Initiative (The Red Gambit Series Book 6) (64 page)

“And there are no more… definitely no more?”

“No, Mister President. We believe that there were upwards of two and a half thousand soldiers on that ship, plus the crew of five hundred and one… from which we have confirmed seventy US Navy survivors, and one hundred and thirty-seven paratroopers.”

“Two hundred and seven men… that’s all?”

“Yes, Sir, but I urge caution. Some of those boys won’t make it.”

“Good God. I’ve a recommendation on my desk for another presidential citation for those airborne boys. Now I’m going to have to write a tribute to their lives, and try and convince folks that these brave boys gave their all in the service of our nation… how in the name of God do I do that? Eh?”

“The British fouled up, Mister President. Their minesweepers didn’t do their job.”

Truman gripped the desk so hard his fingers went white.

“You can make that the last time you say that, George.”

George Marshall relaxed his posture in acknowledgement of the rebuke.

“These things happen, and I will not pillory our allies… is that clear? This was an enemy mine… it killed our boys… that’s all our people need to know. Anything else, we keep in house. Is that absolutely clear, gentlemen?”

The responses reassured Truman and he relaxed.

“Ok then. How are the people taking it, John?”

Steelman couldn’t wrap it up in any way, and simply passed over the first edition of the Washington Evening Star, accompanying it with one word.

“Bad.”

Actually, it was much worse than bad.

The editorial was pretty good, Truman had to admit, but it was also damaging to him and his administration, laying out the awful loss sustained by the ‘Screaming Eagles’, and asking for what had they died, undermining much of Truman’s intended speech in a few lines of well-thought out print.

The setting out of the arguments for use of the bomb were well-known and well made, and Truman knew he would have a hard time rebutting the points, as he tackled the maintenance of the Allied Alliance head on, citing the cost in American lives of propping up the ailing group, with figures, awful figures, that showed how much blood America had spilt in the doing.

“We’ve the heads up, as a courtesy only, from the nationals… they’re running the same editorial themes nationwide.”

The Chief of Staff sat down heavily, his day having been spent in exhausting damage limitation…

‘… failed damage limitation…’

Truman waited whilst the others in the Oval Office consumed the story and the editorial.

The final face looked up and he continued.

“Well, one thing’s for sure. Our lives got a little more complicated. George, do everything you can for those poor boys… living and dead… I want them all brought home straight away… straight away, y’hear me.”

Marshall nodded, knowing it would be a simple enough matter.

Dead men were easier to transport than the living.

“Now, gentlemen, what can we do to fix this mess?”

At 7pm Eastern Standard time, President Truman spoke primarily to the nation, although his words were broadcast around the globe, words addressing the wider issues of the conflict, words intent on specifically addressing the non-use of the bomb.

He also spoke intimately about the losses the country had sustained, with particular reference to the tragic events surrounding the 101st’s recent history.

Truman spoke for thirteen minutes, bringing spirit and passion to the cause he held so dear.

Having laid out the facts as he saw them, he appealed to the heads and hearts of the people, seeking support and understanding for the position of his administration.

His entourage followed his delivery word for word, the text agreed by all lifted from the pages of script to roll off Truman’s tongue, delivered in the President’s inimitable style.

The speech in general, and bombshell at the end in particular, had already been discussed with Churchill, De Gaulle, and even Speer. The Allied leaders understood and were, in general, in agreement,

But then the entourage started to shuffle their papers, seeking the missing page, as words hit their ears that did not come from the speech… simple words that came from Truman’s heart.

“For nearly five years now, the free world has looked to us, seeking inspiration and guidance from the leadership we bring, and the sacrifices we are prepared to make in the name of our country’s values… make in the name of maintaining freedom for all.”

“This leadership is best delivered by a country and people united behind its common conviction, a belief in the righteousness of the cause to which it is committed.”

“I appeal to you, my countrymen, to further journey with me… to produce the materials of war… to send them across the oceans… to support our troops in the prosecution of this war… a war not of our making.”

“We cannot do this shackled by doubt, be it doubt about the sacrifices this nation and our young men are making, or doubt about how best to bring an end to this conflict, an end that best serves the needs of the world.”

“Yes, we have the technology… the aircraft, the tanks, the ships… and yes… we have the bomb… and we have all seen its terrible effects. Some Americans oppose its further use, others encourage its profligate use… both views have merit… and both have their issues.”

“The world has been horrified by the images and reports that have sprung from the hands and lips of survivors.”

“The bombs are the ultimate weapon of war, but they are horrible weapons and, quite rightly, we should think long and hard before using them again. Perhaps… it may be… that this display on Japan might ensure they are never needed again.”

Truman paused and gathered himself.

“As your President, I ask this of you. Understand that I will not shirk from their use, and would not hesitate to order such a use right at this moment, should it be prudent to do so… but… at this time… it is not.”

“There are wider issues here, for we must convince the free world, and carry them with us before further employment. We cannot just expect the people of this planet to fall in line with our way of thinking. To do that would be arrogant at the very least.”

“Our Allies baulk at further deployment of these weapons and we must, and will, listen to their concerns… and assuage them as best we can… and not deploy them until we can carry the world with us, in wholehearted agreement that their use is just and proper.”

He eased his collar with a swipe of his finger.

“That is the assurance I have given to the leaders of the Allied nations, and one I reiterate here… now… in front of you all.”

“There is a weighty proposition that o
ur refusal to use these weapons might be misunderstood, and might give comfort to our enemies. This is an argument I have heard, and can understand… but one I also disagree with.”

“Our enemies have seen that we have the will, and will not shirk from their use, should the circumstances be right.”

“On 16th April last year, I stood before Congress and made the following statement.”

Truman produced a small piece of paper that contained a verbatim of the passage he wished to remind his people of.

“And I quote…
It is not enough to yearn for peace. We must work, and if necessary, fight for it. The task of creating a sound international organization is complicated and difficult. Yet, without such organization, the rights of man on earth cannot be protected. Machinery for the just settlement of international differences must be found. Without such machinery, the entire world will have to remain an armed camp. The world will be doomed to deadly conflict, devoid of hope for real peace
.”

“My fellow Americans, that is the crux of it all. We must… and we will… defeat the Communists… wherever we find them, and we, as a nation, and I, as your president, am as committed as ever to that end. But we must maintain the Alliance, and create a stronger organisation. By using the bomb unilaterally, without the agreement of our Allies, we risk sundering the very base of the organisation that we need to construct to ensure that peace will flourish for our children, and all the children that come after.”

“Constant vigilance will be the price that we, as a world, will pay for our future liberty and freedoms.”

‘Here it comes…’

“To that end, today, I announce that we will formalise and strengthen our international Alliance under a new title… the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation… a grouping that will bring the nations fighting in this conflict together, unified under the umbrella of an organisation conceived by free peoples, for the purpose of maintaining freedom for all.”

“As soon as is practicable, I will travel to Europe and meet with the heads of state of our Allies, and together we will bring forth the new organisation, NATO, born out of our common desire to combine all our peoples in the defence of liberty and freedom.”

“I humbly pray to Almighty God that you, the people, will embrace this new organisation, and permit America to lead the world to peace and prosperity.”

“Good night to you all, and may God bless America.”

The morning newspapers and radio programmes were less than enthusiastic, hardly addressing the formation of NATO, instead focussing on the failure to employ the bombs and the ‘weak’ excuses the President had cited.

Around the world, the press was generally more accepting, and there was a slight change in attitude towards the bomb, now that the views of the US president were laid bare.

However, it was in Moscow that the reverberations of Truman’s words made most impact, and the interpretation of them started, imperceptibly at first, to crystallise divisions in the hierarchy of the Soviet State, although, in truth, there was only one interpretation that really mattered, and his was that there was a weakness to be explored and exploited.

In Stalin’s unchallenged opinion, the formation of NATO was considered almost an irrelevance.

Battles are sometimes won by generals; wars are nearly always won by sergeants and privates.

F.E. Adcock

Two weeks previously, a Mk XI-PR Spitfire of the USAAF’s 14th Photographic Reconnaissance Squadron, had overflown Auschwitz-Birkenau in Poland, one of a number of missions trying to ascertain the nature of the present occupants of the former Nazi death camp.

Photo-interpretation had been done, but the evidence was still not there, although unconfirmed reports from the ground indicated that there were a leavening of Allied POWs and political prisoners from amongst the ‘liberated’ Poles, the POWs located mostly in the brick-built Auschwitz site, a former Polish cavalry base.

The killing machines, the huge gas chambers and ovens that had been the despicable heart of Birkenau, had been demolished by the retreating Germans in 1945, in a desperate attempt to hide the monstrous crimes they perpetrated there.

The Soviets used the remaining facilities to keep their undesirables in one place, and a burgeoning camp developed.

Photo-recon birds visited regularly, and the intelligence interpreters steadily built up a picture of what was happening.

One such interpreter looked long and hard at the latest photos, no more than three hours old, and found an itch he couldn’t scratch.

There had been a short delay whilst the camera was recovered from the wrecked Spitfire. Its damaged undercarriage had lost the unequal struggle to support the aircraft’s weight and collapsed the photoreconnaissance bird onto the grass, which had trenched and flipped the aircraft over in the middle of the strip, where it had burned merrily until the firemen put out the flames.

The pilot, showing incredible presence of mind for a man with a broken arm and a cannon shell fragment in the nape of his neck, had managed to extract the camera before fire claimed it.

His bravery meant that the latest pictures were preserved, setting in motion a string of events with far-reaching consequences.

Despite the fact that a break was called by the unit’s officer, the sergeant, whose job it was to interpret the new images, wandered around the huge filing system and pulled the previous shots, and, for good measure, the two missions before.

He laid them out across the desk, sat back, and examined the major differences whilst seeking the subtle ones.

His thoughts were disturbed by the appearance of a mug of coffee.

“Whatcha got, Pete?”

“Not sure, Hank… not sure.”

He picked up the first set of photos.

“The camp… same as ever… a few extra shadows on the ground… more people… but nothing of note.”

He leant over and retrieved the next set.

“You did the interpretation on this set, Hank. A few extra lorries… that train in the main compound… but nothing to write home about. Except a couple of civilian lorries with a load of pipes on.”

Hank couldn’t remember the set of photos particularly, but if that’s what his report said, then that’s what he had seen.

He checked the photo and stirred a memory as he looked at the loaded lorries parked openly on the banks of the river.

“Oh yeah… I questioned the square blocks… I remember now… concrete mountings… so I was informed.”

Peter Manning picked up the set dated 23rd July and offered them up.

“I did the interpretation on these. The only thing of note was the lorries with the pipes on board… look to the west of the main camp… up by the Vistula there…”

Henry Childs put the lens to his eye and sought out the lorries in question.

“Yep… I see them. More lorries this time. Lots and lots of pipes… more mounting blocks… the call was what?”

“Extra water to the camp, seeing as it was expanding. Seemed logical as they started at the river.”

“Fair enough, Pete. And they signed off on that ok?”

“Yep.”

Hank offered the set back, but Pete Manning kept his hands still.

“Anything else you see there?”

Clearly there was something to be seen, so Hank took his time.

“Staff car at the main building?”

“Nope.”

“New construction at the top end of the camp?”

“Nope.”

“Go on then.”

“Look at the woods to the west, those either side of the river.”

Hank compared the pictures.

“It’s summer, what do you expect, Pete? Things grow, pal.”

“And this one?”

He handed the most recent picture over.

“Shit. Where’s the river gone?”

In the previous comparison, Hank had spotted the flourishing growth, by the simple fact that, from above, the river width appeared reduced.

The final picture showed no river, implying that the trees had grown so much as to cover over the water completely… or…

“Netting?”

“Look at the tones… pretty much spot on… but not quite.”

“So you’re thinking what?”

“I’m thinking they’ve camo’ed it up for a damn good reason. That’s not all. In the woods itself… there’s a difference here and in tone here… look.”

There was. An almost imperceptible one, one easily missed unless the eye was trained and keen.

“Over here… in the camp… what do you see?”

“That’s easy… logs…”

Hank’s voice trailed away.

Two minds worked the problem.

“That’s trunks from at least eighty trees right there. Would make a noticeable hole in the woods in one place. Even if they’re just thinning out, we’d see something… but in any case… if you want lumber, just take it from the edge nearest you, eh?”

“Good point, Hank. Now, try this one on for size. Where are the pipe trucks now?”

“Still by the riv… hey, hang on… why are they up there?”

“And where’s the turned ground. There isn’t any, and we’d see it for sure.”

“Damn right we’d see it so…”

Henry Childs’ eyes narrowed.

“You gotta theory, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Pull the lieutenant in, cos I think he’s gonna wanna hear it too.”

The officer sat patiently listening as his men expounded their theory, occasionally looking at the pictures and trying to see things through their words.

The arguments were there.

The theories were supportable.

The evidence was open to interpretation, but that was their job, and it could make sense.

“Hold it right there, boys. You sold me. I’m going to drop this in front of the Colonel a-sap. Give me the photos.”

He took up the offered evidence.

“Good job, both of you. Come with me in case I get anything wrong.”

The Squadron Commander listened impassively, carefully examining the photos and listening to the Lieutenant’s explanation of what the two sergeants had discovered… thought they had discovered, the devil’s advocate in his brain reminded him.

As with most things, there were alternate explanations that he could offer, but the Lieutenant Colonel held his peace and let the young man continue.

Everything was thoroughly laid out for him to understand.

He could see everything clearly, and knew where his boys were coming from, so still held himself in check.

Up to the moment the Lieutenant addressed the pipe lorries’ present location.

“Why there? That’s away from the camp.”

“Sir, it is our belief that the Russians are laying the pipes in the water itself. Laying them against the current would be tricky to say the least… laying them with it is much easier…we can get some expert opinion on that, but it makes sense to me… which is why the lorries are there, heading away from Birkenau… or should I say the woods… and downstream to Bierun Nowy… here.”

His finger pointed at a small staging area that had been interpreted as a barge landing point, built by the local population to replace the town one destroyed by a combination of fighting and bombing.

“We haven’t had time yet, Sir, but I’m willing to bet that we’ll find barges docking at this point regularly over the last week or so… maybe more… and that we don’t see anything of note move into the town.”

The Lieutenant Colonel nodded his head, took off his glasses, and pushed himself back in his chair.

Filling his pipe, he ordered his own thoughts before speaking.

“So, Lieutenant, what exactly’s your bottom line here. Reach as much as you figure you need to, but tell me what you and your boys think’s actually happening here?”

He exchanged looks with the two sergeants, who could only offer silent encouragement.

“Colonel, Sir, we think that the barges are being used to transport fuel. They’ve taken terrible hits on their fuel, even though they went to smaller dumps a while back. We’ve caned them on the roads… and on the railways when they’ve tried that… makes sense that the Commies would try water.”

“Go on. Lieutenant.”

“The pipes are not water pipes… they’re fuel pipes, and they run from that little landing stage all the way to the woods. Our guess is that the little hut there is the pump that shifts it upriver.”

The Colonel’s puffing was increasing with each word.

“My guess… sorry, our guess is that the blocks are actually weights to hold the pipe down. A quick estimate puts it at four blocks to one section of pipe.”

He produced the photos that best showed the canopy of the woods.

“See here, Sir. The river is all but gone and, even though it’s summer, the trees ain’t gonna grow like that… and here… and here, Sir… the difference in the canopy. Our bet is that is netting, clever job, but not quite clever enough.”

He pointed to the pile of lumber in the camp, emphasising the fact that a work party was pulling one immense piece of timber from the direction of the woods.

“Where’s the hole these trees came from, eh? Why not take from the edge nearest you? Remember the trick they pulled before the war, where they hollowed out forests and created railway sidings and rallying points for huge formations? Our bet is they’re doing something in those woods, and a something to do with hiding their fuel supplies, Sir.”

The Lieutenant Colonel drew heavily on the rich smoke, nodding his head gently as his eyes moved from piece of evidence to piece of evidence.