Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series) (119 page)

He had noticed Braun’s expression and answered it with a silent but meaningful look of his own, ending it with a nod towards the two Americans in the front seats.

Once the arrangement of his awards was complete to everyone’s satisfaction, he held a cautionary hand up to his comrades and moved forward, dipping his head between the two US soldiers.

“Comrades, do you have a cigarette please?” the German precise and slowly spoken.

“Don’t speak Kraut” was all the driver could say, concentrating on avoiding the continuous line of US supply trucks heading in the other direction.

The other man turned his head and encouraged a repetition.

Shandruk did so and the man shook his head.

Braun said nothing, observing the Ukrainian.

This time he accompanied his words with the universal hand gestures and finally received understanding. A pack flipped cigarettes in seconds, generously being passed round all three Germans before returning to its owners blouse pocket.

The three leant back in their seats sampling the rich tobacco, Uhlmann also now aware that something was up.

Shandruk spoke gently and unexcitedly.

“I had a strange encounter back in their headquarters Kameraden.”

Still watching the front passengers for any sign of cognition, he continued.

“The American Colonel, the German speaker, he is not what he seemed.”

Braun’s coughing gave him a moment’s pause. The watery-eyed man held up a hand of apology as the smoke sent him into another convulsion, drawing the gaze of the co-driver.

Addressing Uhlmann, the young Ukrainian took advantage of his comrade’s plight, shaking his head in sadness.

“Schiesse, German NCO’s are not as tough as they used to be Herr Sturmbannfuhrer, veritable pussy cats,” which comment brought more spasms from Braun as he struggled to counter-attack, as well as new coughs from the amused Uhlmann.

And in the way that such things often spread, the driver ended his own short burst of hacking by spitting a large gobbet off to the side.

“Anyway, I will not be with you for long it appears. My Russian language skills mean I will serve in other ways.”

Flicking his dog end from the rear, he leant forward, bringing the now recovered pair closer.

“There was little time to decide but the man seemed sincere, and I made a snap decision. If it is not for me then I will come back or maybe just disappear eh?”

That statement had two meanings, and was not lost on the listeners.

“Did he say what he wants of you Ost?” Braun ventured having now recovered.

“He said it would be dangerous but that it would be important and will hurt the Russians very badly.”

Leaning back once more, Shandruk drew a line in the proverbial sand.

“He said a little more but asked I say nothing to you and I will honour that as I gave my word.”

Both men could understand that and so there was no pushing the point further, although Uhlmann had to ask why the Ukrainian was travelling with them.

“Simply put, he said he had no time to organise anything with the French and he doesn’t want to attract attention. I am to go with you until he brings me back; that is all I know for now.”

Probably it wasn’t, but neither German pressed their comrade further.

The rest of the journey was filled with small talk, mainly about what they expected from the French. It was of little interest to ‘Corporal Higgins’, who had finally stopped being angry with himself for laughing at the Ukrainian’s joke and at the same time congratulating himself for covering it with feigned coughing, embellishing the deception with a flourish of spit.

He would have little positive to report to Rossiter when he got back, although he could say that the one thing that Shandruk had been asked not to repeat had remained concealed.

If he had spoken of it then he and his two comrades would have quietly disappeared, silver stars or no silver stars; that had been the Marine Colonel’s express instruction. Offing the two SS bastards would have been easy enough but there would have been regret over the Ukrainian.

‘
Well probably
’, thought ‘Corporal Higgins’, or as he was known in darker circles, Lieutenant Solomon Meyer, formerly of Munich, more lately a member of the Jewish Brigade Group and now a member of OSS.

As was his co-driver Sergeant Michel Wijers, Dutch citizen, former Royal Dutch Army, resistance fighter, and current OSS operative, master of many Slavic languages and aboard in case Shandruk and the Germans had other unsuspected communication options.

2213 hrs Sunday 12th August 1945, French Foreign Legion Camp, Sassy, France.

The journey to their destination took three hours to the minute and it was rapidly approaching 2200hrs when they were dropped off and placed in French hands.

The French had chosen an area in the Calvados region for the holding and training camp, centred on the commune of Sassy with no comprehension of the amusement their selection caused to the extremely few allies in the know.

Their own Army HQ was set up within the Benedictine Monastery in nearby Saint Pierre-sur-Dives and different secure holding areas established to the south-west.

French military and police units secured the area, even going so far as to evacuate the residents of Sassy, Olendon, and Emes, creating a large military-only area.

In actual fact, the area was chosen for its proximity to the stockpiles left over from the Normandy campaign and the ability to effectively isolate a large area rather than for any other reason.

Already the fields, which had yielded their crops prematurely, were sprouting tents and temporary structures in large numbers.

French engineers had swiftly constructed a modest runway, control tower and two hangars to the south-west of the commune, adding a large two storey wooden building on the edge of Sassy, which was to serve as the nerve centre of the effort.

The same engineers now lent their assistance to the inhabitants of St Pierre and the rebuilding of the fire ravaged Halle de Saint Pierre helped ease some of the tensions that arose with the arrival of the hated Boche.

Before the three arrived at the camp, they had been preceded by over seven thousand of their comrades from across the spectrum of the Waffen-SS, but mainly members of the 5th, 6th and 12th SS Divisions so far.

A leavening of German NCO’s from the Legion had been quickly brought in to ease the transition and to start passing on some of the Legion’s ethos and character. Traditions such as the motto ‘Legio Patria Nostra’, which translated from the Latin means ‘The Legion is our Fatherland’. A concept not unfamiliar to the ex-soldiers of the Waffen-SS, who based much of their élan on the unit and comrades.

Many field and senior officers had been culled from the group on the basis of fact or suspicion and there were few leaders above the rank of Captain in the camp.

An exception to that had been placed in charge of attracting ex-SS soldiers to the Legion cause and had been promised a command role in the use of units formed.

The large room contained two tables set with five chairs in a simple V shape opening towards the door with an empty chair set for any new arrival

The man sat on the opposite wing to Knocke was the former SS-Obergruppenfuhrer Willi Bittrich, commander of the divisions who resisted at Arnhem and recently released from French custody, where he was absolved of wrongdoing in the matter of the deaths of the seventeen Nîmes resistance workers. Still in his field grey German Officers uniform, he cut a dashing figure despite his fifty-one years. His medals also having been restored to him, he perfectly balanced the black-uniformed Knocke seated across the table from him.

Next to him was the imposing figure of Bruno Rettlinger, head still bandaged after his close encounter with the stonewall and left arm protruding from a simple uniform shirt, cut open to accommodate the frame that held the badly broken bone in place. The nasty deep sword wound was stitched tight, yet obviously red and angry.

Adjacent to Knocke, Lothar Von Arnesen sat, or more accurately leaned, favouring his painfully wounded right thigh.

Seated centrally, clad in the crisp new uniform of a Général de Brigade in La Légion Étrangère, Christophe Lavalle presided over the theoretical construction of a powerful force for his Legion.

Working late, the five had quickly set aside their work and restructured the room when informed of Uhlmann’s arrival. Instructions that arriving ex-SS officers of Captain or higher rank should be brought to the headquarters building ensured that Uhlmann was stood at attention before the five men in short order.

Gesturing the man to a seat, Lavalle took up the running as usual.

“Welcome Commandant Uhlmann. You come with an enhanced reputation,” and brandishing a pristine document bearing Eisenhower’s signature, “And with impeccable credentials.”

“Thank you Herr General.” Uhlmann had decided to say as little as possible when he arrived at this place but was greatly put at ease by the presence of both Bittrich and Knocke, obviously in a trusted supervisory role.

He did not know the other two officers.

“You had the chance to walk away and chose to come here on very little information apparently. Why is that?”

Uhlmann did not need to consider his words.

“For the same reasons as I went to the Amis with my information. It is the right thing to do Herr General.”

Conforming to their practised technique Bittrich spoke next, in a clipped tone intended to establish authority and provoke memories of former times.

“Explain Sturmbannfuhrer.”

“Sir, I am here to fight for Germany first and Europe second. If I cannot fight as a German soldier then I will fight in the costume of the Folies Bergère if it provides me with the opportunity to liberate my fatherland.”

Bittrich tried but could not help smiling and his eyes flicked swiftly to Knocke who obviously had similar problems.

The ball was back in Lavalle’s court.

“So Commandant, you understand that you would be fighting as a Legionnaire under French command, acting under French orders and wearing French insignia?”

Uhlmann had already noticed the altered eagle, which now bore coloured wings, one of French and one of German national colours, the body constituted by some strange unfamiliar device which he would soon understand as the grenade insignia of La Légion Étrangère. It had been decided to create an insignia that covered completely the area previously occupied by the SS eagle, and every man present carried it on his upper left arm and, strangely to Uhlmann, even Lavalle was so adorned.

“Herr General, I understand perfectly and will serve with honour until the Soviets are gone from my homeland.”

Knocke leant forward.

“And beyond Sturmbannfuhrer?”

The meaning of that was loud and clear.

“To the gates of Moscow if need be Herr Standartenfuhrer.”

The British message arrived just before midnight bringing some excitement to an otherwise unusually uneventful evening. Suspicious commanders had organised and sent out patrols but nothing seemed amiss as, aircraft excepted, Europe enjoyed its quietest night for a week.

Eisenhower was awoken by a staff major clutching a report from McCreery. Grabbing his glasses Eisenhower swiftly read the few lines, exhibiting real relief at the report.