Chapter 228
While the Dutch were battling the Japanese outside of Batavia, Ian Fleming was sitting in his Office in the mansion and going through After Action Reports by some of the returning field Commanders that had helped the Royalist Resistance in Yugoslavia while happily whistling 'Hearts of Oak' in spite of the gruesome literature he was reading. Royalists, local Nationalists, remnant Communists, Muslims, Christians, Albanians, Croats and Serbs, all battled for supremacy not only against the Soviets but also against each other, and with the SOE officers in the middle. Felix was out and about to brief one of the attached SAS patrols on a mission into Yugoslavia where they had to blow up a bridge, so he was alone. When the phone rang, he immediately picked it up as it would give him something else to do than sorting out the mess that was the Allied position in Yugoslavia.
The person on the other end was none other than Field Marshal Alexander, and that alone told Ian that something was up. He did meet with the Field Marshal on a regular basis, but they had spoken only the day before, so why was he calling again? After all, CINC Europe had enough to do with clearing out northern Italy.
“Field Marshal, what can the Naval Liaison Office do for you?”
“It seems you have friends in strange places, Captain. You better get up here. Alone.”
Ian was intrigued and annoyed at the same time. He would now spend several hours in a Land Rover driving to Rome, and probably not reach it until it was dark.
“I will come, Sir, but can't you tell me anything more?”
“Not over the Phone. Pack for a couple of days.”
At this moment Felix stepped inside and Ian signalled for him to sit down.
“I see, Sir. I'll n....”
He had hung up. Felix looked at Ian curiously and asked: “What was that all about?”
“I haven't the foggiest, mate.” came the reply as Ian raised his hands in defeat. “Can you mind the shop for a couple of days? The Powers that be want to see me in Rome.”
“Why?”
Ian just shrugged and picked up the phone again. This time he called the in-house car pool and had them release one of the tuned up Land Rovers to him. He always had some spare No.2s and civilian clothing in a bag waiting fur such eventualities and simply put in some necessities and drove off the property less than half an hour after being called. The roads to Rome had been hastily repaired by the Italian Civilian authorities, but they were still choked full with military traffic going north, even though by now it were mostly lorries carrying supplies. Rome was at the time the centre of the Allied War effort, and the number of Allied military personnel showed it. The Headquarters of Commander in Chief European Front actually lay to the north of Rome, and when Ian worked his way through the several layers of security, he saw that the multi-national nature of the War effort was clearly evident, with the long row of flagpoles in front from where the flags of all the Allied Governments flew. Six more layers of security had to be passed before he entered the heart of the Allied War effort on the continent, the map room. Field Marshal Alexander took him aside and after twenty minutes of hushed conversation, Ian again found himself in a car, a civilian limousine that officially belonged to the British Charge d'affairs with the Italian Civilian Administration that was now being groomed to take control of the areas south of Rome. The corridor going to the Swiss border was getting wider and wider, but it was still far from save. Milan had been declared an open city and occupied without bloodshed a while back, and the road going towards the city was now officially declared safe since the Army now claimed that they had pushed the enemy out of Artillery range. Still the side of the road was dotted with crude signs telling people how to behave in air or artillery attacks, and here and there burnt out vehicles told the tale of them. Ian had seen enough of the war not to trust the Army fully, and had for that reason stashed his Browning Hi-Power in his bag; the driver was armed with a drum magazine RAC issue Thompson for the same reason. At one point Ian could see a battery of 7.2 inch Horwitzers in the distance, shooting at something which gave him a good idea just how close the front still was. Even so, the farther north they got the lesser signs of the war could be seen and by they stopped for the night, only a faint rumble in the distance and the ever-present allied convoys told of the death and destruction that had engulfed Italy. On the next morning, shortly before eleven, they reached the Swiss border. Ian hid his gun at the bottom of his and quickly stepped behind the car to change out of his uniform and into the unfamiliar civilian clothes before getting back into the car. The border crossing went smoothly, probably helped by the diplomatic plates on the car and the suspiciously thick envelope that the driver handed to one of the border guards. Once inside the Mountain Republic, Ian's mind went back to the conversation he had had with the Field Marshal. “Why me?” Ian had asked after being briefed. “They asked for you specifically.” “Smells like a trap, Sir.” “It's quite obviously one.”
Ian liked to think that he was doing a good job and that the Allied Commandos were raising hell for the Axies, but was it enough to have the Germans want him dead? He doubted it. For one the SOE was a secretive bunch, and it was unlikely that the Germans even knew that he was running things, evidenced by the fact that they has asked for 'Commander Fleming' and not used his forth stripe, yet apparently someone still knew that he was running around in Italy, because the message had been sent to the Allied European Headquarters via the British Embassy in Switzerland. It was all very curious, and the Intelligence Officer inside Ian was looking forward to finding out. He checked if his gun was loaded and once he was satisfied that it was, he leaned back in his seat and quickly fell asleep; he would need all his faculties at full capacity once he was in Bern. He was jostled awake when the car suddenly decelerated at a crossing and saw that it was almost dark again and they were close to the outskirts of Bern. Something about the scene outside of the struck him as odd, and when the car began to drive among the houses of the Swiss capital, it struck him. There was no blackout. For someone who had spent the last years in countries that were at war with each other, seeing street lights, cars and houses with the lights on and proclaiming where they where for all the world to see was decidedly odd.
“We're there, Commander.” the driver said when they stopped at the inconspicuous rear entrance to the embassy. The gate was opened by by the security guard and Ian stepped when the car came to a halt behind the residence. The man that had come to meet him was...
“Well bugger me, Ian Fleming!”
Ian smiled and looked at the face of an old Friend from his Berlin days.
“Maximilian Turner you old fraud!”
He exchanged manly slaps on the back as Turner guided Ian inside.
“Trade attachee?” Ian asked before the other could say another word.
Turner just nodded and led Ian into an office in the cellar of the building.
“So, Turner, where, when and how?” Ian said as soon as the door was closed.
“It's pity you must persist in being so business-like.” Turner sighed and poured both of them a cup of tea.
Ian took the tea and listened as Turner began to describe what had happened.
“Some days ago, I was approached by my German counterpart when I was taking lunch in a small restaurant a few blocks down the road. He asked my to convey a message to those with the decision-making powers and that you were to come north to meet an old friend from your time in Berlin.”
Ian was puzzled, because as far as he could remember there were no old friends from his time in Berl.....but of course! The man who had given him the information on the offing of the Duke of Windsor. Ian had theorized quite a few times since then who it might have been and had his ideas, but then again that high a member of the Abwehr was unlikely to leave Germany during wartime, so it was probably just a ploy to catch his attention. It had worked though, because he was determined to get to the bottom of this, and if it was the last thing he did.
“And before you ask, he said that you were to meet him in front of the League of Nations complex in Geneva in two days.”
“Great. More cars.”
“You Naval Officers, get all soft when you have your fancy Dreadnoughts to ride around in, but us poor footslogging folk have to actually work for a living!” Turner joked, having been in the Army between the wars.
“Oh shut up.”
The League of Nations Palace in Geneva, today part of the Swiss European History Museum
Two days later Ian was standing in front of the closed League of Nations complex and feeling increasingly bored. Not only was he wearing a civilian suit instead of the No.2s he liked so much, but also he was here for almost an hour now and he had the strong urge to just not bother waiting any more.
Suddenly however someone spoke to him.
“Commander Fleming?”
Ian turned and was dumbstruck for a second because the person talking to him was none other than the man he had talked about with Felix a few weeks ago and who normally wore the uniform of the German Paratroopers.
“Well I'll be...Oberst Steiner, isn't it?”
To the untrained observer the Colonel's face didn't move, but Ian could see a flash of surprise running over the face of the man.
“We should go somewhere more private.”
Ian followed Steiner into a small pub, full with people. He nodded approvingly, because he knew that in places as crowded as this one it was harder to overhear a conversation than it was if one was sitting in an empty room.
“Colonel, unless you want to tell me that you are about to surrender unconditionally, there is nothing much I can help you with.”
Steiner smiled mysteriously and looked at the Britisher on the other side of the table.
“You may not trust me Commander, but my principals anticipated that, and I was told to tell you that you did a good job on Pinie, even though you did cause some harm to the Abwehr as an institution. The Führer never really forgave us, mainly because your Ambassador dared talk to him such. Reportedly the only other time he was this angry was when the Bismarck was sunk.”
Ian couldn't help but smile.
“He better be, I still have the scar.”
That surprised Steiner. From what he had heard about British Intelligence Officers they left their Offices even more seldom than the German ones, but this one went against the reputation.
“In any case, there is once again something going on that we would like you to know about, and...”
Ian interrupted him when the waiter came to take their orders, and they did not speak again until the cups of Coffee were standing in front of them.
“So who are you offing this time? The King? The Queen? The Prime Minister?”
The reply came as a rude shock.
“No, General Franco.”
Ian thanked Lady Luck that he hadn't had any coffee in his mouth for it would surely have landed on the German.
“Two things on that. First, why? And second: Why on earth should I be interested in it? The Spaniards are in no shape or form to wage a war, and pulling them in would just stretch your Air and Ground Forces even further.”
Steiner had been prepared for this question.
“The Führer doesn't want Spain in the Axis, thanks to the OKW. The Generals managed to convince him that Spain would be a greater liability for us than Ireland is for you. No, the idea is to replace Franco with someone more open to our needs.”
Ian snorted and replied after a while:
“Let me guess, he asked for more and more economic and Military aid and tried to exact more than you were willing to pay using his position regarding Gibraltar and the western Med?”
Steiner nodded, and had he been an intelligence Officer instead of the military one that he was, he would have been pleasantly surprised. Instead he thought about nothing but what to say next.
“I cannot tell you that, Commander, because I haven't been told. My principals however stressed that I was to tell you that it was meant not only as a sign of good faith, but also to show your principals that there are Germans who can be reasoned with.”
'So that was what it was all about!' Ian thought.
Apparently some of the Germans were getting cold feet and were looking for a way out, and the crafty old Admiral was using a large but in essence insignificant operation at the periphery of Europe to make informal contact with the British. He had to admit, it was well chosen, because unlike the Germans, London couldn't ignore what was going on in Spain because of the rock. Well chosen, well chosen indeed. He doubted though that the PM, or the French, and least of all the Poles would go for any form of negotiated peace. On the whole the war in Europe was going the way of the Allies, and Ian still had enough contacts in HQ Europe to know that Alexander was more than confident of being able to destroy the Wehrmacht and the Red Army once the terrain was more suited to the superior mobility and mechanization of the Allied forces. If Sandra's letters were to be believed (seeing as they weren't censored thanks to Ian's position) Britain was determined to fight it out, and so were probably the col...Imperial Dominions. 'We need a shorter term for that' he thought. No, the Empire was in this for the long haul, and Ian honestly believed that only after the pre-war Polish borders were restored at the very least, there would be no settlement.
“Why should I believe you?” he said. “You haven't exactly lost the war, and you know as well as I do that you outnumber the Allied Forces.”
“Because the war will be far more destructive to us than it will be to you. Your Empire allows you to disperse more of your Industry than we will ever be able to, no matter how much we hit the United Kingdom.”
'Tough luck you bastard. Shouldn't have gone to war in the first f*cking place then.' Ian thought.
“Very well, hand me what data you have, and I will forward it. That's all I can promise.”
[Notes: The description of Alexander's HQ is inspired by NATO HQ in Belgium.
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