“Right, well, we’ll combine them into one unit under your command, Hauptfeldwebel.”
Riedler nodded and waited for his orders.
“With respect, this is a joke, yes?”
“No, Oskar, I’m afraid it’s not. You’ll lead,” he checked his watch, “And we’re late already. Get back to your men and get them moving now. Good luck, and make sure they look out for more mines and trip wires.”
Riedler rose and moved off to get the two shattered companies roused and moving.
Two separate orders, born miles apart, but with one shared purpose.
Colonel Gennadi Chekov’s orders were to withdraw immediately, and fall back to the new defensive line being established in the farmland to his rear.
Having sacrificed so many of his men, quitting the Teutobergerwald Hills was a hard thing to do, despite the joy of seeing Iska carried off the slopes, wounded, but not so wounded that he couldn’t use every swear word in the Russian language.
Chekov was the last man to walk off the hill, pausing for a moment to look back over the dead of both sides, some still obscured by smoke from smouldering items of all shapes and composition.
On the other side of the Teutobergerwald Hills, First Battalion, 899th Grenadier Regiment, had already moved back under orders, forming a defensive line almost back on the start line.
Third Battalion moved back towards them, with Seventh Company providing the rear-guard.
The final casualty fell to an unexploded butterfly bomb, a simple stumble sending the senior NCO on top of the waiting device.
More than one tear was shed as the destroyed body of Hauptfeldwebel Riedler was wrapped in a zeltbahn and taken off the slopes.
On the other side of the valley, the Tönsberg had not fallen either, the situation that resulted becoming a mirror image of the fate of First and Third battalion’s, except that the Fusilier battalion escaped heavy casualties.
The unexpected success of another attempt west of Detmold, combined with American successes by the 84th US Infantry Division to the north meant that the Oerlinghausen attack was overtaken by events.
The decision to halt the fighting was made to prevent unnecessary casualties, casualties that had already been suffered long before the order came.
1st Guards Engineers, worn down by days of heavy fighting, could muster less than two short battalions in the field. 14th Guards, under Chekov, was disbanded and merged into the 1st Brigade to bolster the numbers.
It seemed only right that Chekov would step into the shoes left by Nagan’s death.
899th Grenadier Regiment started the day with nine companies, and ended it with the equivalent of three and a half.
Hundreds of men from both sides had died in a pointless exchange, disputing a piece of ground that neither occupied at the end of the day.
Such is the way of war.
Prinz stood beside Johansen, the old Oberwachtmeister, surveying the aftermath of the battle as best he could.
His adjutant arrived with the news.
“Go on, Sauber.”
Keeping the binoculars to his eyes, Prinz blanched as the butcher’s bill was laid bare.
“Thank you, Hauptmann.”
“There is also a message from division, Sir.”
Tensing, Prinz merely nodded.
“You are to report to Generalleutnant Spang as soon as possible, Sir.”
“Thank you, Sauber.”
Still glued to his binoculars, Prinz’s eyes were moist as he probed the smoke, hoping to see something there to assuage his pain.
Of course, there was nothing but smoke, trees, and the dead.
The Oberwachmeister understood the Officer’s grief.
Prinz turned away, preparing himself to go and ‘face the music’, as he expected to be blamed for the destruction of his regiment.
He stopped momentarily, a smile crossing his face.
Looking back at the old artilleryman, he spoke softly.
“Quintili Vare…”
“…Legiones redde,” the Oberwachmeister completed the quote, throwing up an immaculate salute.
The modern day ‘Varus’ returned the salute and descended the ladder.
The 266th Infantry Division played no further part in the offensive, being withdrawn to Beckum, where it was rested and reinforced, as well as performed security duties at the Soviet POW camp that had been established there.
German III and X Corps drove hard into the Red Army and achieved a signal victory east of the Teutobergerwald, destroying a number of Soviet infantry and artillery formations, and opening a gap in the defensive line that carried III Corps to the outskirts of Springe, southwest of Hanover.
Marshal Malinovsky responded, allocating everything he had to hand, driving a counter attack into the southern flank of III Corps on 14th April, virtually destroying the 5th Infantry Division, and badly damaging the adjacent X Corps unit from 12th Infantry Division.
German 63rd Army fought its way to the Weser at Beverungen, where it was only halted by destroyed bridges.
An ill-advised amphibious crossing floundered in the face of heavy resistance, and a tragic friendly fire attack by DRL medium bombers, killed or wounded many of the assault pioneers and lead infantry units forming for a second attempt.
On 17th April, CI Corps, with 3rd Fallschirmjager and the 116th Panzer Divisions leading, blundered into a trap outside of Trendleburg, including a massed mission by ground attack aircraft of the Red Air Force, resulting in the loss of 40% of the ‘Windhund’ Division’s precious tanks in three hours of fierce fighting, and over two thousand casualties amongst the paratrooper infantry.
After twenty-five days of constant combat, the DRH was exhausted, and, reluctantly, FeldMarschal Guderian advised Eisenhower of his need to revert to a defensive role until his troops were rested.
Chapter 144 – THE TWENTY-FIRST
C’est magnifique, mais ce n’est pas la guerre. C’est de la folie.
Translation – It is magnificent, but it is not war. It is madness.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, thank you for coming.”
Colonel Prentiss, the Viscount Kinloss, called his officer’s group to order, and then spotted something…
“Good lord, Algie, where did you get that abominable cravat?”
The A Squadron commander rose to his feet in triumph, displaying the blue and red silk Guards Regimental colours for everyone’s consumption.
“Sir, I liberated the item from some Coldstream Guards’ officer by way of a pistol competition. The honour of the Regiment was at stake… and was preserved in style, I might add, Sir.”
Prentiss wrinkled up his nose.
“To be frank, Algie, that is not style and, were I to compete for that prize, I suspect my aim would have been somewhat wayward, honour or no.”
To a chorus of hoots, Major Algie Woods resumed his seat.
“Now then, gentlemen, let’s see how the war’s going, shall we?”
He turned to the briefing map and used the thin pointer to highlight the areas he was speaking about, starting with Denmark.
“Our German cousins have started tremendously well, and there are reports of Soviet surrenders in large numbers, and the latest griff suggests that we are already in possession of the Isle of Mon, and half of Falster too.”