On Desperate Ground (30 page)

Rose smiled, lit a cigar and puffed contentedly. “Good job, Luther. Looks like this might be our last job, let’s do her right.”

Luther’s smile lessened just a touch. His young face looked up at Rose and a flicker of shared pain and memory played across it. The smile came back in a second.
 

“Sounds good to me, Rosie. One more time.”

Mack leaned back on the map table and shook his head. He couldn’t understand if Rose and his men were glad to be going behind the lines one more time or not. He knew he was scared stiff at the thought of parachuting into the inferno of retreating and advancing armies, neither of which even spoke his language. The hangar door opened and two Army Air Corps pilots sauntered in. Mack had been waiting for them to go over the final selection of the drop zone.
 

Rose looked up and squinted through his cigar smoke. With the cigar clamped tightly in the corner of his mouth, he called out to the two pilots.
 

“You’re late! Have a hard time finding the place?”
 

The older of the two pilots nudged the younger man and pointed his thumb at Rose and laughed. “Not with you puffing on that stogie. We just followed the stink, and here you are.” Rose and the pilot shook hands as Rose turned to Mack and introduced them.

“Captain Mack Mackenzie, this is Captain Henry Malcolm and Flight Lieutenant Trevor Dinsdale. Our transportation, courtesy of the Office of Strategic Services.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Mack shook hands and observed the two pilots. They were as unmatched a pair as he had ever seen. The captain was American, short and stocky, and dressed in khakis that looked like he had slept in them. He wore a leather flight jacket and an Air Corps cap with the wire brim removed. Everything about him was slightly disheveled, and he looked as if he hadn’t shaved in a day or so. The Englishman was younger, taller, and trimmer. He wore an impeccably tailored RAF dress blue uniform, and had a neatly trimmed thin black moustache.
 

“Call me Hank,” said Captain Malcolm. “Rosie here never passes up a chance to rib us about getting lost. Back in Sicily—”

“Now Hank,” Dinsdale interrupted. “Do not lead Captain Mackenzie to think we can’t find our own arses when we need to. Rosie, lead on to the maps and show us where you need to go, won’t you?”

“C’mon.” Rose walked over to the map table and said to Mack, “Trevor here is royalty or something like that. For a snotty Englishman, he’s okay.”

“Only a minor baronet, old boy. No need to get down on bended knee.”

“How long have you guys been flying together?” Mack asked.
 

“Since North Africa,” Hank said. “I got hooked up with the Special Air Service to learn how they inserted agents behind enemy lines. When I went to the OSS, Trevor came with me.”

“Hank and Trev are the best,” Rose stated. “They’ll get us there, don’t worry.”

It’s not getting there I’m worried about, it’s getting back,
thought Mack as he nodded silently to Rose. They all gathered around the map table.

“Here’s where we’re headed,” Rose began. “Between the Elbe and the Mulde rivers, south of a line between Wittenberg and Bitterfeld and north of a line between Eilenburg and Torgau. A box about 50 by 35 kilometers.”

“What’s your objective?” asked Trevor. Mack noticed that as they studied the map, the Englishman’s affectations dropped away.
 

“Purely reconnaissance,” answered Mack. “We need to observe enemy activity in that area and report anything suspicious.”

Hank leaned closer and studied the map. “Good area for a drop. Flat, lots of meadows and farmland out there. Lots of streams and ponds, gotta watch out for ‘em.”

“What Hank is describing is called the
Dübener Heide
, what we’d call the heath. Pretty country. I spent some time there before the war, visiting my cousin at Leipzig University.” Trevor looked up from the map and saw Mack looking at him quizzically. “Don’t look so surprised, old bean. Remember the Royal House of Windsor originated in Germany. Lots of rellies over there. Cousin Wolfgang and I had a great time tearing around the heath on our motorbikes. Terribly glad he’s a POW in Canada now. He’s a Luftwaffe fighter pilot and a damn good one too. I rest easier knowing Wolfie’s not up there looking to bring me down for another visit.”

 
“So you’ve been on the ground here,” Rose stated, bringing them back to the task at hand.

“Most of it, yes. Right here, on the east side of the Mulde River, the roads connect at Bad Düben. Just northeast of there, right between the two rivers, there’s the only hill in the area. Here.” he stabbed a finger in the middle of the drop zone. “From that point you’re no more than ten or fifteen kilometers from the three main roads that run in a triangle along the Elbe and then back to the Mulde from Torgau and Wittenberg.”
 

“Not a bad location,” Rose said, tapping his finger on the map. “That hill is 182 meters high. If everything else is as flat as you say, we should be able to observe those roads and maybe even each river.”

“It’s really the only location,” Mack said. “If everything else is flat ground or villages, then we’ll stick out like a sore thumb and not be able to see much anyway. There’s just one problem.”

“What’s that?” asked Hank.

Mack looked at Rose, who was already nodding his head in agreement. It was Luther who spoke up from the crate where he was sitting and listening to the conversation.

“Well, shit, Hank, if it’s such a good observation post, then there’s bound to be Jerries already there!”

As Luther spoke those ominous words, a jeep pulled up outside the hanger door, skidding to a halt no more than five feet from the door. Mack looked out at the mud-splattered jeep and saw Colonel Sam Prescott step out. By the look on his face and the manner of his arrival, Mack knew he had some news, and it was bound to be bad. He left the table and walked toward the door as Colonel Prescott slammed it open.

“Mack, I need to talk to you. In private.” Prescott did not even acknowledge the other men in the room.

“Yes, sir. This way, sir.” Mack led Prescott down the length of the long tables, past the hanging parachutes. They were out of sight and hearing of the group at the other end of the hangar.

“We’ve found something out about Operation Gambit. Specifically, the commander.” Prescott paused a moment and put his hand on Mack’s shoulder.

“It’s Johann Faust. Colonel Johann Faust.”

The name hit Mack like a sledgehammer. All he could think to say was, “He’s still alive?”

“It’s got to be the same man. Something as mysterious as this is right up Faust’s alley. But that’s not all.” Prescott pulled a small slip of paper from his pocket.

“First, don’t even bother asking me where this information comes from. It’s very top secret.” He looked at Mack and waited for acknowledgement.
 

“Okay, no questions.”

“All right. It appears that the SS are out for Faust, or at least two of his men. They are hunting for them right now at OKH headquarters in Zossen.”

“And we know that Gambit is an OKH operation!” Mack cut in.

“That’s not the half of it. There’s an SS officer leading the detail to arrest one of Faust’s officers and an enlisted man. His name is Otto Hettstedt.”

Mack thought for a second before he nearly shouted, “The same SS guy looking for American uniforms that Dichter told us about!”

“Wait, there’s even more,” said Prescott, with a grin, “and it gets harder and harder to swallow. But, the junior office in charge of the guard detail has orders to arrest Hettstedt also, as soon as he has the others in custody.”

“How can you know that? Never mind.” Mack caught himself before going any farther. “What the hell does it all mean?”

“That’s what you’re going to find out. We know the name of the operation and where it will take place. We know who the commander is and that he’s a very capable officer. We know several of his men are in big trouble with the SS, and that there’s also some kind of plot within the SS.”

“I knew you didn’t pull up here with good news. Sir.” Mack said.

“I hopped in a jeep as soon as I got the message. I wanted to tell you in person.”

“Thanks, Colonel. How much can I tell the other guys?”

“Just tell them we know Faust’s name. No need to confuse them with everything else.”

“I’m confused enough for everyone right now.” Prescott laughed sharply and clapped him on the shoulder as they walked back, past the ghostly shrouds hanging all around them. Mack didn’t feel like laughing. For the first time, he felt a desire to get on with the mission and find Johann Faust.
 

“Nothing much new to report, boys.” Mack said, trying to act nonchalant. “Intelligence has learned the name of the commanding officer of Operation Gambit. It’s a Colonel Johann Faust. I’ve run into him before. He’s a very determined officer, so it’s bound to be something big.”

Rose studied Mack as he spoke and then looked at Prescott, standing back, away from the group. He could tell there was more to the story than a simple identification of an enemy officer. SHAEF Intelligence deputies didn’t race around Belgium in a jeep to tell junior officers than kind of detail.
 

“Okay, Mack, thanks for the information. While you were gone we were talking over the problem of Hill 182.” In military parlance, hills and elevations that were unnamed were called by their height in meters. “Hank, would you fill Mack in?”

“We don’t want to reconnoiter that area before we go in since that might tip our hand. Instead, when we go out, there will be a small raid by medium bombers, A-20 Havocs, on Wittenberg. Their flight path will take them directly over Hill 182. Four of the Havocs will make a low-level bombing run on Hill 182, then return to base.”

“So the Germans might think they jettisoned their loads before hitting Wittenberg?”
 

“Quite,” answered Trevor, “although I doubt Jerry’s in good enough shape right now to put two and two together. Just in case, though, the Wittenberg raid gives us a good cover.”

“Are we going to have a fighter escort?” asked Mack.

“We hardly need to worry about the
Luftwaffe
these days, but yes, we’re going to have two P-61 Black Widow night fighters with us. There will be two others flying with the Havocs, and they’ll drop flares to light up the hill for the bombers.”

“Sounds like you guys thought of everything,” Mack said admiringly.

“Well,” Trevor said with a smile, his upper class speech returning, “when one has operational priority and the whole damn air force is sitting on its rump because there’s nothing left to bomb, it’s not too bloody hard!”

“When do we go?” Rose asked, looking at Prescott.
 

“It’d be tonight if it wasn’t for the cloud cover moving in. If it clears, tomorrow night.”

“We’d better contact the Bomber Group and the night fighter squadron,” Hank said to Trevor. The unlikely duo trotted out to the communications hut.
 

Mack looked down at the map, wondering where Faust was now and where he was headed.
 

I hope you’re headed straight for Hill 182, you bastard.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

12 April 1945

OKH Headquarters
 

Zossen, Germany

Leutnant
Gustav Stieff found Dieter Neukirk supervising the loading of his unit’s radio equipment. Communications gear was being carefully installed in a German half-track, part of Section 1, Special Detachment 200. All other transport was made up of either Russian trucks or Russian-marked German trucks. The armored half-track was necessary to protect the precious radio, which would enable Dieter’s unit to coordinate with the other sections and call in air support if necessary. The
Schwerer Panzerspähwagen
231 had been painted in camouflage colors, with all numbers and markings removed.
 

“Herr Hauptmann! Herr Hauptmann!”

Dieter looked up at Stieff, clearly distraught.
Feldwebel
Jost Brunner stuck his head out of the halftrack rear entrance and climbed out.
 

“Gustav, what’s wrong?” asked Dieter.

“The SS are coming for you! For you, and Hans, too!”

Jost and Dieter exchanged glances, both of them instantly thinking of Elsa. Jost put his hand on Dieter’s arm.
 

“They can’t have her. She would never betray you,” said Jost, his disbelief contradicted instantly by his reassurance to Dieter, who tried to fight through his shock and think clearly.
 

“It’s unbelievable! It’s lucky I was there when the message came in. I didn’t know what to do.” The words poured out of Stieff as he unburdened himself.

“Slow down, Gustav,” Jost said soothingly. The two had been good friends before Stieff’s promotion, and he still preferred to be treated as another non-com. “Tell us what it said.”