“It’s time, messieurs. The Général awaits you.”
Cigarettes were hastily thrown and uniforms tugged into place before the senior officers of the Legion Corps D’Assaut filed into the room set aside for their critical meeting with De Lattre.
It fell to the French general to break the bad news, even though it was in many ways not news at all.
“Simply put, the Corps can no longer sustain itself, even with the new influx of vetted personnel. You’ve lost too many men to the German Army. I’m here to offer all German personnel an honourable release so you can return to your own army, with the grateful thanks of France.”
Even though they all knew it was coming, it was still a shock.
Many of the officers present were old Legion or French, or both, and they also knew that their futures hung in the balance. Some eyes swivelled to Bittrich, the most senior German legionnaire, but most focussed on the man in the centre of the room.
None the less, it was Bittrich that spoke first.
“For myself, I’ll return to the Wehrmacht as soon as is convenient. I have been offered a position in the new German Legion, which will carry forward the élan and spirit of this legion and the force from which many of us came.”
A silent dismay fell upon the listeners who had hoped beyond hope that the Corps could stay intact, in some way or other.
One or two German officers spoke their agreement with Bittrich’s decision, but everyone, De Lattre included, understood that one man of great importance had yet to speak.
“So, who else will take up the offer and return to Germany?”
De Lattre asked to try and provoke a response from Knocke, the clear focus of attention.
A few more men raised their hands in response, a total of eleven men signalling their wish to depart.
But Knocke’s hands stayed firmly in his lap.
“And who will stay and serve La Legion?”
There were no hands raised, even though only a few had thus far indicated their choice.
Knocke rose slowly and, as was his habit, tugged his tunic into place.
“Legionnaires… for that is what you all are… the choice is simple. Return and join our new army and serve Germany, or remain here and serve France. For my part, this is an easy choice. I gave my word to serve, so serve I will. All of us here served before, different masters in different times, but with the same common enemy as the men we fight alongside now. We wore our uniforms with pride, and served alongside our comrades through good and bad times.”
He looked around the room, seeking the more junior men in particular.
“And now we are here, consistent to our word, serving with our comrades, old… and new… and have the same spirit… the same élan… the same incredible togetherness that drove our men to the gates of Moscow, and helped them endure the unendurable.”
He pointed out well-known faces… Haefali… St.Clair… Beveren… Desmarais… Durand.
“These men are my comrades as every German serving in the Corps is my comrade. In honour, I cannot go back on my word, neither can I desert my comrades. I will remain as a legionnaire.”
Knocke retook his seat in silence.
“Thank you, Général Knocke.”
The tension slipped away in an instant and De Lattre dropped in behind the small desk, on which sat four different scenarios, depending on what went on from this point forward.
But that was for tomorrow.
“So, messieurs, I must ask again. Whomever wishes to return to the German Army may do so with honour. This is a big decision for all of us, so please, consider it overnight. I have officers who will be visiting all units throughout the afternoon and evening to inform the men and offer them the same choice.”
The compassion evaporated from De Lattre’s voice in an instant.
“Those who wish to depart should report to their parade grounds at 1100hrs tomorrow, where they’ll be required to sign release papers, receive back pay, and will be required to hand over relevant equipment. Any insignia may be retained as a mark of our gratitude for your service.”
“Senior commanders will report back here at 1300 tomorrow with the revised personnel levels of their units, at which time we’ll work out what sort of force we have to command.”
He rose to his feet, as did the rest of the room.
“For those of you that decide to return to your own army, I can only understand, and thank you for your gallant service. For those of you that decide to stay… thank you. Honneur et Fidélité, mon braves. Dismissed.”
[Beneschau is modern-day Benešov.]
“General Gehlen, a pleasure… and a surprise.”
“General De Walle. I felt it correct not to announce or parade my arrival. What I have to discuss is delicate.”
The Belgian indicated the silent man who took up position at the doorway.
“My man, Strauch… here to guarantee my safety in this increasingly dangerous time.”
They gravitated towards a pair of comfortable seats that seemed somehow out of place in the stark barracks building.
Ever the professional, Gehlen got straight down to business.
“I’ve made no progress on your note, except to discover that there are a number more Uspenkas in the Soviet Union. The rest of the message means absolutely nothing to anyone.”
De Walle’s look of disappointment was writ large on his face.
“However, yesterday evening I received the information I’ve been waiting for… or rather… information arrived… revealing and worrying information.”
He removed a file from his inner coat pocket and handed it over.
“I’ve spoken to no one of its contents.”
The file, written in German, with excerpts of documents in Polish and Russian, had been heavily censored, something that disappointed the Belgian intelligence officer.
Again, Gehlen understood his thoughts.
“The files mainly came pre-censored. It was necessary for me to censor three pieces in the main file. I am sorry. The translations of the Polish and Russian documents are in the back of the file.”
“Thank you.”
De Walle read the main file with incredulity, and then examined the translations, which did nothing to drop his level of astonishment.
He looked up at Gehlen, who extended a hand holding a cigarette case.
“Thank you. Astonishing.”
“I have to ask, General. Are we free to speak openly?”
“Yes.”
“Good. So, in brief, we have discovered from these files that the Steyns, both David and Jakob, were falsely listed as dead. You were correct, by the way. Belzec records simply do not exist, except for the one we found, a record that was most secret… a record associated with something known as the Uranprojekt.”
He left the word hanging for De Walle to consume.
“Scheisse!”
The Belgian knew nothing specific about the Uranprojekt, simply its purpose.
Which was to produce nuclear weapons for Nazi Germany.
“It seems both men were associated with the Uranprojekt, by working in a Geheime Auergesellschaft experimental facility in Konitz, Pomerania.”
He fished out a photoreconnaissance set that covered the area, taken by Allied aircraft over the space of two years from 1943.
“Nothing there. That’s how secret it was. It’s simply not there. I’ll have my men check the area out, but it’s simply not listed on the official documentation of known facilities of either the Reich or the Soviets.”
Gehlen extracted another document from his pocket.
“This document does not exist and cannot be referred to at this time. That may change, but for now its contents must remain strictly between us, Georges.”
“As you wish, Reinhard.”
The highly secret list of which German scientist and intelligentsia had been acquired by the Soviet ‘Osoaviakhim Project’ made for interesting reading in its own right.