In actual fact, the area was chosen for its proximity to the stockpiles left over from the Normandy campaign and the ability to effectively isolate a large area rather than for any other reason.
Already the fields, which had yielded their crops prematurely, were sprouting tents and temporary structures in large numbers.
French engineers had swiftly constructed a modest runway, control tower and two hangars to the south-west of the commune, adding a large two storey wooden building on the edge of Sassy, which was to serve as the nerve centre of the effort.
The same engineers now lent their assistance to the inhabitants of St Pierre and the rebuilding of the fire ravaged Halle de Saint Pierre helped ease some of the tensions that arose with the arrival of the hated Boche.
Before the three arrived at the camp, they had been preceded by over seven thousand of their comrades from across the spectrum of the Waffen-SS, but mainly members of the 5th, 6th and 12th SS Divisions so far.
A leavening of German NCO’s from the Legion had been quickly brought in to ease the transition and to start passing on some of the Legion’s ethos and character. Traditions such as the motto ‘Legio Patria Nostra’, which translated from the Latin means ‘The Legion is our Fatherland’. A concept not unfamiliar to the ex-soldiers of the Waffen-SS, who based much of their élan on the unit and comrades.
Many field and senior officers had been culled from the group on the basis of fact or suspicion and there were few leaders above the rank of Captain in the camp.
An exception to that had been placed in charge of attracting ex-SS soldiers to the Legion cause and had been promised a command role in the use of units formed.
The large room contained two tables set with five chairs in a simple V shape opening towards the door with an empty chair set for any new arrival
The man sat on the opposite wing to Knocke was the former SS-Obergruppenfuhrer Willi Bittrich, commander of the divisions who resisted at Arnhem and recently released from French custody, where he was absolved of wrongdoing in the matter of the deaths of the seventeen Nîmes resistance workers. Still in his field grey German Officers uniform, he cut a dashing figure despite his fifty-one years. His medals also having been restored to him, he perfectly balanced the black-uniformed Knocke seated across the table from him.
Next to him was the imposing figure of Bruno Rettlinger, head still bandaged after his close encounter with the stonewall and left arm protruding from a simple uniform shirt, cut open to accommodate the frame that held the badly broken bone in place. The nasty deep sword wound was stitched tight, yet obviously red and angry.
Adjacent to Knocke, Lothar Von Arnesen sat, or more accurately leaned, favouring his painfully wounded right thigh.
Seated centrally, clad in the crisp new uniform of a Général de Brigade in La Légion Étrangère, Christophe Lavalle presided over the theoretical construction of a powerful force for his Legion.
Working late, the five had quickly set aside their work and restructured the room when informed of Uhlmann’s arrival. Instructions that arriving ex-SS officers of Captain or higher rank should be brought to the headquarters building ensured that Uhlmann was stood at attention before the five men in short order.
Gesturing the man to a seat, Lavalle took up the running as usual.
“Welcome Commandant Uhlmann. You come with an enhanced reputation,” and brandishing a pristine document bearing Eisenhower’s signature, “And with impeccable credentials.”
“Thank you Herr General.” Uhlmann had decided to say as little as possible when he arrived at this place but was greatly put at ease by the presence of both Bittrich and Knocke, obviously in a trusted supervisory role.
He did not know the other two officers.
“You had the chance to walk away and chose to come here on very little information apparently. Why is that?”
Uhlmann did not need to consider his words.
“For the same reasons as I went to the Amis with my information. It is the right thing to do Herr General.”
Conforming to their practised technique Bittrich spoke next, in a clipped tone intended to establish authority and provoke memories of former times.
“Explain Sturmbannfuhrer.”
“Sir, I am here to fight for Germany first and Europe second. If I cannot fight as a German soldier then I will fight in the costume of the Folies Bergère if it provides me with the opportunity to liberate my fatherland.”
Bittrich tried but could not help smiling and his eyes flicked swiftly to Knocke who obviously had similar problems.
The ball was back in Lavalle’s court.
“So Commandant, you understand that you would be fighting as a Legionnaire under French command, acting under French orders and wearing French insignia?”
Uhlmann had already noticed the altered eagle, which now bore coloured wings, one of French and one of German national colours, the body constituted by some strange unfamiliar device which he would soon understand as the grenade insignia of La Légion Étrangère. It had been decided to create an insignia that covered completely the area previously occupied by the SS eagle, and every man present carried it on his upper left arm and, strangely to Uhlmann, even Lavalle was so adorned.
“Herr General, I understand perfectly and will serve with honour until the Soviets are gone from my homeland.”
Knocke leant forward.
“And beyond Sturmbannfuhrer?”
The meaning of that was loud and clear.
“To the gates of Moscow if need be Herr Standartenfuhrer.”
It was a good answer and with it, Sturmbannfuhrer Rolf Uhlmann ceased to be, becoming, with five handshakes, Commandant Rolf Uhlmann of the newly forming 1st Legion Brigade de Chars D’Assault ‘Camerone’.
The British message arrived just before midnight bringing some excitement to an otherwise unusually uneventful evening. Suspicious commanders had organised and sent out patrols but nothing seemed amiss as, aircraft excepted, Europe enjoyed its quietest night for a week.
Eisenhower was awoken by a staff major clutching a report from McCreery. Grabbing his glasses Eisenhower swiftly read the few lines, exhibiting real relief at the report.
Hamburg had held.
Chapter 54 – THE STORM
It is only the dead who have seen the end of war.
From the smallest to the largest, each weapon was tended by a silent and expectant crew. Poised with shell in hand or firing cord taught ready for the order, the length of the Soviet front line concealed artillerymen with their mortars, howitzers, rockets and field artillery in numbers undreamt of in modern warfare.
All bent for a single purpose.
Officers concentrated on their watches, tense with the expectation and understanding of what was about to come to pass.
The constant drone of enemy bombers overhead only served to increase the tension felt in a million hearts, although the sound of distant muffled explosions was unheeded by those preparing for battle.
The seconds advanced, bringing closer the moment of action until it arrived in an instant of unprecedented noise, light, and fury.
Hundreds upon hundreds of weapons barked, spitting shells into the night sky only for them to fall upon their targets, killing and maiming thousands of allied soldiers in a few minutes, stunning some into shocked inactivity and destroying some units as effective formations.
Opposite the assault formations the biggest concentrations of artillery did their awful work, psychologically as well as physically destroying men in a few minutes of fiery hell.