Strecher received the last of the translation, and nodded his approval.
Patrick Green decided to throw in his two-penneth.
“Right, well here’s mine, with no bloody apologies.”
He coughed to clear his throat and then ran the words out in record time.
Green’s skills were probably better adapted to the battlefield, but his contribution brought polite responses none the less.
“And something more from our American cousins?”
Ramsey laid down the gauntlet, and Hässler picked it up immediately.
“I’m American, so I guess my style is more direct and to the point than you old world types, Sir.”
“You have the floor, Master Sergeant.”
“OK, well, here goes.”
He winked at Rosenberg.
Even Strecher laughed, without the need of translation from Dieckhoff.
Ramsey choked lightly, regaining his poise before speaking.
“Thank you for that pearl of wisdom, Master Sergeant, and I daresay we all agree with you!”
A bout of rapid exchange in German followed, preventing the group from breaking up.
Dieckhoff stood to explain.
“Herr Hauptmann Strecher has ask me to quote something for him as his contribution, Kameraden. Before the war, Strecher is scholar of Ancient Greece, and he has ask me to speak his words at you.”
Unusually, Strecher had, for once, decided that his English was not up to the job.
Strecher took his cue and spoke slowly, permitting Dieckhoff to deliver his words precisely.
“In 480BC, a small number of Greeks fights a huge army of Persia, using the ground to help resist the invasion. A small force, only few thousand Greeks, from a number of States, held back the power of,” Dieckhoff confirmed the pronunciation before continuing, “Xerxes, a king with an army totalling a million men.”
Strecher finished speaking his next portion and leant back to savour his coffee.
“At the end of the battle, monuments are erected in their honour, and this words comes from one such monument.”
Dieckhoff listened as his Captain repeated the text twice, fixing it in his mind.
A modest ripple of acknowledging applause rose briefly, the occasional mug tilted to toast the words from ancient times.
As one, they rose. Handshakes were exchanged, and they went forth to whatever the day held.
Back in their position, Hässler was unusually quiet.
“They might not attack ush. It might all be bullshith.”
The mumbled reply told Rosenberg that his friend was troubled.
“Hey Rish, it’ll be fine. What’sh got you sho blue?”
“Gotta bad feeling about this battle, Rosie, a real bad feeling.”
Rosenberg stayed silent, and an awkwardness filled the foxhole.
Hässler shook himself out of the melancholy, and sought to brighten the moment.
“So, brain box, that Spartan thing. What happened to them?”
“Shergeant, are you telling me that you Gentilesh weren’t taught hishtory?”
“What I’m telling you is that this fucking soldier wasn’t taught that bit of history, ok?”
“Whoa, Mashter Shergeant,” Rosenberg realising quickly that there was no humour in his friend’s words.
“OK, OK, Isaac. I just wanna know, that’s all.”
The use of his first name indicated just how rattled Hässler was.
“They were killed to a man, Mashter Shergeant.”
“Well, that’s just fucking dandy!”
Chapter 100 – THE HELL
[BLOODY BARNSTORF]
‘We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. For he today that sheds his blood with me, shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition. And gentlemen in England now abed, shall think themselves accursed they were not here, and hold their manhood’s cheap while any speaks, that fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.’
The Battle of Agincourt was fought on St Crispen’s Day, Friday, 25th October 1415.
‘Can there be any more bloody water in the heavens?’
It seemed a very reasonable question to Ramsey, as he was drenched yet again, the cold water penetrating to every part of his body.
There was no time to change.
There was no point in changing, even if there had been time.
“My other uniform is probably just as bloody wet.”
Exchanging looks with McEwan, Ramsey could only grin at the man, who looked more miserable than the rest put together.
The first attack came in hard, direct, and with power behind it.
The Allied forward forces positioned in Eydelstedt were pushed out quickly. In truth, they ran, for there was no sense in the sacrifice of their lives when the Soviet attack was so large.
Waves of infantry, fresh troops from the veteran 31st Guards Rifle Division, supported by tanks from the 128th Tank Brigade, all under the umbrella of fire support from the elite 9th Guards Mortar Brigade and elements of the 4th Breakthrough Artillery Division.
The Katyusha rockets of the 9th Guards fell to the rear of Walsen and Barnstorf, giving the reserve elements a very torrid time, 4th Artillery hounding the shadowing Allied response force, occasionally scratching a tank here or an APC vehicle there.
Lighter mortars from the Guards infantry were deployed, also adding their weight of shot to the barrage endured by the defenders of the Hunte River, and all the time the assault waves drew closer.
The Battalion comprising the Seaforths had it easy enough, as no fire was directed at the front line troops, sat in sodden foxholes between Walsen and the river.
Linking between the Seaforths and 7th Black Watch were some MG troops from the Northumberland Fusiliers.
Ramsey’s Battalion, and in particular, B Company, had been allocated the prize position, or at least that was how Blake had put it.
It was the prize, in as much as it was Barnstorf itself, and for B Company, the main Osnabruck road bridge, which even in its damaged state, seemed still usable for tanks.
Some explosives would put it down permanently, but there were none to be had. In any case, the rail bridge, as the most intact structure, would get priority attention when they did arrive. For now, the rail bridge was a problem, but there were mines covering the approaches, and Allied eyes were more firmly fixed at Ramsey’s position and the bridge to the south.
That second structure, on Friedrich-Platte-Straβe, was also damaged but, in the view of the 116th’s present hierarchy, was likely to fall down ‘if so much as an ant farted near it.’
None the less, it was covered by a short company of men from the 1st Black Watch.
The rail bridge itself formed the junction between the British and American defenders, the other 1st Black Watch company defending up to the rails, the bridge and south from that point was the responsibility of the newly designated ‘Yorke Force’, the recent arrivals thickened out with stragglers and the reorganised engineers of the 29th Composite Engineer Company.