by Gee, Colin
Again, De Walle noticed the slightest change of posture as the German spoke.
“We request that we are permitted to wear our national uniform for this initial portion, political insignia removed of course, as we see it as a useful tool to focus the minds of those attending, establishing our own credentials, as well as adding a certain edge to the afternoon’s Kriegspiel. In that regard, we have prepared a listing of each officer’s decorations and uniform requirements, included in the package as addendum A.”
Knocke drove swiftly on from this startling group request in such a way as it was very obvious that it was a considered and non-negotiable statement of requirement. De Walle had read it earlier obviously but still found himself perturbed by it.
“Dinner will be taken early, and the candidates will be debriefed immediately afterwards.”
“The next two days will be intensive lectures with reasonable rest periods in between.”
A dry tickly cough gave a moment’s enforced pause.
“The fourth day will be dedicated to a detailed re-run of the Kriegspiel. We will employ standard Soviet doctrine as taught to our candidates and see what they have learned. Again that will be heavily de-briefed.”
Once more, the humour surfaced. “This time we would expect your officers to be much improved and victory would not be taken for granted”.
Knocke theatrically gestured for a drink. A sip on the water, instantly offered up, gave him an opportunity to leave that comment dangling in front of De Walle.
“Danke Menzel. On the final day we will address some specifics which will have come to our attention during the week, as each man will bring his own special needs and issues to this symposium.”
“Generally, we consider it important that we and the candidates are permitted to mix openly at all times once the initial Kriegspiel is completed, for meals, refreshment breaks and any off-duty times. We feel it is important that no alcohol is consumed until dinner unless there is business scheduled for afterwards for some reason. It is accepted that there may be displays of bad feeling linked to the recent war but they must not be allowed to interfere with the symposiums objectives. If a candidate becomes so disruptive that we ask for his removal, we fully expect that officer to be immediately relieved and dealt with appropriately by his own commander.”
“As you have requested our feedback on your personnel, a full report on the ability of each man, as well as analysis of his performance during the symposium, will be made available to you by Saturday at 1300 hrs. This will contain individual comments from each of my officers here relative to their own area of expertise and my overall assessment.”
“For this to be of value, these reports will be wholly accurate and not dressed to prevent damage to an individual’s personal feelings or professionalism. They will also be based solely upon performance, not character or conduct during the week, unless either of those have a direct effect upon performance. We would expect to receive similar reports on our own performance from those attending.”
“Saturday afternoons should be used to critique the symposiums content and structure to highlight areas of improvement and issues for change.”
Looking at the Frenchman, Knocke deliberately emphasised his next sentence.
“In order for this symposium to run successfully for the long term, we request that we be permitted Sundays without official duties, and in essence make that non-negotiable.”
A wry smile and a nod of acceptance were sufficient. Being French, the concept of only one day off a week was horrifying. De Walle and his superiors had anticipated a full weekend of leisure.
“A detailed timetable of symposium events has been compiled and is included in the documentation before you, labelled as addendum B.”
“As a personal request by four of my officers, at addendum C you will find a list of German nationals who are relatives. We would consider it an act of friendship if you could attempt to establish the well-being and whereabouts of those named.”
This had not been in the document De Walle had previously read and he was not ready for the words, nor for that matter, the list offered to him by Schmidt. The proffered paper was accepted with the faintest of nods.
With a small but none the less noticeable exhalation of relief, Knocke concluded.
“Danke. Colonel?”
“Indeed Herr Knocke, indeed,” and De Walle stood and moved slowly to Knocke’s side.
“Gentlemen, your efforts so far have proved to me that the right men are here to do this job. On your request for family information, we will do what we can, my word on it.”
“Your outline for the symposium,” he flourished the document and bowed his head swiftly in acknowledgement, “Is thus far excellent and nothing that you have laid out gets anything but approval from me, with two possible exceptions. On the matter of uniform, that spectre raised itself the other evening and I have given it some thought. I am not a military man so my thinking may be flawed but I can see some value in it, as obviously can you. Others may feel differently so I will seek advice from a higher authority on that one. On the matter of mixing, I can see pitfalls there, ones that you will most certainly appreciate. However, I understand the purpose of that proposal and can see additional benefits, provided there is no provocation by either side, intended or otherwise. Again I will seek others input before we decide upon that.”
“Everything else here I am empowered to approve as far as I can but understand that a copy of your documentation is presently in the hands of the man that will ultimately accept your proposals, or he may request…err, yes request change of you”. The momentary stumble was caused by the mental image of the French General requesting defeated German prisoners to do something he would order anyone else to do on a whim. If it came, it would not be a request and, judging by the faces, not one of the Germans thought otherwise.
“Thank you for your efforts Gentlemen, and if I may,” indicating to a waiting orderly who had somehow appeared at the absolutely correct moment, “Ask you to accompany me back to the Kaiser’s Hall.”
The company took the short journey up the spiral stairs to the dining room where a silver tray, glasses, and bottle lay awaiting their arrival, all twinkling in the light of the roaring fire that warmed the room splendidly.
“A toast to our venture, one for the benefit of both our countries.” De Walle grabbed the bottle displaying the label to everyone close by. “A fine bottle of cognac, which the concierge here assures me was laid up on completion of the renovations in 1908. I had to threaten life imprisonment for him and his family to secure the rights of consumption on the contents obviously”.
A faint wave of laughter spread through all, although the comment served to remind everyone of the power of the affable Frenchman.
Glasses filled and raised, De Walle ventured the toast and was immediately followed by a chorus from the others.
“Biarritz!”
Cognac bit into throats, warmed bellies, and glasses smashed into fireplace as the tradition toast was taken, a toast that marked the start of something that was to have more significance than anyone could ever have imagined.
No matter how enmeshed a commander becomes in the elaboration of his own thoughts, it is sometimes necessary to take the enemy into account.
Sir Winston Spencer Churchill
Chapter 12 – THE PROVOCATIONS
1250 hrs Monday, 9th July 1945, The Kremlin, Moscow, USSR.
During the German War, the work done at Bletchley Park in England had been extremely useful. The German’s had no idea that the Allies could read their private communications, and that fact alone had shortened the war considerably.
Of course, the Soviet Union had its mole’s. Some had been motivated by a sense of equality; in that what was known by some should be known by all fighting the German. Others were politically inclined towards the Motherland anyway. One particularly productive source worshipped on the altar of the pound.
Information filtered out to the Sovie
t Union and, on occasion, made a major difference.
Whatever the motivation of each mole, since the surrender there had been a huge cut in message traffic and what had been sent had been worth comparatively little. It was with some surprise that, having been summoned to Stalin’s office, Beria should be confronted with something of considerable interest originating from that sleepy corner of rural England.
“Well Comrade Marshall?”
Pekunin, the GRU officer who had brought the message to Stalin, remained impassive as the head of the NKVD floundered in front of him.
“We knew for certain that some German Generals were being courted in some way, as was announced to the military group some while back. Apple Pie is the name they use, as you will recall. However, my own sources have no definite knowledge of these groups Comrade General Secretary. Rumours abound of course, but I would not bring unsubstantiated talk to your office. I deal in facts, as do you Comrade General Secretary.”
It was a reasonable dance but did not cover the fact that the GRU had hit the target long before the NKVD. It was a rare triumph for the senior GRU General and he silently savoured every second as Stalin spoke directly at Beria.
“GRU assessment of this information is that these groups may pose a threat. That their existence shows, at minimum, deep suspicion and at worst case aggressive intent by our former allies. They could also be used as a possible rallying point for any organised German force once Kingdom39 is initiated. Your assessment?” Stalin sat back, aware of Beria’s discomfort.
“I can only agree with the interpretation of my GRU comrades and congratulate them on their diligence.” Both listeners knew how much that hurt the head of the NKVD, who was already promising himself a none too pleasant conversation with his top insider in the GRU.
“In my view we should eliminate these groups as soon as is practicable,” using the prospect of definitive action to mask his hurt.
Beria paused and conceded, “However, we cannot do so before the initiation of Kingdom, so it must be part of the initial assault plan.”
“And your reasoning for that is what comrade Marshall?” Stalin purred reasonably.
“Simply that we have beaten the German and he is cowed. A further assault on the remainder of his country, complete with destruction of the armies and air forces of his newfound friends should be sufficient to keep him cowed. We have not considered the German entering the fight in numbers and organised, having always believed the large number of refugees and POW’s would prove a huge encumbrance for the Western Allies.”
He indicated to General Pekunin and the message was passed to his expectant hand. Beria picked up where he had left off.
“A possible rallying point….I agree. A beacon to the German soldier that his new friends accept him not as a beaten enemy but a soldier who can advise them on how to fight us. We must strike these groups,” Beria inclined his head to take in a particular word on the page, “These symposiums, and strike them hard. They must not stand Comrade General Secretary. But we cannot do so before Kingdom initiates or we risk alerting the Western Allies unnecessarily.”
“Tea, Comrade Pekunin.” Stalin was not offering, as Pekunin well understood, and he immediately moved to pour three cups.
Stalin tapped out his pipe on his hand and dropped the ash into a bin. Deep in thought, he refilled his pipe and, once satisfied, relit it and drew deeply.
“Comrade General Pekunin. I believe that Marshall Zhukov’s Chief of Staff is in Moscow visiting your department at the moment?”
“It is so, Comrade General Secretary.”
“Have him attend here at 4pm.”
“I will tell him myself Comrade Gen….”
Stalin cut in.
“Then please do so now comrade.”
Pekunin saluted and tuned on his heels, marching out of the room, his victory over Beria being slightly blotted by his obvious early dismissal by Stalin.
“The GRU put one over on you there Lavrentiy,” taunted Stalin once the large double doors had closed.
“We both serve the party and the Motherland, Comrade General Secretary, so I am content.”
“Quite so Lavrentiy,” with a grin the like of which Beria had never seen before. His inner voice whispered to him, ‘The Georgian bastard enjoyed that.’
“Your plan for the rear-areas included security measures for German officer prisoners. I suggest that you implement a broader consideration to include those in the territories we will occupy once Kingdom commences.”
“It will be done Comrade.”
“You suggested assassination of certain generals immediately prior to the attack. I do remember Comrade Zhukov rejecting that, as he would rather fight those he knew and felt were less capable than be surprised by someone new who could possibly perform well.”
Beria smarted again. It had been a good plan and had been rejected out of hand.
“I suggest you revive and modify that plan and target these,” Stalin picked up his copy of the report and read a section again for confirmation, “Symposiums Hamburg, Frankfurt, and Paderborn with the resources you had set aside for that purpose. See what assets you can provide to assist Marshall Zhukov.”
As a father comforting a son, he added.
“I will speak to him about adopting the assassination plan as you submitted. It appeals to me.”
Stalin looked up at the clock.
“It would appear that you have three hours Comrade Marshall. Your submission will then go to Zhukov for incorporation into Kingdom39.”
1600 hrs Monday, 9th July 1945, The Kremlin, Moscow, USSR.
When all were assembled at 1600 hrs precisely Stalin took centre stage.
Zhukov’s Chief of Staff awaited his pleasure.
“Comrade General Malinin. There are small but important additions to the plan that the GKO wishes inserted into Kingdom39 immediately.”
Malinin stiffened automatically.
“Firstly, Marshall Beria’s assassination plan will now be included as originally put forward. That is on my order.”
There was absolutely no argument on that score.
“Secondly, Comrade Pekunin will brief you on a new development.”
Beria had to concede it was Pekunin’s right, so he did not bristle as Stalin had hoped.
Pekunin outlined the intelligence received from the Bletchley Park agent.
When he finished presenting the revised version, adapted to protect his source, he stepped back again. “Comrade General, you will understand that we must deal with the potential threat of these symposiums and so Comrade Marshall Beria’s original assassination plan has been expanded. Comrade Beria has the details.”
From the briefcase, five documents were produced, one for everyone present.
“Comrades, this is Plan Zilant, a small but very necessary plan. Comrade General Pekunin will liaise with you to ensure you are kept up to date. You will see we are still lacking some important pieces of information but those must and will be delivered.”
At that moment, he looked at Pekunin, who understood the message loud and clear.
“The sole assets already tasked in Kingdom that are required for this plan are either transport squadrons, which the GKO will authorise removing from the operational transport reserve, and a single third wave formation curiously tasked as ground infantry, whereas the unit is qualified for what we have in mind. Namely,” unusually Beria had to consult the document, “100th Guards Rifle Division ‘Svir’, which is airborne in all but name.”
Malinin knew that obviously, which was why it was lightly tasked only in phase three in order to keep an ace up the sleeve.
“The commanding officer,” again the swift consultation by Beria, “General Mayor Ivan Makarenko, has already been instructed to liaise with Comrade Pekunin to get as much up to date information with which to construct a operational format for Plan Zilant.”
The obvious breach in protocol was ignored.
Stalin stood up and spoke forcefully.
“I want this plan included in Kingdom39 by Friday and I want these bastards dead.”
I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but I'm not sure you realise that what you heard is not what I meant.
- Robert McCloskey
Chapter 13 – THE MISTAKE
1140 hrs Tuesday, 10th July 1945, The Khavane Erbil, Istanbul, Turkey.
Konstantin Volkov was an unassuming man of indeterminate age, which made him perfect for his role. He was deputy Vice-Consul in the Soviet Embassy in Istanbul, Turkey or at least that was his official title. What actually consumed most of his time was being Deputy Head of NKVD in the country, although he had simply had enough of that post and was looking for a way out.
For some time he had been gathering intelligence from messages that passed through his hands, steadily building up a portfolio of information from agents across the globe for his ‘insurance policy’, a stock of restricted information with which to attract foreign intelligence agencies to ‘look after’ him.
A secret meeting had been arranged on 5th July with a member of the US mission, in order for Volkov to make his play. The two men secreted themselves deep in the rear of a modest coffee shop and, once the identity of the American had been established, immediately got down to details. Wreathed in thick tobacco smoke, Volkov gave his starting position. In exchange for $27,000 and political asylum, he would hand over the details of numerous Soviet agents in Turkey and Britain. The American, actually a very out of his depth young Marine Captain, offered nothing but promised to report back to his superiors and then bring Volkov the reply.
To be frank, the offer was not taken seriously and, in any case, Turkey and Britain being riddled with Soviet agents was not a huge concern for the Marine’s boss, an ageing US Army Lieutenant Colonel, soon to retire on health grounds.
None the less, the man was still professional enough to send the young Captain out for another clandestine meet five days later, this time with a request for proof, and more to the point, proof that was of value to the United States.
