What a Week!

 So...The Week started with a drive over to College Station Sunday after Church a week ago yesterday.  Purpose of said visit was to check up on MG on her 4 month birth day.  A side benefit was to drop off Little Juvat and DIL's Chevy Tahoe to MBD and SIL.  It had been with them in Kuwait, but was not authorized for their assignment in Honk Honk.

Unfortunately, WuFlu had impacted the shipment of said vehicle back to the states.  It arrived at Rancho Juvat a couple of nights after Little Juvat arrived for his first R&R back in the states in almost 4 years.  That was back in the last week in December.  Never underestimate the power of bureaucracies to screw things up. 

 

But, once we had it washed and waxed, battery replaced and various dent's and ding's incurred during shipping repaired, it turned out to be a good deal for them. No rental car needed to get around Texas.

They didn't want to sell it as it has fairly low mileage and they will be coming home someday.  So they offered it to MBD and SIL to use.  With the two of them, plus the baby seat in the back, either of their two cars is  pretty much filled.  So...Win-Win!

Papa Juvat, Who IS this hairy Lug?

I've had easier check rides in Fighters than the check out Little J gave the both of them prior to handing over the keys. Dinner that night with the 7 of us was very nice.  Lot's of stories being exchanged, Lot's of questions asked and answered. 

Suffice it to say, Mrs J. and I will be VERY happy when their assignment is over and they return home.

Tuesday was packing day.  Two checked and one carry-on bag for each still left a decent sized Post Office drop off requirement.  Stuff expanding to fill (overfill) available space is one of the immutable laws of nature.

Wednesday we drop them off at Austin Bergstrom's Hilton.  Long time readers of the blog will know that my Father was the supervising engineer when the building was being built as the Numbered Air Force (9th?) HQ building.  When the base was closed, Hilton properties turned it into a hotel.  

Source

The drive back home was pretty quiet.  

The following morning, Mrs. J wakes up complaining about back pain.  It doesn't get better as the day goes on and not much sleep was accomplished that evening.  So,  next day, we visit the Urgent Care Clinic.  The PA promptly sends us over to the Hospital for X-Rays.

The doctor that read the X-Rays pronounced it Scoliosis, and referred us to our GP for further referral.  The next day, Mrs. J sees a orthopedic surgeon who analyzes the X-Ray and says that while Scoliosis is present, it's somewhat mild.  However...

He does notice that the T4 Rib is somewhat out of position, so recommends a Chiropractic exam.  Which was scheduled for today.  However, he also asked if Mrs. J was seeing any rash.  

Not at that time.

Later that day, I notice that Mrs. J seems to be in a fair amount of pain and has the beginnings of a rash.  So, we return to the Urgent Care Clinic.  This time she's seen by one of my former students, who's entire family is in the medical field.  She's quite competent. 

Her Diagnosis?  Shingles!

Source

So,  We've got appointments this week and I've got an appointment this morning for a Shingles Vaccine.  Apparently, there's little that can be done other than wait it out. And yes, we postponed the Chiropractic appointment.

Gonna be a LOOONNNNGGGG couple of weeks.  Yes, Beans, I'm quite a bit cleaner, all over, than I usually am.  Not sure why that is.

OK, yes I do.

On a side note and, apropos of nothing whatsoever, I present this for your assessment of level of truth.

Taken by me in the local HEB parking lot!

We Owe God a Death¹

It's been ten years since I received the news that Carroll F. LeFon, Jr., Captain, United States Navy (retired) had lost his life at Naval Air Station Fallon, NV.

Not a day goes by that I don't remember CAPT LeFon, or Lex as he was known to those of us in the aviation and blogging communities. Why "Lex"? Well, that was the Captain's callsign, which you can read about here.

I first learned of Lex, and his blog Neptunus Lex, while searching for a story online about my son-in-law's squadron back in 2011. I found an article here, which I read with grim fascination. The post answered a number of questions I had regarding what had happened in VFA-136. It also aligned with what my daughter had told me. But more importantly, it introduced me to Lex's blog.

Going there became part of my morning ritual, get coffee, fire up the computer, then see what Lex had to say about whatever was on his mind that day. Always well-informed, always entertaining, and often very amusing. The man had a sense of humor.

The day it ended sticks in my memory as if it was yesterday. It always will.

I only had one contact with him, via email. I had hoped one day to meet him in person, out there in Sandy Eggo as he was wont to call it. I call it that because he did.

Whenever I'm in Sandy Eggo, I go to "his" spot, Shakespeare's (more properly the Shakespeare Pub). where I will have a Guinness and marvel at the fact that Hizzoner (as many of us called him) would "hold court" with his friends there. I've made many new friends in that place where many of us will gather at certain times of the year to remember him.

Ten years.

It feels like yesterday, the pain is ever fresh.

We miss you, Cap'n.

As the Bard said, we owe God a death, I just wish yours had not come so soon.

Ave Atque Vale.

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,

I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air.

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue

I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace

Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —

And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod

The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

John Gillespie Magee, Jr

¹ The Second Part of King Henry the Fourth, Act III. Scene II. - William Shakespeare

First Contact

(Source)

The men were awakened before dawn, the officers seemed to be in more of a hurry than usual. As Guillaume got ready to begin another day's march, Sergeant Pierre Brasseur came to him.

"We're shifting to the east Caporal, the Boche are coming through the Ardennes, in their thousands."

"Tanks?" Guillaume didn't want to hear the answer Brasseur gave him, "Hundreds. Columns of Boche tanks stretching back to the Rhine. Get your boys onto the road, Guillaume, we're marching now!"

The sky was lightening in the east when the column began to move, they hadn't gone more than a kilometer when they stopped. Guillaume wondered what the holdup was, when the wait stretched to 15 minutes, word trickled down the column for the men to fall out to the side of the road but to keep their gear on. The stop was only temporary.

As the sun peeked over the horizon Guillaume heard the tramp of footsteps and the squeaking of wagon wheels. There, on the road, was a group of civilians, they were heading to the west. It was a column of refugees fleeing the advancing Germans.

The men watched as the column thickened and filled the road, spilling onto the verge. People of all ages, children, the elderly, pushing farm carts, baby carriages, whatever they could find with wheels, piled high with personal possessions. A farm cart, pulled by two oxen, had two elderly people sitting on a pile of furniture and suitcases.

Guillaume stood up and called to them, "Monsieur, Madame, where are you going?"

The old man grimaced and said, "I fought the bastards twenty-two years ago, now they are back. We are going to visit my daughter in Louvain. Stop them, stop them here!"

Young Trouvé asked his corporal, "Who are they running from, Caporal?"

Guillaume shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, then he turned to Trouvé, "The Germans, Marcel, they are running from the Germans."

Leutnant Acker was back with the platoon so Jürgen was once again simply an assistant squad leader. It irked him a little bit, Feldwebel Harzer wasn't a very good squad leader. He tended to give vague commands and was often indecisive. He was also something of an Arschloch.¹

"Lüttwitz! What the Hell is this?" Jürgen turned to see what the fuss was.

"Herr Feldwebel?"

"We should have two spare barrels for the 34, I only see one."

"One of the barrels was damaged during the fighting at the border, we turned it into the armorer, we should have it back within the next day or so." Jürgen explained.

"Damn it, I'm gone for a few days and the whole squad falls apart!"

"Herr Feldwebel?" Jürgen knew that they were to advance soon, Harzer acted like he knew nothing about it.

"What?" Harzer asked with some exasperation.

Jürgen saw Leutnant Acker coming their way, he didn't look happy.

"Harzer! Why aren't your men in position?"

"Sir?"

"We're advancing within the hour, you should be up on the line right now, not chatting here in the rear. Von Lüttwitz, I expected better from you!"

Acker went back the way he came turning back once to shout, "Move it!"

"Heads up lads, here they come!" Sgt. Greaves saw the enemy infantry emerge from the treeline some 200 yards away. They were well dispersed in skirmish order, presenting no worthwhile target for the moment. But give them another 50 yards and he'd have the lads open up with their Lee-Enfields. He had his machine gun further down the line, ready to enfilade the German line.

"Just like that, eh Sar'nt? Just walk out in the open, expect us all to bloody flee?" Billy was excited, this was his first glimpse of the enemy.

"They're probing, once they find us I think they mean to fix us in position. I'm worried whether or not they have tanks off to the flank. That would certainly ruin our day!"

"Might be something worse Sar'nt ..." Billy pointed to the northeast. A swarm of small shapes were in the air, gradually they became recognizable as aircraft.

"Damn! Steady boys, maybe they're not for us."

Jürgen didn't notice the Luftwaffe dive bombers which passed by over to the left flank. They were heading deeper into Belgium to interdict the Allied supply system behind the lines. Stop the flow of supplies and the troops on the line would eventually have nothing to fight with, nor food to eat. He was far too focused on the field ahead of them, ahead was another tree line, a perfect place for the enemy to be set up. Was he the only one who noticed?

"Feldwebel Harzer, we need to spread out more."

"Scared Lüttwitz? I thought you were ..." Harzer had a look of surprise on his face as he stumbled forward then dropped to the ground, his tunic torn and bloody.

"COVER!" Jürgen had the squad down and returning fire, but the rest of the platoon was milling around in the open, they were confused. Von Lüttwitz could hear the rattle of rifle fire, fast and accurate from the looks of the casualties they were taking.

"Grüner!"

"Here, Uffz!" Jürgen heard the man answer from the left, fairly close.

"Stay low, get back to the jump off point, the company headquarters should be there. Tell them ..." Jürgen paused, what message should he send back, that they were getting torn up by rifle fire?

"Tell them that our advance is held up, we have a strong enemy skirmish line to our front, we either need artillery or someone to come in on their flank. We're pinned!"

"Got it Uffz, cover me!"

"Hold your fire lads, we don't have any targets. The Huns have gone to ground." Sgt. Greaves was wondering why the machine gun was still silent, they should have swept the field by now. His answer came in the form of a runner arriving from the rear.

Dropping to his knees and panting the man gasped out his message, "I've come from company Sar'nt, fall back, we've got Jerry tanks in our rear. The platoon on your right has already scarpered². Hang about much longer and they'll scoop us all up!" The man then got back to his feet and continued down the line.

"Right then, by sections, back to the start line. Billy take your lads first, we'll cover. Looks like we've lost this one."

"We'll get 'em tomorrow Sar'nt! We laid a lot of 'em low today, tomorrow should be easier if we can get our own bloody tanks up. Where the Hell are the Frogs, aren't they supposed to be over yonder." Billy waved in the direction of their right flank.

"I don't know laddie, but we've got to go. Now off wi' ye!"

Caporal Guillaume Micheaux could hear firing all around them, but nothing close. One of the men claimed to have heard tank engines to the rear of the battalion.

Sergeant Brasseur scoffed and said, "And where else would our tanks be but to our rear, moving up to support us. Calm down child, I know you're new to this, but trust me, our line here is very strong."

Little did Brasseur know, but elements of a German armored division had already bypassed them to their rear earlier in the morning. The tanks the men were hearing were German.

The campaign was only a few days old, but things were starting to go very wrong. The men in the field were doing their best, but the generals were already being overwhelmed by the speed of the German advance. Confusion led to units being left in the wrong place or moved to where they weren't needed.

Nothing was moving on the roads as the Luftwaffe strafed anything which moved, mostly refugees fleeing the onrushing Germans, but the refugees themselves added to the confusion, they blocked roads and spread panic.

But the speed of the advance was also concerning to the German high command. No one expected this kind of breakthrough, generals schooled in the mindset of the First World War grew nervous, some suspected a trap. Elements of the Allied armies were deeper into Belgium than expected. Reports from the Ardennes spoke of traffic jams and hold-ups along the Maas.³ The bulk of the panzers were supposed to break through there, deep in the Allied rear.

Reports weren't coming through so the generals in the various German headquarters were starting to worry. Many of them were products of the First World War, many were artillerymen who didn't understand the new ways introduced by men like Guderian and Manstein. Their aides counseled patience, it took time for reports to come back from the front, let the men leading from the front handle things. It was no time to panic.

Yet, already there was talk of calling a halt to determine the situation. The success of the offensive in the West hung in the balance.

¹ Asshole, prick.

² British slang, "ran away"

³ The German word for the Meuse River

Operation David

(Source)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fairey Fox of the Belgian Air Force

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

¹ Fieseler Fi 156 Storch (Stork)

² Uffz, short for Unteroffizier

This is not Your Father's War

Bundesarchiv

It started badly. The code word to start the war in the west had come in the night before, many officers were on leave, not expecting anything to happen until later in the month. Fahnenjunker-Unteroffizier Jürgen von Lüttwitz's platoon leader, Leutnant Fritz Acker, had been forced to step up to take command of the entire company as the company commander was at home in Leipzig.

His squad leader, Feldwebel Max Harzer had to step up to command the platoon which left Jürgen, the assistant squad leader, now in command of 3rd Squad. He wasn't sure if he was ready. But ready or not, the Germans stepped off on schedule, crossing into the Netherlands just before dawn.

There had been two Dutch soldiers at the border crossing, at the town of Vaals. Confident that the Netherlands would again sit this war out, as they had in 1914, the Dutch had not gone into a higher state of alert in this area. They had seen the men coming out of the early morning mist and commanded them to halt.

Told to lay down their arms, the Dutch soldiers had not complied. They now lay dead in their bullet-ridden border post as the Germans marched past. Jürgen had seen dead men before, in Poland and in Norway, but this seemed particularly obscene. The men were both young, it was a beautiful spring morning, the birds were singing, and the day looked to be a fine one.

But for two Dutch families the end of all things had just occurred, their sons lying dead at their post, their country invaded. It was not the first time Jürgen had had qualms about his country's actions in this war.

He understood what he had been taught, that Germany had not started the Great War, the Versailles Treaty unfairly punished Germany as the only surviving nation of the Central Powers in 1918.

The Austro-Hungarian Empire was gone, as was the Ottoman Empire, as for the Kingdom of Bulgaria, it was too small and insignificant for the vengeful powers of the West to extract reparations from. While the English may have not really cared, so Jürgen thought, the French wanted their pound of flesh from the hated Germans. No other substitute would do.

The French remembered all too well the humiliation of 1871, when the victorious Prussians had proclaimed the founding of a new German Empire in the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles. The enemy proclaiming its victory in the very heart of France.

Hitler had risen to power promising to return Germany to its "place in the sun." Many believed him, and after the first few years of his time in office, he had fulfilled many of his promises. The Rhineland was taken back into the fold, Austria was incorporated into the Reich, the Sudetenland and then the rump of Czechoslovakia were occupied.

No one expected the English and the French to go to war over Poland, but they had, at least on paper as they had sat in their lines and done nothing as Poland was overrun.

They did move against Norway in an effort to prevent ore shipments from Sweden reaching Germany. But only after the Germans had invaded, if the Reich had waited a few days, the onus of extending the war to Norway would have been on the western powers.

But that was all in the past, it was men under Jürgen's command who had killed two Dutch soldiers whose only crime was to be wearing the wrong uniform on a beautiful morning in early May. He knew that it was war, he was simply a soldier obeying the commands of his superiors, but why did it feel wrong here, but had not in Poland? He would have to think on that.

"Lüttwitz! Get your squad over to the right, the Belgians¹ are slipping away!" Harzer gestured in the general direction of the platoon's right flank.

Jürgen gritted his teeth, Harzer hadn't impressed him as a squad leader, he was even less impressive as a platoon leader. Did the man think that his squad could envelop an enemy who had already fled? What were they, Fallschirmjäger²?

The machine gun was set up, the Belgians had vanished, Jürgen decided to exercise a bit of initiative at this point. "Hans, take your section further out, do you see that clump of trees?" he pointed at the trees he had in mind. "Get your boys up there, we'll cover you with probing fire. If the Belgies are out there, we'll hold their attention while you maneuver. Stay low, go fast!"

Hans Warstadt nodded and said, "On it!"

"Short bursts, Walter, we don't want to waste too much ammunition." Jürgen had clapped his machine gunner on the shoulder as he said that.

When Warstadt reached the small clump of trees, he signaled back that they had the enemy in sight. He then waved the machine gun team over to his position. Within minutes Jürgen's squad had rejoined, around a hundred meters away he could see troops pulling back over a rise in the ground, "That has to be the canal," he thought.

If that was the bank of the Albert Canal, they were close to the Belgian border and their objective, making contact with the paratroopers who had dropped on the Belgian fort of Eben-Emael. If those paratroopers had succeeded in taking the fort, the way would be open into the Belgian heartland!

Jürgen and his men were on the objective, they had linked up with the paratroopers who were in a jubilant mood, they had taken their objective with minimal casualties. The Belgian defenders were stunned that their fortress, designed to interdict three bridges which led from the Netherlands over the Maas³ River and the Albert Canal, had been taken from an unexpected direction. The air.

Defenses designed to fight an earlier war had proven completely ineffective in the light of this new technology, dropping troops from airplanes directly onto the objective. Jürgen had to wonder, what other surprises were in store? This was nothing like the fighting his father and uncles had described to him from the Great War.

Little did he know that in less than a week, the Netherlands would surrender. A couple of weeks after that, the Belgians would also surrender. But in the meantime, Jürgen and the 223rd Infanterie-Division would be on the march, to meet the French advancing into Belgium.

They thought to intercept and stop the Germans at the Dyle River. In truth, they were opening themselves up to utter defeat.

German panzers were moving through the lightly held Ardennes forest.

As they had in 1870, as they would again in 1944.

History often rhymes ...

¹ The Belgians had sent forces into the Netherlands to screen the approaches to the fort on the Dutch side of the river.

² Paratroopers (German)

³ The German name for the Meuse River.

Something Wicked This Way Comes* ...

(Source)

The rumor mill was working overtime. Caporal Guillaume Micheaux was hearing, from various sources, that the Allied effort in Norway was turning into a fiasco. Once again the Germans seemed to be having their way. Every man knew that as the weather got better, the hated Boche would be turning towards France.

"I tell you Caporal, it will be a replay of 1918." Sergent-Chef¹ Jean-François Granet was an old hand, he had been drafted at the age of eighteen during the Great War. He had survived Verdun and the Mutinies of 1917, he was a product of the trenches. Many of the men regarded him as an expert on warfare. He certainly had seen more than his share.

"But Chef, the tanks we have these days are far more powerful, you saw what the Germans did in Poland," Micheaux argued. "Tanks make everything different."

"How so? The Poles had very few tanks and they were generally inferior to what the Boche had, and they still took serious casualties. I have heard that the Boche lost nearly 300 tanks during that campaign, against cavalry for God's sake! They will bleed to death as they did in the Great War." Granet insisted.

"Is it true Chef, that our tanks are bigger, and that we have more of them?" Soldat Pierre-Louis Battier chimed in, he was from Paris and considered himself to be very well informed. The other soldiers in his squad thought he was a bit of a boot licker.

Warming to his topic, Granet turned to the young Parisian and said, "Yes indeed, our tank force is very large and very well led."

Micheaux said nothing as he tried to reconcile the sergeant's insistence that this war would be a repeat of the last war, yet hint that it would not be because of the tank. He continued to listen as Granet described the French Army driving into Belgium and stopping the Germans at the line of the Dyle River. Where they would dig in and let the Boche throw themselves against the French defenses.

"What about their air force, Chef, is it bigger than ours? They have a lot of planes don't they?" Raoul Delaplace, a Soldat de première classe² asked.

"Yes, they have many, more than our own air force, but they lost many of those planes in Poland as well. Our pilots, moreover, are far better than theirs. We have little to worry about mes enfants³, if you keep your heads down and listen to your officers, this war will end before you know it." Granet lit his pipe, as if to discourage further discussion.

Micheaux did not think things would be as simple as the Chef thought.

Connor McGuire shook his head, "Stone the bloody crows, who on God's green earth made you a bloody lance corporal?"

Billy Wallace looked down at the single stripe which now adorned his sleeve, grinned a bit sheepishly then looked up. "You mind your bloody Ps and Qs around your betters, Private McGuire."

The rest of the squad broke out laughing when Wallace said that. McGuire nodded slowly,  stood up and came to attention, then said, "Fair enough Squire, what are yer orders? SIR!"

"Stuff all of you, it's more bloody pay, that's what it is!" Billy was a little put out over the attention he was receiving.

Sgt. Greaves walked into barracks and stifled a laugh at the situation before saying, "I'm sure Adolf has cancelled his plans and will be suing for peace, now that Hell has frozen over and all."

"You too Sar'nt? Is there no bloody justice in this bloody army? Man tries to improve himself and all he gets is shite from his mates. Too bloody awful, that's what it is." Billy tried to sound serious but he was beginning to see the humor in his new situation. After all, before the regiment had come over to France, he already had a reputation as one of the worst soldiers in the battalion. He had to wonder what had changed.

"All right, that's enough lads, Wallace earned that stripe. You've all seen his improvement as a soldier, bloody amazes me as well, but credit where credit is due." Holding his hand out, Sgt. Greaves said, "Congratulations Lance Corporal Wallace, now I need you to take three of the lads over and muck out the officers' stable. Just because you get promoted doesn't mean that the shit no longer needs to be shoveled."

"Right then!" Billy nodded as he turned to his mates, "Who wants to volunteer?"

No one was laughing now.

It was the 9th of May, in every German headquarters along the borders between Germany, the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxemburg, and France, at 2100 hours,  the codeword "Danzig" had been received. After many fits and starts since mid-October of 1939, the attack in the West was finally on.

Fahnenjunker-Unteroffizier Jürgen von Lüttwitz had just checked in to his new unit barely a fortnight ago and wasn't really ready for this. But as his old sergeant, Hartmann had often said, "When is anyone really ready to go into battle, Junge?"

Nevertheless, they would move out the very next day.

Jürgen looked at his squad of not-quite-fit soldiers. Men in their late-20s and early-30s, would they be ready? Would he be able to keep all of them alive? He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew what war was like, did these men?

Tomorrow they would learn, or they would die.

* With apologies to Ray Bradbury.

¹ Chief sergeant, rank typically held by a platoon sergeant. (French)

² Private first class (French)

³ My children (French)

Guest Post - Ukraine: The View from Poland

Sunflowers at Museum of Folk Architecture and Ethnography in Pyrohiv, Kyiv, Ukraine
(Source)

The following comes from our friend in Poland, Paweł Kasperek. Go easy on him, for English is not his first language. He speaks from the heart and he's closer to this than all of us. Take it away, Paweł ...

A quick summary of the first few days of Russo-Ukrainian War of 2022.

“Yet across the gulf of space (...), intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their plans against us.”

― H.G. Wells, The War of the Worlds 

I never imagined I would be writing those words. As I write, I fervently hope this doesn't escalate into World War 3...

Where did this all start? With Vladimir Putin realising Ukraine is not gonna fall over from occupation of just parts of its territory? With Putin's rise to power in Moscow itself? In my humble opinion, it started in 1989 as Berlin Wall fell and young KGB officer in Dresden watched as his world collapsed around him.

It is now third time I see the world literally change trajectory in my life. First was 1989 "Fall of the Nations" as one after another Soviet satellites broke chains and went for new life of freedom and democracy - and prosperity. Second was 9-11 when USA - triggered by righteous anger at barbaric attack on its civilians - embarked on futile quest to change the Middle East into secular democracy. In the process, watch on European defence grew weaker and weaker, as brigade after brigade got removed, and politicians in the West were all too happy talking about "out of area" while perceiving internal political feuds as more important than threat slowly but surely gathering in the East. President after US president seeked "reset" or "cooperation" with about the only US politician clearly seeing Putin was McCain: When I see into his eyes, I see three letter: KGB. Alas, paths not taken... 

Meanwhile Putin busied himself rebuilding his Empire, on dual track of reforming and modernising armed forces, which are to large degree voluntary professionals now -  and of forming economic-political web of influence into Europe, and to a degree even into US. Every new pipeline, every lucrative investment in Russia, every politician retiring to Russian firm board of executives made us more entangled in this web. His propagandists, especially online under guise of "concerned commenters" have fueled flames of political debate, supporting most radical, aggressive voices on left and right alike, turning already difficult path to consensus almost impossible.

He went about recollecting Soviet republics - now independent - into de-facto protectorates needing to heed every command from Moscow.  Belarus was easiest to coopt, with local strongman painting himself into corner with increasingly blatant and brutal oppression of own society, making him dependent on Putin's support. Kazakhstan was seized when local protests gave occasion to intervene on behalf of threatened government. Ukraine slipped away twice from his grasp, first when 2004 revolution forced democratic elections, and later when Putin's satrap Yanukovych was forced to flee by angry nation. Putin elected early on the path of bringing Ukraine back into his colonial fold with capture of Crimea and Donbas, but was unable to trigger general collapse. Instead, those first conquests hardened Ukrainian patriotism and gave their armed forces badly needed combat experience.

Eventually at some point Putin has committed the cardinal sin of the drug dealer - he started smoking own propaganda stuff... And he believed Ukraine is really house of cards that will collapse when kicked with airborne troops boot. And West will do nothing.

I believe situation in the Kremlin is not dissimilar now to 3rd September 1939 in Berlin, when exasperated Hitler fumed at his sycophants: WAS NUN? What now? - after hearing UK and France kept their word and declared war. As I speak Russian banks are ejected from SWIFT system, and even Germany started sending Stingers and ATGMs to Ukraine.  Some of those missiles sent earlier by US and Poland possibly brought down helicopters assaulting airport near Kiev, and - if reports are true - 2 to 4 of paratroopers-packed Il-76s.

If Ukrainians reports are correct, and I think considering scale and intensity of fight, they are,  Russia suffered heaviest losses since the WW2, counted in thousands in mere days, overshadowing losses in Chechnya and even Afghanistan which accounted for 10k soviet troops, but over span of 10 years.

I don't know how long Kiev will hold out - maybe a month as Warsaw did in 1939 - but even when it falls Putin will have to contend with nation half the size of his own, supplied from safe havens in neighbouring NATO and fighting guerilla war with fervour borne of anger at being invaded for reason no more than wanting to elect own leaders and to join European club of free trade and prosperity.

Only thing I fear now is Putin will decide to up the ante even more and go for war with NATO as well. We have seen how detached from reality he is in his decision-making. He wants not only Baltics back, Poland and half Germany as well. He of course would fail  -he can't even deal with Ukraine for now - but that would probably led to him using nukes in last attempt to scare world into submission...

Good news is that unlike dictators in 1939, he faces a society much more autonomous and proactive. The very fact he had to arrest over thousand people in Moscow and Petersburg, for protesting the war, gives us hope. As the scale of carnage filters back into the society, the protests might grow strong enough to force the outcome Putin fears the most: his own deposition. As one wise man said, Russians love their children too... 

Pray for Ukraine