Colin Gee - Opening Moves

Today would be different for Lavalle. He was venturing into almost exclusively SS territory, for they were the main occupants of the camp outside of Winzenheim. Of course, he had already met some of this particular breed, and found them to be at both ends of the scale. Rabid fanatics who still expected the Fuhrer to rise up and smite down the enemy, to those who were good soldiers who had given their all militarily and just wanted to go home.

What set them aside from the run of the mill Germans was their spirit and intense comradeship, still strong and intact after all the desperate combat and loss they had sustained, followed by the privations of captivity. The German was a strong beast in any case, but the Waffen-SS particularly had a comradeship as deep as his own legion if not more so. No light admission coming from a legionnaire and one that troubled him often.

The previous afternoon, a very senior officer of French Military Intelligence, an Alsatian like himself, had visited the office with clear instructions for Lavalle. His task today was to recruit soldiers into the Legion as usual, but firstly to meet a hugely respected enemy and make a very different suggestion, contained within an envelope in his tunic, the contents of which were no less incredible to him than when he had read them the day before. Translating them into German, he had laboured hard to try to understand the full implications of the document, but by his own admission, had probably failed.

Having spent a restless night in the Hotel Michel Mort in sleepy Bad Kreuznach, he was not looking forward to the short trip in his Citroen staff car. Not the fault of the hotel, as his thigh wound was often quite aggravating. None the less, he would perform his duty, for his work was important to the interests of his humiliated country.

In that thought, Lavalle was absolutely correct, although he could never even dream that today he would be involved in a matter with such far-reaching consequences.

SS-Standartenfuhrer Ernst-August Knocke cast a spell wherever he went, be it on his own comrades or on those detailed to guard the prison camp full mainly with members of the SS, combat soldiers incarcerated alongside those who did spent their war at a desk or in a concentration camp.

What immediately set him aside from every other German there was the fact that he strode the camp in full black panzer uniform, complete with those tangible marks of years of bloody intense combat, from his Great War Iron Cross First class, awarded for his heroic defence of a trench position, through to the Knights Cross with Oak leaves and Crossed Swords at his throat, the last personally presented by Adolf Hitler. Underneath the Knights Cross was the “Pour le Merite” or Blue Max, also of Great War fame, which the young acting Oberleutnant Knocke had won two days before hostilities ceased and which had not been confirmed until 1929. These awards and insignia had not been looted and he was held in the very highest esteem by those who imprisoned him there, particularly the camp commandant. The French Colonel had once served with the Vichy Forces but had been forgiven sufficiently to be placed in charge of the abhorrence that was Winzenheim camp.

Knocke was the third ranked officer presently in the camp but the other two above him were held in virtual contempt by the combat troops, who all deferred to his judgement on matters. Because of the respect they held him in, they continued to march and drill on his orders, and the exercise sessions were rigorous and long. Thanks to his efforts his combat troopers kept fit and healthy, where others less prepared succumbed to disease and the melancholy of the unoccupied mind. All in all, there were one thousand and thirty-eight members of the SS in the camp, of which over half had once been SS combat troops. Add in two hundred and onee members of the Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe, and the camp fit for habitation by five hundred and forty souls was crammed with one thousand two hundred and thirty-nine prisoners.

In a nutshell, Knocke was a legend on both sides of no man’s land. An energetic forty-seven year old who had seen time in the trenches of the Great War, he departed from the beaten German army at the end of hostilities, surviving the great German depression with work as a night watchman and baker. The full recognition of his Great War service came in 1929, when the Pour-le-Merite was belatedly presented to him and with it came an opportunity to join the Wehrmacht; to be once more a professional soldier.

He joined the rising National Socialist party in 1934.

In February 1941, he transferred from the Wehrmacht into the Waffen-SS and from that time he never looked back. He had served with a number of Germany’s elite SS divisions, rising from Untersturmfuhrer with the Leibstandarte-SS, through to Standartenfuhrer in SS-Das Reich, with command appointments in every SS Panzer Division but SS-Frundsberg and SS-Hitler Jugend.

Panzers were his main tool, and he was a master craftsman. Employing his metal leviathans correctly at all times, he successfully completed mission after mission, butchering the massed Soviet ranks with precision and sweeping the field with his meticulous manouevrings and instinctive judgement.

Wherever he had gone, he took victory with him, even if his contribution could not stem the tide elsewhere.

His final command had been immolated outside Vienna, but not before successfully counter-attacking once more and inflicting huge losses on the Soviet army.

The division had then virtually ceased to exist and Knocke had tried to proceed back to Berlin on orders from someone who clearly did not understand the transport situation.

He had fallen into the hands of the French Army two days later.

The young North African soldiers who captured him had obviously been in awe. They did not even remove his handgun, which fact caused some consternation with the French regular army major who was confronted by a loaded Walther P38 when Knocke handed it over before his interrogation. In truth, he might still even have it on his person now if he had not taken it from its holster himself and placed it on the table. Money could not have bought the look on that officer’s face and Knocke delighted in telling the story often.

In his mind, Knocke appreciated that Germany would still need soldiers, and so he trained his men in the arts of war as he knew them. From veteran to new trooper, he set in place a continuing tactical training programme, often using stones or pieces of wood to represent tank tactics and formation manouevre on the floor of the barracks. He reasoned that even the French might object if he did so openly in front of the guards.

Because of his teachings, many a young man in his captive audience acquired knowledge that would stand him in good stead should there be further bloodshed in Europe.

Unfortunately, Knocke could not continue as he would have wished today, for he had been requested to attend the administrative block for clarifications. That was code for interrogation about wartime career’s, and most importantly, where he had been and whom he had killed.

Well, that was the day gone then, Knocke mused, for he had been many places and killed many enemies.

Lavalle had seen a lot of German officers by now and felt that nothing was going to surprise him anymore. From the ‘seig-heiling’ stiff-backed fanatics through to those who awful experiences had cowed; they had all been across his desk and received his personal interrogation and decision.