Bob Carruthers - Tiger Command!

Canaris had vivid memories of their time back in the Freikorps. Ha! Lehmann and Stenner, these scum were worse than Hitler! He did not blame himself however; Admiral Canaris’ luminous, spidery mind was too used to strategizing and plotting to fret over one broken filament in a brilliantly-spun web. The tactic had been weighed in the scales. Getting close to Beria was one part of the prize, a worthwhile endeavour in itself. But, for now, it was all about covering tracks, which meant getting Borgmann out into the clear, and getting rid of Korsak.

Canaris reasoned that the best way for Borgmann to prove his credentials was by ensuring that he was the one who eliminated Korsak. That way, he could claim that Lehmann was a pawn in the game to ensnare Die Weisse Teufel, and also strengthen his position at OKW. A worthy aim, for he was sure Borgmann would be needed again in the future… And there was one other consolation. Whatever Lehmann did transmit under torture would come back to Canaris, and he, being at the centre of the web, was in charge of how it would be retransmitted. He could spin it any way he wanted.

Time to move on… It was a pity his friends in London would not get their hands on one of these new Tigers anytime soon… However, there were other weapons and other secrets, and the British were nothing if not patient…

“Gentlemen, I am sure that the objective of our next mission will come as no surprise,” announced Major List. “I have it on the highest authority that no effort should be spared to ensure that those three stricken Tigers do not fall into enemy hands. If they cannot be recovered, they are to be destroyed.

“To forestall this unthinkable outcome, I shall take command of the mission, supported by SS-Hauptsturmführer von Schroif. We shall be ably assisted by a team of combat engineers from Division, and a number of the new support and recovery vehicles.

“The principal objective is to clear and hold the area around the three tanks, in order that essential maintenance can be provided, and that all four Tigers can return to the assembly area under their own steam. If this is not achievable, then we are to tow them back for any repairs that can be carried out in the workshop. Over to you, Hauptscharführer Rubbal.”

“Thank you, major. Our first determination is that the problems may be related to the gear boxes, a problem accentuated by the soft terrain. In engineering terms, this should be a straightforward task. Dismantle the flexible couplings in the half-shaft drives, and tow it out of the immediate battle area. If, however, closer inspection reveals that any of the tracks have ridden up over the sprocket teeth, this will require more time and horsepower. In order to expedite this process, may I respectfully ask SS-Hauptsturmführer von Schroif’s permission to involve his excellent driver, SS-Panzerschütze Bobby Junge?”

“Permission granted,” replied von Schroif, “as long as our tank is stationary and not in need of a driver,” which all attending found highly amusing.

“Now,” continued Major List, “I have read SS-Hauptsturmführer von Schroif’s reports and the latest reconnaissance material, and we are expecting a counterattack in the next 24 hours. I suggest we split our force into two◦– one part, under SS-Hauptsturmführer von Schroif, returning to the hamlet near where the Tigers are situated, and the other part, commanded by me, to pivot behind the hill and attack any Soviet resupply of their previous position.”

This made von Schroif uneasy. “With all due respect, sir, the assumption that the Soviets will return by their former route leaves us open to an attack from the north side of the hamlet.”

“I understand completely, SS-Hauptsturmführer. However, in the absence of any new intelligence, I have to make the assumption that the Soviets’ most likely strategy in most eventualities is a repeat of the strategy before.”

This was a fair point. However, von Schroif had one more question. “Are we afforded any air cover, sir?”

“Thankfully, the forecast for today suggests that the skies will be too overcast for flying. Thank you, gentlemen.”

Having just finished preparing for a conference with the OKW, Oberstleutnant i.G. Borgmann had to decrypt the recently arrived message from Admiral Canaris twice before he could be certain of its import.

“Lehmann to be arrested. Position untenable. Fox no longer our friend. Retain cover till Fox eliminated. Repeat Fox no longer our friend.”

So it was over. Well, nearly. The Steppe Fox had never really been our friend. Borgmann felt relief. Getting close to Lehmann in order to gain his confidence had been distasteful to say the least, but he had done well. Lehmann had believed that they worked for the same masters.

In all honesty, the plan to trade these new Tigers had not sat well with him. Surely you do not give your prize military assets away when not just men’s lives, but a whole front, a whole war, may depend on them? But, if Canaris thought the trade worthwhile, then who was he to judge? He had often wondered what hand Canaris was playing here, but that was beyond his rank. All he had to do was trust that Canaris had the best interests of the Reich at heart.

Frustration, but frustration underscored by an unrelenting patience. That was how an observer would have assessed Dimitri Korsak’s state of mind. Such distant observations were not the object of Korsak’s focus. His mind was concentrated, and nothing concentrated Korsak’s mind like hate. He recalled the long death march from Liborius, the agonising thirst, the unendurable hunger, and the shock of seeing his comrades shot like dogs.

He owed his life to his capacity to hang on to his hatred, and, following his escape, he realized that hate was easier to deal with if it had an object. In this case, it did. Hans von Schroif was the name it held on to…

It was his command which had machine-gunned Korsak’s colleagues. Korsak was sure he would have died too, had von Schroif got wind of the fact that he was there. True, the dirty work had been done by the SS-Sturmscharführer whom he thought had the name of Braun, but von Schroif was the puppet master. He had ordered the massacre, and there was the name to boil his blood and stir his hatred. “Once a vacillating little swine, always a vacillating swine,” thought Korsak to himself.

His days in the Freikorps came flooding back to him, adding to his hatred, that weasel Hitler and his apologist cronies like von Schroif and his ilk. It was now nearly twenty years ago, but the memories were still raw, the accounts still unsettled. Gregor Strasser was dead because of men like von Schroif. Strasser had been the movement’s one true leader. Killed and usurped by Hitler. Of course, he had not been Dimitri Korsak then, he had been Wilhelm Stenner, but that was just a different name and a different set of papers. It was the hatred that mattered, and the hatred remained the same.

When von Schroif returned to his tank and crew he was relieved to see Wendorff sitting amongst them.

Otto Wohl seemed to be the centre of attention, holding court with his now seemingly indispensable notepad and pen.

“SS-Hauptsturmführer! Come and sit with us,” enjoined Wohl, “I am conducting a seminar!”

“A seminar, SS-Schütze?” replied von Schroif, “Since when did you enter the hallowed halls of academia?”

“Do I look like a professor, sir? No, this is a meeting of practical engineering minds. Wendorff here was saying that one of the principles of study, whether at the University of Heidelberg or the University of Life, is to list what one could term the ‘good’ and ‘bad’ points of any consideration. I am sure you employ the same principles in your application of battlefield tactics?”