Initiative (The Red Gambit Series Book 6) (40 page)

Is it possible to succeed without any act of betrayal?

Jean Renoir

Their lovemaking had been prolonged, passionate, but controlled, as they took advantage of the extended absence of Madame Fleriot and the girls, away in Reims, visiting one of Armande’s friends.

Now almost healed, Knocke was convalescing in Nogent L’Abbesse.

Anne-Marie had insisted on taking control and doing all the physical ‘work’, citing his surgery and doctor’s orders.

Group Normandie, and therefore Camerone and Alma, was out of the line refitting as best they could, given the limited resources that were made available to the Legion.

The knocking on the front door grew more and more insistent, and Anne-Marie slipped into a robe, knowing that such a racket would probably spell bad news for one or both of them.

She opened the door and saw Jerome the butler shuffling faster than the norm, implying that either the Russians were at the gates of Paris, or there was a lack of claret in the cellar, each equally as horrendous a proposition to the old man.

“What is it, Jerome?”

“I do beg your pardon, Mademoiselle, but there is a Legion officer here. He insists on speaking with the Général immediately. Says it’s extremely important… regarding ‘La Legion’.”

He spoke the last two words with studied reverence.

“He’ll come down shortly. Show the … did he give a name, Jerome?”

“A Colonel Haffily, Mademoiselle.”

“The Général will be down soon. Show our guest into the drawing room, Jerome, and please attend to his needs. He is a personal friend.”

She closed the door and dropped her robe to the floor, moving around the room naked, collecting Knocke’s clothes.

“Ami? Where’s the fire?”

“Haefali is here, Ernst. There’s a problem with the Legion.”

“Albrecht!”

“Général Knocke.”

He made eye contact with the delectable woman.

“Mademoiselle De Valois, enchanté.”

“Colonel Haefali.”

Knocke shook Haefali’s hand and ushered him to a chair, nodding to Anne-Marie who, by previous arrangement, disappeared off to organise some light refreshment.

“Where’s the fire, Albrecht?”

“We’re losing men, Sir.”

“What? We’re out of the line… what’s happening?”

“We’re losing men. Deserting. One moment they’re in barracks, the next they’re gone… not just one or two, but dozens… they just disappear without trace.”

“They desert? My men? My soldiers?”

The idea was preposterous.

“Yes, mon Général.”

Haefali leant forward and dropped the volume of his words.

“Yesterday we found out why, mon Général.”

De Valois slid back into the room and took up a seat away from the exchange.

“It’s the damned Boche.”

Haefali suddenly realised what he had said.

“My apologies, mon Général. The men are deserting back to the German Army. There’s a new force being formed, one for the ex-SS soldiers, one that means they can fight under their own flag, not the flag of France.”

“But, they gave their oath… as legionnaires…”

Haefali shrugged.

“They are still legionnaires, but German ones now. The German Republic is forming its own German Legion.”

“How’s this happening?”

“We only found that out yesterday too. Some of the latest men to join have been encouraging the soldiers to move back to the German Army, acting as agent provocateurs. From what we understand, some of our German officers have received letters, offering positions and rank within the new force. Certainly, I’ve had sight on one received by Rolf Uhlmann”

Knocke and De Valois’ heads swivelled as one, and they stared at an envelope on the mantelpiece, an official looking letter, posted from Aachen, that had been left unopened and deliberately placed there for opening at the end of Ernst’s convalescence.

They had squabbled about it, but Anne-Marie had her way, and the letter was placed behind the picture of Capitaine Bernard Fleriot, Armande’s late husband.

Knocke nodded and the envelope was quickly recovered and slipped into his hands.

“A letter like this?”

“From Aachen?”

“Yes.”

He slipped his finger into the loose flap and split the paper.

Having read it, he passed the letter to Haefali, who consumed the words that leapt from its lines, comparing them to those lodged in his memory.

As he went to speak, Jerome arrived with coffee and sandwiches, so Haefali used the opportunity to re-read it.

As the butler left the room, he offered the document back to Knocke.

“Exactly the same, except the final offer, Mon Général.”

Knocke hummed a response and offered the letter to Anne-Marie.

She declined to read it.

“Just tell me what it says.”

“The new German Republic offers me the rank of GeneralMaior… and command of the 1st Legion Panzer Division.”

Haefali went to speak, but Knocke cut him short.

“GeneralMaior eh?”

He smiled at Anne-Marie.

“You know I must go back to the Legion, Ami. Right now.”

“Yes, Ernst, I know.”

He leant forward and took his coffee, which encouraged the others to follow suit.

“Colonel Haefali, will you be fine to travel with me in an hour?”

“Yes, mon Général.”

“We must get back and stop this flow, or we will have no Corps to command.”

“So, you’re not going back to your own, mon Général?”

Knocke’s laugh rang through the drawing room and out into the garden beyond.

“Indeed I am, Albrecht. I took an oath. I’m a legionnaire until the day I die.”

Haefali stood with Knocke, and the two exchanged handshakes.

“Legio Patria Nostra, mon General.”

“Honneur et Fidélité, Colonel Haefali.”

Churchill finished his delivery and resumed his seat, the silence deafening in its totality, the faces of those officers seated around the meeting table revealing real shock… horror… almost tangible pain.

The British Prime Minister and the American President had rehearsed this moment, the former delivering the information as eloquently as he could, the latter ready to deal with the inevitable cries and wails of military men.

Even in their wildest thoughts, the two men had not conjured up what came to pass.

Eisenhower was drained of colour, as were most of the others who had heard the incredible suggestion.

General Emilio Esteban Infantes y Martín, the new Spanish liaison officer, simply rose from the table and moved to an alcove, turning his back on the scene of the betrayal.

McCreery simply sat rigidly still, his fierce eyes burning into those of his own political leader, carrying as much contempt as he could possibly project.

Churchill, a man previously his idol, had transformed into a pariah with a few words.

General Juin, the French CoS, said nothing, his face twitching with anger and disbelief in equal measure.

Bradley’s mouth started to move, the jaw working up and down, but no recognisable sounds emerged.

Walter Bedell-Smith poured himself a glass of water, and quickly followed it with a second full measure. The dryness that temporarily robbed him of speech simply refused to go away.

Amongst the military hierarchy present, it seemed that only von Vietinghoff was unaffected by the incredible proposition, remaining impassive and without movement.

There was a blur of movement and the sound of ripping cloth.

Patton’s epaulettes skittered across the table, one falling into Truman’s lap.

“Mister President,” George’s control was as magnificent as it was unexpected, “If that really is your order, you can keep those, ‘cos I’ll go to goddamned hell before I obey that order.”

Eisenhower stood at speed, holding out his hands, one directed at the fiery Patton, the other, more surprisingly, palm first towards his commander-in-chief.

“George, sit down and shut up.”

That was as about as abrupt and out of character as Eisenhower had been in living memory.

He turned his full attention to Truman.

“Mr President, is that your order, Sir?”

Harry Truman removed his glasses to buy himself a moment, the display by Patton having fired up his Missouri soul.

“General… that is our considered opinion, an opinion we’ve just set out before you… as a proposal… a suggestion.”

Truman looked around the room, seeking as much eye contact as he could, whilst Churchill was engaged in his own silent exchange of glares with McCreery and Alexander.

“As yet it is not an order… but it may well become one… may need to become one. That’s the purpose of this meeting.”

Patton rose to tackle the thing head on, but was again waved to his seat by a clearly upset Eisenhower, who wanted to say his piece.

“Sir, let me put my cards on the table right now. If you do make it an order that we withdraw our troops from Poland, and that we leave our Polish allies there to survive with only logistical support… well… my own epaulettes will be lying aside General Patton’s, and you’ll have to find someone else to run your goddamned war!”

Truman rose and leant forward, his hands on the table in front of him.

“Let me make this clear, General. Presently, we’re asking, not ordering. The Polish enterprise has not been successful, and we have recreated another Anzio in all but name.”

That was a fair point, and the similarities had been painfully clear to all those with the right level of knowledge and recollection of ‘Operation Shingle’.

Truman leant back, making himself appear less aggressive.

“Gentlemen, the domestic political situation presents us with certain imperatives. Things at home have changed since the furore of the Soviet betrayal. I don’t need to tell you that the casualty figures are horrendous. There are riots… civil unrest across the spectrum of our Allies.”

He gestured Eisenhower to resume his seat, leading by example.

“As Prime Minster Churchill has said, the Polish excursion served some purpose, but now solely seems to consume men and supplies holding a bridgehead. There is no intent or capability to exploit it and, according to your reports, it is of minimal use pinning down Soviet assets.”

That was indeed the finding of a report that Eisenhower had submitted not a week hence, so he could only give the briefest of nods in agreement.

Churchill took up the baton.

“General Eisenhower, we believe the Poles, with supply from us, can hold the ground more than adequately. If circumstances change, we can return and exploit their labours another day. If they cannot, then we will do our best to pluck them from danger. Undoubtedly, the forces we withdraw would presently serve us better in the main line… the removal of the Allied units from the bridgehead would reduce strain on our supply… release air and naval assets for other tasks… as the President has alluded, the wildcat has once more become a stranded whale.”

Churchill had famously used the same description on the inactivity of the Anzio-Nettuno landings in early 1944.

“With respect, Prime Minister, had we withdrawn then, we would not have left an Allied nation’s soldiers behind to die or surrender.”

“You make an excellent observation, General Eisenhower, and, as I said, if it became necessary, we would advocate recovering as many of our brave Polish Allies as possible.”

Politicians’ speak rarely rested easily with military men, and that particular sentence certainly did nothing to reassure them.

Eisenhower baulked at the first thought that came into his mind, sending the reference to Gallipoli to the deeper recesses of his mind, deciding that dragging up a World War One Churchill failure would serve no purpose.

“There’s no way that we can make a full evacuation of all forces in the Polish bridgehead. The safe extraction of our own forces would require considerable forces left in situ to cover any withdrawal, probably requiring all of the remaining Polish forces, and probably even some of our own assets to ensure success. That’s just unacceptable.”

There was a rumble of agreement from the Generals around him, with only George Patton’s ‘
you’re goddamned right, Ike’
understandable.

“Surely, Prime Minister… Mr President.., you can’t ask us to abandon the very nation with whom the British allied themselves, and ultimately committed to war to preserve?”

Truman bristled.

“General, it’s not a question of abandoning. If we withdraw from the landing we can consolidate elsewhere. Yes, we will have to leave some men behind… that is regrettable.”

He nodded at Churchill.

“At Dunkerque, the British accepted that some brave men would have to remain in order to preserve the safe escape of others. Poland would be no different an…”

“With respect, Mister President, the situation would be wholly different. The British were forced to flee… we would be exercising choice to withdraw… and from a position of military strength… a choice that would spell death to thousands of our Polish allies… and possibly even undermine support for our cause with them and other nations.”

“According to your own report, we can hardly call our Polish excursion a position of strength, General.”

“It’s hardly the same as Dunkerque, Mister President. As we stand, we ain’t going to be overrun or pushed into the sea. It’s only an order like you’re proposing that’ll make that a possibility!”

Realising he had just closed down on his boss, Ike rose and held out both hands in a placatory gesture.

“Sir… Mr President… I understand that the domestic political position in many of our homelands is not positive… and we have taken steps to reduce the effects of combat on our home populations… but if we stand back from Poland now, we will be sending out negative messages in all directions, not just to Georgia in the States, but also to Georgia in the east… a message that might make them believe that we are weak and lack the will to succeed.”

He looked around the room, checking that everyone present was cleared for what he was about to say.

“We have yet to fully understand how successful Operation Atlantic has been. Surely that must make a difference?”

Atlantic, the attempt to lure Soviet forces to their southern borders, appeared to have affected Soviet thinking, and intelligence and reconnaissance both indicated a movement to the south, but nagging doubts existed as to whether it was a genuine move or one designed to convince the Allies their plan had worked.

Truman took a deep breath and wiped his hands across his face.

When Churchill and he had discussed the Polish matter at Charters, it had seemed a lot simpler, but now, in the presence of the military commanders, the waters had been well and truly muddied.

Churchill cleared his throat and extracted one of his cigars, using the moment to bring peace to the room, his puffing the only sound until he exhaled and stood slowly.

“General Eisenhower, you make your point eloquently, and I think that the President and I can understand the risks present in what we have presented for discussion.”

The lessening of importance, the lower weight in the words, were not wasted on any of the men listening.

“But, I think we can agree that the present predicament cries out for remedy… for action… for a decision on how to proceed, rather than allowing the status quo to slowly fester and reduce our options in the future.”

Churchill drew in the rich product and exhaled noisily.

He stood, carefully placing the Cuban in the crystal ashtray, clearly buying a moment to weigh his reply carefully.

“We… the President and I… do not believe we can trust to the success of ‘Atlantic’, much as we pray for it. Any benefits from its fruition may not become available until long after the Polish Bridgehead has been resolved… and not necessarily resolved in our favour.”

He grabbed his lapels, in the style he adopted in the house, when addressing his nation’s parliament.

“Inactivity is inexcusable in the face of the incompleteness of the Polish mission. Success was ours, initially, but since we have simply permitted the whole landing and exploitation to become nothing more than an irritating boil to the Communists, and a significant drain on manpower and resources for us.”

He puffed on his cigar before resuming his classic pose.

“Gentlemen, the situation cannot endure… must not endure… which is why President Truman and I are here. If not this suggestion, what? What would you have us do? There is no option for inactivity in Poland. We must either do something positive, or withdraw… and we simply cannot… must not… rely on some unsupportable vision of unprecedented success from Operation Atlantic to cloud our vision… our decision making… and our unpalatable duty.”

Churchill took a deep breath.

“Now, what are our options? General Eisenhower, you have said that to further reinforce the bridgehead is a fool’s errand. So we have no option to expand operations. We are left with a choice between status quo or reduction, unless you can bring some new idea before us.”

Winston resumed his seat, drawing on the rich Cuban cigar and carefully avoiding sending any of the smoke in Truman’s direction.

“Breakthrough to ‘em, Prime Minister. Give us the word and we’ll smash through the goddamned commies all the way to Warsaw.”

Patton’s simple reply avoided the issues that had first steered Churchill and Truman down the path of contemplating withdrawal.

“General, that is not an option as things stand.”

Truman expected no rebuttal, but it came anyway.

“Yes it is, Mister President. Use the bombs, and we will carve our way through the bastards like a hot knife through butter.”

Truman made a display of anger, slapping his hand, palm down, on the table.

“No! We cannot! How many times do I have to tell you all? The use of those weapons in Japan has caused so many problems for the Alliance! To use them here, unilaterally, without political consultation, would almost certainly ensure the end of support for our cause from too many nations to count.”

Alexander got in before George Patton had time to draw breath.

“Then, Sir, have a consultation. Lay it out before our Allies. Tell them we need to use these bombs to succeed. Tell them the alternatives if we don’t use them… if we lose… sir.”

“The process would be a waste of time, Field Marshal. We have had deputations from numerous nations, stating their clear position on further use in the Far East, let alone in mainland Europe. No, no, no. it’s not happening. Find us another solution to the Polish problem.”

George Patton could control himself no longer.

“No! No! No! Can’t you see it, Mister President? The Commies have orchestrated it all, goddamn them. All of this crock of shit… this… this… anti-bomb thing.”

He strode round the table and went up to a map of Europe.