Operation OVERLOAD (Phase 2)

 The C-in-C has spoken.

OPORD OVERLOAD-2

Operation OVERLOAD (Phase 1) has met its objectives.  Any remaining objectives have been turned over to the REMF's¹ for completion at a later date.

Phase 2 will now commence.

At precisely 0600/11/23/2020 LST², all available forces will descend on the target area.  Intel describes this as a 20 year old manufactured home, recently abandoned, although the former residents are in the near vicinity.  

Objective 

Seize the structure, eliminate any intruders who may have established an outpost there.  Once the objective is securely in friendly hands, efforts will commence to render it livable once again.  Limited demolition of damaged, worn out, or downright smelly, portions of the structure is authorized.  

 

Available Forces 

1 ea Mrs J (NATO/US equivalent rank -O11) C-in-C/Force Commander
1 ea  juvat (NATO/US equivalent rank -E1) Lackey first class
1 ea MBD/SIL (NATO/US equivalent rank -O-3) reinforcement if available . 

Transportation

1 (newly paid off) Ford F-150 
1 Ford Transit Connect.

 Specific Tasking

1) Remove any remaining personal items from structure.  Apply extreme discretion on the intel or personnel value thereof.  Destruction/disposal is preferred.

2) Remove textile floor covering as well as padding underneath.

3) Investigate flooring underneath for strength, identifying any structural damage needing repair.

4) Evaluate capability of existing forces to remove the ceramic tile floor covering.  If feasible, proceed.  If not feasible, report issue to force commander and standby for further guidance.

5) Time frame to completion- two weeks.

6) Preemptive Naproxen use is authorized and encouraged.

Commander's guidance.

Failure is not an option.  Go forth and do the Lord's work.

I'm gonna be busy for a bit.

For those of you who haven't been following the "Travails of juvat" postings for the last year or so, and therefore don't understand the OpOrd above, let me bring you up to speed.  We've built a new house on our property, closed on it September 31st.  Have been unpacking, installing, ordering and generally settling in since.  We've still got stuff to do in that part of the plan, but the next phase of what we're doing on the property is starting.  Our previous home, a manufactured home, will need to have work done on it to make it livable again. We're going to replace the carpet, and potentially the tile flooring, with vinyl flooring.  In between removal of the old floor and installation of the new, we'll fix any structural flooring issues.  I'm pretty sure there are a couple of spots that will need help, I just hope they're not too serious. Once the structural renovation is complete, my sister, who also lives on the property, will move into the house with her two dogs.  Since she's still working, the already installed doggy door which   allows unassisted access to the fenced in yard should improve quality of life for all three. The fact that it's 3-4 times more sq ft than her current small cottage, should make her quilting hobby a lot more enjoyable also.

Phase three will begin once phase 2 is complete. (She's moved in.) That will involve renovating the small cottage.  The flooring will definitely need replacing at a minimum.  Once that's completed, we'll add it to our listings on AirBnB and VRBO as a guest house.

Ain't retirement fun?

And just think Sarge...

Shamelessly lifted from BarbaCat.  If you ain't reading her regularly, you're missing a real treat.

 

 

 

1. Rear Echelon Mother... well, you know the last one.  AKA your's truly. The Murphy Bed project is on hold awaiting parts.

2. Lex Standard Time

A Look Behind the Scenes

Corg Memorandum dated 26 Apr 1965 Page 49

Every now and then I like to stop, take a deep breath, and give you a look "behind the scenes," as it were. Sometimes it's the history behind what's going on in the book, sometimes it's where I'm going with the story or why I did something a certain way. Often it's just me, the author, needing to take a pause while I figure out where we're going next. But I do like to give you some insight into the background of this whole book endeavor.

The Internet has oodles of information about history, some of it very good, some of it okay but you need to take it with a grain of salt, and, of course, some of it just plain sucks. That is, it's inaccurate, I don't blame the person who wrote it and put it out there, as I grow older I've learned that not everything they taught us in school was accurate. But at least they tried, as anyone who has ever studied (or even just thought about) history knows, often the information floating around is not the whole picture.

The history of a battle, is not unlike the history of a ball. Some individuals may recollect
all the little events of which the great result is the battle won or lost, but no individual
can recollect the order in which, or the exact moment at which, they occurred,
which makes all the difference as to their value or importance.

The Duke was right you know. He said that in response to a question concerning the accuracy of all the books which had been written about the Battle of Waterloo in the years after that event. No one person knows the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about an historical event. Unless you witness a thing, you can't really be sure what someone else tells you is the unvarnished truth.

Anyhoo.

Having read quite a bit on World War Two in Europe, I think I'm able to discern truth among the many nuggets of information out there. When in doubt I can always check one of the many books I have on the subject. If more than one witness agrees on how a thing happened, then that's a pretty good indicator that that's what happened.

It's probably a fair bet to assume that I once drove by where that jeep is parked in the preceding photo. The town of Hürtgen isn't all that big...

Google Maps

The family and I motored down that way when I was stationed in Germany. My grandmother had asked me if I could go there and get some pictures for her brother, my Great Uncle John, who had fought in the area with the 4th Infantry Division. His war ended in the Hürtgenwald, he survived but having a German bullet go through the top of his helmet was enough to get him sent home.

Oddly enough, a German colleague of mine had a relative whose war ended in the Hürtgenwald as well. His father had been in the German Army and was captured during that battle. Small world.

(Source)

The minutiae of war has long fascinated me, though it's often driven The Missus Herself crazy when I used to make a habit of muttering things like, "They didn't wear those style uniforms at that period in time..." during TV shows and movies. I've learned that those details, while semi-important, aren't as important as the story itself. (One excellent, and woefully mistitled, series I've watched on Amazon, Generation War is an excellent story. But they have shown weapons being used early in the war which weren't introduced until later. Why is it mistitled? The title in the original German is Unsere Mütter, unsere Väter - in English, Our Mothers, Our Fathers. The idea being to show the modern day Germans what their predecessors went through. A much better title I thought.)

Anyhoo.

That graphic above depicts a standard German rifle platoon of the period I'm writing about. I also use this -

(Source)

It's a quick reference for the composition of a German unit from the squad up through an entire company. There is also one for the U.S. Army -

(Source)

Note that the squad's grenadier in that graphic still carries the M1903 Springfield rifle, as the grenade attachment for the M1 Garand wasn't widely available during the time period noted in the graphic (Apr '42 - Jul '43). While the Springfield was a very good rifle, it was bolt action. You couldn't put as many rounds down range as you could with the semi-automatic M1. That's me, the Minutiae King. Which leads me to this...

Sturmgeschütz III Ausführung G
(Source)

Sturmgeschütz IV
(Source)

Jagdpanzer IV
Guderian-Ente¹
(Source)

You may have seen some mention in the comments as to the types of assault guns currently assigned to Kampfgruppe von Lüttwitz and the number of road wheels on the different types. Also Scott mentioned the "Guderian Duck," so I included a picture of one of those as well. (The third vehicle in the series of photos above.) Yup, Kampfgruppe von Lüttwitz has a complement of StuG IIIs, I haven't specified whether or not it's the model with the Saukopf² (first photo), or the one with the more angular gun mantlet (which you can see here).

More minutiae indeed.

I introduced the Nazi version of the Commissar, the NSFO, to bring a little more tension to the story. They were introduced into the Wehrmacht in December of 1943. I guess Hitler and his ilk felt that the Army wasn't political enough. Unlike the Soviet political officers, the NSFOs had no command authority in the units to which they were assigned. No doubt they thought themselves upholders of National Socialism (hack, spit) but (no doubt) were looked upon more as tattletales. I'm not real sure how long the kid will last. You may have noticed that he's a bit of an asshole.

105 mm Howitzer M3 near Carentan, France, 11 July 1944.

Don McCollor brought up an interesting point the other day about the verbiage 1Lt Paddock et al were using to call in fire missions. To be honest, I was using modern day verbiage from the modern US Army Field Manual, FM6-30. I should be using the WWII version for forward observers which is FM6-135. The words used are a lot different. The modern version is, to me, a lot more understandable to the layman, which is why I used it. Now that I have acquired a copy of FM6-135 (like I said, the Internet can be a wondrous thing) I may update how the Americans call in artillery fire.

Maybe, it's all rather technical and the objective here is to tell a story, hopefully it's a good story.

As regards the howitzer in that photo, doesn't look like you expected, does it? Because that particular piece depicted above was issued to airborne units and the regimental cannon companies of U.S. infantry regiments. It was guns like these which slaughtered that German company in The Valley the other day.

I'll get back to the Front on Tuesday (unless Tuna decides he has something to say, Tuesdays are "his" by tradition, like last week).

In the meantime, keep your powder dry and remember, the Associated Press does not determine who wins elections. I hope you are enjoying reading this story as much as I am enjoying writing it. Cheers!

¹ "Guderian's duck" called this by their crews as the vehicle was very nose heavy and difficult to operate in rough terrain.

² Pig's Head, because it looks like one.

Link to all of The Chant's fiction.

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

Link to all of The Chant's fiction.

Mercy

US Army Signal Corps Photo

Throughout the night the Americans had occupied the low ridge above the valley of the dead and the dying. Digging in as best they could in the faint moonlight filtering through the treetops, they tried to ignore the screams of the German wounded below them.

It had started snowing shortly after the survivors of the artillery strike had hastily retreated, leaving many of their more seriously wounded behind. Some of those wounded had since died, a few still lived. There was now a light coating of snow on the valley floor and in some spots in the woods. This had improved visibility when the snow had stopped and allowed the waxing gibbous moon to appear on and off through the scudding cloud. The wind was rising, the temperature was dropping.

1Lt Nate Paddock had the rest of his platoon in position and was watching the valley through his field glasses. Something was bothering him, and his platoon sergeant, Stephen Hernandez noticed.

"Something wrong L.T.?" Sgt Hernandez had an idea what was bugging his officer, but he didn't feel like he should bring it up, best to let the lieutenant sort it out in his own mind. If he wanted to talk about it, he would.

"Yeah, Sarge, those men and horses down there, I did that. I know it's war and all, but..."

"Don't think like that Sir, you didn't do that, that cabrón Hitler caused this when he sent his army into Poland. The Japs caused you to be here when they hit Pearl Harbor. You didn't do this lieutenant, those bastards in Berlin and Tokyo did this."

Paddock lowered the field glasses and looked at Hernandez, "I suppose you could look at it that way, but you're assuming I regret this, this, massacre. Well, I don't. F**king Nazi bastards deserve this and everything else we can throw at them." The bitterness in Paddock's voice could be read in a couple of different ways. Bitterness at being forced to kill, or maybe even bitterness that he couldn't have killed all of the Germans in the valley.

Hernandez was quiet for a moment, then he said softly, "You're better than that Nate, and you know it. You're a good man, we're here to end this f**king war and go home. If we have to kill to do so, we kill, as many of them as it takes until they quit. But we don't have to enjoy it."

Paddock sighed, "I know you're right Stephen, but there are days I lose myself in this shit, there are days I almost enjoy it. Until we lose men, then..."

"Yup, that's when it's no fun, no fun at all."

The two men sat quietly, then they could hear a German voice sobbing in agony down in the valley, the wind had died and the air was cold and still.

"Jesus..." Paddock whispered.

"L.T., let's send a squad and an M.G. team to the Kraut end of the valley, to seal it off. Then maybe Doc can go down there with another squad, maybe we can help some of those wounded Krauts."

Before Paddock could answer Hernandez, a long wavering scream came from below them. Though the language was foreign, both men recognized the anguish and the pain from the wounded German calling for his mother.

"F**k," Paddock thought for a moment, "send 1st Squad, have Wilson take Maxwell's machine gun section with him." Turning, he called to his radioman, "Myerson, go with Sgt Hernandez. I want you with Wilson's squad, in case you need to call in arty again. Regimental Cannon Company is still available. Captain Palminteri told me they're ours until midnight. I'll have Stump's squad escort Doc down into the valley. Go! Before I change my mind."

Gefreiter Markus Becker couldn't feel his legs. Though his comrades had pulled him out from under the dead horse, the weight of the animal had crushed his legs when it had fallen on him. What's more, he had been wounded by fragments in both arms, his chest, and his face. He couldn't walk so his comrades had left him. He understood. If they stayed in the valley, the artillery would return, if they left...

Well, who could say?

Young Grenadier Daniel Hönigswald was worse off than he was, the poor kid had a stomach wound. Though the Sani had patched him up as best as he could, the kid needed a doctor. He had been alternating screaming and crying throughout the night. Poor bastard was only sixteen.

"Danny, stop, you'll draw fire."

"Markus, it hurts, it hurts so much... Mutti!"

Becker tried to shift his position, perhaps if he could drag himself over to the other man, then maybe he could help him. He tried to raise himself up and managed to attain a sitting position, leaning against the dead horse which had crippled him.

As the moon broke from the clouds once more, Becker saw dark shapes moving on the hillside above them. Americans!

Sgt Gentile was moving cautiously, he'd brought PFC Homer Ginter and Pvt Riley Taggert along with him, leaving the rest of the squad with his assistant squad leader, Cpl Jim Holloway. Cpl Melvin Katz had come with them as well, his fluent German might come in handy. Doc Milbury was right behind Katz. Though the L.T. had wanted to send an entire squad with Doc, Gentile had talked him out of it.

"L.T., more men, more noise. Ginter and Taggert move well, they grew up outdoors, they're more help to me than an entire squad. We need Cat for the obvious reason." Paddock had reluctantly let them go after Sgt Hernandez had agreed with Gentile.

Now, as they moved down the hillside, he realized that they probably stood out like sore thumbs against the partially snow-covered ground, so they moved whenever the clouds covered the moon. It wasn't easy, sometimes the moon came out and lit them like they were on stage. While it wasn't really as bad as that, it certainly felt that way to the veteran sergeant from Philadelphia.

Grenadiers Hugo Hettich and Tobias Richter had grown up in the same small village deep in the Harz Mountains, they had been drafted at the same time and had gone through training together. Now they both lay badly wounded in this dark valley in the Hürtgenwald.

The Sani had bandaged Hettich's left arm and had managed to halt the bleeding, though the arm was cut nearly to the bone above the elbow. If he had been moved, the wound would open and Hettich would bleed to death. So they left him.

"Tobias, are you awake?" Hettich hissed at the dark form lying beside him. Richter had soiled himself and smelled terrible, but what choice did the poor kid have? Both of his legs were broken, the left was a compound fracture below the knee.

"Um Gottes willen!¹ Can't you leave me to die in peace, Hugo? Always chattering away like a bloody magpie..."

"Shh! Someone is coming..."

Hettich heard a voice in German, "Ich bin Sanitäter, ich werde dir helfen."

"Bist du Deutscher?" Hettich whispered.

"Nein, ich bin Österreicher.²" Came the response from a dark figure visible now in the moonlight.

While technically true, Cpl Katz had been born and raised in Vienna, it was in reality a lie. Which the wounded German discovered when he noticed that the shape of the helmet was wrong. Though he started to cry out, the muzzle of the M1 Garand pointed at his face was another clue that the Americans were here and that he should keep quite still.

"Doc, I got two wounded over here." Katz whispered to the man behind him.

Doc Milbury checked the two Germans as best as he could in the on again, off again moonlight. He also had made sure that there were no weapons to hand. He'd lost a buddy in Normandy who went to help a wounded Kraut and the bastard had killed him. Of course, that was one of those SS bastards, these guys looked like regular army.

"These two are stable, we need to..." Doc was interrupted by a nearby pistol shot, followed by a muffled, "F**k!"

"Jesus, that sounded like Taggert, what the..."

"It's okay Cat, f**kin' wounded Kraut shot himself. What the f**k is wrong with these people?" Katz heard the anger in Taggert's voice.

Hettich heard the shot, his heart sank, he knew who it was. He whispered to the American who spoke Viennese German, "That must have been Sven, Sven Schreiber. He was wounded in the groin, he's been threatening to shoot himself all night. He was in a lot of pain."

Katz explained that to Doc who simply nodded. "Cat we need to get the f**k outta Dodge, we can move these two on stretchers. The other three we can probably carry, but we're gonna need more men."

"Got it, I'll tell Stump..."

Sgt Gentile came up, looming from the darkness he scared the pants off of Milbury and Katz, the man moved like a cat, a very big cat. Taggert was with him.

"I sent Homer up to bring down the rest of the squad and a couple of stretchers. But yeah, Doc's right, we need to get back up the hill." He pointed to the end of the valley where Jack Wilson's squad had gone, the men saw the flare shooting up into the sky. Maybe the Krauts were coming back to collect their wounded.

Sgt Jack Wilson watched as the parachute flare swung beneath its little canopy of cloth, illuminating the approaches to the valley. Two startled deer ran into the woods at the sudden noise and light. The German patrol was just as startled, but they didn't run, they froze in position, hoping they wouldn't be seen.

But they were.

PFC John Myerson spoke into the radio handset, "Fire mission..." then provided the grid coordinates.

Stump Gentile's squad had two badly wounded Germans on stretchers, neither could walk. The others, there had been four, now there were three - one had died while Doc was checking him - were being assisted up the hill by two Americans each. Which didn't leave many men to cover the squad's withdrawal up the hill.

Gentile had grunted in appreciation when the first round of artillery had whistled into the far end of the valley, a spotting round. He knew that friendly arty could effectively seal the valley off from what he assumed were advancing Germans. The following rounds, five in all, exploded down the valley from them, ruining whatever plans the Germans might have had.

They reached their own positions where the wounded Germans were taken from them and evacuated to the rear. The company commander had been on hand. Grasping Gentile's shoulder he muttered, "Nice work Philly."

"Hey, Lieutenant, I mean, Captain Palminteri, I heard you had taken command, good to see you again!"

1Lt Paddock stepped up to the two men, "Sorry to interrupt this cordial gathering, but Cap'n, Sgt Wilson is reporting a Kraut patrol was turned away by the arty. He thinks they've withdrawn, but he can hear tank engines."

Palminteri looked in that direction, "All right Nate, I'll have 1st Platoon relieve Wilson's squad, I'll also send Corporal Jones' bazooka team with them. Just in case Jack isn't hearing things."

As the Americans settled in to await whatever the Germans had in store for them, it began to snow again.

In the Hürtgenwald...

¹ For God's sake.

² The entire exchange:
I'm a medic, I'm going to help you.

Are you German?

No, Austrian.

Link to all of The Chant's fiction.

The Valley

(Source)

"What the f**k is that? Looks like something my kid sister might play with." Pvt Homer Ginter whispered to his squad leader, Sgt Stump Gentile.

The two men and their squad were perched on a steep ridge overlooking a small valley in the Hürtgenwald. On the valley floor was a column of German infantry, interspersed with the infantry were small carts being pulled by horses. There were also larger wagons being pulled by a team of two horses. Sgt Gentile noticed, near the end of the column, what appeared to be two medium-sized carts, hooked together, being pulled by four horses. He saw the stovepipe on the rear cart and realized that he was looking at a German field kitchen.

"What we're looking at Private, is the baggage train of a German infantry company. Those little wagons, carts really, are issued to every infantry platoon in the Kraut army, I think they get two each. The Krauts use 'em for carrying ammo and stuff. Each platoon also has a wagon drawn by two horses for the men's packs and such, ya know for longer marches. First time I've seen so many of 'em, saw 'em in Africa first. If the baggage train is any indication, the company that owns it is pretty near full strength."

"What's all this 'blitzkrieg' shit we heard about in the States anyway?" Ginter had heard the tales of German tanks smashing into Poland, France, and then Russia, sweeping all before them. Motorized infantry pacing them the entire way, this didn't look very impressive to him, not at all.

"Well, it's like this Homer, most of the German Army goes to war the same way their great-grandfathers did, they walk. The number of horses used by the German Army is pretty large. Most of the cannon and equipment in a Kraut infantry division are towed by horses. Those guys you see down there? A prime example of what the bulk of the German Army looks like, the tanks get all the press, but the guys on foot do most of the fighting."

"Well shit Sarge, I had no ideer." Ginter was new to the army, he had turned 18 a month before D-Day. He had desperately wanted to join the army at 17, but his parents had refused to sign for him. As his father had put it, "With both your big brothers off fightin' the war, I need ya here on the farm. When you hit 18, you can do what ya like, until then..." When his 18th birthday had arrived, he had gone to the recruiting office that very morning.

After what felt like forever in training and then languishing in the Replacement Depot, Homer Ginter, from a small farm in western Virginia, had joined 2nd Platoon just two weeks ago. This was the first time he had seen the enemy. He didn't know that many men in the army never got to see a live German. Often, if they were seen at all, they were just vague shapes in the distance.

Now here they were, in the flesh. Ginter was not impressed.

"Head on back to the L.T., stay low. Tell him we got a target for the artillery. A juicy one."

Hauptfeldwebel Hermann Krüger stood by the side of the muddy trail winding through the small valley watching his men struggle through the mud. Which was really nothing compared to the mud in Russia, which he'd experienced multiple times since 1941. Wounded in late 1943, he'd been evacuated back to the Reich. He, and his wife, had been thrilled to learn that he was being reassigned to the Western Front. He had arrived in Normandy in May.

Now here he was, the first sergeant of an infantry company deep in the Hürtgenwald. The wet, the cold, the forest, he almost missed the steppes of southern Russia. He had survived the battles in Normandy and the retreat across France. Promoted to his current position only days before, his predecessor had been killed in action, he now was responsible for the administrative details for running a company of 138 men. His company was actually at full strength, an oddity at this point in the war.

Most of the men were young, mixed in were a few veterans from this war, even some from the last war, but, he had checked, the average age of this company was eighteen. He could tell the ones who had not had enough training. They struggled in the march, they had not been sufficiently hardened. They straggled and many of them had foot and back problems. Only their youth kept them going. Such things could kill an older man.

As the Gulaschkanone¹ passed by, he checked his list once more. He tucked the list into the cuff of his greatcoat then climbed aboard the wagon carrying the supplies for the field kitchen. He checked his watch, they were already falling behind schedule because of the mud and the roughness of the terrain. The clowns in the rear never factored in the terrain and the weather when calculating movements in the field. Krüger sighed and thanked God that at least he could ride for a ways. Though he was only 26 years old, he felt 50.

1Lt Nate Paddock and his radioman, PFC John Myerson, were well-concealed but they had a clear view of the German column struggling through the valley below them. Paddock held the radio handset and had his map in front of him. He had a battery of 105mm howitzers on the other end of the radio, standing by. The lieutenant was waiting for the last two vehicles in the column to enter the kill zone before he asked for a spotting round. As he watched through his field glasses, he noticed a man climb onto the last wagon. He wondered who it was, probably the guy responsible for the column was what he figured.

Krüger thought about having a smoke, it was still light out, but he'd given the men a hard time about lighting up when they were on duty. So his pipe stayed in his pocket. He looked at the sky, another overcast day, at least it hadn't rained in a few hours. He had gotten used to the smell of wet wool, but he still didn't like it.

"Herr Hauptfeldwebel?" The young grenadier driving the wagon looked at him.

"What is it Sepp?" Krüger liked young Neuhäusser, though the man's curiosity about everything could be a bit wearying at times.

"How are we going to get our wagons up these hills? They seem pretty steep."

"The wagons will stay in the valley, we'll be up on the hill with a small guard left behind to watch over our equipment. If the weather was..." Krüger paused, he'd heard something which made his blood run cold.

The whistle of an incoming artillery round was now clear. Before Krüger could react, an impact to the right of the column, on the hillside above them, showered them all with dirt and debris. He knew that that was just a spotting round, there would be more. If the man calling in the fire knew his business, they were doomed.

Paddock spoke into the handset, "Drop fifty, fire for effect."

The spotting round had been a little long, but had been very near the middle of the column of horse drawn vehicles and men. It was time to rain Hell down on these men in different uniforms before they tried to spot him and his radioman. The Germans were superb about reacting quickly to a threat.

"Might want to cover your ears, John." Paddock said as he ducked down in the shallow depression he and Myerson were sheltering in. Things were about to get loud.

Krüger, standing atop the wagon, was screaming at the men to take cover, he saw that young Grenadier Neuhäusser was, again, more concerned with the horses than his own safety. He was trying to pull the animals off the trail, but the first explosion had spooked the horses, they were nearly as green as the men they served.

"Sepp, leave them, get to cover!!" But his screaming at the young farmer from Silesia was in vain. The man loved horses more than anything else in the world, even more than his own life.

Six 105mm artillery rounds impacted nearly simultaneously along the length of the column - men, horses, and equipment were all devastated by the explosions. As the survivors tried to rally each other and see to the wounded, the young company commander managed to get two platoons ready to move up the hill where the American observer had to be positioned. They were nearly ready to advance when six more rounds landed.

Paddock listened as the artilleryman from the regimental cannon company told him, "Rounds complete, d'ya need more?" Paddock looked down at the devastation he had brought down on the Germans in the valley, he was shaken by the screams of the men and horses below him.

"Negative. Successful fire mission. Red Baker Two Leader, out." Handing the handset back to Myerson, he looked at his radioman and said, "John, let's get the Hell out of here."

Krüger dragged himself out of the wreckage of the company's field kitchen supply wagon, his ears were ringing and every sound was muffled. He shook his head to clear it, that was a mistake, it made him drop to his hands and knees. He vomited.

He looked up, young Neuhäusser was miraculously unscathed, but his beloved horses were both down. He was sitting in the mud, cradling the head of the lead horse and he was sobbing uncontrollably. The horse was still alive, but barely, the other team horse was dead.

"Sepp, Sepp." Krüger tried to get the young man's attention, but he was probably as deaf as his sergeant. Krüger unholstered his P 38 pistol, then handed it to the young man from Silesia. Neuhäusser looked at his sergeant and immediately understood what he had to do.

As Krüger went down the column, or what was left of the column, he heard a single pistol shot behind him. He was from the city, but he understood the love some of the men felt for the horses they served beside.

At the end of the day, Hauptfeldwebel Hermann Krüger had taken stock of the losses from the company. Only thirty-three men, out of 138 were still fit for duty. None of the company's horses had survived, those which had not been killed outright had had to be put down because of the severity of their wounds.

Krüger was the senior man left alive, his company commander had been killed trying to organize an attack up the hill when the last rounds from the barrage had landed. The men who remained were useless for anything, physically they were fit for duty, but mentally, they might as well have been dead.

As he led the survivors away from the ruined column, the 33 carried the wounded who could not walk, the Sanitäter had survived, he had examined the men who had been so badly wounded that they couldn't be moved and had volunteered to remain behind with them. Krüger had had to order the man, at gunpoint, to withdraw with the rest of the company. All they could do was pray that the Amis would succor the wounded they had left behind.

The wind moved the tops of the tall pines as the men withdrew back down the valley. The temperature was dropping and in the dwindling light, the men could see small snowflakes. Those who had served in Russia shivered at the thought of another winter of war.

The Hürtgenwald was silent, save for the wind in the treetops, uncaring and unmoved by the trials and tribulations of man.

¹ Literally "goulash cannon," a slang term for the German field kitchen. The stove pipe on the cooking unit looked like a cannon barrel when stowed for movement.

Link to all of The Chant's fiction.

The NSFO

(Source)

Hauptmann Jürgen von Lüttwitz stood and stared at the young officer standing in front of him, this was the latest indignity visited upon the men of the old 5th Company.

"You said you were, what exactly?"

The young Oberleutnant in his nearly perfect uniform, with not a single combat decoration anywhere to be seen, smiled and said, as if explaining to a simpleton, "I am your unit's NSFO, your Nationalsozialistische Führungsoffizier¹. My task is to instill in you and your men the proper National Socialist mindset. Of course, my other job is seeing to the men's morale, though with the proper National Socialist principles, the morale part of the job takes care of itself."

"I see, what was your name again?" von Lüttwitz had no time for this nonsense, not after the events of the past few days.

The 275th Infantry Division had been shattered twice, the first time at Falaise, the second just recently in the fighting in and around the Hürtgenwald. There was talk of reforming the division yet again, but that plan had fallen through. Von Lüttwitz and his men had been ordered back to the area around Düren where they would join up with a detachment of assault guns and the remnants of another company from the 275th. Allied air raids had put paid to some parts of that plan.

He and the forty-two survivors of the 5th Company had boarded a train bound for Düren, only to be stopped fifteen kilometers into the journey, an air raid had destroyed a railyard ahead of them and they had been ordered off the train. They had marched the rest of the way to Düren where, wonder of wonders, they had actually been met by the seven StuG III assault guns of the Sturmgeschütz detachment from the 116th Panzer Division. Why they weren't with their parent division von Lüttwitz couldn't fathom, but he was happy for the extra firepower.

Unfortunately, Major Kaltenbach, the man who was supposed to command the battlegroup, never arrived. A dispatch from headquarters said that he had been killed in an air raid, that same dispatch had been delivered to von Lüttwitz by a rather green lieutenant, who claimed to be an advisor to the battlegroup.

"My name, my dear Hauptmann, is Herzig, Oberleutnant Erwin Herzig, formerly attached to Army Headquarters at Zossen. My father is the Burgermeister of..."

"Oberleutnant, I am not 'your dear Hauptmann,' I am your commanding officer. I do not care who your father is. Do you have any combat experience at all?" von Lüttwitz tried to remain calm, but this man was trying his patience.

"No Sir, I have been at headquarters until now. I wish that..."

"Enough, go see that sergeant over there," von Lüttwitz pointed in the direction of Oberfeldwebel Klaus-Peter Keller, who had been commander of the 3rd platoon until von Lüttwitz had made him the company's first sergeant, or Spieß, "he will see to it that you are properly equipped. For now you will be attached to company headquarters."

"I see, I wonder if you would send a grenadier over to help me with my bags?"

"Herzig, you will carry your own bags. Anything which won't fit on one of our carts must be left behind. If it isn't a uniform or piece of equipment necessary for the front, it will be left behind. Am I clear?"

"I'm sorry Herr Hauptmann, I don't think you understand..."

Von Lüttwitz was tempted to pull his service pistol and shoot the annoying Nazi officer standing before him, but he was rescued by Unteroffizier Fischer, the company supply officer.

"Please come with me Herr Oberleutnant, I will help you with your baggage and see that you get settled in." Fischer then led the young lieutenant away from his company commander, before that commander did something he would probably regret.

"Problem Herr Hauptmann?" Unteroffizier Manfred Sauer came up with a grin on his face.

"Unless that officer is worth more than he appears to be worth, which is precisely nothing at this point, I don't think he will survive the war."

"Understood Herr Hauptmann. In other news..."

"Don't get smart with me Manfred, I am not in the mood."

"No Sir, but the remnants of 2nd Company have arrived, along with one hundred and fifty-five replacements. Some of them are old hands, but a lot of them are green kids. And then there is this..." Sauer handed the captain a telegraph form.

"Where on earth..."

"I stopped by the telegraph office. They are, oddly enough, still operating. They asked me if I knew the whereabouts of a 'Kampfgruppe Von Lüttwitz,' I assured them that I did, then they handed me this."

Von Lüttwitz scanned the form, then looked up at Sauer, who said, "Congratulations Herr Major."

"Did you read the rest of the message?" von Lüttwitz suspected that he had.

"Of course Sir. I have to be ready to assist you, do I not?"

Glaring at Sauer, but then giving him a wink, von Lüttwitz contemplated the fact that he now commanded his own little battlegroup of two-hundred and sixty infantry and seven assault guns, each with a crew of four men. He now commanded nearly three hundred men, something he wasn't quite ready for. That was, could be interpreted as, the good news. The bad news?

They were to head back into the Hürtgenwald. The unit that had relieved the 5th Company had been nearly destroyed by an American artillery bombardment. There was now a bulge in the line which Corps wanted straightened out.

"I suppose the NSFO is supposed to help me with that?" von Lüttwitz said disgustedly.

Sauer shook his head and said, "Be careful with that one Herr Hauptmann, he smells connected, if you know what I mean."

"Yes Manfred, I do. I guess we can't be simple soldiers anymore, now we must be good Nazis as well." von Lüttwitz shook his head sadly.

"We'll see about that Sir. There are many bad things awaiting us in that forest, who knows who will survive?" Sauer grimaced and looked to the west as he said that.

There were times when the 'simple' pig farmer scared the captain, this was one of them. Manfred Sauer was not a man to be trifled with, but he was right, there were many bad things in the Hürtgenwald, things a 'connected' young NSFO had no idea of, things which could kill the unwary.

The Hürtgenwald had no mercy.

¹ National Socialist Leadership Officer, abbreviated, in German, as NSFO.

Link to all of The Chant's fiction.

Honesty, is such a lonely virtue.

Source

Credit (or apologies) to Billy Joel for the title, although modified somewhat from his original which I share at the end.  I don't know about you, but to me honesty seems to be severely lacking in our world, with lies and corruption being so prevalent.  Am I over generalizing?  Yes, somewhat.  You and me are honest.  We live our daily lives in truth and honesty, and as such it's the foundation of nearly everything we do.  We have standards and practices in our transactions- from the scales in the produce section, in the fuel pumps, to the grocery scanners- all are set and governed by the authorities to deal honestly with us as we live our daily lives.  We have laws that help govern the public with regards to our possessions and our personal safety.  And for the most part these laws work- our property and safety isn't regularly threatened.  Individually we are honest, and we are treated honestly by businesses and other individuals.  That's where it seems to end though, with us in the Demos.  Unfortunately, those of the ruling class, the Kratos, don't seem to live their lives by the same standards.

Pelosi's office acknowledges indoor hair appointment, violating San Francisco Covid-19 restrictions

Gov Newsom Apologizes for Attending 12-Person Dinner Party.  “We should have modeled better behavior and not joined the dinner,” the California governor said in a statement.

“I did not have sexual relations with that woman.”

"If you like your doctor, you can keep your doctor."

"Secretary Clinton issued an official State Department press statement, approved by the White House, placing the blame for the (Bengazi) attack on an Internet video."

I don't think honesty means we deserve to know everything our leaders know, that there should be no secrets.  National security, the conversations that our leaders engage in when going about the business of governing, aliens, etc., are all things that should be protected and kept from us.  Or at least these don't deserve our unyielding scrutiny.  But the bold faced lies above?  Not even in the same category. 

Ok, no surprise, politicians aren't honest like us.  But while we live our individual lives honestly, that doesn't mean we don't take precautions.  We lock our doors, we watch out for our neighbors, we do a brief mental check on the total when we pay for our groceries or fill up the tank, etc.  Do we break out a calculator and double check our receipts?  No, but we also know if the bill makes sense.  If we were charged $75 to fill up the tank when it normally costs $50, we would question it.

The problem as I see it is that some of us are far too used to being lied to and we don't question it.  Our politicians lie to us from day one, from the first campaign ad or speech they talk about lofty ideals or platitudes, but they have no plan to ever come close to that ideal.  They make us feel good about what they are saying, even if they don't mean it.  More and more platitudes.  

Platitudes.  I wasn't exactly sure I was using that term correctly so I did a quick google check-  

A platitude is a trite, meaningless, or prosaic statement, often used as a thought-terminating cliché, aimed at quelling social, emotional, or cognitive unease. The statement may be true, but its meaning has been lost due to its excessive use."  

Yeah, I'm definitely using it correctly.  Their platitudes lead to straight up BS, absolute lies, as these politicians get a taste of power and wish to maintain it.  They can't help but lie when they are faced with the reality the voters demand, when we expect results they can't deliver.  That's where we should say goodbye to them, thank them for their service, and send them home, to try again with another politician.  That was how Aristotle envisioned our government, with people leaving the demos, leaving their farms and shops to serve as our representatives within the Polis (the governing city-state), then return after a term.

Yet from our career politicians these days, we are faced with job-securing dishonesty as a rule, rather than the exception.   And they are now supported by an equally dishonest media and compliant public left.  The media is VITAL to a free society, to keep bad behavior in check, to facilitate the first amendment, to live up to their title as the Fourth Estate- which wields considerable power to keep the other estates in check.  However, they aren't doing that.  We've seen it for years.  Obama weaponizing the IRS, and especially over the past four with the Steele Dossier; when the lack of evidence of collusion was apparent and was resulting in nothing except millions spent on an impeachment.  Even when that was doomed to fail (yet almost didn't save for a fragile GOP majority in the Senate).  We also saw it with the Hunter Biden laptop.  Did everyone forget that potential bombshell?  Did it tie Biden to massive and possibly criminal conflicts of interest regarding a foreign power that might have affected our foreign policy and national security?  Maybe, but the media had their collective fingers in their ears saying "La la la, I'm not listening to you."

If your election lasts more than four days, you should see a doctor.

The dishonesty has continued with this election.  The media isn't supposed to "think" the election is fair and impartial. They aren't supposed to "assume" it is lawful, they are expected to investigate whether it is, or it isn't.  When they refuse to investigate because they want it to be fair, because they want Biden in office, they've abdicated their duty. They don't want to know the truth so they don't seek it out, despite a ton of sketchy voting behavior that is pretty damn close to being systemic- especially in the states which had Trump leading early on.  Social media is even worse than the MSM- with their "fact checked" banners and "missing context" claims.  A video posted with Biden stating he will raise taxes on all Americans got taken down saying it "lacks context because he'll also raise taxes on the rich" is a bunch of dishonest election interference.

Am I full of blind hope?  Not at all.  Biden was the most milquetoast candidate since Dukakis, and the lack of enthusiasm for him is telling.  How he got so many more votes than Obama should be the first sign of voter fraud.  Some might say it's not the media's job to dig up evidence for Trump, but I say it's their job to dig it up for us.  Even if Trump wasn't suing, the media should be looking into this.

Am I biased.  Completely.  Am I disheartened that the candidate I voted for didn't win?  Of course.  Do I think he's perfect?  Not even close.  He's a womanizing, self aggrandizing, thin skinned man who is somewhat a bully.  But he's also decidedly not a politician, and that's the best part.  I'm completely willing to accept those faults because of his policies and what he's accomplished, even with a hostile media and corrupt left- the swamp.  It's also because he's not beholden to anyone, much less the far left, which is where I see our country going, towards socialism- inch by inch, one policy at a time- if the GOP doesn't hold the Senate.  

Source

What else is the left offering besides "not Trump?"  Their policies are more of the dishonesty we're fed.  They support narratives that don't call out the true reason for problems in this country- from fatherless societies, to "peaceful" protests that are actually violent and illegal riots against our institutions.  From reparations to college loan forgiveness, from calls to defund the police, when the actual statistics about cops don't hold up for half a second, to the cry that the entire country is built on systemic racism.  While at the same time, they feed their masses with a steady diet of identity politics, actual racism, in place of real policies that affect the whole of society.  

There are a lot of truths that are avoided as well-  our national debt, crumbling infrastructure, state and city pensions that are underfunded and leading to civic bankruptcies.  What about the fact that these politicians have been in power for years and years, but nothing ever changes?  Neither side wants to talk about those.  It's all too much honesty they need to avoid at all costs.   

Billy Joel though, he sings the truth, at least when it comes to pouring his heart out over his gold-digging wife leaving him.

I know not everyone thinks the same as me with regards to our President.  I expect there are Chanters who are glad to see him go, but this is far more important than who is sitting in the Oval Office.  This is bigger than left or right.  This is about our Republic.  If we don't have free and fair elections, we are no better than Russia or Venezuela, with an oligarchy in charge and not the voters.  Is President Trump going to remain in office?  I wouldn't put money on it, but any fraud deserves to be brought to light.  Our nation sort of depends on it.