Stalemate (The Red Gambit Series) (50 page)

“Please get
Marshal Tedder, Generals Vietinghoff, Bedell-Smith, and Robertson. Tell them I want to see them immediately in my office.”

The Canadian Women’s Army Corps officer saluted and sped away on her mission.

“Can this information be consistently presented in time for us to act on it?”

“Sir, we can set up a radio system at best. Failing that, messages can be on your desk less than two hours from when the
Soviets sent it.”

Eisenhower held out a steady hand
, directing the Naval officer to somewhere quieter.

“Shall we, Sir Roger?”

The two disappeared into the private office, joined, within four minutes, by the chosen men.

The value of the new intelligence was grasped quickly
, and the group broke up, each man understanding that the Allies had been handed an excellent opportunity to hurt the enemy, and how much depended on their ability to use it quickly and effectively.

Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but in rising up every time we fail.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

2ND RED BANNER ARMY OF SOVIET EUROPE - MARSHAL KONEV

Around him, the headquarters buzzed with low voices, but the Corps Commander’s attention was elsewhere.

Lieutenant General Matthew Ridgeway examined the situation map, his battered corps reflected in the coloured markings spread across eastern Holland.

The only formation available to plug the gap had been the 18th Airborne Corps, so, though it pained him beyond measure, Eisenhower had sent the Paratroopers into the fight, immersing them in a battle for which they were not designed.

Ridgeway ran his fingers over the maps contours, the rivers, the roads
, and the villages, his face steady as his mind worked the problems raised by the Soviet breakthroughs.

All three major formations had suffered heavy losses as they struggled
, and failed, to hold back the advance of Konev’s soldiers.

17th US Airborne Division had been knocked back towards the Maas
, and was hanging onto a line from Margraten, through Valkenburg to Beek, whilst also managing to maintain contact with the neighbouring 101st Airborne at Spaubeek.

The ‘Screaming Eagles’ troopers had fought hard, but even they had given ground under the huge stream-rolling assaults.

The battered division held a front of nearly twenty miles, from their tenuous contact with the 17th at Beek, curving eastwards through Hegge, Merkelbeek and Gangelt, before turning back west through Saeffelen and terminating at Sint Odilienberg, secured on the banks of the River Rur.

North from the Rur River, the defences of the 6th Airborne Division, bolstered by numerous smaller armoured and anti-tank units, held the line firmly against firm
, but substantially less pressure.

The 35th British Armoured Brigade, assigned from 21st Army Group, was
reformed enough to provide armoured support to the Red Berets, new tanks and crewmen filling out its ranks to nearly three-quarters strength.

Early on, ‘Fallschirm Regiment Von der Heydte’ had been transferred into the rear of the 101st
, to act as a reserve, and more small independent units, some of them fully armoured, were sent forward to bolster the lightly-armed airborne soldiers,.

Four Belgian Fusilier Battalions were sent to pad out the 17th Airborne’s front line,
a fifth dispatched to the 101st’s area.

Elements of the 31st US AAA Brigade were at
Ridgeway’s disposal, the light flak guns perfect for dealing with infantry attacks, the heavier weapons tasked with keeping the Red tanks at bay.

The 4th US Infantry Division had recently arrived from the States, and was slated for his command
, once it had disembarked, a task made more difficult by the fact that Antwerp was still not fully functional since the Germans had damaged it. Occasional acts of sabotage there testified to the continued presence of communist sympathisers, but did little to affect the steady flow of troops, equipment, and supplies.

A heavy rumble of
thunder drew his attention.

‘Or is it artillery?’

Standing upright and easing his back, Ridgeway looked out of the window, watching with interest, as a smoke cloud developed in the driving rain, a downpour that was keeping aircraft on the ground, both sides of the front line.

‘Not thunder then. Artillery.’

He pulled himself away from the sight and returned to the map, sparing a quick thought for whatever asset he had just lost.

A startled voice cut through the general hubbub.

“Are you sure? That can’t be right!”

Ridgeway ran his hand carefully over his shoulder, conscious of the wounds still healing, a
German grenade coming close to terminating his life during Operation Varsity in March 1945.

“Well
, you goddamn better firm that up, Lieutenant.”

Tossing the handset down, the staff Captain suddenly became aware that he was the centre of attention in a silent room.

Ridgeway raised a questioning eyebrow.

The Captain moved swiftly to the map, drawing Ridgeway’s eyes to the location in question.

“Sir, confused reports from one of our units on Route 56. Positioned just outside Süsterseel, they report seeing Soviet tanks and infantry on a broad front ranging from the north-east to south-east, coming from Gangelt.”

“Gangelt?”

“Yessir, so he says.”

“Which unit are you talking about
, Captain?”

“Divisional Band
, Sir.”

Ridgeway silenced the sniggers from a number of junior officers with an unwavering glare.

“The Divisional Band?”

“Yess
ir, Captain Jarrold commanding, although I just spoke with a Lieutenant Jones, as Jarrold has gone missing.”

“Get that firmed up right now,” Ridgeway jerked a finger at the staff captain.

Another swift appreciation of the map and the commander asked, of no one in particular, “Who do we got at Gangelt?”

“George Company, 2nd of the 327th, 101st, Sir.”

‘The glider boys.’

“Get them on the horn immediately!”

Another Captain stepped forward.

“Sir, we can’t get hold of them, Sir.”

Realising his voice had displayed the stress of the moment, the officer took a deep breath and spoke in a lower more controlled tone.

“Sir, Colonel Harper’s been trying to get them for twenty minutes now.”

‘Bud is on the case already.’

The command phone rang, its noisy jangling
all invasive, seemingly louder than the sound of the other phones that started to ring, or the radios that started to burst into frantic life around the headquarters.

“Ridgeway.”

It wasn’t necessary to listen in to what was being said to know that it was bad news.

Ridgeway’s face went suddenly dark.

The man at the other end stopped to receive another report, before updating his Corps commander.

Adjusting the map on his desk, Ridgeway married the spoken word to the printed paper, developing more understanding of the precarious position that was unfolding.

“What can you do about it, Max?”

Ridgeway grimaced, partially at the reply he received from the commander of the 101st, and partially at the growing number of officers waiting to relay information.

“I agree. Look Max, all hell seems to have broken loose at the moment, and I need time to see the whole picture. For now, stop them before the river, but get the bridges ready, understand?”

The commander’s eyes narrowed and he looked more closely at the map.

“Süsterseel? Apparently you have your damn band there, Max?”

A cough from one of his officers drew Ridgeway’s attention.

“One moment, Max.”

“Sir, I can’t get Lieutenant Jones back on the radio.”

‘Spit it out man!’

“And what else?”

“There are reports from the 907th Artillery, placing Russian tanks at Tüddern, Sir.”

Acknowledging with the slightest of nods, Ridgeway
remembered that Tüddern was west of Süsterseel. Taking a deep breath, he faced the inevitability of the situation head-on.

“Ok then
, Max. Süsterseel is probably gone already and the Commies are at Tüddern, according to unconfirmed reports. You will hold Sittard-Geleen at all costs. I want those bridges ready to blow, but you must retain control of the roads. Hold them there at all costs. I will get everything that I have that’s spare to you, as soon as I can get it in the saddle.”

Ridgeway started shaking his head.

“No. You must stand, Max.”

The momentary flash of anger that crossed Ridgeway’s face went undetected.

“Yes, Max, and if it becomes another Bastogne then so be it. The 101st will hold until relieved.”

The moment passed.

“Good luck to you, Max.”

Replacing the receiver, Ridgeway could understand Maxwell Taylor’s reluctance to risk his division having to endure another
encirclement, particularly when the Allies did not possess the ready resources that were available in the winter of 1944.

Part of him offered the observation that, at least,
the Eagle’s commander would be involved this time, as General Taylor had missed the deployment of the Screaming Eagles during ‘The Bulge’.

Officers waited expectantly for orders, orders
that immediately started to flow.

“Get the Heydte unit up there pronto.”

The staff officer looked at the point indicated and went off to get the German paratrooper unit on the road.

As each order came, staff officers took it
onboard and actioned their General’s commands.

It
did not take long, as 18th Corps was spread pretty thin, but at least Ridgeway had reacted quickly to the threat to the Maas.

It was some time before he realised that he was
already too late.

Randolph Black was wide-eyed, despite the rivers of water than ran off him.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Fucked if I know, Sarge, but now it’s dead, ain’t it?”

That could not be denied,
as the unknown light tank was wreathed in flames, two bazooka hits having stopped it dead on the road, just before the junction with Aan het Broek.

The hissing of water turning to steam on the super-heated metal
rose above the sound of the torrential rain.

The
Soviet Union had stopped producing light tanks in 1943, but they kept everything, and the T-80 that was presently incinerating its dead crew was a prime example of their habit of using everything they had, and never throwing anything away.

“Call it in, Cowboy.”

The corporal radio operator got through to his company headquarters with the contact report.

The Sergeant doubled back through the undergrowth, finding the mortar platoon
, alert and ready for action.

Slipping into the small bivouac, Black enjoyed a moment out of the driving rain.

“Milletti, stand by now. They’re coming down the north road from Tüddern. Gimme your map.”

The junior Sergeant handed it over
, and Black satisfied himself that the information tallied with his own.

“Set up on ‘Philadelphia’ right now. That seems most likely, Milletti.”