On the Run

(Source)

Guillaume Micheaux was moving down the road inside the large natural park south of Reims. He had been moving by night, hiding in the vineyards near the northern outskirts of the park during the day. When he reached the forests of the park, he felt more comfortable moving during the day. He could make better time.

He usually had enough time to hide from the occasional German patrol, they were mostly truck mounted, sometimes it was a single motorcycle-sidecar combo, rarely one of the small cars the Germans had. The vehicles made enough noise so that he heard them long before he could see them, or they him. When he heard one approaching, he would hide in the underbrush.

He was worried, he was running out of food, the nights were getting colder, and he had no idea if there were Frenchmen in the park who were either hiding from the Germans or, better still, fighting the Germans. He had to make contact with someone soon, or he would have to come up with a different plan. Guillaume had no illusions about being able to survive the winter out in the open. Alone.

As he pondered his situation, his mind drifted, he was in the midst of daydreaming of days to come when he heard a voice ...

"Nun, guck mal da.¹"

He had breasted a slight rise and walked right up on two German soldiers, lounging near their motorcycle combo, eating bread and drinking what could only be some of the local wine.

One of the Germans stood straight and swung his submachine gun around in front of him, the easier to reach for if he needed it. Neither German felt in the least bit threatened by the scruffy looking tramp who had walked up on them suddenly.

"Also, Landstreicher, sprichst du Deutsch? Gibt es überhaupt eine Chance darauf?²"

Both Germans laughed. Guillaume had no idea what the soldier had said to him, he decided to act innocent and hope for the best.

One of the Germans, the one without the submachine gun, approached him, laughing and looking back at his partner. Guillaume couldn't help but notice that this man had left his rifle propped against the motorcycle.

The German pushed Guillaume, his words, though indecipherable to Guillaume were obviously insulting, but not in a threatening way, at least not yet. He pushed Guillaume again, and at that point something snapped in the Frenchman. He had had quite enough of Germans chasing him and pushing him around.

As he reached for the kitchen knife he had in the pocket of his long coat, he heard something which sounded like a shot. Paying no attention to that, he drew the knife and plunged it into the German soldier's belly.

The German coughed once, then dropped to his knees, a surprised look on his face. Guillaume stood over him, the bloody knife still in his hand. He could not understand why the other German had done nothing.

That's when he heard another laugh, and a voice in French saying, "Well, well, the tramp has teeth."

Guillaume looked away from the German, who was now sitting awkwardly on his haunches, both hands held tightly to his lower belly, blood oozing out from around them.

"Are you going to finish him? Or do you want to watch the cochon³ bleed out?"

The man who spoke had a military-style beret on his head, a German submachine gun in his hands, and looked as if he'd been living rough for quite some time. With him were three other men and two women. All of whom were carrying German weapons, three pistols and two rifles, all looked as scruffy and wild as the speaker.

"I ..., I ..., I don't know, who are you?"

Guillaume looked towards the motorcycle-sidecar combination, the German who had the submachine gun was sprawled in the road, bleeding badly but still alive. He had been the recipient of the shot Guillaume had heard. One of the women was relieving him of his weapon and ammo pouches. When he groaned and tried to pull his weapon back, the woman quickly pulled a knife and cut the man's throat. He died gagging in the road.

Guillaume heard "his" German groan. He looked at the man for a moment. The German looked back at him and said a single word, "Bitte." A plea of some kind, no doubt.

Guillaume just stood there, he had no idea what to do.

The apparent leader of this small group said one word, "Enough." He stepped forward and with his own knife, cut the German's throat.

"Quickly, strip them of anything useful, then we need to drag them and their machine off into the trees. The Boche will find them eventually but by then we'll be long gone." Turning to Guillaume he spoke again.

"As for you mon ami, are you dumb or just lost?"

Guillaume snapped out of his stupor and said, almost automatically, " Je suis Caporal Guillaume Micheaux, 142e régiment d'infanterie, 8e division d'infanterie."

"Well mon ami, we're not in the old army, and you won't find your regiment around here, but we can always use men who know how to kill Germans. Even if you were a little sloppy and we had to finish that one for you." He said, nodding at the dead man in front of Guillaume.

"Who, who are you people?" Guillaume stuttered.

"We are the resistance, the people who will not bow to les Boches, the people who will kill them and keep killing them until they leave France. Or until they are all dead. Marie over there," he gestured at one of the women, who now had a submachine gun, "would prefer the latter. Apparently she didn't care for being raped by a pig of a German."

Marie still held her bloody knife, she nodded at Guillaume then cleaned the blade on the tunic of the man whose throat she had cut. "Are we going to stand here all day Pierre, gabbing like old men? We need to get back into the forest. Do we keep the tramp or do we leave him?"

Guillaume simply nodded and said, "I'll go with you."

"Then help move these dead men and their motorcycle, then we go."

Guillaume had joined the resistance. The thought of that terrified him. These people knew how to hate.

¹ Well, look at that. (German)

² So, tramp, do you speak German? Any chance of that at all? (German)

³ Pig (French)

Happy 246, Y'All!

 Well, Campers, it's the 246th anniversary of a moment when the people in this country got fed up with their rulers and told them to piss off!  Then made it happen!

Were I in a governmental position these days, I think I'd give that event some serious thought as I went about my job.

I'd also think about something I (and an awful lot of others) once said "I, juvat, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God."

Just sayin'. Those two words right before the first semicolon have meaning.

'Nough politics, turns my stomach it does.

 Happy Independence Day, America! 

So...juvat, how was your week?  Last week's post mentioned some desirable goals to accomplish this week.  How'd it go?

Well, Sarge...It started out well, then I was presented with an opportunity to practice something I'd learned 44 years ago in pilot training.*

So, there I was...** All set up on the cabin's front porch with Chop Saw, Pocket Hole Jig, two fully charged drill batteries, bits and other things to screw with . (Beans! Mind outta the gutter right now!).  I've just made the first piece and taken it into the cabin to check the fit.

Perfect Fit! You know the gods are gonna punish me for the hubris, right?

Take it back outside, drill the pocket holes in it, then cut the two cross supports that will go at 90 degrees to this piece.  In addition I cut the two risers that will go on the opposite end of this piece and provide the support for the top piece that covers the rest of the water softener hardware.  I'm doing this on the front porch to minimize the sawdust inside the cabin.  

Now the cabin's front porch is about 3' off the ground.  Which almost makes it a decent workbench.  I have to bend over a bit to make it work, but it's not too bad.  I cut the two risers and the two cross pieces. Step up onto the porch, pick them up and start looking at them as I'm begin walking to the door.

The entirety of my brainpower is invested in making sure that the two riser pieces are exactly the same length.  Little did I realize that my right foot was actively tracking the cinder block I had used to support the 2 x 4 I had just cut.  The impact was startling and my center of gravity significantly altered.  (Beans, that's flying talk for falling.)

As my body was being pulled by gravity towards the Earth's core, I realized that if I fell off the porch, that extra 3' might just be enough to cause my head to be the first thing to hit the ground.

I was reasonably certain I wouldn't like that result.  I bent at the waist and rolled my torso towards the cabin so it wouldn't go off the side.  That worked! I stayed on the porch. But, I'd forgotten I usually have something in that pocket.

My leg, hip and then shoulder hit the porch pretty hard.

My pocket knife didn't absorb much of the shock. In fact, I think it had an additive power.  I have a nice, knife shaped bruise on my hip.  No, I'm not going to post a picture, You may thank me at your leisure.

I might have uttered a bad word or two at that point.  Didn't move for a moment or two.  Then started the check list.  Head?  No pain, moves fine.  Neck? Same.  Arms, Back, Toes, Feet, Knees?  All same.  Hip?  Seems OK.  Alrighty then... let's try and get up.  Hmm  Right leg doesn't seem to be taking any pushing orders.  So I pull myself into one of the patio chairs and sit there for a while.

Feeling was starting to come back to my leg, but not the good kind.  Sat there a bit longer and could now move the leg and but not put weight on it.  A while later, I could move it and even put weight on it.  It just hurt quite a bit when I did.   Went home and had Mrs. J have a look.  She did and said it was unlikely anything was broken (except for my pride) and prescribed Ice and taking weight off it.  

No argument there.

So, while it is better now, it still aches, and the only time it hurts is when I try and stand up.  Which means my upper body strength is improving since I must use that to lift myself into position.  

But, I dodged a pretty big bullet. In answer to your question, Sarge? No further progress has been made on the cabin project.  The cut boards are in our garage and we're now awaiting our next multi-day vacancy to complete.

On a happier note, we've just received travel arrangements for LJW/DIL and Youngest Granddaughter to be.  They'll be arriving in a little over 2 weeks.  Due date is still the last week in October.  We're very excited.

Off Subject, but has this been a terrific week or two vis a vis the Supreme Court or WHAT?

Powerline's regular "This week in Picture's" is my normal Saturday "Must Read".  This week was no exception, and the following was voted "Best Internet Meme in Forever!" by me!

Took me a minute, but....SPOT On!

* What I executed was called a parachute landing fall, the transfer of the energy of hitting the earth to a larger portion of your body where it dissipates minimizing your risk of injury.  I didn't realize I'd done that until afterward and was awed that the training was that deep in my brain.  Thanks Sergeant whoever you are, well done!

**  A Fairy Tale begins with "Once upon a time" and a War Story begins with "So, there I was" 

 

***Per STxAR request.  '51 Red Pickup.  Pretty sure it isn't Cletus's as I started having phone problems shortly after this one came through.

 

Was It Worth It?

(Source)

The picture is a little blurry, as are the memories of that day when a hopeless assault was launched into the teeth of Union artillery and small arms fire. Overconfidence, and perhaps just a bit of arrogance, launched that attack. Many men died, and for what, is a question I often ask myself.

A country is made up of people - some smart, some stupid, and every shade in between. There are those who work for a living, and those who coast, relying on others to take care of them. Again, there are shades of gray between those two extremes.

I remain optimistic about the future of my country, after all, a war in which we Americans slaughtered each other in great numbers ended one-hundred and fifty-seven years ago. We're not at that point yet, I doubt we will reach that point.

Perhaps 'tis better to say, that I hope we don't reach that point. Eventually people see through the nonsense and the lies of the political class, and the chattering idiots who report on their spew.

"You can fool all the people some of the time and some of the people all the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time." This quote is often attributed to Abraham Lincoln, but I can't find any evidence to confirm that one way or the other. (Not that I spent a lot of time looking for it, I've better things to do. Still a good quote though, still pretty true.)

Anyhoo, the lies of the morons who claim to be our "betters" (in both parties) are wearing thin, hopefully we will wake up in November. If there is any funny business regarding the election, hopefully that is detected and corrected before things get worse. You can buy all the politicians you like, but one shouldn't be able to buy an election. At least not and get away with it.

Tip of the hat to those who died to get us to this point in time, let's not throw it all away, okay?

Otherwise, those in fell in the past, died for nothing.

And so will we.

Not Saying I Deserve a Day Off ...

But I'm taking one anyway.

In the latest book we're rather "between acts." The Battle of Britain continues, but at night, leaving little for Flying Officer Reginald Morley, Corporal Willis O'Donnell, and Leading Aircraftman George Frasier to do. At any rate, they shall soon be taking ship for points out east, Egypt for starters, then the Western Desert to battle the invading Italians. Rommel is coming. Just not yet.

The Russians we met in Finland are back. manning a post somewhere in the vicinity of Brest-Litovsk. Across "No Man's Land" Jürgen von Lüttwitz and company are waiting for Berlin to unleash them against the Soviet Union. Titanic struggle on the horizon. Who will survive?

In other news, when I noticed that the armies I purchased were devoid of Imperial Guard (on the French side) and Highlanders (on the British side), I was a bit miffed. Aha! You can purchase those separately. So I did.

So I figured, while I was ordering stuff, might as well get the Prussians as Amazon has them now. A bit less expensive than the manufacturer, who is way off in Olde England anyway. The frugal (read cheap) Scotsman in me is pleased to got all this stuff at a lower price.

(Source)

They should be arriving on the field on the 5th of July.

I had Friday off, so it's a four day weekend for me. Didn't feel like writing fiction on Friday, so you get this.

C'est dommage, oui?¹

YMMV ...

I'll be back tomorrow, after all, at some point we need to see what the Americans are up to.

Too soon?

¹It's a shame, yes?

Editor's Note: For those of you wondering, I am very aware that this weekend is the anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg. I have written of this event before, no doubt I will again. Just not this year...

The Other Side of the Hill

Soviet rifle platoon on the march.
(Source)

Efréĭtor¹ Ustin Rodionovich Kazankov looked across the bleak fields which stretched from their entrenchments out to a thin line of trees some five-hundred meters to the west. It was cold and rainy and his left foot ached, the result of loosing two toes to frostbite in Finland. He was still in the Red Army, not that anyone had asked if he'd like to get out, which he didn't, and he'd gained a promotion in the meantime.

Miraculously, the five men he had had with him near the end of the Winter War were still alive, still with him. A stray captain, one Ivan Filippovich Telitsyn, had led them to safety during the Hell of those last days. As they had gone forward, and not retreated as so many others had, the Party was pleased with Ivan Filippovich, he was now a major and in command of Kazankov's battalion. He had done well for himself and Kazankov's men. Didn't hurt that he was also a Party member.

Krasnoarmeyets² Vitaliy Afanasievich Kolobkov came out of the dugout to Kazankov's left rear, "Comrade Corporal, is there any of that vodka left?"

Kazankov shook his head, "We drank it all last night Vitaliy, the Comrade Commissar is paying us a visit today, wouldn't do to have strong drink around."

"Why? Are they concerned we might drink too much and let the Motherland down?"

"No Vitaliy, I'm concerned that the Comrade Commissar would steal it. Remember Grushanin?"

"The Comrade Major's orderly?"

"The very one, he knows where he can get some more of our national drink."

"When?"

"My but you're impatient, maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, I don't know, I just work here."

Kolobkov laughed, then sat on the edge of the trench, looking across the fields as Kazankov had been doing. "Are they out there?"

"Who?"

"The snow fairies ... You know who I mean, the damned Fascists."

"Our glorious Allies? The Germans, is that who you mean?"

Kolobkov laughed again, "Yes, those bastards."

"Ah Vitaliy, my friend and comrade-in-arms, I fear you don't have the right socialist attitude towards our brothers to the west." Kazankov hated the Germans almost as much as Kolobkov, but he enjoyed taunting his friend.

"Bah, you'll be an officer in no time, Ustin Rodionovich."

"And why is that?"

"You're a natural leader ..."

"Why thank you Comrade ..."

"And you're an overbearing asshole." Kolobkov said with a chuckle.

"You are such a bad socialist, I should report you to the Comrade Commissar!"

"You should, it might help us achieve true communism quicker."

Kazankov spat over the lip of the trench, towards German-occupied Poland, "Ha, I might make a good officer, but you would be a natural for Commissar!"

Kolobkov shook his head, "Never happen, I'm not smart enough to keep my mouth shut and parrot whatever the Party says."

"True, very true. Now go wake up the others, morning stand to in fifteen minutes."

"Da Tovarishch Efréĭtor, I serve the Soviet Union!" he barked while throwing Kazankov an exaggerated salute.

Kazankov shook his head, "Be careful Vitaliy, or you could end up in Siberia, counting trees. Or worse."

"Worse than this?" Kolobkov swept his arm around to encompass the bleak vista before them.

"Yes, much worse. Siberia makes Finland seem tropical."

Kolobkov grimaced, then turned on his heel. Looking over his shoulder he said, "In that case, I will behave, I will be a perfect socialist!"

When Kolobkov had disappeared back into the dugout, Kazankov shook his head, "That boy will be the death of me. Him or those Nazis across the way."

It began to rain again. Kazankov swore there was snow mixed in with the rain, he shivered.

It was early November, 1940.

¹ Corporal (Ефрéйтор, Russian)

² Private (Russian, literally "Red Army Man," Красноармеец, Russian)

Out Back of Beyond

Poland, near Leśna, Golice, Masovian Voivodeship
(Source)

They had bivouacked the night before after a long march from the railhead. As they had moved east, all the men saw was forest and fields, forest and fields. They had marched through the  occasional rundown village along the way, all of them deserted.

"Where are all the people?" Schütze Hans Warstadt had asked. They had seen German-manned checkpoints but hadn't seen hide nor hair of the local population.

"Perhaps they're in hiding," offered Oberschütze Leon Schwarz, "I mean, there is a war on you know."

"But that was over a year ago!" Warstadt protested.

Fahnenjunker-Unterfeldwebel Jürgen von Lüttwitz stood at the side of the dirt track watching his men pass. As it got darker he didn't want the squad behind them to get lost. "It might be smart not to ask those kinds of questions, Hans."

Von Lüttwitz had seen how the Poles were treated by both the SS and the police, even Army units were guilty of atrocities against the Poles. His battalion commander had passed down the word to all of his officers and officer cadets, stay focused on the mission, don't concern yourselves with the Poles. The Party wants them gone, especially in the border regions adjacent to the Soviet-occupied zone.

Jürgen suspected that the people were being moved to places beyond the eyes of the world, and then killed. He had heard rumors and he had actually seen a "special action group" in Siedlce grabbing civilians off the streets and marching them away. One man had protested, he had been beaten to the ground.

Apparently there was no room in Poland for actual Poles.

He had not slept all night, getting the men in place. Oberleutnant Ferdinand Busch, his company commander, and Leutnant Fritz Acker, his platoon commander - recently returned to the unit from hospital - had come by early in the morning and the three men had discussed what they were supposed to be doing and how they were supposed to do it.

Busch assumed that they would be moving further east when the sun came up, they were some sixty kilometers from the border with the Soviet zone. Division wanted them no closer than twenty kilometers from that border. Once there, they were to dig in, and wait. Jürgen had remarked that life in the army required a lot of waiting.

"And digging, don't forget digging." Busch had said with a chuckle.

Unlike many officers, Busch carried an entrenching tool of his own. He dug his own protection out of the earth rather than require the men to do it.

Schütze Bodo Hermann was the first man in the squad to awaken. He sat up and looked around and muttered, "Mein Gott, wir sind am Arsch der Welt¹."

He shoved his buddy, Schütze Michael Offenbach, who was just starting to stir. Offenbach threw off his blanket and looked around himself.

A dirt road stretched to the horizon, there were small stands of woods everywhere the eye could see. There was a lone peasant hut not too far away, but other than the road and the hut, it looked like a place humans had never been.

"Scheiße, wo sich Fuchs und Hase gute Nacht sagen!²" he groaned aloud.

Both men saw their squad leader approaching, von Lüttwitz looked like death warmed over.

"Rough night, Herr Unterfeldwebel?" Offenbach quipped.

"Very. Now get up and get your gear together, we're marching as soon as everyone is ready."

The men grumbled, as soldiers always do, but they were up and about in no time. Good thing too, the battalion commander came up and was bellowing at the laggards in the other  platoons and companies.

"Ah, good work von Lüttwitz, at least two of my officers have their heads out of their asses this morning! Let's go lads, lets go!"

In Berlin, the Führer was holding another planning session. He insisted that first thing in the spring, the Wehrmacht must be ready to invade Russia and destroy Soviet Communism.

It was October 1940. The nights were getting cold, winter wasn't far off. It was the last winter many of the men in Busch's company would see.

¹ "My God, we're in the middle of nowhere. (German) Literally, in the asshole of the world.

² Another colorful German expression for the "middle of nowhere" - Where the fox and the hare say good night.

Moving On

Royal Air Force Operations in the Middle East and North Africa, 1939-1943
Imperial War Museum

Corporal Willis O'Donnell watched as Leading Aircraftman George Frasier closed up the engine compartment on Flying Officer Reginald Morley's Hurricane, C for Charlie. He had to admit, the lad knew his business.

"Where'd you learn how to do this laddie?" O'Donnell asked.

"I worked for Hawker Siddeley before the war, Corporal. I'd still be there if it wasn't for the Huns going into Poland."

"I should have thought chaps like you would get a deferment, that's automatic for a war industry isn't it?"

"Wasn't drafted, I volunteered Corp, right after we learned that my brother had been killed in France. I wanted the infantry, like my brother, but the government decided that having me work on Hurricanes in the RAF would be just the thing. So here I am."

"Well, I for one am glad we've got you."

"So Corp," Frasier hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should be talking about the rumor he'd heard in the Other Ranks mess the other day, "are we really going off to Egypt?"

O'Donnell turned to the young airman and said, "Well, it ain't official as of yet, but yeah, we are. The Eyeties¹ are gettin' frisky, Mussolini claims that he's going to resurrect the Roman Empire, Egypt's his first stop."

"Think we'll see the Pyramids then?"

"Dunno lad, if we go it'll be to fight a war, not do any sightseeing, but ye never know. Ye never know."

Reginald Morley sat with his new wife, Janice Worthington-Morley, he took another sip of the champagne that she had managed to acquire and looked with longing at his lady, her face still showed the scars from her injuries received in a Luftwaffe bombing raid, but he rarely noticed them at all.

"Do you know when?" she asked him.

Distracted, Morley set his glass down on the table, "When what, love?"

"Egypt, when are you lot off to Egypt?" she had a surprise for him, but wasn't sure how to broach the topic.

"Ah, Saturday next. We're off by ship, apparently we're transitioning to Spitfires once we get there. Don't know where the aircraft are coming from, we'll probably still be in Hurricanes for a while. Not that I mind, the Spitfire is a sweet aircraft, but I know the Hurricane inside and out. I like flying it and it's kept me alive so far."

Morley took another sip of champagne then said, "You know Janice, that you can rely on my Mum and Da' for anything and everything while I'm out East, right?" He noted his wife's nervous smile, then set his glass down.

"I assure you love, my parents think the world of you ..."

Janice interrupted him with, "I've had a posting of my own you know."

"What? Where? Dear God I hope the service isn't sending you off to ..."

"Cairo darling, I'm going to Cairo, to work in the headquarters there."

Morley sat for a moment, flabbergasted, "Cairo, why would they send you to ... Oh Lord, you asked for it, didn't you?" Morley sounded upset.

"Of course I did, d'ya think you men are the only ones worried about stopping Hitler and Mussolini?" Worthington-Morley had an edge to her voice which Morley recognized, he had no desire to fight with his new wife.

"Of course not, love. Just that I worry about you, England is safer and ..."

As he said that, the air raid sirens were going off in the near distance. Another German raid was inbound.

Both realized that as the world sank further into darkness, there were fewer and fewer safe places to be.

¹ British slang term for the Italians.