“There is no pressure to stay or to involve yourselves in this. I will remain and undertake this because I believe I serve my country as well as I can at this time. Please consider this and inform me of your decision as soon as possible.”
With the exception of Rettlinger, each man’s heels clicked automatically and each man’s eyes confirmed commitment when contact was made. Except Rettlinger, the only man there other than Knocke who had fought the Western Allies in recent months, which period had seen him bury both his best friend and his brother-in-law, killed by American artillery and aircraft respectively.
“Ah yes Bruno, for you this is a more difficult commitment. You must think it through more perhaps?”
“Not necessary Standartenfuhrer. I was just thinking of Hans and Josef and not fully concentrating on your words. My apologies sir,” and Rettlinger followed suit, clicking his heels, once more under control.
De Walle risked a look down around the stonework and made a mental note to watch that one very carefully.
In the background the sound of a light vehicle approaching grew in volume, but not enough to cause Knocke to raise his voice.
“Then let us have coffee and start to plan for the work ahead. Danke, kameraden. You have your symposium Colonel.”
De Walle heard the words and automatically looked down through the ornate balustrade, straight into the steely eyes of Knocke.
The Frenchman nodded and made another mental note. Lavalle’s briefing document was right. Never, ever, underestimate Knocke.
As coffee was taken, the two missing members of the group arrived and were ushered into the Kaiser’s Hall.
Both men were warmly welcomed, given their folders and time to read them. Cigarettes appeared again and were greedily consumed by the newcomers. As they studied carefully, they occasionally paused, either to look at one of the ensemble or to consume one of the array of sandwiches that had been set before them. When they were done, they listened. Knocke’s obvious commitment to the programme, as with the others present, was sufficient for them to agree involvement.
The requested writing materials arrived with the new officers and the symposium started to put together the way it would work. Lunch was taken in snatched bites in between discussions as each group of two officers wrestled with their own issues as dictated by Knocke, who moved easily between the groups. Once one group established a programme it was critiqued by another group, usually over a cigarette, until slowly a format took shape that satisfied the military requirements of the Western Allies and the professional requirements of the Germans.
It was mid-afternoon when De Walle ventured into the room to find out how much progress had been made. His question drew a familiar wry smile.
“We have a format on which we are agreed Colonel. One that fits your requirements, although we have felt it necessary to alter some matters and included Kreigspiels as essential learning opportunities for all participants.”
De Walle smiled at the inclusion of the famous German wargame training.
“The training package we present will ensure your commanders leave here with valuable knowledge in the event that our enemy, our mutual enemy, attempts to spread communism even further across Europe.”
In his hand Knocke held a modest sheaf of paper, neatly hand-written, outlining the format. De Walle was surprised and actually checked his watch to confirm that in just over five hours these Germans claimed to have sorted out the entire Symposium. That was singularly impressive, provided it was fit for purpose he cautioned himself, although somehow he never doubted that it would be precisely what had been intended when the concept of the symposia was first considered last Christmas.
“How long will it take you to present this so I can make a judgement Herr Knocke?”
Without stopping to consider his answer Knocke indicated seven minutes, but did permit a subtle but none the less very apparent grin to alter his face.
“Impressive mein Herr, very impressive” said De Walle genuinely, and again underlined his mental note on not underestimating the soldier in front of him.
Another look at his watch reinforced a decision he had just reached.
“I suggest that we take a break now so that you gentlemen may enjoy the grounds or take some rest. It is now 1512 so I suggest that we enjoy our dinner, which I will arrange for 1900 sharp and then, once we are rested and comfortable, the presentation may be made.”
There were no dissenters and so, with their official business done, the group visibly relaxed.
“I will arrange for Dubois to take you two gentlemen,” indicating Von Hardegen and Menzel, “And show you around our little Château. One more thing Herr Knocke. If I may take the document, I will arrange for our clerking service to type it up and have copies ready for 2000 hours.” The papers changed hands without a word.
“I will have the armoury set up for our after-dinner work. I think that will suit us nicely. Until dinner gentlemen”
“Until then Colonel.”
Once De Walle reached the ‘clerks’ office within the middle level of the Château, he sat on a desk and started to read the document, and without comment passed each page in turn to the stunning woman sat at the typewriter, who swiftly transformed the written word into roman text in carboned triplicate.
Anne-Marie Valois was a tall brunette, twenty-six, extremely and classically beautiful as well as being the deadliest shot with a pistol De Walle had ever met. Typist was a role she slipped into solely because she could type, whereas her mind had all the sharpness of a successful intelligence operative and her physical abilities in matters other than typing were impressive. Like all four senior members of ‘Deux’ that worked in the Château, she was cleared for any secret of the state, and she knew where all the skeletons were buried. She had even buried some of them herself.
Valois’ weapon of choice was the Walther P38 German army handgun but, unlike most pistol specialists De Walle knew, she spent time with all different types, learning the subtleties of each in turn.
By the time he had finished reading, he was convinced that the symposium would have great value, if the attendees permitted themselves to be taught of course.
Anne-Marie, publically his personal secretary and privately de facto bodyguard, had similarly finished, but repeated the exercise until six originals and twelve carbon copies lay in a neat pile ready for their respective destinations. As she worked, De Walle speedily typed out his own letter on an adjacent table’s machine, matching the woman for speed and accuracy.
When both had finished the room was suddenly silent.
Valois arranged her copies and placed them on De Walle’s desk.
“Impressive.”
She patted them gently, and moved to the stand where she poured a Perrier for herself and her boss.
De Walle could not help but agree with Valois’ simple assessment.
“Very much so. However, on another matter, Rettlinger may not be as committed as the others. Let everyone know please Anne-Marie.”
“Yes Chef.”
Four originals and eight carbons respectively were placed in an envelope, complete with the hand-written original, ready for delivery to the armoury. One triplicate set was then given its own envelope and also included was De Walle’s letter, all then handed to a dispatch rider summoned specifically for the purpose. He knew his destination and so immediately left the Château safe in the knowledge that, his Sergeant permitting, he would enjoy his girlfriend in Baden-Baden later that evening.
The final set of documents went into a small but impressively secure safe that had recently been fitted in the same office.