He inclined his glass to the commander of Alma, who returned the gesture and sampled a sip of the superb Armagnac.
“God knows but we have the men and the equipment to do the job,” Lavalle continued, “But I can’t help feeling that we’ve missed something.”
Ernst-August Knocke drained the last of his glass and stood.
“Well, we have planned for everything we know about, and anything we suspect. No sense in worrying about the unknown. It’ll either bite us in the collective arse tomorrow or amount to nothing at all. Either way, with your permission, General, I’ll return to my unit. I need to iron out a few small things and get some sleep before we attack.”
The three shook hands without formal ceremony and went their separate ways.
Had they but known it, they were about to lead their men into the gates of hell, and one of the three of them would remain forever in the blood-soaked soil of Southeastern Poland.
0007 hrs, Monday 31st March 1947, Volga River jetty, Camp 1001, Uspenka, USSR.
“Congratulate your men, Comrade Polkovnik. Very professional display. Clearly you’ve practised this task heavily to achieve such perfection.”
Skryabin tried to appear modest as Colonel General Serov lavished praise upon the slick operation that had unfolded in front of his eyes.
Major Durets remained silent, inside fuming that his efforts were being creamed off by his superior. Durets conducted all training for the guard force, from perimeter and rapid response, down to the present task of escort and transfer of inventory items to the Volga River flotilla’s camouflaged barges and boats.
For Skryabin, the whole idea of training was a waste of his time, time which was better spent in a perfumed salon in Akhtubinsk in pursuit of pleasures of the flesh, or in the company of senior officers, where he could use his skills to display himself like the proud peacock he was.
Stealing Durets’ kudos was natural to him, and he basked in the praise of the senior NKVD general.
“Thirsty work, Comrade Polkovnik General. May I offer you a drink in my quarters?”
“Thank you but no, Comrade Polkovnik. I intend to keep these two beauties close by at all times. I’ll leave with the minesweeper directly.”
He turned to Durets who stiffened immediately.
“Comrade Mayor Durets. I’ll make sure your part in this is well known. Excellent work.”
He saluted and Durets understood, even in the reduced light in the bunker entrance, that the look on the general’s face spoke of his understanding… that Serov was no fool and knew just who had brought the NKVD guard detachment to peak performance.
“Thank you, Comrade Polkovnik General. We all serve the Rodina as best we can.”
Serov laughed and, away from Skryabin’s view, winked conspiratorially.
“I wish it were so, Comrade Mayor.”
He turned to Skryabin and received a tremendous salute.
“I’ll also mention your part in my report, Comrade Polkovnik.”
Skryabin was too pleased with himself to fully grasp the hidden meaning.
Serov moved away quickly, followed by his small entourage.
Within minutes, the small minesweeper pulled away with Serov and the scientists on board, leading the way for the barges carrying Obiekts 901 and 902… destination Stakhanovo.
Three hours later, Kaganovich was woken from his sleep with the news that two of the Soviet Union’s atomic weapons were on their way to war.
Events started to gather momentum, seemingly developing a life of their own, inexorably bringing together plans and intentions, hopes and fears, risks and actions, on both sides of the divide, all unknowingly started to focus on a point in time some days ahead.
Saturday the 14th…
Har Meghiddohn.
0300 hrs, Tuesday. 1st April 1947, Bukowa, Poland.
The rain was constant and extremely heavy which probably contributed to the successes of 116th Guards Infantry Division.
“Alarm! Alarm!”
The shout was taken up by many throats and weapons came to life instantly,
Flares shot into the sky above the waiting vehicles of the Camerone’s assault force, highlighting both them and the swarm of Soviet infantry that were already nearly upon them.
Commandant Durand, newly appointed commander of the 1er/1er RdM, was woken from his catnap by the combination of shouts and shots, and immediately understood what was happening before his eyes.
Alongside him the .50cal of the command halftrack burst into life as one of his men started hacking away at the human waves that threatened to wash over them.
He snatched at the radio and got off a quick report, ignoring the sudden spurt of blood that lashed his face as a running legionnaire took a bullet in the head as he passed the vehicle.
His radio message spread throughout Camerone and Alma, but not quick enough for some units, who found themselves moving from peace and quiet to close combat in the blink of an eye.
Artem’yev’s men had achieved complete surprise.
Lavalle listened to Knocke’s words, the telephone adequately conveying the strain that the sneak enemy attack had placed on both man and plan.
“And what do you intend, Général Knocke?”
He listened as he fumbled for a cigarette, understanding the words and trying to fix them to his mental map of the battleground.
“Yes… yes… I agree… we may have an opportunity here… yes, liaise with him direct, with my authority… of course… no… I’ll inform our German Allies… Jurkowice you say?”
Now he needed a map, although he was sure he understood.
“Moment.”
He moved round the large desk, inadvertently dragging the telephone box off the polished surface.
It clattered to the floor and Lavalle feared he had lost the connection.
“Ernst?”
He breathed a sigh of relief and turned the map the right way round.
“Thank God. Yes… Włostów… no further…. I agree… I’ll ask them to have a response force positioned there as soon as possible… yes, Route 77… yes, of course, and any artillery support… I don’t know how the rain will affect that. I’ve yet to contact air… let’s hope not, Général.”
He pondered the question for the moment.
“Unless we have good reason, I say use this opportunity. The attack order stands until I rescind it, Général Knocke… no… use any resources you need to deal with this incursion in the first instance… we will adapt… yes indeed, no plan survives first contact… bravo!”
Lavalle smiled.
‘So typical of the man. What a soldier!’
“And to you Général Knocke. Stay safe.”
He replaced the receiver, having committed his forces to use the enemy’s attack to his advantage, to overcome it, and continue their own drive on the Vistula.
Suddenly, Lavalle felt the weight lifted, the suspicion that had troubled him previously had declared itself and was now addressed, and the enemy’s attack would now be used against him, as his soldiers were now out in the open, not in prepared positions from which they would need winkling at greater cost.
All in all, despite initial losses amongst his forward assault units, not a bad exchange.
0219 hrs, Tuesday. 1st April 1947, headquarters, 116th Guards Rifle Division, Koprzywnica, Poland.