THE FORESIGHT WAR (16 page)

Late in the afternoon, the leading elements of the German force followed the same route.
 
They too were tired, but buoyed by success and the steady flow of supplies reaching them.
 
The British may have dislodged the small forces that took the coastal towns, but a full Division of the Wehrmacht was a different matter altogether.

Sudden bursts of automatic fire echoed across the valley as the flanking ski troops high up the valley sides reached the first Allied outposts.
 
The troops on the road hastily ran for cover to either side, just as the first mortar rounds fell around them.
 
They stayed low as the first of the Panzers drove past them, straight up the road to Kvam, followed by a line of armoured vehicles.

The blast of an explosion under the first tank reverberated around the valley as the mine detonated.
 
The tank slewed sideways then stopped, one track torn off.
 
The second tank tried to manoeuvre around it but there was a sharp ‘bang-bang’ of a high-velocity anti-tank gun and the impact of its shot against armour and the second tank stopped abruptly; a hole punched in the side.
 
The Panzers were beginning to close up behind the blockage when, with a rising snarl of aero engines, four Hurricanes flew low up the valley behind the column; the tearing sound of multiple machine guns, each firing twenty rounds per second, sending exposed infantry flying in bloody disorder.
 
Flame flashed from the wings of the planes as rockets sped forward and down, tearing the column apart with a series of ripping explosions.
 
The hammering of Flak cannon spread through the column and a Hurricane lurched off course, crashing into the valley side.

The Division was just beginning to collect itself after the assault when the first of the barrage of sixty-two pounder artillery shells from the Centaur SPGs began to fall.
 
Kvam would not be a pleasant memory for the Wehrmacht.

‘Not again,’ groaned Don, ‘what is it this time?
 
Is the battle for Kvam over?’
 
Charles stopped shaking him and stood back, his expression grim as Don straightened up from being slumped over the table in the Ops Room.

‘Kvam has been held all right; the Germans have retreated beyond Tretten and are being driven back to Lillehammer.
 
But I didn’t wake you to tell you that.’
 
Don sat upright, sleep vanishing rapidly from his thoughts, and waited.
 
‘Hitler obviously decided that he’d heard enough bad news from Norway.
 
He attacked in the West half an hour ago.’

Hermann was feeling equally sleepless as he sat at the back of the Command Centre, listening to the flood of messages and orders as Fall Gelb, the assault in the West, neared the end of its third day.
 
Stadler strolled over and sat beside him, lighting a fresh cigarette.

‘Don’t look so worried.
 
Everything is going to plan.’

‘Almost too much so.
 
Didn’t the British warn the French?
 
And why aren’t they coming to their aid?
 
They must have known what was going to happen.’

‘Now there are two interesting questions.
 
We have captured some papers which show that the British did indeed warn the French of our thrust through the Ardennes, but the French ignored it.
 
They didn’t think it was possible; their high command was too complacent and far too slow to react when the blow fell.
 
As to why the British aren’t charging in to help the French, well, it could be pique.
 
After all, the French refused to support them over Norway because the British wouldn’t support the French over Poland.
 
Or on the other hand, it could be realism.
 
They must know that they can’t stop us now, particularly not with some of their best Divisions tied down in Norway.’
 
Herrman shifted uneasily.
 
‘The Führer is still angry about that.
 
He had high hopes for Weserübung.’

‘
Don’t worry
about that now, he has other things on his mind.
 
He has given the General Staff four weeks to conquer France, which at the present rate of progress will be more than enough.
 
After that, he will turn his attention to Britain.
 
I wouldn’t be surprised if Britain falls before Norway does.’

The mood in the Ops Room was sombre as the sweeping arrows
indicating
 
the
German advance were marked on the map of France.
 
Don tried to suppress his imagination, to forget the turmoil and tragedy represented by those bold lines, the death and despair flooding the country as the waves of terrified refugees fled before the armies.
 
He struggled to regain his academic objectivity, to remember that this was all part of the plan.
 
He cleared his throat, trying to sound calm.

‘The Germans seem to have stuck to the Sichelschnitt plan, with their main thrust along the Ardennes axis followed by a northward curve to the Channel ports.’

‘Presumably with a different motive this time; they’re not trying to trap us, just to keep us out.’
 
Don noticed that even Charles was beginning to appear slightly unkempt.
 
The tension of the past few days was distracting all of them from normal habits.

‘Any news from “Those
Above
Us”?’

Charles smiled wearily at the reference to the Oversight Committee.
 
‘They’re still fighting their biggest battle so far to prevent the politicians from sending help to France.
 
Even though they know it can’t affect the course of the war, Chamberlain and Halifax are desperate to show that we’re trying.
 
So far we’ve managed to persuade them that, now we’ve got the Germans on the run in Norway, it would be fatal to take the pressure off, so they’ve agreed that our help should be limited to air support.
 
The RAF has been staging attacks on Luftwaffe airfields and trying to pick off German air raids.
 
They’ve also tried to have a go at the advancing Wehrmacht but it’s incredibly difficult.
 
The battlefield is moving so fast that it’s impossible to obtain reliable information about enemy movements.
 
France’s military command structure seems to have collapsed.’

‘Even faster than it did in my time.
 
The Germans are better prepared and equipped, of course, and the French didn’t even have the benefit of being on a war footing when the blitzkrieg started.’

Charles shrugged.
 
‘We warned them as strongly as we could, but they seemed to be so appalled at the prospect of another war that they didn’t want to believe us.
 
Still, look on the bright side.
 
It will all be over for them a lot more quickly this time.’

‘Yes,’ said Mary quietly, ‘and then it will be our turn.’

That evening, Don, Charles and Mary walked back through the darkening streets to their apartment building.
 
Newspaper salesmen were locatable by their brief, unintelligible cries, the just-readable placards telling of successes in Norway, disasters in France.
 
The last light of evening shone on the aquatic shapes of the barrage balloons high above in the multicoloured sky.
 
A few cars grumbled and whined past, their hooded headlamps no more than dim gleams.
 
Don looked puzzled for a moment,
then
laughed.
 
Mary looked surprised and relieved, and hugged his arm.
 
‘Share it with us!’

Don smiled.
 
‘This scene looked so familiar and yet unfamiliar at the same time.
 
It took me a few seconds to work out why.
 
I’ve seen countless old films of wartime London; but always in black and white!’

Charles laughed,
then
seized the moment.
 
‘I’ve been meaning to tell you something.’
 
Enquiring noises.
 
‘My lords and masters have decided that you need a change of scenery.
 
They’re replacing me with a new watchdog.’
 
This time the noises were dismayed.
 
‘Don’t worry,’ he added hastily, ‘I know who they’ve got in mind and he’s a splendid chap. Very keen to meet you. His name’s Philby. Kim Philby…Don, whatever’s the matter?’

They sat tensely in Charles’s flat, trying to absorb the implications of Don’s revelations about the Soviet agent working within the British security services.
 
‘It’s hard to judge how much he knows,’ said Charles slowly.
 
‘Your existence is still officially top secret, with cover stories always used to explain our inside knowledge.
 
He has only been told that he is to act as liaison with an important intelligence source.
 
There can be no doubt, though, that anyone in his position would have pieced things together long ago.’

Don took another large swig of whisky.
 
‘We can assume that whatever he knows, the Russians know.
 
God knows what effect this will have on our plans, but we can be sure of one thing.
 
The Oversight Committee will not be pleased.’

They were not.
 
There was an atmosphere of barely-suppressed outrage in the familiar room when Don finished his tale.
 
He wasn’t sure from their instant responses whether they were more upset about the impact on their plans, or that one of their own kind had proved treacherous.
 
Don cleared his throat and continued.

‘He’s not the only one, of course.
 
I’ve been racking my brains overnight to remember all of the others.
 
Guy Burgess, Donald Maclean and Anthony Blunt I’m certain of.
 
I know there were one or two more, but it’s such a long time ago for me that I can’t be sure who they were.
 
I think one of them might have been called Liddell, and there was a chap called Hollis who was always under suspicion; though I don’t think anything was ever proved.’

Chairman was icy.
 
‘They will be moved into less sensitive areas and closely watched, of course.
 
More to the point, what effect will their spying have on Russian policy?
 
I agree we have to assume that they know at least the broad outlines of the story.’

Charles cut in.
 
‘I’ve been thinking about that.
 
If they believe what they have been told, they will have been taking precautions by moving strategic industries eastwards and building up their forces in readiness.
 
This may not be a bad thing; otherwise the Wehrmacht, with their advanced knowledge and equipment, would be in a position to roll over them and knock them out of the war.
 
There could actually be advantages in leaving one of the traitors in a suitable post so we could choose what information to leak to the Russians.’

The tension in the room relaxed a little as the Committee considered the suggestion.
 
Chairman looked around the table, gathering assent.
 
‘Very well, then, work out the details and let me know.’
 
He turned to Don.
 
‘However, we wanted to talk to you anyway about another matter.
 
Norway will soon be ours.
 
We think that the Germans are only resisting in order
to keep
us distracted.
 
France is evidently heading for a rapid defeat but that isn’t our Government’s fault.
 
Chamberlain’s prestige took a hard knock when he had to declare war, but there’s been no reason to criticise what he’s done since, so there is no great call for his resignation.
 
He seems to have rallied his spirits and is determined to stay on.
 
Churchill is now in the Cabinet as First Sea Lord, of course, but as things stand there doesn’t seem any prospect of his becoming Prime Minister.’
 
Chairman stopped and looked at Don thoughtfully.

‘That could be serious,’ Don said slowly.
 
‘Chamberlain always wanted to deal rather than
fight,
and Halifax as Foreign Secretary was even more keen on appeasement.
 
There was some feeling in my time that if Churchill hadn’t taken over in 1940, the Government might have decided that with France
gone,
there was no point in continuing the war.’
 
He leaned back in his chair, considering.
 
‘The question is
,
will Hitler give him the option?
 
What does he want to do?
 
Will he be satisfied with ending the war with us in order to concentrate on Russia, or will he want to defeat us first?
 
Either way, I believe that we must have Churchill in charge, otherwise everything becomes totally unpredictable.’

Chairman looked at him grimly.
 
‘In that case, there is only one option.
 
Chamberlain and Churchill must be told the truth.
 
And you will have to tell them.’

Mary handed Don the large whisky even before he sat down.
 
‘How did it go?’
 
She asked quietly.
 
Don took a large gulp, leaned back with a sigh.
 

‘About as badly as expected.
 
Chamberlain went white and seemed to be in shock.
 
Even Churchill was speechless for a while, although I soon saw the beginnings of a gleam in his eye.
 
I could tell he was bursting with questions, but biting his tongue out of respect for Chamberlain’s feelings.’