Angel, Archangel (28 page)

“We will leave you now, Comrade Marshal,” Nerchenko said to Konev.
“I will be back as soon as I have settled our distinguished guest into my quarters.”

Malenkoy sensed, rather than heard, Shaposhnikov and Nerchenko coming back towards him.
When he looked up from his work, he stared straight into the General’s face.

“Report to me outside in five minutes, Major,” Nerchenko snapped.
“I want to hear the status of the maskirovka.”

Once they were a hundred metres from the entrance to the wooden alpine villa that served as Konev’s headquarters, Krilov spoke quickly, trying to keep his voice down.

“It’s arrived, Comrade Marshal.
The Berezniki consignment is here.”

Krilov had not expected the convoy to make such rapid progress.

Shaposhnikov scanned the clearing, an area of several hundred square metres stripped of pine forest and now bustling with military vehicles.
In the queue of GAZ jeeps, trucks and motorcycles lined up behind the checkpoint he saw the convoy he had last encountered at the Ostrava rail-head.

The almost boyish excitement that had lit the Marshal’s eyes inside the HQ was gone.
“A little earlier than we anticipated, but at least it is here safe and sound.”

He breathed the cold, crisp air appreciatively, a gesture that was lost on neither of the two men before him.
Nerchenko, especially, had been able to think of little else in the past few hours.
All it would have taken was one bullet to puncture a shell casing in one of the trucks .
.
.
He realized his aggressiveness in the HQ had been a direct consequence of this nervousness, but he had been unable to control it.

“The documentation and packaging registers the consignment as sanitation equipment, but it should be stowed as quickly as possible,” Krilov said.
“Konev and the NKVD are too close for my liking.”

“It is already taken care of,” Nerchenko said.

As if on cue, the door of the HQ opened and Malenkoy appeared in the bright sunshine.
He lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the glare and then dropped it the moment he spotted Nerchenko, with Marshal Shaposhnikov and a colonel by his side, in the midst of the clearing.
He broke into his best parade ground step and brought himself to attention a metre in front of Nerchenko.

“Comrade General, the maskirovka is complete.”

“Good, Major,” Nerchenko said.
“All that remains is for you to start the radio transmissions and light the fires at Chrudim.
First, however, I want you to assist in some administrative work here at Branodz.”

“Yes, Comrade General.”
Malenkoy’s gaze remained straight, despite the desire to look towards Shaposhnikov.

“You see that line of trucks over there?
Take some men and get them marshalled immediately.
Colonel Krilov here will show you where to put all the crates.
We don’t want Comrade Marshal Shaposhnikov to have to suffer the sight or smell of sanitation equipment on his illustrious visit to the front, do we.”

“No, Comrade General.”
He snapped to attention and turned to go, a hot flush of embarrassment rising to the roots of his hair.

“Major.”
Shaposhnikov’s calm voice stopped Malenkoy in his tracks.

“Yes, Comrade Marshal.”

“General Nerchenko has spoken to me of your efforts with the maskirovka at Chrudim.
I myself would like to congratulate you for what you have done there.”

Malenkoy mumbled his thanks and walked with Krilov towards the trucks.
His humiliation at being asked to hump crates of sanitation equipment evaporated, and there was a new spring in his step.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Kruze looked at his watch.
In just over an hour he would be in the Auster.
The cocoon-like environment of the EAEU had often sheltered him from the real war, and sometimes he’d been grateful for it.
Now, at Stabitz, its aircraft and buildings still smouldering from the fires set by the Luftwaffe as it retreated to the next bolt-hole a few miles down the road, he knew he was about to make amends.

Fleming’s voice cut into his thoughts.
Another briefing.
He must have been over Guardian Angel a hundred times.
To Fleming, the perfectionist, it was not enough.
There always had to be one more.

The man’s eyes shone where only days before they had been grey and lacklustre.
But Kruze could not read them and that worried him.
He still felt Penny’s shadow across them both, and wasn’t sure whether he regarded Robert as friend or foe.

The Rhodesian, dressed in the dark civilian suit and reversible raincoat of his Rumanian alias, Stefan Krazianu, emissary of the crumbling government in Bucharest, shifted uncomfortably in his chair and tried to concentrate on Fleming’s instructions.
Herries had told him it could save his life, as if he didn’t bloody well know it.
He didn’t like the look of that nasty piece of work, either.
It was an impression not eased by the fact that the man from military intelligence was sitting beside him in the full regalia of an Obersturmführer in the Waffen-SS, and the costume fitted him well.

“The Auster’s going to land with us on a frozen lake?”
The incredulity in Herries’ voice brought Kruze back to the briefing.
“It’s damned near spring, man.
Where is there ice thick enough to support an aeroplane this time of year?”

“In the Bayerische Mountains,” Fleming replied.
“There’s a large lake, south of Munich, close to the Austrian border, called the Achensee.
The ice is still thick there; that’s where you’re going in.”

“But it’s about fifty miles from Munich!
What happened to the original plan?
I thought you were going to get us within walking distance of the city.”

Again, Kruze tried to fathom the man behind the voice.
Was there panic there?
It didn’t seem to gel with Staverton’s picture of the shepherd.

“We were, but it’s changed,” Fleming said.
“As you know, the Auster was to have dropped you closer, but the Americans have advanced more rapidly than we anticipated in the last twenty-four hours.
They’re almost at the suburbs and with the Luftwaffe getting jumpy an Allied aircraft is never going to be able to slip through without catching it in the neck.
So we need to play safe.
It was Staverton’s idea, not mine, but I’m sure that a man of your talents, Herries, will be able to overcome such obstacles.
You should be there by first light tomorrow morning.”

“Is there anything else you haven’t told us about?”
Herries asked.

“Nothing.
The rest of Guardian Angel is the same.
Once in the city, make your way to the old centre, just south of the Englische Garten, that’s a long park that runs almost the length of Munich.”

“I know Munich,” Herries interrupted.
“I spent some time there - before the war.”

“Of course,” Fleming said, “I should have remembered.”
Herries’ training and indoctrination for the Britische Freikorps had taken place at the SS camp in Bad Tolz, just outside Munich.
“I think quite a lot will have changed since your last visit.”

He paused, then turned suddenly to Kruze.
“What’s the watchmaker’s address?”

“
17 Piloty Strasse, ground floor.
That’s where we find Schell and his boy.”

“What do you do there?”

“We bed down in the basement and wait for the watch-maker to finish our papers - the ones that will get us into Oberammergau.’’

“Right.
And?”

“On no account are we to go out before we make the journey to Oberammergau.”

“Why?”

Kruze paused.
It was pretty damned obvious why they shouldn’t leave the sanctuary of the forger’s safe house.

“Kampfgruppen,” Herries interrupted.
“SS battle groups.
If we’re spotted wandering aimlessly around the place we’re liable to get shot as deserters, or rounded up to serve in a KG unit.”

“What the hell are KG units?”
Kruze asked.

“They’re sort of ad hoc platoons, organized by the SS, drawing from any personnel source they can find to plug the gaps,” Herries answered.
“Once we get into one of those, who knows where we could get sent in the defence of the Reich.”

“But I’m supposed to be a Rumanian government official, a civilian,” Kruze said.

“The SS don’t care who you are,” Herries said, ice cold.
“You could be an old man, or a child, but when you get assigned to a KG squad you don’t argue, believe me flyboy.”

Kruze saw the lip curl into a smile.
The more he saw of the man, the more he disliked him.
He kept on having to tell himself that, given the importance of the mission, Staverton would not have risked sending him in with anyone but the best.

“Once Schell has forged your papers, what’s your next move, Herries?”
Fleming asked.

“We wait till midnight, take his car and set off for Oberammergau.
It should only take a couple of hours.”

“Under normal circumstances, yes.
But there will be refugees, more road blocks than usual, American snipers maybe.
And then?”

“We bluff our way onto the airfield.”

“Your excuse?”

“Kruze - er, Krazianu - has to be flown out to join rebel Rumanian Army units fighting the Russians outside Bucharest.
I am his escort through Germany.”

“Remember,” Fleming said, “that you have to get to Oberammergau well before 0600.”

“To leave me enough time to become Rolf Peiper,” Kruze nodded.
“If I go down behind Russian lines, the Soviets then have conclusive proof that it was the Germans who did away with their precious Marshal Shaposhnikov.”
He leant back in his chair.
“Staverton’s thought of everything.”

“Only as long as they find you dead,” Herries said, smiling.
“Got your cyanide pills, flyboy?”

“I don’t need any,” the Rhodesian said, patting the Luger in his pocket.

“It’s not going to come to that,” Fleming interrupted.
“We’ll get you back again, don’t worry.”
He pressed on, conscious that he hadn’t sounded too convincing.
“0600 is also significant, because -”

“That’s when the RAF attacks the airfield,” Herries cut in.
“Look, Fleming, we know all the details.
So when do we get out of here?”

“Soon enough, Herries.
And to you, I’m still Wing Commander.”

Herries stared at his reflection in the gleaming surface of his polished jackboots and sneered.
“Yes sir.”

“Let me get this part straight, once and for all,” Kruze said.
“The strike will happen at 0600 and that’s when I’m to take a bombed-up 234, preferably one with long range tanks.
What makes you think I can find one just waiting for me to take it?”

“The Germans are very consistent,” Fleming said.
“We’ve had Oberammergau under high altitude surveillance for a long time.
All the photographs have established a pattern.
The 234s are readied for their dawn strikes throughout the night.
There’ll be plenty of aircraft.
You’ll have to exercise your own judgement as to which is the most suitable aircraft for the mission.”

Kruze nodded.
It would have to do.
“And the Meteors will keep the Germans’ heads down long enough for me to work out what the bloody hell I’m doing in an aircraft I’ve never flown before and then I take off.”

Fleming nodded.
“Not forgetting to -”

“Waggle my wings when I’m airborne to show the Meteors it’s me.
How are you explaining away a friendly pilot in the Luftwaffe’s latest operational bomber?
I thought this op was so secret no one was meant to know about it outside these four walls, give or take a few people in Downing Street.”

“We’ll think of something,” Fleming said.
“In the meantime, you’re to fly a two leg course to Branodz, low level all the way, using the maps sewn into your coat.
The first leg will keep you in the mountains, your best chance for survival against Allied fighters, which are particularly active over southern Germany and Austria at the moment.
You leave the mountains behind about thirty miles west of Salzburg and from then on you only have to worry about the Red Air Force.”

“What sort of country is it?”

Fleming twisted the standard lamp round so it shone full on the map pinned to the blackboard behind him.
He pointed to the hundred and twenty mile second leg, tracing its path with a ruler.

“Mostly flat, as you can see, so you’ll stand out like a sore thumb if you’re not careful.
But the 234’s fast, it will give you an advantage, despite the concentration of their air defences.
About the only piece of intelligence we have for the area is that the Russians have moved some fighters into the old Luftwaffe base at Grafen, here, so keep it tight; you don’t want to stray.
It’s a short flight, too, so the element of surprise will be very much on your side.
The Soviets won’t be expecting an attack on Branodz.
It’s well defended, it’s almost impossible to find amongst those valleys unless you know what you’re looking for, and they know that the Germans are going balls out to stop the Americans in the south.
So far, the Russians have had it damned easy in Czechoslovakia.”

“What about the target itself?
When am I going to see a model, study photographs.”

“We haven’t got any.”

Kruze shook his head in disbelief.
“I can’t go in there with no idea what it is I’m meant to be bombing, for Christ’s sake.”

“And we can’t just send in a Mosquito two hundred miles behind Soviet lines on a photo jaunt.
We do have eyewitness reports, though.”
He tried to make it sound casual.
“Herries, over to you.”

Herries cast his mind back to his fleeting recce of Branodz.
He repeated what he had already told his debriefers in London a dozen times.

“The building you’re looking for is a large Alpine villa, chalet style, of all-wooden construction,” the traitor said.
“It’s situated on the edge of the town, in a clearing that doubles as a motor-pool.
It’s easily the largest building in the village and has flags sticking out of every orifice.
Even at the speed you’ll be coming in at, you won’t be able to miss it.”

“Remember,” Fleming added, “we know that Shaposhnikov will be manning the radio between 0630 and 0700.”
He paused.
“We’ve also heard from Moscow that he’s already at Branodz.
If you time your attack for around 0640, you’ll catch him in the operations room, just after his early morning shit.
You might even get him while he’s still got his trousers down.”

Kruze laughed, purging the tension that had been building in his muscles and knotting his stomach.
At first, Fleming’s expression did not alter, then he allowed himself a smile.
“You’ve worked with the Lotfe bombsight at Farnborough.
At the height you’ll drop from, you can’t miss; you’ll obliterate the entire area.”

“I hate to break up the party,” Herries said, “but what about our escape routes?”

“Once Kruze is on his way, get out of Oberammergau and lie low, wait for the Americans to advance and surrender yourself to them.
We’ll get you out of their custody as soon as we can.”
He saw Herries move to protest and then realize that there was nothing he could say in front of Kruze.
“You’ll just have to trust us,” Fleming said.

“As for you, Piet, once you’ve dropped your tanks and bombs on Shaposhnikov you’ll be low on fuel, so head west as fast as you can.
Make as if you’re going for the German lines, that’s important, but as soon as you’re in the clear, divert to any Allied airfield.
We can’t tell anyone to expect you, for obvious reasons, so make sure you land on your first approach.
As soon as they see that you’re surrendering an Ar 234 to them, they’ll let you in.
Then sit tight and don’t say anything until the EAEU comes to get you.”

Fleming wandered over to the window, pulled the tattered curtain aside and studied the night sky.
There was a bright three-quarter moon with intermittent cloud cover, light enough for the Auster pilot to see the landing area, but too dark for them to be picked up by night fighters .
.
.
hopefully.
He looked at his watch and then to Kruze.
It was just past eleven.