Initiative (The Red Gambit Series Book 6) (27 page)

The beautiful face contained the eyes of the Grim Reaper.

De Walle coughed.

“Commandant De Valois, stand down if you please.”

She held Molyneux’s gaze for three seconds longer, then relaxed her posture, slowly removing the weapon that had reappeared at his throat and bringing it down to her side.

The Frenchman rubbed his neck, the presence of the muzzle, even though absent, still seemingly apparent and urgent on his flesh.

Uncharacteristically, although perhaps not surprisingly, Molyneux moved to the table in silence, ready to observe the planning in progress.

Bittrich nodded to him and set about the task of regaining the initiative.

[*Author’s note – For RG purposes, the French designated the refined ST-45 as the CEAM m46. I have retained the former German nomenclature for ease.]

The atmosphere had gradually calmed down, although occasionally it would rise to a little peak, most often with an outburst from Molyneux, mainly objecting to part of the military plan. His contribution ended each time with a simple gesture or cough from De Valois. No more was required.

However, the plan was finished and the unit commanders arrived to receive their brief, all having been tactfully intercepted outside by De Walle’s men and apprised of the unusual circumstances they would find inside.

The briefing commenced, with Bittrich laying down the overview.

His words were cut short by a kerfuffle at the entrance, and, like the Red Sea opening to Moses and the children of Canaan, the officers moved aside to let De Lattre enter, accompanied by two very agricultural looking NCOs.

The salutes were numerous and impressive, all of which were returned with a single simple gesture as the commander of French First Army took centre stage.

Molyneux went to speak, but a hand stopped him on the intake of breath.

“Wait please, Général Molyneux. You will have your opportunity later.”

“Général, I must insist! I…”

“Later.”

“I must insist!”

De Lattre paused and looked at the red-faced officer and immediately decided to change his plans.

“Very well then. We’ll get this out of the way immediately.”

De Lattre held out his hand and one of his staff officers swiftly slid an official document into it.

“This is your transfer to the Foreign Ministry in Paris, effective immediately. You will go straight there, and report to the Minister who, at my suggestion, will assign you to the Ambassador’s diplomatic staff in Senegal, in the role of special military advisor. I envy you this opportunity to serve France.

Molyneux took the orders like a man in a trance, read them, and still didn’t manage a word by way of reply.

“Now, Molyneux, we have work to do here. We wouldn’t want to keep you from your important assignment, so if you don’t mind, we’ll move on. Bonne chance.”

Turning to the nearest man, De Lattre continued, ignoring the barely concealed grins on a number of Legion faces.

“Capitaine, you will remove yourself from this command post and wait outside. Consider yourself under my direct orders until further notice. Am I clear?”

“Yes, mon Général!”

Maillard saluted and left immediately, following in the trail of the disgraced Molyneux, not knowing what his future might bring.

Finally, De Lattre turned to Anne-Marie De Valois, his face softening in an instant.

“You may also leave, Commandant De Valois. I will wish to hear your version of these sorry events once I have finished here.”

He turned away to the table, the sounds of the departing disgraced Molyneux and party fading as he concentrated on the maps and notes before him.

“You are unwell, Général Knocke?

He had spotted the man nursing a clearly tender stomach.

“No, thank you, Sir, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Knocke brought himself more erect, controlling his reaction to the growing pain in his stomach.

“Honestly, Herr General, I’m fine. The plan…”

De Lattre shrugged as only a Frenchman can shrug.

“Mes amis, I regret… this plan… it will not come to pass. I bring news of change.”

Over the next thirty minutes, the new plan was discussed and the Legion’s attack was modified.

The Legion artillery had been raining down for twenty minutes, sending death and destruction all over the Soviet front and rear line positions.

Fig # 191 – Allied Order of Battle – the Fulda River, 24th June 1946.

The leading echelons of Group Normandie had already enjoyed a spectacular display by medium bombers and ground attack aircraft.

Smoke, fire, and explosions from the air raid melded with the additional destruction wrought by the Legionnaire’s guns.

At 1525 precisely, mortars commenced throwing smoke shells downrange, bathing the area in front of the Soviet line in chemical smoke.

The recently arrived US 161st Chemical Smoke Generator Company started churning out large volumes of concealing smoke, which was carried in the right direction by the gentle and cooperative breeze.

Late to the field, Knocke had ordered one of his infantry companies to help with setting up the generators.

The African-Americans and the Legionnaires were wary of each other at first, but had soon found how to work together.

The M2 generators had been readied in record time, in purpose-built positions, complete with spare oil stocks, as the black Americans and ex-SS troopers worked and sweated side by side.

Fig # 192 – The Legion’s second battle on the Fulda.

Many a legionnaire had pockets stuffed with Luckys or Chesterfields, and in return, the 161st soldiers had secreted bottles of cognac or calvados. The Legion artillery switched from HE and fragmentation to add their own smoky contribution to the mix.

The perfect gentle easterly ensured that the Soviets could hardly see their hand in front of their face.

Nervous Red Army soldiers, sat astride Route 3223, started firing at nothing but a waft of smoke, convinced that the devil incarnate was upon them.

At 1530, soldiers and gunners from Camerone fired back, aiming blind into the smoke, but with the advantage of having marked many targets before the smoke engulfed the battlefield.

The plan moved ahead like clockwork, as elements of the 7
e
Regiment du Marche launched a noisy diversionary attack against Fuldatal, to the south of the main defensive positions around Route 3233.

Centrally, a battalion of the 7
e
RdM, supported by some of Uhlmann’s tanks, kept up a steady fire through the smoke screen, which was ably topped up by the smoke generators and indirect fire from support weapons.

Their job was to pin the defenders in place, suggesting a further advance, but actually keeping their heads down in the hasty positions they had assumed.

It was the attack of 1
er
Regiment du Marche, supported by a hard wedge of the 1
er
Chars D’Assaut, both units from Camerone Division, which had the task of breaching the enemy defensive positions.

Moving fast and light, two battalions of Camerone’s 1st Regiment du Marche pushed into the woods to the west of Holzhausen, negotiating the brooks and streams that were commonplace, running between the roots of the tall trees.

With them came the Wolves and Hyenas, the converted tanks ready to knock down any heavier support that the assaulting foot soldiers might encounter.

Close behind the lead elements came the reserve 3
e
Bataillon and themajority of th
e
1
er
Régiment Étranger de Cavalerie, Camerone’s small reconnaissance unit.

7
e
RdM reported unexpected success in their diversionary attack, so Knocke, not one to miss an opportunity, ordered them to drive on through Fuldatal and seal off any escape by the Soviet forces to his front.

Bittrich had already placed the 1
er
Bataillon Amphibie Spéciale at the disposal of the Normandie commander, and the unit was swiftly dispatched to cross the river at Fuldatal and drive up to Wilhemshausen, thus taking the bridge from both ends.

A map reading error brought the 1
er
BAS into the column of units destined to move through Knickhagen, some kilometres north of where Bittrich had intended them to be.

The disaster of the first action was quickly washed away by the success of the second, and the mood was lifted throughout Camerone and the rest of Normandie.

The main Soviet defences crumbled and the reports quickly filtered back to the command post.

The Soviets were running.

Knocke ordered the smoke generators stopped, the artillery and mortars were called off, and his main force was prepped for an immediate advance, pending confirmations that he had already asked for.

Such was the euphoria of the moment that no one noticed his pale features, the sweat running down his face, and the controlled breathing of a man in pain.

He sat down heavily, holding his stomach, finally attracting attention.

“Mon Dieu! Ernst!”

“Ernst! Mein Gott!”

De Walle moved swiftly for a big man, Bittrich similarly for a man not wholly well, but neither was quick enough to stop the now unconscious tank officer topple off the chair, face first into the leg of the table, adding a nasty facial wound to the ruptured stomach that Maillard had inflicted with his butt.

Bile and blood passed Knocke’s lips.

The shouts of alarm summoned the security detail, whose commander immediately dispatched four men in search of medical assistance.

Bittrich wobbled on his feet, as his recent illness declared itself again, and was assisted to a chair to await the medics’ arrival

For a sometime to come, the collective eye was off the ball.