Panzer 413 - Hell is Cold

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MSgt Ted Dixon was not a man to be rushed. His guys were wiring the bridge on the road which led to Limerlé, the tanker he'd picked up in Gouvy said that the Krauts had already gone down that road, so why bother blowing the bridge?

"Well, we're on this side, they're on the other. While this is a pretty small creek, no bridge will slow the Krauts down won't it? Keeping them away from our own precious selves. I like that, don't you?"

The tanker just shook his head and walked back to his tank. He didn't understand combat engineers, thought they were all nuts.

The tanker was Mac Peterson, he'd lost track of how many days they'd been running around these Belgian woods and hills. One moment cozy in barracks, the next on the road with Tom Friedman to meet up with replacements who'd been sent forward already. And wasn't that just like the freaking Army?

Now Tom and his crew were dead, not 50 yards to their front, still in their burned out tank, not far from the wreck of the Tiger Boston Beans had killed. Their youngest crewman, Private Herring had wondered why he smelled burned meat when they'd driven past the two wrecks. Wondered out loud until Louis Clark, their tank's driver had told him to shut the Hell up. The kid would learn.

Damn replacements.

As he grabbed the main gun and climbed up to the turret, he saw the engineer waving at him. Looks like they were ready to move out. Hooking up to the intercom, Mac ordered Louis to turn Tennessee Whiskey around and follow the engineers. Bob Norwood was already cranking the turret around to face over the back deck of the tank. Just to discourage anyone coming up the road behind them. Only Krauts were back there.

As they moved out, the wind kicked up and the snow started up again. Mac thought, if I survive this damn war, I'm moving to someplace where they don't know what snow is!

Pierre Marchand stood in the doorway of his home and watched as the German officer climbed down from his tank. Pierre hated les Boches, he had been a young man in the 1914 war, too young for the army, but old enough to remember the Germans. They had had his maternal grandfather and two of his cousins shot. To encourage the rest of the village to cooperate with them.

"Old man! Have you seen the Americans? How many men? Tanks?"

Of course the pig spoke in German, why did les Boches always think that everyone in this part of Belgium spoke German. All the German speakers were over in St. Vith, here they were all good Walloons, not Huns.

Kurt Langanke looked at the Belgian standing in front of him with frustration. Did these stupid peasants always have to act like they knew nothing? Maybe the clod didn't speak German. So...

"Vieil homme, avez-vous vu les Américains?"

"Avez-vous vu des chars, de l'infanterie, combien?"

"Can you speak at all you bloody clod?"

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As the Boche talked to him in his terrible French, Pierre had a sudden chill. When the man's white camouflage coat collar fell open, he could see the SS-runes on the man's uniform. An SS-man, Pierre didn't feel good about this. He better tell him about the tank and the trucks, three weren't there? Maybe twenty men?

"Un char, trois camions, peut-être 20 hommes, commandant."

Pierre was shaking now, he hoped the German thought it was from the cold. Go, just go, fight your war somewhere else, he thought.

The Hauptsturmführer thought for a moment. Seemed plausible, if the Ami had had a stronger force then they might have stood their ground. He'd been seeing signs of American panic for two days now. Abandoned vehicles and equipment, even overcoats and rifles thrown off in their hurry to run away. Harrumph, he'd run these bastards to ground, they would have to stand and fight sometime.

"Merci, mon vieux." Kurt turned on his heel to remount his Panther, the old fellow was harmless. Maybe even simple. Chap had been shivering like a newborn colt.

Climbing into the turret he ordered his tank forward and pumped his fist in the air. As he did so, he saw that the snow was harder now.

Scheisse!

As the column of tanks rolled by, Pierre counted 11 of them, they were followed by halftracks packed with infantry. Grimacing at the Germans as they rolled by, they were laughing and mocking him, one even threw a snowball at him.

Pierre shook his fist and yelled the only German he knew, "Scheißkopf!"

For that, an SS Sergeant riding in one of the halftracks shot Pierre Marchand down in the street, right in front of his home.

The Belgian wasn't really that old, he was only forty-two, but he wouldn't see forty-three.

Oberfeldwebel Willi Hoffmeister was frustrated, his old comrade, Otto Krämer had just come back from talking with the company commander. They wanted him and Becker in 414 to travel back up the road they just came down, then over to Rettigny, where there was rumored to be more fuel. They'd be accompanied by two halftracks of panzergrenadiers.

"Secure the fuel Willi, we are starting to be desperately short of that item."

"Verstanden. And after that?"

"Head north, you see here on the map? Take that road down to Houffalize. The rest of the battalion should be there by now."

"Houffalize? I thought we were headed to Bastogne?"

"There's an American tank force in that area, they're threatening our flank and the flank of 6th Panzerarmee. Our Tigers should make short work of them. Then Major Lange will tell us what's next."

Sighing, Willi compared Otto's map to his, he marked Rettigny, the road there, then the road north, then to Houffalize.

Google Maps

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Mac stood on his seat looking down the road, the engineer's jeep was just around the bend in the road, apparently they were setting some mines, both on the road, on the verge, and on the trees beside the road. As the terrain was rising here, the engineer sergeant thought it would be a good spot to slow the Kraut advance in this sector.

Google Streetview

Mac looked around, decided that when the engineers were done, he'd back up a hundred yards or so and wait. If the Krauts made it through the mines, maybe he'd toss a few rounds their way, get their attention, make them deploy, then Tennessee Whiskey would scoot.

Well, we'll see, he thought.

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Langanke was in his turret, trying to stay warm, looking at his map, trying to concentrate. He didn't remember being this tired in Russia, maybe it was the circumstances, the odd "last chance" feeling of this whole offensive. He heard a loud bang behind him, what the...

The Panther behind his had rolled over a mine, Langanke could see that the track was damaged, that's when he noticed the wires running into the trees along the road.

Waving frantically he tried to get the column to halt, too much interference on the radio made it hard to communicate between tanks, sometimes the old fashioned ways were still effective. He heard another bang, looked up to see a tree falling onto the road directly over the turret of the third vehicle in line. His second in command's Panther.

Looks like the Amis were fighting back

Damn it, the damned American engineers!

Mac heard the explosions, ha, that'll teach 'em, he thought.

"Jim, Bob, you boys ready?"

"Got AP up the spout boss," Jim Sherwood answered.

"Sighted in on the bend in road Mac, we're ready." Gunner Bob Norwood chimed in.

Mac settled lower in the turret, no sense being a target just yet.

Langanke had sent one of his halftracks forward, told the sergeant in charge to scout further down the road while they sorted themselves out here. It was slow work but they managed to get one vehicle clear of the hastily planted mine field.

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SS-Hauptscharführer* Manfred Weber had a man on the hood of the halftrack to watch for possible mines and booby traps. He had the rest of the men ready to jump out and deploy should they run into anything.

Well, they did run into something. Something Weber wasn't ready for. This was no simple Belgian peasant to be gunned down.

Mac barked, "Fire!" as the Kraut halftrack rolled around the bend in the road.

The shot bored straight into the driver's compartment of the vehicle, the vehicle slewed to a stop as Jerry Herring opened up with his bow machine gun at the Germans trying to bail out of the stricken vehicle.

His first burst killed the man on the hood, then it killed Weber, as Herring, in his inexperience, let the gun rise from the recoil. He quickly adjusted though and clipped one of the Krauts trying to scramble into the woods alongside the road.

It all ended rather quickly as Tennessee Whiskey fired a high explosive round into the disabled halftrack. Which pretty much finished the battle.

Mac ordered Louis to move out. It would be a while before that halftrack could be moved!

As Langanke's Panther moved out, he was expecting to see his men ahead, engaging American engineers. He wasn't prepared to see his halftrack destroyed and apparently most of its squad dead, scattered around the vehicle or still in the vehicle.

Again, the damn Ami engineers had delayed his column. At this rate they wouldn't make it to Houffalize before morning.

"Put out sentries, we'll lager here for the night!"

And again it was starting to snow.

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As for Panzer 413, Willi's Tiger was waiting for his own engineers to fix a damaged bridge to his front. They'd be lucky to get to Rettigny tonight.

He tugged his collar tight and sat back into his turret. He noticed the snow.

And wondered if any of his family still lived.

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* Hauptscharführer, senior platoon sergeant.