On Desperate Ground (20 page)

Dichter was quite pleased with himself, smiling up at Rose and Mandelbaum, nodding his head in agreement with himself.

“So Hettstedt never came looking for his equipment?”

“No, but just a few days ago he did send a request for any English-speaking soldiers we might have in our area. The memorandum was quite specific. American-style English was preferred, but British English was also desired. The troops were needed for a special operation, code-named…ah…no, it eludes me. I gave the orders for our military police teams to be on the lookout for any such soldiers, then left for Remagen yesterday.”

“You can’t remember the code name? Think, man!”

Dichter agonized, fear showing through. “No, I hardly paid any attention to it. No, sorry.”

Mack sighed. “How did the request come through? By radio?”

“No, it was unusual in that it came by special courier.”
 

Mack paced back and forth across the same room. He asked about other SS operations, about military defenses behind the Rhine, about civilian morale and anything else he could think of. It was useless. Except for this one enticing nugget of information, Dichter was worthless. Finally, he ended the interrogation.

“OK, Manfred,” Mack sighed, feeling exhausted by the interrogation and the despicable officer, “we’ll keep our bargain. You go back bruised and battered, but triumphant.”

“I have kept my bargain. I request, Captain, that I be escorted back by an Aryan soldier.” Dichter looked only at Mack, fearful of the menacing Corporal Mandelbaum at his side.
 

“Fuck you, Heinie,” Rose said as he kicked out the stool from under Dichter, who fell on his rear with a thump. Rose then opened the stall door and yelled out, “Kowalski, up here on the double! Help Mandy take this Kraut back to the cage.”

“Captain, you promised…,” begged Dichter from the floor.
 

“Yep, and I keep my promises. These two men will escort you back to the POW cage. There will be no need to harm you unless you try to escape, and I doubt you’ve got the guts for that.”

Kowalski entered the doorway, Thompson at the ready.
 

“Let’s go,
Brigadeführer
,” Mandelbaum said, kicking Dichter roughly until he got up. “The Captain says to bring you back to the cage alive and that’s what I’m gonna do. If you wanna try anything though, just remember there’s a Polack and a Jew with guns pointed at your back.” Smiling and winking at Mack, Mandelbaum shoved Dichter out of the room. As they got to the door, Dichter held on to the doorframe and turned back to Mack.

“I just remembered, Captain! The code name, it has something to do with chess! Yes, chess, I’m certain.” He smiled pathetically, hoping for some small measure of response. He got nothing more than a shove in the ribs. Mack and Rose followed them out and watched them march Dichter back to the POW cage. The sun was just beginning to set and the muddy tracks were starting to freeze over, ice crystals showing in the ruts.
 

“Let’s have a drink,” Mack said, and went back into the barn. Their radio room, headquarters and living areas were all on the second floor of the barn in a single room, heated by an ancient wood stove. They walked over to a table near the stove, and Mack stared down at a map of the front along the Rhine. Rose bent down and pulled up a bottle of liberated Moselle wine, and filled up two mess tins.

“To the good cop,” he offered in toast.

“To the bad cop, and to the really bad cop when he gets back,” responded Mack with a grin as they clanked mess tins. Both men drained their wine. Mack poured himself another.

“Damn, what a useless bastard,” said Rose, wearily.

“I dunno, he almost came up with the code name at the last minute, but I don’t think he really knew anything. Chess!”

 
“Could be a million things. But why do they want American gear? And English speakers? Can’t be to fool us if they’re gonna use guys with Limey accents.”

“No, but maybe it’s not for up close work like in the Bulge. I just don’t get it. What good would a small unit in American uniforms do at this point anyway?” They drank and smoked in silence. Finally Mandelbaum returned.

“Well, Captain, he made it back safe and sound, just like you promised.”

“Good work in there, Corporal. Didn’t take him long to drop his drawers for us.”

“Nope,” said Mandelbaum with a satisfied grin as he grabbed the bottle of wine and took a long drink.

“You look like the cat that ate the canary,” Mack said, “what are you up to? You got him back okay, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, Captain, I did. I know you want to keep your word to these bastards so when the others see you comin’ they won’t shit their pants. So I got him back fine, played up what a tough bastard he was and all that. Did just like you said.”

“And?” Rose asked expectantly.

“Well, then I walked along the cage until I saw a six foot
Feldwebel
talking with his buddies. Gave them a few smokes and told them Dichter was one of those SS bastards that went out with the Chain Dogs and strung up their
Kameraden
. Never promised not to do that.”

In the morning, the frozen body of SS
Brigadeführer
Manfred Dichter was found outside the POW barracks, his neck broken and a look of surprise and terror on his lifeless face.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

24 March 1945

OKH Headquarters

Zossen, Germany

Johann Faust sat at his desk and rubbed his eyes. They were irritated and gritty from lack of sleep. Since the Americans crossed the Rhine at Remagen he had worked nearly non-stop. The surprise advance had caught the German high command unprepared, and Faust had gone into high gear to insure that Operation Gambit would be ready in case this was the first move in a major Allied offensive.

 
Two weeks later, Operation Gambit was ready to take to the field. It was now apparent that while the American seizure of the bridge at Remagen was a disaster, it was not the herald of a major campaign. It seemed more like an accident; an opportunistic plunge across a bridge no one had ever thought would be left standing. The Americans were pushing troops and tanks across, but they were not breaking out into open country. Their bridgehead was strong, but still a bridgehead, contained by German formations brought up quickly and the formidable obstacle of the Erpeler Ley, the heights above the city known by the Americans as Flak Hill.

Hitler’s directive had ordered Faust to have Operation Gambit ready by 15 March. He was four days ahead of schedule, and about to walk into the conference room and conduct the final pre-operational briefing. He held his head in his hands and let out a tired sigh. Things had been happening at a rapid, even dizzying pace since he had joined Guderian’s staff in January. Even then, he had seen that something drastic would need to be done to forestall the inevitable defeat that everyone around him refused to see or acknowledge. Working for Guderian had provided him access to Hitler, and his own audacity had won him command of the very operation he had conceived of to save the Reich, but most importantly, to give Johann Faust what he desired more than anything on earth. Finally! Finally he held in his hands the power he had only dreamed of. He would do it. He would wreak havoc on the Russians, using the Americans as his pawns. It was so perfect, so simple. They would pay for Anna, pay in blood and killing that would continue for as long as he could keep the war alive. He would have his revenge.
 

Images of Anna came into focus in his mind, memories as real as her love and as painful as a knife cut. On his arm in Königsberg, in a dark green gown, entering the opera hall. She had asked him if he would retire from the army once the war had ended, and he’d told her yes, gladly, to spend all my days with you, raising horses and children. He’d meant it. With their estates merged, they’d be well off, not wealthy, but rich in lands. Now, the lands were gone, Anna and the von Seydel family and Faust’s family, all gone. He would never take his uniform off, never love or raise any living thing.
 

Faust felt the buzzing in his head, the demons demanding their due. He couldn’t rid his mind of the image of Anna calling to him, falling to the pavement. Then he saw the terrible scene in the car, the mirage the demons had tortured him with. He balled his right hand into a fist and slammed it down on the desk, sending papers and pens flying. No! He could not think of those things now! Control! Control. He waited until his breathing returned to normal, wiping a sliver of sweat from his brow. He must not let down his defenses, not until the last bullet was fired.
 

In the other room, they all waited for him. He sat, his hands flat on the desk, until he was certain he was calm and in possession of his emotions. Several minutes passed as he stared at his unmoving hands. Then, his face a mask, Faust stood up and smoothed the barely perceptible creases in his uniform. He checked the polish on his boots, gleaming black. His medals were in order, and he glanced down with pride at the DAK cuffband on his right arm. Afrika Korps survivors were a rare sight these days, and the cuffband was like a talisman to Faust.
If I made it this far, I can make it to the end,
he thought as he moved towards his office door and the officers waiting for the briefing.
 

“Attention!”

Feldwebel
Jost Brunner was the first to catch sight of Faust entering the room. The officers surrounding the table had been talking in small groups, and instantly snapped to attention. The room went quiet.

“At ease, gentlemen. Please be seated.”

Officers settled into their chairs and junior aides and a few non-commissioned officers like Brunner stood against the wall behind their officers. Faust stood at the end of the table, taking in the group of men that made up Operation Gambit. The buzzing was gone, and he was ready.

“We have not trained together as I would have liked. The current situation does not permit us the luxury of time to get to know each other. Units are more cohesive when they have trained together and built up camaraderie based on common experiences. Our mission must be our common experience.”

Faust walked around the table and clapped Jost Brunner on the shoulder, and gestured toward Dieter. “I have served with these two Brandenburgers before, and I can assure you they and their men are the best.” Faust smiled his best commanding officer’s smile, letting the others know he was in a good mood, building up their spirits.

“The rest of you are also excellent officers, and each of you is responsible for a key part of Operation Gambit. I am confident you will all do your duty, and what we lack in familiarity we will make up for in experience. Right,
Hauptmann
Benedikt?” Faust set his smile directly upon the newly promoted Benedikt. Faust had secured the appointment just yesterday so Benedikt’s rank would be appropriate to his mission. He couldn’t afford for a mere
Leutnant
to be entrusted with a critical role in his plan.

“Yes, Colonel! We will all do our duty, even this brand-new
Hauptmann
.” The men laughed and Faust knew they were in high spirits and well prepared.

“Very good! Now, report by section.”
 

Dieter stiffened in his seat and began his report, “Section 1, Colonel. Special Detachment 200, Russian-uniformed section. Two battalions, a total of 768 officers and men with the recent addition of several Russian-speaking Luftwaffe ground troops. We have sufficient Russian transport for the 8
^th
Battalion, and Russian-marked German vehicles for the 9
^th
. The 8
^th
Battalion will be our lead formation, and the 9
^th
will dismount once contact is made. We are ready to depart as soon as the order is given.”

“Excellent! How are the Hiwis doing?”

“They are eager to fight, Colonel. They know they have little future with their former Soviet comrades.”

“Your attack plans are finalized?”

“Yes sir. We will send out our scouts to make contact with the Americans. At first we will hold our fire, and wait for the
Amis
to report back that they’ve made contact. At the same time, we’ll bring up the rest of our troops, move forward and attack. Normal procedures would be for the enemy to radio for senior officers to come forward. The men have been told to be sure to let any radio-equipped vehicles escape.”

“Good, very good. We need senior officers to observe the attack so they will be believed. You must press the attack aggressively, but keep your forces together on a narrow front. The Americans must be convinced that this is a deliberate attack, not just a mistaken meeting engagement.”

“Understood, Colonel. In the 1939 Polish campaign, we did have casualties when we met up with the Russian forces occupying eastern Poland at the Curzon line. We can be certain the Allies are concerned about something similar, so we know our attack must be ferocious in order not to appear to be a mistake.”
 

“Of course. Review your withdrawal plans.”

“We will push forward until we either hit a main line of resistance, a headquarters area, or a counterattack. We will fall back slowly, making sure to maintain contact with the American forces. Our route will lead towards the Russian lines, where we will attempt to link up with Panzer Group Linz. Obviously, our dead will be left in place for the Americans to find.”