Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series)

by Gee, Colin

  Makarenko ordered a charge and his men surged forward. The front runners dropped immediately, struck down as more grenades burst to their front. However, more men drove forward and through the gate, seeking refuge in the shattered doorway of the Alsatian House.

  Two French commandos leant out of the gatehouse windows from the portcullis room, intent on shooting into the rear of the assault force but were smashed back into the building by an accurate PPS burst from a watchful paratrooper.

  The .50cal started up, its heavy calibre shells knocking lumps off the Alsatian House and anything softer unfortunate enough to get in the way.

  The small assault force charged deeper into the officers accommodation to evade the .50’s deadly stings, finding dead and dying men in various states of dress. Some officers offered up resistance but were swiftly killed, the final deaths caused by a grenade thrown into a side room.

  Makarenko sought refuge inside the tower’s shadow, his mind working the military problem. His ability to control his unit had been reduced when the radio operator had been smashed by a burst of fire from the Château above, wrecking the precious equipment at the same time.

  He had many men gathered behind him, most still outside the Château, but numbers did not matter when the approach was as narrow as the one that now challenged his professionalism and courage. Just over a metre wide, the gap between the stone building and the Alsatian House restricted his options and provided the defenders with a deadly choke point.

  A further surge of men had gained the house to support the first party, at the cost of half their number.

  Dropping to one knee, Makarenko wrestled with the problem, noticing with horror that the stone pathway was running red with the blood of brave men from both sides. Gravity was bringing gentle streams down the slope, seeking out the gaps between the stone and passing out into the charnel yard behind him, adding to the scarlet effusions from the many Soviet dead lying there.

  Momentarily distracted, he missed the initial sounds of more firing but quickly focussed on the new sounds and realised his north wall party must have come at the defenders from behind.

  On his feet in an instant, he ordered his men forward and charged off up the path with gritted teeth.

  Shouting “No grenades!” as he ran, he immediately shot down a wounded commando who was bringing his rifle up to fire.

  A bullet tugged at his map case and severed the strap, carrying on to plant itself in the upper arm of one of his self-appointed bodyguards.

  Looking up, he saw a figure on the battlements between the two towers and brought up his weapon, even though in the same moment his brain told him to hold his fire. He recognised the Soviet uniform first and the bark of an SVT rifle second, as the two platoons who had scaled the north wall caught the defenders looking the wrong way.

  The heavy machine gun team were already dead, as were most of the defenders of the Lower Courtyard. The dog pens were smashed and broken, two of their occupants red and bleeding inside the splintered cages.

  Makarenko’s troops had invested the Alsatian House and were lining up on the stone path, ready for the next attack. The north wall platoons assaulted the forge building, losing a handful of men on the run across the yard before demonstrating their superior close-fighting skills, killing the defending commandos.

  The Senior Lieutenant leading the attack decided to launch a further assault, in the hope of carrying the stone staircase leading up to the Inner Courtyard.

  He charged into the area at the bottom of the stairs and dove immediately to his left, as fire ripped down into his force. A wounded commando Petty Officer lay in what was obviously a administrative section, clutching an empty handgun, shot through both thighs and blinded by rock splinters in the eyes. Two shots from his Nagant ended the Frenchman’s life.

  Behind him, one of his junior NCO’s had got a DP light machine-gun positioned and was sending accurate bursts up the stairway, scoring the occasional hit, but mainly denying the defenders the ability to fire down.

  A grenade skipped down from above, its metallic bounce heard by all who were immediately threatened. It flopped in behind the corpse of a body in civilian clothes before exploding and distributing portions of the unfortunate ‘Deux’ agent all over the stairwell.

  A shout attracted the attention of the Soviet officer, and he understood his Sergeant’s intent immediately.

  Nodding to authorise the attempt and using his head to indicate the working DP, the Senior Lieutenant gathered himself for the lunge.

  The Sergeant shouted instructions to the DP gunner, and the man flayed the stairwell with every bullet left in his weapon, raising a haze of stone dust as angry wasps ricocheted in all directions, two finding targets amongst the defenders clustered in cover all up the stairs and in the rooms leading off the north side.

  Before the defenders reset themselves, the Sergeant brought up one of the panzerfaust’s he had found in the forge and fired the projectile, rolling immediately into cover.

  The Panzerfaust 100 was the most numerous of the panzerfaust family, carrying a twenty-eight ounce explosive load. They were extremely effective against vehicles and hard targets and, as the Germans found out on the Russian Front, equally effective against soft targets like the human body.

  Striking the corner of the right hand projection of wall, a few metres from the small drawbridge at the Lion Gate, the warhead exploded, sending deadly fragments of stone into three commandos gathered in the adjacent doorway.

  The officer threw himself forward, closely followed by a group of his men, taking the stone stairs two at a time as they charged upwards, desperate to profit from the momentary shock and confusion.

  The defenders opened up once more and paratroopers fell in the confined space of the stairs. Some made it to the first stage and ducked into cover within the rooms at the base of the keep, finding dead and wounded commandos littering the floors.

  The Senior Lieutenant was tossed back down the stairs as a burst from a submachine-gun struck him in chest and abdomen, the journey down ending his pain as the fall broke his neck on first contact.

  Capitaine de Frégate Dubois, changing the magazine on his Thompson SMG, ordered the drawbridge raised and two of his men surged forward to obey.

  Beckoning Fournier to his side, he swiftly passed on responsibility for holding the approach, before doubling away up the next flight of stairs, where he encountered Prentiss and Ramsey organising orderlies and ‘Deux’ agents to defend the inner courtyard.

  De Walle and Knocke strode briskly from the Hexagonal stairs, the former holding a plan of the castle and beckoning to Dubois.

  Joined by Ramsey and Prentiss, the group of four took a rapid brief from Dubois, swiftly sketching his understanding on the map that De Walle held out flat for all to see.

  As he ended, both Knocke and Ramsey went to point at a spot on the map. The German deferred and Ramsey spoke loudly, rising above the growing sounds of battle.

  “Here is a weakness for us. We need men here in numbers or we are in trouble.”

  His finger described the northern enclosed area, the access to which was controlled by a single portal close by the forge. Once through that obstacle the Russians would be able to make it to the Greater Bastion

  “They may be through already.”

  Anne-Marie Valois arrived with three other ’Deux’, each carrying three weapons and ammunition, taken from the secure lockers in De Walle’s office. In one easy movement and without waiting for orders, she hoisted a Sten gun off her shoulder into Knocke’s hands.

  The other weapon, also a Sten, went to De Walle.

  Valois set out her stall by retaining her own weapon.

  As the remaining weapons and ammunition were distributed Dubois summoned his senior NCO, issued brief orders and the man sped quickly away, returning within a minute, a Bren gun team amongst the five men he had called to him.

  Nodding at the swift response to his instructions, Dubois turned back to the assembled group
, who were checking their weapons.

  “The Petty Officer Major and his men, half of your party,” he indicated Ramsey who nodded his understanding, “And the Deuxieme, all will go to the Greater Battery and secure the northern door here,” Dubois tapped the map, indicating the base of the northernmost turret.

  Turning to Knocke, he drew the German’s attention to a blind return in the wall on the north side of the inner garden.

  A flare rose from one of the high points, a commando tasked with sending the whole supply skywards at regular intervals. Turning back from the distraction, Dubois continued.

  “Here they cannot be observed from the bastion. They might try to climb, so we need a small group there. Colonel Knocke?”

  “I will take three of mine but will need weapons.”

  Valois spoke decisively as she offered up her sten.

  “Take this as well. I will bring others and more ammunition.”

  An explosion from the Lion Gate approaches drew their attention, ending the meeting by mutual consent, the various groups speeding to their assigned posts.

  Whilst the allied group had been sorting their hasty defence plans, Makarenko had organised an assault against the gate to the northern area, and then launched his men against it. The defenders hacked down many paratroopers in the narrow confines but were not immune to casualties themselves. The defensive fire slackened, and then ceased, as they were overwhelmed.

  He called Major Ilya Vidalevich Rispan to him, indicating first the northern gateway and secondly the stairs to the Lions Gate.

  “Ilya, I’m going to take a group through here straight to the bastion. Keep up the attack there and get your men into the main building regardless.”

  The wounded officer spat blood and a tooth fragment, summoning a reply as blood dribbled from the hole in his cheek.

  “Yes Comrade General.”

  “Are you well enough Mayor?”

  “I had worse in Vienna,” Rispan countered, with an absence of humour.

  Makarenko nodded, recalling the sight of Rispan’s unusually nasty wood splinter wound, sustained when he slid down a damaged banister in drunken celebration of the Viennese victory. Whilst the grenade fragment had knocked a few of his teeth out, the senior man thought it probably looked more nasty than it was.

  “Press hard, don’t stop Ilya.”

  Slapping the man’s shoulder, Makarenko moved off, gathering men to him as he moved towards the damaged gateway that led to the lists and the route to the Greater Bastion.

  Rispan returned to the stairs and ordered his men forward.

  At the Lion Gate, the explosion that had terminated Dubois’ briefing had wrought great harm on the defenders. Capitaine de Corvette Fournier lay surrounded by dead and dying commandos, a tossed satchel charge having exploded on the steps in the area to the west of the gateway.

  His ears spilled blood from ruptured eardrums, and more of the precious fluid seeped from the deep wound in his side.

  Of more immediate concern was his left leg, attached only to the rest of him by a few strands of flesh and sinew, virtually severed below the knee.

  Some freak of explosive force had caused the heavy door to jam shut into its frame, masking both the shattered defenders and the bloodied attackers, providing some temporary respite from the butchery.

  Rispan ordered another satchel charge placed to open the door, risking the wooden bridge. A young Lieutenant was detailed to find a suitable item to replace it, should the blast destroy the wooden structure, and he returned before the charge had been prepared, smugly manoeuvring a solid table with the help of two of his men.

  The charge was carried forward and laid at the base of the door, the frightened paratrooper Lance-Corporal pausing only to arm it before scurrying back to safety.

  Every man in the Well room was killed, save the wounded Fournier, the blast tossing men aside like chaff in the wind.

  Clutching his M1911 pistol, the French officer sensed more than saw the shape in the door and fired two shots, killing the Lance-Corporal and sending him flying back into the men behind him.

  Two more paratroopers threw themselves forward, diving through the doorway into the cover of the stairs, only to discover that their executioner was lying amongst the bodies there, not at the top of the stairs as they had supposed.

  Out of ammunition, Fournier dropped the pistol, wiped the blood from his eyes and snatched up a Sten gun that appeared in focus.

  No man came into view, only a small round object, bouncing around before settling against the body of one of the French commandos.

  Its explosion decorated the inside of the chamber with more vivid colour and human detritus but, again, Fournier was not further harmed.

  He dragged himself painfully up the steps a small distance and set his battered body into the window recess, taking advantage of the extra cover provided by a stone trough.

  He took two spare magazines from the pouches of an unrecognisable comrade and set himself for the next assault.

  The Sten rattled, messily downing the first man through the door. The second man hung back and risked a look around the shattered doorframe, and was rewarded by a burst which blew the front of his temple off, sending him screaming into the shallow void behind him.

  Rispan shouted at his men but none chose to hear his orders. The attack was stalling badly.

  Putting a new magazine on his PPS submachine gun, he braced himself for the run, mentally reciting some words of his faith, signalling his men to follow.

  He rose and started up the stone stairs but was overtaken by the young Leytenant who had obtained the sturdy table.

  The two officers crossed the void, its occupant now permanently silent.

  Fournier killed the younger man with a burst of fire, stopping the charging officer and dropping him to the floor on the spot.

  The last three bullets in his magazine struck Rispan, two destroying his water bottle and the third passing through the flesh on the side of his stomach.

  The Jewish Major’s PPS ended the battle at the Lion Gate.

  0535 hrs Monday, 6th August 1945, Temporary Military Laager, Selestat, French Alsace.

  In Selestat, what had started as curiosity had swiftly turned into genuine alarm and finally progressed into decisive action.

  In and around the small Alsatian town were two companies of the 2e [Deuxieme] Regiment, Légion Étrangère Infanterie, on their way south to reunite with the 1e [Premiere] French Division after ceremonial duties in Strasbourg.

  Also, not by coincidence but by design, Colonel Christophe Lavalle was there, having arranged to meet with some old comrades as they passed by.

  As senior officer present he assumed command and had ordered both companies to deploy towards the sound of fighting. The two companies were both mechanised with American halftracks and so made good progress, one having been tasked to advance through Kintzheim, the other through Orschwiller and St Hippolyte.

  Lavalle rode with 3e [Troisieme] Compagnie’s senior officer on the Kintzheim approach. He was anxious to discover what exactly was going on, the growing feeling that something extremely bad was happening being reinforced by the steady stream of flares being sent skyward from the Château.

  Radio messages flowed to the Brigade headquarters and upwards, both informing as best they could and seeking information from higher command.

  Over the sound of the half-track’s 6.3 litre petrol engine came the sound of firing, followed shortly by a radio report from 2e Compagnie.

  Lavalle listened in as the two radio operators exchanged information, the 3e Compagnie’s Swiss commander, Commandant Albrecht Haefeli, waiting for his opportunity.

  It came as the other operator broke off in mid-sentence, his excited voice suddenly replaced by static.

  “Light machine-gun fire at worst. But who is it?”

  “Surely it has to be the Germans, Albi?” although, as he said the words, Lavalle gave them no credence whatsoever.

  Haefeli slapped h
is operator on the shoulder.

  “Get Isabella back. We need to know who the enemy is this day.”

  Using Haefeli’s call sign the operator sought out his counterpart in 2e Compagnie.

  “Isabella-Zero-One, this is Achille-Zero-one, come in.”

  The static remained.

  A gentle tap from Haefeli encouraged the man on.

  “Shall I stop the column, Sir?”

  “No,” the decision immediately made, “We will push on to the Château, but we will be prepared to send forces down the road to St Hippolyte if needs be Albi.”

  Haefeli nodded, sorting in his mind which of his units he would send into the rear of whatever was blocking 2e Compagnie’s advance, once he knew what was happening. Retrieving a map of the area he quickly consulted it before drawing Lavalle’s attention to a T-junction on their route of advance.

  “Here we should be able to drop down behind them if 2e are on the right road.”

  Lavalle’s response was drowned by the excited voice on the radio.

  “Achille-Zero-One, Isabella-Three-One calling, Isabella-Zero is off air and burning. Request orders.”

  Both Haefeli and Lavalle ignored the probability that a comrade from the old days had just died.

  “Three-one?” sought Lavalle questioningly.

  “Green officer. The name is Mardin I’m sure.”

  Again the radio crackled into life.

  “Isabella-Three-One, under heavy fire, Request orders.”

  Taking the handset from his operator, Haefeli spoke calmly and deliberately, flouting radio procedure to get results.

  “Achille-Zero-One calling. This is Haefeli speaking. I need a situation report. How many, what weapons, where. Rely on your training Mardin, over.”

  The silence of the radio belied the battles within a scared young man at the other end of the network, struggling to bring himself under control.

  “Isabella-Three-One, sorry. Enemy infantry in platoon strength sat astride primary advance route three hundred metres north of St Hippolyte, oriented south. Light weapons only so far. We have lost three vehicles and crews. Mortars deploying for assault. Request orders.”