Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series)

by Gee, Colin

  “And we must go now I think,” Rolf said, putting his hand on Shandruk’s shoulder as another slice of bread and powidl was hastily consumed.

  Pförzer looked at his watch.

  “Shall we kameraden? Coming up to 0125 hrs”

  They all took up their watches, winding and preparing to synchronise.

  “On my mark…drei…zwei…ein…mark.”

  Candles extinguished, the group left the store, pausing only as Pförzer secured it once more.

  They stole forward, hiding in the shadows. A jeep slowly laboured down the track, the sound of its approach giving them plenty of warning and time for even Pförzer to blend into the bushes until it passed. Soon they were all gathered together again in the fire-blackened ruin.

  Nothing needed to be said as Pförzer slipped away.

  The three huddled together in what used to be the kitchen and waited for his return, ears keenly reaching out to every sound.

  The jeep ground its way noisily back from the direction of the river and then the night became silent once more.

  With ears straining, the three became aware of the purposeful approach of footsteps coming up the lane from Enns itself. Braun risked a quick look and was rewarded with the unmistakable silhouette of Pförzer bearing down on the building, accompanied by another less bulky but unmistakably armed figure.

  Pförzer strode past, silently gesturing them to follow, and took them further into the blackened ruin, pulling aside a bookcase and indicating steps which obviously led into a cellar.

  Rolf wondered why they had not been shown this hideaway at first, but reasoned that Pförzer was just being cautious in case they had drawn unwanted attention from some passing patrol.

  The mysterious figure was last to descend and pulled a heavy curtain across the entrance, keeping apart from the group. Pförzer rummaged briefly in the dark but soon a lighter brought life to a candle and the whole cellar was gently bathed in its yellow glow, sufficient to see a stack of tarpaulins, life preservers, rolls of telephone wire and signals equipment, box sets of vehicle tools and numerous kitbags stuffed with god knows what, all very obviously formerly US Army property. The sole thing in view that did not once belong to Uncle Sam was undoubtedly the SturmGewehr 44 on a wall mount adjacent to the stairs.

  All these things were taken in quickly, because as the group slowly adjusted their vision, they only had eyes for the new arrival, or more precisely the M1Carbine he was holding, which was pointed directly at Uhlmann. The man was not tall but he was certainly solidly built and his shaven head, revealing obvious scars on the line under his cap, made him look all the more threatening.

  There was a protracted and extremely awkward silence.

  Pförzer broke it.

  “This is my good friend and business partner John. I have told him a little of what you have told me, enough to get him here to listen. Please now tell him the full story Herr Maior.”

  Uhlmann took the cue from that, mentally setting aside any reference to the SS. None the less, he looked at Pförzer questioningly.

  “Schwartz speaks our language like he was born here, which he apparently was.”

  And so Uhlmann began.

  The muzzle of the carbine slowly dropped the further Uhlmann got into his story until the weapon was pointed at the ground and the holder’s jaw was almost as low.

  The American snapped out of it quickly and spoke in surprisingly good German.

  “That is some story Major, or is it Sturmbannfuhrer?” Even though Pförzer had not complicated matters by telling his partner that they were former SS, the man was obviously intelligent enough to work it out. “Relax; we can do the good guy, bad guy bit later.” His outstretched left hand gently waved up and down in a placatory motion.

  “I’m sure we would have heard something from Intel on this.”

  There was no conviction in the statement.

  The Major’s uniform was clean but worn, and he was obviously a combat soldier. Such animals do not always trust in Intel and it was obvious in his eyes that he believed what he had just been told and to hell with the lack of Intel.

  “We gotta get this up the line and fast. Hub reckons you need to speak to the General tonight and I have to agree. Gonna be tricky so I gotta think a’whiles.”

  The American paused, looking at the three men before him.

  “Any of you speak English?”

  Braun chirped up immediately and received a nod of acknowledgement from Schwartz.

  A moment’s hesitation before he turned to the big Austrian. “You got fatigues and such shit in them kitbags ain’t you Hub?”

  A nod and a grin confirmed both that there were uniforms available and that Pförzer had cottoned on to the idea.

  Each kitbag held two sets of uniform, from boots through to shirt and tie. Hub rejected the first two bags he opened, preferring the contents of the third and fifth bags. His thinking was that rank opened doors better, so he selected three sets of officers clothing, making sure that Uhlmann got the Captain’s uniform. Size was a good match for both Uhlmann and Braun but Shandruk needed further rummages before a pair of trousers that suited his smaller frame was found.

  Three belts and holsters were located and thrown to each in turn.

  In his amused state Schwartz reverted to his native tongue, “Hell but you lot look some stiff mother-fuckers! Lighten up folks!” Stiff they certainly were. Perhaps it was natural, given that they were ex-SS wearing another army’s uniforms, about to try and break through a security cordon to inform a former enemy General that another former enemy was about to launch a full scale attack at any minute.

  Continuing in English without thinking, Schwartz spoke swiftly. “Right, here’s the plan. We brazen it out.” He spoke almost as he was thinking it up as he went, with Pförzer mumbling translations for some of the more obscure terms employed. “I can see the Hotel from my billet so we deploy from there and walk down the strasse bold as you like. No hiding, no sneaking, just walk right in. If there is shit, then we must have a diversion planned.” A moment’s pause as his mind searched for the solution and then a huge smile split the American’s face. “In fact, that’s a damn good idea. Hub, you got any damn flares in this goldmine?”

  Pförzer opened up the top crate of US Signals gear and liberated a flare pistol.

  “Alrighty then, now we’re cooking. We agree a time when Hub here sends some of these up and that will cause the diversion we need. Might even piss Ivan off some.” His face split into a grin. “The General will be in bed by now and won’t be best pleased on being woken obviously, so people will be dispatched to sort it out for sure.”

  Schwartz’s face clouded and he became serious. He switched to German.

  “Only one of you will be coming in with me ok?”

  The group nodded.

  “I guess that ought to be you Herr Maior, but do understand one thing please.”

  Rolf attentively waited.

  “You do anything out of place,” He looked around slowly for full effect, “Any of you… I will blow your fucking heads off.”

  And none of them doubted that he would do so without hesitation.

  Schwartz looked at his watch.

  “It is now 0219 so I guess we should be going. Will take but a few minutes for us to get to the billet, not much more to walk to the hotel. Give ourselves a little safety margin in case of delays. Hub, I say you put a load of those damn flares in the sky bang on 0235.”

  Pförzer grinned, examined the crate and extracted a box of flares, which disappeared into his pocket.

  “Right then, let’s move out,” and casting a swift eye over the ensemble, “And for fucks sake get yourselves looser. You ain’t goose-stepping now boys! Hub, 0235 ok? And our business will keep until this shit has gone away. Keep yer head down old timer,” and with that he slapped Pförzer’s good shoulder and disappeared up the stairs into the welcoming night.

  Time was wasting but as they took their leave of Pförzer, each man than
ked him and shook hands. Rolf was last to go.

  “We must hurry. Mein freund, without you we would still be floundering in the Donau so thank you. In happier times, perhaps we will meet again and share some stories. Until then, as your Yankee said, keep your head down and survive what is to come. Auf Wiedershein Hub.”

  “Auf Wiedershein to you Rolf.”

  And with a handshake, he was gone.

  0223 hrs Monday, 6th August 1945, Enns, US Occupied Upper Austria

  Schwartz led them forward at a steady pace, openly walking up the narrow lane towards his billet on the corner of HauptPlatz, adjacent to the town’s Roman Museum.

  All was quiet, and there were no further dalliances with patrols. Schwartz turned and ushered them in through a garden entrance at the back of his billet.

  Indicating a need for silence with a finger to the lips, he beckoned them forward to where they could view down the street to the crossroads yards ahead.

  Using his hand in the universal sign language of the soldier, he swiftly instructed them that the hotel was left at the junction and then down the street approximately one hundred and fifty yards on the right-hand side. Of course, they calculated in metres.

  They stepped away from the dividing fence and huddled close.

  A lighter flicked on quickly, reading a watch in the blink of an eye.

  “It’s 0229 now. If we walk slowly we should be able to time our arrival with Hub’s display.”

  “Walk in pairs, one pair in front by a few yards, the Maior and me first, you two second. I will talk in English, you,” he indicated Braun, “Do so too. Nothing funny that needs him to laugh, just a story about a girl back home or something.”

  There was sufficient light for Schwartz to see understanding and compliant nods.

  “When Hub does his bit, we improvise and get inside the hotel, and improvise some more to get to the General. Good luck to you and may god help us tonight.”

  Standing straight, he turned to go back into the street and stopped himself.

  “Remember, nothing funny, and no hurting any American soldiers,” as he patted his carbine.

  Some whispered assurances and he stepped out into the lane again, closely followed by Rolf and the other pair.

  As they strolled into the centre of Enns, the American lit two cigarettes and handed one to Rolf, starting up a conversation about a bland young woman called Emmy-Lou who was his sweetheart back in the States.

  Rolf was aware of a mumbled conversation from behind as Braun similarly started into some tale of the heart.

  The first pair arrived at the corner of HauptPlatz and WienerStra²e, and turned left. Schwartz casually acknowledged a pair of American infantrymen stood next to a buttoned-up 6x6 truck to the right of the junction in the main square proper. No doubt the rest of the squad was asleep in the back of the vehicle.

  Uhlmann was both relieved and affronted by the lack of professionalism in the soldiers. It would do for them now, but not in the days to come, he concluded.

  As Schwartz rambled on further, both pairs turned their eyes to the scene that confronted them.

  Outside of the Hotel Lauriacum was a whole lot of trouble.

  Eight Military Policemen, looking very alert and undoubtedly more prepared to be interactive than the sleepy infantry by the truck.

  An M8 Greyhound armoured car, behind which sat two M20 utility cars. The M8 had crew aboard for sure, a soldier leant idly on the .50 calibre turret MG as he chatted with someone inside the vehicle.

  A Plymouth R11 staff car and a Dodge Radio truck were parked up nearest the walking men, but the ensemble was completed by an M24 Chafee tank parked quietly and menacingly further on down, near the next junction past the hotel.

  Some simple electric lights were being fed from a US Army generator, ensuring the front of the hotel was bathed in a sodium yellow glow.

  Schwartz halted and turned to the following pair, beckoning them closer.

  As he asked Braun loudly for a cigarette, he managed to whisper that they had arrived early and needed to delay.

  Carefully moving round the group, Schwartz ended up facing the hotel with Shandruk, Braun, and Uhlmann both being in the uncomfortable position of not being able to see what was going on behind them.

  As the Americans mock laugh was mirrored by Braun, the night suddenly became day as a magnesium flare went skyward. In short order another followed, then another, the group imagining the one-armed Austrian working hard to load and fire the weapon as quickly as possible.

  Rolf indicated with a jerky head movement towards the soldiers in the HauptPlatz. The tarpaulin at the back of the lorry had been thrown open and sleepy eyed GI’s were slowly dropping out, unsure of what to do next.

  In a flash, the way forward became clear.

  Schwartz slapped Braun on the shoulder.

  “You take command of those boys there and send them down to the river to investigate. Slip away and hide up in the garden where we talked a’whiles back. Good luck.”

  Slapping Braun on the shoulder, he started shouting orders to the same effect in English, gesticulating dramatically, emphasising the urgency of his instructions to his intended audience, the watching MP’s.

  He turned and strode purposefully towards the hotel, picking out the young MP Officer who was already moving to intercept him.

  “Name, Lieutenant?” he asked, not brooking any argument.

  “Athabaster sir. I’m afraid you cannot proceed further sir.” Even though he was young and inexperienced, his confidence rose as two of his MP’s stepped in behind him, M3A1 sub-machine guns held in a business like fashion.

  “As you were, soldiers,” Schwartz barked at the two MP’s, as young and inexperienced as their officer.

  “Kill those lights and wake up that damn tank crew. Get them turning over Lieutenant, and then get these vehicle weapons manned and ready in case the Fourth Reich has awoken or Ivan has come a’knocking.” He looked back at the radio truck and pointed.

  “And I want that radio warmed up ready to sing for help if this is not just a fuck up. Clear Lieutenant?”

  Athabaster was clearly confused, faced with clear instructions from a senior officer, balanced against standing policy to maintain the cordon around his general.

  He nodded and started to speak but was ridden over hard.

  “I assume you have a detail at the rear?”

  “Yes sir. Sir….”

  The confused MP was immediately cut off again.

  “I will be back in three minutes. Give me these two men,” he indicated the clearly perturbed pair whose M3’s were now pointing aimlessly at the pavement as their confusion grew.

  “I will organise the rear and then come back. No one is permitted inside until this alert is ended. When I find out which sonofabitch is responsible for this I will have his balls, if the General doesn’t have them first!”

  He strode into the foyer of the hotel, with the two MP’s in close attendance, Rolf ensuring he stayed close.

  Of course, he had understood hardly a word but he had definitely understood that he had just witnessed a first class piece of bullying and bullshit.

  Fortuitously, the Sergeant in charge at the rear of the Hotel was catching some shuteye, so when Schwartz noisily arrived in his life there was no room for manoeuvre, and he was immediately compliant. Reinforced with the two MP’s that had accompanied this extremely loud and aggressive Major, he set about ensuring that the hotel rear entrance could not be stormed by anything less than a battalion of infantry, hoping his efficiency might save him from the Major’s wrath.

  Schwartz and Uhlmann returned to the foyer and spoke briefly with the night manager, who could see no reason not to tell two American officers which room contained the General.

  The two strode purposefully up the stairs and arrived at the floor where the General peacefully slumbered, or at least had peacefully slumbered before a one-armed Austrian had started filling the sky with noisy magnesium light. An extremely loud
US Army officer then shouted the neighbourhood awake and the cacophony was completed when the tank’s engine burst into life.

  A door with two alert sentries marked the threshold of success and they strode towards it, both wondering how it could have been so easy.

  The two sentries stiffened, ready to challenge.

  Schwartz and Uhlmann tensed, ready to bluster once more.

  A door opened and out stepped a bleary-eyed Staff Colonel. Both Uhlmann and Schwartz stopped dead. Neither had ever seen an army officer in pyjamas with rank markings before. If the situation had not been so serious, it would have been comical, especially as they both noticed the night mask pushed up on the forehead and red satin slippers that completed the apparition before them.

  Schwartz took an educated guess based on recent scuttlebutt, and got it right.

  “Colonel Rhodes, we need a word now.”

  Rhodes, obviously recently awakened from a deep sleep, tried to kick start his brain and mouth.

  Schwartz continued on his mission to harangue the entire security detail.

  “You two,” he shouted in such a way as to make both men start, “Stay alert, move apart, and let no one approach that door. Are your orders clear?”

  Both men snapped out an affirmative response, and stepped apart, weapons held more aggressively, bright, alert and consciously not wishing to get on the bad side of the vicious looking Major.

  Schwartz almost swept up Rhodes and the three disappeared into the staff colonel’s room before he could muster an objection or work out he was being railroaded.

  Once inside his room, Schwartz took a different approach.

  “Rhodes, this officer and I need to see the General right now. You will take us to him immediately.”

  Recovering his wits finally, the man blustered.

  “Not a hope Major. If you have a problem out there”, he gestured loosely at the heavily curtained window,” Sort it and give me your report in the morning. I will see the old man gets it.”

  His gaze flicked to the Captain standing behind Schwartz and Rhodes saw danger in his eyes.

  “Hold on, who are you two? Identify yourselves before I call the detail.”