by Colin Gee
“None the less… you’ll check everything again. Find out if there’s been an error and who’s to blame for it, Comrade Beria.”
“Of course, Comrade General Secretary.”
“And order the woman back here immediately!”
Stalin turned his attention on the wider audience.
“So, the fool threatens us with his wonder weapons! We have our own, Comrades… and we’ll use them to counter this treachery… this betrayal!”
Not everyone around the room was privy to the existence of the Raduga Project and its array of weapons, and a number of men shifted uncomfortably in their chairs, hoping that their leader would hold his tongue.
“The Red Army will be ordered to resist this betrayal with every means at its disposal, and we will initiate our own plans for the mass destruction of our enemies!”
0121 hrs, Sunday, 16th March 1947, Friedrich-Ebert-Strasse, temporary government building #1, Magdeburg, Germany.
They had listened to the words of the American President, and then those of the British Prime Minister that followed an hour later.
Immediately afterwards, a secret military briefing had commenced, detailing just how incredibly well matters had gone.
Two Colonels, one German, the other Austrian, laid out the staggering successes of Undenkbar, and how not only their own forces, but also those of Poland, Britain, France, and America were now pushing into territory previously held by the Soviets.
The plan had been given such a huge boost with the unexpected death of Eisenhower and the propelling of Patton into the top job.
The latter had been spoken of, a sort of unattainable yet cherished hope, the circumstances of it unimaginable until fate took a hand and placed Eisenhower on Strong’s aircraft.
Such were the circumstances that had come together to put Undenkbar successfully in motion that those listening could not help but think their plans had been given help by God, and that such fortuitous events simply demonstrated that they were correct in both thought and deed.
Those without faith simply grasped that they had been handed success by an incredible amount of good fortune and luck.
The plans of the three countries, Germany, Austria, and Poland, had come to fruition and the Allies, enraged by the apparent Soviet aggression, and under the guiding hand of the aggressive George Patton, were already throwing themselves against the Red Army intent on revenge.
Von Vietinghoff’s account of Patton’s meeting with senior commanders only gave them greater hope that the enemy would be brought to heel in a final and terminal fashion.
The US President had already committed NATO to using the new bombs, unwittingly assuring the plotters that huge destruction would be wrought on their bitter enemies.
On the other side, it seemed relatively clear that the Soviets would respond to what they would see as naked aggression, despite their clearly weakened state, and fight back with their normal fury.
Stalin would not permit any less, and that would further ensure the destruction of the Communist state.
The cream on the whole matter was that there was no hint of suspicion, no awkward questions being aimed at them, the whole contrivance having been accepted at face value.
From the organised removal of Allied intelligence officers who appeared privy to the existence of Undenkbar, through fictitious reports of battles on the Polish and German frontlines, to the silent raids on rear line positions of all types, prioritising those with artillery round radar detection capability to help conceal the unfortunate but necessary bombardment of some of their allies to promote the idea of a Soviet attack.
All in all, an incredibly successful operation, to which, when finally alone, Speer, Renner, and Diels raised a glass of cognac.
“Gentlemen, to the success of Undenkbar.”
Renner’s toast didn’t go far enough for Speer.
“That and more, Präsident Renner. I give you another toast.”
He stood, encouraging the others to follow suit.
“I give you this toast, gentlemen. To the Fourth Reich!”
“The Fourth Reich!”
“Sieg Heil!”
0400 hrs, Sunday, 16th March 1947, Vienna, Austria.
“Ok Boys, Let’s go!”
The artillery barrage was still pummelling the target area but the Rangers leapt from their positions, confident that the gunners knew their job and would advance the barrage according to schedule.
The 89th US Infantry Division had thrown itself against the enemy defences and found them wanting, almost unprepared for any direct action on behalf of the Allies.
Initially successful beyond their wildest dreams, the defence stiffened success morphed into bitter failure with two battalions of the 355th Regiment mauled so badly as to be combat ineffective.
Which was why the 2nd Rangers had been thrown forward to thicken out the assault on the splendid building and grounds of the Schönbrunn Palace.
The planning was hasty, and it showed, but the men were confident in their skill at arms and charged forward, Able, Baker, Charlie, and Fox companies leading a flat assault line, with Dog and Easy companies sat ready to reinforce any breakthrough.
Starting in an east-west line that incorporated the ruined Gloriette, their destination was the magnificent and imposing one thousand, four hundred and forty-one room summer residence of the Hapsburg Emperor, the Schönbrunn Palace, a mere seven hundred and fifty metres to the north.
Able arrowed to the left flank, their own flank set against Maxingstrasse, intent upon storming the Tiergarten, whose residents, animal and human alike, had been subjected to a severe hammering from mortars for the previous hour.
Fig # 228 - US Forces engaged at the Schönbrunn Palace.
The main garden area between Baker and Charlie and their target had absorbed fire from 105mm and 155mm guns of the 89th’s divisional artillery, as had the now burning palace.
Fox Company had their right flank on Grünbergstrasse.
It seemed that the Soviet defenders had cornered the market on flares and the night became transformed as the palace garden areas were bathed in light, supplementing the illumination already provided by the burning Tiergarten and other structures.
Muzzle flashes added their own macabre light and the remaining snow contributed its reflective qualities, the whole bizarre combination transforming the night into a special sort of hell for attackers and defenders alike.
The Rangers had a number of infrared equipped weapons, none of which were useful in the strangely-illuminated environment, and battery packs were quickly dropped off to ease the burden of the designated soldiers.
Fig # 229 - Soviet Forces engaged at the Schönbrunn Palace.
On the left flank, men started going down under intense fire, and the attack stalled instantly.
The company commander organised his 60mm mortars and soon a smoky barrier was placed between his men and the Tirolerhaus, from where the deluge of machine-gun fire had originated.
Able were back up and rolling round the side of the smoke before the defending Russians knew they were moving again, and a desperate hand to hand fight ensued.
Meanwhile, Baker and Charlie took their own casualties as dug-in enemy started piling on the pressure.
On the right flank, Fox had the best of it, until a nest of heavy machines guns on the other side of Grünbergstrasse hit them hard and forced most of the company to ground.
The attack disintegrated into a leapfrogging affair, as the Rangers moved from cover to cover, sometimes simply to fall into a trench or shell hole for a moment of safety before starting up again, sometimes to fight at close quarters with an enemy intent on denying them the ground.
It quickly became reminiscent of the Great War, the whole garden area having been turned to a lunar landscape by both old and new ravages.
In thirty bloody minutes, Baker Company had almost reached Rustenallee and risked moving too far ahead of Charlie, who were still short of the first objective, held up
by fierce resistance based around the Neptunbrunnen, a huge ornamental fountain that lay positioned at the head of the Great Parterre, the open route straight to the palace itself.
0431 hrs, Sunday, 16th March 1947, Rustenallee, the Schönbrunn Palace gardens, Vienna, Austria.
“Walter!”
The first sergeant scuttled across the hedge line, albeit with little identifiable as a hedge left by the ravages of war.
“Captain?”
“We’re stalled until Charlie sort out the fountain. I’m gonna get on the horn to Captain Fairlawn, but I want you to get me an assault group ready to hit that in the flank a-sap. Three squads.”
Barkmann pointed towards the offending enemy position, its knocked-about statues rising above the rubble and tree trunk positions that made it a difficult nut to crack.
“Yessir.”
Ford experienced eye took in the position and he pointed to a group of shell holes.
“Start line there, Captain?”
Barkmann nodded, already working on the details of his conversation with Fairlawn.
Four minutes later, Lukas Barkmann dropped in beside his sergeant in the allotted position, a line of holes that ran along the route of the Schönbrunn TiergartenAllee, or at least where it used to be.
Fig # 230 - The Schönbrunn Palace Gardens, Vienna, Austria.
“Charlie’s gonna pour fire on the target. Fairlawn’s got up some bazookas to help some. Two minutes of direct fire and we go in…”
Something exploded off to their right and the waiting group were deluged in earth and snow.
“What the fuck’s that?”
Ford spat the earth from his mouth.
“Sure’s summat big, Captain.”
“All the more reason to stay close to the commies.”
Another huge shell landed, this time further back, adjacent to the already ruined Gloriette.
They both ignored the shattered something that arced through the cold night air.
US counter-battery teams worked the problem and the pair of Soviet 203mm howitzers only got off one more shot each before ‘B’ Battery, 340th Field Artillery Battalion, the designated counter-battery unit, put its 105mm shells on target, permanently silencing the two huge guns and most of their crews.
“Yeah, we go in. They’ll confine their fire to the statues and all points east. Either radio or two red flares for we’re in. Any questions?”
The last Russian shell down fell near the Rangers headquarters group and vapourised the liaison officer from the 355th Regiment, along with his men.
“I’m good to go, Captain.”
In front of Barkmann’s assault group, Charlie Company had started piling it on, the bazooka shells providing more visible effect than actual substance amongst the defenders hidden in the rubble and tree trunk bunkers.
The 60mm mortars put down more smoke in an attempt to mask the assault’s left flank.
The order was given as soon as the smoke started to spread, and the three squads rose up as one.
A burst of fire, aimed speculatively by a defender, put one of the men running to Barkmann’s left down hard, and instinctively the group spread out either side of the silent man.
Each had a grenade in hand and, on hearing the breathless order, sent it flying towards the fountain area.
The Rangers hit the cold earth and tensed themselves.
The sound of so many grenades exploding in such a small time was, in itself, impressive.
Closely on the heels of the echoing explosions came the screams of men in extremis, awful sounds that could have come straight from a horror film.
Barkmann, leading from the front, vaulted a small log barrier and realised he was heading towards two stunned men.
Somehow he adjusted himself in mid-air and planted a boot in the face of one dazed man, smashing his nose and lips, sending him cartwheeling sideways.
Rolling and coming to one knee, the Ranger captain put a short burst into the body of the other man, whose sightless eyes had not seen the threat.
A second burst stilled the man with the bloodied face.
Another ranger came over the barrier and was immediately flung backwards by a PPSh burst that creatively ripped him open from groin to shoulder.
In turn, the enemy SMG man felt momentary pain as first a bayonet and then two shots took him in the back between the shoulder blades.
Ford pulled his Garand clear and used the momentum to smash the butt into the face of the next man who scurried round the corner of the fountain. The metal butt plate took the unfortunate man in the throat and he dropped to the muddy ground where Ford left him to asphyxiate.
The dying man was leading a surge of Russians, as the local commander realised the new threat and sent men to reinforce his right flank.
The Garand M1E20 saved his life as the eighteen rounds left decimated the eight-man group, putting every one of them on the ground in varying states of distress… or forever silent in four cases.
Barkmann moved up against the stone wall and put a small burst down the scrape from which the men had emerged.
Ford had a new clip in and gestured two men forward.
Producing the flare pistol, Barkmann put two red flares into the air in short order, and Charlie Company responded by moving fire away to the right, with no fire directed to any point left of the centrepiece statue.
Above Barkmann’s head, another head rose and its owner, intrigued by the flares that had just passed his nose, pulled out a pistol in order to shoot down into the Ranger’s commander at close range.
A bullet from Irlam’s Springfield sniper rifle dissuaded him, and the wounded man flew backwards into the faeces and watery slush beyond.
The covering party had been established to watch the left flank of the attackers, but Irlam had decided to take a hand in proceedings if he could.
Barkmann shouted to Ford as two more Rangers moved around the corner to back up the vanguard.
“Keep on here, Sergeant. I’m taking a squad around the wall this side. Watch out for friendlies, ok?”
“Yessir.”
Barkmann dropped to one knee and waved down Carrera.
With sign language he conveyed his plans and the newly-promoted Sergeant organised his squad in short order.
They moved off, keeping tight to the stone wall, with two men hanging back, their Garands trained on the wall above the squad’s heads, in case anyone displayed interest in their advance.
They made quick progress to the angle, where the lead man held out a hand, bringing the small party to a halt.
Four fingers indicated the number of enemy… and they were close at hand.
Carrera moved quickly up and took the bull by the horns.
The small position was isolated from its neighbours by a large fallen tree, under which a pathway had been created.
Detailing one of the BAR gunners to cover that, he checked that the two tail men were on the job and then readied his men, indicating that they should be silent.
In the log and sandbag position, four alert enemy soldiers served a 12.7mm DShK heavy machine-gun, and its muzzle was gently moving across the landscape, seeking out a target.
Alert… but looking the wrong way.
The five Rangers moved swiftly round the corner, keeping out of the line of fire of the BAR and, gathering pace, slammed into the defenders from the side.
Surprisingly, one man, an officer, reacted quickly enough to fire his pistol and Pfc Rigby stumbled as his leg was knocked out from underneath him.
A bayonet pinned the MG commander to the fallen tree and two rounds blasted the blade clear, ending his screams.
The other three Russians were clubbed and bayonetted to death quickly, but the damage had been done.
The BAR stuttered into life and bullets whizzed by, smashing into the face and shoulders that had emerged from the sunken pathway, sending the remaining parts bloodily back whence they had come.
Carrera quickly tossed a grenade down the same
route and the resultant explosion took lives amongst the reacting enemy.
Realising the danger, Barkmann pulled the group back, and not before time as three grenades came over the top of the tree and landed amongst the fallen, causing the dead and stunned Soviet soldiers to suffer more indignities.
Behind them the sound of firing rose, and it became clear that Ford was in a serious gun battle.
Barkmann hesitated, undecided on whether to fall back, stay put, or advance.
His Ranger instincts took over, and he elected for a version of the latter.
Leaving the BAR and one man to cover them, he looked to the wall for a way out of the predicament.
Two men bridged a rifle between them and propelled Barkmann up on to the top of the wall.
He immediately felt very lonely and wished he had not been so bold, as fully twenty Soviet soldiers were assembling close by, ready for a rush against Ford’s position.
He quickly tossed a grenade and dropped down behind the sandbags, letting rip with his Thompson in short controlled bursts.
The sandbags started to disintegrate as return fire came close.
“Get grenades over the wall now… ten yards!”
A few of his men responded and threw their deadly charges where he instructed.
The enemy soldiers scattered but still some shrapnel hit home, causing some serious injuries.
Two Rangers joined their commander and started to pick off the stranded Russians.
Both were knocked off the wall in the same burst of fire and fell upon their comrades below.
Carrera organised the remainder and another two men joined Barkmann on the wall.
Combined with a surge by Ford and his men, the Russians gave ground, but not before another of Barkmann’s squad had gone down hard.
The retreating enemy stopped at another sandbagged defence line, roughly dead centre of the fountain’s pool, and ruggedly decided to go no further.
