Opening Moves

“Are you sure young Vladimir?”

A smile and a vigorous nod was all he needed.

The jeep would be their Trojan horse and unlock the gates to Haut-Kœnigsbourg.

Quickly he consulted his own map with his officers and set in place a plan.

The main body moved on, ignoring the road and tackling the ascent on a more direct but less easy fashion through the woods.

After some delay, the jeep and its new crew in American uniforms took to the road, crossing the track of Makarenko’s force twice on its way upwards.

Slowly it ground towards the final bend to the west of the Château itself, where the up road meets the down road, and where the first French checkpoint was located. The assault force gathered to the south-west of the entrance gate. Parties scurried away, cutting communication wires when they found them. Others formed ready to make their own secondary attacks on different sections of the wall using line and grapnel. The mortar section set up ready to bring down a barrage on the Château or the road, either to break the defenders or stop reinforcements in their tracks, whichever was required. A blocking party was positioned on the approach road for just that purpose, with one of the precious radios.

The jeep approached the first checkpoint.

A barbed wire framework was across the road, decorated with the universal ‘stop’ sign. More barbed wire, this time fixed in place, surrounded the site and prevented access other than by the road. The guard post was completed by a tiny wooden hut and sentry stand, wherein three commandos undertook the most hated duty on the guard roster. As was the habit, the sentry stand was occupied by a single man, the other two finding what solace they could in the Spartan interior of the hut.

0510 hrs Monday, 6th August 1945, Château du Haut-Kœnigsbourg, French Alsace.

On detecting the engine sound, the guard rapped on the hut wall, summoning his two colleagues from their game of chess.

The bored commandos immediately slipped into routine, taking up their weapons and slipping outside to position themselves either side of the moveable barricade.

The vehicle slowed, its lights dimmed as it made the last few metres to where the sentry stood, his hand held out to stop further progress.

The last two seconds of the guards lives held no pain or terrors for them, so complete was the surprise of the attack and so efficient was the killing.

Silenced pistols did their work and other men ran from the shadows, some to instantly carry away the dead, some to stand in their stead.

Soviet paratroopers swarmed all over the southern and western sides of the promontory, quietly moving into their attack positions.

Checkpoint #2 was at the eastern end of the peak, again at the point of contact between the ‘up’ and ‘down’ roads, barring the way to the Château approach. The small sandbagged position with the traditional pole barrier across the road enjoyed a modest light from the recently installed external system. It was enough to play skat by, and the NCO was enjoying a good run of luck with the cards. In any case, this was his game after all, and he viewed his comrades as easy meat. Unlike most of his comrades, the caporal-chef had seen no action and therefore did not understand the need for discipline and vigilance, nor the price that was paid when it was absent. He ran a slack section and had already fallen foul of Capitaine de Frégate Dubois on a number of occasions. Not that he cared, for he intended to leave the army at the first opportunity and return to being a croupier in Nice.

Scraping more money in his direction as he won yet again, he detected the sound of an approaching vehicle. The caporal-chef chivvied his men into action. Here was the jeep they were expecting at last and he motioned one man to his side and the other two towards the sandbagged MG position containing the .30cal machine-gun with accustomed casuality. His eyes scanned the Americans approaching but his mind turned to the thought of breakfast in a few hours time.

Perhaps it was the fact that they knew a jeep was coming.

Perhaps it was the witching hour at which it arrived.

Perhaps it was simply that the inept caporal-chef had taken away their sharpness.

Whichever way, no one questioned the fact that checkpoint#1 had not informed them of the approach. Their lack of alertness ensured that Makarenko’s hopes were not dashed. The caporal-chef and his man died at close-range to the HDM’s and the other two took hits from the silenced Nagant rifles. Troopers emerged from the darkness, grabbed the dead men’s berets, and assumed their positions as the jeep started again on its way.