“As soon as is practicable, I will travel to Europe and meet with the heads of state of our Allies, and together we will bring forth the new organisation, NATO, born out of our common desire to combine all our peoples in the defence of liberty and freedom.”
“I humbly pray to Almighty God that you, the people, will embrace this new organisation, and permit America to lead the world to peace and prosperity.”
“Good night to you all, and may God bless America.”
The morning newspapers and radio programmes were less than enthusiastic, hardly addressing the formation of NATO, instead focussing on the failure to employ the bombs and the ‘weak’ excuses the President had cited.
Around the world, the press was generally more accepting, and there was a slight change in attitude towards the bomb, now that the views of the US president were laid bare.
However, it was in Moscow that the reverberations of Truman’s words made most impact, and the interpretation of them started, imperceptibly at first, to crystallise divisions in the hierarchy of the Soviet State, although, in truth, there was only one interpretation that really mattered, and his was that there was a weakness to be explored and exploited.
In Stalin’s unchallenged opinion, the formation of NATO was considered almost an irrelevance.
Chapter 167 – THE PHOTOGRAPHS
Battles are sometimes won by generals; wars are nearly always won by sergeants and privates.
Two weeks previously, a Mk XI-PR Spitfire of the USAAF’s 14th Photographic Reconnaissance Squadron, had overflown Auschwitz-Birkenau in Poland, one of a number of missions trying to ascertain the nature of the present occupants of the former Nazi death camp.
Photo-interpretation had been done, but the evidence was still not there, although unconfirmed reports from the ground indicated that there were a leavening of Allied POWs and political prisoners from amongst the ‘liberated’ Poles, the POWs located mostly in the brick-built Auschwitz site, a former Polish cavalry base.
The killing machines, the huge gas chambers and ovens that had been the despicable heart of Birkenau, had been demolished by the retreating Germans in 1945, in a desperate attempt to hide the monstrous crimes they perpetrated there.
The Soviets used the remaining facilities to keep their undesirables in one place, and a burgeoning camp developed.
Photo-recon birds visited regularly, and the intelligence interpreters steadily built up a picture of what was happening.
One such interpreter looked long and hard at the latest photos, no more than three hours old, and found an itch he couldn’t scratch.
There had been a short delay whilst the camera was recovered from the wrecked Spitfire. Its damaged undercarriage had lost the unequal struggle to support the aircraft’s weight and collapsed the photoreconnaissance bird onto the grass, which had trenched and flipped the aircraft over in the middle of the strip, where it had burned merrily until the firemen put out the flames.
The pilot, showing incredible presence of mind for a man with a broken arm and a cannon shell fragment in the nape of his neck, had managed to extract the camera before fire claimed it.
His bravery meant that the latest pictures were preserved, setting in motion a string of events with far-reaching consequences.
Despite the fact that a break was called by the unit’s officer, the sergeant, whose job it was to interpret the new images, wandered around the huge filing system and pulled the previous shots, and, for good measure, the two missions before.
He laid them out across the desk, sat back, and examined the major differences whilst seeking the subtle ones.
His thoughts were disturbed by the appearance of a mug of coffee.
“Whatcha got, Pete?”
“Not sure, Hank… not sure.”
He picked up the first set of photos.
“The camp… same as ever… a few extra shadows on the ground… more people… but nothing of note.”
He leant over and retrieved the next set.
“You did the interpretation on this set, Hank. A few extra lorries… that train in the main compound… but nothing to write home about. Except a couple of civilian lorries with a load of pipes on.”
Hank couldn’t remember the set of photos particularly, but if that’s what his report said, then that’s what he had seen.
He checked the photo and stirred a memory as he looked at the loaded lorries parked openly on the banks of the river.
“Oh yeah… I questioned the square blocks… I remember now… concrete mountings… so I was informed.”
Peter Manning picked up the set dated 23rd July and offered them up.
“I did the interpretation on these. The only thing of note was the lorries with the pipes on board… look to the west of the main camp… up by the Vistula there…”
Henry Childs put the lens to his eye and sought out the lorries in question.
“Yep… I see them. More lorries this time. Lots and lots of pipes… more mounting blocks… the call was what?”
“Extra water to the camp, seeing as it was expanding. Seemed logical as they started at the river.”
“Fair enough, Pete. And they signed off on that ok?”
“Yep.”
Hank offered the set back, but Pete Manning kept his hands still.
“Anything else you see there?”
Clearly there was something to be seen, so Hank took his time.
“Staff car at the main building?”
“Nope.”
“New construction at the top end of the camp?”
“Nope.”
“Go on then.”
“Look at the woods to the west, those either side of the river.”
Hank compared the pictures.
“It’s summer, what do you expect, Pete? Things grow, pal.”
“And this one?”
He handed the most recent picture over.
“Shit. Where’s the river gone?”
In the previous comparison, Hank had spotted the flourishing growth, by the simple fact that, from above, the river width appeared reduced.
The final picture showed no river, implying that the trees had grown so much as to cover over the water completely… or…
“Netting?”
“Look at the tones… pretty much spot on… but not quite.”
“So you’re thinking what?”
“I’m thinking they’ve camo’ed it up for a damn good reason. That’s not all. In the woods itself… there’s a difference here and in tone here… look.”
There was. An almost imperceptible one, one easily missed unless the eye was trained and keen.
“Over here… in the camp… what do you see?”
“That’s easy… logs…”
Hank’s voice trailed away.
Two minds worked the problem.
“That’s trunks from at least eighty trees right there. Would make a noticeable hole in the woods in one place. Even if they’re just thinning out, we’d see something… but in any case… if you want lumber, just take it from the edge nearest you, eh?”
“Good point, Hank. Now, try this one on for size. Where are the pipe trucks now?”
“Still by the riv… hey, hang on… why are they up there?”
“And where’s the turned ground. There isn’t any, and we’d see it for sure.”
“Damn right we’d see it so…”
Henry Childs’ eyes narrowed.
“You gotta theory, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Pull the lieutenant in, cos I think he’s gonna wanna hear it too.”
The officer sat patiently listening as his men expounded their theory, occasionally looking at the pictures and trying to see things through their words.