Stalemate (The Red Gambit Series)

by Gee, Colin

  Gathering himself, the Supreme Commander reflected on the day’s events.

  One hour beforehand, to the minute, McCreery had called in with the bad news about Bremen and its loss, compounded by the destruction of some fine Allied formations, such as the 51st Highland Division, gutted and decimated in the hard city fighting.

  Mannheim had fallen that afternoon, and the situation across the board was dire.

  The front had ruptured, and Soviet forces were pouring through, headed west into the Saar towards Luxembourg and south-west towards Strasbourg and the Alsace.

  And now Bradley.

  Eisenhower stood.

  “I have just been informed by General Bradley that 78th Infantry has collapsed under extreme Soviet pressure, and that, as a result, enemy units have seized the vital junction at Sindorf-Kerpen. He also reports contact at Wanlo, three kilometres south of Mönchengladbach.”

  There was no sound to speak of from the listeners, but a tangible feeling of horror was easily discernable as many eyes turned to take in the situation map, its servant clerks already logging the third major break in the Allied line that day.

  “There is nothing I can say that will disguise the seriousness of our position. Nothing at all.”

  A few faces grew dark, those affected by doubt and the foreboding of defeat.

  A wave of defiance swept over Eisenhower.

  ‘Not on my watch!’

  “What I can say to you all is this.” Ike’s voice grew unusually large, impressing everyone with its strength and belief.

  “We will stop them, of that, there is no question. Very soon, I will tell you how we will do it. What I do know is that we will not achieve this unless we are all focussed, and all fully committed to achieving victory.”

  Eisenhower set his face and played hardball with his staff. He was a different General to the one they were used to; he needed to be.

  “Anyone who doesn’t feel that they can sign up to that, regardless of rank, submit your request for reassignment by midnight. Now is not the time to have doubts. Now is the time for the best of us to produce the best we can.”

  Ike looked down, his eyes feasting on the cigarette pack that was calling him so urgently.

  “To that end, we are going to give our Armies the resources to patch this up, and then they can start driving the Commies back.”

  Casting a deliberate look at Tedder, he continued.

  “We are going to make sure the boys in the field get the best support we can possibly give them.”

  Arthur Tedder’s jaw was very deliberately set, and Eisenhower knew the man was resolved.

  “We are going to pull every trick in the book, and many that haven’t yet been thought of yet, to get back to an even keel.”

  A low murmur greeted his declaration.

  “Tonight, right now, we are going to start this work anew. I want every gun, every bullet, every man, brought up to the field. We will get units moving tonight, supplies moving tonight, we will give our Generals the means to stop this...tonight.”

  The murmur became a rumble of voices signing up to the task ahead.

  Searching out Von Vietinghoff, Eisenhower specifically appealed to the German Liaison Officer.

  “We will speed up the organisation and deployment of the German Republican forces.”

  It was a statement, but was undoubtedly a question too, a question that received a firm nod from the German General.

  Eisenhower returned the nod, knowing that the Germans would come up with more resources.

  “By the morning, we will have a workable plan to stop them cold, and by the evening, a plan to roll them back. Are we clear?”

  The replies were mixed, from firm and committed to doubtful and concerned.

  “OK. First things first. I need Air immediately. Get them in the battle and hurting these three attacks immediately.”

  “Secondly, I want the special reserve kept out of the planning for now. It is not to be sent forward, no matter what. Clear?”

  That was universally understood.

  “Thirdly, if it’s at sea, training in England, or resting in France, I want it, and I want it right now.”

  The staff was more focussed and inspired by an Eisenhower gaining in firmness as he went further on.

  “I want our old units reinforced. Comb the services again, comb the hospitals again, comb anything you want, but get manpower in the line.”

  ‘God but I need a cigarette!’

  “I want to create new units, and I don’t care how. I want the Soviets to find new divisions, new corps, and new armies in our order of battle. If you can’t do it for real then do it like we did with First Army Group, when we fooled the Germans in ‘44!”

  He avoided looking at Von Vietinghoff.

  “I want the Russian to feel he is opposed by a steel wall; a line of bayonets from the top to bottom of Europe.”

  Now there were smiles, enough to let him know he had made a difference to his people.

  “I want you all to be positive, speak positive, do positive, inspiring those you deal with, making them understand that we, here, believe. Don’t say ‘no’, say ‘will do’, and then get it done.

  ‘Maybe this was long overdue?’

  “OK then. Let’s get to work.”

  A general hubbub broke out as solutions were discussed and orders formed.

  The cigarette was in his mouth and lit within seconds, the comforting nicotine calming his insides, bringing them to a level to match his calm exterior.

  The recently promoted GeneralOberst Von Vietinghoff stepped forward.

  “My apologies, Heinrich.”

  “Not necessary, Herr General.”

  There was no side there, nothing to make Eisenhower think that he had offended the man.

  “Can you get your government to speed up the process of mobilisation from the released POW’s?”

  “We are already doing it as fast as we can, Herr General, but the urgency of the situation will make us find ways.”

  “See what you can do, please?”

  “I will try, Sir. Now, this is bad timing, but there it is.”

  He handed over a message sheet, recently in from Guderian’s command.

  “Langenfeld?”

  “Yes, Sir. It is about six kilometres south of Dusseldorf.”

  ‘Oh Lord!’

  “Can the Field Marshal hold?”

  Guderian had also been bumped up the ranks, receiving his country’s highest military post.

  “He thinks so. The Soviets seem to have stopped, and unconfirmed reports have them digging in, Sir.”

  “Digging in?”

  “Perhaps they have learned the lesson of the Ruhr encirclement, Herr General, but I do wonder if they have learned the lesson of the First Army Group, Sir?”

  Bedell-Smith stood waiting his turn, almost willing the two men to finish.

  “I wonder that too, Colonel General Vietinghoff, I wonder that too.”

  The German saluted impeccably, as always, and departed to throw the wheels of mobilisation into a swifter gear.

  Bedell-Smith approached, as Eisenhower lit another cigarette.

  “Walter, what do you have for me?”

  “McCreery’s idea on hitting back Sir. What do you want to do with it? The resources are there, or close at hand. No effect on the main action, unless you were considering transferring assets from there to here?”

  Eisenhower considered it for the briefest of moments.

  “I think we are going to need everybody on the mainland, Walter. Cut orders to bring the units that we cut out for the Danish operation over to Europe soonest.”

  Whilst he understood, Bedell-Smith found himself feeling disappointed that a genuine opportunity to successfully hit back was lost.

  ‘Would I do any different? Really?’

  The Chief of Staff disappeared to set the ball rolling on transferring British and German units from Norway to mainland Europe.

  A message arrived from F
ield-Marshal Alexander, a reply to Eisenhower’s urgent request for information.

  “Ask General Smith to come over please.”

  Anne-Marie Foster doubled away and returned with the CoS.

  “From Alexander.”

  Ike handed over the brief report, watching the furrows on his CoS’ brow deepen.

  “Nothing?”

  “So it seems. Nothing at all. Should we be worried or grateful, I wonder?”

  Bedell-Smith didn’t hesitate.

  “I‘ll take it at the moment, Sir. We’ve enough on our plate, but we can’t forget the possibility. On that note, I assume you have not rescinded the stop order on Italian forces?”

  Such a question deserved a considered reply, which gave Eisenhower an opportunity to indulge himself in his habit.

  “I think not, Walter. We can’t take the risk by weakening him too much. We’ve already cleaned a lot of his top assets out. No, we will leave him be.”

  Turning to the female officer, Ike continued seamlessly.

  “Anne-Marie, return a message to the Field-Marshal please. Tell him we will not be removing any further assets from his command. Also, request that he contacts this headquarters immediately there is a change in Soviet activity on his front line.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  Now alone, the two senior men pondered the map.

  “This is really serious, Walter.”

  Eisenhower got no argument on that score.

  Discussing some of the finer points of the Soviet threat, both men became aware of a drenched Marine officer heading their way.

  “Judging by the look on Rossiter’s face, he has a story to tell, Sir.”’

  ‘God, please let it be good news.’

  Both men uttered the silent plea to higher authority.

  “Sam, you’re soaked. Go and get changed, and we can talk about whatever has you so fired up shortly.”

  The dripping Marine shook his head, spots of water reaching the table and beyond.

  “I don’t think it can wait, Sir.”

  Eisenhower poured the cold, wet man a hot coffee, and made him drink some before he continued.

  “Sir, it’s the Poles.”

  Bedell-Smith nodded his understanding.

  “Yes, we know. They’ve been badly hit and are out of the line reforming.”

  “No, Sir. You don’t understand. I mean the Polish Army.”

  Eisenhower caught on immediately.

  “You mean the Polish Army, in Poland.”

  “Yes, Sir. I have a Polish officer in protective custody outside. If I may have him shown in?”

  A nod was enough, and Rossiter moved quickly.

  Eisenhower flipped a quick look at the Marine’s holster. It was empty, as was the holster of the US officer accompanying the Pole.

  Standing orders had been changed since the attack on Patton, and any visitor not from the parent unit, regardless of rank or status, had their weapons secured by the guard detail on arrival.

  The Polish Cavalry officer, complete with the trademark Rogatywka pointed cap, snapped to attention and saluted.

  ‘Something about the Poles. Always so damn smart.’

  Rossiter introduced the newcomer.

  “PodPulkownik Zajac, General Eisenhower.”

  The Pole became even more rigid at the mention of his name.

  The Marine officer continued.

  “Lieutenant Colonel Zajac is from the headquarters of the First Polish Army, and here at the direction of the Army Commander, General Berling...”

  ‘Where is this going?’

  “...And with the agreement and knowledge of General Świerczewski, commander of the 2nd Polish Army.”

  ‘OK, impeccable credentials, now get to the point.’

  The Marine took a deep breath.

  “Sir, the Polish Army is ready to fight on our side.”

  ‘Thank you God!’

  “Tell me more, Sam.”

  “Sir, the Colonel is here to make this offer to you, and to take back your reply to his Commanders.”

  Eisenhower noted the faint spread of a smile on Bedell-Smith’s face. He resisted joining him.

  “Your view, Sam?”

  “Kosher, Sir. One hundred percent. Our contacts have implied an increased feeling of rebellion amongst the Polish Army. I believe this is a genuine offer, but,” he conceded, “Both us and the Brits will quietly knock on some doors and learn more.”

  ‘You said to your people ‘ tonight, right now’, didn’t you? So, why not?’

  Eisenhower extended his right hand, taking the Pole’s hand in a firm grip.

  “We will welcome you with open arms, Colonel, when the time is right,” Lassiter translated, “You will understand that we must check some things first.”

  The Pole nodded in acceptance, Lassiter’s swift translation no less than had been anticipated.

  “When you return to your Commander, you can give him my personal assurance that, if his offer is genuine, and his forces wish to fight, en masse, against the Soviet Union, then the offer will be accepted, and we will fight them together, as full military allies.”

  Eisenhower felt that would not be an issue for his political masters, as the Poles were already de facto Allies. In any case, he would sell them on it, if there was a problem.

  “Thank you Sam, now will you and Colonel Zajac get cleaned up and rested. We will talk further about this in the morning.”

  Both men saluted and went in search of a hot shower and a comfortable bed.

  The American had been away in Ireland de-briefing a mission, the Pole had been tossed about on the Baltic, before finally getting an aircraft from Denmark to Versailles.

  As he watched the two men disappear, his mind immediately flagged an issue.

  “Walter, scrub that order about Norway. We prepare planning for McCreery’s operation as soon as is practicable. This new development, if it is ‘kosher’, presents us with a massive opportunity.””

  Bedell-Smith nodded, and went to turn away.

  “Plus,” he turned back and refocused on his Commander, “Get Sir Roger Dalziel over here, as quickly as possible.”

  There was obviously more.

  “Also, I need Admiral Somerville here today, straight away.”

  The CoS immediately understood where the energized Eisenhower was coming from, and smiled.

  The Allies were going to hit back in a big and unexpected way.

  Suddenly Eisenhower found himself alone.

  He relaxed into one of the comfortable chairs and savoured his latest cigarette, alternating tobacco and drink, enjoying some of the newly arrived coffee.

  The front line in Europe drew his main attention, working his mind to the limit.

  However, there was a part of him, the rarely surfaced gambler and adventurer part, which snuck an occasional look at Denmark and the Baltic Sea to the east, naturally drawing his eye further to the Northern Coast of Germany and, beyond it, Poland.

  A thing of orchestrated hell - a terrible symphony of light and flame.

  Ed Murrow, radio broadcast about his Lancaster bombing mission over Berlin in 1943.

  Chapter 90 - THE RAIDS

  0917hrs, Saturday, 13th October 1945, Headquarters, 2nd Red Banner Central European Front, Schloss Rauischholzhausen, Ebsdorfergrund, Germany.

  Konev was a man on a mission.

  His orders were clear.

  2nd Red Banner Central European Front was to bypass the Ruhr to the south and strike up into Eastern Holland to isolate the enemy forces in a pocket from Dortmund to Dusseldorf, whilst 1st Baltic, similarly reinforced, pushed to the south-west, intending to meet up with 2nd Red Banner somewhere on the Rhine.

  However, Konev also sensed that Zhukov was deliberately hamstringing him, keeping him almost confined, in favour of 3rd Red Banner to the south, and that damned Armenian in 1st Baltic.

  Both of those commanders had unlimited powers to advance, whereas he, and only he,
was to remain this side of the Rhine and concentrate on the encirclement of the Ruhr.

  Well, he would see just how far he could stretch his orders. Success always brought with it understanding for those who had exceeded their instructions, and he simply couldn’t ignore the possibility that the map threw up at him.

  His Chief of Staff understood the bald Marshal, or more importantly, understood the ambition that drove him.

  It was no surprise that the Marshal started to look at things beyond the orders from Zhukov, and the CoS was so unsurprised that he didn’t query the procedure, merely recorded Konev’s instructions for translating into movement orders as soon as possible.

  Working with a set of dividers, looking at distances and travel times, logistics and the terrain, Konev quietly made his plan.

  Satisfied with its feasibility, he threw the dividers down and looked up at Petrov, stood with pad at the ready for his commanders orders.

  “Good. Now then, we will proceed with the orders as received. Our forces will focus on this area,” he indicated the ground behind the Ruhr, “But we must also obey our orders, specifically the section about ensuring we have secure flanks.”

  He drew his Chief of Staff into the conspiracy with an inviting gesture.

  Bending over the map, Petrov continued to make his notes.

  “We will send the 5th Guards and 6th Guards Tank Armies this way. I want to secure these bridges on our flanks, just to make sure there is no threat of a counter-attack on our left flank.”

  Two of the bridges sat on main routes into Holland, the first at Maasbracht, the second to the south at Stein.

  The final bridge was in the middle, a small village called Berg an der Maas, three kilometres behind Sittard, home of the 101st US Airborne Division.

  Konev was going for the Maas and intended to cross it in force, regardless of the restraint Zhukov had placed upon him.

  1702hrs, Saturday, 13th October 1945. Airborne over the Caspian Sea, approaching Baku, USSR.

  The mission had been looked at previously, and set aside for a number of reasons.

  The biggest one was the strength of Soviet air defences, a strength that had been eroded over time, as the demands of the European Front called fighter unit after fighter unit to the German front.