Von Vietinghoff cleared his throat, looking at De Lattre, before starting.
“The Legion Korps seems to consume huge amounts of every asset, particularly tanks and personnel carriers, many of which are being used to increase the size of the unit. Our French Allies are,” the exact terminology had been agreed beforehand, but he momentarily paused as he tried to recall it, “Are restricting our access to items stockpiled in France, which is affecting our ability to maintain strength, even without operations such as Spectrum Blue.”
Again, he sought some reaction from De Lattre, and found none.
“We must have access to the stocks that the French Army control, or we will not have full offensive capability when the thaw comes, even with Herr Speer’s plan.”
All eyes swivelled to De Lattre, who certainly did not enjoy being the centre of attention.
“Monsieurs, the Legion Corps is one of our most effective units. If you deprive it of assets then it will lose its power and eventually leave a hole in our forces. France cannot permit one of its units to suffer in such a fashion.”
A sharp exchange took place between Guderian, Von Vietinghoff, and De Lattre, the voice of Goldstein getting gradually louder as he strove to translate some of the increasingly harsh language.
Bedell-Smith had rapidly realized that this decision was well above his pay grade.
Like a cross schoolmaster, he slapped the table with the palm of his hand.
“This decision cannot be made here. It is for our political masters to make. For now, I would ask the French authorities to release some equipment,” De Lattre puffed himself up before Bedell-Smith raised his hand in a calming gesture, “As a show of good faith, as we are all in this together.”
The Frenchman settled down and nodded.
“I will suggest it to De Gaulle, immediately following this meeting.”
“Thank you, General. Will that be sufficient for now, gentlemen?”
Grudgingly, Guderian accepted the modest concession.
Bedell-Smith thought quickly and made his own play.
“I will pass on this conversation to the President, and I will recommend that he presses for the release of the French stocks.”
The German contingent brightened as much as De Lattre sank, both sides knowing that such political weight would be certain to ensure that the Germans got their equipment, to the detriment of a unit that, even though it fought extremely well, still did not have the support of many of the Allied hierarchy.
“Now, I believe that Minister Speer has some requests to make?”
Goldstein played with his technical terminology book in anticipation.
Speer could speak very passable English, but had a habit of slipping into his native language just for comfort, and certainly did so when speaking on technical matters.
He stood to address the group.
“Meine Herren, as the military men have informed you, our army is short of certain resources. The solution we have set in motion is temporary, particularly if this war moves on as we expect. Even the stockpiles and the skill of our recovery troops will be overcome by the needs of our front-line soldiers.”
He took a sip from his water and ploughed on.
“My job within… sorry… one of my jobs within the new government is to address production capability, and to see how Germany can start contributing to the war effort in ways other than the blood of her young men.”
Having waxed lyrical for a few seconds, Speer then got down to business.
The facts and figures flowed freely.
Resources available in the Ruhr and Germany.
Resources available in other Allied-held parts of Europe.
Resources that are critical and not available.
Available manufacturing that is undamaged.
Available manufacturing that is capable of partial production.
Available manufacturing that is repairable.
Skilled manpower available or needed.
Unskilled manpower available or needed.
Even though he was brief, the mountain of information overwhelmed the listeners.
Horrocks, once commander of British Thirty Corps during the Arnhem debacle, found it necessary to interject.
“Err, I say, Herr Speer, but this is all mumbo-jumbo to me.”
Neither Goldstein’s translation skills nor his technical book were up to the task of translating ‘mumbo-jumbo’ into German, so he plumbed for something more direct.
“If you are saying that you can start bunging out some of your tanks and vehicles in the near future, then I’m sure we’re all delighted, truly.”
He waited whilst the translation was done, taking his own water on board.
“I’m a soldier, not an engineer. Would you please be awfully kind and just let me have the bottom line of what you want and what you can do, old chap?”
The German contingent might well have taken offence had it been anyone but Horrocks, but his credentials were well-known, and his eccentricities were accepted as part of the man that he was, for Horrocks was a general with an enviable reputation amongst his peers and former enemies.
“Herr General, as you say, cut to the chase, yes?”
Horrocks laughed, and the modest amount of tension in the room vanished instantly.
“If you’d be so kind, Sir.”
“If we can have the raw materials, the manganese, aluminium, iron ore, tungsten…” the generals started to shift uneasily and Speer got the message, “Everything on the list, then I have the tooling, the power supply, the workforce and the capacity to produce vehicles and munitions sufficient to maintain 130% of the German forces presently in the field.”
That was a bombshell and a half, and one that screamed for clarification.
Simpson was first in.
“Hold on there, Mister Speer. Are you telling me that you can cobble together enough capacity to keep… what is it… best part of seven divisions supplied, plus thirty percent?”
“No, General. I am including the units in Italy as well.”
“Bullshit, if you don’t mind me saying, Mister Speer.”
Wisely, Goldstein remained silent.
“If the resources are made available, and no further German and Austrian territory is lost to the Communists, then it will be so, General Simpson.”
Speer felt he needed to say more.
“Meine Herren, keeping hold of the Ruhr was absolutely vital. Many, but not all, of the facilities I have visited and assessed are there, or nearby.”
Again, this was a political decision, but the group would put their names to it when it went forward.
Given the quiet nature of the winter war, there were very few other matters to air, so the meeting broke up less than an hour after it had commenced.
Knocke and Bittrich shared a quiet exchange whilst Lavalle was engrossed in his telephone conversation.
Knocke’s hand was wrapped in bandages, the injury self-inflicted.
When dismounting from his command tank he had slipped on the icy top plate. He slid off the turret, grabbing desperately for a handhold, finding one on the cupola.
For the briefest of moments his whole weight had been supported by one hand, specifically his ring finger which was kept in place by his wedding band.
The ring had cut straight through to the bone.
To add to his misery, when he took the weight off the wound and dismounted, he sliced the back of the same hand on one of the damaged track guards.
Bittrich was merciless in his ribbing.
Both men suddenly realized that the phone call had come to an end, mainly because Lavalle was clearly on the point of meltdown.