Initiative (The Red Gambit Series Book 6) (37 page)

He accepted the tea that Beria had poured and greedily consumed it.

“None the less… watch the situation closely, Lavrentiy. Liaise with Comrade Nazarbayeva too.”

Even though the cup was raised to Beria’s lips, it didn’t mask the automatic snarl that formed at the mention of the GRU general’s name.

Stalin changed tack pouncing on something he had noticed earlier.

“So, what do you have to tell me about Toplitz, Lavrentiy?”

Beria had made the right noises for the rest of the briefing, but his mind had still remained firmly on the Toplitzsee, for reasons presently known only to him and Serov.

Stalin had spotted the change in his man, and now gave him no way out.

He bought himself a moment by carefully placing the bone china cup and saucer back on the table.

“Comrade General Secretary, I did not wish to proceed further in front of the others. The matter of Toplitz will require some… err … delicacy of thought, so I felt I should inform you… and only you… in the first instance.”

From behind his raised cup, Stalin managed a strangled ‘
go on
’.

“Comrade General Secretary, the printed material so far recovered reportedly equates to roughly five hundred million pounds of counterfeit British currency…”

The conversation continued well into the evening.

A large number of dignitaries had gathered to witness the demonstration, and many were already suffering in the relentless heat, the sun beating down on all, regardless of status or rank.

After a briefing in Westdown, a convoy of vehicles had taken the entourage to the firing range, where they waited for the short display to begin.

A small fire had been quickly extinguished, probably started by the sun’s rays striking some long abandoned glass fragments.

Those with an experienced eye had spotted the targets and the intended killers, successfully identifying all but the sleekest of the enemy vehicles placed downrange.

These consisted of captured tanks; an IS-II, IS-III, the huge ISU-152, and the mystery beast.

At the firing line sat two more familiar types; an Archer SPAT and a Centurion.

The latter was the very latest effort from the British Tank industry, a revised mark III, armed with the 20-pounder main gun and improvements to the Meteor engine.

But today, it was all about the gun…

… or rather, the shell.

Charles Burney had developed his shell in the 1940s, initially as an anti-concrete shell that was intended to be effective against the legendary German fortifications of the West Wall and Siegfried Line.

Lieutenant General
Sir Sidney Chevalier Kirkman
, GOC Southern Command, was the senior military man on parade, supported by a plethora of officers and experts from the Tank Corps and Cavalry regiments, all men who had ridden the steel beasts into battle.

A handful of politicians were there to be suitably impressed and sign off on the project, if the military men thought it was the resolution to the problems the armoured force was starting to encounter.

As per the briefing, the Archer kicked off proceedings, speeding an APDS shell downrange.

The gunners had been picked for their skill, and the shell struck true, penetrating the IS-II.

This was no surprise to the tankers amongst the observers, the capabilities of the shell being widely understood.

The Archer next took on the IS-III, successfully hitting the stationary tank three times and, as expected by the veterans, had no effect whatsoever at that range.

The ISU-152 succumbed first shot, the APDS core easily slicing through its armour.

Finally, the Archer took on the mystery tank, revealed now as one of the latest T-54 Soviet battle tanks, captured in Poland.

The shell failed to have any effect.

Two more hits produced the same result.

There was a twenty-minute break whilst a small group of tank officers rode out to the targets and quickly inspected them.

On return, they hastily passed on their findings. The tanks that had been hit and penetrated might not have been knocked out by the small shell, something that was a known problem, and another reason that the 17-pdr was starting to fail to measure up to the modern battlefield.

The new Centurion Mk III took on the IS-II with its 20-pdr gun… then the IS-III… ISU-152… and finally the T-54.

One shot each.

One hit on each.

The whole group travelled out to the targets.

The excitement at what they found made normal conversation impossible.

Each vehicle showed the signs of an external explosion but there was no evidence of penetration.

Mainly because the armour had not been penetrated.

However, to a man, the experienced tank officers concluded that each vehicle would have been knocked out of the fight and its crew killed or wounded as a result.

Burney explained the principle as easily as he could.

HESH.

High-explosive squash head.

The shell struck the armour plate and squashed, spreading wider as it flattened itself.

The base fuse set off the charge once the shell had spread itself over the target’s defences.

A simple concept that had been found to work extremely well against all sorts and thicknesses of armour, relying not on penetrative capability, but on shockwaves hammering through the metal and spalding pieces of the tank’s armour off on the inside, sending whirling lethal pieces through the interior, pieces that were particularly unforgiving to soft objects like tank crew.

Inside each tank, wooden dummies had been placed to perform crew functions.

No dummy was without severe damage from flying debris, and some were simply matchwood.

By using a shell already developed and adding a few refinements, Burney had given most British tanks the capacity to kill the latest enemy tanks anywhere they could be found on the modern battlefield.

HEAT ammunition, a hollow-charge shell using the Monroe Effect, was becoming more commonplace in vehicle ammunition inventories, but the rifled main guns meant that its performance declined, the effect lessened by the spinning effect of the rifling.

HESH did not suffer any problems with rifled weapons; indeed, it was enhanced as the spin enabled the shell to squash further, and more effectively, increasing the area it affected.

Burney remained behind with two of his technicians, waiting for the old Bedford truck to arrive.

Moving down to the eight hundred yard marker, the civilian engineers set up the 3.45” RCL.

The recoilless rifle went through its paces, although it missed its target twice, earning the firing technician considerable harassment at the hands of his friends.

Burney and his men knew the weapon worked, but they were there to examine the new changes to the gas venting system, a problem that had delayed the weapons inclusion in matters in the Far East.

Twenty shots later, eyes examined the breech, precise measurements were taken, and calculations made.

For Burney, it was a very successful day.

The value of his HESH shell had been fully appreciated by people who mattered, and his RCL modifications appeared to have overcome the wear issues, which hopefully meant that British infantry would soon have a weapon capable of dealing with the biggest of the enemy’s tanks.

A very successful day indeed.

The Council of Germany had relocated to Aachen as soon as was practicable, the act of installing the political machinery in a German City considered vital for national pride, and far outweighing the disadvantages of the lesser facilities afforded by the ruined metropolis.

The connotations and mystique of the ancient Roman city, its links with Emperor Charlemagne, and its history as a crowning place for German Kings, lent further weight to the decision to install the council within Aachen’s town hall. Damaged during the previous war, hasty repairs had made to make the old building tenable enough for move the politicians in.

That had been fourteen days previously.

Today, the comings and goings of politicians and military men had been interrupted by the physical collapse of Franz von Papen.

Almost a week to the day after Donitz had succumbed to a serious gastric problem, resulting in some complicated and extended surgery, Von Papen had fallen down the Rathaus stairs, having suddenly complained of feeling dizzy and nauseous.

Whatever his internal issues were, the broken leg and deep head wound would have been enough by themselves to remove the aging politician from office for some time to come.

In the White Hall, the former Mayoral office, the convened Council of Germany, or what was left of it, had just made a decision.

That the decision was made without any consultation with the Allied powers was a matter of unease for some, a pre-requirement for others.

The result was that Germany would have a new leader and his appointment would be presented to the other allies as a fait-accompli.

The newly elected head of the German Republic stood.

“Kameraden, I thank you for this privilege, and for giving me the chance to lead our country forward into better times. We will continue to support our new allies, and restore Germany’s lost honour, through the blood of our soldiers and the sweat of our people.”

Inside, the latest German Chancellor felt elation that months of planning had finally come to fruition, that ideas and concepts had finally become a reality, and that he and his closest associates were now in a position to bring forward the agenda of unfinished business; one of restoring Germany to her rightful place on the world stage, and of destroying communism.

“I pledge myself to the pursuit of victory by the quickest and most practical route, and in restoring peace to our great nation. Thank you.”

Acknowledging the polite applause, Albert Speer resumed his seat and enjoyed the moment.

“Sons of bitches… goddamned sons of bitches!”

Patton said what was on all of their minds.

What was supposed to be a gently paced meeting and dinner had turned into a frantic exercise to get a radio, and the grabbing of an interpreter so they could understand the words of the new German Chancellor.

Eisenhower sat with his finger steepled, pressing the tips to his lips, failing to mask a face like thunder.

Bradley and McCreery were struck dumb.

Alexander had excused himself for a moment, and was probably ranting into the mirror in the well-appointed rest room.

Eisenhower finally broke his silence.

“I’m not clear what the President will think of this, but one thing’s for sure… it isn’t what he signed up for.”

He silently sought a view from McCreery.

“The Prime Minister certainly won’t be happy, Sir.”

Bradley put it all into a few words.

“Doesn’t matter, does it? They’ve railroaded the lot of us. The Krauts’ve presented us with a situation, and we can’t back out of it. They know… heck, we all know, we need them more than ever now.”

Whilst the casualty figures were better, the US forces were still taking the lion’s share of hits from the Red Army.

Ike’s eyes narrowed.

“They agree to take on more of the front line, releasing our forces, and in so doing actually increase their importance to the Allies. Then, within days, this happens…Brad?”

The Twelfth Army Group commander clearly had something to say.

“Sir… Donitz went too, remember? Suddenly… without warning… there and then gone… and he was Von Papen’s natural successor…”

Bradley’s voice trailed off as his mind went deeper into what he was suggesting.

All the heads nodded, wondering if there was something they weren’t seeing here, a something that looked and smelt rotten.

Alexander walked in with a worrying thought in his mind, his own concerns having been reinforced by the last few words he had overheard.

“General, if Papen had gone first, and then Donitz, the successor, had followed, it would have looked rather bad… but this way round, the move from chancellor to chancellor is… well… less questionable at first sight and… err… somewhat smoother and…”

“Hold on one cotton-picking minute… are you seriously suggesting that the chancellor and his deputy have been removed by something other than coincidence?”

Alexander held Ike’s stern gaze and gave his reply a moment’s further thought.

“General Eisenhower, sir … I think that puts it rather well.”

The commander of the Allied Armies sought the feelings of his commanders and, to a man, they all felt something was not right.

Before Eisenhower spoke to members of the darker arts, in order to establish what was known of the personal and political rivalries within the German Council, he posed a question that no-one could really answer.

“Why?”

That question travelled to all the political centres aligned to the Allied cause, and remained unanswered, the suspicions of conspiracy purely guessed at, and with no proof of any type unveiled.

Churchill and Truman growled down the phone at each other, but found no comfort in their discussion.

Both subsequently rang Speer to offer their congratulations and support, whilst each, in their own way, sounded out the man who had been thrust upon the Allied cause as leader of the increasingly important former enemy.