The ramp closed right behind them, cutting off some of the noise outside. He squeezed over to where the 192nd’s CO sat. “I need a situation report, Colonel.”
Von Olden glared up at him. “Can’t you tell?” His hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly. “My men are being murdered by Polish artillery! We can’t go forward and we can’t go back! It’s impossible!”
Willi frowned. From the quiver in his voice, von Olden was riding right on the edge.
The communications sergeant interrupted. “Striker One is on line, Herr Oberstleutnant. His guns are deployed.”
That was good news. The eighteen 155mm self-propelled howitzers of the brigade’s artillery battalion were finally ready to fire.
“Can he hit the Polish batteries?” Willi asked.
“No, sir. They’re out of range.”
Willi nodded. He’d expected as much. Content to hold the river line, the Poles had placed their artillery far enough back to avoid German counterbattery fire. Too bad. Victory in war usually went to the side that made the fewest mistakes, and Poland’s field commanders weren’t making enough mistakes.
“Then tell him I need smoke to cover my withdrawal!” von Olden demanded suddenly. He glanced at his operations chief. “Order all companies to fall back immediately. We’ll regroup near Kolaczkowo.”
“Hold it, Major.” Willi’s flat tone stopped the man dead. He looked hard at the 192nd’s commander. “No one withdraws. We’re not scuttling off with our tails between our legs. Not when we’re this close to that damned bridge! Get your troops moving again and use the artillery to screen your attack.”
Von Olden flushed. “I will not ask my men to commit suicide, von Seelow. They’re fought out!”
“Oh? And how do you know that?” Willi waved a hand around the crowded compartment. “Can you see through steel?” He didn’t bother hiding his contempt. Von Olden should have been outside kicking, cajoling, and inspiring his troops to press on — not sitting safe inside this armored box jabbering over the radio! He hardened his voice. “My orders stand. I suggest you implement them.”
“Go to hell!” the other man barked, stung to fury by von Seelow’s scorn. “I don’t have to obey a damned traitor, a whining, bootlicking ossie!”
Willi’s own temper flared. “Then you’re relieved!” He turned to the stunned operations chief. “I’m taking tactical command of this battalion, Major. Pass the word to all company commanders and order them to advance on my signal.”
Von Olden stood for several seconds with his mouth open, shocked speechless. When he recovered enough to talk, he stammered out, “You can’t do this! I’ll fight you all the way up the line!”
Willi nodded brusquely. “Protest all you want. But do it somewhere else. Captain Meyer!”
“Sir!”
“Wait for a break in the shelling, then escort this officer to my vehicle and arrange his safe passage to the rear area.”
“Yes, sir.” Meyer sat down across from the dumbfounded former commander of the 192nd Panzergrenadier. His hand rested casually on the pistol holstered at his side.
Willi turned away, focusing wholly on the task at hand.
“Sergeant, raise the artillery again. Starting now, I want them to dump as much smoke as they can between here and the village. So much that I could walk on the stuff!”
The sergeant hurried to obey.
Satisfied that his instructions were being carried out, he picked up his rifle and dropped the Marder’s troop compartment ramp. “All right, Private Neumann. Let’s go.”
“Wait!”
Willi turned to find Klaus von Olden, sagging and suddenly looking much older, clutching the door frame.
“Where are you going?”
Von Seelow’s answer was brutally frank. “To do your job, Colonel.” He spun away and headed toward the fields where the 192nd lay pinned down. Neumann, bent low under the weight of his radio gear, trotted along behind.
More Polish artillery rounds landed ahead and to either side.
Willi scrambled over the farmyard’s low stone wall and pulled the radioman over after him. Dead and wounded men were scattered all around — cut down by the enemy barrage or by machine-gun fire from the village in front of them. He paused, scanning the fields for the telltale whip antenna of a manpack radio that would mark a command group.
There. He spotted one waving above a small group clustered near a wrecked Marder. He and Neumann sprinted across the open ground — ducking whenever enemy shells exploded.
But now German guns were answering the Polish barrage, firing salvos of smoke blossomed wherever the shells exploded, mingling to form a thick, gray-white cloud drifting slowly downwind.
Near the smoldering Marder, a dark-haired man wearing the three light gray pips of a captain on his shoulder straps saw von Seelow and Neumann and waved them on. “Faster! Faster! Hurry up, you goddamned fools! You want to get killed?”
Willi reached the little group of soldiers and dropped into their midst, breathing heavily. Their eyes widened when they saw his rank and recognized him. He grinned. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
The captain stammered an apology, but von Seelow shook his head. “There’s no need for that. You were quite right. Clearly anybody stuck out here in this field is a goddamned fool.”
A few men chuckled nervously. The rest flinched as another Polish salvo landed only a couple of hundred meters away. German artillery rounds howled overhead in an eerie counterpoint.
Willi watched the smoke screen billowing higher and higher above the peaked roofs of Rynarzewo and nodded in satisfaction. It seemed dense enough now to blind any Polish artillery spotters stationed there. Once he got these men out of the killing zone and closer to the enemy’s own positions, the Poles would have a hard time adjusting their fire to hit them again.
He looked at the young officer who had yelled at him. “What’s your outfit, Captain?”
“B Company, Herr Oberstleutnant.”
Willi studied the frightened faces turning his way. Words alone would not be enough to move these men forward into enemy fire. Stunned by heavy casualties and the incessant shelling, they were too near the breaking point. They needed an example — his example.
So be it. Rank should not confer immunity from risk. He climbed to his feet and stood motionless for several moments, ignoring the explosions plowing the earth alt around. He wanted them all to see him. Then he raised his voice to carry above the barrage. “All right, B Company! On your feet! Up! Up! Up!”
Led by their captain, soldiers began scrambling upright. In ones and twos at first. Then in larger numbers as the force of example spread. Officers and NCOs in the battalion’s two other companies saw what was going on and started urging their own men up, too.
Von Seelow held up his rifle and pointed toward the Polish village, now all but invisible through the dense, man-made haze. “We’re going forward,” he shouted. “We’re going into that town. And we’re going to take that damned bridge. Now follow me!”
Without waiting for a response, he swung into a fast walk and headed for Rynarzewo. Neumann fell in at his side, pacing him. Only Willi could hear the diminutive radioman muttering a simple childhood prayer over and over. He found his own lips forming the same heartfelt words. “Oh, God, keep me safe. Oh, God, make me strong.” Another, older part of him added, “And give these men the courage they need to come after me.”
His prayers were answered. With a ragged cheer, the soldiers of the 192nd Panzergrenadier Battalion surged forward, passed him, and plunged into the smoke.