Without further ado, the three left the room to go to France as legionnaires in the new French Foreign Legion Corps D’Assault.
Waiting to be taken to a French Reorganisation Camp, Uhlmann and Braun sat in the back of the 4x4 Dodge eyeing each other whilst they waited for Shandruk, for whom a visit to the latrine had been a priority.
Having occupied some of their wait with rummaging in the boxes of awards, both discovered that their tank destruction badges were omitted. None the less, the two set about restoring the marks of their service, asking advice about positioning here, offering input on adjustments there.
With their own uniforms it would have been much easier but eventually the awards were in position and, bizarrely, did not look out of place on the uniform they wore.
Braun looked up just in time to see Shandruk shake an unseen hand in the doorway before bounding down the steps.
‘Strange.’
He swung himself up into the back of the small vehicle and whistled softly at his comrade’s appearance, nodding his approval. Braun wanted to ask but for some reason stayed his hand, the furtive look the little Ukrainian cast at the disappearing Hotel preventing open discussion.
As the vehicle departed, the American congratulated himself on a piece of quick thinking. He was never wrong about a man and Shandruk fitted his needs precisely.
‘We can work on the English later’, he reminded himself of the one shortcoming he was aware of.
Realising the man’s qualities and attributes too late in the day, there was no opportunity to organise matters as he would have wished, retaining Shandruk close at hand.
Still, the Colonel knew where the Ukrainian was heading and would use the time to do some extra checking before spiriting him away for special deployments. All in all, a very successful seven minutes spent with a young man who could make instant decisions on his future.
And, as was instilled in every man who served in his unit, such success was punctuated with some basic Latin.
‘Semper fi’.
The Dodge bounced down the road, hindering the process of restoring Shandruk’s awards, even drawing blood from his finger as the close combat clasp fought back.
He had noticed Braun’s expression and answered it with a silent but meaningful look of his own, ending it with a nod towards the two Americans in the front seats.
Once the arrangement of his awards was complete to everyone’s satisfaction, he held a cautionary hand up to his comrades and moved forward, dipping his head between the two US soldiers.
“Comrades, do you have a cigarette please?” the German precise and slowly spoken.
“Don’t speak Kraut” was all the driver could say, concentrating on avoiding the continuous line of US supply trucks heading in the other direction.
The other man turned his head and encouraged a repetition.
Shandruk did so and the man shook his head.
Braun said nothing, observing the Ukrainian.
This time he accompanied his words with the universal hand gestures and finally received understanding. A pack flipped cigarettes in seconds, generously being passed round all three Germans before returning to its owners blouse pocket.
The three leant back in their seats sampling the rich tobacco, Uhlmann also now aware that something was up.
Shandruk spoke gently and unexcitedly.
“I had a strange encounter back in their headquarters Kameraden.”
Still watching the front passengers for any sign of cognition, he continued.
“The American Colonel, the German speaker, he is not what he seemed.”
Braun’s coughing gave him a moment’s pause. The watery-eyed man held up a hand of apology as the smoke sent him into another convulsion, drawing the gaze of the co-driver.
Addressing Uhlmann, the young Ukrainian took advantage of his comrade’s plight, shaking his head in sadness.
“Schiesse, German NCO’s are not as tough as they used to be Herr Sturmbannfuhrer, veritable pussy cats,” which comment brought more spasms from Braun as he struggled to counter-attack, as well as new coughs from the amused Uhlmann.
And in the way that such things often spread, the driver ended his own short burst of hacking by spitting a large gobbet off to the side.
“Anyway, I will not be with you for long it appears. My Russian language skills mean I will serve in other ways.”
Flicking his dog end from the rear, he leant forward, bringing the now recovered pair closer.
“There was little time to decide but the man seemed sincere, and I made a snap decision. If it is not for me then I will come back or maybe just disappear eh?”
That statement had two meanings, and was not lost on the listeners.
“Did he say what he wants of you Ost?” Braun ventured having now recovered.
“He said it would be dangerous but that it would be important and will hurt the Russians very badly.”
Leaning back once more, Shandruk drew a line in the proverbial sand.
“He said a little more but asked I say nothing to you and I will honour that as I gave my word.”
Both men could understand that and so there was no pushing the point further, although Uhlmann had to ask why the Ukrainian was travelling with them.
“Simply put, he said he had no time to organise anything with the French and he doesn’t want to attract attention. I am to go with you until he brings me back; that is all I know for now.”
Probably it wasn’t, but neither German pressed their comrade further.
The rest of the journey was filled with small talk, mainly about what they expected from the French. It was of little interest to ‘Corporal Higgins’, who had finally stopped being angry with himself for laughing at the Ukrainian’s joke and at the same time congratulating himself for covering it with feigned coughing, embellishing the deception with a flourish of spit.
He would have little positive to report to Rossiter when he got back, although he could say that the one thing that Shandruk had been asked not to repeat had remained concealed.
If he had spoken of it then he and his two comrades would have quietly disappeared, silver stars or no silver stars; that had been the Marine Colonel’s express instruction. Offing the two SS bastards would have been easy enough but there would have been regret over the Ukrainian.
‘Well probably’, thought ‘Corporal Higgins’, or as he was known in darker circles, Lieutenant Solomon Meyer, formerly of Munich, more lately a member of the Jewish Brigade Group and now a member of OSS.
As was his co-driver Sergeant Michel Wijers, Dutch citizen, former Royal Dutch Army, resistance fighter, and current OSS operative, master of many Slavic languages and aboard in case Shandruk and the Germans had other unsuspected communication options.
The journey to their destination took three hours to the minute and it was rapidly approaching 2200hrs when they were dropped off and placed in French hands.
The French had chosen an area in the Calvados region for the holding and training camp, centred on the commune of Sassy with no comprehension of the amusement their selection caused to the extremely few allies in the know.
Their own Army HQ was set up within the Benedictine Monastery in nearby Saint Pierre-sur-Dives and different secure holding areas established to the south-west.
French military and police units secured the area, even going so far as to evacuate the residents of Sassy, Olendon, and Emes, creating a large military-only area.