“God is all around us, Staff Sergeant. Haven’t you ever witnessed the miracle of birth?”
Bill smiled wryly. “I’ve had occasion to actually deliver a baby padre, so yes I have witnessed that. I often give to charities for famine relief…but I have never witnessed a starving bishop, or even a malnourished mullah for that matter, though.”
After another five minutes the padre accepted that Bill was not about to join the ranks of the born again, and having made his excuses he started to leave, but Bill sent him a parting shot.
“Let me know when they find the missing page to the original bible, padre.”
Pausing before the blackout the padre looked back at the sniper.
“Missing page?”
“Yes Padre, the page at the beginning where it says ‘Names, places, characters and incidents are a product of the authors imagination and any resemblance to any living person or real events is purely coincidental’.”
Bill had gone too far and he realised that fact as soon as he had spoken, so he muttered an apology.
The padre looked at him for a moment, ignoring the attempt to make amends.
“You may not believe but I’ll thank you not to mock those of us that do, Staff Sergeant.”
Stef saved his comments until the padre had disappeared.
“For a copper, your people skills suck at times.”
Bill and Stef had been inside the battalion lines since it had begun to dig in on the hill, but they were now to relieve a sniping pair forward of the battalion perimeter.
The American paratrooper from the 82nd, Major Popham, came to give them their orders and although both Stef and Bill knew the location of the hide, Major Popham opened a map to show them where the 40 Commando positions were in relation to it.
“To your ten o’clock, about six hundred metres off, is a small copse with dead ground behind it. This is the marines gun line for a battery from 29 Commando Regiment’s 105mm guns, and fourteen hundred metres to your front you will see a small farm with a sunken lane just visible at its left hand edge. The farm is the most visible mark for the rear perimeter of 40 Commando’s real estate, and that sunken lane runs diagonally across your front.” He paused to point out the features on the map.
“Your marines will withdraw along that lane and I need you to report that movement, because if communications between us and them go to rat shit then we isn’t going to get much warning, is we?”
“If Ivan plays it smart, he’ll use that lane too.” Bill used the edge of his thumb to measure the distance on his own map from the foot of the hill to the point where the lane came closest; it was only eight hundred metres.
“When you get on the ground you will see the lane is lined with trees. The marines have prepared most to be dropped behind them as they go, so it will prevent vehicles using it and allow them some breathing space to pass through 1 Argyll & Sutherland Highlanders and set up shop again in pre-prepared positions a mile back. They have a troop of your Hussars with them which will break off and rejoin us once the pass through is complete.” The map showed the Royal Marines fall-back positions backed onto the autobahn that was the Soviet’s goal. There were no such positions beyond that for the men and women of 3 (UK) Mechanised Brigade, beyond the autobahn lay the gun lines, headquarters and support units.
“What’s the timescale sir, when are they expected to make contact?”
Jim knew the answer to that one.
“If they haven’t hit the anti-tank mine field in front by 10am, then they stopped for breakfast somewhere or the…what the hell is a Wimik?”
“It’s the Royal Marines trying to prove they can use words consisting of two syllables.” Stef told him, but seeing the American major was looking blank he quickly added.
“A Wimik is what the marines call a Landrover with ‘fifty cals’ and a Milan post bolted on.”
Jim shrugged and went on.
“Well, they have a screen of Wimik’s out forward a couple of miles beyond the mines to shoot and scoot
“Is there any chance that your 4th Corps will beat them here, sir?”
Shaking his head Jim folded the map and put it away.
“I doubt it, we are in for a hard fight but if we can hold them long enough, well…”
He left the sentence unfinished and reached across to shake both soldiers by the hand.
“Good luck to you both.”
They pulled their bergens back on and checked for anything rattling before pushing their way back outside and heading for the 3 Company sentry position where they would take the winding route through the field defences to exit the location.
The sound of aircraft passing to the south of them came as they were at the trench that guarded the safe route. It was still foggy and far too dark for them to see the air armada, but the drone of the transports and the fighter escorts were apparently heading east, so it was a toss-up whether they were friendlies on the way to make mischief, or enemy aircraft returning from dropping yet more airborne troops behind them, this time to block 4th Corps.
They arrived at the hide in plenty of time for the relieved pair to be back in the battalion location before first light, where they would get perhaps a couple of hours of sleep before the Soviet armies arrived.
The hamlet of Struhn, 25 miles east of Magdeburg, had never been much more than a cluster of buildings that other people passed through, even before the autobahn between Berlin and Magdeburg had bypassed it.
With the autobahn a kilometre south and a railway to the north the world passed Struhn by even faster than before. That had changed to an extent when NATO had avoided being outflanked by withdrawing from this part of Germany and a company of Czech mechanised infantry, assisted by an anti-aircraft unit, had arrived to guard the major rail junction three quarters of a kilometre to the north.
The only inhabitants who still remained were an elderly couple, the remainder of the hamlet’s residents having joined the tide of refugees following in NATO’s wake. Their tiny cottage had been looted as they huddled, terrified in one corner. They had little to start with, but the invaders had first emptied their larder and then returned later to steal the furniture to use as firewood when the snow came and the temperatures plummeted.
The couple had survived, sharing body warmth beneath piled blankets and on vegetables ignored by the thieves. The old man augmented this fare by defying the curfew to set snares in nearby woods and hedgerows, and again before the dawn to check them for catches. He dared not leave the snares in place during the day in case some enemy patrol happened across one and stole his catch.
A solitary, skinny, rabbit was the nights total haul and after bashing the creature on the head and dismantling the snare he was carefully making his way to the edge of wood, stopping often to listen for patrols, when something came crashing down through the branches behind him, striking the ground with a dull thud.
The old man turned in panic, clutching the scrawny animal to his chest, and then took a pace backwards as something else; something larger followed it even more noisily.
A dark shape came to an abrupt halt two feet above the ground, bounced and swayed and began to mutter expletives. It fumbled for a moment inside its smock before finding and switching on a pair of passive night goggles, which it held to its face for a look down at the ground. Satisfied that it wasn’t suspended above an abyss by its snagged parachute it used them to slowly pan around its surroundings, and froze when it reached the old man.
“‘Mornin’.” It said after a pause.
The old man didn’t speak English, and stammered back a query whilst still clutching the rabbit in both trembling hands.