“I intend to go through Eichenau and pick up the engineers on our way. It’s a better route and even though it’s longer, we should make good time, plus we stay together. Questions?”
Five of the faces suggested nothing but compliance, all of them young and inexperienced. Only one seemed to have doubts.
“Sergeant Hässler, you don’t agree?”
Long before the Russians had launched their attack, Hässler and Pritchard had hated each other.
One because he saw an incompetent officer who would some day cost men their lives, the other because he saw a German from the same breeding stock as put his father in a soldiers grave in the Great War.
“No Sir, I don’t. This route is far and away the quickest to Diembot. Falling back through Eichenau leaves the road south to Diembot wide open. It’s simply a bad idea, Captain.”
Tact was never the German-Moravian’s strong suit, particularly when it came to Pritchard.
“Don’t agree, Sergeant?” in itself a veiled insult as Hässler was a Master-Sergeant and the battalion’s top NCO.
“Right then, noted, Sergeant.”
The Captain turned to face the others.
“That’s that covered. We do it as stated, for the reasons stated, plus, it has the advantage of getting the engineers to their work quicker.”
Rolling the map up, Pritchard indicated that the briefing was over and that his orders stood.
Hässler stood his ground none the less.
“Perhaps you could consider splitting your force then, Captain? Send the artillery boys to get the engineers, and drop Fox back down the quickest route?”
“Perhaps I could, Sergeant.”
Ordinarily, Pritchard would have left it at that, openly undermining his NCO, as he did at every opportunity. This time he saw an opportunity of a different sort.
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea for a change. You take your track and the boys of the MG platoon, and go straight to Diembot. I will take the rest of the company via Eichenau. If you get there before us you can start digging in and securing the bridge.”
His look challenged the Master-Sergeant to disagree. For his part, Hässler could see the advantage of being out from under the idiot’s feet, even if only for a moment, so he nodded his agreement in such a way as that no-one there thought he agreed for one moment.
“Oustanding.”
Pritchard spoke in such a way as that no-one there thought he was changing his orders for any reason other than to put the NCO out in the cold.
‘That gets the kraut bastard out of my sight for a while.’
“OK, let’s get the troops mounted up and moved out. Sergeant, you will remain and cover out withdrawal.”
Looking at his watch he made a swift calculation.
“Ten minutes from the time the rear vehicle gets out of sight. Clear?”
The German-American smiled without smiling.
“Crystal, Captain,” and turned on his heel leading the group out from the flimsy lean-to in which the meeting had been held.
The smaller man hawked and spat as the Captain shouted orders at the top of his voice, unnecessarily harrying those that were doing their best to strip down weapons and load up vehicles.
“Oy vey, but that man is the biggest schmuck I’ve seen since Uncle Solomon circumcised Rollo the Elephant at the Ringling Circus!”
The comment hit the spot intended. Hässler snorted spontaneously and was forced to wipe away the products of his nasal passages.
“Corporal Rosenberg, I agree with the sentiment but for a god-fearing man you are one hell of a lying bastard!”
The wiry little Jew held his hands up in mock horror.
“Feh! Not only do I have a commanding officer who is an idiot, but the Gentile Master Sergeant is calling me a liar! I did so have an Uncle Solomon, may he rest in peace.”
“And did he circumcise an elephant at the circus?”
Rosenberg’s face split from ear to ear.
“Would I lie to you?”
“Damn right you would, you yiddisher bastard! The whorehouse in Marseille?”
“As God is my witness, you have a memory for things don’t you? Anyway, the place was schlock. Not good enough for a mentsh like you.”
“That is not what I heard, Zack, as well you know. You’re lying.”
“OK, OK, I am lying. It was a Rhino.”
The men in Headquarters Company were used to the constant sparring of this unusual duo, a friendship between opposites sparked by the extremes of military life.
As the two continued their bickering, Clayton Randolph, the unit’s junior soldier, handed out the last of the coffee and left the verbal warriors to their business. The two watched the last halftrack disappear on the Heroldhausen-Eichenau road.
Rosenberg stood ‘five foot and a mosquito’s dick short’, or at least that was how the six foot two inch NCO put it.
Combat had moulded them into a team, and set in place a friendship that only death could sunder.
“Talk English. I don’t understand your Jewish speak.”
Springing to attention the diminutive figure threw up a formal salute.
“Jawohl, Herr Feldwebel.”
Hässler went to cuff him playfully but the Corporal ducked away, picking up his pack and slinging it aboard ‘Liberty’, the half-track they had all called home since they had landed in Europe.
Cigarettes lit, no sound came from the tired men as they waited for the clock to count down.
Something didn’t feel right to the Master Sergeant, so he kept his men in position beyond the ten minutes, watching and ready for action.
Looking at the watch, he decided fifteen was enough and that his senses had let him down for once.
The troops loaded up quickly, and in less than two minutes, the last vehicles of 2nd Battalion were on the road to Diembot.
M5A1 halftracks were not the quietest of vehicles, but the sound of explosions and gunfire rose over the top of the roar of 7.4 litre Red-B engines at high revs.
Hässler signalled a halt, and the four vehicles smoothly slipped into cover, leaving the road empty.
Randolph was behind the mounted .50cal, scanning the road ahead and the woods to the right. Beside him stood the American-German, both men’s senses straining to the limit. At the rear of the track, Rosenberg traversed his .30cal very deliberately, checking the undergrowth beyond his sights for the slightest sign of movement.
Orienting themselves on the noise, the men in the small convoy quickly placed the shooting to their south-east.
Rosenberg spat, not turning from his field of responsibility, and threw a question at the Master-Sergeant.
“Pritchard?”
“You can bet your kosher ass on it.”
Thus far, the 179th Guards Rifle Regiment had advanced without contact. Since the blood-letting of Reichenburg, only a few minor skirmishes had occurred, claiming a life here, two there.
Moving forward towards his allotted targets, the villages of Leibesdorf and Seibotenberg had fallen silently, so Colonel Artem’yev had split his force, sending his 1st and 3rd Battalions to Elpershofen and Hessenau respectively, with 3rd Battalion additionally tasked to push out to the south-east towards Diembot if circumstances permitted.
Employing his headquarters alongside the savaged 2nd Battalion as a reserve, he moved behind them, and to the south-east. Artem’yev intended to remain out of trouble unless summoned, or 3rd Battalion was ready to attack Diembot.
His men moved swiftly through the woods to the south-east of Seibotenberg, rapidly crossing one hundred metres of open ground before again secreting themselves in dense wood to the south of Heroldhausen.