Impasse (The Red Gambit Series) by Colin Gee Page B

n European. The units were fresh, whereas the enemy opposite them had been thinned out to reinforce the German front.
    The Spanish had arrived and been inserted into fron tline positions. Not quality troops by all accounts, certainly not up to the standard of the old Blau Division.
    Other inferior units had been detected in Italy and Southern France, soldiers of limited worth, according to Soviet intelligence and Soviet prejudices. Negroes, Brazilians, French, Mexicans, Portuguese, and even small detachments from Cuba and Paraguay.
    So, Konev had argued, with his plans for limited advances on the main front, combined with a rejuvenation programme and resupply schedule for the savaged Red Banner formations, now was the time to instigate the phase that brought Chuikov and Yeremenko into action.
    T he GKO had agreed and the dying started all over again.
     
     
     
     
1720 hrs, Saturday, 10th November 1945, Base Commanders Office, RAF Castle Archdale, Northern Ireland.
 
    Squadron Leader               Benjamin Viljoen read the report in silence, detaching himself from the fact that he was reading about the death of his brother.
    All secret map work, all radio code books, and all sensitive equipment had either been recovered or had been verified as destroyed within the aircraft. That ticked a lot of boxes on the RAF loss report he was filing.
    All the bodies had been placed in the station morgue, awaiting proper ceremony at the Sacred Heart cemetery in Irvinestown.
    Ten good men, not the least of which was his brother.
    L arry Cox had been a good mate too.
    The musing triggered something in his mind; an unease, a discomfort, a seed of something 'not right'.
    Viljoen screwed his eyes up tight, trying to work through the smokescreen hiding the thought from full sight.
    Again, he ran through Flight Lieutenant Edinburgh’s report. Word for word, thinking each matter through.
    He paused and re-read one section, and turned his attention to the transcript of messages from the ill-fated Sunderland.
    The smokescreen cleared and the seed flourished in an instant.
    He leant forward and picked up the phone.
    “Corporal, ask Flight Sergeant Smith to report to my office. Immediately please. Thank you.”
    Viljoen held his peace for the eight minutes it took for Smith to present himself.
    “I want to clarify something, Flight Sergeant. In your Flight’s report he quite clearly states that you recovered the pilot’s bodies from the cockpit. Is that correct?”
    Smith relaxed, having expected a rocket over the wholesale destruction of No2 hut ’s electrical system, as undertaken by his pet Montague, since disappeared.
    “ Yes, Sir. Pettigrew and myself recovered the two of them.”
    “ From the flight crew seats?”
    “ Yes Sir.”
    Viljoen cleared his throat very deliberately.
    “Think hard about this, Flight Sergeant. Are you absolutely sure that both pilots were in the flight crew seats?”
    The me ntal image that flashed up was immediately examined and confirmed his view, and was very quickly consigned back to the recesses of his mind, where all such awful memories should dwell.
    “ I'm absolutely positive, Sir.”
    The Squadron Leader nodded softly.
    “Where was Arsey found?”
    The darker dungeons of his mind surrendered up another pictorial horror.
    “In the galley, Sir.”
    “ Thank you for that, Smith. We'll speak about your bloody rat and the wiring another time.”
    Saluting smartly, Smith removed himself from the office and heard the occupant asking for the Base Intelligence officer as he closed the door.
    As Smith set about the task of locating the errant rodent Montague, Flight Lieutenant Blackmore was gestured to a chair in his commander’s office.
    “ Blackie, I’m afraid there's a problem with the report on NS-X.”
    “ Oh? I thought the whole thing was well-written and covered everything Skipper?”
    “ Yes, and thank our Lord it did or we would have missed something. See here.”
    Viljoen passed