Impasse (The Red Gambit Series) (83 page)

The weather forecast predicted more of the same, without thaw, well into the
New Year.

A Europe filled with armed men was relatively quiet, but the plans were being laid for when they could start killing each other again.

Bedell-Smith settled into his chair, the one normally occupied by his commanding officer.

Eisenhower was thousands of miles away, enjoying a well-earned leave at his home.

Staff in the headquarters had been on the same flight, the situation enabling others who had been in Europe since 1943 to go home and spend Christmas with their loved ones.

Not that the Allied Armies would be repeating
the errors of 1944, when the German attack had caught them badly unprepared. Once is a mistake, twice is unforgivable.

The situation map was quiet, the last reports he had seen were those detailing aircraft casualties from the night
’s raids, and assessments of damage caused by their bombs. There were also personal messages from him, messages of encouragement and congratulations requiring his signature, due to the units that had carried out the missions.

The ever-present Colonel Hood broke his reverie.

“Sir, the meeting. It’s nearly eleven.”

“
Thank you, Thomas.”

Bedell-Smith stood and stretched
, and walked crisply to the conference room, meeting Major Goldstein en route.

“
How’s your German today, Major.”

“
Well I’ve been practicing some, General. I’ve a hunch that Speer’s briefing’s gonna get all technical on me today, so I’ve brushed up on some big words.”

He held out a book.

“Also I brought this, just in case.”

Bedell-Smith grinned.

“Very wise, Major, very wise indeed.”

“Good morning, gentlemen. Please sit.”

The sound of chairs scraping
as they responded to Bedell-Smith’s invitation echoed around the large room, eventually dying away as the last of the men made themselves comfortable.

Bradley and De Lattre sat on one side of the large table, opposite Bedell-Smith and Goldstein.

Devers had sent his apologies, but the weather had socked his area in completely.

To their left,
Generals Robertson, Simpson and Horrocks, the latter acting as McCreery’s eyes and ears until the Denmark situation subsided. The two vacant seats were left for Tedder and Patton, should their respective aircraft be able to land on time.

To their right sat Von Vietinghoff, Guderian
, and Speer, all for the German Republic, and it was they who had requested this extra meeting. The empty seat belonged to Von Papen, who had been taken ill that very morning.

Bedell-Smith took the lead in Tedder
’s absence.

“
Well, gentlemen,” he directed his comments at the German leadership contingent, “What is it that has caused such a stink?”

He omitted the word
‘panic’, despite it being used freely around SHAEF when the request had been sent in.

Von Viet
inghoff took up the baton.

“
Our forces have suffered heavily in the failed assault on Cologne. We can bring our units up on manpower without problem or loss of time. In fact, we will be able to increase our number of units in the field if we can resolve the equipment issue.”

“
Equipment issue?”

“
General Smith, our units are equipped with German tanks and weapons, most of which have been supplied from 1944/1945 stocks.”

The Allied officers in the room read that as
‘captured’, which was correct.

“
Our munitions level is good, as is the morale of our troops. But we now see a shortage of the vehicles, particularly tanks and personnel carriers.”

Bedell-Smith had heard there might be a problem in the future, but clearly it was here and now
, and of sufficient concern to force a meeting just two days before Christmas.

“
I assume that you have a solution, General?”

Von Vietinghoff cleared his throat, looking at De Lattre, before starting.

“The Legion Korps seems to consume huge amounts of every asset, particularly tanks and personnel carriers, many of which are being used to increase the size of the unit. Our French Allies are,” the exact terminology had been agreed beforehand, but he momentarily paused as he tried to recall it, “Are restricting our access to items stockpiled in France, which is affecting our ability to maintain strength, even without operations such as Spectrum Blue.”

Again, he sought some reaction from De Lattre
, and found none.

“
We must have access to the stocks that the French Army control, or we will not have full offensive capability when the thaw comes, even with Herr Speer’s plan.”

All eyes swivelled to De Lattre
, who certainly did not enjoy being the centre of attention.

“
Monsieurs, the Legion Corps is one of our most effective units. If you deprive it of assets then it will lose its power and eventually leave a hole in our forces. France cannot permit one of its units to suffer in such a fashion.”

A sharp exchange took place between Guderian, Von Vietinghoff
, and De Lattre, the voice of Goldstein getting gradually louder as he strove to translate some of the increasingly harsh language.

Bedell-Smith had rapidly realized that this decision was well above his pay grade.

Like a cross schoolmaster, he slapped the table with the palm of his hand.

“
This decision cannot be made here. It is for our political masters to make. For now, I would ask the French authorities to release some equipment,” De Lattre puffed himself up before Bedell-Smith raised his hand in a calming gesture, “As a show of good faith, as we are all in this together.”

The Frenchman settled down and nodded.

“I will suggest it to De Gaulle, immediately following this meeting.”

“
Thank you, General. Will that be sufficient for now, gentlemen?”

Grudgingly, Guderian accepted the modest concession.

Bedell-Smith thought quickly and made his own play.

“
I will pass on this conversation to the President, and I will recommend that he presses for the release of the French stocks.”

The German contingent brightened as much as De Lattre sank, both sides knowing that such political weight would be certain to ensure that the Germans got their equipment, to the detriment of a unit that, even though it fought extremely well, still did not have the support of many of the Allied hierarchy.

“Now, I believe that Minister Speer has some requests to make?”

Goldstein played with his technical terminology book in anticipation.

Speer could speak very passable English, but had a habit of slipping into his native language just for comfort, and certainly did so when speaking on technical matters.

He stood to address the group.

“Meine Herren, as the military men have informed you, our army is short of certain resources. The solution we have set in motion is temporary, particularly if this war moves on as we expect. Even the stockpiles and the skill of our recovery troops will be overcome by the needs of our front-line soldiers.”

He took a sip from his water and ploughed on.

“My job within… sorry… one of my jobs within the new government is to address production capability, and to see how Germany can start contributing to the war effort in ways other than the blood of her young men.”

Having waxed lyrical for a few seconds, Speer then got down to business.

The facts and figures flowed freely.

Resources available in the Ruhr and Germany.

Resources available in other Allied-held parts of Europe.

Resources that are critical and not available.

Available manufacturing that is undamaged.

Available manufacturing that is capable of partial production.

Available manufacturing that is repairable.

Skilled manpower available or needed.

Unskilled manpower available or needed.

Even though he was brief, the
mountain of information overwhelmed the listeners.

Horrocks, once commander of British Thirty Corps during the Arnhem debacle
, found it necessary to interject.

“
Err, I say, Herr Speer, but this is all mumbo-jumbo to me.”

Neither Goldstein
’s translation skills nor his technical book were up to the task of translating ‘mumbo-jumbo’ into German, so he plumbed for something more direct.

“
If you are saying that you can start bunging out some of your tanks and vehicles in the near future, then I’m sure we’re all delighted, truly.”

He waited whilst the translation was done, taking his own water on board.

“I’m a soldier, not an engineer. Would you please be awfully kind and just let me have the bottom line of what you want and what you can do, old chap?”

The German contingent might well have taken offence had it been anyone but Horrocks, but his credentials were well-known
, and his eccentricities were accepted as part of the man that he was, for Horrocks was a general with an enviable reputation amongst his peers and former enemies.

“
Herr General, as you say, cut to the chase, yes?”

Horrocks laughed
, and the modest amount of tension in the room vanished instantly.

“
If you’d be so kind, Sir.”

“
If we can have the raw materials, the manganese, aluminium, iron ore, tungsten…” the generals started to shift uneasily and Speer got the message, “Everything on the list, then I have the tooling, the power supply, the workforce and the capacity to produce vehicles and munitions sufficient to maintain 130% of the German forces presently in the field.”

That was a bombshell and a half
, and one that screamed for clarification.

Simpson was first in.

“Hold on there, Mister Speer. Are you telling me that you can cobble together enough capacity to keep… what is it… best part of seven divisions supplied, plus thirty percent?”

“
No, General. I am including the units in Italy as well.”

“
Bullshit, if you don’t mind me saying, Mister Speer.”

Wisely, Goldstein remained silent.

“If the resources are made available, and no further German and Austrian territory is lost to the Communists, then it will be so, General Simpson.”

Speer felt he needed to say more.

“Meine Herren, keeping hold of the Ruhr was absolutely vital. Many, but not all, of the facilities I have visited and assessed are there, or nearby.”

Again, this was a political decision
, but the group would put their names to it when it went forward.

Given the quiet nature of the winter war, there were very few other matters to air
, so the meeting broke up less than an hour after it had commenced.

Knocke and Bittrich shared a quiet exchange whilst Lavalle was engrossed in his telephone conversation.

Knocke
’s hand was wrapped in bandages, the injury self-inflicted.

When dismounting from his command tank he had slipped on the icy top plate. He slid off the turret, grabbing desperately for a handhold, finding one on the cupola.

For the briefest of moments his whole weight had been supported by one hand, specifically his ring finger which was kept in place by his wedding band.

The ring had cut straight through to the bone.

To add to his misery, when he took the weight off the wound and dismounted, he sliced the back of the same hand on one of the damaged track guards.

Bittrich was merciless in his ribbing.

Both men suddenly realized that the phone call had come to an end, mainly because Lavalle was clearly on the point of meltdown.

Bittrich poured another coffee for Normandie
’s commander and set it before him.

“
We’ve been stabbed in the back.”

Such a comment needed more explanation
, and both officers waited for the next line.

“
That was Général De Lattre, calling from SHAEF in France.”

That they already knew.

‘Get on with it, Christophe!’

“
The German Army has asked that all ex-German Army stocks in France are turned over to them, as a lot of their armour and half-tracks were lost in the Cologne offensive.”

Both Knocke and Bittrich understood the implications of that.

“He thinks that it will be after Christmas before the decision is made.”

Lavalle acknowledged Bittrich
’s efforts by raising the cup in salute, before emptying half of the contents in one gulp.

“
He suggets that we consider making the most of the interim period to stockpile what we can. Ammunition for our weapons should be fine, but I don’t think we’ll take the chance, eh?”

He got no argument.

“It is the armour, guns, and vehicles, where we’re definitely going to suffer. So we get what we can as quickly as possible.”

A plan was forming in his mind.

“I’ll get onto Sassy and make sure that they know to grab what they can and keep it inside the perimeter. I’ll also speak to Plummer.”

He started writing a list.

“Willi, organize a group to sweep through the area, find the locations of all the dumps and vehicle graveyards. Anything and everything that we might need, they grab it.”

Bittrich understood perfectly.

“Map.”

Lavalle was on a roll
, and his clipped tones were not meant to be rude, just indicated that his mind was in gear.

The three moved to the map table
, and Lavalle swept it with his eyes, seeking the perfect spot.

“
Here!”

His triumphant
tone was accompanied by a tap of his finger.

Both German officers leant forward.

“Le Forêt Domaniale. Perfect. oui?”

“Jawohl.”

He made a further note.

“
We shall amass our own dump in the woods there, away from prying eyes from all sides. I’ll speak to Beveren, and see if he can provide the security for it.”

Knocke and Bittrich couldn
’t get another word in, so fired up was Lavalle.

“
Ernst, I need you to go through the runners and wrecks in our positions; German, French, Russian, I don’t care, just get your workshops units to recover them and make something of them.”

More furious scribbling.

“De Lattre wants me to inform the other group commanders. He said he will inform Molyneux when he rings him Christmas day, which gives us two days grace.”

Despite his improved performance, Molyneux was still deeply mistrusted throughout the Legion Corps D
’Assault.

“
Oh, Ernst, have a chat with Montgomerie, see what Deux can offer by way of assistance.”

Lavalle suddenly became aware of the two grinning faces opposite him and he immediately understood their mirth.

“Shut up you swine! I’m getting old, and if I don’t spit it all out, I’ll forget!”

The grins remained, as both Germans were at least a dozen years his senior.

“Alright, alright, so I got excited,” his face went serious for the moment, “But the decision, when it comes, will leave us without the tools to fight, and that is to be avoided.”

Both Knocke and Lavalle held their breath as Bittrich froze, his face screwed up prior to a monumental sneeze.

“Make sure you stay wrapped up warm, Willi. Now, no time to waste. Let’s make a start.”

Knocke brought them back to the subject they had been discussing before the phone call.

“And Uhlmann?”

Lavalle sighed
, but held firm.

“
We can do no more than we are doing, Ernst. The enquiry is lodged with the Red Cross. If he’s dead, we’ll do all we can do to get his body back. If he’s a prisoner, then we must hope they don’t realise who he is… and if he’s alive and still out there somewhere… well… he’s escaped from hell once before, hasn’t he?”

As is typical in war, supreme acts of bravery most often go unseen and unrecognised, the gallant man or woman doing what they did without subsequent recognition for their ultimate sacrifice.

Such was the case at Maaldrift.

The young Dutchman had been born to a family of communists. He served his time in the Resistance, killing Nazis, and attacking the infrastructure that maintained the German forces in his country.

His political affiliation had long since been forgotten, at least by those with whom he served, not by him.

When he saw the eleven silver-plate B-29’s being fuelled and bombed up, he knew his moment of destiny had arrived.

These new Allied bombers were special
, and he believed that they would only be employed on missions of supreme importance.

His job as interpreter gave him access to the entire base and, so trusted was he, that
he was permitted to carry the Sten gun that had been his companion through the years of occupation.

He had thought and thought over the weeks since the huge planes arrived, just how he could do the job of destroying them.

His mind kept coming back to just one way, and so it was that he found himself in the base transport office, taking the spare set of keys for fuel bowser six, the fully loaded spare set aside in case of problems.

Henk Hoosen slipped inside the vehicle and keyed the ignition.

Initially refusing to fire, the engine then burst into life with a sound like an artillery barrage, or at least that was how Hoosen heard it.

He beckoned one of his helpers forward, and the man slipped into the passenger seat.

Dropping into first gear, he eased the truck forward slowly, wishing to avoid inquisitive eyes.

He reasoned that switching the lights on was more likely to avoid such attention than moving blacked out
, and the decision seemed to bear fruit as the working men spared him hardly a glance.

He drove out to the field and parked up by the control trailer. One of the ground crew was up on the top, sweeping the snow off the Perspex dome.

The Sten gun chugged three times, the silencer containing most of the sound of the cartridges propelling the projectile. The man fell into a pile of snow by the side of the trailer.

A USAAF officer stuck his head, wondering what the odd sound was. He died still wondering.

The other three airmen in the trailer grabbed for their pistols but, before they could even get their holsters open, Hoosen’s companion had made it to the door and shared his own magazine between them.

He reached inside the door to pick up the object
that five men had just been killed for. Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed some spare flares, just in case.

Within a minute, the fuel bowser was off on its final journey.

Hoosen stopped the articulated vehicle just short of the dispersal area, where the eleven fuelled and bombed-up aircraft stood ready, ground crews polishing the skin and completing the final preparations for the bomber’s mission.

He opened the
fuel discharge valve and ran to the cab.

The vehicle moved off, leaving a stream of aviation spirit in its wake.

“What the fuck is that goddamned idio…”

The heavy vehicle crushed the USAAF officer into the concrete, the flat of his hand no defence against the solid metal.

The bowser swung around the first B-29 and Hoosen slowed deliberately, bashing the cab into the lower propeller blade on the port outer before going hard right and bending the inner engine’s propeller too.

Another airman disappeared under his wheels as he moved on to the next revetment.

Emboldened, Hoosen decided to swipe the nose of the Superfortress, and increased his speed accordingly.

The aircraft shuddered with the impact and moved a few feet to the left as the
heavy bowser dragged it.

He moved away in search of other targets and found them without too much trouble.

His windscreen shattered where bullets struck the glass, his cheek wet and sticky as a shard sliced him through to his teeth.

His compatriot
smashed the rest of the windsfreen out with the butt of his Sten and fired a burst without result.

The next
B-29 lost two propellers and had a bath in aviation fuel before the bowser moved on.

The whole base was alive now and
Hoosen could sense the indecision in those responsible for security. Most held their fire, conscious of the huge bomb that was driving around the base. Some made the decision that if it blew, it blew, but maybe there was a chance to save something.

Hoosen’s three other communist fighters started firing from different positions around the perimeter, adding to the confusion.

Back at the second aircraft, one of the wires damaged by the crash dropped and shorted, creating a small set of sparks. Where the fuselage had ripped the top of the tank, a small amount of fuel had slopped inside and it was this that hungrily welcomed the ignition source.

The nose of the
B-29 started to burn.

The instruction booklet for the bombsight, normally kept in a pocket on the sight
’s mount, had been displaced and, soaked in fuel, it started to burn.

It was balanced on a damaged aluminium strut and, as the flames consumed one side, the weight and gravity combined to make it fall from to the ground, where the puddles of fuel lay waiting their turn.

The fire developed at a terrific rate, the fumes almost creating a cloud of orange and red as they ignited.

Much of the fuel trail had fumed off
, but sufficient remained for the fire to spread in two directions and, within a minute, aircraft one and three were also alight.

Hoosen increased speed, driven as much by a need to fulfill his task as by the thought that he was still spilling aviation spirit and that fire can spread pretty fast when the circumstances are right.

The concrete aprons and runways had been cleared of snow and the soft joints between the heavy pads proved inviting for the fuel to flow into, creating large rectangles of fire.

Someone, somewhere, gave the order and
return fire started slamming into the bowser.

A rear tyre went and, even though he was slowing to take out his fifth aircraft, Hoosen nearly lost control.

The B-29 succumbed to the bowser’s attention and he moved on, smashing into jeep containing three MPs, crushing them and their vehicle without losing an ounce of momentum.

The jeep caught fire and ignited fuel spilling from the bowser.

His comrade took a round in the shoulder, dropping his sten on the floor of the bucking vehicle. As the man bent to retrieve it, he was hit half a dozen times.

Hoosen, suddenly terrified, increased his speed and sped towards the next target.

A bullet clipped his hand; a second entered the door and stuck in his calf.

From the other side, two bullets smashed the side window, one of which grazed the back of his head
.

He yelped in pain
, but held the bowser steady, despite the growing orange fire in his side mirrors.

Up on the control tower, the base commander watched as the extremely valuable silverbird squadron was destroyed one by one, by nothing more complicated than man
’s old adversary; fire.

The tender bore a charmed life, as did Hoosen.