On the Beach

(Source)

The moon was beginning to set, Jean-Yves looked out over la Manche¹ and nearly sobbed. He felt a great feeling of sorrow sweep over him at the prospect of leaving his beloved country. The night was beautiful, the way the moonlight sparkled upon the water, made him think of happier times. The only thing which marred the scene was the small German armored car patrolling the waterfront.

Veulettes-sur-Mer sat between two jutting chalk cliffs, roughly a kilometer and a half apart. It wasn't a working fishing village, but there were a few boats drawn up along the beach. He wondered if any of the boats were large enough to take them the hundred kilometers across the unfriendly waters of la Manche to England.

Mariusz Perzan saw something he liked out on that beach, "I could get us to America in such a boat. It has sails and looks fairly new. It's a good size boat, it will carry the six of us easily."

Sergent Podbielski sighed and said, "We just need to get past the Niemcy."

Gefreiter Georg Wolfschmitt ordered his driver to stop. The scenery here was absolutely beautiful, though the wind coming off the water was rather chilly. He couldn't imagine what exactly he was on the lookout for, Rommel had left this detachment here when the rest of the division moved up the coast to surround the Tommies at Saint Valery en Caux. As much as he wanted to be in at the kill, being posted here was not bad.

"All right Klaus, let's head over to the western headland and sit for a bit. Nothing is going on out here that I can see. The French are all in bed, as is our Feldwebel, I've never seen a man drink so much wine."

The SdKfz 222 moved off, its engine sound swallowed up by the waves rolling up the rough shingle of the beach.

The five Poles and their French companion moved quietly into the village. They saw a German sentry at a distance. Probably guarding the town hall, Podbielski figured. From the position of the moon, he figured they still had a couple of hours of darkness to secure the boat Perzan had his heart set on.

"Down!" he hissed as he heard the sound of a motor approaching along the promenade. The men all spread out and flattened themselves behind whatever cover they could find. Then they waited, the sound was clearly that of a motorcycle.

Podbielski watched, ah, it wasn't on the promenade but on the road beside it. From what little he could see in the fitful shadows, it was a messenger. The man continued on until he reached roughly where they had seen the sentry moments ago. They couldn't see that building but the sound of the motorcycle's engine stopped at where Podbielski figured that building was. No doubt the Niemcy were using it as a headquarters.

"Let's go, fast as you can, quiet as you can." Podbielski hissed at the men.

They were up and moving on cue, they were over the seawall in no time at all. Flattening themselves against that low structure they waited for any hue and cry. There was none.

"Mariusz, check out the boat, we'll cover you."

Wolfschmitt sat in his small turret and watched the water as it rolled in then back out again. It fascinated him. He was from a small village deep in the Hürtgenwald and had never seen the sea until joining the army. He had caught a glimpse of it when he served in Poland. Now he got to see it every day. It pleased him a great deal.

Finally though, he knew they had lingered long enough. "Klaus, fire the beast up, let's head back up along the promenade."

Wolfschmitt heard the engine crank, then die. His driver Klaus Beck, tried again, then Wolfschmitt heard him swear, "Damn it, I flooded the engine."

The gunner, Reiter² Norbert Schmied, laughed and said, "What an idiot!"

"Let it sit, Klaus, we're not in any real hurry."

"Push, get your backs into it." Mariusz Perzan hissed at the men as they struggled to get the boat into the water, the waves wanted to push it back onto the shingle. But each time they gained more ground.

After struggling for a few long minutes, with Podbielski continually scanning the shore to see if anyone was coming, the boat began to rise and fall on the waves.

"In, everybody in, use those oars we found to push her out deeper." Perzan urged them as he stayed by the stern, still pushing the boat further out. When his feet could no longer touch the bottom he scrambled aboard.

"Gówno!³ That scout car is returning!" Podbielski could see it clearly now, he had spotted movement and had been surprised to see the vehicle coming down the promenade. He never had heard the motor, too much sound from the waves on the shingle he supposed.

Wolfschmitt had been looking out at the sea, he thought he had seen something out there, maybe a whale! But then he had seen the motorcycle approaching, with its head lamp partially masked out for blackout purposes, it had been close before he had seen it.

"Klaus, stop the car!" But before the 222 rolled to a stop, the motorcyclist drove on past them. "Never mind, back to business. Let's get up to the next headland, we can watch the moon set!"

Out to sea, to Wolfschmitt's left rear, if one was looking, one might have noticed a mast being put into place, followed by a sail being hoisted aloft. But no Germans in the little seaside village noticed as the five Poles and the single Frenchman escaped the Continent of Europe. Bound for England and an eventual return to free their homelands.

Little did they know just how long that would take.

¹ This is what the French call the Channel, it is the word for "sleeve." That's what it looks like to them. Interestingly enough, the Germans also call it something similar, the Ärmelkanal, the "sleeve channel."

² In cavalry and reconnaissance units this rank was equivalent to a private, literally means "rider."

³ Shit! (Polish)

Hide and Seek

(Source)

Fahnenjunker-Unteroffizier Jürgen von Lüttwitz was in temporary command of 3rd Platoon. Leutnant Fritz Acker would survive his wound but he would not be returning for a number of weeks. As the army was pushing replacements to the units in the forefront of attacking the remaining French forces south of Paris, not to mention the Maginot Line, 3rd Platoon would be understrength for the near future.

Rather than having forty-eight men, he had to make do with thirty-three. While his own 2nd Squad, being led by Obergefreiter Sepp Wittman in Jürgen's absence, was at full strength with ten men. Bernd Osterfeld's old squad, the 1st, only had five men, Osterfeld was in hospital so 1st Squad was being led by a corporal, Gefreiter Max Fleischmann. 3rd Squad, under Obergefreiter Herbert Schimmelpfennig, had seven men, 4th Squad had four men, essentially a machine gun team with two riflemen in support. The senior private in that squad, Hans Grüneberg, led the survivors.

His platoon was lucky in that they still had their mortar section, of three men, along with three of the four messengers they were supposed to have. He had no platoon sergeant for the moment, that man had been killed the day before Leutnant Acker had been hit. The platoon still had significant firepower, having all four of their MG 34 machine guns, manned by experienced men.

"Tell me again Uffz why we're hunting stray Frenchmen?" Sepp Wittman asked as he studied the roadside.

"One of our tank units thought they saw something along this road while they were on the move towards Rouen four days ago. The next day a sentry was found not far from there with his throat cut. Apparently the Feldgendarmerie had information from a French farmer that a small group of French stragglers had come this way." Jürgen answered.

"I'm sure that French farmer had to be persuaded to give up that information. And not gently I'd imagine." Wittman offered.

"If it makes you feel any better, the farmer did survive his questioning. I'm sure he hates us even more now." Jürgen shook his head at the thought. The Kettenhunde¹ never seemed to learn.

They had gotten past the small town of Pavilly, Podbielski reckoned they had less than thirty kilometers to go before they reached their destination. But it was obvious to him that the Germans were actively searching for parties like his. He was still angry with Klaudiusz Mierzejewski, who had killed a German sentry with his knife.

He hadn't been aware of that until the sun had come up after they had passed the small German truck depot. The right sleeve of Mierzejewski's tunic was stained with blood, a lot of blood. Podbielski had sent two men, Mierzejewski and Dziadosz to scout the depot. He was stunned that they had actually killed one of the Germans.

"Was it absolutely necessary?" he had asked Mierzejewski. Sitting behind him, out of Mierzejewski's sight, was Dziadosz, who had shaken his head and mouthed the word "no."

"He was a Niemiec, of course it was necessary. Shouldn't they all die for what they did to our homeland?" Mierzejewski had grumbled.

"So you think the Niemcy will just let that go? 'Oh look, one of our men has been killed, I wonder how that happened? Too bad.' Are you a f**king idiot Klaudiusz?" Podbielski was furious, not with the death of the Niemcy, he understood that, but with Mierzejewski for not thinking the consequences of his actions all the way through.

"Have you noticed that there are more patrols on the roads? Do you think it coincidence that their spotter aircraft seem to be covering most of the countryside. You may have killed us with your actions. Think next time!" Podbielski had almost screamed that last part, which might have given away their position, he had barely managed to tone it down to a loud hiss.

Mierzejewski shrugged. Which infuriated Podbielski even more. The man was from the far east of Poland, damned near in Belorussia, he spoke Russian, often he acted more Russian than Polish. Podbielski would have to keep an eye on this one.

The day was growing hotter, most of the men had hung their helmets on their ammo pouches and were wearing their soft caps, or no caps at all. Jürgen knew the men were tiring of this task. So far they'd gone fifteen kilometers and seen nothing but other patrols and the occasional Fieseler Storch fly overhead.

"Is that artillery fire I hear in the distance Uffz?" Sepp had good hearing, though they had to be at least twenty kilometers from where the 7th and 5th Panzer Divisions had trapped a British division, the artillery fire was becoming louder.

"Sounds like the Tommies are taking a pounding, Sepp. Better them than us." A week ago they had endured a French artillery strike on their position. It had been accurate and sustained enough that the platoon had lost twelve men. It was not an experience Jürgen cared to repeat any time soon.

"Hey Uffz! Panzers coming!" One of the men near the tail of the column shouted.

Jürgen nearly panicked, then he realized that had they been enemy tanks, the man would have said so. It had been Kurt Winckel who had shouted, the man was an old hand. Turning he looked back, sure enough, it was a platoon of PzKw 38(t)s. As they drew closer, he actually recognized the man commanding the lead tank.

"Hey Hoffmeister, you haven't been court-martialed yet?" Jürgen yelled with a grin.

The tank rolled to a stop and Willi Hoffmeister climbed down from his turret, "Jesus, don't you f**king Landsers know the war is over?"

Jürgen nodded to the northwest and said, "That artillery fire seems to indicate otherwise."

"Oh that, we've got the Tommy 51st Division pinned against the coast, the Luftwaffe has actually managed to drive off the Royal Navy. The artillery boys are trying to persuade the Tommies to quit. Tough bastards but they won't last. What are you boys doing out here?"

Jürgen lifted his helmet off then mopped the sweat from his hair with his hand. "Searching for French stragglers. Someone murdered a sentry a couple of nights ago. Command is pissed off, we're supposed to track them down. You?"

"Heh, the same. My loader thought he saw something off in the trees, a few nights later a sentry gets killed, next thing you know the Kettenhunde are beating the bush for saboteurs and terrorists. Seen anything?"

"Nothing. Probably a fool's errand but you know the saying ..."

"Befehle sind befehle!²" both men said at once, laughing.

Jean-Yves was watching the Germans very carefully. Two men were standing by a tank, laughing from the looks of it. It burned deep inside that these men should come to his country, burn, kill, and destroy, and from the looks of it have a wonderful time doing so.

He laid his sights on the man in the black uniform. As he thought about squeezing the trigger, Podbielski laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't do it Jan-Iwo, you would kill at least one German, but all of us would die. We must wait until we can be in a proper unit again, then, and only then, can we bring the war to the damned Niemcy. We must be smart."

Jean-Yves lowered his rifle and sighed. "They shouldn't be laughing while my country dies, sierżancie, it isn't right."

"They did worse things in my country laddie, killing civilians, men, women, children, it didn't matter to them. We are not even human in their eyes. Someday they will pay."

"But not this day. Come on, we must move deeper into the forest, Mariusz claims that he can smell the sea. One more night, perhaps two, he says, and we can start looking for a boat." Podbielski turned and slipped quietly into the dark of the forest.

Jean-Yves took one last look, whispering "Your day will come, you pigs. You will pay."

Then he followed his sergeant into the forest.

¹ Chained dogs, German military slang for the military police because of the gorget, suspended from a chain, they wore while on duty.

² Orders are orders! (German)

Close Encounter

FIELD MARSHAL ERWIN ROMMEL AND THE GERMAN CAMPAIGN IN FRANCE 17 MAY - 19 JUNE 1940.
IWM © IWM (RML 342)
Members of the 51st Highland Division surrendering to the 7th Panzerdivision, commanded by Rommel, at Saint-Valery-en-Caux.

The men waited as yet another German column passed by on the road. Sergent Bartosz Podbielski was perplexed, he had assumed that the Germans would be pushing south, not to the west. As he thought about it, he had to wonder if there were still British troops in France. If so, they might be trying to evacuate from the coastal area, as he had heard they had at Dunkirk. He nudged Jean-Yves.

"You were at Dunkirk, yes?"

"Yes, why?"

"Did all the British leave France from there?"

"No, there was at least one other division further south, towards Dieppe."

Podbielski nodded. They could be heading into danger if they continued on this path. He whispered to the others that they would wait for night before moving again, it was far too dangerous in daylight with all the German vehicles on the roads, many tanks as well as trucks.

Unteroffizier Willi Hoffmeister was standing on his seat, for once he was fully exposed in his turret, as was the bow gunner, Panzerschütze Ulrich Neuhäuser. They had been briefed to expect no resistance until they reached the vicinity of Rouen, which according to Willi's map was another ten kilometers down the road.

Panzerschütze Horst Krebs got on the intercom, "Uffz, any chance of getting some hatch time?"

Willi realized that he had been up in the breeze for a while now, and the inside of the tank was stifling, "Ja Horst, let's swap."

As they exchanged positions, not an easy proposition in the cramped turret, Willi pulled out his map. Might as well have a peek at the vicinity of where they expected to run into the enemy units running for the coast. The whole rotten façade seemed to be collapsing now that Paris had fallen.

The five Poles and the lone Frenchman were under cover in a small wood  lot roughly fifty meters from the road leading to Rouen. Jean-Yves was aiming at the lead tank in yet another small column of German vehicles. "Oh mon ami, death is watching you, a gentle squeeze and you would not return home."

"Don't do it Jan-Iwo." Damian Krempa muttered. The Poles had started calling Jean-Yves by his Polish name, to get him used to it as Mariusz Perzan had suggested.

"As much as I want to kill that soldier, I'd rather not die today."

"Tak¹, shooting him would not be healthy for us!"

As Horst sat atop the turret, enjoying the breeze, he noticed a small woodlot. He guessed that it was nice and cool in the shade of those trees. He sat up, did he see movement in there?

"Willi, let me have your field glasses!"

A moment late the glasses were handed up, as they were traveling at a sedate 20 kph the woodlot was still ahead. He put the glasses on the edge of the field where it disappeared under the trees.

"Don't move chłopcy², that f**king Niemcy may have spotted us." Podbielski hissed at the men. He froze, using just his eyes to follow the German eyeballing them through a pair of field glasses from atop one of the little Czech tanks the Germans used.

Podbielski noticed that Cahun's rifle was still pointing towards the road. The kid was alert and appeared ready to kill the German should Podbielski give the order.

"If the tank slows, kill him." He whispered.

"Count on it."

"What are you looking at Horst?" Willi asked over the intercom.

"Nothing, I thought I saw movement under some trees a ways off the road. But it was nothing, probably the wind. Do you want your seat back?" Horst asked.

"Tired of the fresh air?"

"No, petrified at the thought of how exposed I am up here."

"Ah yes, the glories of commanding a Panzer, you're a target for anybody with a rifle."

After dark there was no further movement on the road, so the men moved off. They stayed in the fields, while they could hear a vehicle coming from quite a ways off, there might not be a chance of getting off the road before the vehicle was upon them. Safer, though slower, to keep to the fields.

They entered a small wood, coming out the other side a dog began barking, very close by. They froze, Podbielski could make out a small farmhouse just ahead. A man came out carrying a lantern.

"Be quiet Pierre, it's probably nothing." The man calmed his dog as he looked around.

Podbielski nearly jumped out of his skin when Jean-Yves spoke.

"Grandfather! Any news of the armies?"

"What? Who's there? I have a shotgun!"

The men could see that the farmer was bluffing, the Poles stayed in the shadows of the trees as Jean-Yves advanced into the dim light from the lantern.

"I am a soldier of France, trying, with my friends, to rejoin our unit. We mean you no harm. We've been hiding from les Boches all day. Why are they moving to the coast?"

"Ah, yes, I see your uniform now. Welcome, welcome. Les Boches are moving to the coast because les anglais are running away, again! They are waiting for their Navy to pick them up along the coast near Saint-Valery-en-Caux. There are French units there as well, but the government has ordered them to lay down their arms. What is to become of us soldat?"

"I don't know grandfather, my friends and I do not want to surrender. So I suppose we must run away avec les anglais.³" Jean-Yves didn't really know what else they could do. He might be able to return to his village and resume the life he had had before the army, but what about his Polish friends? England seemed their only choice.

They spent the night in the farmer's barn with no problems. In the morning they ate, then talked with the farmer, who was very familiar with the area along the coast from Dieppe to Le Havre.

"Make for Veulettes-sur-Mer, it's another eight kilometers along the coast. It's a smaller town, you might be able to get a boat to take you to England. The town has a long history of smuggling, I'm sure they would know their way around any Boche patrols. Land or sea."

Podbielski and the men moved off into the Forêt Domaniale de Roumare⁴ which would get them around Rouen and closer to the coast. As they departed, the farmer offered them his best wishes and his sincere hope that they would kill many Germans.

Jean-Yves was torn, return home, or continue the fight? He would have to decide.

And soon.

¹ Yes (Polish). Not sure if anyone has noticed but once I give the translation for a foreign word, I don't usually repeat the translation. I make the exception here so that I can tell you why sometimes foreign words get a footnote and sometimes they don't. Hhmm, perhaps a glossary would be in order? Eventually ...

² Boys (Polish), plural of chłopak, which I've used before.

³ with the English (French)

⁴ Roumare State Forest (French)

Paris Has Fallen

Bundesarchiv

Jean-Yves Cahun sat with his back to the barn, his helmet was on the ground next to him, his rifle was propped up against the side of the barn, within easy reach. He was staring into space, his gaze unfocused, no emotion at all showing on his face. It seemed to him that the end of all things was at hand.

Sergent Podbielski took a swig of water from his canteen, then twisted its cap back on, letting the nearly empty vessel fall to his side. He sighed and wondered what they should do, now that the front was falling apart. Paris had been declared an open city and the Germans were already there.

"Damian, any word from that French captain?" Podbielski asked Soldat Damian Krempa, who spoke French like a native.

"No, they're still waiting for orders, though he did tell me that the Polish forces fighting within France have instructions to withdraw south, to Saint-Jean-de-Luz, which is damned near in Spain. It's on the coast close to the Spanish border from what he tells me." Krempa asked with a grumble.

"Spain, that's hundreds of kilometers from here? Are they insane?" Podbielski protested.

"Think about it Bartosz, if we were still with our unit we would be much closer. Most of the guys were sent south just before the Niemcy looped around the eastern edge of Paris. The port of Bayonne, which is near Saint-Jean-de-Luz, would make sense. But we're far from home, so to speak." Krempa looked over at Cahun, "Have you told Jean-Yves yet?"

"No, I guess I should."

"A parade? Seriously?" Fahnenjunker-Unteroffizier Jürgen von Lüttwitz looked at the new company commander, Oberleutnant Ferdinand Busch.

"We're here, the Führer wants a parade to overawe the French civilians, so we march. By the way, you've got Acker's platoon until headquarters sends a replacement or he returns from hospital. I don't think either eventuality is likely in the near future. Anyway, make sure your boys look tidy and parade-worthy. Tomorrow, first light, I'll be by to inspect, let's say 0430."

"Jawohl, Herr Oberleutnant." Jürgen snapped his heels together and nodded as the lieutenant left the small building the platoon was using as a bivouac, not far from the Arc de Triomphe. While he was excited to see Paris, he wasn't thrilled about the prospect of parading down the Champs-Élysées. Though the French had requested an armistice, the fighting continued to the south of Paris. Why a parade, he wondered, the war wasn't over yet. Damned headquarters types.

"You only need two phrases in Polish, Jean-Yves. 'tak sierżancie' and 'nie sierżancie.' 'Yes, sergeant' and 'no, sergeant.' Very simple yes?" Podbielski explained, "If you stay with us the authorities need to think you're Polish, not French."

"But my pay book ..." Jean-Yves protested.

Soldat Klaudiusz Mierzejewski handed Jean-Yves a pay book and said, "Like this one, yes?"

Jean-Yves opened it, there was his picture but the book said his name was Jan-Iwo, not Jean-Yves. "But ..."

"It's pronounced 'yan ee-wo' and your last name is pronounced "ka-hoon" in Polish. Think you can remember that?" Podbielski asked the young Frenchman.

"Yes, but ..."

"Your army is preparing to surrender, we're going to England, one way or another. You should come with us, if you stay here ..." Podbielski gave a shrug. "These papers aren't perfect, but we shouldn't need them. If we get stopped by the authorities, we're f**ked. But they're better than nothing."

"When?"

"Nightfall. We have a long way to go but it's best to move now before the Germans sort themselves out between here and the coast. We're heading to ..." Podbielski turned to look at Soldat Juliusz Dziadosz, who had been something of a scholar before the war.

"Saint-Valery-en-Caux, it's roughly 120 kilometers from here. It's a small fishing village according to my Michelin guide. We should be able to get a boat there. Mariusz, you were a fisherman before the war, yes?" Dziadosz turned and asked Soldat Mariusz Perzan.

"If it floats, I can handle it. Sails, motor, whatever." Perzan answered.

Jean-Yves looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. "Bon¹. We go. I shall be Polish until we get to England, then I will be French again."

"You don't like our company Jan-Iwo?" Podbielski asked with a smile.

Jean-Yves stared blankly at the Sergent for a moment, then recognized his name in Polish.

"Nie sierżancie, I like your company just fine, but I need to be in a unit where I speak the language."

Soldat Damian Krempa laughed and said, "By the time we get to England, we'll have you chattering like a boy from Warszawa!"

Jean-Yves looked doubtful but nodded. "We shall see about that Damian, we shall see."

¹ Good. (French)

Armored Clash

(Source)

Leutnant Fritz Acker couldn't quite believe the predicament he was in, pinned down by a French machine gun along with part of his platoon and the company command group. The company commander, Hauptmann Herbert Riesch was lying dead in the street, not ten meters from where they were taking cover.

They had crossed the Aisne River in the vicinity of the little village of Concevreux that morning against no opposition beyond random artillery fire. They had seen the Luftwaffe in action shortly after the crossing when a Rotte of Bf-109s¹ had shot down a French spotter aircraft. Hence the inaccurate and random artillery fire.

Then they had entered a small village perhaps a kilometer past the Aisne when small arms fire drove the small group to cover, but not before Hauptmann Riesch and his equipment sergeant Feldwebel Horst Fellgiebel had been shot down in the middle of the street. The company Sanitäter had started to go to their assistance but Acker had pulled that man down to the ground.

"They're dead Johannes, if you go out there, you will be too."

"I have to check ..."

One glance from Acker and Gefreiter Johannes Teller held his peace. Truth be told, he was terrified.

Fahnenjunker-Unteroffizier Jürgen von Lüttwitz was sitting atop the second PzKw IV in the column along with his machine gun team and three of the riflemen. The remainder of the squad, with the exception of Sepp Wittman, rode the two tanks behind his. Jürgen's assistant rode the lead tank.

Acker had sent Jürgen back to meet up with their armored support and from the sounds of the firing ahead, Jürgen's group was needed immediately.

The lieutenant commanding the tank platoon also commanded the tank Jürgen was riding, he had his map out and was matching the road to the map. Jürgen noticed that it wasn't an army-issue map but a commercial one, he could see "Michelin" on the edge.

The lieutenant spoke over his intercom and the vehicle rolled to a stop, turning to Jürgen, he said, "I need your men to lead the way, from the looks of things there's a village just around the bend, on the other side of those trees. I don't want to blunder in there blind and clueless."

Jürgen nodded and said, "Zu befehl." Then waved at his men to dismount. "Leon, take the gun and move up to Sepp's position. Head up the road and set up where you can cover the approaches to the village."

Schwarz nodded then slapped his assistant gunner, Christian Möller, on the back, "Let's go you rascal, time to earn your pay!"

Hauptfeldwebel Dieter Friedrich was worried, the lieutenant seemed hesitant. "Herr Leutnant, we need to maneuver, if we stay here we're useless!"

Acker looked back at the man, realizing he was right, he made a decision. "Take three men, work your way back and ..."

As Acker spoke he was interrupted by the sound of a tank cannon firing, to his front!

The big Char B1 moved forward, then fired again. Its commander had a glimpse of another German tank behind the one he had just hit. That tank was sitting in the middle of the road, a glowing hole in its glacis from where his 47 mm had penetrated the German's armor, right between the bow gunner and the driver. Flames were beginning to lick out from the turret ring. 

Maréchal des logis² Sébastien Marchant did not think any of that tank's crew could still be alive. At this range his 47 must have torn the guts out of the enemy tank. As he watched, more flames were issuing from the tank's closed hatches and other openings. The crew must have been killed by the initial shot.

"Léopold! Can you see the second Boche, just behind those trees?"

Léopold Beauvais, the gunner on the tank's 75 mm hull mounted cannon, answered, "No, he's obscured, can we move up?"

As Marchant began to give that order, he heard a sound which made his blood run cold, the scream of the sirens the Boches loved to mount on their dive bombers.

Acker also heard the scream of a Stuka siren, realizing that they were far too close to the French tank, he bellowed, "Fall back into that gully, heads down!"

Mere seconds later one of the Stuka's bombs impacted just past the French tank. It was a miss but close enough to panic the tank's crew, who began to bail out of the undamaged vehicle.

Sepp Wittman couldn't believe his eyes, the flyboy had missed, but the Frenchies were abandoning their tank anyway. He looked down at Schwarz, slapped his helmet and yelled, "What the Hell are you waiting for?"

Schwarz had also been surprised by the enemy tankers' reaction to the near miss, so he had hesitated. The slap on his helmet awakened him to the need to open fire, but he was so startled his first burst was too high, he could see rounds impacting on a building behind the tank.

"Mon Dieu!³" Marchant fell to the ground and scrambled behind his tank. He was yelling at his men to get back in their vehicle and fight, but they were panicked. The next burst of German machine gun fire wasn't too high. Marchand watched in horror as two of his crew were bowled over by the enemy burst.

Hauptfeldwebel Friedrich saw an opportunity, he came up out of the shallow gully with his MP 38 machine pistol at the ready. He thought to capture the French tanker who was watching him approach, oddly enough, the Frenchman looked very calm.

Before Friedrich could utter a word, the Frenchman shot him down. Friedrich hadn't seen the tanker's pistol.

Acker just stood there, stunned, his company Spieß had been shot down right in front of him. As he tried frantically to draw his own pistol, the Frenchman shot him as well.

The Panzer lieutenant climbed down from his tank and surveyed the scene. "Looks like you're the ranking Landser,⁴ von Lüttwitz. I have orders to hold here for the moment, the rest of my battalion will be up in a few hours. Seems the French Air Force actually got through and attacked our column. The damage is slight, but we lost a bridge."

Jürgen looked around him, a handful of company headquarters types and half a squad of men other than his own from his parent platoon. The Sani was working on Leutnant Acker but it looked as if he would need to be evacuated to the rear. The Spieß was dead.

The French tanker who had killed Friedrich and wounded Acker had managed to escape in the confusion. Only the two men Schwarz had killed were left from the tank's crew, so two had gotten away. According to the lieutenant the big Char B1 only had a crew of four.

The attacking Stuka may have missed the tank, but it had managed to drive off the French  infantry who had pinned down the company group. That group of Frenchmen had left three dead men and four badly wounded, which the company Sani was seeing to at the moment.

"Herr Leutnant, I'll post men on the far edge of this village, where will your Panzers be?"

"I'm leaving one here and I'll post myself and my surviving vehicle on the roads leading to the south. Any counterattack will come from that direction. But honestly, I think the French are done in this sector. Their morale was very good over the past few days, they fought hard, and well. But as you can see, our airpower is starting to unnerve them. Set up your command post here, do you have a man you can spare as a runner?" The lieutenant, whose name was Gottlieb Uthman, waited for Jürgen to respond.

"Warstadt! Go with Leutnant Uthman, you're to be his runner."

"Zu befehl, Uffz!" Warstadt climbed up onto Uthman's tank and waited.

Uthman nodded, shook Jürgen's hand and said, "Sehr gut, Unteroffizier! Now we await further orders, this can't last much longer, I think the Frenchies are done." With that he climbed aboard his vehicle and headed down the western street through the village.

Jürgen certainly hoped this was finished. He thought he could smell roast meat and was immediately reminded that he hadn't eaten since the night before. Then he realized what he was smelling, it was the crew of the destroyed tank, burning.

Fahnenjunker-Unteroffizier Jürgen von Lüttwitz stepped quickly down into the gully and unceremoniously vomited up what little there was in his stomach.

He wasn't hungry anymore. Not in the least.

¹ A Rotte is two aircraft, a lead and a wingman. The Bf-109 was a fighter aircraft manufactured by the Bayerische Flugzeugwerke which late became Messerschmitt AG. The aircraft was designed by Willi Messerschmitt. As for whether it is more correct to say Me-109 or Bf-109, let's just say "it depends." Technically both are correct, see here.

² A cavalry rank, equivalent to an American Staff Sergeant.

³ My God! (French)

⁴ Slang term for an infantryman in the German army.

Texans

 So, last weekend was kind of a suck-a-roo.  Mrs J and I were recovering from some bug that frankly knocked us on our butts. Consequently, when we got an early morning call from our guests things didn't go swimmingly.  The conversation went like this.

"Hello, this is juvat"

"Juvat, we have a problem!"

"Oh, what is it?"

"You've got mice"

"Yes, we live in the country."

"Well, when we woke up this morning, there was a mouse eating our leftovers from dinner last night."

"A mouse got in the refrigerator?"

"Of course not, the leftovers were on the counter"

Silence.

"And there's mouse poop all over. It's unsanitary and unhealthy"

Silence

"We're going to leave and we want a full refund."

"Fine, and don't let the door or either of the gates hit you in the ass on your way out."

OK, the latter was spoken only in my head.

They left, we went and checked on the place.  Found one small mouse poop in a corner in the kitchen.  BTW for those readers interested in Field Mice Scatology, mouse poop is about the size of a grain of salt.  

Yes, Beans, these folks went on the official juvat "Do not rent to these idiots ever" list.

On a more pleasant note.  Although this picture was taken in February, It was still an accurate picture until a few days ago.

What a difference 1/4" makes.

 Yeah, we finally got a little rain.  Thank you, Lord!

So, a couple of days ago, Chant Brother Cletus commented that the Confederate Air Force (from days of old) AKA the Commemorative Air Force in this more politically correct age, was holding one of its quarterly training sessions.  Evidently, if you're going to fly in an airshow, the gummint would like you to be current on the rules and procedures as well as have practiced recently.  Whoda thunk the gummint might actually do something smart? It happens so rarely nowadays.

Back on Target, juvat!

On Target, Aye, Sarge.

In any case, Saturday evening, the guys went off flying.  My property is 4.5 miles from the Runway.  Close enough to land quickly if needed, but away from the airport and all it's procedures.  Yes, I got buzzed a lot.  Yes, I wish I'd win the lottery so I could buy an Airplane and join them.  Yes, Yes, Yes.

In any case, and just to prove that Cecil B. DeMille I'm not, I videoed them flying by.  Unfortunately, I don't have a quality video camera, merely my cell phone, but for your viewing pleasure.

Oh, this Post's Title?  All the aircraft in the video are AT-6's.  Much like the F-15 is named Eagle, guess what the AT-6's name is.

P.S.  There is a silver lining to Little J and DIL's 15 day, very strict, quarantine on their return to Honk Honk.  Due date is late October.

Maifeiertag¹

May Pole in Germany
(Source)

Most of you who have been hanging out here a while know that I spent the last seven and a half years of my Air Force career at a NATO airbase in Germany. I lived in Kreis Heinsberg in the state of Nordrhein-Westfalen, in a little town by the name of Waldfeucht (literally "damp forest"). Many happy memories from that time. Many indeed. (And not all involved bier und schnitzel!)

It's been twenty-three years since I spent my last May Day in Germany. I don't really remember the May Poles, in my village the houses of eligible young ladies would have a small decorated tree (or branches from one) adorning the chimney area of the house. It took a considerable amount of skill (not to mention stealth) to get those up on someone's house without being caught. But hey, if the lady was fetching, why not?

Anyhoo, I gave the Muse the night off, she's been busy as of late, and honestly, I'm just too tired to be creative. I'm also getting a bit nostalgic for the days of my youth. I'm having trouble believing that I retired from the Air Force twenty-three years ago this month.

Time flies, especially when you get older.

Thus marks the end of the longest month ever, or so it felt. The Missus Herself went to California for most of March. Then I went out there (for work) for half of April, when I got back, The Missus Herself was needed down in Maryland. She's like a superhero or something, the kids call, she answers.

She's finally back and the spring yard work has commenced. Friday was the annual ritual of cleaning the koi pond. We went into winter with seven fish, we came out of winter with five. It was a rough winter for the fish. But big old Mr. Frog, as we call him, no, he's not French, continues to thrive. This frog showed up one day some years ago and has made our pond his abode ever since.

This amphibian is bigger than my hand!

The Missus Herself did most of the hard work (she usually does) as I was off at an impromptu doctor's visit. Seems my right ear had decided to ache like crazy and was damned near completely devoid of any hearing ability. I figured that "this too shall pass" but my far-better half sent me to the medicos.

My doc washed out a glob of something that looked like the size of a baseball. Once she washed that out the pain was gone and my hearing had returned. Hhmm, wonder how that got there? I'm pretty good about cleaning my audio sensors, the left continued to function just fine, so I'm guessing it was "one of those things."

Yeah, let's not do that again.

Anyhoo, Happy May Day, not the freaking Commie kind but the old-school German kind. With witches and beer und schnitzel und wurst und spaetzle, usw!² And I leave you with this, from the Harz Mountains, where they still do things the old way. Or so I'm told. (I'm sure they have fun with the whole Walpurgisnacht thing.)

Tschüs!³

P.S. I'm also binge watching the final season of Ozark. Those who know, know. Keeps me busy ...

¹ What die deutschen call May Day. Some also call it the Tag der Arbeit, workers day. But that's mostly Berlin, that city was always rather "rot."

² The German way of indicating "etc.", it stands for "und so weiter," so on and so forth. No, literally ...

³ Bye. Cheerio!