Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series) (117 page)

It was also historic because it was the first battle of the new war in which two Victoria Crosses were awarded.

Llewellyn’s report laid over forty names before his commanding officer and only three were downgraded from the original recommendations of the proud Welshman. Ranging from a Military Medal for CSM Price to a DSO for Maior Perlmann of the Fallschirmjager, a bar to the Military Cross for the dead Frederick Brown to a DSO for Captain Daffyd Jones of A Company.

Last on Llewellyn’s list was the recommendation for the award of a Victoria Cross to a young fusilier who had sacrificed his life so that others could live, fulfilling the promise he made over the boys corpse in the burning Rathaus.

The commanding officer of 43rd Welch Division also received a report submitted by a British Officer not of his division, and counter-signed by all but one of the leadership of Llewellyn Force. This document put forward another name for the highest award, a report given much weight by bearing the signatures of a number of experienced and decorated officers, not the least of which was Major J Ramsey VC, DSO and 2 Bars, MC and Bar, The Black Watch.

Which meant that, on 3rd January 1946, Major/Acting Lieutenant Colonel Tewdwr Llewellyn stood in the Throne room of Buckingham Palace, alongside the proud sister of Private Euan Jenkins, both to receive Victoria Crosses from a grateful King and Country.

2045 hrs Sunday 12th August 1945, Curau River Bridge, south-west of Heiligenthal, Germany.

Nazarbayeva had once again come very close to death and she knew it, allied aircraft the offenders this time, in the shape of Thunderbolts intent on mischief. Her driver and security officer were poring over the GAZ, trying to mend the radiator damage resulting from the crash, which itself had been caused by hard manoeuvrings as they avoided the attentions of the fighters attacking the bridge she was just about to cross.

She checked her watch.

It was precisely 8.45pm on a lovely summer’s eve and she immediately decided that a Lieutenant Colonel’s rank had to have some privileges

Looking around her, she decided against the ruined watermill as a starting point, instead looking north towards the meadow.

Leaving the vehicle and would-be mechanics to the job, she decided to go for a walk, as this was the first time she had stretched her legs since leaving the military hospital at Kirchgellersen where she had interrogated a severely wounded British Intelligence Colonel. Pekunin’s decision to send her personally had been the correct one as the man had died this very evening, but not before Tatiana had garnered some interesting and important information.

As she walked, Nazarbayeva watched the small unit of bridging engineers who had already placed out barriers preventing anyone from using their bridge while they set to repairing the damage from the air attack.

Nazarbayeva paused to watch them at work, assessing the time they would take. Moving on, she walked past the stubs of a larger wooden bridge that had been knocked down during the fighting a few days beforehand.

All around her the detritus of war was still randomly spread, plainly marking the location as one on which blood had been prodigiously spilt.

Rough graves interring Soviet soldiers lay close to those where the enemy were obviously buried, all committed near to where they fell.

A blackened hull of a destroyed T34 tank stood silent guarding the watercourse, a ruined burnt-out jeep pushed into the nearby bushes.

The other side of the river stood a number of large trucks, smashed and rent, each with its own crop of markers depicting the unfortunates who had died.

All around the site the ground had been scarred by high-explosives, the fields seemingly despoiled by the work of huge moles.

Tatiana walked along the bank of the river, walking around the shell holes, trying to read the battlefield.

She followed the bend around, finding ammunition, belts and helmets in large quantities.

In a large shell hole were the obvious signs of a temporary aid post, with blood stained bandages and torn clothing in thick piles.

A shattered rifle, obviously American, lay sundered on the rim.

She followed the river round to where the visible indications of multiple grenade bursts covered the ground.

A very obvious corpse lay in the bushes on the other side, a cloud of flies rising and descending, feeding on the decaying flesh. The uniform was that of the Red Army. She promised herself that she would order the engineers to remedy the situation and bury this unknown hero of the Motherland once back to the bridge.

She stopped and looked around her, recognising the shallow depressions as filled-in trenches and foxholes. She concluded that this was an American defensive position, and decided to walk it with a professional eye.

As she strode past the first foxhole, her good foot connected with a stone in the grass. She bent down to pick it up, intending to send it into the water.

However, this ‘stone’ was manufactured in the US of A, as it was a Mk II Fragmentation grenade, placed ready for use beside the foxhole by the former American occupant.

Inspecting the grenade, Tatiana could see no problems with it and slipped it into her pocket as a deadly souvenir.

She continued her walk, professionally assessing the signs of intense combat, interpreting the marks of violence, imagining a rush of feet here and a last stand there until her reverie was broken by shouting from her security officer, beckoning her to return to the vehicle.

Pausing only to commend the Mladshy Leytenant for his speedy repair and apprise him of the unrecovered remains, she mounted the GAZ and continued the journey back to GRU Headquarters.

1807 hrs Sunday 12th August 1945, Headquarters of SHAEF, Trianon Hotel, Versailles, France.

Eisenhower was worried, or more accurately, concerned because he wasn’t worried as much as had been the case the past week. Across the whole front Russian attacks had now stopped, with the sole exception of Hamburg. Report after report from frontline units spoke of enemy units halting, as if exhausted. All except Hamburg. The situation was unclear and a report from McCreery was due at any time.

The plan to bomb the potential enemy reserve sites had been put together well and received Ike’s wholehearted endorsement, although Soviet night fighters had been in the air in large numbers the previous night and the British had sustained unusually heavy losses, damaging the intended operations for that evening. None the less, the brave crews would go out again, bolstered by bomber training squadrons and every night fighter unit in the Allied inventory.

The arrival of more operation ground-attack assets was another fillip to a General under great pressure.

However, as always, there was a balance. A Soviet submarine had sunk another troop carrier off the south coast of Eire with great loss of life. She was the Empire Windrush, formerly known as the Monte Rosa of the Hamburg-Sud Company, carrying over two thousand young replacement troops to the British and Canadian armies in the field.

A mine had taken out a large tanker off Cherbourg that very evening, bringing to three the number of fuel deliveries lost to the Allied armies in as many days.

Allied anti-submarine deployments were being doubled but it was taking time to get the assets in the right places.

None the less, more units and supplies were coming, from the States, from the United Kingdom and her dominions, from Spain, from South America, and from…

Eisenhower’s flow of positive thoughts was interrupted by a knock on the door of his private office, a small and cosy room, a place he rarely went but had chosen for this brief encounter.

Standing, he crushed his cigarette into the overflowing brass ashtray and stroked his uniform jacket into place, checking his appearance in the tall mirror. Adopting an authoritative tone, he invited entrance.

Hood looked round the door.

“Shall I show the gentlemen in now sir?”

Eisenhower nodded and Hood’s head retreated to be replaced by a procession of three men in uniforms of uncertain parentage, most certainly a mix and match of mainly American but all with German boots and gaiters mixed with US Army trousers in one case, belt and helmet comforter in another, and two with German side caps.

The colt holsters drew Eisenhower’s eye even though he knew the weapons had been surrendered at the security point. Such measures were now considered necessary and there were no exceptions allowed.

There was no doubt that all three men had made efforts to sharpen their appearance.

‘Professionals are always professionals,’
the General reminded himself.

Bringing up the rear was Colonel Samuel V. Rossiter USMC, whose holster was very obviously filled and who was there ostensibly to interpret.

In spite of the deliberate informality of the setting and the purpose of the meeting, there seemed to be a definite tension in all six men.

‘Hardly surprising,’
thought Ike.

The present military alliance between the two countries was still young and raw, and the last four bloody years were not so easily set aside.

It fell to Eisenhower to break the awkwardness.

“Gentlemen, Good Evening. Welcome to the Headquarters of Allied Armies in Europe. I have requested the three of you come here this evening so that I can thank you personally for your efforts.”

Rossiter translated. Eisenhower clucked at himself.

“My apologies, we haven’t been introduced. I am Dwight D. Eisenhower, Commanding Officer Allied Forces.”

The middle man of the three took a small step forward and indicated the man to his right, nearest the General.

Braun, speaking English, took the initiative.

“If I may Sir, this is Rolf Uhlmann, formerly Sturmbannfuhrer with 5th SS Panzer Division,” stepping back and extending his hand to his left-side.

“And this is Ostap Shandruk, a Ukrainian national, formerly Obersturmfuhrer with 14th SS Grenadiere Division.”

Each clicked their heels in deference as they were introduced, receiving a smile and a nod from the Allied Commander.

“For myself, I am Johannes Braun, formerly Sturmscharfuhrer with 5th SS Panzer Division, and all of us were prisoners of the Russians at Edelbach.”

“Thank you Master Sergeant Braun. I regret that we must be brief, and I hope you will all understand that time is limited to me at the moment.”

This time Braun took up the translating.

“I know General Clark has already thanked you for your service but I wanted to add to that, as now we know that you saved many lives and gave some of our units the early warning they needed.”

Braun shared the words with the men either side of him equally, his head moving from side to side almost rhythmically.

Eisenhower waited, eyeing his cigarette pack longingly.

“I would very much like to know why you undertook this perilous journey, and then risked your lives again bringing us the information.”

Translation ended, a swift exchange in German between Uhlmann and Braun followed. Eisenhower didn’t understand but Rossiter did. The Marine smiled and pursed his lips in amusement.

Uhlmann spoke slowly so that Braun could translate his words as he went.

“Herr General, until recently we were enemies but my country has capitulated and that war is ended. What we saw was a new war about to start, one in which the Russian would be the common enemy. It was our simple duty to report what we saw, because we could not believe that our country would do anything but ally itself with the anti-communist cause.”