Stalemate (The Red Gambit Series) (37 page)

“Alkonost has never made an operational spelling mistake before, and only once during training.”

He shuffled through a report originating from the Agent in charge of her American training programme, and read the relevant line.

“
In a speed typing test, the word ‘Goebbels’ was misspelt, omitting one ‘B’. Operative confirmed it to be a simple error.”

Stalin clearly drew on a dead pipe, and coughed his way through the relighting process, whilst Beria waited, ready to continue.

“The available means of informing us of duress are unused. There are a number of ways that could be done, although,” he conceded, “If the Americanski controlled our agent, some, not all, might prove difficult to conceal.”

He shied away from Stalin’s unwavering gaze, pretending to read a few more lines of the report.

“I see nothing here to throw doubt on the information. However, I do feel some unease here, Comrade General Secretary.”

Stalin’s eyes sparkled, enthused by
the discomfort of his Chief of Spies.

“Calm yourself, Lavrenty, calm yourself. If this message was an attempt to mislead us, would it say that
their own project was disabled by errors? No, I think not. It would speak of their progress and readiness.”

Beria could not argue against that.

Turning to Malenkov, the Soviet leader silently sought a response.

“I think you are right, Comrade General Secretary. Comrade Beria’s assurance
and your logic is enough for me.”

There had been great debate over what, if anything, should be fed back to the NKVD. A number of important participants felt that it would be far better to do nothing, and that utilising the Soviet agent to send disinformation was playing with fire on a grander scale than the world had ever known.

A decision had to be made.

Either abandon the opportunity or use it. If the decision was to use it, then something had to be done quickly, or the turned agent would be out of touch for too long to maintain usefulness, and her absence could have been seen as suspect.

The eventual decision was to allay the USSR’s fears about Allied progress, and introduce the geometric and ignition failures, with the secondary hope that Soviet scientists might commence their own review, causing further delay to their project. Further lines of disinformation would be cultivated and fed into the exchange at a later date.

“So, what brings you to my door so early, General?”

As was his normal style, Gehlen said nothing as he sorted through his small briefcase, extracting the set of photos that were the subject of his visit.

Rossiter took in the details of the first shot.

“Ah, Major Savitch, we meet again.”

The picture showed the NKVD officer presiding over the hanging of some unfortunate individual.

The rest of the pictures were of the remains of the village of Fischausen, shots apparently taken of ruined buildings
, and a handful of complete dwellings, which just happened to also illustrate the defensive positions and other things of interest to anyone planning to visit the area.

“Excellent work
, General. I hope your agent is ok?”

Gehlen nodded.

“I assume there is something else?”

“My agent informs me
that, according to Savitch, discussions are underway to bring all family members of known serving German officers into one camp.”

That would be bad news for Operation
Sycamore.

“Our attempt to provide advance evidence of Werewolf activity may have backfired on us
, Oberstleutnant Rossiter. Some additional units have been sent to the area, which we anticipated of course, but…”

That had been a calculated risk,
but creating a ‘history’ of partisan activity would help satisfy the Swedish need for the operation to appear German in origin.

Leaving the last word hanging in the air, Gehlen produced another three photographs from the set.

The armoured cars in two of the pictures started the bad news rolling, a post with two quadruple Maxims AA mounts completing the recent arrivals at Fischafen.

“My agent also took these two pictures. I suggest they stay between us.”

Rossiter looked at the first, and then the second, incredulous. In the initial shot, the identity of the man was unclear, although certainly a man in Soviet uniform. What was without question was the identity of the woman performing the sexual act.

The second was more revealing, taken from further back and brin
ging the window frame into view. Precise, in focus and unequivocal, the agent had perfectly captured Frau Greta Knocke’s act of oral sex on Major Savitch of the NKVD.

“Jesus.”

“My agent observed for a while,” Gehlen could imagine that the photographer observed for as long as possible, and also retained copies of the shots for his own enjoyment, “And states that Frau Knocke appeared to be a willing participant.”

“Jesus.”

Gehlen remained silent, waiting for Rossiter to deal with the discovery.

“OK, we bury these,” he waved the pornographic shots, “And we say no more about it. Things may not be as we see here, and we cannot judge. Leave it to Knocke and her to sort out in time. Agreed?”

“Most certainly, Oberstleutnant Rossiter.”

‘Do you keep mentioning my rank because you’re a General
, eh?’

“So, we have new forces in situ
, but now we have excellent information of their set-up. Combine these with the photo-recce shots and we should be able to put a good plan together, and put it together quickly.”

Speed was obviously now essential.

The photo-recce mission had been a thing of beauty, a squadron of RAF Mosquitoes being tasked to attack the Kaliningrad harbours, a mission that they did not press home with their normal vigour.

The retreating aircraft flew straight back home, well almost, passing directly over the village of Fischafen
, where the photo-recce aircraft that had hidden in plain sight within the larger formation did its vital work, without giving away its presence and alerting the Soviets.

“I will get the rest of these to our assault force
, and to Trannel. What help can we hope for from your agent on the night? Can he or she get involved?”

Gehlen had the answer at his fingertips.

“Yes indeed.”

Seeking out one of the photos, he handed it to Rossiter, who was annoyed to see a marking he had missed on first sight.

Sorting out the appropriate recon photo, Gehlen made a similar marking.

“This house is on the edge of the village as you can see. This area here,” Gehlen tapped the open ground, “Is considered suitable for the Achgelis to land. The lights will be on in this building.”

Rossiter looked at the two photos, one in each hand.

“Blackout? Won’t the police be all over them for showing light?”

Gehlen managed not to smile too triumphantly.

“That building is the temporary Police Station. My agent is the local Police Officer.”

Rossiter considered that for a moment.

‘That’s why he could move about freely. Or She obviously?’

“A man?”

“Yes, just so. Recently retired
, but reactivated by his sense of duty to the Fatherland, and his association with Savitch..”

‘And my knowledge of his shady past.’

“OK. ‘Sycamore’ is live, and the clock is running.”

There was no more to be said
, and so much more to be done.

“Well that’s the bare bones, George, but we can’t possibly start thinking about it until we have sorted out the mess we find ourselves in right now.”

Eisenhower had travelled to Patton’s headquarters to give him the heads-up on the
future assault tasking, as well as delivering encouragement to continue in the defence.

He decided to ignore recent events in Southern
Germany, where the Third had counter-attacked to mixed results.

“Well
, that’s fine, Ike, but still I think the best way to sort out this cluster-fuck is to pull me outta the line completely now, gimme time to sort my formation out, and then slot me back in when I’m ready to kick ass.”

This was typical Patton.

“We are moving units up from Alexander’s command, round Switzerland and into the line here. When I can spare you, the Third will be withdrawn and made ready, ok George?”

He hadn’t meant it to sound like a question
, but it did.

Before Patton could take advantage of the slip, the phone on the General
’s desk erupted into urgent clamouring.

“Patton.... Kenneth
...yes he is...one moment.”

Handing the receiver to his superior, Patton waited for his moment.

It never came.

“I see.”

Eisenhower’s face was like thunder.

“And that is confirmed?”

His free hand became occupied with the extraction and lighting of a cigarette, a pleasure he normally avoided in Patton’s headquarters.

“And when will they deign to make the official announcement?”

The reply was obviously unsatisfactory.

“We
’ll find out very quickly, General Strong.”

Inhaling the smoke deeply, Eisenhower nodded unconsciously.

“I would think that is a possibility, wouldn’t you? Get on that, and get some Intel firmed up very quickly Kenneth.”

Taking a final deep draw, the Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces in Europe made his parting shot.

“Thank you Kenneth. I’m with General Patton, so I’ll brief him personally, but pass that to all other commands immediately. I will contact Alexander myself. Now get me that information, before we find ourselves with a disaster on our hands.”

Replacing the receiver with the utmost care, Eisenhower took a draw on his new cigarette before apprising the Third Army commander.

“George, it seems our Italian Allies are about to go neutral on us. Restricted movements, no over flights, territorial waters et cetera.”

“Yellow sons of bitches, and always have been
, Ike.”

“My guess is the
Soviets know, or are even party to this.”

Patton lapsed into uncharacteristic silence.

Eisenhower, unused to the lack of fighting talk, concentrated on his cigarette, whilst Patton completed his mental reasoning.

“You think the Commies are coming through Northern Italy
sometime soon?”

Exhaling deeply, a light coughing prevented him from answering immediately, during which time Patton rummaged around and pulled out a map of Italy
, a relic from his days in Sicily, pinning it to the wall with overly dramatic hand actions.

“George, they have two large for
mations just sat there”, Ike circled the areas containing the 1st Alpine and 1st South European Fronts.

“We thought they were for screening should the Yugoslavians start playing up, or as feeder formations to replace their losses in Europe. There’s even another, smaller formation here.” He accurately placed Tolbukhin’s small 1st Balkan Front.

“We have been removing formations from the 15th Army Group, feeding them into the line north of Switzerland.”

Patton knew this. Indeed, he had received one of the formations himself.

“15th is down by nearly 40%, and now definitely minus the Italian manpower.”

“They counted for diddly squat
anyhow, Ike.”

Patton had met the Italian soldier in Sicily
, and immediately developed contempt for his capabilities in the field.

“The
Germans are not yet deployed, but I daresay Alexander has them spoken for in some way. All we have new are the Spanish units moving through North Italy, mainly inexperienced, and training on the march.”

Both men dropped into silence, poring over the old map, desperately trying to unlock its secrets.

“Where exactly is the line in the Alps, Ike?”

A marking was made from memory.

Patton thought out loud.

“Plain as day when you look at it right. Sons of bitches have kept this one close since day one
, I’ll bet.”

Running his finger along the marking Eisenhower had just made, Patton put into words each man’s thoughts, or more precisely, fears.

“They have pushed through Southern Germany, never turning south. Our Alpine line is secure, we think, as they display no interest. Here, in Austria, they have pinned our units in place, and we have congratulated ourselves for our successful defence.”