Opening Moves

(Source)

Leutnant Manfred Sauer walked up to where the vehicles of his 3rd (Heavy) Platoon were parked. He saw the man commanding this platoon climb down off of one of the cannon-armed halftracks, wiping his hands with an oily rag.

"Herr Leutnant! What can I do for you on this fine German morning?" Oberfeldwebel Ernst Mayer was smiling as he said this. Though it wasn't quite light yet and the morning wasn't what any sane man would call fine. Ground fog from melting snow and freezing drizzle was starting to coat everything with a fine layer of ice.

"Oberfeldwebel, how is my artillery today?" Sauer took the hand offered by Mayer and was surprised by the strength of the man's grip. Though Mayer wasn't very tall, he was built like a beer barrel. Sauer wondered if his girth matched his height. But the man was a legend in the 8th Panzergrenadier Regiment.

Wounded in Russia early in that campaign, he had recovered, only to be wounded again near Kharkov, then again in Italy. That last wound had kept him in hospital for nearly six months, but he was back. Due to his multiple wounds and his stature, Mayer had two nicknames, "Kugelmagnet" (bullet magnet) and "Stummel" (stub). Sauer thought the latter nickname ironic as Mayer commanded a platoon with four vehicles - two of the vehicles mounted 8 cm mortars, the other two mounted short barreled 7.5 cm cannon. The Sd.Kfz. 251/2 and the Sd.Kfz. 251/9 respectively. The latter vehicle, due to the short barreled gun, was known throughout the Army as the Stummel.

"Well Sir, we've just patched up an oil leak in the recoil cylinder on 321, she's right as rain now. We've also got a full ammunition load for the mortars and the cannon. HE for the mortars, a mix of HE and AP for the cannon, mostly high-explosive. More armor-piercing would be nice but..."

"Where would you stow it..." Sauer completed the sentence.

"Exactly Sir! What do you need from us?"

"I need you to dump your mortar rounds here," Sauer indicated on his map the edge of the town of Kreuzau nearest the Drover Heide, "I'm sure the Amis will fall back deeper into the town which should give our infantry the opportunity to enter the village. Once you've expended your mortar ammunition, then have the Stummel move up to support the infantry with direct fire on any targets of opportunity. You should know that the Amis have at least five tanks in the town, be on the lookout for those."

"As if my life depended on it, Sir! Which, of course, it does. When do we go in?"

"In one hour, it should be light enough to see. Visibility will be limited by the fog, but we'll be within 500 meters of where the Ami outposts are, you should have no problem." Sauer said.

"Other than the Ami panzers..." Mayer added.

"Yes, there is that." Sauer nodded.

(Source)

2nd Lt. Stephen Hernandez, S/Sgt Jack Wilson, and S/Sgt Brad Woodstock had spent a large part of the night getting the men dug in along two lightly held outpost lines, one facing east and the other southeast, the likeliest lines of approach. The bulk of the platoon, with the help of a number of grumbling tankers, dug a series of foxholes and prepared other defensive positions deeper in the town.

Hernandez had also, reluctantly, set two Observation Posts (OP) further to the east and southeast, well in advance of the thinly held outpost lines. Sgt. Stump Gentile had argued that it was necessary.

"L.T., a couple of guys with a walkie talkie, well-hidden, can give us advance notice of a Kraut attack. In this fog, they could be right on top of us with almost no warning."

Hernandez wanted to reject the idea entirely, he didn't like the idea of putting four of his men out on a limb like that. "Stump, they'd be dead meat if the Krauts find 'em, then what kind of warning would that give us."

"We'd hear 'em scream." Sgt. Melvin Katz had said matter-of-factly, then he added, "Hell Sir, I'll do it. I'll take Boone and we'll keep our eyes and ears peeled. Krauts won't know we're there. Once we give the alarm, we can make our way back along this field, which slopes away from the road. No problem."

"Negative, Cat. You have a squad to lead." Hernandez stated that in such a way that Katz wasn't going to argue with him.

The Assault on Kreuzau
US OP = American Observation Posts
Light blue rectangles with a "T" are Woodstock's Shermans
(Source)

Hernandez decided that Katz's 1st Squad would cover the east, with just four men on the outpost line, the squad's B.A.R. team and Katz's assistant squad leader, Cpl. Maurice Ryan. Ryan was new to the platoon but was a veteran, he'd fought in North Africa and in Normandy. Pfc. Alexander Boone and Pvt. Bill Zielinski would man the eastern OP.

In the south, where they didn't expect the Germans to come from, Gentile's 3rd Squad B.A.R. team would man the outpost line along with Gentile's assistant squad leader Cpl. Charlie Gammell, Privates Robert Dumas and Ross Flowers would man the southeastern OP.

Pvt. George Haskell, the squad's grenadier, quipped, "Don't go crazy out there Dumbass, try not to kill all the Kraut's before they hit the town."

Dumas grinned and said, "F**k you, Rascal Haskell. If we see any Krauts we're just gonna dig a deeper hole, pull the turf over us, and let the Germans go right on in and get you."

Sgt. Gentile came up and hissed at the men, "Stow it you idiots, Dumbass, Posey, best get out there while it's still dark. I gotta present for you by the way."

Gentile rummaged around through the pile of gear they'd brought over the river, their halftracks were all on the wrong side of the Roer, the pontoon bridge had given out after the last Sherman had gone over, leaving the halftracks stranded. After a few seconds, Gentile said, "Here it is."

He handed over a bazooka and a satchel of bazooka rounds. "In case you wanna go tank hunting while you're out there."

Dumas looked at his sergeant as he took the bazooka, "Maybe I really am a dumbass, volunteering for these kind of jobs. What are you grinning at, Posey, you can hump the ammo for this stovepipe." He said that as he handed the heavy satchel to Flowers.

Just before dawn, the Americans could hear the rumbling of heavy vehicles to the east, they couldn't see anything, but they could hear the rattle and squeak of tracked vehicles.

"Halftracks, five or six of 'em I'll bet." Boone looked at Zielinski, who nodded.

"Panzergrenadiers maybe, I don't hear any tanks, but the panzergrenadiers have halftracks now, right?" Zielinski had read that somewhere.

"I think you're right, Bill. But I thought the bastards were running low on fuel. Anyhow, radio it in, I'm gonna sneak over yonder and take a peek."

Moments later Boone came scrambling back, "Two cannon armed halftracks and a bunch of infantry, maybe a platoon, they are definitely Panzergrenadiers, they're all in halftracks. Call it in, we need to get the Hell out of here."

Boone and Zielinski vanished into the fog, rejoining their platoon a few minutes later.

"Have fun out there?" Cpl. Ryan asked with a grin.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Corp, but f**k you." Boone answered.

Oberfeldwebel Mayer had managed to get his vehicles in position. The mortar tracks he kept further back, under an opening in the forest canopy where they could lob rounds into Kreuzau. The cannon tracks he'd moved right to the edge of the forest. He also had two Drillings¹ from 4th Platoon with him.

Those vehicles could tear infantry in the open to red rags, they were also good against buildings. Also, if the weather cleared, Mayer had some protection against Allied Jabos. The other four vehicles from 4th Platoon were going in with the attack in the southeast, which was the main effort.

Sauer hoped that he could flank the Americans, cut them off from the river, and destroy them piecemeal in the town. The attack from the east was to fix their attention in that direction. The attack with the StuGs would be the main blow, the killing blow, Sauer hoped.

"L.T., Boone and Zielinski checked in, halftracks to their east." Cpl. John Myerson listened for a few more seconds, then continued, "Boone says the tracks have stopped, he can hear the Krauts jabbering at each other, says he heard the word 'KA - NO - NA,' isn't that German for 'cannon'?"

Hernandez nodded, then thought for a moment, "Ya know the Krauts have cannons mounted on some of their halftracks, if that's a Panzergrenadier company, they have a heavy weapons platoon with mortar AND cannon halftracks."

A moment later, a further transmission from Boone and Zielinski came in, "Sir, Boone checked it out, definitely cannon armed halftracks, also a bunch of infantry in halftracks." Myerson reported.

"Damn, Panzergrenadiers." Hernandez pulled out his map and showed Myerson, in the glow of a red-lensed flashlight, the map he had of this area. "Just east of us is this Drover Heath, lots of trees, they come up to within a few hundred yards of our outposts. Radio the OP, tell 'em to fall back. Can you get company on the horn? See if we can't get some arty on that tree line?"

"Boone and Zielinski are already coming in. I'll try to get company on the radio L.T., but this thing's been acting up all night, sometimes I can get through, sometimes I can't. I think it's this frozen drizzle, air ain't clear or something." Myerson said, his voice full of doubt.

"Keep trying."

"Fahrer, HALT!²" Gefreiter Viktor Hanneman barked into the intercom, something didn't look right to his north. He swore he could see a tank next to the road. Was it a wreck? Was it alive?

"Michael, laden sie Panzergranate!³"

Panzerkanonier Michael Günther had to swap out rounds, they had a high explosive round loaded, after swapping that out for anti-tank, he responded, "Panzergranate geladen!"

"Do you see him, Leo?" Hanneman asked his gunner, he was sure they had enough play to train the gun in azimuth without having to pivot the vehicle.

"On it!"

"FEUER!"

(Source)

The tank beside the road was a German Panther. When the 7.5 cm round from StuG 313 hit the Panther's glacis, and ricocheted into the fog, no one was injured, nothing happened. The tank had been knocked out by a flight of American P-38s three weeks earlier. Hanneman had just engaged a dead tank.

"Scheiße! That's one of ours!" Gefreiter Leo Grasshoff, 313's gunner yelled out.

"It's a wreck! Nobody home!" Hanneman knew that the American's were alerted now. He heard his commander, Obergefreiter Anton Krausse in StuG 311 come over the radio ordering a rapid advance into the town. He could hear the infantry halftracks close behind him as they revved up. They had no choice now but an old fashioned charge, hoping the Amis were still asleep.

All hope of surprise was lost.

"Are you f**king crazy, Bob? You shoot that thing and you might as well just stand up and wave at the Krauts, you know that back blast will give away our position!" Pvt. Ross Flowers couldn't believe that Dumas was up on one knee, the stovepipe aimed at a Kraut StuG just barely visible on the road to the east.

"Don't whine Ross, it's very unbecoming. Do you really think the Krauts will notice us, it's so damned foggy we can barely see shit. What's more, they're focused to their front, did you see 'em shoot up that knocked out Panther?" Dumas said this as he got ready to fire.

"Once I touch this thing off, run like f**king crazy towards the river."

"The river, why not the town?" Flowers wanted to know.

"The Krauts ain't going towards the river, they're going towards the town. Duh, and people call me dumbass." Dumas said, shaking his head.

Before Flowers could say another word, Dumas fired the bazooka, scoring a direct hit on the German vehicle which was once again swallowed up in the fog.

(Source)

"Where the Hell did that come from?!?!" Gefreiter Berthold Schantz screamed as he heard and felt the impact of the enemy bazooka round on his vehicle. Looking around, listening to his crew report in, he realized that 314 seemed to be no worse for wear. Then when he ordered the driver to advance, he swore loudly. Everyone could hear the track as it rolled off the return rollers and the vehicle slewed to the left.

"Busted track, Berthold!" Yelled Panzeroberkanonier Ralf Seyfried over the intercom.

"I know Ralf, I know, pivot to the left, that's where the shot came from!"

As 314 pivoted, Schantz climbed out of his seat and stood in his hatch, StG 44 in hand. As he looked to where he the shot had come from, he thought he caught a glimpse of something moving. So he shouldered his weapon and fired a burst. He heard nothing, so he refocused on the problem at hand.

As 314 sat immobile in the mud, the rest of Hanneman's platoon and the vehicles of Unteroffizier Manfred Klügmann's 2nd Platoon drove past, probing into the fog, machine guns firing in an attempt to suppress any Ami return fire. The sun wasn't even up yet and the plan was already in the shitter, Klügmann thought.

As they ran, Flowers was in front, Dumas just behind him. They both heard the bark of a Kraut weapon. Then Flowers heard a gasp behind him, followed by "SHIT!"

Dumas had stumbled when the bullet from a German assault rifle hit him high on the shoulder. It stung like Hell.

"Bob, you hit?" Flowers asked as he turned to see why Dumas had stopped.

"Yeah, f**ker clipped me. Hurts like Hell."

Flowers checked, the top of Dumas' left shoulder was a mess, his field jacket was torn and blood was oozing from the tear. "Sit down, ditch that stovepipe!"

For once Dumas listened to his buddy. Flowers patched Dumas up, essentially dumping sulfa powder all over the vicinity of the wound, then placing his own field dressing over the wound, then tying it off under Dumas' armpit.

"Okay, ya ain't gonna die, at least not from this. Can you run okay?" Flowers asked.

"Well, I ain't gonna win any races, but I think I can keep up. Hate to leave the bazooka though, Stump will have my ass." Dumas said.

"Well, tell him I lost it. Now come on, let's go!"

"Scheiße!" Leutnant Sauer swore as he realized his attack was falling apart. Then he heard the Spieß chuckle. "What's so goddamned funny, Spieß?"

"I was just thinking Herr Leutnant, 'Kein Operationsplan reicht mit einiger Sicherheit über das erste Zusammentreffen mit der feindlichen Hauptmacht hinaus.'⁴ The great Moltke himself said that."

"Very funny, follow me, Herr Generalfeldmarschall, we need to get Haasen's platoon to attack, Klügmann has thrown off the entire time table, but we can worry about that later!" With that Sauer ran to his Kübelwagen and had his driver take them to Haasen's position. He could hear Mayer's mortars firing, perhaps they might salvage this attack yet!

"Anything?" Hernandez had to shout over the increasing noise of combat.

"Nothing other than contact with the platoons over the walkie talkie, the SCR-300 has shit the bed, I can't even get a carrier signal, nothing." Myerson tried one last thing with the big radio, then shook his head as he reached for the smaller, hand held SCR-536, sometimes called the 'walkie talkie,' sometimes the 'handie talkie.'

Myerson looked at the lieutenant, who nodded.

"All units, fallback positions, move!"

"Now we just need to wait and see," Hernandez said, then he had an idea, "Maybe Woodstock's tank radio can reach battalion, we need to call in some arty. Let's go over there."

With that, another young officer began trying to resurrect some semblance of a plan.

Moltke was right...

¹ Triplet - Halftrack mounting three 2.0 cm cannon.

² Driver, stop!

³ "Michael, load anti-tank!" the response is "Anti-tank loaded!"

⁴ No plan of operations extends with any certainty beyond the first encounter with the main enemy forces. Helmuth von Moltke the Elder, chief of the Prussian General Staff from 1857 to 1887. That is, no plan survives contact with the enemy.

Link to all of The Chant's fiction.

The Bridgehead

(Source)

"How fast can you get your company on the road, Manfred?" Major Jürgen von Lüttwitz hated doing this to his best soldier, but there was word of an American crossing of the Roer at Kreuzau, Leutnant Manfred Sauer's company was ready to move and they still had their attached Sturmgeschütz IVs. There were only three of them but it was three more than the rest of the battalion had.

Leutnant Sauer studied the map spread out on the table in the farmhouse some four kilometers west of Euskirchen. He measured the distance, they would have to travel roughly 25 kilometers to get to Kreuzau, some backroads, but the trip could be done.

"Herr Major, we can leave now, the weather is amenable, the fog will keep the Ami Jabos on the ground. I can be there before dawn, do some reconnaissance, hit the Amis at first light." Sauer answered his commanding officer with confidence. Though he had a number of new men in the company, he still had a solid core of men which had fought at the crossroads battle with him.

"Also, I've talked with regiment about Unteroffizier Krause, though the book doesn't call for a Panzergrenadier company to have a Sanitäter¹, I have no other position for him. He's yours." Von Lüttwitz had looked into the medic's situation, Krause wanted to stay with Sauer's company, so he would.

"Excellent, I was leery about going into action without my own Sani, the men will be happy that Peter is staying." Sauer looked at his watch, then looked up at von Lüttwitz, "Jürgen, I should be going, we'll do our best."

"I know you will, Manfred. The rest of the battalion will follow as soon as we get our fuel issues sorted out. Stay alive."

"Aber natürlich, Herr Major!²" Sauer said with a grin, then he was out the door, yelling for his Spieß, Hauptfeldwebel Klaus-Peter Keller.

"Damn it!" S/Sgt Jack Wilson swore loudly as the rising waters of the Roer swept their pontoon bridge away. Fortunately no one had been on the bridge, but now 2nd Platoon and their attached tanks were stranded on the enemy side of the river.

"Krauts probably blew the dam upstream, that's the one thing the S-2 has been sweating." 2nd Lt. Stephen Hernandez shook his head as he spoke. They were stranded, but they were well-supplied, dug in and had five Sherman tanks positioned to help them hold the bridgehead. He just hoped that the Germans stayed quiet.

The two deserters they had picked up had been very cooperative during their interrogation, but neither of them really knew anything. Their parent unit was five miles from here, they had purposely hiked a distance from their own unit before trying to desert. It was only bad luck that a Feldgendarmerie patrol had almost bagged them. There was no doubt in Hernandez's mind that Cpl. Charlie Gammell's rifle had saved the two deserters from summary execution by their own side.

"Let's get back to the CP, see if Myerson has been able to raise Cap'n Palminteri on the radio. Hop in, I'll drive." 2nd Platoon now had a captured Kübelwagen which they'd determined their lieutenant should call his own, as Sgt. Woody Sherman had said, "Those Kraut MPs won't be needing it anymore, L.T. should have it, I volunteer to drive!"

But Sherman was sitting in the back seat again, he got a kick out of the lieutenant's joy in driving the little Kraut car. For the moment he was content to ride shotgun, he was keeping an eye open, they hadn't seen many Krauts in the past few days, but the bastards had a habit of showing up when you least expected them.

"Johannes, you're in charge, ride with Ernst. Peter, you'll ride with Gustav. Get as close to town as you can on your motorcycles, go forward on foot, check and see what the Amis have in the town. A rough idea only, don't take any chances. The Ic³ says no more than a platoon, with three or four tanks in support. But I need to know if that estimate is correct."

Gefreiter Johannes Hautzig nodded, he and Grenadier Peter Meyer were two of the company's snipers. Although Panzergrenadier companies had no snipers in their Table of Organization and Equipment, Sauer kept them on the rolls, just not as snipers.

The snipers would ride in the sidecars of Grenadier Ernst Schottenstein's and Grenadier Gustav Ullmer's motorcycles. They could get fairly close to Kreuzau but would have to dismount and sneak on foot the rest of the way. Schottenstein and Ullmer would wait with the motorcycles, Hautzig and Meyer would do the sneaking.

Later, after a long, cold ride, the two snipers were making their way through the Drover Heide, the wooded area east of Kreuzau. It was cold, it was dark, and the two men were absolutely miserable. Just when it seemed that they'd be wandering these woods until after the war, they came to the edge of the wood. They could see the town, the ruined buildings stood out against the snow on the ground, now they needed to settle in and observe, to see what the Americans might have in the town.

Over the better part of an hour the two men observed the town through their rifle scopes, they both noticed that the Amis were being very careful, no fires, no lights, but still they had to move around and they both caught glimpses of men moving around.

"I think I've seen enough, Peter. A platoon, no more, and they have at least three tanks."

"I count four..."

"Where?"

The two men compared observations and in doing so spotted a fifth American Sherman.

"Let's head back to the company, I think we have what the Leutnant needs."

"Did you hear that, Cecil?" Pvt. Warren Pratt sat up in his foxhole, he thought he had heard a motorcycle in the distance.

"What? I didn't hear anything, what did it sound like?" Pvt. Cecil Brown hadn't heard anything, but now he was wondering if they should wake up McWhorter, the leader of their B.A.R. team. Right now Brown had the gun while McWhorter slept.

"I swear I heard a motorcycle, just for a second or two, but I'm sure of it."

"Good enough for me, man." With that Pratt began to shake Pfc. Chris McWhorter's shoulder.

"What the f**k, can't a guy get his beauty sleep?" McWhorter grumbled as he came awake.

"Mac, Warren thinks he heard a motorcycle, Kraut scouts ya think?" Brown had learned to trust Pratt, the kid paid attention to his surroundings.

McWhorter sat up, "Give me the gun, Cecil. Warren, head on over to the CP, tell the L.T. what you heard. I think the Krauts are gonna come visiting!"

"You're certain? A platoon of infantry and a platoon of tanks?" Leutnant Sauer asked the two men who had scouted Kreuzau.

"Jawohl, Herr Leutnant. I'm sure of it, Grenadier Meyer came to the same conclusion." As Hautzig finished he looked at Meyer.

"No more than a platoon of each, Herr Leutnant." Meyer agreed.

"But they seem to be dug in very well, their tanks are well-shielded and have good fire lanes. I wouldn't take these men lightly, they acted like a veteran unit. Not like some Amis I've seen, good light and noise discipline." Hautzig added that to make sure his commander understood.

"I shall keep that in mind, Johannes." Sauer looked at his watch, then continued, "You lads go get some sleep. Nicely done. We've got three hours until first light. We'll hit them then."

"A motorcycle, to the east?" Hernandez looked at Pratt.

"I'm sure of it, Sir. Maybe more than one, they were moving away from us as far as I could tell. It was just for a few seconds when the wind died, but I'm sure of it." Pvt. Pratt was a little nervous briefing the lieutenant and the platoon sergeant. But he needn't have worried.

S/Sgt Wilson leaned over and slapped Pratt on the shoulder, "Good job troop, it's guys like you, paying attention, who will keep us alive."

"Thanks Sarge, Sir."

"What the Staff Sergeant said, go get some food in you, Jack, stand to."

"Now Sir?" Wilson asked.

"Yes, now. I know they'll probably wait until first light, but we can't count on that. Stand to."

"Yes Sir, Kelley, Duke, spread the word, quietly, stand to."

As the messengers ran off, Hernandez and Wilson went to brief the tankers. Hernandez wanted no surprises come the dawn, or earlier.

It was Pratt who heard it first, the squeaking tracks, the rumble of a heavy engine, his squad leader, Sgt. Melvin Katz, alerted the rest of the platoon.

It was foggy again, and Lord was it cold, but the men came instantly alert when the word was spread...

The Germans were coming.

¹ Sanitäter = Medic, usually abbreviated to "Sani."

² But of course, Major!

³ Staff officer responsible for intelligence.

Link to all of The Chant's fiction.

Deserters

(Source)

"Where do you figure we are L.T.?" S/Sgt Bradley Woodstock had dismounted from his tank, "Catamount," and had gone forward when the column had stopped.

"That's gotta be Kreuzau down the hill and across the river, the river has to be the Roer. Look here at the map," 2nd Lt. Stephen Hernandez pointed to his map, "that's Lendersdorf, here by the bend in the river, that's Kreuzau."

"Aren't we too far south?" Sgt. Rob Horner, commander of "Dilemma" asked when he walked up to the group.

Hernandez and Woodstock both turned and looked at Horner, "By a mile or so, not a big problem. My question is, where are the Krauts?"

In truth, they had been pushing forward for the better part of an hour and had not seen any sign of the Germans, other than a wrecked halftrack and two dead bodies, one in the wreckage, the other in the road.

"So L.T., maybe we've hit a gap in the German lines, I mean they are getting pretty thin on the ground, they can't be everywhere, right?" 2nd Platoon's platoon sergeant, S/Sgt Jack Wilson had been over in the woods answering the call of nature. When he saw the field glasses and the maps come out, he figured that he should find out what was going on. Though Hernandez had been a sergeant not that long ago, Wilson loved to give him grief over his "2nd lieutenant map reading skills."

"Have a look, Top, I'm pretty sure I'm not lost." That comment drew an odd look from the tankers, so Hernandez said, "Inside joke fellows, I used to be a sergeant, Top here says that when I was commissioned I started acting like a butter bar, of course he's full of shit. But don't tell anyone I said so."

The men around Hernandez all had a laugh at that.

"All kidding aside, gentlemen, Top, where are the f**king Krauts?"

"Send a patrol down this hill, check things out along the river?" Wilson suggested.

"Yup, we're on the same page, Top. Send Stump's squad. Have them look for a crossing while they're down there."

"Roger that, Sir." Wilson set off to brief Sgt. Stump Gentile on his squad's mission.

"Dumbass, Posey, slide on down that little ravine, you should have a clear view of those houses near the river. If I was a Kraut, I'd have somebody in there." Sgt. Gentile pointed where he wanted his two scouts. While it was true that Privates Robert Dumas and Ross Flowers hated the nicknames the vets in the squad had given them, they had also learned that if you protested too much, the names would stick. They had, they did.

After moving further down the hill, following the ravine which kept them out of sight of the river, Bob Dumas came to a stop and signaled to Ross Flowers to hold up. He hissed at Flowers, "You see that, Ross, looks like a little pier. Two Krauts."

Flowers carefully raised his head, staying near the trunk of a tree to keep out of sight. "Yup, looks like the f**kers are washing their clothes."

Dumas, the more senior of the two, told Flowers to stay and watch the Germans, he'd go back and tell Gentile what was going on. "Keep an eye peeled, where there's two, there's gotta be more."

Making his way back to the squad, he saw his sergeant cock an eyebrow. He moved in close and described what he'd seen, brushing away the pine needles on the ground, Dumas scratched a sketch in the dirt. "Right here there's a little pier, next to that is a ruined house, three walls, no roof. All we saw at first was the two men, looks like they were washing clothes, some kind of cloth anyway. They were both fully dressed, but no helmets and no weapons."

Gentile nodded, "Okay, nice job Bob, head back to Flowers and you two keep an eye on things, if the Krauts get antsy, shoot 'em. I'm gonna put the rest of the squad on line to either side of you and see if we can't get a reaction from anyone else over there."

Jürgen Krebs and Wilhelm Zerbst were done washing out the civilian clothes they had found in one of the ruined houses of Kreuzau. Krebs had an odd feeling, he stood up and carefully scanned the trees across the river. Why did it feel like they were being watched, that's all they needed, have the Feldgendarmerie show up before they could get away across the river.

The two men were deserters from the 85th Infantry Division, they had slipped away from their unit the night before and had managed to get all the way to Kreuzau, where Zerbst had a cousin. Needless to say, the two men were alarmed that the town was completely deserted. They would have no help from Zerbst's relatives, on the other hand, there were no German military units around either.

They had found men's clothing in the ruins but they were filthy. Krebs had the idea to wash them down by the river, let them dry overnight, then they could put them on and find a way over the Roer. They both knew that the Americans were closing up to that river all along the line, once across they should have no problem surrendering to the first Americans they met.

Provided they could avoid their own army first!

Cpl. Charlie Gammell was watching the two Germans through his rifle scope, he had an idea that these guys were trying to desert. "Looks like civilian clothes they're washing, Sarge. What would two German soldiers want with civilian clothes?"

"Think they're deserters, Charlie?" Sgt. Gentile asked.

"Yup, and... Shit! Hold the phone!" As he said that, Gammell moved his rifle, there, looked like a German military car moving slowly down the street leading to the river. "Field police, Sarge, think they got a tip on our two guys over there?"

"Wouldn't surprise me, Charlie. Watch those cops." Turning to one of the men nearby, Pvt. Juan Estrada, Gentile waved him over. When Estrada joined them, Gentile whispered, "Get up the hill to the L.T., Estrada, tell him we've got two Kraut deserters over the river. There's also a Kraut Kübelwagen with two field cops in it in the town, probably looking for deserters. If he hears shots, that's us trying to help them desert. Got it?"

Estrada nodded, so Gentile sent him on his way.

"Klaus, there's somebody down by the river, I saw a head pop up. Might be our two Überläufern¹."

Gefreiter Klaus Brinkmann brought the Kübelwagen to a stop, "Yes, I see them, two of them, yes?"

Oberfeldwebel Horst Mackensen opened the passenger door to the car and stepped out. He checked his MP-40 to make sure that it was ready to fire. He had no intention of bringing these men back to justice. "Go left Klaus, I'll go right. Stick to the sides of the street, we'll surprise these two clowns. If you have a shot, take it. Why waste the Reichsmarks needed for a trial?"

"Jawohl, Herr Oberfeldwebel, bullets are cheap!"

"Scheiße! Die Feldgendarmerie, verstecken!²" Krebs shoved Zerbst down to the ground next to the pier when he heard a car door slam. He recognized the sound, a Kübelwagen, had to be the Kettenhunde!³

Both men were hugging the bank of the river, they didn't know that they had been spotted already.

"Shit, they're almost on top of them, what do I do, Sarge?" Gammell whispered to his sergeant, he had the higher ranking, and closer, field cop in his cross hairs, in another moment the two deserters would be caught, or worse.

"Shoot the cops, I want those deserters." Gentile hissed back.

Oberfeldwebel Horst Mackensen grunted, then dropped to his knees, he had a look of shock and surprise on his face. Gefreiter Klaus Brinkmann, without thinking, rushed over to his sergeant.

"Horst, what is it, what happened?"

Mackensen's face twisted into a rictus as the pain hit him. He looked down in disbelief and saw the rapidly spreading bloodstain on the chest of his greatcoat. He dropped his machine pistol then began to desperately try to tear his coat open, he had to see where he was hit. Then he pitched forward onto his face. Dead.

Brinkmann watched all this, the entire scene playing out in less time than it takes to take a breath. Then Brinkmann's world went black as another .30-06 rifle round sped across the river and into the side of Brinkmann's head, killing him instantly.

Gammell worked the bolt of his rifle again, saying to Gentile, "I've got the deserters in my sights, what next, Sarge?"

Both of the Germans by the pier had turned in shock when they heard the bark of Gammell's rifle. They had cowered even lower, expecting at any moment to be killed.

Gentile acted on impulse, he stood up, his rifle aimed at the Germans, he bellowed, "Handy hoke⁴, you Kraut bastards!"

Zerbst looked at Krebs in confusion, "Americans?"

"I think so, let's do as he says, they have a sniper with them."

Slowly and deliberately, Unteroffizier Jürgen Krebs and Grenadier Wilhelm Zerbst got to their feet, their arms stretched up over their heads, the palms of their hands open and facing across the river.

At that moment Krebs realized that they had a problem. The river. He looked at Zerbst who shook his head, he had cousins in the area, but he wasn't from here.

Pvt. Juan Estrada came scrambling down the bank with Sgt. Melvin Katz in tow, "Sarge, L.T. sent Sgt. Katz with me, figured you might need a German speaker!"

Katz looked at the situation, then said to Gentile, "We need to get those two to our side of the river, right?"

"Yup, any thoughts on that?" Gentile asked.

At that point Katz began yelling over to the two Germans, in German of course. After a few minutes of shouting back and forth, Katz turned to Gentile, "One of the Krauts, a sergeant, says he thinks there's a weir just a bit downstream, they might be able to cross there."

"What the Hell is a weir, Cat?" Gentile had no idea what Katz was talking about.

"It's like a dam, you know across the river, holding back the water."

"Then why didn't you just say 'dam,' Cat?"

"Huh, sorry, the German word, which the sergeant used, is 'Wehr,' dam in German is 'Damm,' almost the same as our word, but he said 'Wehr,' so I said 'weir.' Sorry Stump."

"All right, now that we've got that little educational moment out of the way, let's find the damned dam. Or weir, or whatever it is!"

There was indeed a weir, which the two Germans got across without much trouble, the river was lower than normal due to ice farther upstream.

The two Germans were happy, they had achieved their goal of being captured by the Americans, 2nd Lt. Hernandez was happy, he had a way across the Roer. By nightfall he had two squads in Kreuzau with the Shermans of Woodstock's platoon covering the approaches to the town from the high ground across the river.

Which made Captain Palminteri at company happy, which in turn made Major Josephson at battalion happy. The happiness spread up the chain, the next day engineers were at the weir, laying a pontoon bridge over the Roer.

Next stop, the Rhine.

¹ Deserters.

² Shit, the Feldgendarmerie, hide!

³ Chained dogs, a rude slang term for the Feldgendarmerie.

⁴ American corruption of "Hände hoch" - "Hands up"

Link to all of The Chant's fiction.

A Close Call

Sd.Kfz.10/5 Self-Propelled AAA
Bundesarchiv

Major von Lüttwitz had divided his battalion into four sections, his 1st and 2nd Companies constituted two of the sections, his battalion staff along with elements of the battalion's Heavy Weapons Company made up the third section and the bulk of his Supply Company made up the fourth section.

Nearly at the last minute von Lüttwitz's battalion received a full weapons company and the supply company called for in the table of organization and equipment for an armored Panzergrenadier battalion. Though he was missing one company, the headquarters staff of the division (3rd Panzergrenadier Division) had informed him via motorcycle messenger that his 7th Company was still in transit from Bonn. (Weapons Company was numbered as the 8th Company of the battalion.

(Source)

Now not only did the battalion have six anti-aircraft halftracks organic to the Panzergrenadier companies, but the 8th (Heavy) Company had twelve more anti-aircraft vehicles assigned, the same type of self-propelled anti-aircraft vehicles he had had in his short lived Kampfgruppe.

He had kept one half-platoon of the Sd.Kfz. 10/5s with his command group and the other half-platoon (six vehicles per half-platoon) with the Supply Company. He had ordered the company commanders to maintain an interval of at least a kilometer between their section and the next. Sauer's 5th Company was in the lead, somewhere up ahead.

As it began to get lighter, he had the vehicles move to the side of the road and camouflaged as best as the men could. Snow was shoveled up to the wheel rims, branches (and more snow) were piled on top of the existing camouflage. He hoped that from the air an Allied pilot would not notice anything amiss.

As he lit a cigar, he had started smoking again, he looked at his men, scurrying to get their jobs done before daylight, though it was overcast, the cloud ceiling was higher than he liked, the Jabos could still get under it. Battalion command was no picnic he was learning.

He exhaled, then threw the cigar away, they weren't very good. As he did so he saw his adjutant coming up to him, it still startled him that his old Spieß, Hauptfeldwebel Klaus-Peter Keller, was still with Sauer's company. Sauer had tried to convince Keller to move up to battalion, but he now rated an adjutant, not a Spieß. It was all a bit jarring.

Oberleutnant Hermann Schulze came up and handed von Lüttwitz a sheet of paper. "Fuel is good, I'd like more but who wouldn't. The men have been fed and seem to be in good spirits, though I have to tell you Sir, the men from Saxony are angry. You're from Dresden, yes?"

"I am Hermann, most of my family moved to my uncle's farm near Reinsberg, those who did not are in the Army and aren't really from anywhere any more. So, to answer your unspoken question, as far as I know I lost no family in the bombing. I'm sure I lost people I knew growing up, but again, who isn't losing friends and acquaintances these days?" von Lüttwitz shook his head, it was war. He'd seen what the Luftwaffe had done to Warsaw, why should a German city be any different?

He realized that the war was making him callous, but he didn't really care.

"Anything else, Hermann?"

"Yes Sir, a motorcycle messenger came in, apparently 5th Company fought off an airstrike this morning, right at dawn."

"Fought off? Do we have any details?"

"Two Spitfires flew past, it looked as if they hadn't spotted Leutnant Sauer's column. Then they came back around. Sauer's anti-aircraft guns were ready for them. According to the message, they shot them both down. They captured one of the pilots."

"Really?"

"Yes Sir, Leutnant Sauer had to intervene to stop one of his men from killing the prisoner. One of the new men, a transfer from the Kriegsmarine¹, apparently the man is from Dresden."

"Very well, is the messenger still here?"

"Yes Sir."

Major von Lüttwitz tore a sheet of paper from the notebook he kept in his map case and wrote out a short message. "Have the messenger take this back to Sauer, I want that prisoner escorted back to Euskirchen. Alive."

"Yes Sir."

Leutnant Manfred Sauer read the message and chuckled. He looked over at the Spieß and handed him the message. Keller also chuckled, "Does the Major think we might kill and eat the Englishman?"

The Englishman in question was sitting nearby, under guard, being patched up by the Sanitäter, Unteroffizier Peter Krause. The man had received a nasty gash on his head when he'd managed to crash land his aircraft in a nearby field. He was still woozy from the crash.

"Man's a sergeant pilot, isn't he?" Keller observed.

"I suppose he is, have one of the messengers deliver him back to Euskirchen, send a man with him to make sure he doesn't try to escape, in fact, take my Kübelwagen. We're not going anywhere until nightfall."

"It shall be done." Keller nodded then left to get that task done.

Sauer lit a cigarette and looked out into the fields where the two Englishmen had fallen. One to his death, the other to an uncertain captivity. It had all happened so fast...

The two aircraft had been flying along the road, at about a thousand feet and offset out over the fields. The vehicles were all well camouflaged and the men stayed under cover. The anti-aircraft gunners were tracking the enemy aircraft, just in case. Then some of the camouflage had fallen off. Sauer saw that and saw the trailing of the two aircraft dip his aircraft's nose,  as if he had temporarily lost control. Obviously he had seen something which startled him.

The two aircraft had accelerated out of sight, but you could still hear their engines as they faded. Then the sound began to grow, they were coming back!

The lead aircraft was coming straight down the road, at speed, but he flew into a wall of 2 cm cannon fire. A sharp bang could be heard from the engine, then the plane had turned abruptly to the left, shearing off part of his wingman's vertical stabilizer as it did so. Seconds later, the dying Spitfire slammed into the snowy field, exploding and sending aircraft and pilot to a fiery death.

The wingman had tried desperately to gain altitude, but his bird was hurt too badly. The men had actually cheered when the Englishman had managed a wheels-up landing. Sauer and three of his men had piled into his Kübelwagen and drove out to the wreck. They got there just as the pilot climbed out, hands high.

One of Sauer's new men, damned if he could remember the fellow's name, had advanced on the pilot and struck the man in the face with his fist. Then he had stepped back, it seemed obvious that he intended to kill the man.

"Pull that trigger Grenadier, and you're next!" Sauer had bellowed as he drew his sidearm. "Unteroffizier Burkhard, place that man under arrest!"

Sauer had relieved the man of his weapon, the soldier had muttered something about English murderers and Dresden. Sauer told him, sharply, to hold his tongue or face summary justice, here and now. "We do NOT kill prisoners, we are NOT the SS!"

As the man was led away, more of the company had come out to see the wreckage, Sauer offered the pilot a cigarette, which the man took, his hands were shaking badly. Sauer had to light it for him.

"Sprechen sie Deutsch?²" Sauer asked him. The man shook his head and then he asked Sauer, "English?"

"A little," Sauer said. Though in truth that about exhausted his command of the English language.

Through gestures and the few words of English some of the men knew, they convinced the pilot that they weren't going to harm him, but he would be transported to the rear. Once he was there, Sauer had no idea what would happen to the man. Euskirchen had suffered its own share of bombing over the past few months.

Before the car began its trip to Euskirchen, Sauer had told the men taking the pilot there to turn him over to the Army if possible. Not to the field police but the detachment at what was left of the train station. Most of them were reservists, not front line troops, perhaps not as keen for blood. He didn't know what would become of the Englishman, but his blood would not be on Sauer's hands.

Sauer found himself thanking God that he was not that Englishman, now was not a good time to be an Allied pilot shot down over Germany.

One heard things, horrible things.

War...

¹ German Navy

² Do you speak German?

Link to all of The Chant's fiction.

News From Home...

Bundesarchiv

The 5th Company had been ordered to head for Euskirchen from Bonn. However, they couldn't go by rail, the Allied Air Forces had bombed the railyards at Euskirchen and for the moment nothing was going into or out of that town by rail. So they would travel by road, at night. There was little point in attempting a move during the daylight hours, even with the bad weather which was typical at this time of year, all it took was a break in that weather and the Allied Jabos would be in the air and killing anything moving on the roads.

"That's the bigger question, Herr Major, do we have enough fuel to move the vehicles we have from here to Euskirchen, that's roughly 35 kilometers. Given the stop and go nature of a convoy on these roads, in this weather, we might not even make it in one night!" Leutnant Manfred Sauer, commanding the 5th Company, was discussing the unit's impending move.

"Manfred, battalion staff is, oddly enough, at full strength, I have to move 154 men and 45 vehicles over those same roads. With your company and Herman Schmitz's company that's another 300 men and close to 80 vehicles. That's a long column, probably close to a kilometer if we march bumper to bumper, which we shouldn't. My quartermaster has the fuel, I'm worried about keeping the sub-units together so that, if we have to, we can go straight into battle at the end of the march." Major Jürgen von Lüttwitz, commanding the 2nd Battalion of the 8th Panzergrenadier Regiment, shook his head as he checked his orders.

Von Lüttwitz continued, "It was easier as infantry, we simply formed up by platoons and marched. Now?" 

"Rougher on the feet though, Sir." Sauer commented.

"True, but you have to admit, the logistics were far simpler."

"At least there are no horses to take care of, I still remember Falaise, the dead and dying horses, their death throes affected me greatly. I can still hear the screams of the men and the horses in my nightmares." Sauer took a deep breath, then said, "Sorry, Sir, I'm not sure where that came from, it's been a long time since then, but in my nightmares, it was yesterday."

"Yes, the horses, they don't understand why we fight wars, they go where they are told and do what we ask of them, for the most part. I too remember seeing the dead teams in the road, along the road, everywhere. It saddened me, so we are relieved of that at least. I'm still not used to commanding a motorized unit, but I have a good staff." von Lüttwitz checked his watch, then said, "Officers' call at 1900, bring your platoon leaders. My staff should have all this sorted out by then, we're supposed to move the day after tomorrow. I think regiment keeps delaying things hoping we can get rail transport to Euskirchen. But between you and me, that's not going to happen."

"Sir, most of my vehicles have a coat of whitewash on them, but I've got the men cutting branches and things to tie on and break up the outline of the vehicles. A white vehicle doesn't stand out in a field of snow, as long as it didn't move. On a muddy road, it will stand out, so..." Sauer shook his head, as an infantryman he could hide in a ditch, or dig a hole, but a vehicle, how does one hide an 8 ton vehicle?

"I know, Manfred, camouflage them as best you can, I want to stick to the roads, if we go across fields, with the snow on the ground the tracks will lead the Jabos right to us. We saw that in the Ardennes, I don't want to repeat that mistake."

"Certainly, Sir, 1900 then." Sauer snapped a salute and headed back to his company. He was not looking forward to this move.

Motorcycles, Kettenkrads, cars, trucks, and multiple halftracks to take the men to Euskirchen and then into battle. At least, Sauer thought, we have twelve anti-aircraft vehicles, each mounting triple 1.5 cm or 2 cm machine guns, the M.G. 151. The smaller version didn't pack as big a punch as the 2 cm guns, but both were useful against air and ground targets.

SdKfz 251/21 Drilling¹ anti-aircraft vehicle.

From what the Spieß had told him, there was even an armor piercing round available for the gun. He'd have to check the ammunition loadouts for them, after all he "owned" six of the beasts. He'd have to ask the commander of his 4th Platoon what the loadout was. He also needed to check the weapons mounted, hopefully the battalion fielded twelve of the same variant, otherwise ammunition supply could be difficult.

Along with the need to provide the various ammunition types for the men's individual weapons, from submachine guns to rifles, there were at least three different calibers of bullet! Fortunately he had an experienced Weapons Sergeant to help him keep track of that.

Being a platoon commander was one thing, but to command a company? Sauer almost wished he was a simple Landser² again, just following orders and bitching about Army life. What Opa might have called the "good old days." He wondered how his old sergeant, Köhler, was faring as a POW. He had written Opa's wife but had yet to hear anything in return. Which worried him.

"Herr Leutnant?" One of Sauer's radiomen was standing in front of him.

"What is it Christof?"

Grenadier Christof Schmidt took a deep breath and said, "The Americans and the British, they've destroyed Dresden."

That took a moment to register, surely Schmidt was exaggerating. "You mean the city was bombed, right? Surely it hasn't been destroyed?"

"According to the Propaganda Ministry, the center of the city has been completely destroyed, 200,000 people dead, many thousands more still unaccounted for, it sounds to me, begging the Leutnant's pardon, like the city has been destroyed. Isn't the Major from Dresden?"

"Yes, he is, how many of the men know of this?" Sauer was concerned for the men's morale, many of whom were Saxons. Sauer himself had a certain fondness for Dresden, he'd once had an encounter with a pretty young college student there in August of 1939. He often wondered what had become of lovely, blonde Margarethe. Now he had to wonder if she was even still alive.

"Keep this news quiet for now Schmidt, I don't want to worry the men from that area."

"They know, Sir. Word spreads fast, Dr. Goebbels himself is making this big news, he claims that the enemy wants to destroy all of Germany, this is a perfect example." Schmidt seemed almost offended that Sauer would not want the men to know.

"All right, see if you can find out more, I'll talk to the Major. Now go, run along, remember, Lügen haben kurze Beine!³ We should learn more before we lose our minds over this."

Here they were, about to go into battle, now this. As if the men didn't have enough to worry about. He was starting to realize that all of Germany was now a battlefield, there was no front, there was no rear. Even the civilians back home were suffering. He was starting to understand why the Poles hated the Germans so much. Not to mention the Belgians, the Dutch, the French, the Russians, Hell, most of Europe had good reason to hate the Reich.

"Scheiße!" Sauer hissed under his breath, "Dieser verdammte Krieg!⁴"

¹ Triplet

² German slang for an infantryman

³ Lies have short legs! (Source)

⁴This damned war!

Link to all of The Chant's fiction.

Ice-Mageddon amongst other things

It's been an "entertaining" few days here at Rancho Juvat. Thursday it was clear and 75.

View from the Family room Thursday evening

Friday the high was 35 at 0800 and it was raining.  As the temperature dropped, the rain turned to sleet and by Saturday morning, everything was covered with about 1/2" of ice. The highest the temperature has been since Friday so far is 25 with a wind chill of 10. So...nothing has melted.

Roughly the same view Friday Morning and right now.

Unfortunately, in the hubbub of building a new house, repairing our old house, moving out/in we forgot one crucial step in the process.  We forgot to build a shed for our well.

Guess who's been without running water for three days now.

Fortunately, our guest house and old house receive water from a different well, which is enclosed, so our guests (from Wisconsin, they think this is mildly chilly) and my sister are fine. One of my new chores right now is load all available containers into the truck and drive down to the old house and fill them with water and return them to the new house. This will continue until water is restored.  So, Mrs J has decreed, so it shall be.

Feeding the horses has also become sporting, lots of ice on everything, including the ground between the house and barn.  Gates covered with ice, blah, blah, blah. In any case, I opened the gate to feed them this morning and didn't realize it hadn't closed.  The hay burners took that opportunity to thank me for feeding them by rushing through the gate.  I believe I heard one say "Free at last!" as they ran out of sight.

They decided they wanted to visit the folks from Wisconsin.  

20 minutes, several carrots and a ride home sitting on the pickup's ice coated tail gate coaxing them on later, we arrived back in the barn.  My butt hasn't been that numb since the 10.9 hour flight strapped to an ejection seat in an F-4 flying from Hawaii to Okinawa.

Well, as they say, one "Aww S41T wipes out an awful lot of Attaboys". Two wipes them all away.

However, one of the other symptoms of this winter storm is the power goes off frequently. (This has happened 8 times since I started this posting and got to this point.)  It restores itself almost immediately, and blogger is pretty good about autosaving. But...At this point, I think I'm going to follow Annie's Lead and go take a nap or something.

Notice the gesture she's giving me. Shows me how I rate around here.

After I go and schlep some more water, of course!  But in the meantime, I did promise....

Vegas!!! Redux... Part Deux

So there I was…an AT-38B Instructor Pilot at Holloman Airplane Patch New Mexico.  I’ve been there about two years and my non-flying duty is squadron scheduler.  I have been blessed with a “good deal”, and I have made the most of it.

Current Wing Policy is that all senior Wing Personnel will receive check rides from the Chief of Stan-Eval.  The actual name is Standardization and Evaluation, most of us called them Stan Evil.  Ostensibly the requirement for the Wing King and such to get their check rides from the Branch Chief was to reduce the likelihood of “undue Command Influence” in passing their check rides.  Works for me!  A Lieutenant Colonel looking for a Squadron to Command and therefore, earn his ticket to Bird Colonel.  No possibility for influence there…..

In any case, those thunderstorms raged far, far above my limited horizon.  My immediate problem was simple.  I had busted the Director of Operations (The number three guy in the Wing, call sign Vegas) on his last ride before his check ride.  Apparently, he had forgotten everything he’d learned in his 4000+ hours of flying about landing a jet, therefore he required another practice ride and his Check Ride was scheduled for tomorrow.

The Chief of Stan-Eval had booked a cruise for the day after and would not be available for the next two weeks. When dealing with the gods, scheduling is important.

I get back into the squadron, and the squadron CO is waiting for me.  Already having  been chastised by Vegas for having questioned my busting him on the ride, he asks me what my intention is.  I look at the schedule and see a three ship of IPs scheduled for a continuation sortie.  Continuation sorties were missions where the IPs flew front seat and actually got to fly the jet and remain proficient at flying a fighter.  Students may or may not get to tag along in the back seat. Didn’t get a lot of them and these three guys were going to go out and fly a 2 V 1.  This was about as fun and complex a mission as we were allowed.  Highly sought after. Schedulers were able to get IPs to do all sorts of unpleasant things on the promise of a continuation ride.

I walk up to the schedule, draw a line through the 1 in the 2 V 1 and wrote Vegas and my name in.  The IPs would now be going on a 1 V 1.  Vegas and I would get our refly.  I was not popular.

Obviously, this ride was going to be later in the day and at Holloman during the summer, a later sortie made everything just a little bit more difficult.  The pressure altitude was higher, the engines responded different, winds were gusty, dust frequently blew so visibility was worse.  In short, for a person having difficulty landing a jet, flying late in the afternoon could make or break him.

We blast off, go to the area for a few minutes just to get down to landing weight, then return to the pattern for touch and go’s.  I’m a bit tense, but Vegas doesn’t seem to be worried.  He flies down initial, pitches out, configures, starts the turn, rolls out on speed and greases the landing.  Requests closed, granted, rolls out on downwind, configures, starts the turn, rolls out on speed and greases the landing.  Starts the go around, and says, “You want to fly the rest?”

I clearly had passed the test.

It’s now towards the end of the program.  Vegas had flown with other IPs, but I still was his primary IP.  We’re now in the first ride in the Air to Ground phase and Vegas is in the front seat.

Once he sees the bombing range from the front seat, he will switch to the back seat and “instruct” me in Air to Ground techniques. Truthfully, I’m looking forward to it.  We had just completed Air to Air, and having him in my back seat instructing me (note the lack of quotation marks), had been VERY educational both for my IP skills as well as my actual Fighter Pilot skills.  I was looking forward to experiencing the same in Air to Ground. We’ve been to the range, dropped our 6 blue practice bombs and headed home.

We’re coming down initial for runway 16 and I hear the tower clear a flight of 4 F-15s on to runway 25 to hold. 

We pitch out, configure, turn final for a Touch and Go.  Roll out on final, I do a quick look out the nose of the Jet to check lineup, configuration etc.  (I’m still the Aircraft Commander, and IP, it’s my butt if something happens.)  As expected, Vegas is on the numbers.  I glance out the right side of the jet as we cross over the overrun….

Pause for a scenario setting .  Runway 16 and Runway 25 butt up against one another.  The overruns intersect.

The problem will occur in the light gray area at the top center of the photo.

Clearing a flight on to hold, gives that flight permission to do just that.  Taxi into position and sit there until given clearance to do something else.

It does not give you permission to run your engines up to military power in anticipation of takeoff!!

So, enough interlude.  I glance out the right expecting big wide exhaust nozzles  from 8 Pratt and Whitney F-100 Engines.

What I'm expecting when looking at exhaust nozzles instead, I see little bitty teenie
exhaust nozzles spewing exhaust gas across our approach at who knows how fast.

This is what F-15 engines look like in Mil Power and what I'm seeing

I advance the throttles into afterburner, while at the same time calmly communicating to Vegas that I was going to take command of the aircraft and would he please let go of the stick (I slammed the throttles to AB while I screamed “I got it!!”), just as we hit the turbulence.

The jet rolled to the left, and my guardian angel kicked in at that second, because my expected reaction should have been to roll back right.  I didn't, I added right rudder, which yawed the nose away from the ground as well as countered the rolling moment. I have no idea where that reaction, the only and absolute right move, came from.   I’m not sure what the angle of bank was, but I have a very clear picture of looking up at the runway.  The jet begins to yaw the nose above the horizon while rolling back towards level. We exit the turbulence as the aircraft rights itself.  I clean the gear and flaps up and remember the burners.  About this time, Vegas calls from the front seat and says “Well, that was exciting, do you mind if I fly the full stop?”  “No Sir, not at all.”

These guys practice it, me, not so much!

Full stop, and Vegas asks what happened.  He’d never seen the four ship and all he knew was we had almost lost control.  I explained what had happened.  Debrief began later than usual that day as my student was unavailable.  Evidently, a flight lead lost his flight lead status.

About 6 months later, I’m now the Wing Scheduler and am up for assignment.  The F-4 is being phased out and F-15s and F-16s are starting to be assigned.  However, the AF still needs folks assigned to F-4Gs as well as F-111s, so the policy is that IPs up for assignment in the next 6 months will be divided into Top Half/ Bottom Half.  Top Half will get the jet of their dreams; Bottom Half will get needs of the AF.  I’m fairly certain I’m in the Top Half, but, since I also want to be assigned with my wife, also military, and 2 year old son, I’m a bit tense.  Today is the day.  I get the call from my assignment officer.  F-4G to George.  I’m disappointed, but it is with my wife, so that’s the way the ball bounces. 

Vegas also knows this is the day.  He comes walking in to my office and asks what I got.  I tell him, his jaw drops and he says “Captain, can I borrow your desk?”  Dials a number and says (I’ve forgotten the name, so let’s use Stan) ”Stan, Vegas here, do you personnel wienies still subscribe to the Top Half/Bottom Half policy?....Well, I’d like to know why Juvat here, my number one guy in this assignment tranche, is getting an F-4G? …..Yeah, I know about his wife…..Look, Colonel, I've got a retention problem here (he did) and if I can’t get my number one guy a new jet, what am I going to tell the rest of the guys to keep them in the AF? Why should they stay? I want him in an Eagle, and I want his wife assigned to the same base.” 

At that instant, it no longer mattered to me what my assignment was, I was reassured there were still people in the AF that cared about their people.  I would stay.

There’s more conversation on the phone, finally Vegas hangs up and says “Juvat, you and Mrs. Juvat are going to Kadena.”

Update from OAFS:

Juvat is still sans power which is why he hasn't answered any of the comments yet.