Taking a gamble

"Is this information reliable?" asked a French colonel, frowning as he stroked his chin thoughtfully. "No, who would dare to play such a prank? The person on the other end of the line didn't sound old enough to indulge in such tedious jokes," replied the French official who had answered the phone.

Another officer chimed in, nodding in agreement. "He's right. It's well-known that the German Wehrmacht has been covertly maintaining their combat capabilities. This call is definitely not without basis; there must be some internal discord, and someone doesn't want to see the National Defense Forces' strength exposed before making their move."

"What should we do then?" asked the French officer who had taken the call, his impatience evident.

"Dean! Head to the garage, start a car, and wait for us! And don't tell anyone where we're going," commanded the senior French officer, his tone grave.

"Yes, Chief Millers!" responded the officer named Dean, saluting sharply before hurrying down the stairs.

Chief Millers glanced at the remaining officers and issued another order: "Head to the ordnance area and fetch two machine guns! This mission could be very dangerous; we must be prepared to protect ourselves! Gather the men, let's move!"

After watching his colleagues leave the room, Millers grabbed a pen and tore a blank sheet of paper from a notepad. He quickly scribbled a note: "Tonight, three colleagues and I are heading to the outskirts of Berlin to inspect a German Wehrmacht division for potential overstaffing issues. If we do not return by dawn, please send reinforcements." He weighed down the note with the pen, checked the ammunition in his pistol, and then briskly made his way to the garage.

In the garage sat a well-maintained but not new Ford sedan, its windows polished to a shine—a testament to the owner's care. In the back seat, two French officials were meticulously checking their pistols. Millers nodded in approval before taking the passenger seat.

Just then, a French sergeant hurried over and saluted through the car window. "Sir, the second platoon is assembled and ready to depart at your command!"

Millers gestured dismissively, and the sedan he occupied rolled out of the gate of the Coalition Arms Control Committee headquarters. Seconds later, a truck loaded with French soldiers followed.

Across from the headquarters, on the top floor of a four-story building, a bearded man adjusted his telescope. He was wearing a flat cap and suspenders. "Captain Lusick! A car just left the headquarters!" he called out.

Behind him, a young man who had been dozing sprang to life, tossing aside the coat he'd been using as a blanket and grabbing the telephone. "Connect me to the lair, quick!"

"Hello! This is the lair! What's the situation?" came the voice of a pleasant female secretary over the phone.

"Two French vehicles have departed the headquarters. Four individuals in the lead car, one of them checking a pistol," reported the bearded man. "They're followed by a truck carrying about twenty French soldiers, all armed with rifles and two machine guns."

Within ten seconds, the information reached a man named Akado via telephone. Upon hearing the report, Akado's eyes narrowed dangerously, the usual smile vanishing from his face. "Understood. Keep monitoring. I'll handle the rest," he said before hanging up. He then immediately ordered, "Get me the officer in charge tonight."

The phone connected swiftly. "I'm Akado! Set up roadblocks at all intersections leading to the first division's station. Initiate the Rhino operation at the three main junctions. Don't wait for further orders—act immediately. This is not a drill!"

The response was a raspy "Yes, sir!" before the line went dead.

Akado then demanded, "Connect me to the first division command, now!" Wiping sweat from his brow, he didn't wait for a greeting from the other end. "This is Akado! Cease all training immediately! Disperse the troops! Let the extras leave the barracks and hide!"

A calm voice responded after a brief pause. "Akado! What's the panic? It's me, Sikte. What's happened?"

"The French might know about tonight's training at the first division," Akado explained hurriedly.

Sikte was silent for a moment before replying, "Understood. I'll reassign the extra personnel. Give me ten minutes. Don't do anything rash; wait for my instructions."

"Understood," Akado said, hanging up and collapsing into his chair, drained. He pondered anxiously where the leak could have originated—was there a spy among the first division, or had the French infiltrated their headquarters?

Time seemed to crawl, and as Akado waited, he worried about the consequences if the French discovered the truth about the German Wehrmacht's strength. The entire operation could be exposed, leading to severe repercussions.

The phone finally rang. Grabbing the receiver, Akado heard Sikte's voice, "It's handled. Stop all obstruction efforts. Let them come and inspect."

Relieved, Akado exhaled deeply, thankful that the crisis had been averted in time. He then called the officer in charge again, only to receive troubling news: "Mr. Lieutenant, the French moved too quickly. We had to execute the Rhino Project. There was a collision at a crossroad; our truck hit the French vehicle. Two of our men are dead, and four of theirs."

"Execution?" Akado couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Yes, executed. Two Gestapo agents are among the deceased," the officer confirmed.

Akado sighed deeply. "Secure the scene. I'll be there shortly."

Upon his arrival, Akado found a chaotic scene. Four policemen were securing the area, and more than two dozen French soldiers stood nearby, rifles in hand. The French truck showed signs of a severe collision, and nearby, a smaller car was badly damaged. The officers inside were unrecognizable, covered in blood.

A policeman approached and saluted. "Sir, these are officers from the Joint Arms Control Committee. There was an accident involving a milk truck around 1 AM. No survivors."

"And the milkman?" Akado asked, frowning.

"He died in the crash, and another was shot by an enraged French soldier," the policeman replied hesitantly but truthfully.

"Send these French soldiers back to the Arms Control Commission," Akado ordered. "Inform them that we reserve the right to pursue legal action against the perpetrators. What about the French officials? Were any saved?"

"The leader of the French group identified himself as Major Millers. They were out on a mission tonight," the policeman explained.

Akado, summoning his best acting skills, responded, "We received no notification of their operation from our defense forces. These individuals weren't truthful."

Nearby, a man disembarked from a car, prompting all the Germans present to salute. The middle-aged man was General Seekert.

"Don't be too hasty," the French platoon leader, the highest-ranking official present, warned angrily. "We will avenge Major Millers!"

Akado glanced at the French corporal who had spoken, his gaze seemingly lethal before breaking into a laugh. "Avenge? The driver responsible for the accident is already dead."

After the French soldiers departed, Seekert turned to Akado, his expression stern. "I told you not to act."

"It's too late now," Akado replied resignedly. "One step too late."

"The French will surely retaliate. What should we do?" Seekert asked, concerned.

"Move part of our operations abroad for execution," suggested Akado. "That way, we won't have to worry about investigations. We can at least protect some of our assets."

"That's easier said than done. Which country isn't leaning towards Britain and France these days? Who would support us, Germany?" Seekert looked doubtful.

Leaning closer, Akado whispered the name of a country into Seekert's ear: "Soviet Union."