A trio of quad-mount Maxim AA guns had been positioned to defend the bridge until more substantial assets could be placed, and they engaged immediately.
Major Eltsov frantically signalled his trucks to scatter and seek refuge in the woods but the previous artillery barrages had made the ground difficult to negotiate at the best of times.
Part of the briefing received by Soviet officers on the allied air forces concerned the use of rockets by ground-attack planes. For the Major, the claim that they were extremely inaccurate paled into insignificance when it came to being on the receiving end of a full salvo from a determined and experienced enemy.
The first P47 drove in hard and released all eight rockets at the scattering engineer vehicles.
Watching behind him as his Jeep rode up on the bridge, Eltsov winced as death was visited upon the troops he led, disproving the inaccuracy claims of the GRU Colonel who had briefed him.
In his rage he screamed at his driver to halt, which he did, bringing the jeep to a stop in a storm of pebbles and dust.
Eltsov slapped the man on the shoulder and pointed off towards a smoking structure nearby. Grabbing his SVT automatic rifle, he ran back over the bridge, only to stop short as the second salvo of rockets arrived, more deadly than the first.
The vehicles carrying the inflatables had been in the centre of the column, and it was these that had been badly handled by the first strike. The second strike had been aimed at them as well but had overshot and fallen as accurately as could be upon the lorries containing most of the prime personnel, his best engineering troops, veterans of combat bridging operations from the Volga to the Elbe. Few of them survived intact as soft-skin transports demonstrated their lack of resistance to high explosive.
The Major winced as bodies were tossed high, whole or in pieces, fire and smoke concealing the area from whence they sprang.
Shouting as loud as he could, he waved frantically at the front vehicles, desperately encouraging them to scatter for cover as he stood exposed on the bridge.
The fourth vehicle stalled, holding up those behind but first three vehicles sprang forward, almost propelled by the carnage behind them, and reached the bridge, timed to the second with the arrival of the third aircraft’s salvo.
Bridge and lorry disappeared together as the first pair of rockets struck precisely, the bridge decking units from the Studebakers load tossed and shredded by the blast. The next three pairs turned the east side of the bridge approach into a maelstrom, converting men and machines into pieces and spreading them for yards in all directions.
The planes were gone in the blink of an eye, pursued by lead from the two surviving but impotent Maxims.
In their wake, the carnage was complete, the bridging engineer company now consisting of thirty-seven wounded and shell-shocked men who would never be the same again.
Chapter 44 – THE COUNCIL
Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.
The first of them had arrived at 1325 and was immediately shown to the elegant dining room where a modest buffet lunch had been provided and where sat General Dwight D Eisenhower in full uniform. The others arrived in short order and soon the ensemble was complete.
As quickly as was considered polite, the orderlies cleared away the side tables, provided coffee for the thirteen men and left.
The general hubbub of conversation dropped, conversation that had not been about the most pressing matter in the minds of the nine visitors but had just been small talk of family and life. What they all wanted to know most was why they were here.
Eisenhower rose to his feet, two other senior allied officers remaining seated by previous agreement. A US Army intelligence Major took his cue from his General and commenced his brief, addressing both sides of the long walnut table equally, firstly in his native tongue and then in English, a courtesy not lost on the nine.
“Gentlemen, my name is Major David S. Goldstein,” the Jewish officer could not help but leave his name hanging just for a split second, “And I am here to translate for both groups, which I will do honestly, literally and completely, to ensure full understanding.”
Goldstein pulled out a small stack of V-shaped cards and walked towards his own grouping of officers.
“For ease, it has been decided that name indicators would be appropriate and so I will place them out now by way of introduction.”
He leant round Eisenhower placing a name strip and, despite the General not needing any introduction whatsoever, named him, including the position of Supreme Allied Commander. Respectful nods were exchanged across
Moving to Ike’s right the diminutive Major placed out the strip for Joseph de Monsabert, naming him as the representative of the French Government and General commanding French Forces in Germany.
Placing his own marker in the space he had recently vacated to Monsabert’s right, he moved to the other side of Eisenhower in order to complete the Allied ensemble with the naming of Brian Robertson, Baron of Oakridge, presently the British Deputy Military Governor of Germany and Britain’s representative at these proceedings.,
Effortlessly, he moved around to the other side of the long table and commenced his introductions of the guests.
“Franz Von Papen”.
More correctly known as Franz Joseph Hermann Michael Maria von Papen zu Köningen, his credentials were impressive. A former army Colonel, politician, and one time Chancellor of Germany; Von Papen was a name that would be known to every German.
Leaning forward the second strip was placed.
“Adolf Schärf.”
Twice a political prisoner of the Nazis, Scarf was head of the newly formed Social Democratic Party of Austria.
Von Papen noted that with each name, nods from the Allied sides showed acknowledgement.
A strip for the provisional President of Austria.
“Karl Renner”
‘Nods of acknowledgement, and something else.’ The old politician’s senses lit up.
The Prime Minister of Bavaria received his name strip.
“Wilhelm Hoegner.”
‘It isn’t contempt.’
No mention of his former military rank of General-Oberst.
“Heinrich von Vietinghoff.”
‘It isn’t superiority.’
Another General-Oberst status went unmentioned.
“Heinz Guderian”
‘It isn’t hate.’
The ex-minister of Armaments and War Production needed no introduction.
“Albert Speer”
‘It certainly isn’t subservience.’
Neither did the last leader of the failed Third Reich.
“Karl Dönitz.”
‘It isn’t even mistrust.’
Finally, the last Chancellor of Germany, albeit briefly and not by that name.
“Johann Ludwig Graf Schwerin von Krosigk”
‘Grü² Gott! It looks very much like need.’
Goldstein, having finished his introductions, strode to the main double doors and knocked on one, which was immediately opened and admitted two US NCO’s bearing organised files and documents, one grouping of which was placed before each man present.
Each lay where they were placed, untouched by the recipient, as if by common agreement.
His work done, the First Sergeant left the room, the T4 Sergeant taking her place at the stenotype in the corner of the room.
Eisenhower began, and Goldstein translated into German.