Three full artillery regiments added to the list of losses, along with numerous smaller units, mortar battalions, tank companies, and the like.
North of Sittard, 40th Rifle Corps had been badly handled by the British Red Devils, soldiers that lived up to their name and fought with incredible ferocity.
Gradually, the staff officers started work on reassembling their shattered units, to make them ready for another day.
Two of Konev’s armies were badly knocked about, perversely, the two that had formed the spear point of his plan to cross the Maas, which plan now lay in tatters. In addition, the failure of his effort meant that the overall operation had been jeopardised, without the balance of tangible success, something that Zhukov would use against him when he found out.
‘If he finds out?,’ Konev mused.
Worse was the supply situation, some of his units having been incapable of properly defending or attacking, for want of bullets and shells.
And worst of all, the situation had no resolution in sight, the consumption rates higher than predicted, the losses due to partisans the same, the only thing lower than predicted being the amounts arriving from the Motherland, after the losses sustained by enemy air attacks and armed groups on the ground.
‘How can it get any worse?’
Again, the room filled with heavy silence, the low hubbub abating instantly.
Konev became aware that Petrov looked decidedly uncomfortable, eyes widening as he took in the new arrival.
The commander of 2nd Red Banner understood immediately.
“Greetings, Comrade Marshal Zhukov.”
“Greetings, Comrade Marshal Konev.”
“Tea, Comrade?”
“Later, thank you. First let us deal with what the fuck you have done here, and your answers better be damn good.”
The two NKVD Generals and their accompanying men filled Konev’s vision.
“Your office, Comrade?”
The two moved off into the separate private office.
The staff worked on through the tirade, as the constant shouting, all by Zhukov, escaped through the glazed door.
Wishing to keep their heads, they worked diligently under the close and unwelcome scrutiny of the implacable NKVD officers, even Tarasov, who had kept Zhukov supplied with the minutiae of Konev’s plans from start to finish.
One thought puzzled him.
Had Zhukov permitted the attack to go ahead in case of success, or had he turned a blind eye, in the hope that Konev would fail, and so fall?
No matter what happened in the next few minutes, and the hours ahead, one thing was certain.
2nd Red Banner had been stopped in its tracks.
3rd RED BANNER CENTRAL EUROPEAN FRONT – MARSHAL ROKOSSOVSKY
Chapter 93 – THE TURNCOAT
All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable to; when using our forces, we must seem inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near. Hold out bait to entice the enemy. Pretend disorder, and crush him.
“You’ve done well so far, Knocke. My generals are pleased, although you did get very close to the Enz, did you not?
Kowalski looked smug.
Ernst-August Knocke pursed his lips, failing to hide his contempt for the man opposite.
“It was not easy.”
That was actually completely untrue, as rumours of the Legion’s movement north of the River Enz had been unfounded in any case, but, none the less, the apparent act of compliance was welcome.
“Not easy, but you managed it, Knocke. Good boy.”
Kowalski was deliberately provocative, all the time assessing how well Knocke was controlled by the possession of his family.
“We have another task for you, one that requires you to move backwards at the right time. Even you should be able to manage that.”
Knocke had his own agenda to follow.
“And my family? They are still safe with you?”
As Kowalski had no idea of the events on the Baltic Coast at Fischausen, he answered easily.
“Your family are quite well; and quite safe.”
Opening his blouse, the Soviet intelligence officer extracted an envelope.
“And to make sure they stay that way, we need you to ensure that this goes smoothly.”
He dropped the item on the desk in front of the Legion officer. Knocke neither eyed it, nor picked it up, sensing that the man opposite had his own agenda.
“I am told that this will be the last thing to be asked of you, Knocke.”
Kowalski produced another photo of the whole family, albeit tainted by the ever-present NKVD officer.
“Then, they will be free to go, and you can join them, if you surrender and identify yourself to one of our units.”
The Russian gestured at the envelope.
“There is a safe passage note inside.”
Knocke nodded gently.
“And where would we go, Major?”
“By the time you need to choose, the Soviet Union will include most of Europe, so the choice would be considerable.”
Knocke grunted, mentally removing one item from his list of things to do to keep up appearances.
Kowalski grunted, mentally removing one item from his list of things to do to confirm Knocke’s continued subservience.
“Your side is losing in any case, Knocke, and this,” he casually gestured at the envelope, “Ensures less will die, before our victory is complete.”
Biting back his first response, Knocke merely shrugged, trying to convey some sort of agreement.
“So, Herr Maior, what would you have me do?”
Kowalski indicated the envelope.
“We want you to make a hole.”
The Legion Corps had tasted its first defeat, albeit one that was expected, given the circumstances.
Successful actions at Gaggenau and Rastatt had come to nought, as Soviet forces in the Saar broke the American lines and drove southwards, forcing the Legion to retreat at speed, for fear of being cut off on the east bank of the Rhine.
Two rearguard groups, one at Achern, and a larger one at Appenweier, had been overrun and destroyed.
The blame for that lay fairly and squarely on the shoulders of Molyneux, and his previously unsuspected ability to withdraw more swiftly than was necessary.
Thanks to his interference, neither group had been left with artillery cover or dedicated air support, and both, in turn, were eliminated.
Knocke had been furious, even though neither group belonged to ‘Camerone’, as the ineptitude of it all spelt out future danger to every man in the Corps.
There were even moments when those in ‘the know’ wondered if Molyneux had any family under the protection of the NKVD, so complete was his ability to withdraw and undermine well-laid plans.
In any case, much of what was planned for the Legion Corps was kept from Molyneux. De Gaulle’s strange continued insistence, in the face of growing pressure, that the General remain in charge of the Legion, was difficult for anyone in French First Army to grasp. However, it was offset by De Lattre’s insistence that, for the sensitive operation ahead, Molyneux knew as little as possible.
The loss of Strasbourg was imminent, and was not down to Molyneux’s incompetence, rather the unsanctioned withdrawal of a neighbouring American unit, which permitted the old city’s flank to be turned, rendering her defence nothing short of suicidal.