The crew of the E8 were formally absolved of any blame for their part on the accidental deaths of the airborne wounded, although the finding could not assuage the grief and guilt they all felt at the friendly kills.
They all died two weeks later, when the 702nd was attacked by Soviet ground attack aircraft. Their Sherman was blown off a riverbank by a near-miss and propelled into the water, drowning the entire crew.
Chapter 71 – THE ANSWER
Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.
Passing the last of the checkpoints, the Polish officer dismounted from his jeep outside the main building.
His intelligence brain took in the military aspects as he stretched himself, hands in the small of his back, noting a Panther under a flat roof to one side, and two anti-aircraft weapons on rooftops, covering the headquarters.
Further study revealed soldiers going about their business, clad in a variety of uniforms that often betrayed their military roots, as well as indicated their present service in the Legion Etrangere.
Resplendent in full Legion uniform, a French Général de Brigade was in animated conversation with one of the new German Legion members. A senior one as far as Kowalski could make out, certainly an officer, given the jacket he wore.
Curiosity got the better of him, and he studied the pair a moment longer.
He suddenly realised that the two men were now walking in his direction, so he busied himself with retrieving his briefcase from the back of the 4x4.
He turned back as the two were almost upon him, his heart racing for a reason he couldn’t quite understand.
A German voice cut through his doubts.
“Maior Kowalski?”
The German had spoken with pleasantness and the tone brought instant relief.
“Yes, I am Kowalski.”
Salutes were exchanged between the three men and introductions made.
“Lavalle, Legion Corps D’Assault.”
“Von Arnesen, Panzer Grenadiere Commander, 1st Camerone Brigade.”
“Kowalski, Polish Liaison at First Army, formerly of 1st Polish Armoured Division.”
The pleasantries over with, Von Arnesen took the lead.
“Unfortunately, Colonel Knocke has been detained for a short time and he has asked me to look after you until he is free.”
‘What’s this?’
Kowalski’s doubts, so recently stirred into action, then allayed, rose again for the briefest of moments.
“Thank you, Commandant,” finding it natural to use the French rank.
“I will take my leave of you. Adieu, gentlemen.” Lavalle offered a brief salute and disappeared inside the Rathaus that presently served as the headquarters building for ‘Camerone’.
Checking his watch, Von Arnesen grinned.
“Perhaps, given the hour, I can offer you some food and a drink in our mess, Maior Kowalski?”
Part of him yearned to get close to Knocke immediately, but another part, the professional agent part, sensed that some time spent in the mess might yield some useful information.
“Lead on, Commandant, lead on.”
The cooks of ‘Camerone’ produced great meals, especially when they could rely on foodstuffs from local producers sympathetic to the cause.
Both men had eaten heartily of a ham and onion stew, heavily dressed with potatoes and cabbage.
Whilst engaging Von Arnesen and his fellows in harmless conversation, the GRU agent discovered that Camerone was soon to be moved up to assist in the defence of Augsburg, before the rest of the Corps committed to the field for an offensive operation.
Coffee and sweet pastries opened mouths even wider and by the time lunch had drawn to a natural close, Kowalski had gleaned much worth reporting to his GRU superiors.
One question burned brightly; not one for his hidden agent side, but one purely of professional curiosity.
“Commandant, I simply must ask. This mess. There are common soldiers here, eating with the officers. I don’t understand. Why?”
Those sat around stopped what they were doing, anxious to hear Von Arnesen respond.
“Not conventional, we understand this, but it was the SS way, Maior Kowalski. I shall explain.”
Von Arnesen looked around for a suitable example.
“Ah yes. There, Maior.”
He pointed out a group of six men sat three by three on a bench table, one a Captain, one a Lieutenant, the others two and two, NCO’s and privates.
“Shall we?”
The legion officer rose, picking up the water jug and a stack of glasses, and invited Kowalski to follow him, moving to the spare seats on either side and sitting down with the six men, indicating that they should not rise, but continue as they were.
The first thing the Polish officer noticed was that none of the men were fazed by the presence of the senior man. They seemed to accept his appearance as quite natural, and their conversation flowed as freely as it had done before.
Von Arnesen split the stack of glasses and carefully poured, passing a full glass to each man in turn, deliberately starting with the private soldier to his immediate right.
“All that talking must be making you thirsty, Walter!”
The laughter was soft but not put on, and certainly not done to impress.
“Walter is always thirsty, Sturmbannfuhrer. His throat is the driest in the company.”
“I confess, I enjoy a occasional pils, Sturmbannfuhrer.”
Looking directly at his tormentor, Walter raised his eyebrows in admonishment, confiding in Von Arnesen in such a way that everyone within ten metres could hear.
“Whereas Dietmar is never dry of throat, but he does like a bath to sit in, because he talks out of his arse!”
Some playful punches were exchanged, and more genuine laughter accompanied it.
That Dietmar was old enough to be Walter’s father, and a senior NCO, was not wasted on the visitor.
Von Arnesen then engaged every man in conversation, the first names slipping easily off his tongue.
He then went on to make his point, asking one man how another man’s son was doing in kindergarten, or how his comrade’s wife was enjoying her new job at the bank.
The men didn’t understand what was going on but went with whatever their senior officer was trying to do.
Von Arnesen looked at Kowalski, and then returned his gaze to the young Walter.
“So, Walter, now that the Hauptsturmfuhrer’s father has his new leg, is he able to walk the dog again?”
The young soldier was confused for a moment, his furrowed brow and gaze at the former SS Hauptsturmfuhrer beside him betraying him momentarily. The officer shrugged and smiled, motioning with his head in silent encouragement.
“Well actually, Sturmbannfuhrer, Herr Fenstermacher managed a full walk around the park only last week.”
Now Kowalski couldn’t help himself.
“May I ask something, Commandant?”
Von Arnesen grinned and gestured with his head, at the same time accepting a fruit pastry from the other private.
“Soldier, can I ask, which leg and what is the dog?”
“Herr Fenstermacher lost his right leg at the Battle of Dogger Bank in 1915, Sir. His dog is a Weimaraner called Blucher, named after his ship that day.”
Von Arnesen chose his words carefully.
“Herr Maior, these men know each other, each other’s families, and the history behind each man.”
He looked around the quiet group.
“Each of these men has a relationship with the man by his side, regardless of rank. These men have a bond beyond that of a normal soldier.”