The Valkyrie Option

by Markus Reichardt

  30th October

  Madrid Airport

  Spain

  Schellenberg sat quietly in the Madrid Airport diplomatic lounge while the immaculately dressed waiter served him tea. It was not his favourite but as always Walter Schellenberg was trying to avoid a pattern for any watching eyes. The last few weeks had been exhilarating and tumultuous but he had found time for some contemplation and doctors who had told him that he was sick, possibly dying.

  Accustomed to power but unable to fight this new enemy, Walter was trying very hard not to be distracted by his own problems as he focussed on the task ahead. If he was to die soon, there was still one task that required completion to ensure his name in the history books, even if only those of another generation. You are getting vain Schellenberg he grinned to himself.

  The man who approached looked every bit the English aristocrat he was – right down to the crocked, crowded set of tall, narrow front teeth that seemed to be the preserve of the English as far as Schellenberg was concerned. Too much inbreeding among the ruling classes the former policeman sneered more to himself. The man’s attempt at blending in ended at the wardrobe. He was simply too tall, too pale and too English in appearance. The good thing was Schellenberg smiled to himself, that there was almost no need for the passwords.

  He went through the motions nonetheless, aware that the seriousness of the situation required it. Together the two men sipped their tea and went through the exchange their masters – in Schellenberg’s case paying masters - had required. A few minutes later the Englishman, who had introduced himself as ‘Harold Jones’ reached under the table for Schellenberg’s briefcase, which looked just like the one he had carried to the meeting. The professional policeman Schellenberg grimaced, even the dumbest watcher would have spotted the switch. It could not be helped.

  As the Englishman got up to leave, Schellenberg had to strangle a coughing fit “damn I am dying’ he thought ‘but I will see this end.’ In that moment he made a fateful choice.

  “Mr Jones, there is another matter I must raise in a personal capacity. I know you are no mere courier and you know what I was in a previous life; I therefore wish you to carry a message directly to the highest levels of your Government. Here are my credentials.” He handed over some copies of his various SS identity documents and a paper carrying an original signature of his. He then outlined verbally the key aspects of Operation Bernhard – the successful forging of the British currency.

  “Here are two sets of banknotes – one is a real set produced your Government and the other was made by men under German control. There are also a number of photographs proving our possession of the relevant plates, the papers, the inks etc. Your colleagues at the Chancellor of the Exchequers Office will not be able to tell them apart. “ His opposite did not look at them. “By the way if they need more samples of my product I can supply them a few briefcases full if need be.” His tone was casual, slightly sneering. “If they have problems telling them apart, here is a letter with instructions on how a specialist could tell the difference. Why don’t you let them have a try first.” But he got hold of himself almost immediately and went on in a more conciliatory manner.

  “Please understand that I am doing this as a German patriot, acting as an individual who no longer as a formal role in the current Reichsregierung. You may not like what I did under the previous Reich Government, but every Government needs people like me. But I want peace in a strong Europe; one not controlled by Moscow or Washington. I believe your Government and mine share a common interest there. These notes have just recently been perfected and only a few thousand pounds have entered circulation for testing purposes. But of course many more could…. “ He knew he was out of line with his brief from Berlin but he was a realist and in his view the British needed the carrot as well as the stick. Then suddenly he got too bold.

  “And by the way I will be having a similar discussion with an American official about similar banknote issues in the near future. But the message for them will be different.”

  “And what is your message to my Government?” The Englishman seemed to have gone paler, even though Schellenberg was not sure, as another coughing spat overwhelmed him at that moment. When he recovered his composure he apologised and leaned forward. “Please tell your Government that neither I nor the German Government has no intention of harming Britain and her power in any way if they share the goal of a strong, independent Europe. Germany accepts her defeat and punishment but demands the right to survival, something that Bolshevik dominance or the unconditional surrender theme pushed by Roosevelt will not allow. Please also be sure to tell them that in any other scenario the famed British pound will become rather common. I will make this decision independently of the new Government in Berlin but I will make it if Britain promotes Russo-American hegemony in Europe. If you destroy us we will ensure that your island starves after we have turned your currency into an international joke!

  Inwardly he was alive again. This was all bluff, he had had to leave the printing plates behind but his counter-part could not know that. If the bluff worked, he would do his country one last great service. And as he watched the Englishman walk away, Walter found himself mentally composing his memoirs that would record this encounter. An associate of his had after all been stationed at the adjoining table to take some photographs with a hidden camera. Yes my friend he conceded you are getting vain in your old age.

  7:30am, 31st October

  East of Kaunas

  They had waited for this ever since the German offensive had thrown them back. The evening before an artillery bombardment of the German lines had begun and throughout the night probing attacks had tested the strength of the German forward positions whenever there was a lull in the shelling. There had been some serious fire fights and Russian artillery had been redirected towards particular strong points Now with the advent of sunrise fresh troops were being fed into the frontline ready to surge forward. Gubkin and the 184th were among them. They had taken some serious knocks over the past three weeks but now were ready to go. Now the superiority of numbers would tell.

  The gently sloping hills before them looked like a moonscape and Gubkin was sure that most of the German defenders would either be dead or in shellshock. With a loud ‘Urae’ the 184th surged forward, jogging across the open field, through deep snow. It was two hundred yards before a small, partly frozen stream slowed them down and they entered the area which the artillery had ploughed over. So far there had been no resistance.

  Around him men were panting from the run as the morning sun began to heat up the air. They jumped across the first trenches and shell holes, still nothing. And yet these trenches had been occupied; here and there he saw bits of equipment, the odd evidence that soldiers had cowered here for some time. Had the Germans withdrawn? Gubkin’s instincts screamed in alarm, something was not right. The artillery had not been so intense as to overwhelm them unless the sector had been manned by some seriously understrength units. All around him the riflemen were slowing their advance, sensing something unusual. Normally the Germans fought tenaciously for every bit of real estate. The recent offensive had shown that they still had some strength left in them, so why this?

  Cautiously they crept up the slope, using whatever shelter remained amid the devastation. Gubkin hung back and fished out his binoculars. It was same to his left and right. Along what seemed like a 3 kilometer frontline the Soviet riflemen had reached the German trench line. As far as he could see everyone seemed to be confused by the absence of resistance. Then he heard some shouts from ahead. Carefully he crept forward until he reached a point where he could see over the ridge. The fields ahead had been spared some of the artillery bombardment but they too seemed empty. Using his binoculars he searched them, there amid the snow he saw a number of field grey figures scuttling westward. But there were barely a dozen. He scanned the area for another minute but it seemed true, the Germans had abandoned their frontline. He had a chance of a breakthrough. A few
quick shouts left and right and the men of the 184th leapt forward. There was no shooting, just the sound of hundreds of feet stomping through the fields. For Gubkin it all seemed a little too easy.

  By noon they had advanced four kilometres and encountered virtually no resistance. But it was all open terrain, no natural barriers presented themselves. Ahead of them there always seemed to be a few German infantrymen scurrying westwards, tantalisingly close but not worth the effort. Overhead a wing of Red Air Force fighter bombers roared by searching for targets.

  1:15 pm 31st October

  Rommel’s HQ

  Rastenburg, East Prussia

  Rommel stood next to von Treskow studying the map on the table. Around them messengers ran back and forth, it seemed the Russians were on the move everywhere. They had certainly caught them napping with their attack northeast of Riga. Now there was major action east of Kaunas, at least three Rifle Divisions by the look of it. Gratefully the Kaunas attack had only obliterated the forward screen of troops and seemed to be spending itself into the open area before the main frontline. Here amid a series of forests and other natural features that provided some form of natural defence the main force of the Wehrmacht defences lay waiting.

  “Von Treskow scanned a note that an orderly handed him. 252 Infantry Division also confirms the estimate of 3 Rifle Divisions. Only a few tanks spotted. We should be able to hold them for the moment.”

  “So no tanks, that must be a diversion, or just opportunistic. Surely they would have deployed major tank units if they were serious?”

  They both looked at the map, which showed three areas of attack, to the north the 3rd Baltic Front had fought its way into the eastern suburbs of Riga. The suburbs Ubroka and Salaspils had been taken and the entire eastern shore of the Duena was now in Soviet hands. This left the German positions around Daugapils dangerously exposed and already plans for a withdrawal westwards towards Ukmerge were being made. This would mean the loss of nearly a quarter of the recently recaptured territory. But there was little they could do. Convinced that a Soviet counterattack would seek to cut off the troops in Latvia they had not adequately reinforced the northern flank. With the Russians now attacking westwards towards Kaunas in strength it suggested that Moscow had decided to systematically clear the Baltics rather than cut them up piecemeal.

  Rommel sighed and nodded, “Fine, so now that they have shown their hand. What can we use to plug the situation around Riga.”

  Von Treskow looked up somewhat puzzled, Feldmarschall, there is very little. We have a few second rate infantry regiments heading for the western approaches of Riga in an effort to shore up defences, but I am not sure we can risk pulling larger Panzer units out to the frontline now. If Ivan notices, he’s certain to exploit.”

  Rommel seemed lost in thought, his eyes moving backwards and forwards over the map, measuring distances. “Von Treskow, how much fuel has Bayerlein’s PanzerLehr Division got ? “

  A phone calls later they had the answer. “Right that will enough to get them to the Riga area. Tell Dietrich I want him to take back the line from Dunaburg, the value of holding it is now gone. The infantry released by this shortening of the front is to be deployed south while 2nd SS panzer shifts north. We did not spread our Panzer units well enough, now we must remedy that situation. Also get the Luftwaffe to put whatever jetfighters they have left into the sky to cover this. PanzerLehr will need to move more than 100 kilometres in the next twenty-four hours. Have them deploy between Jelgava and Bauska,” he pointed to two towns twenty kilometres to the south of Riga. This way we will be ready when Ivan tries to outflank Riga.”

  His gaze swept back towards the Kaunas region. “Yes, and get me Dietrich on the line. He may need to kickback a bit more aggressively than originally planned.”

  1:30 pm, 31st October

  East of Kaunas

  Gubkin saw the tree line approaching and his stomach tightened. Until now they had just pursued the few retreating German infantrymen across the open landscape. This tree line and the mixed dark forest behind it was the perfect place for an ambush. To the south the terrain dipped, the map indicted a small river feeding a series of marshy lakes. He strained to see if there was any danger from that direction but could not spot anything. The troops advancing towards that are seemed unconcerned. It was the tree line to which they were magnetically drawn, this was where the obvious danger lay.

  And there it came, from the shade under the trees, a number of German machine guns opened up. Spewing death, pinning down the Russian riflemen. Gubkin hugged the ground and signalled two runners who leapfrogged over to him. “Have everyone work towards that tree line individually. No heroic charges, we have no cover.”

  He glanced around saw one of his machinegun crews frantically trying to set up their weapon to answer the Germans but fountains of dirt erupted around them and Gubkins saw first one, then two of the gunners, jerk backward. This was not getting him anywhere. His last runner was sent scurrying back east to find the mortar crews. He would need some help if he was to do this properly. Then he realised a problem, in the snow the mortar crews were likely to be quite a bit back.

  The ambush it seemed had been set up haphazardly. Although there seemed to be a larger unit dug in along the tree line, there were no heavy weapons.

  A series of explosions to the south, startled him. That had not been mortars. To his horror he saw, Panzers and half-tracked vehicles emerge from the dip, heavy weapons aiming high showering HE shrapnel over the attacking force. “What were those idiots in the fighterbombers doing? Had they not spotted the German force lying in wait?” They had not planned to advance this far today and now the anti-tank guns, like the mortars were at least a kilometres or two behind them. They were caught. If they could not beat off those panzers they faced a scary retreat across the same open ground the Germans had just allowed them to take.

  His prediction proved accurate, although the Red Air Force put in an appearance an hour later, it made little difference. The panzers just rolled along the flank of the attack, crushing any resistance they found. Along the entire front this drama was replaying itself as the few Russian tanks supporting the attacks were driven off or destroyed. Caught in the open, the infantry had no choice but to retreat, with the Panzers and half-tracks in pursuit. By nightfall the remnants of 184th and the other units that had taken part in the attack were back on the ridge they had taken that morning. That night a meeting at divisional headquarters confirmed that the riflemen had suffered anything from 20 to 30 per cent losses. Only a few Panzers had been taken out by the Russian planes. The 184th anti-tank guns had been caught on the move and had hardly had time to deploy. Most were destroyed by the Panzers from a long distance as they deployed on the open terrain. Most of the mortars were also gone. Under the cover of darkness Gubkin heard the Germans manoeuvring, the few patrols he managed to get out could not establish whether the Germans were digging in or not. All in all it had been a miserable bloody day. The divisional order to stand by to resume the attack once tank support was available did nothing to brighten his mood.

  7:15 pm 31st October

  Rommel’s HQ

  Rastenburg, East Prussia

  Rommel stood back from the map while a major drew new updating marks on it. The trap at Kaunas had worked, the Russians had attacked the exposed lines which they had believed to be the real thing. Then they had surged across the open, indefensible space behind it. Dietrich’s Panzers had lain in wait, well-camouflaged, often under a meter of snow. The commanders had taken a gamble that their efforts at hiding the tracks and their tanks would work and had gotten lucky; all it would have needed was for serious Russian air cover to have caught them. It seemed from prisoner reports that the Russians had suffered serious casualties as they had retreated from the Panzers of the advancing battlegroups of 1st SS Panzer. It was also clear they had not expected the Germans to conduct such a fluid defence.

  Well it had worked once, maybe it would work again but after that he had
to come up with new ideas. This terrain just did not offer much in the way of ambush positions. Just too flat and too many forests.

  “Von Treskow how is PanzerLehr doing. ?”

  His chief of staff had a phone to his head and waved. A minute later he stood up his face pale. “PanzerLehr got caught by the Ivans. They are strung out along this area fifty kilometres south of where they should be tomorrow morning, and most of the small bridges over the Juoda river are gone. It seems Bayerlein moved too early, and so while Ivan’s airforce may have missed Dietrich, they seem to have given PanzerLehr special attention. Bayerlein thinks he can get a third of his units to the deployment area by tomorrow but no more. He is still counting bodies but thinks he may have lost over 500 men. “

  Rommel sagged into a chair. “Have him push forward with all available units and speed. I understand his position but he must use the cover of the darkness to best advantage. Tomorrow the Russians will most likely come across the Duena. We will need a Panzer battelgroup to hold deal with them. Explain it to him, he will understand. “

  8pm October 31st

  Whitehall

  London

  Frederick Lindemann, scientific and economic advisor to the Prime Minister was taller than his boss; balding and known for his sharp tongue and wit. On this day that famous tongue and wit was nowhere in evidence. Instead, ‘the Prof’ as he was known to many of Churchill’s inner circle was very subdued. On the desk before him, lay three very fat leather folders stuffed with papers, all in German. He had risen in Churchill’s wake as Churchill’s personal scientific think tank, a soul mate, able to illuminate the mysteries of science and share the PM’s often quirky humour. Along the way he now realised he had become somewhat snobbish and arrogant. He had certainly gotten the Germans research capabilities very, very wrong.