His senses lit off, the indistinct hum on the edge of his consciousness developing into the sound of a single engine, bringing a small observation aircraft in to land.
The Westland Lysander kissed the grass runway, a perfect landing that even Kowalski appreciated.
The RAF aircraft, sporting Polish identity markings, rolled across the field, closing on his jeep.
“Feel free to take the jeep, and find some way to amuse yourself, Corporal.”
He checked his watch, calculating for the umpteenth time, confirming the flight time there and back, plus his time with the General.
“1900 hrs. Back here on the minute, Corporal.”
Salutes were exchanged, and Kowalski walked towards the waiting aircraft.
The female NCO jumped back into the little 4x4 and started the engine.
As the Lysander took to the air, she drove to the small house that constituted the USAAF headquarters building, parked, and entered.
Finding the appropriate door, her knocks brought an invitation.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Colonel. Our man will be back at 1900hrs precisely. If you can repeat the charade, we can get him away without any further inconvenience to yourself.”
Her precise English belied her German ancestry. Whilst not, by any standards, a beauty, Gisela Jourdan had classical features, the likes of which had graced art and literature since man developed the ability to draw a likeness.
“May I use your phone please, Colonel?”
Knowing that she wasn’t the dumb ass corporal her uniform suggested, and not knowing what to call an agent bearing impeccable credentials from the OSS, the man fell back on his lifelong method of address to a woman.
“Certainly, ma’am,” and he offered up the receiver.
She slid her thigh onto the desk, and worked her way through the operators until she got to the required phone.
“Hello Max? This is Rita.”
Jourdan slipped into the coded exchange easily.
“Yes please. Can you tell Captain Logan that I won’t be able to honour our date tonight?”
She smiled disarmingly at the USAAF officer, who was starting to appreciate her other, more physical charms.
“Yes, I’m really sorry, but I’m stuck here until nineteen hundred hours, and then I have to drive back.”
Seeing the Colonel greedily eyeing the obvious outline of a suspender through the tightness of her skirt, she provocatively stroked her own leg through the material.
“That’s alright, Max,” she looked directly into the USAAF officers eyes, “I will find something nice to do while I wait. You know me.”
As Gisela had heard that retort before, the call came to a premature end, and within fifteen minutes, so did the Colonel.
For the first time, at least.
The Lysander came in low, as it had flown from Bischoffsheim, over the lines, and into Soviet territory.
Again, the pilot executed a perfect landing, and the monoplane taxied towards the waiting vehicles.
Switching off the engine, the airman stayed in his seat, knowing that his passenger had priority.
Stretching himself into some sort of shape, Kowalski dismounted, coming to the attention as the figure of GRU Colonel General Pekunin approached him.
“Comrade Kovelskin, welcome, welcome.”
The agent found himself grabbed in an unceremonious hug, his cheeks kissed passionately by the senior man.
“Your flight was satisfactory, I hope? A stroke of good fortune presented us with this fine machine,” he indicated the Lysander, on which Kowalski now noted the presence of tell-tale patches, where battle damage had been hastily repaired.
“It was good, thank you, Comrade Polkovnik General. The pilot is highly skilled.”
Steering the younger man towards the waiting Mercedes, Pekunin could wait no longer.
“So, I hope that what you have is worth the risk we take here, Sergey Andreeyevich?”
“That is not for me to judge, Comrade Polkovnik General, but I believe you will not be disappointed.”
Pekunin wasn’t, and neither was the man waiting in the Mercedes, for Konstantin Ksawerovicz Rokossovsky, the commander of the 3rd Red Banner Central European Front, was handed the means by which to split the Allied lines and enter France.
The aircraft didn’t stop moving, Kowalski alighting after a brief exchange with the pilot.
It was already airborne before the jeep drew up.
“Good evening, Corporal.”
“Sir.”
“I hope you were not too bored waiting?”
Inadvertently looking at the headquarters building, Jourdan kept a straight face, despite the waving from one figure, with whom she had spent a less than boring day.
“No, Sir. I found something to occupy myself with.”
The 4x4 accelerated away into the gathering gloom of the autumn evening.
Rokossovsky and his closest advisors had listened to the briefing from the 19th Army Chief of Staff, Lieutenant General Liapin.
The operation had already been in place, but the latest information, provided by the GRU agent, had meant that some changes were desirable.
Overall, Rokossovsky was satisfied with the plan conceived by Liapin, and the 19th’s commander, Lieutenant General Romanowsky.
However, he wasn’t a Marshal of the Soviet Union for nothing, so ventured his own orders, couched as suggestions that could not be ignored.
“I think you might increase the artillery strikes on these points, Comrade Liapin.”
The Marshal indicated the valley entrances that threatened the right flank of the advance.
“Our pet German may well assure us that they contain purely defensive forces, but we will have no surprises from them, Comrades.”
Acknowledging the 19th’s planning effort, Rokossovsky continued.
“You are quite right to assign good forces to blocking these routes, but I suggest more air regiments set aside, just in case, Comrades.”
He tapped two points on the Rhine that had been circled in pencil, and annotated with markings that clearly represented bridges.
“This I like. An excellent move, just in case, Comrades.”
He moved on quickly.
“Overall, the plan is approved, but it must be done quicker and push deeper.”
Drawing both Generals in closer, Rokossovsky dragged his finger down below Colmar, through Mulhouse, and obliquely left to Belfort.
“I cannot risk the Front with its flank exposed to the Vosges for very long.”
That was understandable, and one of the reasons why the valleys leading from it had come in for special attention.
“This whole area is like a funnel. It attracts our advance because of what it offers, but it holds dangers, Comrades, dangers we cannot negate, so we must minimise them.”
They both nodded their agreement.
“Speed will protect us here, keeping them on the move, so they have no time to organise. Our pet German should keep his units rolling back, but keep close to them, just in case someone develops balls and stands without orders. Keep pushing hard, sealing up the valleys as you go, and I will feed you units, from Front reserve, to keep the momentum up.”
Standing back from the table, Rokossovsky produced a handkerchief, and cleared his nose noisily.