Holding it was an issue that raised its challenges in the light of the new day.
“Well, it’s nearly fifty miles from Kolberg to here.”
The leadership of the 501st was gathered around the camp table being used as headquarters map table, dining table, and personal equipment store.
Constantine Galkin, Crisp’s exec, munched noisily on one of the liberated Polish sausages that had turned up during a search of the decrepit barn that Crisp had selected as his CP.
“According to headquarters, we can’t expect to be relieved today, so we gotta sit out whatever the Reds throw at us.”
The mumbles were indistinct but confident in nature.
“Intel has nothing else for us, so no update on whether we’re facing old men and boys.”
The veterans in the assembly understood the gallows humour and remembered the empty assurances of D-Day.
“So probably just as per briefing… adding in those boys,” Crisp nodded his head at the ever-present sound of falling mortar rounds, “To the rear-echelon security troops and a handful of regular army infantry and engineer units… nothing special… and nothing we can’t handle.”
Crisp watched as Galkin finished his feast, and immediately started on consuming another.
“Help yourself to the sausages, boys, if my second in command has left you any.”
Modest laughter greeted his attempt to shame Galkin into stopping his gluttony. His effort failed miserably, as the Greek-American simply leant over and swiped two more for later, just in case the assembled officers felt hungry.
Some clearly did, and Crisp decided to join them.
‘Damn, that’s good.’
“Right, listen in. Our positions are sound… we’re up to strength pretty much… we’ll hold.”
Using the sausage as a pointer, Crisp went over the positions with his officer group.
More stragglers had come in since the 501st swept into Wollin and established itself on a rough curve between Sulomino and Darowice, occupying the high ground between Route 65 and the railway line.
First Battalion sat astride Route 65 and had responsibility for the hill, leaving one company back as a reserve, hidden in the woods at Plötzin.
Second Battalion took the remaining frontage of the arc, with the Regimental Heavy Weapons Company lying back in support of both forward units.
Crisp sent his HQ demolition platoon northwards to Darzowice, with orders to prepare to drop the bridges if threatened, as they were not vital to the Allied plan.
In Wollin and Hagen, the support and medical services established themselves, the former also containing the 501st Regiment’s headquarters units.
Third Battalion screened the rear areas, protecting against any unexpected arrival that might threaten Hagen, and provided one company as a reserve, positioned around the west end of the rail bridge.
“Right. Any improvements we can see here?”
Lemuel Pollo, Captain of Engineers, commander of the two platoon group allocated to the 501st, had clearly been itching to contribute.
“Colonel, we took a pile of high-ex off that bridge. My boys can create some nice surprises for Ivan if he gets over ambitious. Sink a few in the road, in natural gathering areas, that sort of thing?”
His voice ended the statement in question mode.
“Don’t see any reason why not, Lem. What sort of detonation?”
“All command detonation, Colonel. Nothing fancy, and nothing our boys can tread on by accident.”
“Good for me. Present me with a laying plan a-sap. Anyone else?”
Major Timothy Simpson, the Second Battalion CO, shuffled uneasily before taking the plunge.
“Well, Sir… the terrible twosome’ve asked me to get permission for a special squad, based around the big rifles we captured.”
The lead elements into Hagen had discovered a small repair facility, in which different weapons were undergoing maintenance.
Sergeant Major Baldwin and First Sergeant Hawkes, the ‘terrible pair’ in question, had ‘appropriated’ six pristine anti-tank rifles, the purpose of which was now laid bare by Simpson’s request.
Crisp laughed.
“Well, I didn’t make Colonel by taking on impossible missions, so I guess we’ll give ’em their head. Keep an eye on them though, Tim.”
Baldwin and Hawkes formed a powerbase that most officers avoided like the plague, although both were always suitably respectful to the rank, and positively reverend to their colonel.
“Ok then boys. If there’s nothing else, let’s get back to our units and pep ’em up. Uncle Joe’ll be coming to play real soon; he can’t afford not to.”
Salutes were exchanged and the officers group split up, each commander returning to his unit as quickly as possible.
Not that they knew it, but ‘Uncle Joe’ was only ten minutes away.
The first casualty of the battle was Simpson, and before a shot was fired.
He tripped on a piece of loose carpet and missed a step.
The Major fell down the stairs into the basement that held the command apparatus of the 501st’s Second Battalion.
The snap of his left leg was heard like a rifle shot.
His scream of agony came immediately afterwards, the pain compounded as additional damage was done as he tumbled down the remaining few feet, the broken tibia and fibula punched out through his flesh, impaling themselves in the calf muscle of his right leg.
The Battalion Medical officer rushed over, already fumbling for morphine.
Simpson was quickly moved into an unconscious state as a heavy dose of the powerful drug hit his system.
Outside, mortar rounds started to arrive. Although not directly on the CP, they most certainly announced to the occupants that Soviet activity was about to commence.
Organising a stretcher detail, the MO evacuated Simpson to the aid post, where a complicated fracture became tricky surgery under extreme duress, as Red Army artillery joined in and started to fall danger close.
“URRAH!”
“What the fuck?”
Paratrooper heads rose from cover to establish what the heck was making that noise.
“URRAH!”
“Stand to! Stand to!”
The cries of officers and NCOs went up from along the defensive positions, calling men to expose themselves in air thick with shrapnel from mortars and artillery.
Four lines of infantry were charging forward, weapons held out in front, like a scene from an old Great War newsreel.
Easy Company’s Captain was obliterated by a mortar round as he went to give the fire order; his 2IC remained identifiable, although he was equally dead.
Dog Company opened fire, prompting the entire Second Battalion to start pouring on the heat.
.30 cal machine-guns, BARs, and Garands lashed out at the advancing NKVD infantry regiment, knocking men over like skittles in a bar.
Now and again, an airborne trooper would wheel away, clutching some wounded part, or drop silently to the earth, never to rise again.
The Soviet mortars still took their toll, but, as the human wave closed, the mortars advanced, for fear of hurting their own.
Montgomery Hawkes, Easy Company’s First Sergeant, rallied a group of troopers who were about to be overrun.