“Kleimer! How are you, you old dog!” exclaimed Lehmann on meeting his old Gestapo colleague.
“Walter! The sun has just burst through the clouds! How the devil are you?” replied Kleimer.
“Just passing, on my way to Joseph and Anna’s – one of the children’s birthdays – had this fine bottle of brandy in my hands and thought you might want to share a glass!”
“Well, funny you should say that, because I have this box of excellent cigars liberated from a communist, and I was just wondering when on earth I was ever going to get a chance to acquaint myself with their glorious flavour,” replied Dieter Kleimer, pulling up a seat for his old friend and opening a cabinet which housed his favourite cigars.
The two men exchanged pleasantries, each asking about the other’s wives and children and sharing stories of old acquaintances, before Dieter Kleimer asked about Lehmann’s new position.
“We are doing good work, my old friend. Just yesterday we disrupted a Soviet spying operation at one of our largest engineering works. Unfortunately, we lost four men, but the value to the Reich is immeasurable.”
“Quite,” replied Kleimer admiringly.
“Most of these Soviet attempts at espionage are clumsy, as you would expect from such an inferior race, but there is one group who are proving a little more stubborn. This damn Red Orchestra. I don’t know if you have heard of them.”
“Funny you should mention that, my dear Walter. We may have one in our cells just now. In fact, I sent over a report this morning.”
“Well, I have not seen it... Damn secretaries!” said Lehmann, feigning anger.
“You hire your secretaries according to looks and not ability, my old friend!”
“Yes, that is something in need of a proper revision... but maybe not immediately!” laughed Lehmann. “So, who is this suspect?”
“Maria Himpel. She works as a secretary for a Swiss textile company. Our informant tells us that she may have links to the Rote Kapelle.”
“Interesting,” replied Lehmann, his demeanour taking on a more serious hue. “Has she revealed anything yet?”
“We are having trouble breaking her...” replied Kleimer.
“Give me five minutes,” said Lehmann, with more than a hint of menace, “but first, let me see her records.”
Soon after perusing her records, Walter Lehmann found himself alone in a cell with Maria Himpel.
CHAPTER 10
SSYMS
The railhead at Kassel was a clanking bustle of tracks and marshalling yards. At this rate, they would have little chance to sleep before meeting up with the crews of the other four Tigers, loading, and heading back to Rostov. The new SSyms carriages were here on time, and the Tigers appeared ready to go.
“Change the tracks? Why the hell do we need to do that?” shouted Otto Wohl above the noisy din.
“They are too wide for transport by train,” replied Bobby Junge.
“Surely they should have thought of that before they built them! Do these designers never leave their stuffy little offices? Did they think we were to drive them to the front line?”
“Changing the tracks should only take twenty minutes... there are other procedures... but you’ve seen the size of this thing!”
“Hmmph... Elvira needs to go on a diet, if you ask me...” grumped Otto Wohl. “So, where are the transport tracks?”
“They were supposed to come direct from the factory...” said Junge.
The implication began to sink in.
“Look, can’t we just load with these?” said Wohl.
“No, not if you don’t want to be in a train crash!”
“Oh well,” said Wohl, taking out a cigarette. “Time for a break then.”
“She was prepared to talk,” said Lehmann to Kleimer, as they walked the long dark corridor back to the front gate. “Interesting intelligence. Apparently, there is a massive build-up of Red armour near Leningrad.”
“That was quite impressive in such a short time,” replied Kleimer. “What did you say to her?”
“Trade secret, Herr Kleimer... but you will call me next time you have a potential informant of the same type. Please send a full report – to me personally this time – when you have her statement.”
“Of course... and what shall we do with her?”
“Well, bury her of course...”
Kleimer looked puzzled.
“Unfortunately, she didn’t survive the interrogation... but we did get the information we needed. These are the kind of small mercies her God might smile upon. Heil Hitler.”
Walter Lehmann then turned and walked out into the bright sunshine of a late afternoon Berlin summer day.
“The brandy did not come cheap,” he thought to himself, “but i.G. Borgmann now has a second source of information about Leningrad to relate to Hitler. She talks, she dies. Fingerprints, fingerprints, it’s all about fingerprints...”
Lehmann pulled his leather gloves over his chubby, lily-white fingers and strode off back to the office, perhaps stopping at another cafe on the way...
The infuriating business of changing tracks was a new experience for everyone. No one appeared to have thought things through. The tanks were fitted with cross-country tracks when they should have been fitted with transport tracks, but where were they?
Then, through the incessant noise, smoke, steam and arc lights, there was a knock at the door. Hans answered it to reveal the immaculately dressed figure of SS-Sturmbannführer Heinz Egger.
“Ah! Von Schroif. I presume you and your men are in a state of readiness for the ardours of embarkation in the morning.”
“Indeed, sir,” replied Hans. “However, you have that look about you that suggests there is a change of plan. Don’t tell me the train has been delayed.”
“No such luck, SS-Haupsturmführer. But you are right about the change of plan. Departure has been brought forward from 12.00 hours tomorrow to 05.00 hours today. You had better get your men ready. I’m afraid that is not all. We’ve had a change in orders. We are not going to Rostov anymore. We are going to Leningrad.”
“Leningrad? Why Leningrad? That isn’t proper tank country,” thought Hans to himself. He’d spoken to other commanders – it was a tank trap, a marshy swamp. Nothing at all like Rostov or Kerch – now that was tank country. But it was more than that. This new tank... Well, it might be unfair to call it a prototype, but it was certainly untested in anything resembling a theatre of war. What about the weight? The turret? The transmission? Paderborn was one thing; Leningrad was going to be an entirely different matter.
Still, in moments like these, all a soldier had left was trust. Trust that his commanders knew what they were doing. Trust in his crew. Trust in this new Tiger.
Before departing for the front, the Tiger men were to meet the mechanic who would not only accompany them on the journey, but offer invaluable advice on the art of entraining.
“Gentlemen,” announced von Schroif, “I am sure you will be delighted to once again meet SS-Hauptscharführer Rubbal.”
The men were delighted. Some strings had obviously been pulled. Rubbal was the best engineer any of them knew, and it was an obvious mark of the importance of the entire Tiger project that he had been spared from his work at the front.
“I have convened this briefing to illuminate you on the vital subject of logistics, particularly the science of moving these new tanks from one sector of the front to another. You could drive the tank to its objective, of course, but that would wear and damage the equipment, wasting unnecessary time for repair and maintenance – all this before you actually engage the enemy. Needless to say, transport by train is also faster. Now, of course, it is also possible to facilitate movement by sea. We have already done trials proving we can more or less drive the new Tiger into a ship’s hold or, if necessary, hoist it by crane, but this will not be the subject of today’s talk. Today, we shall stick to one of Moltke the Elder’s axioms – that military operations will suffer if the railhead is more
than 100 km from the front. To explain your own role in all of this to you, I am delighted to have Hauptscharführer Rubbal.”
The ageing Hauptscharführer now prepared to speak. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Otto yawn.
“I am sorry if there is some duplication here. You, as experienced tankers, know many of these principles. So, I have prepared some notes for you on the new procedures of training and detraining that are specific to this new tank, the Tiger. Now, as SS-Panzerschütze Wohl will understand, the key aspect of this is changing the tracks so as to avoid collision with trains passing in the opposite direction. There are also other considerations.
“SS-Hauptsturmführer von Schroif, it will be your responsibility to request from HQ whatever transport assets are required, transportation tracks and the like. It is foreseen – but who ever foresaw anything in war? – that the equipment for loading – ramps, tie-down chains, spars, camouflage, and straw – will be carried on the loader cars themselves.
“Now, camouflage – protection from aerial observation – I cannot put too high a value on this. Therefore, you will load the Tiger tonight, as if this operation were taking place at the front. As you probably know already, loading should always take place at night. So, again, this will be good practice. The objective will be to keep loading times to an absolute minimum.
“SS-Hauptsturmführer von Schroif, as was customary with the Panzer IV, you shall personally guide your driver onto the loading wagon and supervise the tie-down. This is to be rechecked at every halt. This being the end of August, there should be no need for covering the tanks with tarpaulin, but, for secrecy, this will be the order of the day. Again, as with the Mark IVs, keep your eye out for overhead wires, keep your head out of the turret, take down your antennae, and close any weapons or optics openings.
“Now, at the risk of re-emphasising what you already know – but is not repetition your friend and not your enemy? – entraining is easiest if attempted on a straight piece of line. Then you can line up all five Tigers and drive straight on. As you well know, loading from the side is not a desirable procedure. Load distribution is the responsibility of the Ladermeister. In your case, it will be one tank per wagon, with other goods carried on each intervening wagon.
“Tie-downs are effected by crossing and tightening the wire ropes. When all five Tigers are in place, the recovery vehicle can take its place. Now, I can tell that you gentlemen cannot wait to get out into the clear evening air and prepare for this relatively simple operation, so I shall finish with two pieces of vital information, one good and one bad.
“The good news is that you will be travelling with a complete support crew, including, I am happy to announce, a tailor. The bad news is that the Feldeisenbahnkommando, since the inception of the ‘Otto’ programme, is sending nearly 220 trains east every single day, thereby resulting in a chronic shortage of rolling stock. Therefore, we are limited in the amount of passenger cars available. You will have to travel by the scenic route – inside the lovely machine. You may need that tailor after all. Good luck, gentlemen, and I shall see you in Mga.”
The crew pressed SS-Hauptscharführer Rubbal with further questions, each aware how little time they had left before loading.
“What exactly is the Otto programme?” asked Otto Wohl as they returned to their quarters. “Is it something along the lines of out, back in time for Christmas and an evening out with the lovely Elvira?”
“Not quite,” replied Michael, “it’s a DR initiative to double the German rail network capacity in the east.”
“Damn,” replied Otto, “looks like Elvira will have to kick her heels a while yet.”
“SS-Panzerschütze Wohl,” interjected Wendorff, “you do realise that in some quarters that last comment could be described as defeatist?”
A wry smile appeared on the loader’s face.
The arriving train passed slowly, its passenger cars first, followed by the flat SSyms wagons. These were interspersed with normal railcars to ensure that the weight of the machines was spread evenly along the length of the train, as bridges were not certain to take the weight of the Tigers. In order to avoid the possibility of a collapse, great care had to be taken when loading.
Hans von Schroif had done his homework. He was keen to compete against the other crews to see who could load their Tiger the fastest. This was healthy competition; the kind of sport that could save lives one day.
The Ladermeister called forth the first of the crews, in readiness for the platform truck being shunted up to the ramp. Once secured, the loading vehicle towed the narrow transport tracks off the wagon and positioned them in parallel on the ground. The first Tiger crew then removed one of their tank’s wide tracks and drove the tank onto one of the thinner, transport tracks. Using the sprocket hub as a capstan, they then hauled the upper run of the track into position using a wire rope.
While this was being done, Hans watched, whilst timing, the second part of the operation – removing the Tigers other wide track and running the bogies over the remaining transport track.
“So far so good,” thought Hans, “but we can definitely go faster than that.” He did wince slightly though when he cast his mind forward to a time when this methodical operation might have to be carried out in the howling, freezing waste of the Russian Steppe, in a blizzard – and under fire...
He was then woken from this nightmare vision by a pink flash off to his right. “Must be a firework. Was there some sort of local celebration tonight?” He dismissed trying to remember being told of such a thing and returned to concentrating on the loading of the first Tiger, paying renewed attention as the crew took off the four outside bogies and waited for the half-track to tow the original, wider tracks to the front of the ramp. In such a position, the newly-tracked Tiger could drive over its old tracks, then carry them underneath by means of two wire ropes which were connected to the two lifting eyes. She was then driven onto the wagon, trailing her old tracks. Finally, once in the correct position, the trailing ends of the original, broader tracks were lifted by wires and pulleys, up and over the rear armour, and it was time for the next tank.
“Quite ingenious and straightforward,” thought Hans to himself, “but surely we can get the time down to under twenty minutes!”
He then looked at the Ladermeister and listened for the next set of instructions, but was immediately distracted by another pink glow off behind the Ladermeister – and then it struck him. These weren’t fireworks, these were flares, flares from British pathfinders! And then, if he needed confirmation, he was given it – the rising and then falling wail of the air raid sirens.
“How far behind were the bombers? And what was their target?” Hans had little doubt. “The Henschel Engineering Works. We have to get these tanks loaded!”
Hans looked across at the Ladermeister, who seemed to be in a state of confusion. Then came a huge explosion as a British bomb went off, the percussive wave crashing against the train and crews and throwing everyone to the ground.
Dusting himself off, Hans jumped to his feet and made a quick calculation. “If it was a wayward bomb, they still had time to load the tanks and pull out. But what would they be pulling out into? Would they be closer to, or further from, danger? If it wasn’t a wayward bomb, but just the first of the load, then they were all dead anyway.”
So, the conclusion he came to was this: “Load the tanks as quickly as possible, and then make an assessment as to the risks, based on any information at the time.”
However, given all that, he knew, as every commander does, that the decision to release the train was not his to make. All that he knew was that they had to get these Tigers to the front.
“Ladermeister,” he shouted at the still prone Ladermeister, shouting again until he realised that he was shouting at a headless corpse. The poor fellow had been decapitated, probably by flying shrapnel.
Hans quickly took command. “SS-Panzerschütze,” he shouted at Otto Wohl, “inform all crews that normal loadi
ng will take too long. Every tank must simultaneously load from the side. Crews are to immediately locate material with which to build ramps!”
Otto acknowledged that he had understood the order and ran to pass it on. Hans then turned to the remaining members of his crew.
“Stones, earth, wood, straw, anything! Let’s get this ramp built!”
Then the first real wave of bombs started to land, tearing up the earth in a deafening cluster of explosions off towards the Henschel works. The crew gathered whatever came to hand and packed it down against the side of the wagon. Otto Wohl returned to help. Hans von Schroif looked down the line and could see all the crews feverishly collecting material for their own ramps.
Hans knew that this approach was fraught with danger, requiring great manoeuvring skill from each driver, the ever-present possibility that, if the procedure was not carried out properly, the weight of the tank could tip the entire wagon over and end in disaster. “Should he order the wagons to be uncoupled? It would take a bit longer, but... Yes, he had to, the alternative was far too risky.”
Again he called Otto over and instructed him to tell all crews to decouple their wagons, make good on the ramps – would they all hold? – and then, starting with their own Tiger, have the drivers drive the tanks up and on, spin them round into position, tie them down, and then recouple. Otto Wohl could barely hear the shouted order as the intensity of the bombing increased, the ground shook further, and a violent and unnatural gale threw dust and debris all around.
As Otto went off, Hans decided that it would be useless in this maelstrom to issue any kind of spoken order to Bobby Junge, so he motioned with his hands for the driver to prepare the tank for embarkation. He then motioned to Karl to help him uncouple the wagon. On finishing, he motioned Bobby forward, the great iron titan straining and pulling as it rode over the first incline of the ramp, the front hull lifting.
Tiger Command! Page 18
