Knocke, sensitive to the nature of his new command permitted the man to interrupt without sanction, whilst the German personnel present felt uncomfortable at the breach of military protocol.
“Capitaine Thiessen, the works there are fit for purpose. I inspected them myself this morning when the heavies were practising their loading procedures.”
The legend’s tone brooked no argument, and he continued conjuring up possibilities on the map.
Quickly he turned back to the man.
“Although perhaps we should check that the Schwere Panzers haven’t undone the good work, eh?”
His grin was infectious.
Different fingers traced different rail lines on the map, each route examined and either accepted or rejected in turn.
Abruptly Knocke stopped
“My best guess is Strasbourg, Meine Herren. French First Army area, good access, west of the Rhine. Maintains flexibility of deployment. Thoughts?”
A chorus of agreement from the assembly and Knocke rapped out his orders.
“Each man to be issued with four days rations immediately, not to be consumed without orders.”
“Full battle order for the march. All weapons and fuel, air spotters and security deployments. I want no surprises catching us with our pants down, Kameraden.”
Checking his watch, Knocke looked impassively at his officers.
“This Brigade will be ready to move off at 1600 hrs, Kameraden. Advance guards away at 1540 hrs. Klar?”
Eyes dropped to watches and immediately realised the enormity of the task ahead.
The ‘Oui’s’ and ‘Jawohl’s’ mingled together without further comment, as there was no arguing with the schedule.
“Very well. Dismissed. Sturmscharfuhrer, stay if you please.”
Try as they might, the ex-Waffen SS often slipped back into the natural way of things, and Knocke was no exception. Braun held the French ‘Major’ rank, Vernais’ equal as Regimental Sergeant Major. He also rarely used the French ranks when dealing face to face with former comrades.
“Before you help Hauptsturmfuhrer Pöll get things organised, get a message to Uhlmann and St.Clair to return by 1800 latest please. Don’t say too much over the radio obviously.”
“Jawohl, Standartenfuhrer.”
Knocke’s deadpan face betrayed nothing.
“And try to use the French ranks, Braun.”
“Zu befehl.”
No hint of expression.
“We must remember that we are French soldiers now.”
“A vos ordres, mon Colonel.”
Knocke’s grin betrayed the humour of the moment, and his slapped the NCO’s shoulder playfully.
“Braun, wipe that look off your face and go and get him back here.”
Zhukov listened impassively as Malinin read back the request he had just dictated.
“Let us hope that our leadership sees the sense of the request and gives us the men we need.”
Malinin nodded gently, his mind processing the proposition as it had been doing since the first moment he and Zhukov had approached the concept.
Released Soviet soldiers who had been prisoners of the Germans were regarded with huge suspicion, more often treated as traitors and institutionally ostracised, falling to the most menial of jobs. Many were sent eastwards to work in cruel conditions as punishment for their failings. Some were even shot.
After all, the Soviet soldier was expected to die in combat rather than surrender.
The losses inflicted upon the Soviet Army during the ten days of the war had been worse than projected, but unusually heavy on certain key specialists, not the least of which were the highly skilled bridging engineers, despite orders to limit the dangers to these key personnel.
The request Zhukov intended to submit to the GKO was a plea to permit all qualified bridging troops to return to the ranks as soon as possible. A reasonable idea to overcome the present worrying shortage of trained engineers.
Nearly five million Soviet soldiers had fallen into captivity during World War Two, of which over one and a half million were still alive, having been liberated during the Red Army’s advance.
One major issue was the state these men were in, most having existed under the harshest of regimes with little sustenance, meaning they were not capable of being effective soldiers for some considerable time to come.
A discussion had taken place prior to the start of hostilities, during which the fate of the POW’s was discussed. Then, without apparent imperatives, there had been no change in the harsh policy that the State and Party applied to the liberated soldiers.
Now that such an imperative existed, Zhukov hoped for some understanding from his political leadership.
Even so, he had used some standard ideological concepts to try and sway the men in power, such as employing the men in Shtrafbats, as Stalin had set up the penal units under Order 227 in July 1942.
“Get it tidied up and I will sign it immediately.”
Malinin saluted and swiftly vacated the room, leaving Zhukov alone with his thoughts.
Michel Wijers leant back in his chair and enjoyed a bask in the Italian sun as he watched the little Ukrainian at his task.
Beside him sat a snoozing corporal, who had long since become bored with watching Ostap Shandruk moving through the prisoners of the 14th Waffen Grenadiere Division der SS, the infamous Galacian Division.
The ‘corporal’ would have looked more at home in the uniform of a US Marine 1st Lieutenant but, like Wijers, Solomon Meyer was in his role as a member of OSS.
Making up the threesome was a serious looking Polish Captain, there purely to smooth the way with the Camp Commandant once Shandruk had completed his task.
Polish II Corps controlled Rimini, and therefore the Galacians were their responsibility, or more accurately, problem.
Already a decent number, Wijers estimated about seventy men, were sat in an area designated by the camp commandant, ready for their part in Rossiter’s plans
Shandruk, having been plucked from Sassy in record time, had met quickly with Rossiter for a briefing before moving off with the two OSS agents on a task of great importance.
Which task brought him to sunny Italy in the uniform of an American infantry Master Sergeant in the presence of men from his old division. A dozen of the segregated men had fought in his old Pioniere unit and he knew their worth well. The celebrations that should accompany the reunion with old comrades could wait for now, as Shandruk understood the need for haste.
Explanations could also wait and, in a testament to their respect for the former officer, men held their questions back.
Dusk was falling before the task was completed and one hundred and ninety-eight Ukrainian SS had volunteered, satisfying Rossiter’s criteria.
The Polish officer sorted out the matter of release with the mystified Major commanding, backed up by the presence of a full colonel of the Dutch Princess Irene Brigade, for that was Wijers’ role for the duration, adding weight to the cover story the Poles had been spoon fed.
His ‘rank’ also guaranteed cooperation from the Italian transport company from which he had commandeered truck and drivers, trucks which would shortly carry the ‘volunteers’ to the military airfield nearby.
The ten C47 aircraft that waited were well beyond his ability to obtain, having been approved by a much higher authority in Versailles.
It was gone midnight before the group began their long flight to Paris, and shorter second leg to their final destination of Camp 5A on the shores of Lough Neagh, a few miles east of Cookstown.
Cookstown was in County Tyrone, Northern Ireland.
Set aside for German prisoners of war, the OSS had appropriated the 5A facility for their own purposes two years beforehand, and few of its present inhabitants were American or British by birth.