gone.
Hauling Brown to his feet, Nazarbayev pushed the bound man towards the IRA chief.
“ Take him, but I will hold you to your word, Patrick. Punish him for his crime.”
“ My word on it, Ilya.”
Nazarbayev left the scene quickly, turning into his quarters before the returning Soviet political officer, still adjusting his trousers after his own pleasures, could interfere with proceedings.
Judas slipped a knife into Brown ’s bonds and cut his number two free.
“ Make yourself scarce for now, Seamus. Stay up at the Boyson’s til I send for ya.”
Brown rubbed his wrists and spat in the direction of Nazarbayev ’s billet.
“ What about that bastard then, Patrick, I want 'im, I fucking want 'im bad.”
Reynolds ’ eyes settled on the small hut and narrowed as his cunning mind searched for a resolution.
“ All in good time, boyo, all in good fucking time.”
1039 hrs, Tuesday 12th November 1945, Headquarters of the 11th Guards Army, the Böhmer Haus, Stadtsee, Sulingen, Germany.
Lieutenant General Kuzma Galitsky was less than delighted with the new operation that was to be entrusted to his already exhausted force.
A true follower of Zhukov, and never a great fan of Konev, he set aside his personal views and assessed the attack with a professional eye.
If it went well, then great rewards would be reaped. If it didn ’t...
‘ Then there will be a price to pay.’
An aide appeared at his side, a cough announcing his presence.
“Yes, Comrade Mayor?”
“ The replacement officers are here, Comrade Leytenant General.”
‘ At last, some good news!’
“ Excellent! Show them into the dining room and make sure they are given food. I will be there shortly.”
The Major trotted off to herd the gaggle of newly arrived officers into the school ’s dining room. He had anticipated his General’s orders and the heavily panelled room was already laid out to provide refreshment to the dozen colonels arriving to fill dead men’s shoes.
Galitsky, accompanied by his Chief of Staff, Lieutenant General Semenov, quietly observed the group and make swift judgements.
Ten men, Colonels and Lieutenant Colonels clad in immaculate uniforms, were clearly products of the search for qualified officers mounted across the length and breadth of the Motherland. Men from rear-echelon units, reserve units, or culled from some backwater on the Caspian Sea. Men whose chests bore the awards of service to the State in matters other than the business for which they were now assembled; combat.
Two more Colonels, stood apart from the others, were something completely different. Front line beasts, both of whom wore the Hero Award and more besides, marks of their prowess and, hopefully, competence.
There were vacancies across the range of Galtisky ’s formations, as the fighting had savaged his leadership groups.
With the new attack in mind and, in the knowledge of his own planning, he assigned the two smart but worn Colonels to the formation that would bear much of the strain.
On cue, Semenov announced their presence and the room sprang to attention.
Left to right , each man introduced himself as Galitsky welcomed them in turn, listening to a brief resume of each officer’s service. Referring to a clipboard held out by Semenov, the 11th Guards’ commander assigned each man to a vacant slot, once the newcomer’s credentials had been established.
Galitsky turned to the last two Colonels, assessing each in turn and seeing firmness in each man, but also a weariness reserved for those who have spent more than their fair share of time playing with the devil’s horsemen.
He nodded at the first man and returned his salute.
Each man introduced himself in turn.
“ Comrade General, Polkovnik Deniken, formerly a battalion commander in 16th Guards Rifle Division of 36th Guards Rifle Corps.”
“ Ah yes, I’ve heard of you, Vladimir Vissarionavich. You have performed brilliantly throughout the war and your arrest
Hauling Brown to his feet, Nazarbayev pushed the bound man towards the IRA chief.
“ Take him, but I will hold you to your word, Patrick. Punish him for his crime.”
“ My word on it, Ilya.”
Nazarbayev left the scene quickly, turning into his quarters before the returning Soviet political officer, still adjusting his trousers after his own pleasures, could interfere with proceedings.
Judas slipped a knife into Brown ’s bonds and cut his number two free.
“ Make yourself scarce for now, Seamus. Stay up at the Boyson’s til I send for ya.”
Brown rubbed his wrists and spat in the direction of Nazarbayev ’s billet.
“ What about that bastard then, Patrick, I want 'im, I fucking want 'im bad.”
Reynolds ’ eyes settled on the small hut and narrowed as his cunning mind searched for a resolution.
“ All in good time, boyo, all in good fucking time.”
1039 hrs, Tuesday 12th November 1945, Headquarters of the 11th Guards Army, the Böhmer Haus, Stadtsee, Sulingen, Germany.
Lieutenant General Kuzma Galitsky was less than delighted with the new operation that was to be entrusted to his already exhausted force.
A true follower of Zhukov, and never a great fan of Konev, he set aside his personal views and assessed the attack with a professional eye.
If it went well, then great rewards would be reaped. If it didn ’t...
‘ Then there will be a price to pay.’
An aide appeared at his side, a cough announcing his presence.
“Yes, Comrade Mayor?”
“ The replacement officers are here, Comrade Leytenant General.”
‘ At last, some good news!’
“ Excellent! Show them into the dining room and make sure they are given food. I will be there shortly.”
The Major trotted off to herd the gaggle of newly arrived officers into the school ’s dining room. He had anticipated his General’s orders and the heavily panelled room was already laid out to provide refreshment to the dozen colonels arriving to fill dead men’s shoes.
Galitsky, accompanied by his Chief of Staff, Lieutenant General Semenov, quietly observed the group and make swift judgements.
Ten men, Colonels and Lieutenant Colonels clad in immaculate uniforms, were clearly products of the search for qualified officers mounted across the length and breadth of the Motherland. Men from rear-echelon units, reserve units, or culled from some backwater on the Caspian Sea. Men whose chests bore the awards of service to the State in matters other than the business for which they were now assembled; combat.
Two more Colonels, stood apart from the others, were something completely different. Front line beasts, both of whom wore the Hero Award and more besides, marks of their prowess and, hopefully, competence.
There were vacancies across the range of Galtisky ’s formations, as the fighting had savaged his leadership groups.
With the new attack in mind and, in the knowledge of his own planning, he assigned the two smart but worn Colonels to the formation that would bear much of the strain.
On cue, Semenov announced their presence and the room sprang to attention.
Left to right , each man introduced himself as Galitsky welcomed them in turn, listening to a brief resume of each officer’s service. Referring to a clipboard held out by Semenov, the 11th Guards’ commander assigned each man to a vacant slot, once the newcomer’s credentials had been established.
Galitsky turned to the last two Colonels, assessing each in turn and seeing firmness in each man, but also a weariness reserved for those who have spent more than their fair share of time playing with the devil’s horsemen.
He nodded at the first man and returned his salute.
Each man introduced himself in turn.
“ Comrade General, Polkovnik Deniken, formerly a battalion commander in 16th Guards Rifle Division of 36th Guards Rifle Corps.”
“ Ah yes, I’ve heard of you, Vladimir Vissarionavich. You have performed brilliantly throughout the war and your arrest
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