Breakthrough (The Red Gambit Series) (43 page)

Six men’s lives had been lost, plus a
very
useful female asset; all in all
,
a
fair
price for the advantage gained.

If it continued to work then all was well; if not, four more agents
languished in a safe house outside Malpica, awaiting instructions.

The identities of the
agents
had been known to him before he ordered their betrayal, and he had found himself
relishing the opportunity to break the news to the woman when next he saw he
r
,
and
experiencing an almost sexual excitement at inflicting yet another crushing blow
‘
on that GRU bitch
’
.

There must be a beginning of any great matter, but the continuing unto the end until it be thoroughly finished yields the true glory.

Francis Drake

             
General de Brigade Christophe Lavalle was not a man
to be
easily impressed.
H
e read the reports prepared for him by his sub-unit commanders
, be they old Leg
ionnaires or ex-German military, and found himself on the border of incredulity and pride
.

             
In the five days since his arrival at the fledgling camp
,
the numbers of men in uniform had nearly tripled, bringing the size of his force to just over twenty thousand.

             
A combination of old legion NCO’s
,
mainly German he conceded, a few recent
ly
arrived French Legion officers
,
and the efforts of the ex-SS NCO’s and officers
,
had already formed the mass into recognisable formations.

Readiness levels, signed by men he trusted, indicated his units would be available well ahead of the projected dates.

Another report lay open on his desk, this one a return on his own submitted to Army command.

             
French pragmatism seemed to know no boundaries as his suggested command structure and order of battle was approved without alteration or adverse comment.

             
So surprising was it
,
he even considered contacting De
Tassigny to confirm that he had actually read the submission.

But he didn’t.

For a number of reasons.

The Brigade he had been promoted to command, an antic
ipated group of no more than ten thousand
troops
in small formations
,
was a growing monster, deserving of higher rank and more staff. Never a man of ego or military ambition, save to prove his worth as a soldier and leader, he found himself in command of a force of elite fighting soldiers and he did not wish for it to be taken away from him before he had an opportunity to employ it in battle.

The anticipated structure of the Legion Corps D’Assault had been filled and
all
of the four major constituent formations
were
being expanded to cater for each day
’
s new arrivals
, as well as creating a holding unit from where replacements could be drawn once combat operations started to take their toll
.

His officers had laid out TOE’s for each unit
,
and it was anticipated that further formations would be a possibility
,
as more and more ex-SS troopers made the journey to Sassy to answer the call to arms.

Bittrich, Lavalle’s Chief of Staff and de facto second in command of the Corps, worked miracles on an hourly basis, creating organisation from nothing, and it was mainly down to his work, and that of the sub-unit commanders, that the Corps was organised and almost ready to commit.

One major worry was tank spares
,
and so Lavalle had sanctioned a scavenging group to go as far afield as possible to collect what they could. He had placed one of his best tank commanders in charge of the party, ably supported by
Major Cyrille Vernais, Regimental Sergeant Major of the Legion. The small Swiss had been assigned to the 1st Legion Chars D’Assault Brigade and
had
immediately fallen foul of his
comrades’
humour,
prejudices
,
and misconceptions about height, size and capability. Several ex-Waffen SS soldiers learned the
difficult
way that Vernais was as hard as nails
,
and
that
the rank of Legion Major is not earned by one’s ability to count paper clips.

In a very short period of time
,
the
diminutive
Legionnaire had the respect of his troops
,
and Lavalle was sure that Vernais was
one of
the reason
s
that the 1st, the unit named for the legions greatest action of Camerone, was the best of a group of extremely good units under his command.

Two other of the
reasons
were
its commander, the famous Ernst-August Knocke, and the officer in charge of the tank
regiment
, Rolf Uhlmann. Colonel and Commandant respectively, the two brought something special to the 1st and had forged an instant
ly
successful
professional relationship
,
which a soldier like Lavalle could appreciate.

Uhlmann was leading the scavenging party, supported by Vernais, who had conceded that the German was
almost
good enough to serve in his beloved Legion, which translated meant the man was bordering on officer perfection.

Lavalle smiled to himself as he recalled another reason for the ‘Camerone’s’ special edge. Uhlmann’s senior German NCO
Braun had bonded with
Vernais
,
forming a solid partnership. T
he two were often seen
prowling round the 1st’s lines,
inflicting themselves on the unwary.
The
pair
were obviously hard men, apparently fair men
,
and certainly competent men. And according to the feedback Lavalle had from Bittrich, the two were hugely respected by their soldiers. That counted for a lot in his book.

Lavalle poured Bittrich and himself a coffee, passed the busy German his drink
,
and took station at the large window
.
C
onsum
ing his slowly,
he examined the
hustle and bustle of the
camp set out before him.

One thing the Legion and the Waffen-SS had in common was a love of song, and more than one melody could be heard through the glass.

It was one of those songs that
was popular
on both sides of no man’s land
, a large mixed group of Legionnaires and Germans singing, each in their own language, one side’s ‘Ich hatt einen Kameraden’ rising above the other outnumbered group
’
s
version of
‘J’avais un camarade’.

Lavalle enjoyed the moment, particularly some wonderful harmonies from the ex-SS.

A dispatch rider caught his eye, slowly moving in between the soldiers on the camp main road, heading towards the headquarters building.

The sight of the man returning to his motorcycle coincided with the sound of approaching boots as one of his French officers brought the dispatch upstairs.

Bittrich, afforded the rank of G
é
n
é
ral de Brigade, stood up and threw his pen onto the table, stretching as he
shook off the
stiffness
his body felt after hours of solid staff work at the desk. Lavalle still could not get used to the uniforms of his new command.
His
CoS
was clad in A
merican combat trousers with gai
tered British army boots, topped off with a German officer’s shirt, the Knights Cross hanging proudly round his neck. On the back of Bittrich’s chair was a French officers' tunic, complete with the new Corps badge on the upper left arm, the flags of
France
and
Germany
either side of the Legion’s grenade emblem.
The badge was laid out in that fashion in order to cover up
or replace the German eagle insignia
on the original uniforms, a position it also now occupied on French uniforms
. Completing the new uniform were Bittrich’s personal awards, de-nazified as per orders
,
and the new armband, again produced to replace the old Waffen-SS cuff titles. The
dark
blue band, 35mm wide, boasted two sc
arlet parallel lines, each set 4
mm in from the edge. In white text, the words ‘Legion Etrangere’ were bold and striking, the whole armband representing the colours of the Tricoleur.

T
he concept behind it
was well understood
; the preservation of the
e
spirit de corps of the old Waffen-SS, maintaining the differences, the marks of distinction
that
set the German SS soldiers aside from all others.

Picking up his coffee, he moved to the window next to Lavalle.

The dispatch arrived and was accepted by Bittrich, who immediately passed it on to his commander.

Finishing the rest of his coffee
,
the German noted the obvious surprise as Lavalle read the message.

“More coffee, Sir?”

“Yes please, Willi,” and the Frenchman passed over his empty mug without taking his eyes off the paper.

By the time Bittrich had
re
filled both mugs
,
the message had been read.

“This is a warning order, Willi.
How’s your French now?
”

The German exchanged Lavalle’s mug for the order.

“We shall see
,
Sir.”

The German scanned the paper, checking a couple of words with his commander before surrendering the document.

“When? Where?”

“It doesn’t say. Nothing specific. Just
...,
” Lavalle searched for the
relevant part
and
,
on finding it
,
read it word for word, “... Prepare to move your command by rail to a location in
Eastern France
on receipt of a verbal order with written confirmation to follow.”

“Last time I heard something like that it concerned
Vienna
in ’45.”

A matter of which Lavalle had no knowledge at all, but that didn’t stop him from understanding exactly what Bittrich meant.

“
At least t
hey have included rolling stock capacities
.
That
will enable us to plan that side of things
,
Willi.”

“We need to know where we are going too. That would help.”

The grumbling continued as the two sorted their way through the whole document.

As they concluded, agreeing that senior officers were the same in all armies,
‘La Camerone’s’ Commanding officer arrived.

Knocke, despite his own version of the
mixed
uniform, looked every inch the perfect soldier; clean, smart and professional.

Like Bittrich
,
he wore boots and gaiters, although his were of German origin. His trousers were American issue
olive drab
, crowned with his black P
anzertruppen jacket,
Death’s Heads removed from the lapels in favour of the
French
rank markings of a colonel. The famous black tunic was
sporting all
Knocke’s awards and displayed
the new
Corps badge
and armband. However, his armband carried the legend ‘Camerone’ instead, to denote his unit affiliation.
In truth, there were few such
unit
armbands as yet distributed
,
but
,
as more became available
,
the whole unit would
eventually
carry the distinctive markings.