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Praetorium Honoris

Friday, March 4, 2022

Operation David

(Source)
"Come on McLaren, ye move like my old Gran!" Lance Corporal Billy Wallace was getting tired of Private Robert McLaren's lagging behind the rest of the squad. Sgt. Greaves grinned, not six months ago it would have been Wallace getting yelled at.

The men were loading up to move into Belgium, the Germans had crossed into that small country that very morning. The word was that the Belgians were not holding the line and were falling back in the face of attacks by artillery, tanks, aircraft, and infantry. The key fort of Eben-Emael had fallen and the Germans were heading for Brussels.

The British Expeditionary Force was adhering to the plan devised by the French High Command to meet the German advance deep inside of Belgium. Officially it was meant to help the Belgians, in reality the French did not want another war on the soil of France.

As the trucks began to move Private Horace Webb asked, "Sar'nt Greaves, think we'll get a spot of leave to see Brussels?"

Before Greaves could answer Billy piped up, "Are ye bloody daft, Webb? D'ye think we're going on holiday? We're off to fight the bloody Huns!"

"Lance Corporal Wallace is correct, we're going to be near Brussels but we won't have a chance to visit the city. By this time tomorrow we'll be knee deep in Germans I should think." Greaves gave Billy a look, they were all nervous. He'd have a chat with the lad later on, once they were settled into their new positions near the town of Wavre.


Caporal Guillaume Micheaux and his squad were part of a long column of French infantry marching into Belgium. The day was overly warm and the road was dusty, the air seemed to be only slightly less thick than the ground they marched upon.

Guillaume realized that he was heading into battle much the same way as the armies of Napoléon had, on foot. In fact, had his father been alive, he would have seen very little difference from his days in the Great War. Other than the occasional motor vehicle that is.

Guillaume had heard that the British were fully motorized, the Germans less so but more than his own army (a rumor which was most assuredly not true). He was nervous, the things they had heard about the German attacks in Poland and Norway, and now in the Low Countries, made him picture swarms of aircraft and tanks moving towards them as they headed deeper into Belgium.

Fortunately they didn't have far to go, they were more or less the hinge upon which the left flank of the Allied armies swung into Belgium. On their right were the forested hills of the Ardennes, to the left was the bulk of the mobile forces.

For some reason Guillaume was nervous about the Ardennes. He had heard the officers discussing the inability of the Germans to move through there with their motorized units. He wasn't so sure, he had visited the Ardennes before the war. Once you got past the forests along the border with Germany, it was pretty open with a good road network.

But no doubt the officers knew more about it than he did. Or so he hoped.


Jürgen von Lüttwitz, had he known him, no doubt would have sympathized with Caporal Micheaux. His unit was also marching into Belgium on foot. After the bloodless success at the border, the men were in a good mood. As they marched they did as German infantry had done for centuries, they sang.

Jürgen sang along as well, it helped ease the monotony of the march. It was such a beautiful day that he found it hard to believe that a war was taking place. But in the distance he could hear the rumble of artillery.

"Herr Unteroffizier, do you think the Belgians will surrender?" Schütze Bodo Hermann asked. So far all this man had seen of war was the Belgians fleeing from his unit and the prisoners captured by the Fallschirmjäger at the fort on the border. He had heard shots fired in anger, but outgoing, not incoming.

"I don't know Bodo, but if they do, I'll let you know. I would think that they would need to stand and fight first before they surrender." Jürgen was still unsure of himself with these men, most of whom were older than him by at least five years.

The 223rd had been formed from reservists recalled to the colors just before the invasion of Poland. The General Staff were rapidly expanding the army, knowing that Hitler had planned on attacking France as soon as he could settle things in the east. They were going to need as many infantry divisions as they could field. Not all of the generals placed their faith in the new Panzer and motorized units.

The youngest soldier, other than himself, was Gefreiter Johannes Grüner, who was twenty-seven. The oldest, at thirty-two, was Schütze Michael Offenbach. All of these men had seen some service in the mid-30s, but that was six years and more ago. While they readily obeyed him, Jürgen still felt they didn't completely trust his leadership.

Their actual squad leader was still leading the platoon, for now the squad was Jürgen's. He didn't want to let the men down. As he marched he thought long and hard about his squad, he had some very good men. The marches were hardening them, even the somewhat portly Christoph Groß had shed a few pounds, his tunic was much looser than it had been back in late April when Jürgen had joined the unit.

A few more days and the men might be ready for combat, real combat against an enemy who fought back.

Fairey Fox of the Belgian Air Force
Pierre Schoukens, flying his obsolescent British built Fairey Fox biplane, had gone up on patrol with his flight lead not 30 minutes ago. They had been jumped by a flight of German aircraft over Liège, in the twisting turning fight which had followed he had become separated from his lead.

He knew he was lost, but he kept his head and looked for a familiar landmark below. He was a bit high, so he chopped the throttle and let his aircraft drop. Had he given it even a moment's thought, he would have kept his speed up. He had forgotten the old saw, "speed is life!"

He saw a road below, then a crossroads with a few houses that he recognized. "Ah ha! The airfield is just north of here!" He shouted above the roar of the engine. As he began to bank the aircraft he saw something on the other road leading to the crossroads. Troops! A long column of them. They had to be German.

He prepared himself, he would strafe these Boche bastards then go home to tell his flight lead how bad he felt for getting separated from him. Perhaps killing some Germans would be penance enough.


Jürgen had seen the aircraft and had assumed it was one of the little Fieslers¹ that some generals used for surveying the lines. It was high winged and had fixed landing gear, much like the aircraft that was even now turning in their direction.

Then, as the plane got lower, he noticed that it had a lower wing as well, it was a biplane. He had seen the little Heinkel 51s before the war, but he was sure that they were no longer in service. Then he saw lights winking on the aircraft's nose, immediately he screamed, "TAKE COVER!"


Pierre was grinning from ear to ear as the rounds from his twin machine guns walked right up the road, causing the Germans to scatter. Some collapsed where they had been marching, cut down by Pierre's guns.

He wished he had brought his observer along, but the order had been to leave them behind. More weight meant less time over the front, so his back-seater, Bruno Pascal, had stayed at the field. Having him now would have been excellent, he could have killed Germans while he was coming and going!

He pulled the nose up and decided to make another pass. Gaining altitude he saw something sparkle in the corner of his eye, tracers?

Before he could form another thought he was punched hard in his lower back. He momentarily lost control of the aircraft as the pain hit him. The controls felt sluggish as he re-gained his grip on the control stick. Looking down, he wondered what the slippery mass in his lap was.

The small biplane slammed into the ground and exploded before Sous-Lieutenant Pierre Schoukens could realize that he had been disemboweled.


Some of the men cheered when the Messerschmidt Bf-109 fighter had come out of nowhere to swat the small Belgian fighter from the sky. Jürgen had no time for that.

He was cradling the head of one of his men, one of the older men, Kurt Hecher. Schütze Hecher had been hit in the lower abdomen and was bleeding faster than the Sani could patch him up.

Jürgen felt the man grip his hand and say, "Uffz², am I dying?"

Jürgen looked at the Sani, Willi Baumann, who shook his head.

"No Kurt, you'll be fine. Just rest a bit, Klar?"

"Ja, I feel sleepy, can I sleep now Uffz?"

Before Jürgen could answer the man, the grip on his hand had loosened, Kurt's jaw had gone slack and his eyes had lost their focus.

Kurt Becher was not the first man Jürgen had lost, and he wouldn't be the last. But it didn't hurt any less.

"Sani, thanks for trying. Wolf! Karl! Come here and help me get Kurt out of the road!"


Just outside of Wavre, which 2nd Lieutenant Miles-Roberts had told them was the site of a battle during the Waterloo campaign, Billy Wallace's unit was digging in. The Germans were rumored to be on their way. A number of reconnaissance flights had been seen throughout the day, checking them out.

"Bloody Hell, Sar'nt Greaves, where's the bloody RAF?" Billy wanted to know.

"They're out there Billy, they're probably covering the advance into Belgium. Ya know what the Leftenant told me today?"

"Nah, what's that Sar'nt?"

"This operation actually has a name, makes it all official, right? This move into Belgium is called Operation David. I wonder why they picked that name."

Billy looked at his sergeant, then tipped his helmet back, "Too bloody obvious, innit?"

Greaves looked puzzled for a moment, then a look came over his face, "Bloody Hell. David and Goliath."

"Ye can bet we're not bloody Goliath either." Billy said, then spat into the dirt.

"David won though, don't forget that."

"I'll try not to, but I don't see any bloody slingshots around either, just us and our .303s. Which, I might add, won't stop a bloody tank!"

Greaves looked thoughtful, "They wouldn't just throw us away would they?"

"Why not? You remember the bleedin' Somme? My Da' was there, a right bloody cock-up if there ever was."

Greaves shivered and said, "Billy Wallace, you think too bloody much."




¹ Fieseler Fi 156 Storch (Stork)
² Uffz, short for Unteroffizier

38 comments:

  1. "...too bloody much"? Or just enough? Thinking can save you -just as it can torture you later.
    Boat Guy

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  2. David and Goliath, Operation David, Billy Wallace, William Wallace, I just caught that.
    irontomflint

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  3. Bart Vanderveen 's Observer's Guide to Fighting Vehicle is WWII, is an interesting read. There seemed to be three schools of thought on military cargo and transport vehicles.

    The British Army seemed, at first, to go with buying as many commercial vehicles as possible, modified as needed.

    While the Germans poured a lot of money into making very advanced horse drawn vehicles, and very well made trucks, but decided to mostly use conscripted vehicles,both German and occupied make, for behind the lines transportation needs.

    The US Army was fortunate in many ways. They were responsible for a huge nation, with every possible terrain, so they already knew what was needed to move things through those terrains.

    Secondly, they had the US economy on their side, and manufacturing base, so they could order the trucks needed, and get them made.

    Thirdly, and maybe most importantly, they had GMC on their side. A company that was already providing off road truck to construction companies, and had the knowledge to make 6X6 truck, that would be reliable, inexpensive, and capable of doing many jobs, They made over 500,000 CCKW cargo trucks for the US Army alone, not counting all the other vehicles that used the same chassis, fire trucks, mobile work shops, airfield trucks, dump trucks, etc. The design was sould enough, that another 200,000 would be closely copied by Studebaker, for lend lease, and thousands for the USN/USMC by International.

    A fascinating subject, I hope you can put it on the list for future subjects, after this story line concludes, sometime next year.

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    1. A common problem with writing about Germany during WWII is to assume that theirs was a coherent, logical system. It was anything but. The Germans didn't "decide" to use conscripted vehicles behind the lines, the problem was that they couldn't produce enough trucks for their needs, so they had to use conscripted vehicles. Same with tanks, they used captured French, American, Russian, and British tanks because their industry couldn't come close to producing as much as they needed. They used Czech tanks as well.

      The German economy was neither planned nor well thought out. Nazi Germany can be viewed as a set of competing satrapies with little or no direction from a central planning agency. Hitler wanted it that way, divide and conquer was the way.

      "Very advanced" horse-drawn vehicles? Seems almost like an oxymoron, they put pneumatic tires on them where they could (but not always) but in the end the German Army was never all that mechanized and remained primarily a horse-drawn army to the end of the war.

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    2. As composed in my mind, there was a paragraph about the Germans inability to produce enough vehicles made them decide to that they had to go with conscription. It vanished in the typing, when I got distracted by some spelling errors. Has that ever happened when you are typing?

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    3. StB #1 - Yup, it was a decision born of necessity.

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    4. StB #2 - All of the time, most of them get cleaned up in the editing process. Some slip though to get commented upon.

      And yes, it is.

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    5. (Don McCollor)...A little know US Army group was the Army Industrial College established in 1924 and their yearly updated surveys of American industry. The Army knew what companies could make, how fast, how good, and at what cost better than anyone else. In "There's a War to be Won" an example is a tank. The contractor may produce 1000 of 45,000 parts. The rest have to come from hundreds of subcontractors. The Army knew the ones that could do it. And the War Production Board rode herd at a higher level, assigning priorities for use of materials for production...

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    6. Don McCollor: and now, industrial capacity is ignored: can they make items adjustable according to the needs of Diversity (which is our strength). Can the seat be adjusted for varying genders, body-positivity types, and the differently-abled? Money and time are no object.
      Sarge, I'm just picking nits as usual.
      "...Wavre, which 2nd Lieutenant Miles-Roberts had told them was the sight of a battle...": 'site' in place of 'sight'.
      Still enjoying the story! Thank you for another interesting one.
      --Tennessee Budd.

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    7. (Don McCollor)...Adm. Rickover insisted (demanded) that a full scall interior mock-up of every new nuclear sub (or nuclear section of a surface ship) be made before actual construction. Every pipe and valve, every instrument console, every control. Expensive but worth it. Could the workers build it? Could things be repaired? Could operators (of different stature) see controls under different lighting conditions? They were detailed enough for crews to initially train in. Even now, drawings and virtual stuff is not the same...

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  4. The chunky guy was Cristoph Gross? I saw what you did there!

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  5. "Jürgen was still unsure of himself with these men, most of whom were older than him but at least five years"....."by"? Good post Sarge.

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  6. This is a good history lesson...

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  7. "For some reason Guilliame was nervous about the Ardennes...". And, as history played out, rightly so.

    Sarge, having no military experience, it strikes me that you paint very well the moment when the "game" of war becomes all too real. The Germans singing, the Sous-Lieutenant thinking of a quick strafing run and then being on his way - all of this comes to a grinding halt in the face of what modern warfare actually does.

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    1. There is that moment in time when things become horribly real.

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  8. When it misses the fan.

    Excellent.

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  9. Like the new header photo. Kinfolk, maybe, possibly signaling an imminent post from the silent one?

    Biplanes are so old fashioned. Except, they still fly. Apparently the Russkies have a bunch of ancient AN-2 Colt biplanes over near UKR, with speculation that they may be used as decoys to draw out UKR AAA for targeting of their associated radars. Or, that they may be quite handy for inserting specops types in remote areas. Or as drones with explosive loads.
    John Blackshoe

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    1. No signaling, I just wanted a new header photo and ... I don't know, maybe I'm subconsciously trying to shame her into writing a post. Which I know wouldn't work because she's too much like me.

      In Korea we were briefed that the North Koreans would use them to drop paratroopers on our golf course.

      Yes, the Intel major who briefed us was a barking idiot. But he was right about the An-2.

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  10. My understanding is that the AN-2 has a very small radar signature. or Low signature....

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  11. Hey Old AFSarge;

    Excellent Post, you were correct, the German economy was a bunch of competing satraps until Albert Speer became Reich Minister and streamlined it and made it far more efficient. If he had taken over sooner and if Germany had gone to a wartime economy sooner than 1942, it might have made a difference.

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    1. Even as late in the game as Speer came in, it was close. More fuel for training of tank and aircrewmen and we would have had a much tougher time of it.

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  12. Methinks you took some inspiration for that line of troops from something our UKR friends have seen (and wish they had some BRRRRRRRT for).

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