Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series) (45 page)

The main door opened and four soldiers came bursting in. The MP Lieutenant and his two men saw that the boot was now well and truly on the other foot. Weapons were raised and the tension rose dramatically.

The extra man was a staff Captain wearing a shiny helmet and ready to take on the world with his Thompson sub-machine gun.

Rhodes finally had his Colt automatic in hand and did his best to impress everyone that he knew how to use it. Its barrel lay against Rolf’s skull behind his right ear.

The General holstered his own colt now that the intruders were well covered.

He looked at the Thompson-toting Captain and smiled, partially out of relief and partially because the man’s attempt to look warlike was more than comical. Even he had noticed the weapon was not cocked.

“Grice, I want another platoon of men posted here right now. Contact Colonel Lee and arrange it at once.”

With specific orders, the Captain left the room immediately.

It was apparent that the MP Lieutenant had something to get off his chest.

“Report, Lieutenant.”

“Sir, the flares were set off by an Austrian civilian who has been apprehended. Two other men in our uniforms that were with these men,” he almost sneered at the two stood there, hands extended towards the ceiling, “Have been taken prisoner. Only this man,” he indicated Schwartz, “Seems to have been carrying a weapon. The other three are being held downstairs under armed guard. Our perimeter is secure sir.”

“Thank you Lieutenant. We will discuss how these two got this far later.”

The young officer winced. It was his watch after all.

“Ok then,” the General looked at Uhlmann and folded his arms. He had not heard any of what Schwartz had said to Rhodes but grasped that there was something deeper going on.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing here, and talk fast son.”

Schultz started.

“I am Major Schultz, CO of….”

Clark shot out a hand, palm first.

“I know who you are son. I pinned a goddamn Distinguished Service Cross on your chest some weeks ago, and that’s the only reason I am stood here now ready to listen.”

The General’s eyes narrowed as his gaze turned to scrutinise the silent one whilst still addressing the major. “You are in deep shit but at least you’re kosher. It’s this man I want to know about.”

“Sir,” Schultz ventured, “This officer does not speak English. He is an escaped German kreigie who has risked much to stand before you tonight.”

That got the General’s full attention, and the calm and unfazed demeanour seemed suddenly a little shaken. Pursing his lips, Clarke nodded slowly.

“Do go on Major.”

“This is Sturmbannfuhrer Uhlmann, late of the 5th SS Panzer Division, and until recently a prisoner of the Russians at Edelbach in North Austria.”

Although it looked theatrical it was not Uhlmann’s intent, but he could not help but click to attention when the General looked directly at him as his rank, name and former status were announced.

“Sir, if I may speak,” Schwartz waited until the senior man gave an acquiescing nod before he continued, “This man had escaped the Russians and was free, as were those men downstairs, but they have chosen to give up that freedom and risk their lives to come here with vital information, direct for your ears. He has not come to harm you and is unarmed. I know what he has to tell and you must hear him out Sir”

Majors don’t normally use the ‘must’ word to General’s and escape unscathed, but inside Clark had to admit that the boy looked fit to burst, and it wasn’t going to hurt to hear the kraut out.

After what seemed like an age, the General spoke.

“Alright son. You two get your audience. Clarence,” he looked at the unfortunate officer, “Tidy yourself up and join us.”

“Lieutenant?” he queried, looking at the young MP.

“Athabaster, John S. Sir.”

“Search these two thoroughly, and then post your men outside. No one gets in. Clear? You will then accompany them into my room and ensure that you keep these two under control.”

“Yes Sir.”

Clark disappeared into his suite.

A swift search revealed Schwartz’s own Colt and a wicked knuckleduster. Uhlmann carried nothing.

The two were ushered into the General’s room, where they found him sitting on a desk, leg idly swinging, and a mug of steaming fresh coffee in his hands.

“Guess you are going to have to translate what this sonofabitch says for me Major. I don’t need to tell you that this had better be goddamned impressive to keep your narrow ass outta the stockade, son.”

“Yes Sir.”

And as the famous Enns tower struck three o’clock, Sturmbannfuhrer Rolf Uhlmann, late of the 5th SS Panzer Division, spoke quickly and accurately of all that he had seen, with Schwartz translating rapidly.

Clark was a self-publicist, a trait that had earned him few friends and many critics during his time as commander of the Fifth Army in Italy. His capture of Rome, which many at the time felt contrary to military priority, resulted in a failure to encircle enemy units and the resultant escape of many German divisions. Those same divisions later fought on long and hard, causing many allied casualties. It would always be held against him by a lot of Allied Commanders.

He was famous for ensuring that all communiqués from 5th Army went out emblazoned with his name, and that desire for fame, glory, and promotion now worked in favour of the Western Allies as he started to issue orders. The phone lines were down but the radio truck could contact half of Europe. He sent out warnings and instructions to his commands all over Austria and Northern Italy. Messages were sent to allied commanders in Germany and the rest of Europe, apprising them of the impending storm.

Rhodes, who washed and changed in record speed, had been present for most of Rolf’s report and displayed his full usefulness as he wrote out what had been said word for word from memory, presenting it to Clark, who signed off on it, ready for dispatch to his various commands.

Warnings went out all over Europe, cascading from unit to unit, albeit slowly.

The General’s entourage swept out of Enns at 0415 hrs, heading back towards Salzburg at breakneck speed.

Schwartz returned to his unit to help ready them for the impending storm, Pförzer was released and disappeared swiftly, probably securing his wares from whichever soldiers would come calling. The three escapees were placed in one of the M20’s in the column racing back the one hundred kilometres or so to Salzburg, taking Clark back to his command base.

0545 hrs Monday, 6th August 1945, Salzburg, US Occupied Upper Austria.

They narrowly missed the commando attack upon Clark’s headquarters. Understandably, the General had little time to spare for them as he set about establishing order amongst his surviving staff. The attack had missed its main target but despite the warning sent from Enns, many casualties had been caused. Shock seemed to temporarily paralyze those who survived; piteously few considering a Ranger battalion had been on the road within minutes of receiving the information and had caught the paratroopers on the run-in.

Members of that Ranger unit now viewed anyone and everyone with jaundiced eyes, fingers on triggers. The three German soldiers had been placed under the care of Athabaster, who seemed unsure of what to do with them. He had departed to get instructions, leaving them stood in the care of two of his men.

Things became fraught when Uhlmann, Braun, and Shandruk were challenged by a Ranger Chief Warrant Officer. Despite wearing US uniform, they seemed unable to speak English, except for one who had a distinctly European twang to his words. The two soldiers tried to explain but the CWO was not in the mood for nervous soldier’s bullshitting him so he shut them both up in short order.

A newly inspired Colonel Rhodes acted as the rescuing cavalry and vouched for the three before pulling them to one side.

“The General has asked me to thank all three of you again. You have been of great service and many lives have been saved throughout Europe. That will not be forgotten.”

Uhlmann did not understand the man but could not help wondeing if this officer was the same one who peed his pyjamas a few hours beforehand.

Braun translated.

“You cannot stay here, so we must escort you back to another facility where more questions can be asked.”

Producing three letters, he passed them, one to each man. Each was personally signed by General Clark. They were brief in words but heavy in meaning.

Braun again translated what amounted to a signed personal statement that the bearer was directly associated with the General, who would take a clear interest in their well-being and good treatment at all times, declaring that the bearer had been of great and valuable service to the Allied Armies in Europe in August 1945, and at great personal risk.

“The General’s apologies that he cannot hand these to you himself but he asks me to say that the words are very real and he will honour their meaning.”

The two nodded as Braun translated the rest of the letter and the spoken word.

Rhodes half turned and nodded to a Corporal holding a bundle.

The man advanced and proffered up its contents.

“General Clark reckoned you might have need of these. Just don’t point it at me Herr Maior.”

Braun translated Rhodes’ last quip without understanding, but Rolf smiled directly at Rhodes and nodded.

The bundle contained three belts, holsters, and Colt automatics.

Tokens of trust from a grateful man.

Each of them took one and buckled it on, feeling a comfort in its presence.

“And for my part Major, you scared the shit out of me for sure but I thank you, all of you.”

Rhodes extended his hand to each in turn, saving a special firm and lingering shake for Uhlmann.

Still gripping the SS officer’s hand, Rhodes spoke without need for any interpretation.

“Hals und Beinbruch, Meine Herren.”

They all laughed.

“Hals und Beinbruch Oberst Rhodes.”

‘Break a leg’ was a common way to wish someone good luck in Germany.

For many, luck was in short supply that night.

CANNON, n. An instrument employed in the rectification of national boundaries.

Ambrose Bierce

Early Morning, Monday, 6th August 1945, Airborne over Allied occupied Germany.

The Zilant was a creature of Russian Folklore, most often portrayed as a winged serpent, not that different to a European vision of a dragon.

On this night there were four such dragons flying through the darkness, all intent on bringing death to their allotted targets; the symposiums.

Men of the 100th Guards Rifle Division “Svir” formed these Zilant groups, which took off from their different airfields in the rear of the Soviet lines.

To the casual observer the aircraft of Zilant-4 were Douglas DC-3 transport aircraft. Most certainly, they were not, although the Lisunov Li-2’s had their roots in the DC-3 and had been produced under licence since 1936, first as the PS84 and then as the Lisunov.