In Selestat, what had started as curiosity had swiftly turned into genuine alarm and finally progressed into decisive action.
In and around the small Alsatian town were two companies of the 2e [Deuxieme] Regiment, Légion Étrangère Infanterie, on their way south to reunite with the 1e [Premiere] French Division after ceremonial duties in Strasbourg.
Also, not by coincidence but by design, Colonel Christophe Lavalle was there, having arranged to meet with some old comrades as they passed by.
As senior officer present he assumed command and had ordered both companies to deploy towards the sound of fighting. The two companies were both mechanised with American halftracks and so made good progress, one having been tasked to advance through Kintzheim, the other through Orschwiller and St Hippolyte.
Lavalle rode with 3e [Troisieme] Compagnie’s senior officer on the Kintzheim approach. He was anxious to discover what exactly was going on, the growing feeling that something extremely bad was happening being reinforced by the steady stream of flares being sent skyward from the Château.
Radio messages flowed to the Brigade headquarters and upwards, both informing as best they could and seeking information from higher command.
Over the sound of the half-track’s 6.3 litre petrol engine came the sound of firing, followed shortly by a radio report from 2e Compagnie.
Lavalle listened in as the two radio operators exchanged information, the 3e Compagnie’s Swiss commander, Commandant Albrecht Haefeli, waiting for his opportunity.
It came as the other operator broke off in mid-sentence, his excited voice suddenly replaced by static.
“Light machine-gun fire at worst. But who is it?”
“Surely it has to be the Germans, Albi?” although, as he said the words, Lavalle gave them no credence whatsoever.
Haefeli slapped his operator on the shoulder.
“Get Isabella back. We need to know who the enemy is this day.”
Using Haefeli’s call sign the operator sought out his counterpart in 2e Compagnie.
“Isabella-Zero-One, this is Achille-Zero-one, come in.”
The static remained.
A gentle tap from Haefeli encouraged the man on.
“Shall I stop the column, Sir?”
“No,” the decision immediately made, “We will push on to the Château, but we will be prepared to send forces down the road to St Hippolyte if needs be Albi.”
Haefeli nodded, sorting in his mind which of his units he would send into the rear of whatever was blocking 2e Compagnie’s advance, once he knew what was happening. Retrieving a map of the area he quickly consulted it before drawing Lavalle’s attention to a T-junction on their route of advance.
“Here we should be able to drop down behind them if 2e are on the right road.”
Lavalle’s response was drowned by the excited voice on the radio.
“Achille-Zero-One, Isabella-Three-One calling, Isabella-Zero is off air and burning. Request orders.”
Both Haefeli and Lavalle ignored the probability that a comrade from the old days had just died.
“Three-one?” sought Lavalle questioningly.
“Green officer. The name is Mardin I’m sure.”
Again the radio crackled into life.
“Isabella-Three-One, under heavy fire, Request orders.”
Taking the handset from his operator, Haefeli spoke calmly and deliberately, flouting radio procedure to get results.
“Achille-Zero-One calling. This is Haefeli speaking. I need a situation report. How many, what weapons, where. Rely on your training Mardin, over.”
The silence of the radio belied the battles within a scared young man at the other end of the network, struggling to bring himself under control.
“Isabella-Three-One, sorry. Enemy infantry in platoon strength sat astride primary advance route three hundred metres north of St Hippolyte, oriented south. Light weapons only so far. We have lost three vehicles and crews. Mortars deploying for assault. Request orders.”
The two experienced officers exchanged glances. The clearly shaken young officer had retained sufficient presence of mind to organise his mortars and was already thinking of attacking. If he survived the battle he would have learned valuable lessons unavailable in the classroom.
“That puts them roughly here I think, on this kink in the road.”
Lavalle nodded his agreement and followed his friend’s finger as it traced the roads to their own route of advance.
Haefeli voiced their shared thoughts.
“He’s on his own for now I think. Holding action would make sense but we don’t know what we are heading into. We may need his men.”
Again, Lavalle’s decision was immediate.
“Tell him to attack and force the road.” The consummate legionnaire and leader paused a moment, weighing the situation. “Tell him we cannot assist him and he is in command there until relieved. He is responsible for the mission and his mission is to destroy the enemy force in front of him, reinforce our advance and to secure his own route, with minimal losses and at all speed.”
3e Compagnie’s commander grinned and quoted from a lecture the two had attended years ago.
“There is nothing like dropping extra problems and responsibility into a man’s lap to help him deal with the pressure’s and indecisions of command.”
Lavalle saluted Haefeli’s memory with an inclined head.
The radio operator relayed the message, the calm acknowledgement from Mardin suggesting that the young officer had regained control of himself, giving weight to the sage words of a long-dead Legion training officer.
Haefeli switched to his own troops, the second operator issuing his Commander’s orders for the advance, increasing the pace on the main road but putting troops on the myriad of small tracks that were a feature of the route to the Haut-Kœnigsbourg.
The jeep at the point disappeared around the tight left hand bend ahead, reporting the road clear but sounds of heavy fighting coming from the Château above.
Increased firing and the low crump of exploding mortar shells from the 2e Compagnie area informed Lavalle that Lieutenant Mardin had got his attack underway.
A brief radio message from the point vehicle confirmed no problems ahead and the command track pressed on in response, following the hairpin bend all the way round as the road rose unerringly towards the Château.
Haefeli listened to a situation report from the now totally calm Mardin, content that the younger man was rising to the challenge.
Ahead of his halftrack, other vehicles of the company were fanning out into a small clearing as directed by the hand signals of the NCO in the point jeep. Lavalle spotted a dismounted Sous-Lieutenant signalling at a tree beside the road and his eyes followed the man’s frantic gestures.
In the early dawn light he didn’t quite believe what he saw, even when a yellowflare rose from the Château and illustrated the gruesome tableau.
He shouted an order to the driver to push forward, keen to get a closer look.
Haefeli, checking off Mardin’s report against a map looked up, startled by the urgency in the Colonel’s voice.
He followed Lavalle’s gaze and was himself similarly incredulous at the sight that was looming large as the command track gained on the point jeep and its shattering discovery.
The radio again barked into life, Mardin’s operator calling in information.
“Achille-Zero-One, Isabella-Three-One calling. Enemy identified.”
Haefeli looked at the two bodies, battered and broken, hanging from the tree to the left of the road.
Exchanging looks with Lavalle, he heard Mardin’s voice deliver confirmation to the evidence of his own eyes.
“Achille-Zero-One, Isabella-Three-One calling. Enemy are Russian paratroopers, confirm Russian paratroopers, over.”