by Colin Gee
Death tumbled out of the night sky, as the intruder-configured Havoc bombers of the RAF’s 226 Squadron determined to savage the enemy force that had inflicted such a crushing defeat on the Guards Division, and now threatened the spearhead of British 2nd Army.
“Let’s use this diversion. Can you manage Pats?”
Beefy helped pull the gunner to his feet.
“I reckon so, Sarnt-Major.”
“I’ll bring Laz.”
Charles leant down and paused, straightening back up, easing his back.
“Come on, Laz. Ups a daisy now.”
He leant down again and pulled the driver upright.
“Before we go, lads.”
Charles turned to Lady Godiva II, the Centurion II now totally wrecked and turretless, ravaged by internal explosions and still smoking.
“Atten-shun.”
Each man tried, in his own fashion, to salute the wreck and the friend who lay within it.
“Right... move!”
Turning their backs on the airborne destroyers, the party limped away to the north-west, avoiding Route 104, hoping to find friendly forces near Gadebusch.
Behind them, the victorious forces of 1st Baltic pushed northwards, creating a potential disaster for 21st Army Group
2040 hrs, Sunday, 15th April 1946, 15th Motorised Rifle Brigade forward headquarters, Gadebusch, Germany.
Gadebusch had fallen quickly, as the skeleton force defending it was taken by surprise, unaware that the Grenadiers to their front had been overwhelmed.
Holdorf was proving more difficult a task, and the 16th Tank Corps had already been thrown back twice.
Trufanov was still ranting at anyone and everyone who came in range, including the two hapless Colonels, who he dragged along, probably just for that purpose.
The losses in the lead formations had been murderous, and the arrival of enemy aircraft delivering bombs over his rear echelon units, did nothing to improve Trufanov’s humour, especially as he had personally ordered his fuel train into Lützow an hour beforehand.
Regimental and Battalion commanders were berated, or their deputies received the blast if the original commander had been killed in discharging their orders. Surviving officers were relieved and ordered back to headquarters under arrest, the whole hierarchy of the Tank Corps made unstable through the actions of a man losing his mind under pressure.
The main door of the Rathaus swung open under the guidance of two guards, who admitted a small party without challenge.
Trufanov was in full swing, the Major commanding 37th Separate Engineer Battalion somehow receiving both barrels for something that occurred at Pokrent, a place he and his unit had never been or seen.
The Major stiffened, immediately followed by Pavelkhin and Maslov.
Trufanov was in a world of his own.
“You fucking moron! How can you knock down two bridges? You’re relieved. Consider yourself under arrest! When I’ve sorted this fucking mess out, you’ll be lucky to just be counting fucking trees, you useless bastard!”
Trufanov stopped dead, realising that eyes were not on him, but elsewhere, eyes that held knowledge to which he sensed he ought to be privy.
He turned, ready to chastise whichever idiot had ventured within range, and immediately decided to keep his mouth very firmly shut.
The new arrival spoke first.
“Good evening, Comrade Mayor General.”
Trufanov came to attention and saluted.
“Comrade Leytenant General. I regret that I’d no idea you were coming.”
“Indeed, Comrade Trufanov, so it would appear.”
The NKVD Lieutenant General was known to only one person in the headquarters by sight, but to everyone by name and reputation.
“I was attending your headquarters on a social call, but now I find something that draws me to duty.”
He removed his hat and polished his glasses, the dust from his brush with the night bombers obscuring his vision in the artificial kerosene lighting.
His roving eye caught sight of the young signals officer, but his face remained impassive.
Replacing his glasses, he suddenly seemed to remember something.
“My apologies, Comrade. I am Leytenant General Nikolai Georgievich Khannikov.”
Everyone now knew that they were in the presence of the head of the 1st Baltic Front’s SMERSH units.
More than one heart pumped at twice the rate when the name fell upon their ears.
“Right then, Comrade Trufanov, what the hell is going on here?”
Trufanov fell to the task of allocating blame with a will, singling out the two Colonels for most of the denouncing, tossing in the names of some dead regimental commanders for good measure, and exonerating himself in the process.
“Well, that’s a very sorry state of affairs. What do you two have to say for yourselves?”
“Comrade Leytenant General. It’s not as Comrade Trufanov states. He relieved us from duty for some perceived indiscretion prior to the main attack.”
Trufanov drew breath but a single raised finger stopped him before he could rant his innocence.
“Continue, Polkovnik.”
“Sir, it was his order that sent our units into a killing zone. We were ordered to be silent and placed under arrest, as have a number of capable officers. The General is seeking to blame others for his own issues, and continues to do so now, Comrade Leytenant General.”
Trufanov heaved air into his lungs again, and again, the single finger stopped him dead.
“Wait.”
Khannikov already had a flavour of what was going on; the sounds of ranting had found him long before he entered the Rathaus.
Despite being NKVD and a member of SMERSH, he was a combat soldier, and his read of the battlefield, even by moonlight, was that something had gone badly wrong.
“So, what am I to do here? I have a General telling me one thing, and two arrested Colonels telling me another. Message logs.”
He held out his hand, the imperative quite clear.
The signals Major quickly swept up the necessary paperwork and presented them smartly to the NKVD officer.
“These are all?”
“They are all the records we have, Comrade Leytenant General.”
“Stand at ease, Comrade Mayor.”
The young man did so, relaxing slightly more than would be expected in the presence of such a dangerous man.
“If I read these, what will I find, Comrade Mayor.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Mayor Golubtsov spoke clearly and decisively.
“Comrade Leytenant General, you will find that some messages are not present, as they have been removed. Those messages would entirely support the version of events given by Polkovniks Pavelkhin and Maslov.”
Trufanov managed to stutter a few words.
“You too? You traitor… liar…”
Khannikov looked Trufanov in the eye.
“If I have to tell you to be quiet one more time, I will take you outside and neck shoot you myself. Is that clear, Comrade?”
Trufanov could only nod.
“Now, Mayor. Where are these missing records?”
“General Trufanov destroyed them before we moved to this location, Comrade Leytenant General.”
“A serious matter, Comrade Mayor.”
“Yes, Comrade Leytenant General.”
The rest of the headquarters staff, and particularly the communications group, were all studiously avoiding involvement, undertaking the mundane tasks that kept them away from scrutiny.
“Comrade Trufanov. What do you have to say?”
“Liars, all liars! My orders were disobeyed and undermined at every turn. He,” the accusatory finger singled out the signals Major, “He has removed the messages that support what I am saying. He’s a traitor and an enemy of the state! I demand you arrest him… and them!”
The finger swivelled to the Colonels.
“Thank you, Comrade Mayor General.”
<
br /> The men behind the NKVD officer tensed, holding their weapons slightly tighter, as they knew that the end was in sight.
“Polkovnik?”
“Pavelkhin, Comrade Leytenant General.”
“Comrade Pavelkhin, Comrade Maslov. You are reinstated. Resume your commands immediately…”
“They’re all ly…”
He turned as rapidly as a cobra striking its prey.
“Shut your fucking mouth!”
Trufanov’s protest died as quickly as it started, and was replaced by the icy grip of fear.
“I want this mess sorted out as quickly as possible. Who’s in command?”
His hand shot out and slapped Trufanov in the process of speaking.
“I am, Com...”
“Next in seniority?”
16th Tank Corps armour commander stepped forward.
“Polkovnik Abashkin, Comrade Leytenant General.”
Abashkin had a steady eye, and the man exuded competence.
“Very well. You have command, on my authority, until you are replaced. Clear, Comrade Polkovnik?”
“Yes, Comrade Leytenant General. If I may?”
Abashkin grabbed a map and went to work, dragging in the engineer Major and the two rehabilitated Colonels.
Khannikov looked at the broken Trufanov with dripping contempt.
“Now, you may speak.”
“Comrade, I protest! You take the word of a mere Mayor over mine. That cannot stand, Sir. He’s lying.”
Khannikov silenced the protests with a raised hand.
“Comrade Mayor Golubtsov is not a liar.”
He slapped the officer on the shoulder and smiled benignly, as an uncle would do to a favourite nephew.
Trufanov looked from one to the other, not understanding.
“I have known Vladimir Georgiyevich all of his life, and I have never known him lie to me. Do you know who his father is, Trufanov?”
“No.”
“Malenkov. Georgy Malenkov.”
Trufanov saw his doom approaching.
Malenkov was a member of the GKO and one of the most powerful men in the Soviet Union.
“Now, do you wish to change anything you’ve said to me, traitor?”
The Major General collapsed both physically and mentally.
Khannikov stepped back, allowing his men to drag the condemned man outside.
“I bring regards from your father and mother, but it seems you are needed, Vladimir Georgiyevich. I will not stay. Take care and I will come back soon.”
“Thank you, Uncle.”
The two embraced and kissed as Russian men do, before they stepped back and saluted, in which they were joined by the three colonels.
“Good luck, Comrades.”
Khannikov turned on his heel and strode from the room, his departure marked by a single shot from somewhere outside that, in turn, underlined the change of command for 16th Tank Corps.
Everyone stopped talking and looked at the Signals officer with different eyes.
He looked defiantly at them, senior and junior, each in turn.
“Comrade Polkovniks, it makes no difference. I’m here, and under my mother’s name. I seek nothing that I haven’t earned, and I am not threat.”
He moved forward to the table where Abashkin was planning.
“Your orders. Comrade Polkovnik?”
Both Pavelkhin and Maslov leant over the map and slapped the younger man on the shoulder, grinning from ear to ear, before returning to the tactical situation.
The 16th Tank Corps went back to war.
Fig# 165 - Pomeranian names – then and now.
1946
NOW
Berg Dievenow
Dziwnów
Damerow
Dąbrowa Nowogardzka
Eberstein
Wojcieszyn
Farbezin
Wierzbięcin
Grosse Mokratz
Mokrzyca Wielka
Hagen
Recław
Kartzig
Karsk
Klein Mokratz
Mokrzyca Mala
Minten
Miętno
Naugard
Nowogard
Neu Kodram
Kodrąbek
Plötzin
Płocin
Strelowhagen
Strzelowo
Swinemünde
Świnoujście
Treptow an der Rega
Trzebiatów
Wismar
Wyszomierz
Wollchow
Olchowo
Wollin
Wolin
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.
The Bible, Second Epistle to Timothy, 4:7
Chapter 145 - THE PANTOMIME
0259 hrs, 26th March 1946, Wollin and Hagen, Pomerania.
The paratroopers had come together well, only a handful of men missing from the unit tasked with taking and holding the Dziwna bridges at Wollin and Hagen.
At 0300 precisely, ninety-eight RAF Lancaster bombers visited themselves upon Anklam, intent on disrupting the Soviet rail and road network by bringing down the bridges over the Peene.
Although a precision daylight strike would undoubtedly have been more effective in reducing the existing rubble of Anklam to smaller pieces, their purpose was also one of distraction; a distraction that required split-second timing. The deluge of high explosives and incendiaries, and subsequent inferno, would provide a diversion to draw the attention of any guards at Wollin, as well as an orange sky against which enemy sentries would be illuminated as the 101st troopers advanced.
Officers pumped their fists, sending men forward, as the bomber’s display provided the backdrop for silent killing.
Small groups had gone ahead, armed with the tools for deadly close work, with orders to remove the sentries.
Ahead of his headquarters group, First Battalion swept forward. Able Company, closely followed by Charlie Company, moved over the Zamkowa Bridge, dropping off a few squads to wreck any wiring that might be found.
Baker Company moved to the south, ready to provide a base of fire if the lead units got into difficulties.
Battalion headquarters and the support company remained in reserve, ready to move forward and react to any enemy threat.
To the north, Second Battalion had the real prize. It was tasked with taking the rail bridge and adjacent road bridge, creating a secure perimeter, but it was the rail bridge that was all-important.
The road bridge was a recent repair, and Allied planners had been rightly nervous about its ability to take heavy tanks, whereas the rail bridge suffered from no such problems.
Third Battalion provided rear security, setting blocking forces on all approaches to ensure no surprises came from the east.
The 501st was tasked with taking the three bridges, and establishing a bridgehead across the Dzwina into Wollin, holding until relieved.
Taking it was a relative doddle, the small Soviet defensive force gobbled up in a moment, with scarcely a shot fired.
Holding it was an issue that raised its challenges in the light of the new day.
Fig# 166 - Wollin - Initial Allied Forces.
0921 hrs, Tuesday, 26th March 1946, Wollin, Pomerania.
“Well, it’s nearly fifty miles from Kolberg to here.”
The leadership of the 501st was gathered around the camp table being used as headquarters map table, dining table, and personal equipment store.
Constantine Galkin, Crisp’s exec, munched noisily on one of the liberated Polish sausages that had turned up during a search of the decrepit barn that Crisp had selected as his CP.
“According to headquarters, we can’t expect to be relieved today, so we gotta sit out whatever the Reds throw at us.”
The mumbles were indistinct but confident in nature.
“Intel has nothing else for us, so no update on whether we’re facing old men and boys.”
; The veterans in the assembly understood the gallows humour and remembered the empty assurances of D-Day.
“So probably just as per briefing... adding in those boys,” Crisp nodded his head at the ever-present sound of falling mortar rounds, “To the rear-echelon security troops and a handful of regular army infantry and engineer units... nothing special... and nothing we can’t handle.”
Crisp watched as Galkin finished his feast, and immediately started on consuming another.
“Help yourself to the sausages, boys, if my second in command has left you any.”
Modest laughter greeted his attempt to shame Galkin into stopping his gluttony. His effort failed miserably, as the Greek-American simply leant over and swiped two more for later, just in case the assembled officers felt hungry.
Some clearly did, and Crisp decided to join them.
‘Damn, that’s good.’
“Right, listen in. Our positions are sound... we’re up to strength pretty much... we’ll hold.”
Using the sausage as a pointer, Crisp went over the positions with his officer group.
More stragglers had come in since the 501st swept into Wollin and established itself on a rough curve between Sulomino and Darowice, occupying the high ground between Route 65 and the railway line.
First Battalion sat astride Route 65 and had responsibility for the hill, leaving one company back as a reserve, hidden in the woods at Plötzin.
Second Battalion took the remaining frontage of the arc, with the Regimental Heavy Weapons Company lying back in support of both forward units.
Crisp sent his HQ demolition platoon northwards to Darzowice, with orders to prepare to drop the bridges if threatened, as they were not vital to the Allied plan.
In Wollin and Hagen, the support and medical services established themselves, the former also containing the 501st Regiment’s headquarters units.
Third Battalion screened the rear areas, protecting against any unexpected arrival that might threaten Hagen, and provided one company as a reserve, positioned around the west end of the rail bridge.
