by Eisenhower and himself.

The 266th Infanterie Division was disbanded, and its personnel spread between other units, preserving them in their integral company and battalion formations where possible. Von Scharf’s Third Battalion was not allocated to any new formation but, by the direct order of Guderian, was saved from disbandment, and preserved as a special purpose unit until further notice.

Oberst Bernd Freytag von Loringhoven, after a painstaking process of sifting through numerous reports, submitted a list of recommendations to Feldmarschal Guderian, which was signed off with relish.

When those named on the list were fit enough, there was a formal parade and presentation, to honour the new recipients of the Knight’s Cross, and other medals and awards.

The actions and courage of Hauptmann Werner von Scharf, 47th Recipient of the Knight’s Cross, Oberleutnants Hubert Aschmann and Erich Horstbeck, 48th and 49th recipients respectively, Leutnant Kasper Janjowski, 50th recipient, and Gefreiter Gustav Schneider, the most junior rank to receive the award in the new DRH and its 51st recipient, were honoured in the extended ceremony, where the conduct and bravery of one hundred and fourteen Third Battalion soldiers was recognised.

However, before anyone else would receive their awards, pride of place went to Stabsfeldwebel Hermann Keller, 1st recipient of the Oak leaves to the Knight’s Cross of the new German Republic, who became, as a result, the most highly decorated NCO in the DRH.

Once the ceremony was over, the officers, NCOs, and men of Third Battalion gathered together as comrades to remember lost friends, celebrate new awards, and drink to their own survival.

It was, perhaps, a sign of the undaunted fighting spirit and comradeship of the survivors of the Battle of Height 462, that the noisiest and most raucous celebrations accompanied toasts to the award of the black wound badge to Erich Horstbeck.