Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series) (110 page)

Finally, clad in the giveaway one-piece tank crew oversuit, Acting Major Frederick Brown QC, Cambridge Blue and Olympic Polo silver medallist from the 1936 Berlin Games, capped the introductions with a flourish.

A tray of corned beef sandwiches was strategically placed to one side, and it had been drawing the attention of hungry men, the nearer the man, the more obvious the attention.

Llewellyn decided that they could work and eat. The nearest man to the prize was Ames.

“Grab a sarnie Lieutenant and pass the plate on.”

There was no need to repeat that order and the plate moved swiftly anti-clockwise, ending up with Llewellyn and offering a choice from the three left.

In an almost surreal display, all heads slowly swivelled towards the sound of one of the number enjoying the feast with a little grunt here, a contented ‘mmmm’ there.

Perlmann suddenly became aware he was the centre of attention.

He grinned widely, displaying teeth covered with the detritus of his meal and spoke in accented schoolboy English.

“It is beating horse my man!”

They could not help but laugh and the moment of levity eased the tensions of their situation. Major Ramsey later argued that it was a pivotal moment in the brief existence of what became known as ‘Llewellyn Force’, despite his own run-in with Perlmann later.

Fig#28 - Hamburg - Llewellyn Force positions

1M- 1
_st
 
Manchesters, 4RWF-4
_th
 
Royal Welch Fusiliers, FBP-Fallschirm Batallione Perlmann, ERYY-East Riding of Yorkshire Yeomanry.

Moving to the rough hand-drawn map on the rear wall the Welsh Commander quickly ran through the defensive positions, fields of fire, artillery, and mortar support available. He updated the new arrivals on the previous Soviet tactics, pointing with his left hand, taking hurried bites of his doorstep in between sections of his briefing.

Llewellyn was adamant that each company should provide a reserve force to counter-attack any position lost or to reinforce one under extreme pressure.

Richardson strongly resisted the use of his platoon as a tactical reserve, seeking a position in the front line where he and his vengeful engineers could kill their fair share of commies. John Ramsey said nothing but prepared to intervene if it proved necessary.

It didn’t.

Major Tewdwr Llewellyn would not be moved but assured the NCO that his men would get all the action they could stand when the Soviets came again.

Ammunition was a problem but he had sent a party with the RSM back to get more, even for the German weapons of Perlmann’s unit.

Once he had finished, he sought questions from the group. Perlmann and Ramsey sought clarification of where the counter-attacking forces would be positioned but there were no other questions or suggestions as the defence was pretty straightforward. There was nowhere to run to, no room for manoeuvre, so it was a case of stand or die.

The group broke up, dispersing swiftly, inadvertently leaving Llewellyn and Ramsey with the remaining sandwiches.

Both eyed the tray and each other.

The Welshman led the way.

“Can’t let these go to waste now can we?”

Offering up the tray to his companion, he grinned.

“Be rude not to,” the end of which was slightly distorted as sandwich went from tray to lips in one easy movement.

The Welshman’s eyes strayed to the ribbon on his fellow officer’s breast.

“Well, we Welsh are used to this of course. This will be the new Rourke’s Drift but without the singing.”

Meeting the young man’s humour with his own, the Englishman swallowed his last mouthful.

“Singing may be all we can hold them back with if the ammunition doesn’t arrive. These buggers don’t use assegais old chap.”

Not willing to be bested, Llewellyn fought back in the traditional way.

“My boys will keep quiet and let you strangle that cat, which should keep the Reds at arm’s length.”

Even though he was an English officer, Ramsey appreciated the value of Pipes to the Scottish soldier. He considered continuing but decided against it, ceding the last word to the younger man with a decidedly mischievous grin.

Both left and immediately separated, heading out to their different units as the Hamburg Council Chamber clock moved silently to 4.15.

It was nearly time.

1615 hrs Sunday 12th August 1945, The Rathaus, Hamburg, Germany.

Ramsey strode purposefully out of the main entrance deep in thought, nearly colliding with a stationary Maior Perlmann.

“I do apologise Herr Maior,” the words out of his lips even as he brought himself back upright

“Alles klar Englander,” was Perlmann’s dismissive response, distracted as he was. The British officer looked at the inscription above the door that had held the paratrooper’s attention so much he had not noticed Ramsey’s impending arrival.

Perlmann weighed up his British counterpart.

“Do you know what it is saying Herr Maior?”

“I’m afraid your ability with my language is far better than mine with yours Major Perlmann. If you please?”

The paratrooper tugged his camouflaged jacket formally, ensuring it was properly in place before he spoke.

“I was born in this city so I am lived with the knowledge of this words since I can remember.”

Ramsey remained quiet, aware that the German was strangely emotional.

“I have just fight a war, a loosed war, and during those six bloody years I never really knew this words, and what they mean, until today.”

Perlmann coughed gently, more to buy him a moment to compose himself than for any other reason.

“It says ‘May the descendants look to maintain the freedom that was winned by our fathers.’ ”

Ramsey nodded in understanding, drawing out more from the German.

“How is it that I never knew what this words mean until today, ….this hour, ….this minute?”

Considering his words carefully, the British Major spoke softly and with feeling.

“In truth Herr Maior, I suspect that when you fought for the Nazi cause you didn’t understand the words because they
had
no meaning,” emphasising the word ‘had’ brought the point home, “Whereas now that meaning is crystal clear and very real for you and all Germans is it not?”

Perlmann considered the words for a few moments, his face screwed up in thought, frowning as he worked it through.

An onlooker would easily have imagined the men as enemies, both by posture and atmosphere.

“Do not think for any moment that most of we Germans fought for anything but our country Herr Ramsey.”

The tension mounted in seconds.

“Do not think that you are the only ones having honour, the only ones fighting for freedoms for six years.”

Ramsey found his body gently buzzing as the presence of threat transformed him.

Perlmann took a half step closer, bringing the men to within arms reach of each other.

“Do not think for a first second that I do not hate you Herr Maior, that I do not remember those you killed and do not remember the places of my youth you army destroyed.”

Ramsey’s eyes narrowed but he held his tongue, conscious of but not seeing the additional gathering presence of soldiers, German and British alike.

The paratrooper officer was breathing hard.

“I hate all of you but today I fight side to you because I hate the communists more and I am ordered by my Government.”

“Just remember that for when we have kick the red bastards back to the Urals, Herr Maior, just remember that.”

Whilst none of the Welch present understood the language, none of them was ignorant of what was being said by the big German as his demeanour and tone carried all he intended. The paratroopers understood only too well.

Weapons were held with less relaxation, and eyes warily scanned for the first hint of action.

Perlmann and Ramsey suddenly realised they had created a situation where a mix of their troops now stood at close quarters, eyeing their former enemies with suspicion and anger.

A few murmurs from the spectators seemed to awaken something in both officers.

The gap between them widened perceptibly.

Perlmann was a professional soldier and a damn fine officer and demonstrated it.

“You are right of course Herr Maior, I apologise.” the tone of the words were as important as the words themselves and his softer voice immediately had an effect on all present.

“The meaning ist klar for us Germans and today we will show that we understand this words,” he cast a hand at the doorway, drawing a number of people’s attention to the improbable cause of the confrontation.

He relaxed slowly into a smile that did not look totally forced.

Unclipping the famous Fallschirmjager helmet from his belt, he placed it firmly on his head and tightened the strap.

“Now, I go prepare my unit.”

Extending his hand, he took hold of Ramsey’s. Both men gripped firmly for their own different reasons.

“You and I fight in the Reichswald as enemies. Now, in mein home city, we fight together as Allies ja?”

All Ramsey could suddenly see were nine fresh graves filled with his young Scots. Unconsciously, his grip tightened as the anger washed over him again and then disappeared as quickly as it had come.