“Have a wee dram of that, Sarnt. That’ll put hairs on ye chest, so it will.”
The brandy was the very best quality, found amongst the abandoned vehicles of some unknown Allied General’s headquarters.
“Wow!”
McEwan waved the canteen on, and it was passed to the unhappy Rosenberg.
A sudden burst of firing made everyone instinctively duck, and a body came tumbling into the position.
“Oi vay, Chief! Don’t you Shergeants ever knock?”
Charley Bluebear unrolled himself and brushed his uniform into place, experienced enough not to salute in the front line, despite Ramsey’s seniority.
“I am Warrant Officer, Corporal Rosenberg.”
The Jew smiled disarmingly, testing his painful elbow by extending the canteen to the big man.
“Thank you, Corporal Rosenberg.”
A quick swig and the canteen found its way back to the rightful owner, the dour Scot looking somewhat overwrought at the reduced contents.
“So what’s cooking, Chief?”
Hässler and Bluebear had come to an accommodation over the nickname. If the Master Sergeant used it sparingly, and not in a derogatory fashion, then Bluebear wouldn’t break all his fingers.
So far, the agreement was holding.
“Lots of men crawling up as close as they can get over there. Over two companies, maybe even a battalion. Good cover if they stay down low, Master Sergeant.”
Hässler hummed a response, his mind working the problem.
Ramsey wondered why the senior man, Bluebear, was deferring to Hässler, a lower rank. He decided that they must have made another accommodation, and it wasn’t his place to interfere.
The American-German NCO thought aloud.
“We’ve got a good position, and they still have to come the one way.”
Looking at Ramsey, he went on.
“Yeah, they’ve got armor, but we can mess that up enough to hold them.”
The Black Watch Major pursed his lips, his mind also caught up in matters other than those directly in front of him.
Bluebear, conscious that minds were working, posed a simple question.
“So?”
Hässler remained quiet, looking at the English officer.
Ramsey believed he knew what the NCO was thinking, and nodded his agreement to the Master Sergeant.
“So, they are not coming here. This is a diversion.”
He liberated the map from his pouch, and opened it up, placing it on the ammo box that Bluebear slid into place with ease.
The answer was as clear as day.
“Here, at Rechtern and Düste.”
Even Rosenberg nodded, despite the fact that such matters were beyond his comprehension.
“Sho they will be past ush then. Should we bug out?”
The three faces looked at Rosenberg, as if he had been caught with his hand in the poor box.
“Nope. The fuckers will be coming here after that, my little friend.”
“Why? They don’t need thish town do they? They are past ush!”
Ramsey prepared to explain diplomatically, but was beaten to it by the slightly less sensitive Indian.
“It’s the bridge, you stupid corporal.”
Rosenberg looked from face to face, seeking further explanation.
Ramsey supplied it.
“It’s a rail bridge. Heavy load. Stands to reason the Soviets want it, and I will warrant that there is no other such bridge for miles in either direction.”
In that, Ramsey was absolutely correct.
“Sho why haven’t we blown the fucking thing up…err…pardon me… Shir?”
Hässler supplied the answer this time.
“No explosives, you dumb fuck! Are all your people so stupid?”
Unusually, Rosenberg bristled at the comment.
“Only thosh of ush who have to put up with you fucking Krauts.”
Ramsey went on, eyeing both men as he spoke.
“So, we need to reorganise a little.”
The resources were thin, but Hässler and Bluebear could jiggle things a little.
“You gonna dial it in to the man, Major?”
Quickly decoding the Master Sergeant’s words, Ramsey nodded.
“You first, Sergeant. Get him in the picture now. I will nip off back to my boys, get them reoriented to the south, and then give my report to the Colonel.”
Without standing on ceremony, Ramsey quickly checked the lie of the land, and then was up and gone, McEwan following in his wake, determined never to bring best brandy near the Yanks again.
Willoughby was already making some changes, but the additional call from the competent sounding limey had made him tweak them some more.
“Get me Ramirez at 2nd.”
The handset made its way over as the Commanding Officer of the grandly named 2nd Battalion came on line.
“Major, I just got off the line with a British officer who has firmed up the Intel. Best guess is the commies will definitely come straight at you with everything they got. You must hold, Oscar.”
Quite clearly, Major Oscar Ramirez was unhappy with that decision.
“If they get through you, they will have options, Major. But we think they are after the rail bridge, so I am trying to locate some explosives, to at least drop the bridge at Rechtern as quickly as possible.”
Willoughby had enough time to drink half a cup of coffee as the Spanish-American officer vented his spleen down the field telephone.
“Now hold on there, Oscar! You will hold, and that is a goddamn order, son! I’m sending up some assets. Armor, and extra bodies from 3rd Battalion.”
Clearly, that had little effect upon the Major’s tirade.
“Well, Major Ramirez. You will goddamn hold that position, or I will goddamn find someone who will, and I will make it my goddamn mission in life to visit myself upon your fucking sorry ass for the rest of your days. Am we clear, Major?”
Clearly, the response from Ramirez was unsatisfactory.
“Major, you are relieved immediately. Put your second in command on the horn immediately, and consider yourself under arrest.”
“He wants to speak to you, Phil.”
“Jesus, Oscar. You told him to fuck off!”
“He is hanging our asses out to dry for a hunch. Pinning us here with no manoeuvre, all on a fucking guess from some limey.”
The telephone changed hands.
“Captain Oakley.”
He listened, sparing an occasional horrified glance at his friend.
“Are you sure of that situation, Colonel?”
The Captain almost jumped as the storm broke quickly in his ear.
“No, Sir, I am not questioning you, as such.”
Oakley winced.
“Well, Sir, that’s unfortunate. But to fix this unit in position on that basis is just wrong, Sir.”
Suddenly, the jaw grew tenser, teeth set hard against each other in response to some direct words.
“Let me be frank, Colonel. We can give you some time, for sure, and maybe enough time for the engineers to do their job. But if the Red Army comes down that road in force, we haven’t got a hope in hell of stopping a full scale attack, and to stand here and let it roll over us would be suicide, Sir.”
His decision made, Oakley grinned at his ex-commanding officer.
“Well, if that’s the case, Colonel, I believe that you’ll be down to the corporals in no time, cos your order is a cluster fuck.”
He replaced the phone on its cradle.
“So, what now, Oscar?”
The handset flew across the tent.
“Cowards! Fucking useless fucking cowards!”
Pulling out his Colt automatic and dramatically chambering a round, Willoughby rounded on his staff.