I’ve been busy today. We are training on our tanks - cleaning and maintaining them - and have little time for anything else.
In recent weeks large numbers of English soldiers started arriving here. They brought with them tanks, artillery and lots of infantry. Their tanks look quite good but nowhere as advanced as ours. Same is true for the artillery.
I have no idea how their people are – we have a completely separate camp and never meet. Our company commander told us in the last briefing several days ago that we will start studying English so we can communicate with them. He also said that we can say nothing to them about our weapons and other equipment. So I suppose soon I’ll get to meet and talk with them.
How are you doing? I heard on the news today that there was a large battle with the Arabs with many casualties. Is the family safe?
Yours, Wolf
He was a bit surprised when his terminal beeped an hour later. There was a new email for him.
Dear Wolf,
Shoshanna’s husband Noam was in that battle. You should remember them. We all met at Ze’ev’s house. He’s a captain and was injured. Mother is taking care of their kids and told me that Shoshanna is going to spend a lot of time with him at the hospital. He’s at Shaare Zedek.
I called Shoshanna earlier. He is in serious condition with both knees gone but she’s upbeat and expects him to walk in a couple of months. She spoke from his room so I didn’t want to prolong the conversation. I will ask her next time how he can be expected to make such a recovery.
Please be very careful and don’t get injured.
The last picture you sent me was nice. Who is the girl in the background?
Yours with love, Sheina
***
Two British agents arrived at the Tegernsee Lake in Bavaria in a light truck. They wore uniforms of the Todt organization and had appropriate documents. They parked the truck on Buchberweg, close to the intersection of the main road running around the lake. Even though the road seemed to be in good shape, the two started a standard pothole repair procedure, with some modifications. They dug out a hole, buried a German anti-tank mine, and then filled it in with gravel, laying asphalt on top. The asphalt was thumped down to be precisely at the same level as the old road. They admired their work for a moment – it was done to the best German standard as befitted a road leading to Reichsführer SS Heinrich Himmler’s house.
The mine was connected to a miniature radio receiver. Two days later a drone arrived over the area. It parked at a high altitude and stayed until it was replaced by a fresh one two days later. After the second drone exchange the operator finally had his target: a convoy of four cars approaching the intersection. Either the second or the third car carried Himmler – the procedure was changed frequently. The drone operator exploded the mine in the gap between the second and third cars. The explosion of more than twenty pounds of TNT caused both cars to burst into flames.
The drone operator was puzzled. “Why didn’t we dig two holes and have one mine in each so we kill the guy for sure?” he asked his supervisor.
The supervisor smiled, “I’m sure that if we wanted him dead we would have done exactly what you suggested.”
Himmler survived. He was slightly burned and had several shrapnel wounds – mostly from the car’s windshield but nothing life threatening. His rival and colleague Herman Goering wasn’t so lucky.
The same British team that worked on Himmler’s mine had prepared the road to Goering’s palatial residence, Carinhall in Brandenburg, with two mines at a placed distance with separate receivers. Everything, including the receiver on one of the mines, was of German manufacture. Only one mine was necessary to kill Goering, the other was a backup and piece of evidence for the investigators to find.
Chapter 7
August 1942
“Gentlemen, I have grave news.” Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, the head of the German Abwehr intelligence service, looked into the eyes of each of the attendees.
“After that last attempt on Himmler’s life and the death of Goering, the Fuehrer approved a large scale operation against high-ranking Wehrmacht officers. Arrests are scheduled to begin in about two weeks. We are assumed guilty and will have to prove our innocence or be executed. You all know our chances of survival. I will also give you a longer list of those to be arrested in a second wave of, as the Fuehrer called it, ‘cleansing’. I suppose you have questions and I will do my best to answer them.”
“How many people on the first list and what ranks?” asked General Ludwig Beck.
Canaris’ deputy, General Hans Oster answered, “Eighty-three generals and six civilians. Everyone present is on the list.”
“That leaves us with few options,” said the newly promoted General Henning von Tresckow. “We either fight or die.”
“True,” agreed one of the two civilians in the group, the former mayor of Leipzig, Carl Goerdeler. “We will have to fight and we have only two weeks to organize. Can we succeed?”
Canaris nodded. “We have a chance but have to quickly persuade some of the most senior commanders to join us. Since Generals Rommel, Paulus, von Mackensen and von Kleist are on the first list I believe it will not be too difficult to convince them, and their troops, to join us.
“The second list includes von Rundstedt. He might join if confronted with the information. He also knows that many officers at his headquarters have been arrested and interrogated by the Gestapo and SD, but he is an old-fashioned loyalist and will not break his oath of allegiance to the Fuehrer lightly. I think it’s safe to talk to him – He will not betray us.”
“We may also have some help from the outside. I believe that under certain conditions the British might assist us,” said Ulrich von Hassell, a senior official at the foreign Ministry.
The discussion and planning went on for most of the night. Close to dawn the participants left General Franz Halder’s Berlin apartment one by one. Halder was the commanding general of the OKH (High Command of the Army) and had frequent disagreements with Hitler on strategy. After recent setbacks on the Eastern Front he decided that it might be advisable for him to prepare a fallback position and free the army of Hitler’s constant meddling.
***
Albert Conforti, now the fully accredited Israeli ambassador to Italy, bowed slightly as he entered the official reception room of the Italian Prime Minister, Count Galeazzo Ciano. “Your Excellency, I appreciate the prompt meeting.”
Ciano gestured for the ambassador to take a seat on an ornate sofa opposite him. “What was so urgent, Ambassador?”
“Prime Minister, now that most of your troops are out of reach of the Germans we would like to proceed with our plans. As I pointed out to you in our previous meetings, we need your assistance.
“There are two British armies and one of ours waiting at the base in Brindisi. They need your permission to move to the north of your country and the use of your railroads to facilitate the move.”
Ciano thought for a moment. “Yes, if I remember correctly I promised you that my agreement and assistance would be forthcoming when all our troops were safe. There is a hitch though: we are still waiting for the Germans to release the last several work battalions. They claim they need them for fortification work in Russia.”
“Yes, we know about that. I have a transcript of a communication exchange between the German High Command and Army Group South.” He handed several pages to Ciano.
“As you can see they have no intention of ever releasing your people. The German offensive in the east has been stalled for months and all their attempts to break through the Russian lines have failed. The Italian work battalions will not do the Germans any good and they know it. In my government’s opinion the Germans are holding on to them mostly as hostages.”
“I agree,” said Ciano, “but I’m also reluctant to provoke the Germans. Besides harming the hostages, they might also invade Italy.”
“Oh, I have no doubt they will and quite soon. The only thing that will stop
them is our deployment on your northern border. We don’t have to announce anything. If you prefer, Italy can play the role of an occupied country. But this will also make it difficult for us, and especially the British, who just finished fighting you, to fully trust our arrangements.”
“You are right. It’s high time for us to choose sides. We are definitely not choosing Hitler.
“I will make all the arrangements with the Ministry of Defense and the railroads. I want you to inform your British allies that we want to immediately establish full diplomatic relations with them. After your forces are deployed and ours are deployed to back you up we will, together, announce our new alliance.”
“There may be another partner to the alliance,” said Conforti. “The French navy is going to move from Algiers and land several divisions of French troops from North Africa and the Free French from Britain in Marseille. This will be coordinated with the British move from Brindisi.”
Ciano smiled. “I hope you don’t rely too much on the French. In any case, we will have to iron out the disputed territories we took from them in the north. But this is for later.”
***
Peter Gershman had come to Israel from the former Soviet Union as a teenager. He retained his Moscow area Russian accent and now used it to good advantage.
The NKVD (Soviet Secret Police) operative in the Black Sea port of Sochi was a bit confused as a ship came into the port under a flag he had never seen before. The port captain had orders to allow it to dock. Now this individual from the ship demanded to see General Vereshchagin, the regional commander of the NKVD.
“What is your business with the general?”
Peter looked at the official. “That is between me and the general. I do advise you to call his office now. Any delay will have serious consequences.”
The official shrugged and picked up his phone. It took more than half an hour to connect, although the general’s office was just a couple of miles away on the other side of town. Finally the phone rang and the call went through. “A man off that newly arrived ship wants to talk to the Comrade General. What shall I do?”
The official listened for a minute and then hung up the phone. “They are sending a car for you.” He sounded respectful.
A lieutenant accompanying Peter on the ride led him to the general’s office, knocked on the door, opened it and closed it from the outside.
General Vereshchagin got up from behind his desk to shake hands. He was a compact, burly man in his fifties with a powerful handshake. Peter, who was six feet tall, looked lanky next to him.
“Please sit,” General Vereshchagin pointed to a chair across from his desk. “Would you like some tea?”
“I’d appreciate some.”
“According to my records you are Peter Gershman?” the general asked.
Peter offered his ID for inspection. It was printed in Russian and had his picture affixed to it. It also stated that he was a citizen of Palestine.
The general examined the document and returned it to Peter. “I have instructions from Moscow to issue you an NKVD ID as a colonel in the service. How many others came with you?”
Peter smiled. “Only fourteen on this ship. More may follow, depending on how the job goes.”
“Good. In that case we will start with you. Bring the others here in pairs, or maybe three at a time, to get their papers. We don’t want to attract too much attention.
“I also have instructions to assist you in obtaining transportation and securing cooperation from other regional commands. I’m not going to ask what your mission is – I don’t want to know anything about it.
“Comrade Beria will come here day after tomorrow for an inspection. You will be free to leave after that.”
Peter was surprised. Beria’s visit wasn’t part of his instructions. The People’s Commissar of the NKVD asked him several questions about Palestine, which Peter evaded as best he could. Beria seemed to have expected evasive responses and just smiled a very unpleasant smile that did nothing to improve Peter’s already low opinion of the man. After their short conversation Beria asked for a tour of the ship. He was given a tour that excluded the bridge and engine room. Since the ship was sovereign Palestinian territory Beria didn’t complain.
With his papers Peter had no problem obtaining a place on a train that, after many stops and a week later, deposited him in the capital of Uzbekistan, Tashkent. He started a systematic search for Jews that had escaped from the advancing Germans. He had lists that were based on family records and memories. That helped but it was a tedious and time-consuming job.
He met with the refugees. The procedure was always the same: He introduced himself, explained that he was on a mission from Palestine and assured them that his mission has been approved by the authorities. This was the trickiest part – Everybody was aware of the constant presence of informers and was afraid to end up in the GULAG. The fact that the Soviet press started a series of positive articles about Zionism helped: At least being a Zionist wasn’t a crime anymore.
He explained to the refugees that their families had survived and were waiting for them in Palestine. For some of them he had pictures and letters – a full suitcase in fact. A minority had no family in Palestine and were more difficult to persuade, but not too hard. The conditions were bad. They weren’t any better where he travelled next, to Samarkand and Bukhara. People were starving. A promise of work and food backed up by an immediate distribution of ration coupons was all he needed in most cases for people to agree to move.
Peter didn’t neglect the local Jewish communities. There was less information about them. On the other hand, they were largely observant. A combination of the pull of the Holy Land with the promise of a better life and the push of difficult conditions under the oppressive Soviet regime caused many to abandon their established lives.
When someone agreed to move Peter gave them travel papers, which were essential to leaving the area they were assigned to, and a travel assignment to get a place on a train.
It took him close to a month to finish his job in Uzbekistan. Then he went to the Chuvash Republic on the Volga River and located a Jewish labor battalion in the tiny town of Pervomayskiy, in the midst of dense forests on the north bank of the Volga River, across from the town of Cheboksary. These individuals had escaped western Poland when the Germans invaded in 1939 and were lucky enough to cross into the Soviet controlled part of Poland. Most of them continued to Lvov in the Ukraine. The Soviets, who occupied Lvov in 1939, gave them a choice: accept Soviet citizenship and be released into the Soviet Union or reject it and serve in labor battalions. Many Jews accepted citizenship but some were reluctant – they didn’t want to become subjects of the Soviets, hoping to return to a free West after the war. As Soviet Citizens they would be prohibited from travel outside of the Soviet Union and have only limited travel rights within its borders. The Jews in Pervomayskiy were the individuals that hadn’t accepted the offer of Soviet citizenship. Instead they felled trees to be shipped down river. It was hard work with minimal food. By the time Peter arrived in the area only the young and healthy were alive. Most people older than forty had died.
Peter asked to meet with the leaders of the labor battalion and was invited to a largish tent that served as headquarters. The commander was seated behind a makeshift desk. “Welcome to our battalion. How can we be of assistance?” His second in command, a big burly man, smiled. “You need trees cut down?”
“No trees for me. Let me introduce myself.” Peter sat down on the chair offered by the commander. “Despite what my papers say I’m not a colonel or even a member of the NKVD. I am an emissary from Palestine. We are an independent state allied with Britain and the Soviet Union in the war against Germany. According to our agreement with the Soviet Union, we are empowered to offer all Jews the opportunity to leave for Palestine. To make it easier all our emissaries were issued NKVD papers.”
The commander shrugged. “You have any proof of this?”
“Yes. We
have already rescued the Jews that were trapped in Europe under the Nazis and moved them to Palestine. Your families are among them. I have letters from them to you.” He opened his suitcase, now almost empty. “You are Jacob Solomon. You have a brother Simha that got stuck in Bialystok. Here is a letter from him. It was written a couple of months ago – I’ve been visiting other Jewish communities.
“Mr. Reich,” he addressed the deputy commander, “your sister from Bochnia also sends you a letter.”
The two men said nothing until they were done reading.
“This is proof that they were alive and, if you’re not lying, in Palestine,” the commander said.
“I have more letters. Hopefully they will convince you we are for real.”
Reich, the deputy commander said, “My wife had a sister. Do you have a letter from her?”
Peter nodded. “Yes, I do. Please give it to her.”
“I would like to finish our business here. I have limited time and want to find more Jews. Will your people be willing to leave now?”
The deputy smiled. “Leave the pleasant, easy life here? What do you think? Sure, we will move. Do you have more letters?”
Peter took out a bundle of letters tied with a string. “These are all I have for your group. Not everyone gets one but we had only a limited time to prepare.”
Solomon and Reich looked at each other. Reich nodded. “I think that we can be ready as soon as you are.”
It took another week for the Soviets to arrange a train to Sochi.
***
Sergeant Wolf Frumin looked at the city as they passed through. The train, made up of flatbed cars carrying armored personnel carriers and tanks and passenger cars for troops, was slowly rolling through Vipiteno in northern Italy. The flatbeds were piled with equipment and supplies that barely fit in between the armored vehicles.
The next several trains carried self-propelled artillery, more tanks, plus anti-aircraft batteries and missiles. Everything was covered with tarps to make it as inconspicuous as possible. Wolf wasn’t sure this was working, since they passed crowds of people at several stations waving to the troops.
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