Black Operations- the Spec-Ops Action Pack

by Eric Meyer

  “It’s clear, Kriminalinspektor,” he said. His voice was hard and cold.

  That evening I sat with Hachmann and we went over the details of the mission. Earlier, I’d greeted my platoon and told the men we would be going back behind the lines. They were quiet, it was difficult to judge their mood. The presence in the barracks of the icy Gestapo officer inhibited conversation, in fact, a darkness seemed to have descended upon the barracks. It was as if the stench of death had descended on us like a thick blanket of fog. I promised them quietly that I’d stand them all a round of drinks and explain everything as soon as I had a chance. Should I also tell them that the odds of our returning from the mission were very low? I’d have to think about that later. Hachmann summoned me to Kurz’s office, the CO had been unceremoniously told to go elsewhere. An armed sentry waited outside the door, complete with steel helmet and machine pistol, his orders were to shoot to kill if anyone tried to enter the office. Hachmann laid out a map on the desk, a map of Moscow.

  “It’s time you knew the full details of where we are going, Roth. The Robe is hidden in an Orthodox cathedral on the outskirts of Moscow.”

  “Moscow, Sir?”

  “Correct. Moscow, it’s in the Cathedral of St John the Baptist, which seems appropriate. We will accompany the 9th Army, they will be attacking towards Moscow, a renewed Blitzkrieg. The Fuhrer has ordered our Army Group Centre to begin retaking the initiative. Our own group will follow their drive on Moscow, in the confusion we can slip through lines and push on into the capital. From there it should be a simple matter to find the cathedral and seize the Robe.”

  He’d left one vital element out of his calculations. The Red Army. Millions of Russians, armed fighting men who hated and detested German soldiers with a pathological intensity. They would do everything in their power to stop us from getting into Moscow, even such a small unit as my platoon would be almost impossible to infiltrate the capital. Surely, he could work that out for himself? Then again, there was always the possibility of him getting a bullet in his back when the fighting started and the 9th Army went into action, battles were notorious for their confusion. Friendly fire was a common occurrence, especially for problem officers. I realized he was looking at me sardonically.

  “Obersturmfuhrer, I was a Berlin police detective before the war. One of the skills necessary to be a detective is understanding what the man in front of you is thinking. I realize you have grave misgivings about this mission. You must put them to one side, the Reichsfuhrer is determined to retrieve this artifact for the Fuhrer. I can assure you that you will get into Moscow and then bring it for him no matter what the cost. It would be best for you to make certain there are no mistakes along the way. Especially during the heat of battle. That would be very unhelpful when the question of your sentence is reviewed.”

  He fixed me with an icy stare. “You will make immediate arrangements for transport to Rzhev to join up with the 9th Army. If you have any problems, refer them to me. We leave in the morning.”

  He stalked out of the office, it struck me that Hachmann was even harsher and colder than the Russian winter.

  Chapter Four

  We traveled to Rzhev in the Hanomag 251, our half-track. There was still plenty of snow on the ground and Hachmann insisted on taking it for security and speed, Kurz had no option but to allow it. Sturmann Wasser drove, he’d acquitted himself well during the Ryabovo mission, I sat next to him with Hachmann. Behind us I’d brought along Goethe, Blomberg, Brenner, Dagmar and Vielberg. Over our uniforms we wore the new SS reversible camouflage overalls, white snowsuit on the outside and a leopard print on the inside. They were almost unobtainable, but Hachmann had used Himmler’s authority, nothing was too good for his pet project. We drove through the day and made good time, the tracked vehicle flew over the icy, snow-covered tracks. The 9th army was under the command of General Walter Model, one of Adolf Hitler’s more successful Generals. Model had a strength of almost 200,000 men encamped in and around the city of Rzhev. As we drove into the city there were few Russian civilians in evidence, it was as if we were in a German garrison town, with hundreds, thousands of German soldiers milling around and mountains of vehicles and equipment strewn everywhere. As well as the inevitable artillery parks there were thousands of horses, the 9th Army still relied heavily on them to pull heavy loads, especially the artillery. We reported to Lieutenant General Wilhelm Wetzel, commander of the 255th Infantry-Division, in his forward observation post. He looked very harassed, very tired, and very old. Too old for the charnel house of the Eastern Front. He stared at us with a bored expression.

  “So you plan to accompany us on this offensive? That’s excellent, I can always use more troops. Even SS.”

  I winced at the inevitable Army rivalry with the SS. Hachmann was not so forgiving.

  “Colonel, the SS has pulled the army out of trouble too many times to count. Don’t imagine we’ll be there to wipe your arses for you this time, we have our own orders to follow. You just get us as close to Moscow as you can.”

  Wetzel glared at him. “How dare you speak to a senior Army officer like that, SS or not, I’ll have you arrested and sent to Berlin for court martial.”

  As far as he knew, Hachmann was just another Waffen SS junior officer, the white snowsuit hid his identity. The Gestapo man slowly produced his Geheimestaatspolizei badge, the enameled metal disc that identified the secret police.

  “Colonel, you will do exactly as I tell you. I am a Gestapo Kriminalinspektor acting under the direct order of Heinrich Himmler, not a common soldier. Your orders are quite straightforward, I suggest you carry them out.”

  He leaned towards the Colonel. “So get us to fucking Moscow! Clear?”

  To his credit, Wetzel was not cowed. He glared at Hachmann. “I will confirm that order with General Model. If he agrees I will do my best, if anyone can do it, my men will get you there. But I warn you, the Russians have brought up whole armies of reinforcements, we can only do so much.”

  Hachmann nodded. “Just follow your orders, Colonel. I understand we will be leaving at midnight to for a night attack, is that correct?”

  “That’s right, be ready to jump off just before twelve o clock. I suggest you meet me here and I will assign you your place in the attack.”

  It was the first that the men knew anything about going to Moscow. Hachmann disappeared into the radio room to communicate with Berlin. The men cornered me as we walked back to the half-track to prepare our gear. Goethe looked angry.

  “Tell me this isn’t true, this Moscow nonsense.”

  “I’m afraid so. Our assignment is to take this Gestapo officer into Moscow to recover a Christian artifact, Heydrich was supposed to be locating it when he was killed.”

  “You mean when you killed him,” Goethe snarled. “Damnit, why couldn’t you have left him alone?”

  “That’s not fair, Goethe, you know he was dying.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. What’s the rest of it, what do they want us to do?”

  I explained to all of them that we needed to locate and loot a cathedral in Moscow. Before they could object more strongly, I decided to lay it all out for them, they were entitled to know.

  “Look, we’ll move towards Moscow using this attack as a cover. We can peel away from the main assault and continue on our own. When the 9th Army clashes with the Soviets they’ll all be far too busy to worry about us. Besides, we’re wearing white snowsuits, they’re identical to the ones the Russians wear.”

  Blomberg interrupted. “Most of us have MP38s, that’s an instant giveaway. We could to with PPShs like mine if we’re going to fool the Soviets.”

  “The helmets are a giveaway too,” Brenner added. “The Soviets wear those fur snow caps, it we had those it would make a difference.”

  I agreed with both of them, at least they were getting into the spirit of the operation. Besides, we needed every possible advantage to have even a small chance of getting through. Their ideas were sound.

 
“I’ll have a word with Wetzel, plenty of men in the 9th Army will have that kind of looted equipment, both the weapons and the headgear. I’ll get him to locate enough of it to kit us all out. If he objects, Hachmann will sort him out.”

  I didn’t like using the Gestapo to do my dirty work, but if it meant saving our skins I was all for it.

  “If the Soviets catch us kitted out like Red Army soldiers, they’ll execute us,” Goethe said sourly.

  I frowned at him. “Do you think if they catch us behind their lines wearing German uniform it would be any different? Don’t be so stupid, Goethe.”

  He didn’t answer me. I left them and went to find Colonel Wetzel. He readily agreed to round up as many Soviet PPShs would be necessary to equip the men.

  “You’d better add Tokarev pistols, Colonel, if the Soviets see us with a Walther they may be suspicious.”

  He snorted. “If you think you’re going to get away with this crazy charade you need your head examining, Obersturmfuhrer. But it’s your funeral. I’m not sure about the headgear, those sheepskin hats are very prized by the men, they won’t want to part with them.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir, but we need them. If you wish, I can get Kriminalinspektor Hachmann to confirm the order.”

  “Keep your tame Gestapo gorilla in his cage, Roth. I’ll get you the hats. Now, if you would excuse me, I have work to do, we really do have a war to fight. A real war.”

  A night battle was always more difficult and this proved to be the case right from the start. We were assembled ready to go, equipped in our winter camouflage and PPSh sub machine guns. The hats were warm, I could see why the troops had been reluctant to give them up. In the gloom the only illumination came from the white of the snow. The 9th Army was lined up ready, thousands of troops armed and equipped to begin a new attack that the High Command intended would carry them all the way to Moscow, except that this time they would get to take the city. There would be no repeat of the fiasco at the start of the winter when Army Group Centre had been halted literally at the gates to Moscow.

  The Russians attacked first. We were caught out in the open, lined up waiting for the signal to go when the first artillery salvo fired and shells started to explode amongst the waiting troops. It was to be a long night as they attacked all around Rzhev in strength. We sheltered from the constant barrage of shells exploding in the snow, vehicles and buildings caught fire so that the whole town seemed to be a gigantic blaze that raged furiously and would not be put out. Then they came, thousands and thousands of Soviet infantrymen, charging through the snow, shouting their fanatic battle cries as they surged forward to destroy the hated German invaders.

  In the shelter of a bunker I finished checking the map and called out for Goethe.

  “Get the men mounted up on the half-track, Scharfuhrer, we’re pulling out.”

  This had all the hallmarks of a total screw-up, I decided to forget the 9th Army and press on without them. At least they would keep the Soviets occupied while we slipped away.

  Goethe nodded and shouted for the men to run back to where Wasser was waiting with the Hanomag.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Hachmann snarled. “If you’re thinking of running out, Roth, I’ll have you strung up on a lamppost. And if I don’t, I assure you that Himmler will.”

  The attitude of this secret policeman was an irritation I didn’t need in the heat of battle. Bullets and shrapnel were flying around the front line, it was more than enough for me to concern myself with.

  “Hachmann, you damned fool, don’t you realize their attack is stalled? We’re going to have to do this a different way now that the Red Army has attacked first. Or did you think we were going to fight our way through half a million Soviet troops singlehanded? The army is panicking, there’s a possibility it could become a rout.”

  He was still angry but he started to look thoughtful. “What’s your plan?”

  “We’ll move out to the flanks of the Army and find somewhere quiet where we can slip past while their attention is on the battle. With any luck we might just make it through.”

  He grunted and walked away to gather up his kit, made his way over to the half-track and climbed aboard without another word to anyone. I looked around for Colonel Wetzel but there was no sign of him, he was fully occupied with the disaster of their attack plans that had rebounded into catastrophe. I climbed aboard the half-track.

  “Wasser, get moving fast, we need to get away from here. Head south, there’s a town called Turbaevo, it’s a few kilometers from here. There’s a road that leads from Turbaevo to Moscow, but in view of this battle we’d best avoid it. Another five kilometers due south is a railway line. We’ll go overland until we reach the tracks, then we’ll strike east and follow them towards Moscow.”

  And God help us all. It sounded as if I was giving them directions for a picnic, not a suicidal military mission in the icy wastes of the Eastern Front, behind the Russian lines. I could only do my best. The Russians had caught us with our pants down and we had to do our utmost to get out of it.

  Wasser drove as fast as possible through the mass of panicking, leaderless troops that earlier had been a formidable, disciplined German army. Shells were falling in the rear areas as well as on the front line, men ran wide-eyed and uncertain of their destination, horses that were waiting patiently to pull the guns forward whinnied and stamped their hooves, snorting in terror. Some of our artillery had started counter-battery fire that added to the racket and all along the line, MG34 machine guns were chattering, sending their message of death back to the Soviets. The area between the two armies was littered with thousands of Russian bodies, their first attack had been cut to pieces by our guns but the Russians cared little for casualties. It wouldn’t be long before the next human wave attack flung itself against our lines. Wasser maneuvered the half-track into the open countryside and the din of battle started to fade behind us. We’d been heading due west, away from the battle but after a kilometer I told him to turn south through a thick forest. Pine branches whipped at us as he drove along narrow lanes between the trees. We seemed to have left the fighting behind us and once, when we stopped to check the route, all we could hear was the distant sound of guns. There was no noise around us, only the silence of the Russian forest.

  “The Moscow road is about half a kilometer further, Wasser. Be very careful when you get there, it’s quite possible that the Red Army has flanked us already, they could have patrols along it. Stop under cover and we’ll go forward and take a look on foot.”

  He nodded and switched the engine back on, then drove forward with the tracks kicking up drifts of snow. The road came abruptly into sight and he stopped before we drove out into the open.

  “Blomberg, come with me and we’ll take a look. The rest of you keep alert.”

  We dismounted and started walking through the snow. I heard a noise and looked around, to my annoyance Hachmann was struggling along behind us, wading through the thick snow trying to catch up. We got within a few meters of the road and I smelled smoke.

  “Down!” I whispered urgently, “Russians.”

  The three of us lay down in the snow.

  “How do you know it’s Russians?” Hachmann asked.

  “Can’t you smell the smoke? When have you ever known a German soldier smoke tobacco like that?”

  He didn’t reply. It was something that we learned early on the Eastern Front, one way to distinguish friend from foe and stay alive. Russian tobacco, acrid, stinking and an immediate giveaway. While we lay there a group of eight Soviet soldiers came past, patrolling the road. They were muttering quietly to each other, all of them were smoking. They were also passing a bottle of vodka amongst themselves, it not the way to stay alert but at least it dulled their senses enough to prevent them from noticing us. After a few minutes they disappeared around a bend. I sent Blomberg back to tell Wasser to bring the half-track slowly forward after five minutes, I calculated that it would be enough time for the patrol to be out of
earshot of the engine. The half-track appeared out of the forest, edging forward to keep the engine noise down to a minimum. We followed on foot as he drove across the road, when he was in the trees we got back into the vehicle and continued our journey through the forest. The trees were thicker south of the road, more dense and Wasser had to pick his way through carefully. We were still very conscious that since the surprise Red Army advance, we were already behind enemy lines. Then we reached the railway line. A single track, it stretched away in a long, glistening line to the east. To Moscow.

  Across the rails a maintenance crew’s narrow path ran alongside the line, we bumped onto it and Wasser gunned the engine, picking up speed. I was counting on the battle that was raging around Rzhev to keep the Soviets busy and give us a free run. At least for most of the way to Moscow, it wasn’t too much to expect, was it? On reflection, it probably was. We had more than a hundred kilometers to travel and there were only six hours of darkness left before we would need to find somewhere to hide up during the hours of daylight. Twice we had to stop when the Hanomag ran into drifts that were too much even for the steel tracks and we wasted time digging it out. We all pitched into help with the spades, all except for Hachmann who stood a short distance away smoking. Clearing snow to get us moving again was obviously beneath him. Perhaps if we ran into a sizeable force of Soviet troops because we hadn’t made up enough time he’d think again, but I wasn’t too worried, there were advantages to his sullen solitude. We were content to be able to talk without the Gestapo man overhearing what we said, at least for some of the time. Goethe’s conversation displayed his usual cynicism.

  “You know it’s only a matter of time before the Russians catch up with us,” was his opener.

  “In that case you’d better shovel faster, Goethe.”

  He grimaced. “We may as well shovel our graves for all the difference it’ll make. This is all stupid.”