Casca 42: Barbarossa Read online

  Lichtenberg stood up too. “Very well, I must go too. Berne is much further away than Interlaken, and these days it takes me all day to get home. Delighted to meet you, Fraulein,” he bent and kissed Isabella’s hand.

  When the door had shut Longini led Isabella out onto the balcony. The valley spread before them, a huge vista of green and blue, with small houses dotted about, and streams and a small river winding lazily along it. Insects buzzed about and a buzzard circled above them, peering down at the slopes for likely prey.

  “Would you believe we are living in a time where men are killing one another not so far away? It is almost impossible to believe.” There were wooden slatted chairs and a table on the balcony and Longini sat in one chair, Isabella another next to him. “Isabella, you now know I have set up an intelligence ring using Wehrmacht dissidents passing on secret information to us – I am using Herr Lichtenberg as a conduit to pass the data from the Swiss intelligence agency – Bureau Ha – to the Lucerne ring.”

  “Are they members of our family, Uncle?”

  Longini shook his head. “Lichtenberg is related, he is married to a distant cousin, so he has connections and sympathies, although he does not know of our past. Schuller is just a banker with anti-Nazi leanings who sees us as just one organisation dedicated to bringing down Hitler, so he sends funds to us. Our family could not afford all this on our own meagre income, now our lands have been confiscated by the fascists.”

  “What if they found out our true purpose? Would they not stop helping us?”

  “Possibly, but I think Schuller may carry on, as any anti-fascist organisation is a friend, irrespective of their reasons. But no, we must keep our secret as much a secret as we can. Only family members know we are utterly opposed to the Brotherhood of the Lamb, and thanks to you, Isabella, we now know without doubt that they are behind the Nazis. As for Herr Lichtenberg, he may end up investigating us more than helping us, so I’d rather he be kept in the dark.”

  Isabella nodded. “I understand. So what is it you wish for me to do?”

  “You helped our friend last year. Thanks to the intelligence we receive from our contacts within the Abwehr I have reason to believe the Brotherhood are stepping up efforts to locate him. They know he is taking part in the conflict somewhere, but do not yet know of his identity.”

  “I destroyed all their files, Uncle.”

  “That is true, yet somebody in the gestapo must have said something he remembered, for I have seen an order sending a group of their agents to look through all files held by the Wehrmacht of their soldiers. I would not have taken much notice of such an order normally but I recall your report in which you said that Farben had been doing the same, trying to locate Casca Longinus.”

  “Yes. So they are not giving up? What do you want me to do?”

  “Your new identity is being created as I speak. In a week you will be sent over the border into Austria and from there you will go to Abwehr General Government headquarters in Krakow.”

  “General Government?”

  Herr Longini nodded. “That is the Polish region occupied by Hitler’s forces. The Abwehr has been set up there to conduct intelligence operations against the Soviet Union. They also contain a small but dedicated gestapo section, dealing with anti-fascist elements amongst the populace.” He grimaced at the sanitized expression all authoritarian regimes used for actions that other societies would frown upon. “This unit contains the people looking for Casca and they are sifting through the papers of all men serving on the Russian front.”

  “There must be a million! So many?”

  “Nearly two million. It’ll take them time to narrow the search down, but they will find him eventually. That scar will give him away. You must stop them, Isabella.”

  She nodded. She hadn’t included in her report the previous year that she had in fact met Casca, and even more outrageously, bedded him. It had been a fantasy of hers that she had satisfied. The memory of it sent a tingle through her. “Anything to help him, Uncle.”

  “Good. We are his guardians, fighting the evil Brotherhood. Remember, never get caught by them – their history is evidence that they will show you no mercy, and the fact they are the shadowy origin of the Nazi party should tell you enough. Now, enough of this, please, tell me how your father and mother are. I have not seen my brother for some time…”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The day had begun with the tanks continuing their progress towards Baranovichi. An hour after they had resumed they came up against a Russian force of tanks. The panzers were now locked in mortal combat with a large formation of T26s and BTs.

  Langer swung his periscope to the left. “Teacher, T26 at ten o’clock. It’s not seen us yet.”

  They were in a dip in the ground, still, silent. All round them explosions rocked the air and smoke billowed up lazily from wrecked tanks. Bodies littered the ground, broken dolls that were once living people with wives, mothers, fathers, brothers. There were a few thick leaved shrubs that helped conceal their presence. Gus waited, his hand lightly resting on the steering levers, his foot tapping the pedal, ready to thrust the tank forward once again. His face was calm, relaxed. It was as if he were listening to Bach or Handel – not that he had ever.

  Teacher rotated the turret. His eyes found the dark olive green shape of the Russian T26, shooting hard off to the left, rested on the lip of the rise above them. “Got him. Steffan – AP.”

  The shell was slid into the breech and Teacher took his time, making sure he was zeroed into the spot where the turret joined the body of the tank. The shell smashed into it, making the tank shudder. Smoke began to billow from it, and the front hatch flew open and a brown figure emerged, wearing the easily identifiable padded outfit of a Russian tankman, complete with cap that covered the neck and ears.

  “Must’ve got the other two,” Langer noted. “Go, Gus, up past the wreck.”

  “You got it, Carl,” Gus grinned and shot the panzer forward, narrowly missing the single surviving Russian who dived sideways, hurling abuse at them.

  “What was that he said?” Felix asked, peering ahead through his slit. “Yob tvojemadj?”

  “That’s a request to return home and perform an obscene act with your mother,” Langer replied dryly.

  “Charming,” Felix said. “I might with his mother.”

  “Not if I get to her first, my petal,” Gus said, hauling the tank round ninety degrees to avoid a sudden hazard – an anti-tank crew behind netting and sandbags. “Someone deal with these people!” he snapped, steering the tank past fleeing Russian soldiers, some of whom were trying to take pot shots that them. A rapid burst of machine gun fire cut four down to their right even as they looked, and another panzer rattled past, spitting death from all barrels. The Soviets melted away, some throwing their rifles aside in panic.

  “We’ve flanked the AT position,” Langer said. “Run them down.”

  Gus howled with delight and swung ninety degrees left. The anti-tank position was now in front of them, side-on. The crew saw the danger and one picked up a rifle and shot it at them, the bullet bouncing off the armor away to infinity.

  “Stupid shit,” Felix said and cut him down with a burst that ripped into the light brown uniform, sending the man flying backwards.

  Gus revved the engine and mounted the sandbags and up onto the gun, pressing it down under the weight of the tank. They felt the gun collapse underneath them as the IV sank down. “There,” Gus announced, driving out and swinging right once more, “no need to use the Reich’s precious supply of shells or bullets on Mother Russia’s ordnance.”

  Two shots struck the hull of the tank, the first a harmless ricochet, the second a hard slam that rocked them on their heels, sending heads snapping forward, striking painfully on levers or periscopes. “What the fuck?” Gus yelled, his eyes wide, roving left and right. “What was that?”

  “Tank, ten degrees right,” Langer said, eyeing a dark shape that reared up a hundred meters away over a low ri
se. It was huge, with a massive bulbous turret and a long, evil looking gun.

  “God in hell,” Felix breathed, “it’s enormous! What is that?”

  “No idea. Teacher, hit the fucker now!” Langer yelled, seeing the Russian monster stop and the turret turn slightly to center on them.

  Teacher gritted his teeth and shot first, sending a shell exploding against the monster right where the turret joined the hull. The Russian tank shuddered, then spat at them. The ground erupted behind them, sending earth, stones and a large shrub skywards. “It bounced off!” Teacher shouted in disbelief.

  “Gus, go go go!” Langer snapped.

  “Where?” Gus shrieked, already slapping the pedal hard. The IV shot forward, Gus zig-zagging in desperation.

  “That’s no T26,” Langer said, wondering what in the name of God it was. “That’s bigger than our’s. Get round its rear. Teacher, keep shooting. Hit the bastard hard!”

  Gus roared along the flat, dry terrain, sending a cloud of dust up, obscuring the field. A shot flamed at them and screamed over their engine casing. The size of the flame from the gun was terrifying enough. A second panzer appeared on the other side of the Russian and send a shot into it, again with no visible effect.

  “Langer, that’s a KV-1,” Heidemann’s voice came through the radio. “Hit it up the ass close up. We’ve been told there’s a couple of new models they’ve just produced. This is the bigger one.”

  “You heard the Captain,” Langer barked, sweat beading his brow. “They look as though they’re still getting used to it,” he noted, seeing the KV-1 reverse, halt, then turn slowly to try to get away from the two panzers striking it from either side. One shell from Teacher punched through the turret, leaving a neat hole, but it still carried on turning. The other panzer fired again, knocking one track off, and the KV-1 halted.

  “Now we’ve got it,” Langer said in relief. “Teacher, go for it.”

  Teacher sighted, although he didn’t really need to. The range was fifty yards and they were atop the small ridge. Teacher’s shot struck the engine which burst into flame, the thick, oily smoke billowing up high into the sky. Almost immediately the hatches opened and the Russians bailed out, running hard away from their doomed tank.

  “Forget them, the infantry can take them. Gus, onwards. North-east.”

  “Not at the moment, Carl,” Gus said, an edge to his voice.

  Langer swung his periscope and saw what Gus was on about. Ahead, ranged across the steppe, were at least thirty tanks, a mixture of the smaller T26s and one or two of the bigger tanks. Some had a sloped silhouette and a long barrel with an oblong turret. “Those must be those other new tanks. Captain?” Langer barked down his microphone.

  “Yes. T34s. Nasty. Avoid them – they outrange and outgun us.”

  “No change there then,” Gus said heavily. “The French outgunned us last year, now the Russians outgun our improvements. What next?”

  “We upgrade, of course,” Langer said. He looked to the left. A clump of scrub stood near a small watercourse. “Take cover, Gus. Heidemann is calling up the Stukas.”

  They halted, watching as the Russian tanks advanced, a half mile away. The rest of the regiment stopped and took what cover they could. Within moments artillery shells were falling amongst the advancing metal boxes, sending one or two up in flames. Some of the Russian tanks drove into one another and took some time to disengage. Langer guessed the crews were not used to their new vehicles, the bigger ones. They must have literally just come off the production line.

  Then came the overhead droning and heads turned up. Dark shapes appeared from the west, gull-winged Junkers 87 dive bombers, the feared Stukas. The aircraft screamed as they dived at the helpless Russians, blasting one after the other off the field, leaving burning wrecks and charred figures in their wake.

  Black smoke rose to block the sun and the crew watched silently as the Soviet formation died. It could have as easily been them on the receiving end, if not for the fact the Russian air force had been caught on the ground and largely destroyed. A few Soviet tanks weaved crazily, trying to avoid the ruthless and relentless dive bombers, but they had nowhere to hide. The only thing that finally came to their aid was the thick oily smoke from the pyres of their comrades, and a few fled for cover, away from the killing field.

  Langer spoke into his mike softly. “Alright, Gus, let’s go see if there’s anyone left alive out there – not that I think there will be.”

  Gus thoughtfully trundled the tank into life as the Stukas droned away back towards their aerodromes, their job done. As the panzers reached the leading edge of the destroyed Soviet armor, the carnage came clear to them all. Blackened, burning metal boxes, ripped open as if some giant had slashed at them with a huge sword, broken, charred bodies lying half-in and half-out of the smashed armor, or lying lifelessly on the ground ripped into pieces.

  Wordlessly they passed in between two wrecks, and suddenly a group of men sprang up and began running, eyes wild. Felix grabbed the stock of his machine gun but Carl ordered him to stay his trigger. “Those poor bastards have had enough – let them go.”

  “Command might not look kindly on your decision, Carl,” Teacher said, turning round and looking at his commander.

  Langer shrugged. “I’m no Nazi, Teacher. I’ll fight and kill an enemy, yes, but they’ve had the fight knocked out of them. We’ll have plenty to kill before this little war is over, believe me, so let’s save it for those who aren’t running.”

  Teacher nodded and resumed his vigil by the main gun.

  Late in the afternoon they came to a halt by another watercourse where a bridge lay in two halves, blown up by the retreating Russians. Hatches flipped open and men emerged gratefully from their metal heatboxes, stretching and yawning, sweaty, filthy and tired.

  “Well, that was a really lovely country ride,” Gus announced, farting in emphasis. “I’m famished – where’s the local restaurant?”

  Felix hurriedly moved away from the aroma, wanting to keep the contents of his stomach down. “God – you could bottle that stuff and bomb the Russkies with that – they’d surrender in no time!”

  “What are you talking about?” Gus sounded surprised and mystified. “I merely wish to improve the ambience of the beautiful scenery here. You have no soul, you know.”

  “I nearly had no dinner just then,” Felix said, coming to a halt behind Langer and Teacher. “What died up your ass anyway?”

  Gus wagged an admonishing finger at the mechanic, then put a friendly arm round Steffan’s shoulders. “Steffan, my young comrade, shall I show you how to forage in order to survive? Starvation is always the soldier’s greatest enemy, and it was once said – I can’t remember who – that the army marches on its stomach.”

  “Napoleon,” Langer just beat Teacher to it.

  “There, that little French shit had some brains, after all. Come, Steffan, allow me to educate you in the ways of survival.”

  Teacher shook his head and gave Langer a level stare. “I think he’s a bad influence on young Steffan, Carl.”

  “Let him be – at least he’s not going to be taken advantage of. Gus will look after him. I think this war is no place for any innocent, do you?”

  Teacher thought for a moment then shook his head slowly. “Not here, no.”

  Langer clapped Teacher on the shoulder and made his way to Captain Heidemann’s command tank, now parked with netting hastily thrown over it and a few collapsible chairs and a table erected next to it. An armored car was close by and a few trucks were rolling up, sending more dust billowing into the sky.

  Other tank commanders were gathering. Heidemann glanced to see who was turning up and acknowledged each as they arrived. “So,” he threw a dog-eared map on the table and peered at it, finally jabbing a spot with a finger. “Today we hit the 22nd Soviet tank division and gave them a bloody nose. Some of you would have seen their new tanks, the T34 and KV-1s. Fortunately at the moment they have only a few of these, but mor
e are coming off the assembly lines so we’re going to have to watch out for them. They are more than a match for us. Don’t try to trade shots with them, not even you in the IVs. You’ll end up pulped. Hit them from the rear, if you can.”

  “If not, sir?” one of the other commanders asked.

  “Then get out of their way,” Heidemann smiled humorlessly. The men laughed. “So – Baranovichi. It’s not far now, just a few more miles. We are to secure it tomorrow, and then move on towards the Berezina. We’ve got to capture a crossing point across it, probably at a place called Bobriusk. That’s where we’ll be heading for.”

  Langer looked at the blue wiggly line on the map. He felt another of those moments of déjà vu he often got. That was the thing with fighting for so long – sooner or later he would go back over old ground. As the meeting broke up a few moments later and he returned to his tank, his thoughtful expression was noted by the others. Teacher frowned and thought about asking, but decided not to. Whatever it was with Langer, either he would explain it, or if not, then it wasn’t any of his business. Felix looked at Teacher who shrugged and shook his head slightly. They went back to checking the tank’s engine and gun mechanism. A few tanks had broken down and everyone was making sure their vehicle was as good as could be hoped for.

  Alone, or at least in a place away from the others, Langer sat down against the wheels of his panzer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one and inhaled deeply, leaning back and closing his eyes. The Berezina. Napoleon’s awful retreat through the winter of 1812. He had been there, part of that army, and their last obstacle had been that river. With three Russian armies closing in, somehow they had managed to get a bridge up and marched over despite having to fend off repeated attacks.

  What had survived had gone on to Vilna, or Vilnius, or Wilno, whatever one called it. Casca had killed a man there and had been shot in front of a firing squad. That had effectively ended his time with the armies of that Corsican warlord – sixteen years of almost continual fighting. It wasn’t the defeat that had turned him away, it was Napoleon’s callous abandonment of the few brave men who had survived, enduring such appalling cold, Cossack attacks, Russian armies, hunger, desperation.