Stalemate (The Red Gambit Series) (14 page)

Colonel
Törget took his time reading the file, asking a clarifying question here and there, until placing the file on the heavy pine table, left open at a schematic that he would revisit shortly.

“So
, Sam. You need us to permit this purely on travel distance grounds?”

“No, but we are allowing for
any possible enemy presence that could intercept the operation if it was run from Denmark.”

Trannel shifted slightly,
betraying his discomfort.

Yes
, there were the fuel issues, but distance also greatly concerned him, despite the stated range of his aircraft.

Switching to perfect
German, not textbook, but as it would have been spoken in a bar in Hamburg, Törget tackled the Luftwaffe officer, presently dressed as a Major in the Norwegian Air Force.

“You think otherwise
, Herr Oberst? Perhaps you think that distance is also an issue?”

Trannel no
dded, whilst Rossiter noted that the Swede had done his homework.

“Yes
, Sir. We have been trying to work extra fuel aboard the aircraft, but we may have additional weight on the return journey. The situation is complicated by unknowns.”

Looking at Rossiter, he received an indication to proceed.

“The ‘objects’ we are collecting,” he employed the terminology that had been agreed upon, lest any hint of the plan escape, “Are unknown to us. The weight of fuel we will use en route is set to within 3%, depending on headwinds, which is an issue that could cause us additional problems, as my aircraft are highly affected by adverse wind conditions.”

Törget
permitted himself a swift look at the page he had left open before refocusing on the German.

“Our best guess is that the ‘objects’ will weigh in at more than the fuel, but only by a small amount. My unit is presently running tests to check fuel consumption under the weight conditions we anticipate.”

He stopped, taking inboard some fluid, offering the two senior men a similar opportunity.

“At this time
, the operation is not feasible from Denmark. It is feasible from Sweden, and time is not on our side.”

The intelligence Colonel nodded, his reaction plainly one of understanding
, rather than of agreement.

“My country has had a protocol in place
with the Allies since 1944, regarding aircraft landings and routes of flight. What you propose is outside of that arrangement. A mission directly into Soviet territory that is likely to end up in a firefight, or worse. A mission based in a neutral country that has absolutely no wish to become involved in this latest abhorrence!”

Trannel looked away, whereas as Sam Rossiter held his ground.

“Why on earth are you coming to us...no...why on earth are you coming to me with this request? Go to the Government, I can do nothing here.”

“This is why I have come directly to you
, Per.”

Rossiter opened his case again, removing a file with a picture of someone intimately known to the Commander o
f Swedish Military Intelligence. He handed it over and settled back to await the explosion.

Törget
spent a moment looking at the photograph of a senior Swedish military figure. Opening the folder, he started to read about his compatriot’s betrayal.

Rossiter revelled in the most overt display of emotion he had ever witnessed from his Swedish friend, small agitated body movements betraying his anger
, until he placed the folder carefully on the table, lining it up perfectly with little movements, buying an extra moment to compose himself.

“Bastard.”

Rossiter could only agree, and he knew that, it not only hurt that Sweden’s Naval Commander was a communist spy, it trebly hurt the efficient spymaster, as he had no idea that Swedish High Command had been so massively penetrated.

“I will check all of this
, of course, but the times you supply will undoubtedly match the records of meetings that my own service has on file.”

Feeling unexpectedly awkward, Rossiter could only mumble agreement.

The Swede made miniscule adjustments to the folder’s positioning once more

“Bastard.”

Törget was already planning a cosy little chat with Admiral Søderling, a chat in which the pleasure would be all his.

“I understand
, Sam. You need access to the military station on the south of Gotland. I can do this in the time frame you suggest, but I will want some of my people there to ensure things go smoothly.”

He recited from memory.

“The refuelling station can easily be set up near Karlskrona; in fact there is a secure area that is perfect for our needs.”

The use of the word ‘our’ was wasted on
no one. Törget was fully onboard.

“I will provide medical facilities to welcome the ‘objects’.”

Graciously accepted, Sam Rossiter had expected the cunning spymaster to know exactly what the mission was bringing back.

He
waited for the Swede’s conditions, for he knew there would be some.

“This mission must be unattributable to Sweden in any way whatsoever. That is not negotiable.
This folder will guarantee the compliance of my government.”

He paused to look again on the face of the traitor staring up at him from the folder, the smiling face antagonising him.

“I insist that the personnel used wear German uniforms, and conduct this under the guise of the old Nazi regime. If it is attributable to the new republic, the Allies, or ourselves, there will be hell to pay.”

“Agreed”, the word slipped Rossiter’s lips so fast that the Swede understood that was already in the planning, and had been omitted from the brief in front of him.

A third folder was placed before him, containing details of the small force of men that would carry out the mission, men who had once worn the hated uniform of the Waffen-SS.

‎
Törget swiftly scanned the personnel details and set the folder aside, the uppermost picture being that of the mission leader, an ex-SS officer, Ukrainian by birth. According to his swift appraisal, the man had been given the Silver Star by Eisenhower shortly after the start of the war.

“He seems an interesting fellow.”

Lassiter could only agree.

“I have great plans for him, Per.”

The Swede retrieved a small silver bell, previously hidden behind the table’s floral display.

Before the sound died, the door opened
, and fresh coffee appeared, the orderly retreating before another word was spoken.

“Of course, I must know, the ‘objects’. Who are they, Sam?”

“A family.”

Rossiter answered reluctantly, knowing he was about to be pressed
, and knowing that he would give in.

“Which family might that be
, I wonder?”

The piercing blue eyes bored into the Marine, seeking clues, finding none.

“Some high-ranking Nazi? Some General?”

Rossiter fished in his case one final time, extracting a folder heavy with no
tations, keeping the nametag away from Törget’s sight.

He removed two pictures, one recently acquired
, and one copied from an original in the possession of a former enemy.

“I do not know these people.”

He studied the new photograph closely.

“
But I do know the Russian. NKVD Major Savitch. He has his hands dirty from Katyn onwards. Any special jobs, he is one of those who get the call.”

Passing the photos back, the Swede shook his head.

“If that piece of rubbish is involved, you can rest assured he will have orders to kill them if there is any sign of trouble, and also know that he will do it.”

Rossiter restored the photos to the file.

“So, whoever he is, is he worth the risk we are all taking?”

Strangely,
for him, the Marine changed his mind, extracting the photo of a man in uniform.

“Ah! Now I understand.”

The Swede returned the grainy photograph immediately.

“Colonel Knocke, a worthy adversary to you and the Russians, now fighting under the banner of the French
, if my information is correct.”

It
was not often you got to score a point over Törget, so Rossiter savoured the moment.

“Indeed he is, but
he outranks us both now, as he’s a Brigadier-General in the Army of France.”

Törget
conceded the point graciously.

Sipping his coffee, he slipped easily to the next point, bringing Oberst Trannel back into the discussion.

“So, Herr Trannel, this,” he twisted his head slightly to quote from the schematic of the unusual aircraft drawing, “This Achgelis. What sort of strange bird is he?”

Trannel, now in his comfort zone, leant forward and spoke confidently.

“The Focke-Achgelis is a helicopter, Herr Oberst.”

             
The meeting continued for some hours, the operational capability of the Fa233 helicopter taking some time to explain, its specific needs at the landing stations laid out by the Luftwaffe officer.

Colonel
Törget stood watching the Northrop from the pier, the small aircraft disappearing into the growing darkness for its return journey to Norwegian air space.

They had set a timescale
, and a first possible date for the mission, if all went well. His orders were already flowing, carefully worded, restricted to a few trusted individuals.

His mind was full of SS Colonels, pretty little girls
, and helicopters, the intended mission being a challenge for him personally, as well as risking much for his nation.

His mind cleared, focussing on the single folder that was still sitting on the table in the drawing room, and then it became once more absorbed, turning to how best employ the gift he had been given.

Admiral Søderling.

‘Bastard’.

The force holding Langwedel had been exterminated, Guardsmen from the Guards Armoured Division, stood and fought to the last man, desperate to permit their commanders to establish a strong defensive line on the Kiel Canal, some ten miles to the north-west.

The
Soviets had stopped, the darkness preventing them from understanding the completeness of their victory.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, a scratch force was hastily assembled and rushed to fill
the gap between the two lakes; Brahmsee to the south-west, and Manhagenersee to the north-east, the distance between the two bodies of water a mere twenty-two hundred feet.

Their orders were simple.

Hold at all costs.

The
Soviet Lieutenant-Colonel understood his orders perfectly.

Attack and break the British position as quickly as possible, outflanking and turning the left flank of the solid position at Eisendorf. Open the road to the canal, permitting follow up forces to attack before the British had completed their fortification of the imposing obstacle.

He had been given units from the Army reserve, both of which were impressive on paper, but less so in the flesh.

The tanks of the 249th Tank Regiment had already been badly
mauled by the 11th Armoured Division, and were now formed into two platoons equipped with both 76mm and 85mm T34’s.

The 60th Guards Mortar’s were reasonably intact, despite having sustained some casualties from accurate counter-battery fire, the bane of all
Soviet artillery units since day one of the war.

His own regiment had lost its 1st Battalion in the meat grinder of Neumunster, and, even though the 19th Guards Rifle Corps had scarcely been involved, none of his fellow leader
’s commands had come away unscathed from the awful fighting there.

The surviving 2nd and 3rd Battalions had absorbed the few survivors of 1st, but both battalions were still significantly reduced in manpower and weaponry. Although their fighting spirit was not in question, Arsevin had requested more bodies. The request was swiftly answered
, and a company of penal troops was sent to bolster his force.

A late adjustment was required when an extra company of engineers was also given to him for the attack.

As the command group broke up, he reflected upon the plan.

The initial bomba
rdment from the 60th’s Katyushas would blast the positions hugging the Manhagener See, entrenched infantry from what the hasty reconnaissance indicated.

The Penal Company and the engineers, each supported by a platoon of 76mm T34’s, would demonstrate noisily against the position, hoping to pin the enemy force in place, as well as draw some reserves across.