The Fall of the Father Land

by D. N. J. Greaves

  SS Panzer School, Sondershausen 26/3/45 2100

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been able to report to you earlier, sir.’ SS Untersturmführer Karl Akkerman, aka John Steele, stood in front of him. He had arrived in Simon’s room a few minutes ago, and quickly established his real identity and what his mission was – all in code words that Simon remembered from his incarceration and ‘conversion’ in England. Their conversation was thoroughly disguised, just in case there were any inadvertent eavesdroppers listening in. Evening lectures were over for the day, and the armoured warfare school was settling down for the night. Dinner had finished half an hour ago – poor fare, admittedly, but what was on offer was almost certainly better than what many in the area would eat that night, what with the disruption in transportation and the almost non-existent resupply situation.

  ‘Explain yourself,’ Simon spoke curtly.

  ‘As soon as I arrived here – it must be ten days ago now – the CO immediately sent me off to Kassel, to the Tiger production factory there. He wanted someone to supervise the repair of a batch of Tigers that had recently been delivered there, grab them at the first opportunity before anyone else did, and bring them back here. I-’

  ‘I thought you had specific orders to report here under my command’, Simon interrupted.

  ‘So did I, sir. But I was picked up as soon as I got to the gates.’ His voice sank to a whisper. ‘I thought my cover was blown. The guards at the gate were spending far too long checking my paperwork. Then the CO suddenly turned up, and I thought for a moment that I’d been rumbled. But no – he needed some dogsbody to get to Kassel ASAP. All his other officers were busy, up to their eyeballs with instruction duties and other tasks, that sort of thing. My transfer to the school was unexpected. It seems that it caught him unawares, a last minute request from Personnel at RSHA, with a glowing recommendation and personal file. So off I went - I was given absolutely no choice.’

  ‘But why did it take so long?’ Simon kept his voice equally low. He was still annoyed about the delay in communication. ‘Our mutual friend was supposed to have been in contact some time ago.’ There could be no mention of anything English, a name or anything else that could be incriminating. He’d checked the room for bugs several times, but it was still best to take every precaution.

  ‘Repairs took longer than expected,’ Steele continued. ‘We managed to get our hands on three battle-scarred Tigers - Mark VIE’s. Sir, it was a real problem getting them back. There was no possibility of moving them by train. Allied fighter bombers always seem to be around, shooting up anything that moves. We’ve had to travel mainly by night, and the buggers kept on breaking down every few miles. A complete pain in the arse, if ever there was one…’

  ‘Anyway, here I am, sir. I’m now at your complete disposal, subject to the CO wishes, naturally.’ Steele grinned slyly. ‘Our mutual friend has also asked me to give you your birthday present.’ Steele winked, and then slipped off the small field rucksack that was slung over his right shoulder. ‘Some chocolate, and some fancy pencils for you to draw with. It seems he knows about your love of landscape sketching and confectionery.’ Steele winked again. ‘He’s a very generous benefactor, if I may say so, sir.’

  Simon stood up and walked slowly over to where Steele was standing. He opened the top of the rucksack. Inside were what appeared to be several bars of chocolate, and a selection of coloured pencils.

  Steele stood close and whispered in his ear. ‘The chocolate is military grade plastic explosive, courtesy of our Czech Resistance friends. It doesn’t look much, but these bars pack one hell of a punch. More than enough for a controlled explosion in a confined space - perhaps somewhere underground?’ He left the rest unsaid. ‘The pencils are pencil fuses, funnily enough. If you look carefully at the markings on the end, it tells you how long each one is set for. Simply insert the fuse into the plastic, activate it with a twist, make your escape…then boom. There’s also this’. He fished a long cylindrical steel object out of his great-coat pocket. ‘This may come in handy’.

  It was a silencer. Simon turned towards him. ‘Thank you, Untersturmführer’, he said in a louder voice. ‘Please pass on my heartfelt thanks. This is most generous, an excellent present.’ He would need to conceal them carefully later. ‘In the meantime I have another task for you. Please read these instructions.’

  He handed Steele a piece of paper. On it was a hand written message and an address. Steele read it slowly, and looked up. His face was a picture of mounting indignation mixed with curiosity. Simon pursed his hand to his lips to indicate silence, and leaned closer.

  ‘A change of orders. Things have moved on since your mission started, ‘he whispered. ‘This has been approved by my boss, and also, by the way, by yours as well. Or should I say, ‘ours’.’ Simon continued. ‘You will leave first thing in the morning. Your mission here is successfully concluded.’ He pointed at the rucksack. ‘I have what I need to complete this part of the operation. And believe me, you cannot help. There is no chance of you being able to get to the intended destination of my ‘present’. Security is far too tight, and you would have no reason for being there. It’s a one-man job, and I will do it. There will be no further discussion about this.’

  Steele was about to open his mouth, but Simon cut him off. ‘This part of the operation’ Simon whispered, pointing to the piece of paper ‘is in many ways just as vital and important. Your boss expects full cooperation. I need to know if you can do this. Can you?’

  Steele nodded. ‘Yes sir. This will not be a problem’. He still looked indignant. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.

  ‘I do. Memorise that address, and then give me back that piece of paper’. In a louder voice, he carried on. ‘Good. Thank you again, Untersturmführer. You may go now. I will see you in the morning before you leave.’

  Steele saluted, and then left the room. Simon picked the paper up and fed it into the small fire that burned in the grate. Almost immediately it curled up, the edges blackening, and then it burst into flame.

  Schellenberg’s message had got through to him this morning. There were certain things he needed to do, but the question was- how? The timescale was going to be tight. At the least, Steele could help him take care of one problem. But the most pressing problems still remained, and their deadline was rapidly approaching.

  SHAEF Headquarters, Versailles, Paris 0900 27/3/1945

  Menzies paced around the ornate anteroom like a restless tiger. He had been up since 0600. A hurried breakfast in the hotel he was staying in, and then a rapid dash through the suburbs of Paris before the early morning traffic slowed everything down to a crawl. At least the city looked to be in fine shape. There was little damage visible to its famous facades. The liberation of the city the previous August had been a brief, almost bloodless affair. The German commander, von Choltitz, had pulled out the vast majority of his troops in the city before the Allies arrived, ignoring Hitler’s order to blow all the bridges across the Seine and destroy the most famous historical landmarks in the city. It was just as well for him that he had managed to get himself captured. The consequences of returning to Germany after directly disobeying a Führer directive hardly bore thinking about.

  SHAEF’s HQ was located in the pleasant suburb of Versailles. Most of it was concentrated in and around the magnificent Trianon Palace, once the home of the French regal dynasty. Security was tight, far greater than it needed to be, in his opinion. This level of scrutiny was unprecedented, even now when victory was close at hand. Menzies had to pass through six separate checkpoints before entering the Trianon, let alone getting close to the holy of holies where Eisenhower’s offices were. It was all just a little bit over the top, he thought, laughing quietly to himself. The Germans were finished. The front line was deep inside the Reich, and Berlin was there for the taking. Menzies shook his head in wonder. Just how some of these rear echelon types considered themselves to be military men was a mystery to him.

  Rumour had it that all
this increased security was a legacy of the Battle of the Bulge. When the Germans attacked unexpectedly, the shock of their assault was compounded by stories of German commando infiltration deep behind the front lines. These enemy troops were said to be deliberately disguised in Allied uniforms, and their mission was to spread widespread panic and confusion in Allied rear areas. In the first few days of the German offensive they succeeded beyond Hitler’s wildest expectations, causing an immense amount of disruption and disarray. Somewhere the story got around that part of their mission was to head towards Paris, assassinate the Supreme Commander himself and all his top brass. As a result, Eisenhower was so locked down that he couldn’t even visit the bathroom without an armed guard in attendance!

  Needless to say there were no assassination attempts. Almost all the commando units were rounded up quickly, once the Allies had got over their shock at the surprise German counterattack. None of them had got anywhere near Paris. Most of them were given a summary trial, lined up against the nearest wall and shot. Being caught out behind the lines wearing an enemy uniform was strictly against the Geneva Convention, and there could only be one sentence. The threat was long gone, although judging by the number of armed guards and checkpoints, you’d think it was only yesterday, and not nearly five months later…

  He reviewed the events of the last twenty-four hours in his mind. The message from Germany had come through early yesterday morning, quite unexpectedly. The result was feverish activity at MI6, and then an urgent trip across London to RAF Bomber Command HQ at High Wycombe, in Buckinghamshire. At last they had a location for the underground factory, even if it was a ten kilometre square grid reference in central Germany, somewhere to the north of the town of Nordhausen.

  Menzies had spent most of rest of the day there, kicking his heels while events unfolded. Even after he had convinced ‘Bomber’ Harris and the rest of the senior RAF command staff about the threat they all faced, it would still take time to mount a bombing offensive, let alone perform all the necessary preliminary operations. Orders had to go out to the nearest available aerial reconnaissance unit, in this case the 834th Tactical Surveillance Wing at Mons in Belgium. The Spitfires and Mosquitos based there would have to be urgently diverted from whatever tasks were planned for that day, refuelled and readied for the new mission, and their pilots briefed with all the intelligence needed for their new destination. All this would take time. Even then, there was always the weather to contend with. It might be a clear spring day at Mons, with barely a cloud in the sky and no adverse weather to deal with, but the story over central Germany might be another matter entirely.

  Two flights of Spitfires equipped with belly-mounted cameras managed to over-fly the area before darkness set in. The initial results were disappointing. Even though there were no Luftwaffe fighters out and about, and there was a complete absence of anti-aircraft defences to trouble them on their way in, little was immediately apparent. The area was partly obscured by cloud, and the limited detail they could photograph was a mass of undulating and heavily wooded hills, with only a few minor roads and a rail line. The results of the initial photographic survey were sent by teleprinter to Bomber Command HQ for further, more detailed analysis. The photos themselves would be flown over the next day.

  At least Harris was sympathetic to the urgency of the situation, perhaps a better reaction than Menzies had expected. After all, Harris was known to be a prickly customer who rarely tolerated outside interference in his private domain, and who needed a great deal of convincing before changing his mind about how the RAF was to be used. But he remained quite adamant in his views. Yes, they needed to hit this area hard and soon, but without further corroborative information as to exactly where this factory was located it would not be possible to go ahead, not until better results were obtained. He had the lives of his bomber crews to consider and although there was a pleasing absence of flak in the area this did not mean that it did not exist. Maybe it was merely keeping quiet, waiting for a more worthwhile target to turn up. The Germans had pulled many a trick like this in the past, and their flak defences were often formidable. Besides, they did not have enough heavy bombs to cover the entire area. No more than thirty Tallboys, super heavy bombs that were capable of penetrating underground structures, were available from current stocks. That would be nowhere near enough to cover such a large area. No, there would be little point in proceeding unless more detailed targeting information became available. Several reconnaissance flights would cover the area tomorrow and in the next few days, until the revealing tell-tales showed up. Until then the bombing mission was on hold.

  Menzies was disappointed and irritated, but it was also perfectly obvious to him that nothing further could be done at present. At least, not from the RAF’s point of view. He had already detailed Monckton to pass on this latest information to SHAEF HQ in Paris. Perhaps if he went there himself, appealed directly to the Supreme Commander, there might be a way to send ground forces into the area, and maybe involve the United States Army Air Force as well. Even Harris might bow to the Supreme Commander’s wishes.

  This was the reasoning behind his quick dash to Paris, late yesterday evening. It was widely known that the German defenses along the Rhine were in a state of collapse. Both Hodges’ First US Army and Patton’s Third were across the river, driving east towards the centre of Germany and what used to be Czechoslovakia, as well as in a southeasterly direction towards Munich and the Austrian border. Perhaps an armoured division or two could be diverted towards Nordhausen. Maybe the town was already in the sights of the advancing US forces heading into the area.

  The door to the inner offices opened, and a tall, immaculately attired major with a trim moustache stepped into the room.

  ‘Colonel Menzies?’

  ‘Yes.’ The MI6 chief stopped his pacing.

  ‘Sir, if you will follow me. The Supreme Commander will see you now.’ Menzies nodded, and followed the officer through the door.

  They passed through an outer suite of offices, where men and women in a variety of uniforms were engaged – answering phones, typewriting, updating maps and a myriad of other duties. The place was a hive of activity, and the offices seemed to go on forever. It always puzzled Menzies just what all these people were doing. Yes, running seven allied armies was quite a task, but most of the direct administration went on at each army’s own HQ. This was the tier of administration above that level, some of it no doubt very necessary, but he suspected a lot of it was bloated beyond control. Somebody had once told him that there was enough staff at SHAEF HQ to form a regular infantry division, well over ten thousand men and women! The mind boggled. Did they really need that number of people to run the show? The old adage about too many cooks ran through his mind.

  Eventually they reached the inner offices of the Supreme Commander. One final document check, and yet another unnecessary briefcase and body search and then he was through. At last he had finally reached his destination. The door was opened and he walked through into a large conference room. Eisenhower was sitting at the far end of the main table, deep in conference with three other senior officers. Menzies recognised Major General Kenneth Strong, head of Military Intelligence, as well as Lieutenant General Walter Bedell-Smith, Eisenhower’s Chief of Staff, and the second most powerful man in the Allied senior command, sitting on either side of the Supreme Commander. There was a smattering of other senior officers spread around the table, a few of whom he recognised from previous visits to SHAEF.

  Eisenhower looked up, recognising Menzies in an instant. The MI6 chief saluted smartly, standing to attention. ‘Ah, Stuart, ‘Eisenhower drawled in his well known Texan twang, a broad smile across his face. ‘Good to see you again. Have a seat. I hear you have some interesting information for us.’ He gestured towards an unoccupied place at the far end of the table. Menzies sat down, sliding his briefcase onto the surface of the well-polished table. Although he was no expert, it looked old and very expensive. Possibly Louis 16th. The room was do
minated by a huge ornate mirror, edged in gold filigree, and a large fireplace with an impressive mantelpiece. A carriage clock quickly chimed that it was nine o’clock.

  The Supreme Commander glanced quickly at his fellow officers seated next to him, and then continued. ‘Before you start, I’d like your opinion on another rather pressing matter.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Kenneth here,’ Eisenhower nodded to his left, ‘is very concerned that in our current strategy we are not focusing on a potentially very serious problem. As you can see from this map,’ he pointed briefly to the latest situation map displayed on a large stand behind him, ‘events are moving quickly. Hodges is moving north and east to link up with Simpson’s Ninth Army and pocket all the remaining German forces in the Ruhr. Patton is beginning to drive south and east towards Austria, in conjunction with Patch’s Seventh and the French First Army.’ He pointed to the area north of the Ruhr. ‘Monty is almost ready to drive northeast towards Hamburg and the Baltic coast at Lubeck…All in all, a highly satisfactory state of affairs. The Russians will attack soon, cross the Oder and take Berlin - probably in the next few weeks. We’ll meet up with them along the Elbe, as previously agreed.’

  ‘But what’s not so clear is what the top Nazis are doing. Their western front lines are crumbling almost everywhere, but they don’t seem to be reacting to this unfolding catastrophe. The only thing we have is this – we’ve received some information from a variety of sources that Hitler and his cronies are going to flee from the capital soon. We think they’re going to debunk south into the Austrian Alps and set up some sort of impenetrable Alpine fortress. Kenneth is very concerned that this is a real possibility, and that we may have a prolonged fight on our hands in very difficult terrain before we finally eliminate them all. That’s why Patton has been ordered to head for Austria as soon as he shakes himself loose from the German lines along the Würz and Main rivers. His main task is to cut all the land routes into the Austrian Alps and prevent the Nazis making a last stand there. Do you have any information to back this theory up?’