by Colin Gee
News of Knocke’s injuries spread like wildfire, and the rumour machine had him marked down as dead to slightly winded, and all points in between.
The truth was that, despite the attentions of Linus Wildenauer and of the captured Soviet medical officer, Knocke was gravely wounded and not expected to survive.
In real terms, the battle on the Koprzywianka River did not end until around 1500 hrs on 2nd April, when the final disengagement took place, although there were four more multi-aircraft missions launched by Armée de L’Air, the DRL, and USAAF units, and two by the Red Air Force.
The Soviet’s bill was severe, with both the 1st GMRD and 116th GRD fielding less than 30% of the manpower they had started the battle with, although wounded and stragglers would bring that number up to about half over the next few days.
Both had lost their commanders; Deniken to an air attack and Artem’yev to severe concussion from a close artillery strike.
6th GIBTR had three running tanks, one of which was ‘Krasny Suka’. Stelmakh was one of only four officers left unwounded.
Sárközi’s MACE unit was annihilated, although the price it had extracted from the tanks of the 1er RCDA was extremely high.
1st GMAEB was at roughly 65% strength, but its commander, Chekov, could not be found, despite the efforts of his men.
Similarly, 91st Tank Battalion was around 65%, although disabled vehicles and crews were found across the battlefield over the next few days.
6th Guards Tank Corps had taken a beating from air attack in the main, losing significant portions of its artillery and mortars to ground attack aircraft and counter-battery fire. Its 53rd Guards Tank Brigade lost heavily at Sulisɫawice and around Route 9, and the 2nd Battalion, 22nd Motorised Rifle Brigade suffered the highest losses of any fielded unit, with solely 27 men left unwounded at roll call the following day, although a number had surrendered to the legionnaires in Sulisɫawice. It was the captured medical officer from 2nd/22nd who worked alongside Wildenauer long into the night and early morning, saving lives and easing the suffering of those who would pass anyway.
The Red Air Force lost one hundred and one badly needed aircraft over the battlefields of southeast Poland, although only thirty-nine pilots and crew were killed
On the Allied side, the air losses were less, but only moderately so, given the numerical and technical superiority they had enjoyed, as the increased AA presence marked down many ground attack aircraft.
Sixty-seven Allied aircraft were lost, and forty-nine took their pilots with them, a staggeringly high rate that was brought on by the predominantly low-level nature of the attacks.
Losses in the DRH were modest by comparison to the rest of the Allied ground force, with Grossdeutschland suffering the greatest at just under 10% of their committed force dead, wounded and missing, with the 116th Panzer close behind at 8%.
The 1er Division’s infantry brigades were both damaged but took over the line duties from the two hammered Legion Divisions.
Alma was badly mauled, and 3e RdM and 7e RdM were down to 55% and 60% effectives respectively.
The rest of the division mirrored those losses, with the exception of the 3e Genie and 2e Blindé, who had both been extremely lucky, and suffered only a handful of casualties between them.
The corps troops of the LCDA were savaged beyond repair, save for the relieving force of 1er BAS and the rest of 7e RTA, the latter of which had lost two battalions in all but name, so high had the onus been on the North African infantry.
Only three of the 1er BCL’s tanks were salvaged from the battlefield, and only one of those, the immortal ‘Lohengrin’, left the bloodied field under her own power.
Camerone was virtually destroyed as an effective unit, both by casualties and by the mortal wounding of her commander and Legion talisman.
Haefali and Braun had extracted an important number of men and machines, but they were, in both cases, commanding forces spent and in need of recovery.
Emmercy’s force was smashed apart, a small portion taken prisoner, a larger segment scattered to the winds to the northwest of Klimontów and now intermingled with units of the 116th Panzer.
Haefali found himself in charge of recovering the remnants of Camerone and extracting it from the line before the exhausted men totally ceased to function.
In human terms, the battle had cost the Legion some of its finest.
Emmercy’s body was found with many of his men, executed beside the Floriańska highway near Skwirzowa.
The body of Uhlmann was carried from the field on the rear of a Jaguar, his headless corpse wrapped in a tarpaulin and covered with the flag of the Legion.
Truffaux, Jung, Jorgensen, and Peters had all fallen at Sulisɫawice.
Found amongst the dead of a vicious hand to hand fight around the K44 Pak was Wagner, the mad gunner.
In the final moments of victory, Sergent-chef Yitzhak Rubenstein, who had once helped Haefali and Knocke lay to rest the slaughtered Soviet paratroopers at the Chateau du Haut-Kœnigsbourg, sharing the Kaddish with the two officers, was struck down by machine-gun fire.
In the perverse way that war often deals out its fates, he was killed in combat with men who were once members of the 100th Guards Division, the division from which the men he had honoured were drawn and who now filled out the ranks of Artem’yev’s 116th.
Alma lost its commander, when St.Clair was flayed by shrapnel from groin to chest, and carried from his burning staff car by survivors from his headquarters group, whilst yet others shook their fists impotently at the Armée de L’Air Thunderbolts that had dropped bombs on their own.
The other wounded included Renat-Challes, Hässelbach, and Fiedler, although all of them were expected to recover.
Across the whole Corps, the losses were felt intensely, and with a very real grief for so many comrades lost and maimed.
But no loss, no death, no wounding, was more keenly felt or more widely mourned that that of Knocke.
At 0302 hrs, Wildenauer took his leave as Lohengrin prepared to move back behind the lines.
He clambered into the tank and his crewmates looked at him with a newfound respect, and with hope in their eyes.
“So… how is he, Linus? Good news, I hope?”
He knew that the senior men in the Tiger’s crew had a special relationship with Knocke, so he considered lying.
But, in the end, he chose the truth.
“He won’t last the night.”
It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.
Confucius
CHAPTER 199 - THE PLOTTERS
2211 hrs, Friday, 4th April 1947, House of Madame Fleriot, La Vigie, Nogent L’Abbesse, near Reims, France.
Commandant Vincennes had taken the call and driven straight away to bring the awful news in person, using the drive as an opportunity to compose himself and work out how best to deliver his news.
Jerome answered the door, demonstratively indignant that anyone could possibly call to disturb the household at this ungodly hour.
In fairness, the old man quickly sensed the nature of the visit and treated the French officer with equanimity, helping him off with his sodden raincoat and leading him to take a seat in the lounge before heading off to rouse Madame Knocke.
By the time he had reached the stairs, he had decided to wake Madame Fleriot first, given his suspicions.
Armande Fleriot’s eyes flicked awake as soon as he knocked lightly on her door, and her eyes strayed to the weapon that had been ever-present by her bedside since the attempted assassination of her family.
After hearing Jerome’s fears, she quietly dressed and went to wake Anne-Marie.
“Ah, Commandant Vincennes, so lovely to see you again, although your timing is less than impeccable.”
“Madame Fleriot, at your service.”
“Please sit… Jerome is bringing coffee and Anne-Marie will be down in a moment.”
She leant forward and spoke in a softer voice but somehow with a hard
er tone.
“Commandant, I assume this is not a social call. You will know she is pregnant. Gently if you please…”
The door opened and Anne-Marie Knocke walked in with the urgent pace of someone who needs to know the answers to the myriad of questions bouncing around inside her head.
“Commandant Vincennes.”
“Enchanté, Madame Knocke.”
She took her seat adjacent to Armande, battling her emotions and the growing sense of fear that chilled her to the very bones.
Vincennes looked uncomfortable and hesitated, trying to find the right moment and recall his chosen words.
Jerome entered with coffee at the moment that Armande Fleriot provoked matters.
“Commandant, we both understand that this is not a social visit and that you come bearing news… clearly urgent news. I pray you, speak of it now and torture us no longer.”
“Of course… I regret, Madame Knocke, that my news is for you… and it is bad news indeed.”
Anne-Marie remained sat bolt upright despite the imminent collapse she felt was about to wash over her.
“I’ve received word from the front. It is with the deepest regret that I must inform you that you husband, Général Ernst Knocke, was wounded… it’s feared mortally. My news is old, I admit. I’m told that your husband was struck down on Monday, during the great attack, and was not expected to survive the night. I have received no more and I came as soon as I was ordered to. Madame, I am truly sorry… and France will grieve with you… Madame? Madame?”
Anne-Marie clutched her distended form, as if holding her man close, the awful words churning around in her mind.
Madame Fleriot spoke in her stead.
“So, Commandant, you come here to tell us that he may be dead… or may not be dead… are you a fucking cretin?”
Even Jerome stopped in mid-motion.
Never before had Armande Fleriot spoken a harsh word in his company, let alone such language, and to a guest and officer of the French Army.
“Madame, I am told what I am told… and I was told to get here as soon as possible.”
Vincennes was cringing inside.
Jerome was shocked.
Fleriot was red-faced and angry.
Anne-Marie was drained of colour and silent.
But then, as things started to declare themselves, it became obvious that Anne-Marie Knocke was in shock-induced labour.
2301 hrs, Friday, 4th April 1947, GRU West Headquarters, Brest Litovsk, USSR.
“Come in.”
The door opened and in walked one of the more recent additions to Nazarbayeva’s staff.
“Comrade Leytenant. Are you duty officer?”
Nazarbayeva already knew the answer to the question, but asked it anyway.
“No, Comrade General. I was just finishing up my report on the French Army activities. I wondered if you wished to see it before you returned to your quarters?”
Nazarbayeva put down the report she was already reading in favour of the one offered up by Hana Rikardova.
“Precis it for me, Comrade Leytenant. Please sit.”
“The French First Army has suffered heavy losses amongst it elite soldiers and appears to be all but spent already. Since the battles on Tuesday, they have made next to no advances, and only on two occasions have they made attempts that had any possibility of achieving any reasonable tactical success… both defeated by our forces. Of greatest note is the destruction of their Legion Corps, the one that has done us so much harm over recent months. Whilst Rybalko’s own force was badly damaged in the actions on Tuesday and Wednesday this week, it’s beyond doubt that he has crippled the Legion Corps and it’s now out of the line.”
“Excellent… and we have hard figures on their casualties and equipment losses?”
“Yes, Comrade Leytenant General, as much of it was left on the field we occupied… and there’s more to reinforce my assessment that the Legion Corps is now to be considered as… err… virtually destroyed.”
Nazarbayeva poured two glasses of water and pushed one across to the clearly dry-throated young officer.
“Thank you… we’ve killed much of their experienced leadership… the ex-SS soldiers… confirmed as dead are Knocke and Uhlmann, the driving forces behind the Camerone unit. I believe they won’t recover from it, Comrade Leytenant General.”
“Good… excellent in fact. I’ll read the full report as soon as I get an opportunity. I’ll be flying to Moscow tomorrow… that should give me an opportunity.”
The tone in Nazarbayeva’s voice would normally have been interpreted as the end of the conversation, but Rikardova made no attempt to move.
“Yes, Comrade Leytenant General. I wondered if I might accompany you on your visit?”
The silence was complete as the two women locked eyes.
Nazarbayeva considered a number of responses until deciding on a lighter approach.
“And why would I consider your request, Comrade Leytenant?”
“Because there is nothing like Mayday in Moscow, except...”
“Except perhaps Christmas in Krakow?”
“Yes indeed, Comrade Leytenant General.”
Silence returned, and neither seemed to wish to break the moment, although the atmosphere was filled with tension.
Eventually, Nazarbayeva spoke.
“I’m listening.”
“I’m here to give you a message, Comrade General. A delegation from the Allies arrives in Moscow tomorrow and you must meet with one of their number… a Colonel Ramsey. He has information that is vit…”
“Who do you work for?”
“For you, Comrad…”
“Don’t be so fucking stupid. Where do your loyalties lie, eh?”
“My loyalties lie with the Motherland, Comrade. I assure you th…”
“So who do you work for within the Motherland?”
“Comrade Khrushchev had me placed here to be of service… and to handle certain delicate tasks.”
“Did he now? So your allegiance is to him, not to the Motherland?”
“They’re one and the same, Comrade General.”
“So who are you really, Leytenant?”
“I am who I am. Hana Georgievna Rikardova of the GRU, but I’m also a member of a small and very secret section within the Communist Party apparatus. As is Comrade Khrushchev… and he’s directed me to be here to watch over you and help where I can.”
Had she been asked that same question by Menzies or Gubbins, she would have replied that she was Hanna Richards of MI-6 and committed to King and Country.
When she had been asked it by Gehlen, she was Annadell Reichart of the Abwehr and a committed member of the National Socialist Party of Germany.
Rikardova was a lot more than she seemed.
She also possessed orders to terminate Nazarbayeva if her loyalty to the new cause seemed about to wane.
But for now, she was in Nazarbayeva’s office with instructions from Khrushchev, and she relayed them quietly, making sure that her commander understood each perfectly.
At 1000 hrs the next day, the aircraft carrying Nazarbayeva and Rikardova took off for Vnukovo airfield.
Some two hours later, an RAF Skymaster landed at Vnukovo, having departed from Sweden some hours earlier, and followed an agreed safe air route, shepherded all the way by impressive numbers of Soviet fighter aircraft.
The C-54 landed on Russian soil without incident and the Allied delegation was whisked off to Moscow, ready for meetings with the Soviet hierarchy.
1754 hrs, Saturday, 5th April 1947, the Kremlin, Moscow. USSR.
Nazarbayeva accepted the report from one of the Moscow GRU officers and read it with increasing concern.
Almost oblivious to the process, she walked through security.
The metal detector screamed out its warning, as it always did whenever Nazarbayeva entered the protected area of the Kremlin.
“I regret, Comrade Leytenant General. If you will.”
The NKVD
officer frisked the GRU general thoroughly, a little too thoroughly for Nazarbayeva’s liking as he dwelt on her chest pockets and thighs.
He even checked her holster, although he had been watching as she had removed her pistol and placed it in the bag set aside for her personal but restricted items.
“It’s my foot brace… it’s always my foot brace.”
“I regret, Comrade Leytenant General, but I have my orders. If you please?”
With practised ease she slipped off her left boot and flicked it up into the hands of the inspecting officer.
He slipped his hand in and felt the warm metal.
“I regret, Comrade Leytenant General.”
He placed the boot down and stepped back to allow her to slide it back on, which she did with her normal skill.
An Air Force colonel set the machine off and he received a far less courteous examination.
“Your meeting with the General Secretary is scheduled for seven, is it not?”
“Yes, Comrade General.”
“Excellent, then we have time now. May I offer you a drink?”
Kaganovich motioned towards a small table replete with various spirits.
“Thank you, but no. Just water please.”
He had heard of the change in the woman’s habits but had to check for himself.
The reports on her licentious behaviour had also dried up.
“Clearly there’s something on your mind. That folder by any chance?”
“Yes, Comrade Polkovnik General. I just received it. GRU South sent it on to me, but I think the significance has not yet been understood.”
He poured her a water, and himself a Chivas Regal.
“Go on.”
“They’ve received many reports from their agents on the ground regarding increased Allied air presence.”
