‘Goddamned shit.’
A few minutes later, Pierce was stood before his staff organising the emergency forward movement of his Brigade, to block God knew what enemy force from doing God knew whatever it was that they intended.
“Not even remotely funny, Al.”
The commander of B Company rolled over under his blankets, seeking further sleep.
“Not joking, Lukas. The commies are coming. Get your ass outta bed. Move it soldier!”
By rights, Gesualdo shouldn’t be here, his injuries not yet healed, but he was, hobbling around the guest house which represented the headquarters for B, D, and F Companies, 2nd Ranger Battalion, licking their wounds in the small French village of Drulingen, Bas-Rhin, France.
As senior officer, the newly-promoted Captain Barkmann suddenly found himself in command of three battered companies of Rangers, clearly now sat in harm’s way.
“Ok, ok, ok. Rouse the boys. Officers group in five. Senior NCO’s to do the rounds and get us firmed up a-sap.”
Both men paused as the sound of distant rumbling reached their ears.
Actually, not so distant rumbling.
The two friends exchanged looks, knowing that the day ahead would bring new horrors.
The meeting had broken up quite quickly once the order to hold had been received.
Whilst the instruction itself was precise, there was scant little information on what was coming down the roads and tracks leading from the woods to the East, although the constant use of star shells and parachute flares indicated that whatever it was, it was coming closer.
Establishing contact with the rest of the Ranger Battalion positioned north at Bettwiller and establishing the boundaries at the Hagelbach, Barkmann had made his dispositions as best he could, pushing his forward positions up to cover the line of the L’Isch watercourse, a small frozen stream that ran east from Drulingen, before splitting north and south-east on the edge of the woods.
Two wayward 3” AT guns on their way as replacements for the 16th Armored, whose lost crews had spent the night with the Rangers, found themselves under new management and tasked with defending the approaches to Drulingen, watching Routes 309 and 13.
No contact had yet been made with any friendly unit to the south, so a small patrol was sent south-east in three jeeps with the express need for information.
Barkmann pushed D Company out to Route 13 and had them dig in on a curved line from the edge of the Sittertwald to the junction of Routes 13 and 15, and on to Rue Ottwiller.
B Company took over at that point and sat astride Route 309, all the way to just short of the engineers of B/254th Combat Engineer Battalion, with whom, he entrusted the defence of the Hagelbach and any approach down Route 15/182.
F Company formed in the village, split into four groups. One fortified the eastern edge of Drulingen, a second did the same to cover the south-eastern approach up Route 15.
The remaining two groups were fully mobile and held in reserve, ready to be committed to where they were needed at a moment’s notice.
The defence was also boosted, although somewhat worryingly, by the speedy arrival of Spanish troops withdrawing at speed down the 309.
A fully-equipped Spanish mortar company was welcome, although they seemed less than content to remain in Drulingen. Some of Gesualdo’s men moved in alongside them for ‘support’, as the US officer tactfully put it, although his men understood that they were there to stop the spooked soldiers from running further back.
Immediately on their heels was a headquarters group from a Spanish infantry unit. It was so intent on self-preservation that there was no chance of stopping their flight without the use of force.
The four vehicles sped away into the distance, carrying the Spanish commanders to safety and abandoning their men to their fate.
Barkmann moved forward to B Company lines and scanned the terrain with his binoculars, after sending up a magnesium flare to add his own illumination to the eerie battlefield.
Immediately his gaze fell upon a group of infantry, clearly struggling under the burden of wounded men, moving back as swiftly as they could whilst other smaller groups fell back, fired, fell back, all the time providing cover for their comrades.
Walter Ford, B Company’s senior surviving NCO, heard the whistle and looked around, seeing his company commander trying to attract his attention.
Barkmann’s hand gestures were easily understood and Ford quickly detailed every other man to move forward and assist the retiring wounded as best they could.
These Spanish soldiers were clearly made of sterner stuff, their retreat conducted on a swift organised fashion.
As the Rangers of B Company leapt forward in an instant, led by their First Sergeant, unwelcome flares rose into the sky.
“Enemy infantry just appeared to our front, Comrade Leytenant. The swine must be dug in up there.”
“Halt!”
The BA64, moving forward with the advancing infantry, slid to a halt immediately, allowing Junior Lieutenant Sukolov to survey the ground.
That which his driver had spoken of leapt into view through his lenses.
He saw men moving forward to help the hard-pressed Spaniards.
‘Amerikanski!’
Wishing to convey his calmness and professionalism to the driver, Sukolov slowly took hold of the radio and made his calculations.
“Shall I move back, Comrade Leytenant?”
The nervousness in the driver’s voice was apparent, his own combat experience only slightly more than that of his commander, for whom this battle would be his first time under fire.
Casualties in the Soviet reconnaissance units were always extreme, but this conflict had brought them to a new level.
Not deigning to give the man a response, Sukolov spoke into the radio, establishing contact with the Major commanding his battalion.
After the preliminaries were exchanged, he got down to business.
“Enemy troops in probable company strength minimum, occupying dug-in positions east of Drulingen, set to west of water line. Request anti-infantry fire mission, Gorod-Five-Two over.”
Illumination rounds burst in the sky above.
Barkmann swept the ground in front of him, his binoculars suddenly feeling very heavy.
His ears suddenly exploded with noise.
“Jesus!”
Too late, Barkmann slapped his hands to his ears as the nearby 3” AT gun sent its version of death hurtling across the battlefield.
The crew may have been new to the battlefield, but missing such an easy target was more than they could manage, and the Ranger officer heard their cheers, marking the death of something with a red star on.
Turning back, he could see Soviet infantry now apparent on the edge of the woods and ordered covering fire for his and the Spanish troops still struggling back with an increasing number of injured men.
One of the Rangers’ two 50.cal heavy MGs lashed out, and Barkmann could see the deadly bullets ripping men apart, forcing the advancing soldiers to drop into cover.
Garands and .30cals added their own chorus, the Ranger line erupting and then quickly quietening again, as targets became scarce.
In it all, Lukas Barkmann heard the distinctive sound of a Springfield rifle as his sniper, Corporal Irlam, engaged specific targets.