Opening Moves

Eisenhower’s question, forming on lips that had not touched a cigarette for a record time now, was unnecessary as Grandes continued, fishing in his briefcase.

“Here is a translated transcript of its contents, word for word, General.”

Eisenhower returned to his phone and requested coffee.

He was only vaguely aware of its arrival, so engrossed was he in what he was reading.

Unconsciously he reached for a cigarette sliding it between his lips and was startled from his trance as the Spaniard’s lighter flicked into life.

Grandes smiled and gestured lightly, dismissing Ike’s embarrassment, lighting his own with a flourish.

“Well General, these are fine words and will inspire not only your country but all the countries aligned with the cause you join.”

Eisenhower arranged the document neatly and placed it on the exquisite cherry wood table, grabbing the arms of his chair. Both generals stood, as if on a silent cue and shook hands firmly.

Reseating himself, Ike picked up a scalding coffee and grimaced as he noticed a mark on the otherwise pristine surface.

Both men drank in comfortable silence.

“We will have to sort out much by the way of logistics, chain of command, a great deal in fact General.”

“Once I have returned to Madrid to reflect our conversation to the Generalissimo I believe he intends to dispatch me here to assist you and act as Liaison, if that is acceptable to you?”

“General Grandes, that would be most acceptable to me indeed.”

Both men grounded their coffees, drained simultaneously, and shook hands for the third and final time that evening.

“Colonel Hood will see to your needs General. I hope you sleep well. I certainly will.”

“Thank you, General Eisenhower.”

“Thank you, General Grandes.”

Once the Spaniard had gone Eisenhower flopped into his chair, lit another celebratory cigarette, and commenced a number of phone calls to his senior generals.

Chapter 47 – THE NIGHT

Any coward can fight a battle when he’s sure of winning, but give me a man who has pluck to fight when he’s sure of losing.

George Eliot

0215 hrs Friday 10th August 1945, Headquarters, US Forces in Europe, Trianon Palace Hotel, Versailles, France.

The atmosphere was markedly different in SHAEF, partially because news of the Spanish commitment had been a positive boost indeed, but mainly because this morning they were going to do something substantive to the enemy for the first time.

Despite the euphoria brought on by Grandes’ words, Eisenhower had slept soundly for a few hours, waking refreshed and focussed, content that all was how it should be.

Exchanging a quizzical look with Tedder across the grand room, he received a nod of confirmation.

Reaching for his cigarettes, the Supreme Commander closed his eyes briefly and imagined what was about to occur some five hundred miles east of where he stood, and in a number of other places marked in red on his map.

He smiled.

0257 hrs Friday 10th August 1945, Airborne over Leipzig, Germany.

Flight Lieutenant Lawrence Saul watched as another of the friendly predators did its work. The cover they had received so far was excellent and only one of his squadron’s aircraft had succumbed to the Soviet night-fighters.

Approaching the start of his run-in, the sky was perfect for his job that night.

Anti-aircraft fire reached up but was wholly ineffective, badly calculated, and exploded beneath the Lancaster Mk III’s of 460 Squadron R.A.A.F.

The plan was for them and their sister squadrons to make their visit on the Russians and then land at various airfields in Northern France, ready for round two the following night.

Lancaster AR-S was the design culmination of years of bombing experience and it served no purpose other than to destroy. Despite the protestations of the Squadron Adjutant, Saul and his crew had humorously nicknamed their bird after the Squadron letters and his own name. The Squadron Commander let it ride and calmed the Adjutant’s ruffled feathers. It was good for morale and Bomber crews had it tough.

Tonight, S for Sugar was once more in the skies over Germany, having normally carried bombs to wreak havoc on a German City, but this time for a wholly different purpose.

Gently easing the huge craft according to the calm instructions of his bomb-aimer, Saul watched as the anti-aircraft fire grew more accurate and he gripped the stick more firmly in case something burst nearby.

His mid-upper gunner swore loudly and shouted at his Skipper to look to port.

Saul turned and saw the stricken Lancaster AR-N lazily roll over, nose gone from a flak burst. Every member of the crew that could watch did so until the aircraft containing their friends and colleagues fire-balled on impact with the ground fifteen thousand feet below.

Everyone except the bomb aimer, who remained fixed to his bombsight.

“Steady.”

“Call that in Sparks. Confirm N for November gone.”

“Roger skip.”

“Steady.”