The US President had already committed NATO to using the new bombs, unwittingly assuring the plotters that huge destruction would be wrought on their bitter enemies.
On the other side, it seemed relatively clear that the Soviets would respond to what they would see as naked aggression, despite their clearly weakened state, and fight back with their normal fury.
Stalin would not permit any less, and that would further ensure the destruction of the Communist state.
The cream on the whole matter was that there was no hint of suspicion, no awkward questions being aimed at them, the whole contrivance having been accepted at face value.
From the organised removal of Allied intelligence officers who appeared privy to the existence of Undenkbar, through fictitious reports of battles on the Polish and German frontlines, to the silent raids on rear line positions of all types, prioritising those with artillery round radar detection capability to help conceal the unfortunate but necessary bombardment of some of their allies to promote the idea of a Soviet attack.
All in all, an incredibly successful operation, to which, when finally alone, Speer, Renner, and Diels raised a glass of cognac.
“Gentlemen, to the success of Undenkbar.”
Renner’s toast didn’t go far enough for Speer.
“That and more, Präsident Renner. I give you another toast.”
He stood, encouraging the others to follow suit.
“I give you this toast, gentlemen. To the Fourth Reich!”
“The Fourth Reich!”
“Sieg Heil!”
0400 hrs, Sunday, 16th March 1947, Vienna, Austria.
“Ok Boys, Let’s go!”
The artillery barrage was still pummelling the target area but the Rangers leapt from their positions, confident that the gunners knew their job and would advance the barrage according to schedule.
The 89th US Infantry Division had thrown itself against the enemy defences and found them wanting, almost unprepared for any direct action on behalf of the Allies.
Initially successful beyond their wildest dreams, the defence stiffened success morphed into bitter failure with two battalions of the 355th Regiment mauled so badly as to be combat ineffective.
Which was why the 2nd Rangers had been thrown forward to thicken out the assault on the splendid building and grounds of the Schönbrunn Palace.
The planning was hasty, and it showed, but the men were confident in their skill at arms and charged forward, Able, Baker, Charlie, and Fox companies leading a flat assault line, with Dog and Easy companies sat ready to reinforce any breakthrough.
Starting in an east-west line that incorporated the ruined Gloriette, their destination was the magnificent and imposing one thousand, four hundred and forty-one room summer residence of the Hapsburg Emperor, the Schönbrunn Palace, a mere seven hundred and fifty metres to the north.
Able arrowed to the left flank, their own flank set against Maxingstrasse, intent upon storming the Tiergarten, whose residents, animal and human alike, had been subjected to a severe hammering from mortars for the previous hour.
The main garden area between Baker and Charlie and their target had absorbed fire from 105mm and 155mm guns of the 89th’s divisional artillery, as had the now burning palace.
Fox Company had their right flank on Grünbergstrasse.
It seemed that the Soviet defenders had cornered the market on flares and the night became transformed as the palace garden areas were bathed in light, supplementing the illumination already provided by the burning Tiergarten and other structures.
Muzzle flashes added their own macabre light and the remaining snow contributed its reflective qualities, the whole bizarre combination transforming the night into a special sort of hell for attackers and defenders alike.
The Rangers had a number of infrared equipped weapons, none of which were useful in the strangely-illuminated environment, and battery packs were quickly dropped off to ease the burden of the designated soldiers.
On the left flank, men started going down under intense fire, and the attack stalled instantly.
The company commander organised his 60mm mortars and soon a smoky barrier was placed between his men and the Tirolerhaus, from where the deluge of machine-gun fire had originated.
Able were back up and rolling round the side of the smoke before the defending Russians knew they were moving again, and a desperate hand to hand fight ensued.
Meanwhile, Baker and Charlie took their own casualties as dug-in enemy started piling on the pressure.
On the right flank, Fox had the best of it, until a nest of heavy machines guns on the other side of Grünbergstrasse hit them hard and forced most of the company to ground.
The attack disintegrated into a leapfrogging affair, as the Rangers moved from cover to cover, sometimes simply to fall into a trench or shell hole for a moment of safety before starting up again, sometimes to fight at close quarters with an enemy intent on denying them the ground.
It quickly became reminiscent of the Great War, the whole garden area having been turned to a lunar landscape by both old and new ravages.
In thirty bloody minutes, Baker Company had almost reached Rustenallee and risked moving too far ahead of Charlie, who were still short of the first objective, held up by fierce resistance based around the Neptunbrunnen, a huge ornamental fountain that lay positioned at the head of the Great Parterre, the open route straight to the palace itself.
0431 hrs, Sunday, 16th March 1947, Rustenallee, the Schönbrunn Palace gardens, Vienna, Austria.
“Walter!”
The first sergeant scuttled across the hedge line, albeit with little identifiable as a hedge left by the ravages of war.
“Captain?”
“We’re stalled until Charlie sort out the fountain. I’m gonna get on the horn to Captain Fairlawn, but I want you to get me an assault group ready to hit that in the flank a-sap. Three squads.”
Barkmann pointed towards the offending enemy position, its knocked-about statues rising above the rubble and tree trunk positions that made it a difficult nut to crack.
“Yessir.”
Ford experienced eye took in the position and he pointed to a group of shell holes.
“Start line there, Captain?”
Barkmann nodded, already working on the details of his conversation with Fairlawn.
Four minutes later, Lukas Barkmann dropped in beside his sergeant in the allotted position, a line of holes that ran along the route of the Schönbrunn TiergartenAllee, or at least where it used to be.
“Charlie’s gonna pour fire on the target. Fairlawn’s got up some bazookas to help some. Two minutes of direct fire and we go in…”
Something exploded off to their right and the waiting group were deluged in earth and snow.
“What the fuck’s that?”
Ford spat the earth from his mouth.
“Sure’s summat big, Captain.”
“All the more reason to stay close to the commies.”
Another huge shell landed, this time further back, adjacent to the already ruined Gloriette.
They both ignored the shattered something that arced through the cold night air.