War and Politics

(Source)

Hauptfeldwebel Hermann Krüger was followed by the remnants of his company, the 8th company of the 3rd Battalion of Grenadier Regiment 985. He and his men had been ordered to report to a Hauptmann von Lüttwitz. All Krüger knew was that the captain was somewhat famous for having led a small band of survivors of his company across most of France after the army had collapsed in Normandy.

As he approached the bivouac area of Kampfgruppe von Lüttwitz, he noted that they had a fairly significant number of armored vehicles for what was essentially a weak battalion. It seemed that Germany was scraping the bottom of the barrel now for units to try and stop the American advance. It was working, though Aachen had fallen, the army was still holding strong in the Hürtgenwald.

"Herr Hauptfeldwebel, can I help you?" Grenadier Hans-Peter Fuchs was on sentry duty at the entrance to the bivouac. He wondered if this ragged band was meant to be added to their own little unit. He liked the idea, the man standing in front of him was highly decorated¹ and looked like he'd been around.

"Yes, Grenadier. We, my men and I, have been ordered to report to a Hauptmann von Lüttwitz. Perhaps..."

"If you follow this track about 50 meters, you'll see a small house on the right, just past those trees there. That's the headquarters, the captain should be there."

As Krüger signaled his men to follow him, Fuchs stopped him. "Begging your pardon Herr Hauptfeldwebel, but your men look hungry, the field kitchen is down that way."

Krüger looked in the direction that Fuchs had pointed, he nodded at the young soldier and said, "Thank you Grenadier, my men are indeed hungry." He had the senior surviving sergeant, only two Unteroffiziers and a Gefreiter had survived the fiasco in the valley, take the men down to the field kitchen.

Walking down the path, he looked around, these men had been resupplied with good equipment and the new reversible winter uniforms, camouflaged on one side, white on the other. It was a good sign perhaps, but it could also mean that these men were about to be thrown back into the fire.

"I don't think you understand the situation here Herzig, I command this battlegroup. If I want your advice, I will ask for it. Until then you will keep your mouth shut, you will stop pestering the men with your National Socialist nonsense, and, if you know what's good for you, you will keep out of my way. Is that clear Oberleutnant?"

Herzig had a smirk on his face, it was apparent to him that this man had been at the front for far too long. Did he not understand that since the attempt on the Führer's life back in July that the Party was now paramount? Only pure National Socialistic thoughts and ideals would stem the Allied advance so that the bulk of the army could then be thrown at the Bolsheviks in the East.

"Herr Hauptman, I do understand the military situation here. We have stopped the American advance all along the front. They have taken Aachen, but I am sure the Führer has already made plans to retake the city and deal with the traitors who surrendered it. The English and their lackeys are still bogged down in Holland and winter is coming. I am quite sure that we will soon be moved to the East, to fight the Slavic hordes. That also explains the political dimension of the war in its current state. Hold the west at the borders of the Reich while we turn and deal a final blow to the Communists who have overreached themselves. I have it on good authority that their advance has stalled in Poland." Herzig completed his lecture with a rather smug look on his face.

Von Lüttwitz sat behind the table which served as his desk, he was speechless. This Nazi pup, this scion of the new Germany, this leech from headquarters dared lecture him on the military situation. The Americans had been slowed down, not stopped, they were still inching forward in the Hürtgen, though paying dearly for each meter they advanced into Germany. Germans were dying by the hundreds trying to stop that advance, as slow as it was, eventually there would be nothing to stop them with.

And in the East, the Soviets, stalled? No, they were resupplying and regrouping after having destroyed an entire army group in the summer. They had driven the German Army back to the borders of the Reich and had cleared half of Poland. Warsaw was still in German hands after an abortive uprising by the Poles had been defeated barely two months ago. That summed up the military and the political situation. The war was nearing its end, Germany was losing. The only reason they kept fighting was that there was no alternative. They must bleed the enemy in the hopes of a negotiated settlement. He remembered his uncle's tales of the aftermath of the First World War, Germany must not go through that again.

Rather than scream at this idiot standing so arrogantly in front of him, von Lüttwitz managed to calm himself. Though he would have loved to have this fool shot, he realized that he would be killing himself as well. Before he could say anything, there was a sharp rap at the door.

"Enter!"

The door opened to reveal a rather disheveled Hauptfeldwebel. "Herr Hauptmann, Hauptfeldwebel Hermann Krüger reporting. I have 33 men under my command. I was ordered to report to you."

Von Lüttwitz stood and extended a hand, "Please come in Krüger, have a seat." Turning to the other man in the room he said, "You, Oberleutnant, are dismissed."

"Herr Hauptmann, we need to..."

"Dismissed, Oberleutnant."

Krüger had to wonder what that was all about as he took a seat next to the small table.

"Sorry about that Krüger, that, by the way, was our NSFO. Now where are your men coming from?"

"Sir, we are the only survivors of the 8th Company, 3rd Battalion, Grenadier Regiment 985. We had been rebuilt over the past month, many new recruits, just boys really, and a number of First World War veterans as well. We were sent into the Hürtgenwald to reinforce one of our positions which was in danger of being overrun by the Americans. We were caught in an artillery barrage. We are all that is left of the 8th Company."

Von Lüttwitz nodded, he had heard of that butchery. An entire company reduced to a weak platoon in a manner of minutes. He had seen the American artillery at work, he knew what it was like to be under it. He shuddered at the thought.

"Have you and your men eaten yet today?"

"My men were directed to the field kitchen by your sentry. I wanted to report in first."

"Very good. I have to tell you, I already have a first sergeant for the Kampfgruppe, Klaus-Peter Keller, but now I think having another is good. We should probably divide the group into two companies. We are still trying to get organized, word has it that we'll be going back into the line within a week or so. Go, get something to eat, get your men settled in, then report back to me." Von Lüttwitz stood up and offered his hand again. After shaking hands, Krüger snapped off a very professional military salute, which von Lüttwitz returned. Then Krüger hesitated, wondering if he'd made a mistake.

"Never mind the Hitlergruß² Krüger, I prefer tradition to politics. But mind yourself around that young lieutenant who was here when you arrived. He's a stickler for the new rules."

"Understood Sir, unfortunately, our NSFO was killed in the artillery barrage." Krüger said that in a neutral tone.

"Yes, Hauptfeldwebel, how unfortunate. Now go, get some food in you. Dismissed."

Von Lüttwitz thought that he should be more careful around strangers, but the way Krüger had mentioned his NSFO's death made him believe that man was also a traditionalist. Still though, one couldn't be too careful.

Grabbing his cap from the hook on the nearby wall, and his greatcoat, Hauptmann Jürgen von Lüttwitz, scion of the old German nobility, went out to gather his combat leaders. They had rested long enough, they needed to reorganize the unit. And find something to keep their NSFO busy while they did so.

"Hhmm, killed in an artillery barrage? How unfortunate..." von Lüttwitz muttered to himself as he closed the door.

"How unfortunate."

¹ The German soldier of WWII wore his combat decorations and awards on his tunic, even in combat.

² Hitler salute

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