Chapter 233
Things at the front had slowed down to the degree that Field Marshal Alexander was once again spending most of his time in staff meetings and with paperwork while both sides licked their wounds. In the estimation of his Staff it would at least take another week before the forces that had been so badly mauled, chiefly 1st Cavalry Division, would be combat ready again, never mind that he had decided redo the plan for driving the enemy back into the mountains anyway. He hated changing his plans, but the attack had clearly shown that the Axies weren't as battered as anticipated, and it had drummed home that while ULTRA was incredibly helpful at the strategic level, the Allies needed better tactical intelligence, and that meant more recce aircraft.
Anyway, the cryptic Call from his Intelligence Officer who had in turn been called by the chief of station with a message from the SOE Chief of Station for the European Front had been a welcome break from the mountain of work. He was rather curious, because when the man had left Italy a couple of days ago and had asked for his Second in Command the three before yesterday it had been a rather mysterious business. Now he had somehow managed to pick up a quote “potentially valuable defector” unquote and had now requested a plane since he wanted the 'loot' in Rome as fast as possible – never mind the risks that came with air travel all over Italy, the worst however had been the other thing that Fleming had requested, and if he thought about it, Alexander had to agree that it was the best thing to do. It had been set up using only SOE men and Alexander had delivered the message personally. That he had merely played the messenger didn't make him feel any better, but war was hell after all, and as the SOE Head of Station, Fleming technically had the authority to have done it without Alexander's involvement, and he realized that his was a shady job. Alexander shook his head. 'Give me an Army-sized attack any day.' he thought as he waited.
Had the Field Marshal known Ian better before granting the request and sending the field refitted Passenger Blenheim that was used as the HQ hack, because Ian hated taking unnecessary risks. The plane had dashed north and landed on an airfield near Milan, refuelled and then waited for the car that carried the defectors and their two handlers. Had Field Marshal Alexander known just who the defector was, he would have needed some serious effort on the part of his staff to be stopped from going up there himself. As it was he had insisted on greeting Captain Fleming himself and was now standing at the edge of the airfield, surrounded by his staff and a mixture of RMP and RAF Regiment security troops. It was already darkening and the flight would be the last of the day, but he was sure that Captain Fleming was doing it this way on purpose. The Blenheim they had requested was at this moment crossing the outer limits of Rome (the field was slightly to the south of the city) and began it's final approach. Ian meanwhile was busy with devising a way to get rid of his guest as soon as possible and make them the responsibility of someone else, but he had the sickening feeling that this wouldn't work. Whenever something like this had happened in the past he had been forced to pull through to the end, as if some mad, sadistic villain hidden in a cave somewhere was directing his every move.
Ian turned to the highest ranking defector and reflected on just how the man might have done the Allies a terrible disservice in spite of his good intentions, because now the Germans were bound to believe that Enigma might be compromised, and even though Ian had already some idea on how that could be prevented he was less than happy about doing it. Most likely there was no other choice though, and he was well aware that Field Marshal Alexander would most likely agree. He wasn't looking forward to explaining this to anyone and he feared that if he went through with it he might not be able to look into the mirror anymore, war or no war.
“Is there anything bothering you, Captain?” asked the senior of the two defectors.
“Nothing much, Admiral. It's only that your presence here and where we are taking you might cause some problems for....various colleagues of mine.”
Admiral Canaris was well aware that his defection would cause a ruthless purge in Germany and might lead to the British loosing some of their networks, but such were the ways of war, and in any case the intelligence that he carried in the boxes in the rear of the plane and in the attachee case between his feet was far more valuable than that.
He looked over to where his second in-former second in Command Hans Oster was snoring away merrily, ignoring what they had just done. He looked over at the British Officers who had changed out of their civilian clothes and back into Uniform the minute they had reached the British Embassy, and figured that they would most likely never understand what it meant for a German Officer to break the oath. Canaris had been forced to take the new oath on Hitler just like everyone else but he had been among the first that had realized that the Nazis only brought ruin.
“We're there.” said Commander Leiter and Canaris was torn from his thoughts.
Field Marshal Alexander watched as the Blenheim came in to land. The landing gear was down and the pilot was going at the correct speed, however when the starboard wheel touched down it immediately collapsed and the landing became a crash. The plane skidded over the concrete runway, just so missing CinC Europe and his group and then came to a halt in the sandpit beside the runway. Everyone, the Field Marshal included, started to run over to try and help, but before anyone could take more than a few steps, the planes starboard engine exploded and the whole aircraft went up in flames within seconds, burning anyone inside to a crisp within minutes in spite of the efforts of the station fire brigade. The fire was highly visible to everyone, and it was clear that those inside were dead. Alexander turned around on his heels and briskly marched off the field in search of a stiff drink and a place where to write the letter to the crew's relatives. What war made people do....
Back at headquarters he just sat in his office and waited for the inevitable phone call. He was so intently staring at the phone that he almost jumped out of his skin when it actually rang. He picked it up and said a few words into it before replacing it and walking out of his Office. In the rear of the Headquarters building was a wide open space that had been used as a parade ground for the Italian Cavalry when this had still been one of the barracks complexes of their Army. Today the car park for his Headquarters was there, along with offices for some of the lower ranked Officers that had to make do with Nissen huts. Near the edge of the compound he could see an Officer wearing the uniform of a RN Captain leaning against a Land Rover.
“Are you happy now, Captain?”
Ian shook his head.
“Not at all, Sir.” Ian pulled a cigar out of his pocket and attempted to light it, but his hands shook to much, so eventually he gave up.
“I'll need months before I can look in the mirror again Sir, but I didn't have much of a choice. I'm sure they were good men...”
Ian stopped again and took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves, and Alexander could see that he was indeed less than happy.
“I'm sure I'll see those to men in front of my eyes whenever I go to sleep, but I had to do it, I had to. ULTRA is too important, opsec for ULTRA trumps everything else.”
Which was the reason why Alexander had agreed to the scheme in the first place. The sacrifice of an aircraft and more importantly a two-man crew for reasons of state was never a matter to be taken lightly, but even though the particulars were not known to him he knew that the Germans were bound to get suspicious when their primary spymaster and his second in Command defected to the enemy during wartime, so faking them as dead in front of dozens of Romans of which at least twelve were known informers that had hidden wireless sets in their attics, the same when the aircraft had been seen boarded by the defectors and their handlers. What had not been seen was that the plane landed at an airbase south of the former Gustav Line where the men and their belongings had been disembarked, the plane refuelled, manipulated with some fiddling at the engine and the landing gear and a small charge to make sure and then sent on it's terminal way.
“The..ehrm.. Admiral has expressed a desire to meet you, Field Marshal. He said that he has something to give that should make it's way up the line ASAP and that a Senior Officer was needed for that.”
It was more than apparent that the Germans were unaware that Ian was working for the SOE now and/or that Lord Mountbatten had the ear of the Prime Minister, and that was about as high as one could get in the decision making circles of the British Empire. Ian hadn't complained, because it was an opportunity to get the defectors off his back and himself back to his own Headquarters where a lot of work was waiting.
Alexander meanwhile just nodded and walked back into the building, while Ian sat into the Land Rover, started the engine and drove around the complex to meet the Field Marshal out front. To any onlooker the little convoy was perfectly normal, the car that carried the Field Marshal and a single Land Rover as escort, no bigger or smaller than usual ever since Rome had been declared safe. Ian led him to a house near the old and recently re-opened British Embassy that had long been used as a conspirational hideout before Italy had entered the war. The man and his wife that lived in the lower storey rooms were on the list of the embassy and had been since the early 1920s, covering their real employment with a small shop where the man fixed shoes. Up on the top floor the Canaris and Oster were still waiting for Ian to return. When he stepped inside, closely followed by Field Marshal Alexander who had taken the clandestine entrance at the back, he saw to his surprise that the two men were still wearing their German Uniforms even though civilian clothing had been provided and Ian had thought about arranging British Uniforms with the appropriate services and rank Insignia since one couldn't shuffle two high-ranking German Officers through Allied North Africa and on towards Britain without attracting attention.
Ian was stepped outside as the two ranking Officers in the room exchanged introductions and as Alexander sat down on the side opposite of Canaris he noticed that Hans Oster was standing right beside him.
“We've come a long way since that day in Berlin.”
Ian looked the other man up and down.
“So that was
you.” Ian was suitably surprised. He had known that some in the Abwehr was less than loyal, but that it had started this early was a surprise all the same.
“Surprised?” Oster asked with a smile.
Ian nodded and asked what he had wanted to ask for all these years.
“Why?”
“Oberst Steiner has already given you the rough details, but we can discuss this in more detail once we get to England.”
“I might have to disappoint you there, things like that are no longer in my line of work.”
Ian saw with satisfaction that Oster was obviously surprised. He had known that the German Intelligence in his regard wasn't accurate when Steiner had referred to him as Commander, ignorant of his promotion since.
Oster recovered quickly and pointed out that Canaris was most likely already arranging their escort to England.
“There isn't much I can do then I suppose.” Ian said, well aware that it would be an opportunity to visit his family, and that was something he'd walk back to Britain for.
“However a little bit of advice for you, Oberst. It's Britain, not England. England is just a part of Britain, and the Scots, Welsh and Irish wouldn't take it kindly if you called them English. I suppose it's just like when I would call someone from Swabia or Bavaria a Prussian.”
“Point taken, Captain.”
So as a result he found himself sitting in an Avro York taking off from a British airbase near Tripoli. He looked at the pocket calendar. It was the fourth today, and they would be in Britain early tomorrow evening at the latest, and then he would probably find out why he had been ordered to escort the men there and why on earth the Admiral was in such a hurry.
The reason for this was playing out on the other side of the world, along the border between the Japanese puppet state of Manchuria and the Soviet Union and also between the Central Asian Soviet Republics and the Chinese State. Almost sixty percent of the Red Army and the Red Air Force were there, waiting in their foxholes, trenches, airfields and assembly areas for the orders that would make them pour over the border. More than a million men, three thousand Tanks, the last Horse Cavalry Units in the Soviet Union and the remainder of their Mountain Rifle Divisions were assembled here. Their Officers were confident, and why should they not? After all even the Japanese had managed to conquer China, so why should the Red Army fail where the Imperial Japanese Army with fewer troops and much worse equipment had succeeded? Once China was taken the the crown jewel of the British Empire was within reach, and then the war would be won.
[Notes: Much of this depends on the general incompetence and compartmental rivalries of the German Foreign Intelligence Community. As much as it pains me to say this, but things haven't changed much in that regard since then....]