The Last Bridge

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"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.