Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series) (20 page)

Once more, the humour surfaced. “This time we would expect your officers to be much improved and victory would not be taken for granted”.

Knocke theatrically gestured for a drink. A sip on the water, instantly offered up, gave him an opportunity to leave that comment dangling in front of De Walle.

“Danke Menzel. On the final day we will address some specifics which will have come to our attention during the week, as each man will bring his own special needs and issues to this symposium.”

“Generally, we consider it important that we and the candidates are permitted to mix openly at all times once the initial Kriegspiel is completed, for meals, refreshment breaks and any off-duty times. We feel it is important that no alcohol is consumed until dinner unless there is business scheduled for afterwards for some reason. It is accepted that there may be displays of bad feeling linked to the recent war but they must not be allowed to interfere with the symposiums objectives. If a candidate becomes so disruptive that we ask for his removal, we fully expect that officer to be immediately relieved and dealt with appropriately by his own commander.”

“As you have requested our feedback on your personnel, a full report on the ability of each man, as well as analysis of his performance during the symposium, will be made available to you by Saturday at 1300 hrs. This will contain individual comments from each of my officers here relative to their own area of expertise and my overall assessment.”

“For this to be of value, these reports will be wholly accurate and not dressed to prevent damage to an individual’s personal feelings or professionalism. They will also be based solely upon performance, not character or conduct during the week, unless either of those have a direct effect upon performance. We would expect to receive similar reports on our own performance from those attending.”

“Saturday afternoons should be used to critique the symposiums content and structure to highlight areas of improvement and issues for change.”

Looking at the Frenchman, Knocke deliberately emphasised his next sentence.

“In order for this symposium to run successfully for the long term, we request that we be permitted Sundays without official duties, and in essence make that non-negotiable.”

A wry smile and a nod of acceptance were sufficient. Being French, the concept of only one day off a week was horrifying. De Walle and his superiors had anticipated a full weekend of leisure.

“A detailed timetable of symposium events has been compiled and is included in the documentation before you, labelled as addendum B.”

 “As a personal request by four of my officers, at addendum C you will find a list of German nationals who are relatives. We would consider it an act of friendship if you could attempt to establish the well-being and whereabouts of those named.”

This had not been in the document De Walle had previously read and he was not ready for the words, nor for that matter, the list offered to him by Schmidt. The proffered paper was accepted with the faintest of nods.

With a small but none the less noticeable exhalation of relief, Knocke concluded.

“Danke. Colonel?”

“Indeed Herr Knocke, indeed,” and De Walle stood and moved slowly to Knocke’s side.

“Gentlemen, your efforts so far have proved to me that the right men are here to do this job. On your request for family information, we will do what we can, my word on it.”

“Your outline for the symposium,” he flourished the document and bowed his head swiftly in acknowledgement, “Is thus far excellent and nothing that you have laid out gets anything but approval from me, with two possible exceptions. On the matter of uniform, that spectre raised itself the other evening and I have given it some thought. I am not a military man so my thinking may be flawed but I can see some value in it, as obviously can you. Others may feel differently so I will seek advice from a higher authority on that one. On the matter of mixing, I can see pitfalls there, ones that you will most certainly appreciate. However, I understand the purpose of that proposal and can see additional benefits, provided there is no provocation by either side, intended or otherwise. Again I will seek others input before we decide upon that.”

“Everything else here I am empowered to approve as far as I can but understand that a copy of your documentation is presently in the hands of the man that will ultimately accept your proposals, or he may request…err, yes request change of you”. The momentary stumble was caused by the mental image of the French General requesting defeated German prisoners to do something he would order anyone else to do on a whim. If it came, it would not be a request and, judging by the faces, not one of the Germans thought otherwise.

“Thank you for your efforts Gentlemen, and if I may,” indicating to a waiting orderly who had somehow appeared at the absolutely correct moment, “Ask you to accompany me back to the Kaiser’s Hall.”

The company took the short journey up the spiral stairs to the dining room where a silver tray, glasses, and bottle lay awaiting their arrival, all twinkling in the light of the roaring fire that warmed the room splendidly.

“A toast to our venture, one for the benefit of both our countries.” De Walle grabbed the bottle displaying the label to everyone close by. “A fine bottle of cognac, which the concierge here assures me was laid up on completion of the renovations in 1908. I had to threaten life imprisonment for him and his family to secure the rights of consumption on the contents obviously”.

A faint wave of laughter spread through all, although the comment served to remind everyone of the power of the affable Frenchman.

Glasses filled and raised, De Walle ventured the toast and was immediately followed by a chorus from the others.

“Biarritz!”

Cognac bit into throats, warmed bellies, and glasses smashed into fireplace as the tradition toast was taken, a toast that marked the start of something that was to have more significance than anyone could ever have imagined.

No matter how enmeshed a commander becomes in the elaboration of his own thoughts, it is sometimes necessary to take the enemy into account.

Sir Winston Spencer Churchill

1250 hrs Monday, 9th July 1945, The Kremlin, Moscow, USSR.

During the German War, the work done at Bletchley Park in England had been extremely useful. The German’s had no idea that the Allies could read their private communications, and that fact alone had shortened the war considerably.

Of course, the Soviet Union had its mole’s. Some had been motivated by a sense of equality; in that what was known by some should be known by all fighting the German. Others were politically inclined towards the Motherland anyway. One particularly productive source worshipped on the altar of the pound.

Information filtered out to the Soviet Union and, on occasion, made a major difference.

Whatever the motivation of each mole, since the surrender there had been a huge cut in message traffic and what had been sent had been worth comparatively little. It was with some surprise that, having been summoned to Stalin’s office, Beria should be confronted with something of considerable interest originating from that sleepy corner of rural England.

“Well Comrade Marshall?”

Pekunin, the GRU officer who had brought the message to Stalin, remained impassive as the head of the NKVD floundered in front of him.

“We knew for certain that some German Generals were being courted in some way, as was announced to the military group some while back. Apple Pie is the name they use, as you will recall. However, my own sources have no definite knowledge of these groups Comrade General Secretary. Rumours abound of course, but I would not bring unsubstantiated talk to your office. I deal in facts, as do you Comrade General Secretary.”

It was a reasonable dance but did not cover the fact that the GRU had hit the target long before the NKVD. It was a rare triumph for the senior GRU General and he silently savoured every second as Stalin spoke directly at Beria.

“GRU assessment of this information is that these groups may pose a threat. That their existence shows, at minimum, deep suspicion and at worst case aggressive intent by our former allies. They could also be used as a possible rallying point for any organised German force once Kingdom39 is initiated. Your assessment?” Stalin sat back, aware of Beria’s discomfort.

“I can only agree with the interpretation of my GRU comrades and congratulate them on their diligence.” Both listeners knew how much that hurt the head of the NKVD, who was already promising himself a none too pleasant conversation with his top insider in the GRU.

“In my view we should eliminate these groups as soon as is practicable,” using the prospect of definitive action to mask his hurt.

Beria paused and conceded, “However, we cannot do so before the initiation of Kingdom, so it must be part of the initial assault plan.”

“And your reasoning for that is what comrade Marshall?” Stalin purred reasonably.

“Simply that we have beaten the German and he is cowed. A further assault on the remainder of his country, complete with destruction of the armies and air forces of his newfound friends should be sufficient to keep him cowed. We have not considered the German entering the fight in numbers and organised, having always believed the large number of refugees and POW’s would prove a huge encumbrance for the Western Allies.”

He indicated to General Pekunin and the message was passed to his expectant hand. Beria picked up where he had left off.

“A possible rallying point….I agree. A beacon to the German soldier that his new friends accept him not as a beaten enemy but a soldier who can advise them on how to fight us. We must strike these groups,” Beria inclined his head to take in a particular word on the page, “These symposiums, and strike them hard. They must not stand Comrade General Secretary. But we cannot do so before Kingdom initiates or we risk alerting the Western Allies unnecessarily.”

“Tea, Comrade Pekunin.” Stalin was not offering, as Pekunin well understood, and he immediately moved to pour three cups.

Stalin tapped out his pipe on his hand and dropped the ash into a bin. Deep in thought, he refilled his pipe and, once satisfied, relit it and drew deeply.

“Comrade General Pekunin. I believe that Marshall Zhukov’s Chief of Staff is in Moscow visiting your department at the moment?”

“It is so, Comrade General Secretary.”

“Have him attend here at 4pm.”

“I will tell him myself Comrade Gen….”

Stalin cut in.

“Then please do so now comrade.”

Pekunin saluted and tuned on his heels, marching out of the room, his victory over Beria being slightly blotted by his obvious early dismissal by Stalin.

“The GRU put one over on you there Lavrentiy,” taunted Stalin once the large double doors had closed.

“We both serve the party and the Motherland, Comrade General Secretary, so I am content.”

“Quite so Lavrentiy,” with a grin the like of which Beria had never seen before. His inner voice whispered to him, ‘
The Georgian bastard enjoyed that
.’

“Your plan for the rear-areas included security measures for German officer prisoners. I suggest that you implement a broader consideration to include those in the territories we will occupy once Kingdom commences.”

“It will be done Comrade.”

“You suggested assassination of certain generals immediately prior to the attack. I do remember Comrade Zhukov rejecting that, as he would rather fight those he knew and felt were less capable than be surprised by someone new who could possibly perform well.”

Beria smarted again. It had been a good plan and had been rejected out of hand.

“I suggest you revive and modify that plan and target these,” Stalin picked up his copy of the report and read a section again for confirmation, “Symposiums Hamburg, Frankfurt, and Paderborn with the resources you had set aside for that purpose. See what assets you can provide to assist Marshall Zhukov.”