Frau Schmitz

Source

Her name was Liesl, Liesl Schmitz née Baumgartner, she was 27, a widow, and she looked ridiculous in the oversized helmet and greatcoat she was wearing. Krafft didn't care, something about her had struck him to the very core of his being.

He had been with a small detachment of troops at the village water source, filling the company's canteens when he first saw her. She looked nondescript in her old clothes and shawl as she and a few other women were there for the same purpose as the soldiers. He had called over to her to let her know that the detachment would soon be out of their way and she had looked up.

Her eyes were incredible, blue with a hint of gray, and they sparkled with good humor and life. Incredible given the situation she found herself in. He had stood there, staring at her.

"So, Stabsfeldwebel, was there something else you wanted to say, or have you lost the ability to speak?"

"No, no, ma'am, I'm just, it's just that ..."

His embarrassment was interrupted by one of the men saying, "We're done here, Herr Stabsfeldwebel, should we return to the bivouac or ...?"

"Yes, yes Hans, take the canteens back, I'll be along shortly. I'm sorry Fraulein, I didn't mean to stare."

"It's Frau, Frau Schmitz."

"Ah, is your husband in the Army?"

"He was ..." she stated flatly.

Krafft realized then and there just how stupid his question was, her answer told him volumes.

"Where did he fall?"

"Fall? He was killed Stabsfeldwebel, he didn't fall, the Russians killed him at Stalingrad. At least that's what the Army told me. I am a widow, no children. You?"

Krafft thought for a moment of his Helga, dark hair and eyes, always laughing. Until the bombs fell, he supposed.

"Widower, my wife died in an RAF bombing, as have so many more."

"Dying. It's something we Germans are getting very good at." With that she turned on her heel and left him standing there, dumbfounded and smitten.

Three days later he had run into her again, she apologized for her abruptness at the well. He asked her if she was hungry, he would be willing to share his rations with her.

"It isn't much, gnädige Frau, Army bread and sausage both of which taste like it's made partially of sawdust."

She laughed and Dieter Krafft now felt that he had something to live for.

"Call me Liesl, you are?"

"Dieter, Dieter Krafft. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

She smiled again and Krafft realized that he had fallen for this woman mit Haut und Haaren¹.

They had met several more times before von Zitzewitz decided that they should move out and head for the Seelow Heights. On the last occasion they had been intimate and he had asked her to leave with him.

"Where are you going?"

"The Seelow, the last good defensive position before Berlin."

"And what will I do there?" She seemed hesitant.

"If you stay here, you might want to learn to speak Russian." He had been blunt.

"I doubt they'll want to talk. What will your Leutnant say?"

"I don't know, schatzi,² and honestly, I really don't care."

She looked at him for a moment, then said, "Very well."

He had acquired a helmet and greatcoat for her, nowhere near her size, but better than nothing. She had grinned when she put it on and asked if she should have a rifle as well.

"Do you want one?"

She had looked into the far distance, as if she had left the present and was somewhere else, then she had shaken herself and said, "Yes, I want a rifle."

The entire company seemed to have adopted Frau Schmitz, in part because she had made Krafft much more easy to get along with. But also because for most of the men, she reminded them of home and simpler times. Her beauty and easy-going nature didn't hurt. By the second day on the Seelow Heights von Zitzewitz had remarked that even had he wished to be rid of her, the company would mutiny.

"But what happens to her when Ivan attacks? You do know that that's inevitable, ja?"

"I don't know Herr Leutnant, she had no one in her village, she has no one in this world. Her husband dead, her parents dead, killed in Berlin by the RAF, her husband's parents died before the war in a train accident. She knows the dangers and she would rather die with us than live alone in this world."

"Who says we're going to die?" von Zitzewitz asked, in all seriousness.

"Ah, so you have plans for after the war, Herr Leutnant?"

Von Zitzewitz turned red, "Well, no, but how do you know we will be killed?"

"I don't know for certain, Sir. All I know is that I will enjoy what little time I have left. When the Russians come, then we roll the dice. Beyond that?"

Von Zitzewitz, for the first time in his young life, realized that surviving the war wasn't entirely within his control, perhaps not at all.

¹ With skin and hair - The expression "with skin and hair" means complete, entire, or with one's entire personality. It is often used to describe devoting oneself to something with passion, embracing it completely, or engaging with it intensely.

² Darling.

Another of my Heroes

 So, still in quite a bit of pain.  A little more than a week before I can get in for an MRI and find out what the.... is going on.  Not much fun.  Just found out that Little J and Wife had a miscarriage on child #2.  So...again, not much fun.  Decided I'd resuscitate a posting from one of the first posts I put up 13 years ago or so.  Through the years, we've discussed one of my heros a few times.  Here's one of those stories.  Unfortunately....

Source

 

 So...Off we go!

We were both assigned to the 435TFTS at Holloman AFB NM. Suffice it to say that even though I was qualified as an "experienced" fighter pilot flying time wise, I learned a lot from Ras during flight briefings and debriefings, and in the air.  Some of the most important things I learned from him were taught in the Squadron Bar. After he PCS’d to Fort Carson for his last assignment in the Air Force as an ALO, I lost touch with him and didn’t reconnect with him until I saw his book “When Thunder Rolled” on Amazon.  Bought it immediately, and started reading.  It was like being in the Bar again; I’d heard most of those stories. A few years ago, I managed to track him down and restablish our friendship.  Unfortunately, he's no longer with us.  As I mentioned last week, Heaven to me would be flying fighters in against and with both He and Vegas. Yes, that would be heaven.

But the post really triggered a memory of one flight he and I had together while at Holloman.

Basic Fighter Maneuvers (BFM) are  exactly what the name implies, at the most basic level, how do you maneuver a fighter so as to kill another fighter and/or avoid being killed yourself.  It’s not just pull on the pole as hard as you can.  It’s using your energy wisely, regaining it when you can, using gravity to enhance the effect.  Most of the Lead In Fighter Training program consisted of BFM rides, and throughout the flying portion of my career, a sizeable portion of my rides were BFM also, whether I was in an Air to Air Squadron or an Air to Ground Squadron.  BFM skills are critical and very perishable. 

BFM rides involved two aircraft, a 1 v 1, and typically there were two types of setups.  In the first setup, one jet takes a position 30 to 45 degrees off the tail of the other and 6000-9000’ away.  In a real world fight, this is a very dangerous position for the person in front to be in.  Once participants are ready, the fight is started with a “Fight’s on” call and maneuvering commences.  The fight typically continues until a kill shot is taken by one or the other fighter, a fighter manages to disengage successfully, the desired learning point has been achieved, or a safety factor is encountered.  (Over G, going through minimum altitude, min fuel etc).

The second type of setup is a neutral setup, typically called a “Butterfly”.  The two jets start in tactical formation about 6-9K’ apart and the flight lead calls for a turn away from each other of 45 degrees.  At some point the flight lead calls for the turn in and both aircraft turn back towards each other for a head on pass.  The flight lead will call fight’s on at some point,  typically immediately prior to the pass so that maneuvering can begin.

This now leads to a decision on the part of both fighter pilots.  Do I want a two circle fight or a one circle fight?  There’s an excellent discussion of this here , but basically, if your turn radius is better than the other jet's, try for a one circle.

 

Back in the day, I used to be able to draw a fight diagram much better.  My apologies.

  If your turn rate is not better than the other, try for a two circle fight because you’ve got more turning room to use.

 

  

I say “try”, because the other guy also gets a vote in the fight. He has to turn in the direction you expect him to otherwise ....  I was about to learn how to make that happen.

So,  There I was………….*  Ras and I were scheduled for a 1 v 1 BFM ride in Beak Charlie, the closest air to air area to Holloman.  Basically Cloudcroft NM was the Western Boundary  Roswell the Eastern and  Ruidoso the Northern.  That proximity meant we’d have maximum gas for fighting.  Typically, when these rides went on the schedule, they were immediately filled by students riding in the back seats, however, this time it was just Ras and I.  (He had told the Duty Officer not to allow any students, you’ll understand why shortly).

Briefing was short and sweet, here’s the frequencies, joker and bingo fuel levels and a discussion of which BFM setup we were going to use (Butterfly).  We had flown together enough as IPs that not much else was needed.  We step to the jets, crank up, formation takeoff and we’re in the area.  A couple of G awareness turns . (The AT-38B was getting old and we needed to “tune” our bodies to what the mandated G limit was, so that we didn’t overstress the aircraft and reduce its lifespan.  Must have worked, this story occurred about 30 years ago, and the airplanes are still flying.)

Everything’s ready to go, a quick fuel check from Ras and he calls for the turn away.  I check 45 away and rollout, snap my head around so as to keep sight of Ras.  Got him, we continue on heading for a bit and he calls turn in.  I’m pulling right on the g-limit, get pointed at him and unload the aircraft to get some speed back.  We’re about a mile out now and I’m planning for a two circle fight, since I’m a little above him, I plan to slice down to the left leading the turn as much as I can.  At that point, Ras calls fight’s on and pulls up and takes a head on gun shot. 

At the time, the safety rules prohibited any gun shots within 45 degrees either side of head on, so I’d never seen a head on shot.  Also, since the guns on most fighters are boresighted with the aircraft, where the gun is pointed is where the aircraft is pointed. If Ras has taken a gunshot, the gun is pointed at me and so is his aircraft.  Ras passes close aboard.  This has left me somewhat startled and there’s a pause before I start to maneuver.  I roll left and start the pull, expecting Ras to have done the same which should put him somewhere above my tail pointed away.  I can’t see him and call blind (another safety thing, if he calls blind also, we knock it off and get altitude separation).  He calls “continue”.  I’m in big trouble, he sees me!  I’m still frantically searching for him looking over my left (down) shoulder, when something catches the corner of my eye.  I crank around to the right, just in time to see Ras swooping down on the back side of his vertical circle. He's gone for a one circle fight, using the vertical and by virtue of being below me and pulling up for the shot, he's lead turned me.  When he got to the top of his loop, he was slow and inverted, so gravity helped him turn much faster.

Fortunately, he’s not in guns range yet, but he’s closing fast.  I break back right and up, trying to force his nose into lag  (pointed behind me), but I’m running out of airspeed and he’s not.  I see his nose slide out in front of me and I start to make out the intakes on the side of his jet (with my eyesight at the time, that was my indication that he was about 2500’ away, AKA guns range.  With my eyesight now, I think he'd be in my back seat before I saw intakes).  I roll the aircraft until the canopy is about 45 degrees below the horizon and plant the stick in my lap.  I’m jinking…Hard.  Roll the aircraft again,  push the stick forward.  Again,  and Again and Again, but Ras is still back !there, he hasn’t called any shots, but I ain’t getting away either.  I’m expecting a knock it off for lesson learned, but no.  I’m jinking for about a month and a half until we get to bingo.  Knock it off and head home.

Back in the debrief,  Ras walks in with a couple of beers, hands one to me and says “Juvat, there are no safety ROE (Rules of Engagement) in combat, and there’s no knock it off”.  Then he took a couple of sips of beer as he let me ponder that.  He then followed with “Best Jinking I’ve ever seen, I never got a shot.  Let’s talk about how you did that, I want to learn how.”

I miss him.

 

If you'd like to read more of his stories (and I highly recommend you do), he published three books before he passed, One in conjunction with Robin Olds, the other two autobiographies about his assignments (yes, Beans, more than one) in South East Asia.  Excellent stories.

 

 Rest in peace, Warrior! Ed, you deserve it!

Peace out, y'all!

• What’s the difference between a fairy tale and a war story?  A fairy tale starts with “Once upon a time” and a war story starts with “So there I was”.  

A Hectic New Year part 2

The Villages of Grants Pass Oregon

Part 2?  If you're wondering where part 1 is, you'll have to go back to the beginning of the year.  Feel free to read that one first, but long story short, we had to help my mother-in-law get home from Montana after New Years.  Please bear with me as I use Sarge's blog to vent a bit, release some stress, and provide something that might help you and yours some day.

Once again I had to fly north to be the trusted adult in the room whom my mother-in-law would listen to.  We had to break the news that due to her cognitive assessment in the hospital after falling and remaining on the floor for nearly 24 hours, she would not be allowed to go home.  Unfortunately she remained in the hospital for two more days after release was authorized as we worked to place her in assisted living.  She was angry with us, refusing to accept our direction, stating that she'll just stay in the hospital, but a case worker was helpful in explaining how this was the best and really only option.  She still argued with us claiming that she would be fine at home with home health, but that runs $30 an hour and the doctor said she needed 24-hour care. Medicare covers this type of service, or a assisted living facility, but only if you are practically destitute.  

In retrospect, we now understand that it was due to her dementia that her relationship with nearby family had soured to some extent and they weren't necessarily welcome in her home.  It was a niece who found her and saw how bad it had gotten there (trash had piled up, dogs hadn't been let out, etc.).  Her dementia was also the cause of her becoming quite good at telling us what we wanted to hear, but not actually doing anything to help herself.

Fortunately, as the widow of a military vet, who receives his social security, survivor benefit plan from his military retirement, and a dependents stipend from the VA, the monthly bill for the home we chose is within reach.  We thought there was at least a little money in her accounts from her husband's stake in the family garbage business.   However, due to misplaced generosity towards those in need, and probably that dementia, she had spent almost everything. 

While I was there she did allow me to get on her bank account, and granted me full power of attorney.  This will help us recoup some bills that were overpaid and cancel any others that are no longer needed.

We will have to rent her home which she believes she will return to, in order to cover the difference. This is after selling her brand new never used travel trailer, a John Deere Gator ATV, and a horse trailer which is no longer needed following the passing of Dad's horse a couple years ago.  His truck will also go.  I'm also fighting my wife on this a little bit in that her mom doesn't want the truck or trailer sold, due to some emotional memory connecting her to her husband. However I spoke to all the siblings and stated that I will not allow any of them to risk their future by spending savings or retirement in order to make up for their mother's mistakes. They reluctantly agreed but it is a very emotional time.  

I know this is something that millions of others have had to go through, but I will give some hard lessons learned that maybe some of the younger Chanters will benefit from. 

Have the hard conversations early.  Discuss what she wants, and in certain situations, what she would accept. This would be various stages of dementia, whether she would like to stay in her home or if this was not feasible where would she wants to live.  Talk about finances and how care would be covered. Talk about when she would accept parting with valuable possessions in order to cover bills.  Do the math. Go visit homes and talk to the management.  Talk about the cost of care and the realities of selling or renting her home.

Put this in writing, but better yet record it, get it on camera so that if dementia starts to creep in, she will be reminded of promises that were made or desires that were laid out.   

If I had to do it over again, I would know that some of those relationship challenges are due to the dementia, and more frequent visits are required despite her desires.  

In a way, the fall was a much-needed catalyst to get her the help she needed.  My wife is still tiptoeing around her, allowing visits back to her home to visit her dogs, allowing her to believe that in 3 months she will be released, but only because we don't want her to grow embittered and attempt to rescind the power of attorney before we can take necessary steps.  We are fully aware of that once an official diagnosis of dementia is given, the power of attorney is null and void. Eventually, and this is something you should add to the lessons learned, guardianship should be discussed.  Otherwise, one will have to hire an attorney and go to court to declare her incompetent. 

On the bright side, she is thriving in the home, with much more of a social life, new friends, one of her dogs, and just more mental stimulation.  The VA will likely provide her with "Aid and Attendance" allowance which will help cover more, and might make up for the times when her home isn't rented.  Who knows, in a few months she may forget her desire to go home, realizing she likes it there.  She's also eating better, and getting more exercise due to the need to walk 50 yards to the dining room.  Her other dog will be rehomed, being only 10 months old, but that's a another challenging conversation.  I returned to San Diego last weekend but my wife is staying up there another week.  This isn't over, but we're definitely all in a better place than we were 10 months or even a week ago.  Anyway, talk to your parents, or more likely- have those hard conversations with your kids, write that will, set up that trust, and avoid what we are dealing with.

The Old Prussian

Source

Otto Braun took a sip of cognac, he longed for the days when he could have a cigar to go with it, but those days were gone. He could hear his wife, Greta, puttering in the kitchen. She was a good cook and what she was able to do with what few supplies they had still amazed him.

He would turn 72 in a couple of months, if he lived that long. While his health was good, events in the outside world were not conducive to long life. According to the soldiers who had arrived yesterday, the outside world was coming their way, whether they liked it or not.

"Do you need anything else, my dear?"

He turned to look at his wife, she was still lovely in his eyes and he feared greatly for her safety. Refugees passing through from the east had told horror stories of the Russian soldiers. They took what they wanted and were not gentle about it.

He wanted to send her west, to get her away from all of this, but how? Would she walk? And with who? He had a duty, as he saw it, to protect the town and its inhabitants. He had been a policeman his entire life, other than a short stint in the army during the Great War. That had lasted only a few months. At least they had made him an officer!

He had been called up again, two months ago, promoted to lieutenant colonel and given a handful of Hitler Youth to prepare the village for defense. The Hitler Youth were long gone but they had trained the people in how to use the Panzerfaust and the few machine guns the Reich could spare.

Oberstleutnant Braun assumed that most of his neighbors and friends would die in the trenches they'd dug up on the ridge to the east. He didn't expect the soldiers to stay. They would move west, to the Seelow Heights and beyond perhaps, to Berlin itself. That maniac in his bunker would pull the whole country down with him.

There must be a way to survive, there has to be!

He finished his cognac, there wasn't much of that left either, then went upstairs to bed. Tomorrow, he suspected, was going to be a long day.

Leutnant von Zitzewitz examined the layout of the trenches the townspeople had constructed. Even with his limited experience he realized that the defenses were inadequate, at best. One of those townspeople climbed out of a makeshift dugout and greeted the Army officer.

"Guten Morgen, Herr Leutnant, what do you think of our work?" the man was positively beaming with pride.

"Honestly, Sir?"

"Of course."

"This will make the Russians deploy long enough to bring down artillery on your heads, then overrun you. My guess is that this will cost the Russians no more than an hour."

The man now looked crestfallen.

"It would be better if you stay in your homes and hang out white flags when Ivan comes down that road."

"But the Führer has ordered ..."

The lieutenant looked around in an exaggerated manner, his arms outstretched, "Herr Hitler is many kilometers from here, mein Herr. Neither he nor his minions will travel east of Berlin and chance meeting a Russian soldier. The Russians are my worry and mine alone."

With that the lieutenant left the ridge and walked down to the town, he met Krafft along the way.

"Herr Leutnant, how are you this fine morning?"

"Come with me, Staber, we need to convince Oberstleutnant Braun to gather all of the Volkssturm armbands and burn them. Then prepare the people to surrender to the Soviets."

"Sir?"

"You heard me, Stabsfeldwebel. Now let's go have a chat with our local constabulary."

"Surrender the town? Are you insane, Leutnant?"

Von Zitzewitz shook his head, "Far from it Herr Oberstleutnant. The Russians are coming, sooner or later. The main defense of Berlin will take place on the Seelow Heights, certainly not here. It is likely that the Russians will simply leave an occupation force here and generally leave you alone. No doubt they will begin educating you on how to be a good Communist."

Braun jumped to his feet, "Never!"

"Then I guess you are doomed and all the townspeople with you. In a day or so my men and I will be withdrawing to the heights. You will be on your own here. If you wish to fight Ivan, be my guest. He has thrown back or destroyed the best the Reich could provide, maybe there is an off chance that your village will throw him back. Unlikely though. More likely is that everyone wearing a Volkssturm armband will be killed, in action of course, then your women raped, and your property destroyed. But then again, you will have the honor of dying for the Fatherland. The Führer will, no doubt, be very pleased. If anyone bothers to tell him as Soviet artillery pounds the Chancellery."

Braun stood there for a moment, his face pale. Then he sat back down heavily, "There is no hope at all? This is defeatism, Leutnant."

"Nein, Herr Oberstleutnant, it is realism. It is your choice, surrender and maybe live, or fight and most certainly die. It is your choice."

Krafft and von Zitzewitz left Braun alone in his little office. The man looked to be in denial.

"Think he'll listen?" Krafft asked.

"Who knows? We won't be here to find out, we move out at first light tomorrow."

"Uh Sir, why not leave tonight, after dark?"

Von Zitzewitz suddenly thought of the Soviet aircraft they had seen patrolling the river a few days ago.

"Yes, can we be off tonight?"

"I would recommend it. We won't have to worry about the Red Air Force and we won't have to look at the townspeople as we leave them to their fate." Krafft looked around, "It's a shame but I have no desire to die here. I've changed my mind about that."

"So Lang was right," von Zitzewitz said.

"About what?" Krafft's face was turning red now.

"Is she coming with you?"

"Who ... I mean ... How did you know?"

"It's a small town Dieter, wartime romances start quickly, they end abruptly as well."

"Is this a problem, Herr Leutnant?"

"Only if you make it one, Stabsfeldwebel."

Old Men and Boys

Source

The men marched with their heads down, shuffling along more than marching. The day was miserable, snow alternating with sleet. Krafft was with the bridge detachment commander, Schmidt.

"I'm Dieter, by the way. We haven't been properly introduced have we?"

Schmidt laughed harshly, "Sorry Stabsfeldwebel, I left all my cartes de visite¹ at my home in Dresden. But no we weren't properly introduced, I'm Wolfgang. my friends call me Wolf."

Krafft chuckled, "You have friends?"

Schmidt looked at Krafft, "I suppose most of them are dead now. From Tunisia to Stalingrad, most of the lads I grew up with are gone. You?"

"I've lost everything. My home was bombed out by the Tommies. Wife gone, house gone, bastards even killed my dog. All I have now is the Army, I suspect I won't even have that shortly."

"Amen to that, brother."

The road was more or less straight all the way from the Oder to the Seelow Heights, but just ahead was a rise. Beyond that rise was a village. Near the top of the slight ridge, Krafft could see men working, digging, filling sandbags.

When they got close to the entrenchments Krafft was shocked, the diggers weren't all men, it seemed that the entire village had fallen out to prepare the town for defense. From up ahead, he heard the lieutenant call a halt.

"Wait here, Wolf, have the men fall out and get off their feet."

"Right Dieter, I could use a break myself."

As he made his way up the column, Krafft noted that most of the males were either quite old or quite young, adolescents and teens. They were all wearing armbands, there were very few uniforms in evidence. The armbands were black and red with white trim and lettering, he looked closely, the armband proclaimed the wearer to be a member of the "Deutscher Volkssturm Wehrmacht."²

He saw that von Zitzewitz was talking with an older man, he had to be in his seventies if he was a day. The man was wearing a police uniform, he seemed to be in charge.

Krafft stopped, nodded at his officer and said, "Herr Leutnant, will we be pausing here for very long?"

Before von Zitzewitz could speak, the older man frowned and said, "No wonder we're losing the war, is this how you report to a senior officer?"

Krafft spared a glance at the man but continue to focus on his lieutenant.

"Yes, we shall spend the night. This is Oberstleutnant Braun, he is in command here. I've just been explaining to him that we cannot stay to defend his town. The army does not fall under the police."

Braun stood erect and barked, "I outrank you Leutnant! During the Great War we shot upstarts like you!"

Krafft couldn't help himself, "Perhaps that is why you lost that war, Herr Oberstleutnant, you're supposed to shoot the other fellow, not your own chaps."

Braun began to turn beet-red when von Zitzewitz interrupted, "Thank you Krafft, that will be all. Take the men into the village and find quarters for the night." Turning to the older man he asked, "You have food in the village, I trust?"

"Those rations are meant for the garrison!" Braun was apoplectic.

"Carry on, Staber."

Von Zitzewitz leaned closer to the old police colonel, "If I was you I'd hold my tongue. My men are in no mood for rear area nonsense. Feed them, house them, and we'll be on our way at first light. Provided the Russians don't get here first."

With those words, the old man seemed to deflate, "Russians?"

Von Zitzewitz nodded, "Not fifteen kilometers behind us. If they can get over the Oder, they can be here tonight."

"I am not equipped to defend against ..." Braun stuttered.

"I suggest you dig those holes deep, Herr Oberstleutnant, Ivan has a lot of cannon."

As the lieutenant got the men up and moving, the old man stood atop the ridge, looking to the east with a very worried look on his face.

"Isn't there a possibility for OKW³ to send us right back out here to defend this village?" one of the younger men was asking the lieutenant that question as Krafft walked up with Lang.

"Sure, they could also order us to commit suicide, it would have the same effect." Lang offered.

Von Zitzewitz shook his head, "Uffz that's out of line."

Krafft chimed in, "Yes Kurt, you shouldn't frighten the children." Even the lieutenant laughed at that.

"Seriously, Sir, what if they order us ..."

"Then of course, Schütze Krebs, we will turn around and come back. Make sure your life insurance is paid up."

Young Krebs looked like he was going to cry. Krafft rescued him, "Head back to the bivouac Johannes, we can chat about that later."

"Really Lang, I don't need your sense of humor right now," the lieutenant was upset and it showed.

"Sorry Sir, I'm just starting to lose my will to live. The next kid who asks me what the high command intends I just might shoot myself. Or spank him. This is a Gottverdammte kindergarten, how old is Krebs? Fifteen?"

"Go get some sleep, Kurt. I need to talk to the lieutenant."

As Lang went off muttering, Krafft led the lieutenant by the arm out of the barn they were set up in.

"We should think about staying here for a few days, Sir."

Von Zitzewitz stared at his senior sergeant, "Are you serious?"

"Look Sir, it will be some time before the Russians come up. We can help the old policeman set up his defenses and give the men time to recuperate."

"What makes you so sure the Russians won't come up soon?"

"Logistics, Herr Leutnant, they've been advancing almost non-stop since they paused at Warsaw, before that they'd been on the move since early summer. They need to stop and regroup before taking on the last challenge of this war."

"Which is?"

Krafft wondered if the lieutenant was being deliberately thick or if the man's fatigue was worse than he thought.

"Berlin, Sir. Once the capital falls, it's over. The war, probably Germany itself."

"The Führer has vowed to fight to the last, there is word of an Alpine Redoubt where we can hold the enemy off for ..."

"For what, Herr Leutnant, a season? A year? It's like the Atlantic Wall, the West Wall, it's all propaganda, one of Goebbels' fever dreams. There is no redoubt, Sir, there is no hope. We can only choose where to die. I don't even think survival is possible anymore. You didn't see what we did in Russia. Now the chickens are coming home to roost."

"I still think ..."

"Please, Herr Leutnant, stop dreaming, you'll give the men false hope. There is no hope."

Von Zitzewitz started to protest then stopped, he looked into the distance. It was as if a light had come on. Perhaps it was thinking of the women and children and old men digging trenches upon a wind swept ridge, preparing to meet a ruthless enemy. Maybe it was remembering the sight of a soldier, with only one arm, teaching a group of boys how to fire a Panzerfaust.

"You're right, Dieter. We'll stay here for a bit. Whether or not we move out and head to the heights, we'll see. I suppose this is as good a place as any to die."

Krafft shook his head, "Bit early for that, but keep that possibility in mind. I'll go see to the men."

Von Zitzewitz waved a hand in dismissal, he seemed to have aged a hundred years in just moments.

¹ Visiting cards or calling cards.

² Literally "German Peoples Storm Armed Forces" - a militia formed from virtually anyone who could carry a weapon.

³ Oberkommando der Wehrmacht - High Command of the Armed Forces.

The Last Bridge

Source

"I have good news and I have bad news, Herr Leutnant." Unteroffizier Lang was a bit winded, he and his scouts had just come back to the bivouac and they had run most of the way.

Von Zitzewitz sighed and looked at Krafft before turning to Lang, "Spill it, Uffz.¹"

"The bridge is still there, we saw it but couldn't get close."

"Why couldn't you get close? I'm guessing this is the bad news part ..."

"There's a small patrol of Ivans, with a couple of armored cars, just this side of the bridge. My guess is that they're waiting for dawn to surprise the defenders and take the bridge."

Von Zitzewitz looked at Krafft and said, "Nothing is easy out here, is it Staber?"

"It stopped being easy when the first frost hit in '41. We could see the steeples of Moscow in the distance but we got no further. In reality, it wasn't easy then, it's not easy now. War never is."

Müller spoke up, "What about Poland in '39? Wasn't that easy?"

No one spoke for a moment, "How old were you in '39, Müller?"

"I was eleven, Herr Stabsfeldwebel, the news reported that ..."

"We lost 52,000 men in Poland, 52,000. Wasn't easy for them, was it?"

"To answer your question, Herr Leutnant, no, it isn't easy and never will be. But I think we're in luck here."

"How so?" Lang and the lieutenant spoke in unison.

"If we just went marching in there, who knows if the defenders of the bridge will fire on us? I know I probably would. For all they know, there are no more Germans out here, live ones at any rate. We hit these Ivans and the guys at the bridge have to figure us for friendlies. Establishes our bona fides, if you will."

"Good point. Get the platoon and squad leaders up, Lang can you give us the positions of the Ivans on the map."

"Sure Sir, roughly. I say we have a good chance of surprising these bastards. They think the war is over. At least they act that way."

The Russians were a good five hundred meters from the bridge. The two armored cars, they'd looked around, there were only two, were on the road. There was perhaps a platoon of Soviet infantry with them.

"Looks like a coup de main in the making, Staber," the lieutenant said with a smirk.

Krafft shook his head, "Last time I use big words with you, Herr Leutnant."

"Okay, get the Panzerfausts as close as you can. I'll take one ..."

"You know how to fire one, Sir?" Lang asked.

The lieutenant stared a hole through Lang, "Yes. Hell, they're teaching school children how to use them back in the Fatherland. I think I can manage, I fired one in training."

Lang lowered his face, "Sorry, Sir, but ..."

"It's alright, I'd doubt it too, in your shoes. But I need to lead, not just give orders."

"You'll be with him, Kurt, to make sure he doesn't screw it up." Krafft had to quip.

Von Zitzewitz shook his head, "If we're done with the comedy act, let's move. Sunrise isn't far off."

The first Panzerfaust, fired by the lieutenant, hit its target which immediately started to brew up. As the crew tried to climb out, they were gunned down along with the infantry near the vehicle.

The second projectile, through some fault in its propellent system, flew over the target. That vehicle started to maneuver when a third Panzerfaust, the last one in the company's possession, hit the armored car dead on. It sat there, smoking, then began to burn. No one climbed out.

It was over before the men had a chance to get nervous. Hardly a Soviet got off a shot, but there had been some return fire. One round of which had found Rudolf Müller.

As von Zitzewitz had men checking the Soviet position for survivors, he had sent Krafft and a platoon forward to make contact with the men at the bridge.

"Lang! Lang, where the hell are you!?" Von Zitzewitz wanted his scouts to go back up the track to watch their rear, in case there were Ivans they'd missed.

"Over here, Sir." Lang's voice sounded flat, something was off.

Von Zitzewitz went to Lang, he was on the ground next to Müller who was obviously wounded and in great pain.

"Damn it," the lieutenant knelt down and looked. Müller had been hit in the chest, his eyes were moving around rapidly, as if seeking some answer as to why. He coughed once, then he stopped moving.

"Is he ..."

"Jawohl, Herr Leutnant, Schütze Rudolf Müller is dead. I'm sure the f**king Führer will be pleased that he died for the Fatherland."

The commander of the bridge detachment snapped to attention and nodded to von Zitzewitz, "Thank you, Herr Leutnant. We had no idea the Russians were so close. You probably saved our lives."

Von Zitzewitz simply nodded, he was waiting for Krafft to make his report.

Krafft appeared a second later, "We're all set, Sir. Explosives are set to destroy this end of the bridge, the pontoons have been damaged the Russians can probably patch them up, but they'll have to go downstream to fetch them in order to do so."

The bridge detachment commander, an Oberfeldwebel Schmidt, looked at Krafft, "You're going to destroy my bridge? By whose authority?" The man seemed upset, to say the least.

"Mine," he snapped at Schmidt, then he turned to Krafft, "Destroy the bridge, Staber, then we'll head west. It's 20 kilometers to the Seelow Heights, a good place to defend. I think it will be some time before Ivan attacks the heights. He's gone a long way since the summer, I'm sure his supply problems are his biggest headache now."

As the pontoon bridge slowly detached itself from the west bank of the river, the men moved off. They had added twenty three to their ranks, but had lost one. They had buried Müller on this side of the river, von Zitzewitz had wanted to move off immediately, but Krafft had asked him ...

"Want to lose the men's respect, Sir? That's how you do it."

Reluctantly he'd assented to burying the man. He thought of the thousands left behind in Russia, who would bury them?

¹ German slang for Unteroffizier.