If there was a message in return then the offer would be refused and smaller denomination notes would be returned, similarly sealed.
This was the emergency communications route, and a back-up if there was a failure elsewhere. Although rarely used, it was a routine he undertook every day he was present in Baden-Baden. Otherwise, the baker passed the messages to a certain hotel employee when he attended the bakery in the early mornings.
Today there was no message back, but his message regarding the deployment of ‘Camerone’ was there, circumventing the hotel orderly because of its importance.
“Keep the change, Mein Herr.”
“Danke, Herr Maior, danke.”
A number of sweet pastries changed hands and he left, holding the door open for an old woman, who had also completed her purchases.
“Gnadige Frau.”
“Dankeschön, Herr Maior.”
‘You Russian asshole.’
Despite having only one arm, Rüssel was an accomplished cyclist, and he undertook a number of deliveries for his special customers, once he had shut up shop for the day.
His wife would take any leftover product and sell it in the street, whilst he peddled through Baden-Baden, delivering special orders to those with sufficient means to pay for it, and he didn’t mean money in most cases.
He most often exchanged goods for his wares, jams and preserves, with which he created his special cakes.
All except one customer, that was, a journey Rüssel hated because it involved cycling up to the four hundred metre line, following the winding Alter Schloβweg, to the main door of Schloss Hohenbaden.
As far as the entire house staff was concerned, the Oberst, as he was known, liked to meet with the tradesmen, as he enjoyed the haggling process. In reality, the trading covered the exchanges between him and the baker and other agents, information from a number of contacts one way, or orders and enquiries from GRU control going the other.
Oberst Christian Adolf Löwe summoned his manservant to have the baker seen off the premises, and returned to his drawing room, which was truly a room with a view, enjoying the all the sights of Baden-Baden in the valley below.
The gardener and his new apprentice didn’t even seem to notice the cyclist’s departure, so engrossed were they in their topiary.
The Oberst settled back into his favourite chair, enjoying both the view from his window and the obvious charms of the new member of the house staff, her splendid bosom so proudly on display in the uniform he had personally chosen for her.
He smiled disarmingly at the maid as she poured his traditional five o’clock coffee, one of the first things she had been told about on her first day of service.
“Thank you very much, my dear,” he shoehorned the maximum amount of charm into the six words.
‘I shall have those fat teats, my beauty, and more besides.’
Finishing up, the maid placed the cup and saucer in the right position and returned the coffee pot to its stand, smiling back at her employer.
“Will that be all, Herr Oberst?”
‘I’ll shoot your balls off if you so much as twitch.’
“For now, Anna-Maria, for now.”
De Valois left the room and headed for a quick exchange with the new gardener’s apprentice, also a member of ‘Deux’.
Eisenhower had finished up a briefing on the debacle that had been Operation Casino.
It was now wholly obvious that it had been an elaborate trap, from Station X’s monitoring of the increased Russian radio traffic in the area, through dummy vehicles to draw the attention of aerial reconnaissance, and culminating in the agents talking of big numbers of Soviet tanks and soldiers, probably under the influence of Soviet Intelligence.
Tedder had grudgingly admitted that the subterfuge had been excellently worked out and carried through, displaying a flair hitherto unsuspected.
Clearly, the enhanced radio traffic was a carefully worked web of deceit, using radios and little else.
Elements of eight Anti-Aircraft divisions had now been identified by spies on the ground, although recent events meant that intelligence officers would turn jaundiced eyes to such intel until it was proven by other means.
Once bitten, twice shy on that one.
RAF Bomber Command had taken an awful beating, and would be dysfunctional for some time to come. It was an organisation used to taking casualties on unprecedented levels, but, with Operation Casino, it had exceeded its capacity to absorb the deaths of friends and comrades. In order to preserve the Bomber Force, Harris had withdrawn it from combat for at least seven days.
‘Poor Limeys.’
Bedell-Smith approached with a dead-pan face, partly annoyed because he had got it wrong, partly exuberant because of the end result.
He placed the report in front of his boss.
“What do we have here then, Walter?”
“Report on Stuttgart, Sir.”
Eisenhower swapped his cigarette for the paperwork and tossed the first page.
“Wow!”
Coffee and fresh pastries arrived to sustain the two Generals until dinner.
“And this is all confirmed?”
“From De Lattre himself, Sir. It seems those boys gave the commies a damn good horse-whipping, and then some.”
“Uh-huh.”
Eisenhower shifted his gaze to the third page.
“Yeah, but they paid for it.”
“Yes Sir, they did, but…”
The statement stopped ahead of schedule, drawing Ike’s attention as Bedell-Smith had intended.
“Go on, Walt, spit it out.”
“Sir, you know I was less than comfortable with this ‘Legion’ thing.”
Eisenhower almost giggled.
“I seem to remember you mentioning it.”
Bedell-Smith shrugged in acceptance of the point.
“Sir, these Legion troops may well have paid a high price for their success, and bear in mind that figure is probably not yet complete.”
Ike nodded but let his man continue.
“The thing is, how many troops would it have cost us? More than three hundred dead? Certainly more than the final figure for the Legion troopers, whatever it may be.”
Making to consult the report, Eisenhower slid it across the table so his CoS could see the evidence too.
“At the moment, the French report the loss of nineteen tanks, plus ten other vehicles.”
Checking his way down the list, he found what he sought.
“Two hundred and one dead, fifty severely wounded, with another two hundred and thirty casualties. Less than five hundred as we stand, General.”
Bedell-Smith considered the next statement carefully.
“Their figures on Soviet casualties are a bit hazy. But they do state at least eighty Soviet armoured vehicles, seventeen anti-tank guns, plus they have captured a lot of materiel.”
He joined Ike in a sip of the scalding coffee.
“A rough estimate of over fourteen hundred Soviet dead upon the field. Top line Soviet troops too, so it is believed.”
Eisenhower had missed that bit.
“Plus, they pulled the mission off to the letter, within time, and relieved the forces in Stuttgart.”
Eisenhower held out his hands in mock supplication.
“Ok, Walt, I surrender. You have a point to make.”
“Sir, I was anti, sure as hell. So, to a point, were you.”
He didn’t pose it as a question. It was a statement, and one that got Eisenhower’s hackles raised.
‘Jeez, I wanted the Germans in on the deal. It was my idea! Wasn’t it? Was it?’