by Sam Eastland
But the next year brought changes. First came the defeat of the German Sixth Army at Stalingrad. Then the mighty clash of armour at Kursk, from which the Red Army emerged victorious. By the autumn of 1943, the German army was in full retreat. Even the most fanatical among them began to realise that their fate was sealed. Soon, Malashenko knew, the Soviets would be his masters once again.
This conclusion came without a trace of joy or gratitude that the hour of Russian liberation was at hand. Instead, all that Malashenko felt was a shudder of dread, clattering like a knife blade down the ladder of his spine. He harboured no illusions that the defeat of Germany would bring peace to his world. The terror meted out by Nazi gauleiters would simply be replaced by the heavy-handed justice of the commissars, as it had been before the war began.
Anticipating the imminent arrival of the Soviets, partisan activity in the forests around Rovno had increased. Some of their attacks, on railway lines, German patrols and even on Rovno itself had turned into full-scale battles. Successive air raids, first by the Red Air Force and then by the Luftwaffe, had reduced the lives of those few surviving inhabitants of the town to something out of the Stone Age.
Although he continued to supply information to Krug, and Krug continued to pay for it as generously as ever, Malashenko knew the day was fast approaching when this arrangement would come to an end.
The last piece of intelligence he sold to Krug was a rumour he had picked up about a former partisan, Viktor Andrich, who would soon be arriving from Moscow with a mission to negotiate an end to all partisan activity in the region. At this time, the Red Army was only 20 kilometres from Rovno and Malashenko knew that this might be his final chance to profit from his arrangement with Krug.
Arriving at Feldpolizei headquarters, Malashenko found the place in a shambles. In the hotel courtyard, clerks were pitching armfuls of documents into a huge fire. Stray pages wafted away from the blaze, flecking the ground with rectangles of white so that the courtyard resembled a jigsaw puzzle with half its pieces missing.
Malashenko discovered the garrison commander at his desk, still wearing his doeskin gloves and cradling a litre of Napoleon brandy, not the cheap apricot schnapps with which he plied his informants. With this brandy, Krug had once hoped to celebrate the unconditional surrender of Russia. He had entertained great notions of his role in the future of this country. In these moments of supreme confidence, he had whispered to himself the titles and awards he believed would soon garnish his name. But now Krug’s career lay in tatters, and he glimpsed the future – of a Berlin consumed in flames and Red Army soldiers fighting house to house among the ruins. By the time Malashenko entered the room, Krug had drunk most of the brandy and his vision was so blurred that at first he barely recognised the partisan.
‘I have information for you,’ said Malashenko, eyes fixed on Krug’s Luger, which lay upon the desk, just as it had done at their first meeting.
‘And I have some for you,’ replied Krug. ‘We’re leaving!’
‘So I see.’
‘Which means,’ Krug paused to swig from the bottle, ‘that your information is no longer of any use to me.’
‘Very well,’ said Malashenko, turning to leave. He didn’t put it past Krug to finish him off with that Luger, now that their dealings were done, and he made up his mind to get out of the building as quickly as possible.
‘On the other hand,’ said Krug.
Malashenko turned. ‘Yes?’ He expected to find Krug’s Luger aimed in his direction, but was relieved to see the weapon still lying on the desk.
‘You may as well tell me what it is.’
Malashenko explained what he had heard about Colonel Andrich.
‘That’s it?’ asked Krug. ‘That’s all you’ve got?’
‘It ought to be worth something,’ answered Malashenko.
Krug breathed in deeply, the air whistling in through his long, thin nose. ‘That’s what you all say,’ he muttered.
‘All who?’ demanded Malashenko. ‘It’s just me standing here.’
Krug laughed. ‘You think you are the only partisan who works for me?’
‘Maybe not,’ admitted Malashenko, ‘but after all I’ve done for you, are you really going to send me away empty-handed?’
Krug sighed. ‘I suppose you haven’t been completely useless.’ He reached down beside his chair, lifted up a bag of salt and tossed it on to the desk. ‘My last one,’ he whispered. ‘Take it. Take it and get out of here.’
Malashenko did as he was told.
After the partisan had gone, Krug raised himself uncertainly to his feet, crossed the room to an Enigma coding machine and relayed a message to Berlin, stating that Rovno was in imminent danger of being overrun by the Red Army. The message went on to say that a Soviet colonel named Andrich had been dispatched by Moscow to negotiate a ceasefire between the various partisan groups after the German army had pulled out of the region. From other sources, Krug had learned that a force of Soviet Counter Intelligence troops was also on its way to Rovno, to deal with the situation by force if Andrich’s negotiations proved unsuccessful.
As the message transmitted, Krug thought about the plans he had made for himself, tracing the arc of his ambition higher and higher through the ranks until, at last, he would find himself sitting side by side with the great and living gods of the thousand-year empire to which he had sworn his allegiance. His musings were interrupted by a rustling at his windowpane. He turned to see a piece of paper, smouldering at its edges, blown by a gust of wind against the glass. Walking over to the window, he squinted at the document. It was a copy of a recommendation, made out to Krug himself, for an Iron Cross First Class. In exchange for a month’s leave, Krug had persuaded his second-in-command to fill out and sign the necessary paperwork. The recommendation had been sent to Berlin several weeks previously but there had been no acknowledgement of its receipt. Another gust of wind snatched away the paper, giving Krug a view down into the courtyard below, where men from his staff were still burning heaps of documents. Caught in the rising smoke, more pieces of paper fluttered up into the air beyond Krug’s window and, for a while, he watched them with the fascination of a child as they side-slipped into the milky sky. Then Krug sat down at his desk, put the barrel of the Luger in his mouth and blew his brains out.
Japanese Coast Guard Officer Hiroo Nishikaichi, Wakkanai Station, Hokkaido. June 21st, 1938
A Russian cargo vessel, the 'Yenisei', has run aground on the Tetsumu shoals, north of the island of Reshiri. It was spotted by Japanese fishing vessels drifting without power one week ago in the sea of Okhotsk. It appears to be one of the many prison ships travelling between Vladivostok and Kolyma. We approached the 'Yenisei' and signalled our willingness to assist, but were waved away by men with guns. We continue to monitor the situation.
*
Report of Imperial Japanese Coast Guard Officer Hiroo Nishikaichi, Wakkanai Station, Hokkaido. June 23rd, 1938
A small vessel of Russian origin arrived at the stranded cargo vessel 'Yenisei' early this morning and removed the crew. The ship was evidently on its journey back to Vladivostok from Kolyma after delivering a cargo of prisoners when it lost power. The ship appears to be in very bad repair. These vessels, we have learned, are often sold by the Americans to the Russians when the Americans have determined that the ships are no longer seaworthy. The ships are sold for scrap, but the Russians then immediately return them to service. It is no wonder that a ship such as the 'Yenisei' should have suffered a breakdown.
*
Report – June 28th, 1938
The 'Yenisei' now appears to have been abandoned by the Russians. High winds from the recent storm have caused the vessel’s hull to shift. It is now listing hard to starboard and appears to be taking on water. Commander Sakai is in agreement with me that the ship is now in danger of floating free of the shoals. Commander Sakai has approved the measure of boarding the ship and cutting holes in its hull to ensure that the vessel will not drift into
the shipping lanes before it sinks.
*
Report – June 29th, 1938
At approximately noon today, my crew and I boarded the 'Yenisei' with the intention of cutting holes in the hull in order to ensure that the wreck did not become a hazard to shipping in the event that it drifted free of the shoals. Using axes and acetylene torches, we cut through the hull on the port side aft. Even before we had completely removed the section, my crew and I observed that the cargo area below was filled with bodies. We realised that the 'Yenisei' had been on its outward voyage and not bound for home empty, as we had believed when the crew was evacuated. The crew of the 'Yenisei' had abandoned the convicts to their fate. The compartment had flooded almost to its entire depth and we saw no signs of life among the dead, which numbered in the hundreds. Moving to the forward section, we cut another section from the hull and discovered yet another compartment filled with bodies. This compartment was partially flooded and we found several of the prisoners still alive. They had crawled upon the dead to stay clear of the water, the temperature of which would otherwise have ensured their deaths. We were able to rescue fifteen people. At that point, the 'Yenisei' began to shift again and we were forced to abandon our search for more survivors. As we had feared, the ship had begun to float free from the shoal. No sooner had we returned to the ship with the survivors than the 'Yenisei' slid off the shoal and sank. Of the fifteen people we rescued, three died before we returned to Wakkanai Station. The remaining passengers, eight men and four women, were immediately transported to the Sapporo Naval Hospital and quarantined. While most of the prisoners are Russian, one of them, a young man about seventeen years old, claims to be an American. All are now being treated for starvation and hypothermia and some are not expected to survive.
*
Coded Message. Enigma Cipher. Rotor Configuration 573
German Embassy, Tokyo
To: Abwehr Headquarters, 72-76 Tirpitzufer, Berlin
Have been approached by American male, approx 18 yrs old, claiming to be survivor of shipwreck involving soviet prisoners bound for Kolyma. Says family emigrated to Russia 1933. Reports whole family murdered by Soviets. Mother and sister died on ship.
Coded Message. Enigma Cipher. Rotor Configuration 870
Abwehr HQ
To: German Embassy, Tokyo
Why did he not go to American Embassy?
Coded Message. Enigma Cipher. Rotor Configuration 224
German Embassy, Tokyo
To: Abwehr Headquarters, 72-76 Tirpitzufer, Berlin
Claims he does not trust them. Says they will hand him back to Soviets.
Coded Message. Enigma Cipher. Rotor Configuration 190
Abwehr HQ
To: German Embassy, Tokyo
Does he speak Russian?
Coded Message. Enigma Cipher. Rotor Configuration 513
German Embassy, Tokyo
To: Abwehr Headquarters, 72-76 Tirpitzufer, Berlin
Fluently.
Coded Message. Enigma Cipher. Rotor Configuration 745
Abwehr HQ
To: German Embassy, Tokyo
Is US Embassy aware of his location?
Coded Message. Enigma Cipher. Rotor Configuration 513
German Embassy, Tokyo
To: Abwehr Headquarters, 72-76 Tirpitzufer, Berlin
Negative.
Coded Message. Enigma Cipher. Rotor Configuration 298
Abwehr HQ
To: German Embassy, Tokyo
Bring him in.
One week after the death of Commander Krug, and with Red Army troops now in full control of Rovno, Malashenko was contacted by another person who had been collaborating with the Germans during their occupation of the town.
Malashenko was astonished to discover that this person was nurse Antonina from the Rovno hospital, who had regularly supplied him with stolen medications and who had, more recently, been seen in the company of Commander Yakushkin. The meeting took place when Malashenko arrived at the hospital, ostensibly to receive treatment for scabies. In fact, he was there to collect penicillin, bandages and suture thread for the partisan medical officer, a former butcher named Leiferkus, who had turned his old trade of disassembling the carcasses of animals into reassembling his fellow men as best he could when no actual doctors could be found.
Even though the Germans had pulled out of Rovno, most of the Atrads, the Barabanschikovs included, had no intention yet of simply laying down their arms before the Soviets. This meant that, for Malashenko, his missions into Rovno continued just as they had done before.
In the dozens of times Malashenko had met with Antonina over the years, he never once considered that she might also be collaborating with the enemy. But this, Malashenko realised, was the genius of the disguise which Krug had fashioned for her. Krug had said there were others, and Malashenko wondered how many, whose paths he crossed each day, were hiding the same lie as his own.
Antonina, for her part, was equally amazed to learn the truth about Malashenko. She had received a message from Berlin on a radio provided by Krug, to be used only if Krug himself was captured or killed by the enemy. ‘In two days, you will receive a visitor,’ she told Malashenko.
‘What visitor?’ he asked nervously.
‘I don’t know who,’ replied Antonina, ‘but they have ordered you to rendezvous with him three days from now.’
‘Ordered?’
‘Did you think you were finished with these people?’ Antonina laughed. ‘You will only be finished when you, or they, or both of you are dead.’
‘All right,’ grumbled Malashenko, ‘but I expect to get paid.’
‘That is between you and them,’ she said. ‘Where shall I say you’ll be meeting this visitor?’
Malashenko thought for a moment and then gave her directions to Pitoniak’s cabin. ‘Tell them I’ll be there at dusk. I’d feel better if I knew what this was about.’
‘So would I,’ replied Antonina, ‘but neither of us do so there’s no point in worrying about it.’ She put several vials of penicillin in front of him, along with a stack of bandages, medical tape and suture thread. ‘You’d better carry those out of here, in case your people wonder what you’re doing.’
Malashenko rolled up his trouser leg and used the medical tape to strap the vials to his calves. Bald patches on his skin showed where previously applied strips of tape had been pulled away, leaving freckles of dried blood in the flesh.
‘How are you planning to get out of here,’ asked Antonina, ‘now that the Red Army has arrived?’
‘Out?’ replied Malashenko. ‘Where would I go?’
‘Any place at all, as long as it is far from here.’
‘I hadn’t thought about it.’
‘Well, you’d better start,’ Antonina told him. ‘If they find out you’ve been collaborating with the Germans . . .’
Malashenko stopped wrapping the tape around his leg. ‘Why would they find out,’ he asked menacingly, ‘unless somebody told them?’
‘You should worry less about somebody giving you up and a little bit more about how things will change for us now that the Red Army is here. Better to leave and find some place where you can start again.’
‘Is that what you’re going to do?’ asked Malashenko, suddenly nervous that he did not have a plan of his own.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ she answered cryptically, ‘and if all goes well, I’ll be riding out of here in the arms of Commander Yakushkin.’
You’re a cold-hearted bitch, thought Malashenko, but he just nodded and smiled and hurried on his way.
*
The operation to assassinate Colonel Andrich had begun within hours of Krug’s message arriving at Abwehr Headquarters. Admiral Canaris, head of German Intelligence, had immediately grasped the vulnerability of the Kremlin’s plan. If Andrich could be liquidated, the Red Army would become bogged down in a war with their own people, diverting valuable troops from the front line and weakening the strength of the Soviet advance. All this
, and significantly more if the full extent of the Admiral’s plan could be achieved, would be accomplished with the death of a single man, provided he was found in time.
Realising that the only way to achieve their objective would be to send an assassin, Admiral Canaris summoned SS Sturmbannführer Otto Skorzeny of the Brandenburg Kommando to a private meeting.
Skorzeny had carried out numerous commando operations during the course of the war including, in September of 1943, the rescue of Benito Mussolini from the castle of Gran Sasso, where the Duce was being held in captivity by Italian Communist partisans.
At his office on the Bendlerstrasse in Berlin, Canaris explained the situation to the six-foot-four-inch Skorzeny, who stood uncomfortably in Canaris’s drawing room, boots creaking as he tilted slowly between his heels and the balls of his feet, while the Admiral’s two dachshunds sniffed at his legs.
‘It could be done,’ said Skorzeny, when he had listened to the Admiral’s plan, ‘but doesn’t Abwehr have agents of its own to carry out the task?’
‘We do,’ replied Canaris. He was a tall man, with a gaunt face and deep-set eyes. His once blond hair had turned almost completely white and his lips twitched nervously whenever he listened to other people speak, as if forcing himself not to interrupt.
‘So why do you need me?’ asked Skorzeny.
‘Because what we don’t have is someone I can count on to deliver that agent to Rovno. That is why I’ve called on you, Skorzeny, because I know you can get the job done.’
‘As I understand it, Admiral, Rovno is now under Red Army control.’
