Initiative (The Red Gambit Series Book 6)

by Colin Gee

  With no incoming fire, and a constant stream of friendly aircraft overhead, the bare hill seemed almost like a paradise, compared to recent places they had served.

  The bright sun almost seemed to gather itself to launch stronger rays, so a feeling of well-being grew as the senior men took time for a drink and a cigarette in the warm embracing summer air.

  Keller lay flat on his back, his hands across his face, preventing the intense light from penetrating his eyelids, or more accurately eyelid, as his swollen face had completely closed one eye.

  Von Scharf felt comfortable enough to produce his trademark cigarette holder, and was, when not puffing away, relating some portion of the recent battle to Behrens, who in turn enlightened his commander as to how Aschmann had been badly wounded.

  Janjowski chatted with Erich Horstbeck, the fresh-faced commander of Eighth Company, who didn’t look a day over sixteen.

  The impression never survived further examination of the man’s uniform, his impressive array of bravery and other awards evidence of a great deal of time spent in violent proximity to the enemy.

  A member of the 44th Hoch- und Deutschmeister Division, the quiet unassuming Viennese had started the war as a private soldier and ended it as an Oberleutnant, decorated with most awards the Reich had to offer, save the Ritterkreuz and any type of wound medal.

  The latter was nothing short of a miracle for someone who had served the six long years of WW2.

  Horstbeck was enthusiastically displaying his left forearm, the rent flesh, the clotted blood, the ripped sleeve bringing him joy, rather than pain.

  “Finally Kasper…finally! Wound badge in Black for certain!”

  Janjowski immediately rained on his parade.

  “That’s not an insect bite, is it?”

  “Eh?”

  “Looks like an insect bite to me.”

  “It’s a bullet wound… went straight through, hit some rock… came back into me here and took this chunk out.”

  Horstbeck used his other hand to detail the passage of the single bullet.

  “Right…fine… keep your hat on… I will accept that, despite the fact that it clearly looks like an insect bite… but my point stands. Regulations clearly state that the wound must be either sustained from frostbite, air raid, or hostile enemy action.”

  Horstbeck’s eyes narrowed.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I understand that Oberschutze Köttler has confessed to missing a shot on an enemy and accidentally wounding you.”

  “What?”

  “Not enemy action I’m afraid, Rupe… sorry and all that… but these things come across my desk…can’t possibly sign off on it.”

  “You bastard! You utter bastard!”

  He aimed a swipe at Janjowski, who fell off his log avoiding it.

  His laughter spread throughout the assembled commanders, who had, one by one, stopped to listen to the exchange.

  Horstbeck sprang to his feet.

  “I swear you lot conspire against me, just because I’m a veteran soldier with more experience than all of you rogues put together.”

  The laughter spread.

  Janjowski stuck his head over the fallen tree trunk.

  “Still looks like an insect bite to me.”

  He dissolved into laughter once more.

  Horstbeck threw his cap at the face of the laughing man.

  With mock severity, Janjowski wagged his finger.

  “A clear case of assault on a fellow officer. Disgraceful… all because I’m not falling for your weak attempt to secure a decoration!”

  “You utter schwein! Herr Hauptmann! I’m being victimised!”

  Von Scharf was incapable of adding any words to the conversation, as he descended into a laughter-induced coughing fit.

  Janjowski tossed the cap back to Horstbeck and sat back on the log, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

  “However, Herr Oberleutnant, with the correct inducement, I might… err… turn a dark eye to your clear attempt to gain laurels not due to you.”

  Horstbeck played the game.

  “You total schwein, Kasper, or should I say, fucking Judas! This wound was sustained on the field of battle whilst I and my soldiers valiantly held back the Slavic hordes… unlike you… sitting in the safety of the battalion bunker counting pencils and paperclips!”

  The laughter was raucous, and just what they all needed to wash away the memories of hideous combat.

  “It isn’t me that writes the rules, Herr Oberleutnant… I’m sorry, but there is little I can do… unless…”

  “Unless what…eh? Unless… hold on!”

  Horstbeck almost exploded.

  “You want the pepper vodka!”

  “What an excellent suggestion, Herr Comrade Starshy Leytenant. I accept.”

  “You asshole… I’ll piss in it before I…”

  Some new sound made Horstbeck stop in his tracks.

  “ACHTUNG! Take cover!”

  The echo of his words was replaced by the sounds of rapid movement, as the veterans threw themselves in all directions.

  The sound of scrabbling bodies was, in turn, superseded by a familiar and very dreadful sound, as the first of one thousand and forty-four Katyusha rockets streamed out of the sky.

  Height 462 disappeared in a deluge of high explosives.

  1628 hrs, Saturday, 20th July 1946, Château de Versailles, France.

  “That is the latest situation report received from Generalfeldmarschal Guderian, Sir.”

  “Excellent, General. Thank you.”

  Ike gestured von Vietinghoff to a chair and poured two coffees.

  “So it seems that this coincidence will reap some advantage for your forces, General?”

  Von Vietinghoff accepted the cup and saucer with a nod.

  “Very much, General Eisenhower. Their assault elements made our initial running difficult but… according to the report I have just passed to you, it seems we have routed the units that were to attack us and, as a result, their front line has collapsed in three places.”

  He took the opportunity to take a sip of the excellent fresh brew.

  “The initial pocket area has been redesignated, and the Feldmarschal privately believes we will bite off much more than the First Guards Tank Army.”

  “Good news indeed, General.”

  They lapsed into silence as the coffee called to them.

  Eisenhower was the first to break it.

  “General Vietinghoff… I just wondered if you could help me with another matter.”

  “Most certainly… if I can, Herr General.”

  “The movement of German forces into our frontline… well… it seems a little slower than we had anticipated. I want to be able to tell my President that the plan is on schedule. Political pressure at home, of course. You understand.”

  “Of course, Herr General,” he said.

  ‘Not really,’ he meant.

  “Another coffee?”

  Eisenhower swept up the dirty ware and returned with a fresh set, filled to the brim.

  “Thank you, Sir. General Eisenhower, I believed that General Bradley was in liaison on this matter?”

  “I’ve not been in direct receipt of any definitive further information since our last joint meeting, General Vietinghoff.”

  “Then my apologies for our mistake. Some units were delayed in moving forward as they needed time to finish conversion to the newer weapon systems that are becoming available. Somewhat perversely, it seems the more experienced men require more input… overriding their previous training is how it’s been put to me… anyway, the units are moving and some are already in position, ready to exchange with troops from General Bradley’s Army Group.”

  Eisenhower concealed his sigh of relief.

  “Then I can report to the President that the process is on track?”

  “Most certainly, General Eisenhower.”

  Von Vietinghoff smiled broadly… disarmingly… concealing his thoughts
.

  ‘… in both senses of the word, Herr General.’

  Those that I fight I do not hate, those that I guard I do not love.

  William Butler Yeats

  Chapter 163 - THE MEDALS

  2228 hrs, Monday, 22nd July 1946, Schloss Hartenfels, Torgau, Germany.

  Nazarbayeva was still in her office, the one she had occupied since the headquarters of the Red Banner Forces of Soviet Europe had relocated from Nordhausen to Torgau, a relocation speeded up by the victories achieved by the new German Army.

  She had ordered copies of a number of relevant reports and they lay before her, spread all over a huge trestle table that served as her desk, map table, and dining station.

  The paperwork all concerned German forces, and she was trying to develop her own picture of what was happening, independent of the one her staff kept constantly updated.

  There was a general suggestion that the DRH was of growing importance to the Allied cause, and the fact that they were spearheading the latest Allied effort could be interpreted as supporting that.

  The British were reasonably quiet, with limited gain attacks here and there where their forces held sway.

  The Americans were also quiet, even the cowboy Patton keeping his units in check.

  One report had piqued her interest, despite its age.

  Italian sympathisers had started to notice that German formations, those that had ‘monitored’ the line between Italian National forces and the Allied rear, were being or had been replaced with the soldiers of other Allied nations.

  She skim read the group relating to the new Italian boundaries.

  ‘… Uruguayan infantrymen…’

  She flicked another page up.

  ‘… Argentine soldiers and artillery…’

  Nazarbayeva frowned and rubbed her eyes with her free hand.

  ‘… Brazilian riflemen… frontline soldiers… experienced soldiers… interesting…’

  The knock on the door made her jump, so deep was her concentration.

  “Come!”

  “Good evening, Comrade General. I was about to be relieved, but this message came through. It concerns your present problem.”

  He held out the two-page document.

  Nazarbayeva accepted it but didn’t examine it, but instead dropped it on the table in front of her and stretched her back and arms.

  “Sit and tell me about it, Comrade.”

  “Rufin has the other report. He’s just cross-referencing some information, and then he’ll bring it straight to you.”

  He leant forward, looking for a particular item from the selection in front of him.

  He couldn’t see it.

  “The report from Schwalmstadt, Comrade General?”

  She found it instantly.

  “Yes… the German forces seen moving southeast. We felt that it was most likely to be those French SS Legion units.”

  “Based on what we knew then… yes. Some of them were around Kassel of course, but our information was interpreted as being the rest of the Devil’s bunch.”

  She looked at Poboshkin expectantly.

  “We were wrong.”

  Another knock made them both jump.

  At Nazarbayeva’s insistence, Major Rufin waited whilst Poboshkin finished, although she understood he had important news.

  “A second report from Schwalmstadt indicates that the flow of ‘German’ units has increased, probably three divisions worth…and includes all arms, from tanks to postal services.”

  He pointed Rufin at a stool.

  “Comrade General, our man has been counting carefully, and the figures make disturbing reading. Bear in mind, we have had excellent intelligence on their forces… or thought we did anyway… and believed we had identified all their known armoured formations with what I might now call their main body… Guderian’s Army Group.”

  “Go on.”

  “The latest fighting has revealed these known tank divisions still to be with Guderian’s force, so…,” he checked the report to make sure he was accurate,”… where did the Germans get over three hundred tanks and self-propelled guns from?”

  “Well, we knew that devil Speer was getting their industry working again, so tha…”

  “Apologies, Comrade General, but that’s not the point. The point is that these are confirmed German tanks, nowhere near the Guderian group, and certainly not the SS units of the French Army.

  “They’re new?”

  “Most definitely, Comrade General. Our man had identified the latest Panther II models, which we know are not supplied to the French, or anyone else for that matter, only for German Army use.”

  “You’ve convinced me. And?”

  Poboshkin ceded the stage to Rufin.

  “Comrade Mayor General, I have two reports, one of which came in earlier today, but that has just come to my attention.”

  He slipped a copy of the first to both senior officers.

  “This is from an agent in Washington. Low-level, works within their USO service. The report details memoranda exchanged between the US War Department and his organisation, trying to organise a huge entertainment operation to provide shows to troops in five newly stablished centres in Germany.”

  Nazarbayeva looked up from the document, concentrating on Poboshkin as he reeled off the details.

  “We don’t know where they are, Comrade Mayor General, but the list asks for a few of their celebrities by name… their major players… names like Hope, Crosby, Dietrich, Adler, Laurel and Hardy… but it’s the numbers, Comrade Mayor General. The request is for eighty plus entertainers across the five sites, two shows a day… it’s a huge operation.”

  “And the point would be… who’s going to watch them?”

  “Indeed, Comrade Mayor General.”

  “I see this is old news, and that these camps should have been in place a week ago…”

  She lapsed into the silence of intense thought.

  “Polkovnik?”

  “Comrade Mayor General, I think we could possibly think that the German Army units seen at Schwalmstadt were not all that were on the move southwards… and that the Allied plan is to relieve some of the pressure on the Amerikanski by replacing them in the front line… with German troops.”

  She nodded and picked up the lead.

  “Which would mean that the plan to target the Amerikanski is working… it can only be casualties that’s causing them to replace with German units… no…no…” Nazarbayeva wagged her finger at no one in particular, “… they could be recovering units to get ready for another offensive? Possible?”

  “It’s possible, but not likely, Comrade Mayor General.”

  Nazarbayeva waved her hand.

  “Just for now, we will all stick with Comrade.”

  The two men nodded.

  “So, why not likely?”

  “We have seen none of the normal pointers that indicate an Amerikanski attack. Admittedly, our intelligence is greatly limited, and much of it delayed by circumstances… and photo reconnaissance a thing of the past, but… there are no indications of increased rail traffic, no missing units… certainly none of the usual suspects when it comes to their attacks… air activity is within the norms… brutal as ever… but there is nothing of the normal pattern of increased attacks on our logistic routes behind the front target areas… I have seen nothing whatsoever to suggest an Amerikanski attack… not in Germany… not in the Alps, Comrade.”

  Nazarbayeva shook her head to emphasise her words.

  “Something simply isn’t working here… it doesn’t make sense… if… and I stress if… the Amerikanski are being replaced in the front line by Germans, that means either our plan is working or they are getting ready for another attack. Yet we have reports of the gathering of huge forces in the Pacific… Amerikanski in the main… to attack our eastern coast… it doesn’t make sense.”

  “No, Comrade.”

  She pointed at a display on the wall that listed their known information a
bout Persia.

  “And Montgomery and this huge convoy with British soldiers, plus whatever else, are about to come together to threaten our southern borders… and yet the British and their Dominion forces have adopted a passive stance, the same as the Amerikanski… are the Germans taking over from the British too?”

  “We have no suggestion of that, Comrade.”

  “We had no suggestion of that… and maybe we simply weren’t looking properly… find out,” and she gestured to the phone.

  Whilst Poboshkin made a swift telephone call, she rapped her knuckles on the table to attract the other man’s attention.

  “Comrade Rufin, we need some liquid assistance in the thinking process, if you please.”

  Within two minutes, a large bottle of Asbach had arrived and its contents were already burning three throats.

  “If the British are staying in place, it might suggest that the manpower reserve they created from their POWs has been directed into reinforcing their European fortunes… if not, then maybe the available soldiers are those seen in this convoy.”

  “I understand, comrade… but you’re suggesting we’ve fallen for a huge maskirovka… the Pacific… Persia… all created to disguise the weakness of our enemy?”

  “If the green toads are replacing the Amerikanski, and there is no hint of any renewed attack, then we can only assume that the leadership’s plan to weaken them has reaped its reward… and then it becomes easier to assume that the Pacific movement is a maskirovka.”

  The room echoed to solid knocking and opened to allow Pinkerova to bring the information that Poboshkin had requested.

  He offered the folder to Nazarbayeva, but she held her hand up, preferring to keep her own thought pattern going strong.

  “English and German troops arriving in Denmark… nothing unusual… possibly a second armoured brigade added to their 6th Division in Northern Italy… possibly also the reconstitution of their 8th Armoured Division in Holland… the report suggests the amalgamation of two existing brigades…”

  “Nothing to suggest matters either way then, Comrade?”

  Poboshkin’s eyes had narrowed, and his pursed lips told a different story.