Breakthrough (The Red Gambit Series) (64 page)

“OK Major.” Crisp nodded, and to
Timmins
he continued, “Nothing fancy now, the 100th have the ball. Get everyone up and moving back right now. Quick as you can
,
JJ.”

“Sir,” the newly-promoted Captain Timmins scuttling away to put a burr under the ass of any trooper he saw.

As Crisp had been passing his orders on, Takeo had taken in his surroundings, the sights and the smells of deadly combat.
Here, a
pile of Russian dead, thrown unceremoniously together
,
as their medics strove t
o clear
space
for new arrivals. There,
a neat row of airborne troopers laid out under tar
p
aulins,
silently
waiting
their turn to evacuate with the rest of their comrades.

From the still burning garage, the sickly sweet smell of roasting flesh pervaded everything.

“Looks like you boys
have
had a hell of a time
,
Major.”

Crisp shrugged, his head bandage unravelling as if to illustrate the point.

“It was a tough fight. These Russians are hard bastards for sure.”

His eye had only recently started to ache and water, the swelling of the impact beginning to make itself known
as it became more agitated by the smoke and fumes
.

“Looks like you need a medic
,
Major Crisp?”

The exhausted paratrooper could
only sh
rug.

“All in good time Takao, all in good time. For now, I must see to my men.”

Crisp extended his hand and grasped that of the Hawaiian.

“Thank you and your men
,
Major. Good night
and good luck
.”

“Just to satisfy my curiosity, Major. What was that shit on your man’s battledress?”

Crisp laughed wearily.

“Matured cow,
” he paused for thought.

“V
ery matured cow.”

Takao understood
perfectly
, releasing the handshake
,
and nodding at the exhausted airborne officer.

“Safe journey to you and your men, Major Crisp.”

“Take care, Major Takao.”

Crisp
walked off, slinging
his
Thompson over his shoulder.

Waiting for him was a group of six of his men, three from his command group plus Baldwin, Hawkes and
Timmins
.

A halftrack driver gunned his engine, keen to let the passengers know he was ready and willing to depart.

Crisp stopped short of the group.

“A hard day
,
troops.”

He got no
argument
on that score.

“Right, let’s mount up and get the hell outta here.”

The six climbed aboard and turned to help their Major
up
.

Crisp turned to the farmhouse and saluted formally.

The GuteNacht Bauernhof was a wreck, a burn
i
ng wreck, but it would become part of the folklore of the 101st from that day forward.

A wry look set on his face.

“Good night.”

The irony was not wasted on anyone.

And with that, they were away, leaving behind them a steadily growing fight, marked by the pronounced flashes from guns of all types firing in the rapidly growing darkness

All uni
ts of Crisp’s command successful
ly escaped the pocket, although the
Soviet
s did not properly reinforce their forces, assisting both the escapers and relieving forces greatly.

The Nisei infantry and 702nd tankers withdrew after
repulsing one heavy attack, inflicting crippling casualties on the
Soviet
infantry who were so profligate with their lives.

The crew of the E8 were formally absolved of any blame for their part on the accidental
deaths of the airborne wounded, although the finding could not assuage the grief and guilt they all felt at the
friendly
kills.

They all
died two weeks later
,
when
the
702nd was attacked by
Soviet
ground attack aircraft. T
heir
Sherman
was
blown off
a riverbank
by a near-miss
and
propelled
into the water, drowning the entire crew.

Pride goeth before
destruction
,
and a haughty spirit before a fall.

Book of Proverbs

Passing the last of the checkpoints, the Polish officer dismounted from his jeep outside the main building.

His intelligence brain took in the military
aspects
as he stretched himself, h
ands in the small of his back, noting
a Panther under a
flat roof to one side, and two
anti-aircraft weapons on rooftops
,
covering the headquarters.

Further study revealed soldiers going about their business, clad in a variety of uniforms that often betrayed their military roots, as well as indicated their present service in the Legion Etrangere.

Resplendent in full Legion uniform, a French G
é
n
é
ral de Brigade was in animated conversation with on
e of the new German Legion members
. A senior one as far as Kowalski could make out, certainly an
officer
, given the
jacket
he wore.

Curiosity got the better of him
,
and he studied the pair a moment longer.

He suddenly realised that the two men were now walking in his direction, so he busied himself with retrieving his briefcase from the back of the 4x4.

He turned back as the two were almost upon him, his heart racing for a reason he couldn’t quite understand.

A
German
voice cut through his doubts.

“Maior
Kowalski?”

The German had spoken with pleasantness and the tone brought instant relief.

“Yes, I am Kowalski.”

Salutes were exchanged between the three men and introductions made.

“
Lavalle, Legion Corps D’Assault
.”

“
Von Arnesen
, Panzer
Grenadiere
Commander, 1st Camerone Brigade.”

“Kowalski, Polish Liaison at First Army, formerly of 1st Polish Armoured Division.”

The pleasantries over with,
Von Arnesen
took the lead.

“Unfortunately, Colonel Knocke has been detained for a short time and he has asked me to look after you until he is free.”

‘What’s this?’

Kowalski’s doubts, so recently stirred into action,
then allayed,
rose again for the briefest of moments.

“Thank you
,
Commandant,”
finding it natural to use
the
French rank.

“I will take my leave of you. Adieu
,
gentlemen.”
Lavalle
offered a brief salute and disappeared inside the Rathaus that
presently
served as the headquarters building for ‘Camerone’.

Checking his watch,
Von Arnesen
grinned.

“Perhaps, given the hour, I can offer you some food and a drink in our mess
,
Maior Kowalski?”

Part of him yearned to get close to Knocke immediately
,
but another part, the professional agent part, sensed that some time spent in the mess might yield some useful information.

“Lead on
,
Commandant, lead on.”

The cooks of ‘Camerone’ produced great meals, especially when they could rely on foodstuffs from local producers sympathetic to the cause.

Both men had eaten heartily of a ham and onion stew
,
heavily dressed with potatoes and cabbage.

Whilst engaging
Von Arnesen
and his fellows in harmless conversation, the GRU agent discovered that Camerone was soon to be moved up to assist in the defence of
Augsburg
, before the rest of the Corps committed to the field for an offensive operation.

Coffee and sweet pastries opened mouths even wider and by the time lunch had drawn to a natural close, Kowalski had gleaned much worth reporting to his GRU superiors.

One question burned br
ightly;
not one for his hidden agent side, but one purely of professional curiosity.

“Commandant, I simply must ask. This mess. There are common soldiers here, eating with the officers. I don’t understand. Why?”

Those sat around stopped what they were doing, anxious to hear Von Arnesen respond.

“Not conventional, we understand this, but it was the SS way, Maior Kowalski. I shall explain.”

Von Arnesen looked around for a suitable example.

“Ah yes. There, Maior.”

He
pointed out a group of six men sat three by
three on a bench table, one a Captain, one a L
ieutenant, the others two and two, NCO’s and privates.

“Shall we?”

The legion officer
rose, picking up the water jug and a stack of glasses, and invited Kowalski to follow him, moving to the spare seats on either side and sitting down with the six men, indicating that they should not rise
,
but continue as they were.

The first thing the Polish officer noticed was that none of the men were fazed by the presence of the senior man. They seemed to accept his appearance as quite natural, and their conversation flowed as freely as it had done before.

Von Arnesen split the stack of glasses and carefully poured, passing a full glass to each man in turn, deliberately starting with the private soldier to his immediate right.

“All that
talking must be making you thirsty
, Walter!”

The laughter was soft but not put on,
and certainly
not done to impress.

“Walter is always thirsty, Sturmbannfuhrer. His throat is the driest in the company.”

             
“I confess, I enjoy a occasional pils, Sturmbannfuhrer.”

Looking directly at his tormentor,
Walter raised his eyebrows in admonishment, confiding in Von Arnesen in such a way that everyone within ten metres could hear.

“Whereas Dietmar is never dry of throat, but he does like a bath to sit in, because he talks out of his arse!”

Some playful punches were exchanged
,
and more genuine laughter accompanied it.

That Dietmar was old enough to be Walter’s father, and a senior NCO, was not wasted on the visitor.

Von Arnesen then engaged every man in conversation, the first names slipping easily off his tongue.

He then went on to make his point, asking one man how another man’s son was
doing in kindergarten, or how his comrade’s
wife was enjoying her new job at the bank.