‘Not an exercise’, he reminded himself.
He could not sleep, and his mind simply chewed over everything he knew until the vehicle pulled up outside the barracks in Chermice.
The last of the clientele left and the teenager locked up before going about the nightly business of cleaning the floor, supported by the other girls, each with their own task.
The GRU officers had been the last to leave, keen to prolong the evening, but a firm approach from all concerned managed to persuade them to leave, but not before promises for further evenings had been asked for and made.
Renata and Karen did their normal cashing up, which required them to lock the office door for security purposes.
The cigarette packet lay to one side, as they moved into the cashing up. It was always agreed that no messages would be processed until they had done at least half the proper work.
As they counted and made notes, the tension mounted.
A major question had been asked of their network, one they had consistently failed to answer.
The Polish-Soviet forces planned to move to one of a number of hidden locations in time of war.
The upcoming exercises would, apparently, use the intended headquarters site, to ensure that it was up and ready in the event of a real situation arising.
Despite discovering the five locations that had been set aside by the Red Army, even to the extent of building huts and concrete structures in areas they had no intention of using, the spy network, and therefore their masters in Allied Europe, were none the wiser
Until now.
Greim set aside her notepad as Renata double-checked the door.
The well-thumbed copy of Alexander Wat’s ‘Bezrobotny Lucyfer’ appeared from its place in the small bookshelf.
Handing the book across to her boss, Luistikaite fitted a cigarette into her holder and drew deeply.
Using page, line, and word numbers, Greim quickly deciphered the eight letter message.
Showing the product of her efforts to Renata, the thin piece of paper was crumpled and dropped into the ashtray, where a match sent it into oblivion.
Greim finished up the cashing process as Luistikaite composed her own message, after which they said their ‘good nights’.
Luistikaite arrived home at Flat 3, 2 Franciskánska, pausing only to thank the Peruvian diplomat at Flat 1 for feeding her cat yet again. She passed him a few zlotys to pay for the food and went away to her bed, determined to enjoy two days off work, and now happy that the vital information would find its way to the Peruvian Consulate on Ulica Wschodnia, and from there onto the Allied spymasters. Soon they would know the location of the joint battle headquarters of the Soviet command and 2nd Polish Army forces.
Cierpice.
The tired Colonel was just about ready to turn in when the knock on the door presaged a huge change in his immediate plans.
The Oberstleutnant, the Luftwaffe base commander entered, stepping to one side in deference to the man behind him.
“Herr General.”
Confused but calm, he saluted the new arrival, despite the man’s lack of uniform.
“This is most unexpected, Herr General. Please, may I offer you coffee?”
He nodded at the base commander, his eyes seeking information with which to work out the events ahead.
None was forthcoming.
Finishing his telephone call, he responded to the General’s small talk until the coffee had arrived and the orderly had departed.
Gehlen leant forward and deposited a folder in front of him.
“Cierpice, Standartenfuh… apologies, Herr Oberst.”
Skorzeny was still getting used to the idea himself.
“Cierpice.”
It was just a word… a statement.
“Could have been worse, of course, but Cierpice will do.”
Skorzeny unlocked his desk drawer and pulled out a number of folders, selected the one marked ‘Four-Cierpice’ and passed it to the head of Germany’s Intelligence service.
The folder contained the operational plan that had been developed should the headquarters be located in Cierpice.
“I need to get my second in command in here, with your permission?”
A few minutes later Oberstleutnant Otto-Harald Mors entered the room, immaculate as ever, despite having been on duty all day.
“It’s Cierpice, Harald.”
The base commander was an ex-Fallschirmjager condemned to ride a desk after suffering horrendous wounds during the battle against the Essex Regiment on Crucifix Hill, Monte Casino. He was in charge of the JU-52 transports allocated to the task of supporting Skorzeny’s Storch Battalion, so named for the aircraft that had flown him to fame after Mussolini’s rescue.
Cierpice meant an easier logistical problem for him and his men.
Gehlen asked the simple question.
“Can it be done, Oberst?”
“Well, it’s no Gran Sasso, that’s for sure. Much depends on our Polish Allies, of course.”
“The elements are all available,” he checked the list off on his fingers as he went, “We have good ground close by… friendly troops who can assist and cover… confirmation that the targets are on this location… good information available on the site… excellent aerial photographs…”
He looked at his second in command, the Fallschirmjager officer who had planned the Gran Sasso raid three years beforehand.
“Our major issue is, as always, fuel. Cierpice also has a particular issue in that the landing zone is shared with the pick-up zone… could cause problems. Anything to add, Otto?”
Mors shrugged his shoulders.
“As always, the unexpected could interfere with everything… but, now we know that four is the location, we can work on the plan even further… develop it… make sure we cover every eventuality… but, as the Oberst says, fuel… and much will depend on our Polish support.”
Gehlen nodded his head in understanding and posed a question.
“Any problems with our Polish Allies? Your liaison officer is efficient?”
The two Storch Battalion officers laughed out loud, taking Gehlen by surprise.
“Apologies, Herr General. Maior Romaniuk is, to all intents and purposes, a complete lunatic… a fanatic…,” Mors grinned from ear to ear as Skorzeny’s accurate description flowed into Gehlen’s ears, causing obvious concern, “And to be frank, he worries all of us.”
Gehlen couldn’t help himself.
“So you need a replacement immediately, I can get…”
Skorzeny held up his hands, stopping the head of German Intelligence in his tracks.
“Oh no, Herr General. Not at all. Romaniuk may be mad, but he’s the most complete and efficient officer I’ve ever met. He hates us Germans with a passion, but he hates the Russian more. Everything he does, he does totally and fully… no lack of commitment… yes, he’s a mad dog, but I can tell you now…he knows his job to the smallest detail and… as some are want to say…,” Skorzeny ceded the punchline to his second in command.
Mors laughed as he repeated the much spoken phrase.
“The men would follow him into hell, if only to see him kick the Devil’s ass!”
Before Gehlen could comment further, a knock on the door broke the moment.
“Come in!”
Skorzeny suspected he knew who would open the door before the face of his Operations Officer came into view, followed by the excited visage of the recently discussed Polish Paratroop Major.
Both men saluted their commander, and then, after Skorzeny’s introduction, saluted the civilian, who suddenly became all-important.
Skorzeny slid the folder over to Mors, who passed on the good news.
Von Berlepsch and Romaniuk immediately searched their memories, discarding all the planning for the other sites and focussing on the Cierpice assault.