Surprised Me Too ...

I hadn't expected to post another chapter in the latest book yesterday, but inspiration hit and I could but write. So yeah, surprised me it did.

It was a long week, they all are as retirement looms in the not-so-distant future. It's been a long road to get to this point in my life, while I look forward to not answering to people who pay me to listen to their demands, it's also quite daunting. I've been doing that seemingly forever. But, like the song says, all things must pass.

Friday night was dinner with friends, two other couples, all the wives being Korean is what we have in common. A nice group of people, fun to go out with now and again. Good food, good conversation, well, the English conversation on the guy side of the table went well, not sure how the Korean conversation fared on the other side of the table.

Occasionally the two conversations overlapped, in English of course, I have a smattering of Korean which is useful to get a train or a taxi or a beer, but that's about it. The other two chaps, to my uncertain knowledge, have no Korean at all, perhaps yes, no, and thank you. An aptitude for language is not much cultivated in these here United States. We assume that the rest of the world learns English, which they do. But I've found that it's at least polite to know a few phrases in other languages.

Was in the mood for seafood, so I had the scallops, very nicely cooked they were. I chased those down with a couple of Stella Artois, what I call Christmas beer. It's light and very refreshing. Tiramisu and Irish coffee were for afters, both were quite good.

As you might note from the picture, we still have our Christmas candles in the windows, The Missus Herself usually has those put away a couple of weeks after Christmas. But this year has been so cold and snowy that she decided to leave them up a while longer, because, as she says, they make the house seem warmer and more inviting.

I concur. I can also wander about in the evening without turning on the brighter lights. I rather enjoy the near darkness. Probably due to my weakening eyesight. Glaucoma and retinal issues have done a number on me. But thanks to a very good eye doctor, I'm still good to go.

But Saturday morning I awakened to one of my "blurry days." If I put my eyedrops in too soon after awakening I have trouble focusing the rest of the day, well, at least until evening comes. This too shall pass.

Speaking of aging, while going into dinner Friday night there was an older gentleman navigating the walk while using a cane. He was not very limber and I could see that moving from point A to point B was not fun for him.

The Missus Herself and Your Humble Scribe came up on his six o'clock position and throttled back so as not to vex him in any way. We weren't in any great hurry. He saw us, stopped, stepped out of the way, and apologized. I told him that he had no need to apologize, he was just making his way in the world and we were in no hurry.

He laughed and advised me that getting old wasn't a picnic. "Don't get old," he said.

I told him that I was "working on that" but I was merely fighting a delaying action.

Time waits for no man.

But you folks will have to wait for the next chapter.

I gave the Muse the night off, she earned it.

See you Tuesday.

Unternehmen Weserübung - Norway Attacked

(Source)

Offiziersanwärter¹ Jürgen von Lüttwitz was with his squad in rugged terrain to the northwest of the Norwegian capital of Oslo. He had been sent to this division to gain more combat experience as part of his officer training. The 163rd was short of men, some of them had been aboard the Blücher when she went down on the approaches to Oslo in the early morning hours of the ninth of April. Jürgen was supposed to have been on that ship but had been swapped with another man at the last minute. So instead of drowning in a fjord, he was now shivering on a Norwegian hillside.

The men had left their greatcoats behind at the command of their company commander who had said, "We need to travel light and fast, leave your greatcoats and packs behind, we'll get them later."

Jürgen remembered seeing Oberfeldwebel Kurt Hartknoch grimace when the captain had said that. Later he had heard one of the other veterans mention that if they were lucky, their belongings might come up with the field kitchen in a day or two, more often then not, they wouldn't see those items for a week or more.

Though the weather was fairly mild, occasional snow squalls reminded them that winter wasn't quite finished in the Norwegian hills.

Jürgen was in charge of his squad's machine gun team, which consisted of him, a machine gunner, and two assistant gunners. It was their job to lay down fire while the rifle section maneuvered. So far they hadn't run into any Norwegian opposition outside of the terrain and the weather. Though, as Jürgen thought, that was more than enough to slow them down.

That was about to change.

Premierløitnant² Morten Henriksen was watching the small German column making its way up the valley, he estimated that it was company strength, which meant the Germans outnumbered his men by more than two to one. The Germans were also first line soldiers, young and fit, whereas his fifty men were reservists for the most part, in their forties and unused to military life.

But they were fit, one had to be to farm in these hills.

"Yngvar! Take your team down by the bend in the road where Olufsen's farm starts. Hold your fire until we start the party, greit?³"

"Sure thing!" With that, Yngvar Enger led his Madsen machine gun team down the hill, using a small gully to mask his men from German observation. Enger would peer up over the edge occasionally as they moved, when they reached the beginning of the Olufsen farm he had the men set up. Sure enough, about 150 meters away was the head of the German column. For some reason they had stopped.

One man, obviously an officer, was looking at a map and looking around. It was also obvious that the man was lost.

"Eivind, think you can hit that fellow with the map?"

Eivind Gandrud looked down the sights of his Krag–Jorgensen rifle, adjusted the back sight for the range, then nodded, "I can hit that man Yngvar, he's dead if you want that."

"Greit, boys get ready, after Eivind kills the officer, shoot the rest of those Germans, as many as you can. Go ahead Eivind, take your shot."

Hauptmann Claus König looked up from his map, recognized a landmark to his west, as he turned to tell his 1st Platoon what he wanted them to do, he stumbled and gasped. Leutnant Christian Möller watched in shock as his company commander coughed and blood poured down the front of his tunic. What the Hell was going on?

Jürgen was just behind the lead element of the column with his machine gun team, these men were all new to combat, only he had any experience. He saw the captain fall on his face in the middle of the trail, so he bellowed out, "COVER! Enemy to the right! Return fire!"

Möller was about to chastise the young Offiziersanwärter for giving commands when he heard the chatter of an enemy machine gun. Möller died confused as the Norwegian gunner walked his fire right into the group clustered around Hauptmann König's body.

Henriksen's first thought had been that Gandrud's ambush, though hastily set up was nearly perfect. The Germans were milling about on the farm track, obviously confused. As he prepared to have his men begin advancing in short rushes under the cover of Gandrud's gun he heard a sound familiar to many a veteran. The ripping sound of a German MG 34 machine gun.

Some of the Germans knew their business.

Hartknoch yelled at Jürgen to take his squad to the right and set up along a slight berm. From there he figured they'd be able to bring down fire on the Norwegian gun which had gutted the company's leadership. Von Lüttwitz looked around, saw that his squad leader was one of those men lying dead on the track. He immediately took action.

"3rd Squad! To me, wheel right, take up position along the berm!"

Within moments a rising volume of fire went out to the company's right flank, even as Hartknoch had 2nd Squad's MG 34 laying down fire to their front.

Halvard Bronstad grunted then dropped to the ground, other men were also hit when the German gun began returning fire. Enger realized immediately that the Germans were reacting far quicker than he thought they would. The loss of so many officers would have paralyzed a Norwegian unit.

Now Enger realized that if he wanted to save the remainder of his men, they had to withdraw. As they fell back, again using the gulley as cover, Enger looked towards where Henriksen had been advancing, there were a lot of men down, the rest were throwing down their arms and surrendering.

Time to head into the mountains, Enger thought. We've lost this battle.

Little did he know that Norway was rapidly losing the war as well.

"Well done von Lüttwitz!" Hartknoch slapped Jürgen on the back as he said that. For the moment Hartknoch was the acting company commander, all of the officers were down, two of them dead, the third badly wounded. The only survivor was Leutnant Thomas Herrmann who was still at battalion and hadn't come along on this patrol.

The company, which had taken twelve killed and seventeen wounded, was in the village which had been their original objective. The rumors of it being occupied by a Norwegian reserve company had been true, all save fifteen of them were now prisoners of war, or dead on the field.

"Schmitz!" Hartknoch bellowed for one of the company messengers.

"Jawohl Herr Oberfeldwebel!" Schmitz reported.

Hartknoch was scribbling a message on a slip of paper, when he was done he handed it to Schmitz, "Take this to battalion, the paper has the details but tell Major Neumann that we have secured the objective."

As Schmitz turned to head back down the track, Hartknoch said, "Also ask if we could please have our f**king rucksacks and greatcoats brought up. We have no rations and it's getting colder. Now go! Go!"

Jürgen waited for a moment before telling Hartknoch, "One of the men found a bakery, just a street over, they have bread."

Hartknoch grinned and clapped Jürgen on the back again, "Officer? Hell, they should make you a f**king field marshal! Good job, let's get the boys set up and get that bread distributed. It's going to be a long night!"

¹ Officer candidate at the Gefreiter (acting corporal) level

² First Lieutenant (Norwegian Army)

³ Okay? (Norwegian)

The Calm Before the Storm

(Source)

Sergeant Bill Greaves was almost surprised, Private Wallace had been behaving himself very well as of late, and now this, his rifle was spotless. Even Wallace's uniform looked exactly how the regulations specified.

"Very nice Wallace, we might make a soldier of you yet."

Greaves moved on to the next man as Private Billy Wallace shot a glance at his mate, Private Connor McGuire. McGuire had to bite his tongue to keep from smiling. Wallace was trying very hard to conform but he had very clear opinions on drill and inspections.

"I tell ye Connor, all this bloody square bashing and these interminable inspections won't stop the bloody Huns when they come charging down from Belgium. First we let the Poles get overrun by Nazis and Communists then we bloody sit here playing at soldier while the poor Finns got their arses kicked by the bloody Bolshies. Why are we even bloody here?"

Not that McGuire didn't agree with his old chum, but at least Billy had learned not to voice his opinions around the wrong people.

Greaves had looked at the last man in the formation and marched to the front. The men couldn't help but notice that it was starting to snow and their overcoats were back in their quarters. Of course, that's when the lieutenant decided to give the men a pep talk.

2nd Lieutenant Joseph Miles-Roberts was new to the regiment, though his family had a long history with the Royal Scots Fusiliers, his grandfather had served in the 1/5th Battalion Territorial Force and had been killed in action at Gallipoli. Family tradition had it that a Roberts had been at Blenheim with Marlborough during the War of the Spanish Succession.

He had disembarked in France only a week ago and had been assigned to command the platoon in which Greaves, Wallace, and McGuire served. When he had left London there was talk of forming an expeditionary force to land in northern Norway and march east to assist the Finns. While assisting the Finns was no longer on the table, some in the government were making noises about stopping German ore shipments out of Sweden by interdicting them in Norway. He had thought about putting in for an assignment to that force, but it was still talk when he received his orders to report to the RSF here in France.

"All right lads, listen up." Miles-Roberts spoke in a tentative tone, softly and it was readily apparent that some of the men in the back ranks couldn't hear him. Sergeant Greaves cleared his throat and gave his lieutenant a stern look. Miles-Roberts spoke louder.

"We're here to do a job lads, just like our grandfathers did during the Great War, support the French and defeat the Huns. I know you're all sick of drill and inspections but that will end, I'm sure, when spring comes. The Huns are just waiting for better weather before they get stuck in."

"Stuck in, what does he think this is, a bloody football match?" Billy hissed at Connor.

"Haud yer wheesht!¹" Connor hissed back at him. He saw that Greaves baleful eye was looking in their direction.

(Source)

Jan Kołodziej had managed to join a work party going into Warsaw, the Germans worked him like a dog. To the Army he was a Silesian, to the men in his company, he was a Pole.

But this work party was another crappy detail, the SS needed men to clean up around the proposed headquarters for the Gestapo. Rather than have their own men do it, they requested help from the Army.

While most of the Army was headed west for what Jan assumed to be the coming attack on France, his own unit would remain in the East on garrison duty. Jan was starting to wish he'd left with the others when Poland fell. But he had to find Elżbieta. He assumed that she would go to Warszawa, she had family there. As he looked at the ruins of the city, he began to wonder if she had survived the battle for Poland.

Elżbieta Chlebek had arrived in Warszawa accompanied by a young Polish lieutenant, Bogusław Gulczyński. They had separated at the train station, she to go to her parents' apartment, he to report to the General Staff. She thought to keep in touch with Bogusław but then decided that that would not be wise. She had told Jan that she loved him, and she did, but he was rather old fashioned. Keeping in touch with another man, an officer no less, would probably anger him.

When she arrived at her old neighborhood, there was nothing left. She had found one man who knew her parents, but before she could ask where they were, he had shaken his head in sadness. She was still reeling at the thought that her parents were dead. Killed, like so many Poles, by the invading Germans.

Now she stood on a corner seething with anger as she watched German troops walk the streets of what was left of her beloved city. A convoy of German Army trucks were passing by as she waited to cross. She had never hated anyone or anything in her life, but for the Niemcy² she was developing a deep hatred.

Oddly enough, she heard her name being shouted, she looked around, the voice sounded familiar.

"Elżbieta! Here!" Jan was stunned, he knew that that was her standing on the street corner, but she looked smaller, and so forlorn. She heard her name and looked up. The look of sheer hatred on her face stunned him.

Then he realized, she didn't see him, she saw the uniform.

She was angry and embarrassed, some of the other people waiting to cross were looking at her, wondering why one of the hated Germans was calling her name. At least she assumed they were looking at her, why would a soldier yell out the name of an older woman?

Funny thing was, the man yelling her name looked very much like Jan. But Jan was in the Polish Army, for all she knew he was lying dead on some battlefield or, if he were lucky, had fled to the West with others she knew of.

"Miss, are you going to cross?" An older man asked her as she stood, staring off into space.

"O tak, dziękuję.³" She muttered as she came out of her trance with a start.

Crossing the street she wondered what she would do next. She had no place to stay and the city was in ruins. Perhaps return to the university in Kraków? But would the Niemcy permit that? She just didn't know.

¹ Shut up (Scottish slang.)

² Germans (Polish)

³ "Oh yes, thank you." (Polish)

Hold Fire!

Treriksrøysa on the boundary between Finland, Norway and Russia
(Source)

Okay, this isn't a "book" post, I need to step back for a day or so and consider the direction I'm going. While the Winter War isn't quite over yet (in the book, in reality it ended 82 years ago this month), I think my telling of it is finished. The reasoning behind that decision is simple.

I like writing about warfare at its lowest levels, telling the tale of those who actually have to fight it, not those who fight from a map or attend staff meetings. While those folks are important (seriously, some of them serve a useful purpose, especially those who do logistical stuff) I've always had a love for the grunts, the gravel agitators, the ones on the sharp end of the stick.

Frankly, the fighting in the Winter War continues on but in reality the politicians in Finland have realized by this point that they're screwed, they should have taken the "deal" the Soviets offered before the attack. They would have lost less land than they did.

While I could press on and describe the suffering from combat and the climate but really, what's the point? I've introduced a number of characters, both Russian and Finnish, who we will meet again later on in the book. Did you know that when Hitler invaded the Soviet Union on the 22nd of June 1941 that the Finns joined in? They hoped to regain the territory they lost during the Winter War.

No, that didn't really work out they way they thought it would. Or rather, hoped it would.

I need to get back to France because the Germans are heading that way. I need to get Billy, Guillaume, Jan, and Jürgen ready for that event. I'll probably visit the Allied participation  in the Norwegian campaign. Like the Winter War it didn't last long, but it was pretty intense and really should have coincided with the Winter War, the idea had been originally to support the Finns by going through Norway and Sweden. Didn't happen that way.

So that's where I'm at right now. A short pause, maybe a day, maybe two, while I change the barrel on my mental machine gun, and let the Muse catch her breath, she's been very busy as of late.

I also need to catch up on my sleep. This was on sale the other day (half price on Steam) ...

(Source)

So ...

I've stayed up rather late too many nights in a row playing this, so my brain is just a bit worn out. You know what they say, "All work and no play makes Sarge a dull boy." But too much play makes Sarge a tired boy.

So you all get to suffer as I stoke the fires of my gaming addiction.

Sorry.

Not. 😲

Retreat into the Storm

(Source)

Kersantti Kaino Tuomola told his section, "All right boys, pack it up. We're falling back."

The youngest man, Vilhelm Nurmi, asked, "Where to?"

Tuomola pointed to the northwest, "That way, seems that the Russkis are willing to continue to throw bodies at our lines, regardless of cost. Our neighbors have fallen back, so our positions here are untenable."

Nurmi looked puzzled but before he could ask the question, Aleksis Leppänen answered, "Untenable, means we can't stay here, the boys on our left flank got their asses kicked, so we have to run. Understand, Nurmi, or do you want a picture?"

"Enough Aleksis, not all of us went to university. But yes, Vilhelm, what Aleksis says is true. Our left flank is in the air, it's like someone left the back door open, so we pull back."

Ustin Rodionovich Kazankov had found himself leading three more men in addition to Kolobkov and Bezrodny. He had come across them cowering in a ruined Finnish dugout and simply told them to follow. They did, much to Kazankov's surprise. He had yet to learn their names but as they followed him willingly enough, that could be dealt with later.

At the second Finnish defense line Kazankov had the men take cover in a trench while he tried to figure out what he was supposed to do next. Soviet society didn't encourage initiative but he knew that he should do something, even if it was just to look for an officer to tell them what to do.

One of the new men looked in his direction, "Tovarishch Komandir! What is our mission?"

Kazankov looked at the man for a moment, then said, "I'm no commander, just a Red Army Man like yourself, what's your name laddie? In fact, all of you, who are you?"

One by one, the three men identified themselves, Kazankov realized he probably wouldn't remember their names after a few minutes, but the one who spoke out, Kusma Zakharovich Beriya, he'd probably remember, provided he wasn't killed in the next day or so. As for Vladimir Antonovich Dudin and Valerian Dmitrievich Berezhnoy, they looked sufficiently terrified that he doubted they would present any problems.

"All right then, we're going to stay right here until someone comes along who can tell us what to do. We could keep charging ahead and probably fall into some Finnish ambush, anybody want that?"

All the men shook their heads, no one had any immediate wish to die. Kazankov figured that that was good, these boys weren't stupid.

The wind was rising and the snow was falling harder. The men were hunched over, leaning into the wind, Tuomola was beginning to worry. One of the men, Juhani Lahti, had already nearly wandered off the trail. If he hadn't noticed him, Lahti would have probably been there until spring. It wasn't only the Russians who froze to death in this weather.

"Kersantti, how much longer?" Otso Venäläinen had to shout to be heard over the wind. "We're going to start losing people if we keep marching into this blizzard."

"I know, but we have to stay with the column. I have no idea how close the Russkis are, and where would we stop? It's death to stop, we have to keep moving!"

Tuomola saw a man stagger, then drop to his knees. He hurried over to the man, he didn't recognize him, someone from another squad. As he shook the man by the shoulders, there was no response.

He stood back and watched helplessly as the soldier fell forward onto his face. Death from either exposure or sheer exhaustion, Tuomola guessed it didn't really matter.

Dead was dead, no matter how it happened.

Kapitan Ivan Filippovich Telitsyn and his orderly, Krasnoarmeyets Maxim Romanovich Grushanin jumped into a trench where there were six men huddled against the elements.

"Who is in charge here?" he barked at them.

One of them, a rather large man with the look of a veteran soldier about him, spoke up, "I guess that would be me, Tovarishch Kapitan. Krasnoarmeyets Ustin Rodionovich Kazankov and five other survivors from the 44th."

"Where is the rest of your unit?"

"I don't know Tovarishch Kapitan, we assaulted the Finnish position some kilometers back, we lost a lot of the boys coming across no man's land. We stopped here, awaiting orders."

"Good, come with me, we need to continue the pursuit."

"Tovarisch Kapitan, into this snow?" Grushanin protested, his captain was already lost, they should have contacted the main body of the battalion an hour ago.

Telitsyn looked over the lip of the trench, visibility was down to mere meters. He also had no idea where he was, nodding, he said, "Well, you are right once again Maks. We shall wait here until the storm lifts. At least we're out of the wind."

Kazankov looked at his men and shook his head, he didn't like this new officer, he seemed the type to get men killed.

Tuomola and his men finally caught up to the tail end of the column. They had halted while the officers decided what to do. One of them, a major, came up to them.

"How far behind are the Russians?"

"I don't know sir, but we haven't seen anyone since the storm worsened. Perhaps they have halted, waiting for the wind to die down."

"And you are?"

"Kersantti Kaino Tuomola of Separate Battalion 8, Sir!"

"Find someplace out of the wind, we too shall wait for the wind to die down. We're losing too many men to the elements as it is, we shall wait."

As Russians, Finns, and a number of foreign volunteers continued to fight and die, both from combat and the elements, the Finnish government put out peace feelers. The army was on the brink of shattering from the continuous Soviet pressure, bombs were falling on Helsinki, and anticipated help from the West was nothing but talk.

Time to quit before Finland was swept under by the Soviet's massive advantage in numbers.

Niitä on Liikaa!¹

(Source)

Sotamies Jonne Salminen and Alikersantti² Tuure Mäkeläinen were manning a Lahti-Saloranta M/26 machine gun, slightly forward of the main Finnish defense line. They had skied into position about an hour before sunrise, stopping when Mäkeläinen figured they were some hundred meters in front of their platoon. The idea was to get in position before the Russians would notice them, or so they hoped.

The idea was to break up any Soviet attacks before they hit the main line of resistance. The Soviets had a habit of swarming out of their positions, yelling "Oorah" at the top of their lungs and advancing in waves. Often, if you could inflict enough casualties on them, they would go to ground and not budge until their officers and commissars could get them moving again. Often at great cost to those officers and commissars as motivating the men required them to expose themselves to Finnish gunfire.

Their company commander, Kapteeni³ Rauli Karjalainen, had had this bright idea (so their lieutenant called it), some two days ago. Though the platoon commanders tried to dissuade him of this course of action, they had been unsuccessful.

Vänrikki⁴ Aatos Järvelä had told the two men, "Take no chances, fire a few bursts, get the Reds to go to ground, then get your asses back here to the main line. Clear?"

The two men had nodded their assent, then headed out to where they were now, lying in the snow and wishing they were anywhere but here.

"Do you think they will come?" Salminen asked his corporal.

"Yes, they will, whether today or the next day, they will come. These Russians mean to steal our lands and they haven't quit yet, even after we've killed so many of them." Mäkeläinen said this as he nodded towards the Russian positions. The Russian dead were everywhere, nearly all of them frozen solid.

It was like a vision of Hell.

The five Soviet soldiers were pressed against the forward wall of the trench, each clutching his rifle as if it were a talisman. Kolobkov, Sayankin, Kazankov, Tsiryulnikov, and Bezrodny were all country boys, Bezrodny from a village so far out in the steppe that many people living there thought there was still a Tsar in Moscow.

"Potap, when did the lieutenant say we were going?" Vitaliy Afanasievich Kolobkov was young, he barely shaved, yet here he was, on the front lines of the war against Finland, asking his friend, Potap Yegorovich Tsiryulnikov, when they were expected to assault across no man's land. He had seen the frozen dead of earlier attacks scattered between this trench and the Finnish lines, to say he was scared was something of an understatement.

"Vitya, how many times are you going to ask me the same question? When the guns stop, we go."

Ustin Rodionovich Kazankov, who had been in the army for almost a year, growled at the two youngsters, "Would you two just shut up? We go when we go, not one second sooner, not one second later. When the lieutenant blows his whistle, we go. He's an officer, he knows these things. Follow him."

At that moment the men could hear a rumbling to the rear of their position, moments later shells began to impact the Finnish trenches on the far side of no man's land. The five men all tensed up, knowing that soon they would have to climb out into the open. Into the fire of the Finnish guns.

"Dear Lord," Salminen moaned as the Russian artillery began landing behind them, on the positions of their platoon, "The Ivans will be here soon, I think."

Mäkeläinen nodded and pulled the butt of the gun tight against his shoulder, "Keep feeding the gun, as soon as we're out, we head back."

Salminen looked towards where the shells were tearing the earth to shreds, "Back to that?"

"Well, it's that or stay here and fight the Russkis hand to hand."

Salminen shuddered, then whispered a silent prayer that he would live to see nightfall.

Kazankov heard the whistle, the guns were still working over the Finnish position, but he understood that it was best to move now, while the Finns were keeping their heads down. Looking at the others he shouted, "Let's go lads, over the top with you!"

While the others began to scramble up the side of the shallow trench, Sayankin hesitated.

Kazankov growled and said, "I won't ask twice, boy!"

Sayankin scrambled out with Kazankov directly behind him. Kolobkov, Tsiryulnikov, and Bezrodny were a few meters ahead, hunched over as if to make themselves smaller, clutching their rifles to their bodies as if the metal barrel and wooden stock would protect them when the Finns began firing.

To either side of that small group, dozens of other small groups were emerging from the Russian lines. First they would throw steel against the Finns, then flesh and blood, the High Command meant to break the Finns once and for all. Comrade Stalin was growing impatient with the impudent Finns.

Salminen saw them first, "Here they come, Tuure. My God, there are thousands of them!"

Mäkeläinen sighted down the barrel, "Hundreds, Jonne, just hundreds, but they certainly outnumber us, don't they? Time to even the odds a bit."

The M/26 began to chatter and Russian soldiers began to die.

Kazankov actually saw the muzzle flash from a Finnish machine gun, he screamed "DOWN!"

Tsiryulnikov hesitated.

Tsiryulnikov died.

"Damn it, the barrel is overheating."

Salminen could see that the barrel was nearly glowing. "Do you want to swap it out now?" He asked incredulously.

"It's that or run!" Mäkeläinen hissed as he began to remove the bolt from the weapon. The Russians had gone to ground to their front, they had only seconds to swap out barrels. "Do it Jonne!"

The Russians were starting to stir once the gun had stopped firing.

"Shit, shit, shit." Salminen moaned as he and his corporal changed out the red-hot barrel for the spare.

"Come on boys, they've either run out of ammo or are changing barrels. Make a dash for that next line of shell holes, quickly or you'll be joining Tsiryulnikov soon!"

The men jumped up and sprinted forward, Sayankin could barely breathe as the cold air was searing his lungs. He was a step away from safety when the Finnish gun resumed firing. His corpse slid into a shell hole, dead before he hit the ground.

Kazankov swore, there were only the three of them now. He looked at the surviving friend, Kolobkov, who had yet to notice that Tsiryulnikov wasn't with them. Kazankov supposed that when you're trying to stay alive, other things became of little consequence, at least until the fight was done.

As he sat there, listening to the chatter of the Finnish gun, he heard something else, Russians, cheering ...

Salminen heard it too, he tapped Mäkeläinen on the shoulder and yelled, "They're flanking us Tuure!"

"Hey!" Salminen turned around, it was Järvelä! "Come on lads, we need to pull back, there are far too many of them, they've already overrun 3rd Company!"

"I thought you were in the trenches?" Salminen asked.

"We would be if that fool captain had his way, first shell burst killed him, so I had the men come forward into the shell holes from yesterday. Only lost two men other than the captain. Now come on!"

Mäkeläinen fired one last burst, the barrel was glowing hot once more. Passing the lieutenant he said, "I think I've ruined the gun!"

"We'll get you another, let's go or you won't need one!"

Kazankov, Kolobkov, and Bezrodny let their bayonets lead the way, they had fallen in with another platoon as they charged into the Finnish positions, shouting "Ura pobeda!⁵" for all they were worth. For the first time they had turned the Finns out of their positions, artillery and sheer weight of numbers won the day.

But at such a cost, Kazankov's little group lost two men, 40% of their strength. Casualties elsewhere ran close to 50%. Looking back over the field, Kazankov couldn't count the newly dead and the wounded, most of whom would be dead soon in the bitter cold.

What price victory?

¹ There are too many of them! (Finnish, pronounced: Nee-tah on Leeekaah)

² Corporal

³ Captain

⁴ 2nd Lieutenant

⁵ Hoorah, Victory! (Russian: Ура победа!)

How to get High...Fast!

 No, Beans, this post has nothing to do with our fearless white house occupant's idea to distribute crack pipes. The idea came to me while reading a link I found on Instapundit the other day.  The post was fairly interesting as it discussed a proposal to modify F-15E's to carry a 45' long missile and launch it at altitude and speed.  Currently, most of a missile's fuel is used getting it off the ground and up to an altitude.  Launching it from altitude and speed would alleviate that problem.  

What caught my eye were a couple of things.  First, this.

The F-15D, at the top, ~35 years ago had my name painted on the canopy rail.  Glad to see she's still around and kicking.

The second thing that caught my eye was the launch profile they proposed to use.

I recognized it immediately.  It's called the Rutowski Climb profile.  For those of you who are engineering oriented, here's a detailed description. For those of you German Engineers, try this one out. And for those of you with a Naval background, here's one for you.

Basically, the objective is to get as much altitude and speed as possible in the least amount of time.  It was theorized and developed in the 70's as a means to defend against the MiG-25 Foxbat, a very fast, high flying fighter.  (That was proven to be somewhat overrated when Viktor Belenko defected in one in '76).  

In any case, the F-15 was used to test the theory and did so by busting several time to climb records in the Streak Eagle program.  Most of those records still stand.

I recognized it, because while stationed at Kadena, we practiced it because the Russian's had the MiG 25 in the area and it was rumored that the North Koreans had some also.

So, we would practice the maneuver pretty regularly.  We referred to them as the "High Fast Profile".  Our target referred to that portion of their mission as the "Low, Slow Profile".

Our Target
Source

We would intercept them as they returned to Kadena from "parts unknown".  We'd orbit in the mid 30's saving gas and GCI would commit us to the intercept at about 200 miles. Suffice it to say, they were WELL above us.

We'd turn hot, light the burners and begin the climb profile.  We'd push over to 0 g.  (Basically, Beans, my 200 Lb (then...now +) body would be weightless.) The engines were at max and we'd continue that descent until we were well above the Mach.  

Then we'd pull it into a climb to gain as much altitude as possible when we reached weapons range.  Timing of this maneuver was absolutely crucial.  Closure rates of 2000NM/hour were regular. To put that in layman's terms, that's 33.3 Nautical miles/minute or ~1 mile every 2 seconds.  So the intercept is either made or missed in less than 400 seconds.  

So, yeah, we practiced the Rutowski Climb profile....a lot.  In fact the highest I've ever been was the result of one.  GCI turned me hot at about 190NM.  (They needed training also, newish guy on the scope, didn't realize that 10 NM is critical.) Typically, the climb angle was about 45^o and the target indicator would be steady in the HUD.  That was not the case on this intercept, it was moving towards the top of the HUD.  

So, me being me, I kept pulling, making my climb angle steeper and steeper.  I pass through 50k' as he passes above me (Well Above) and I'm nearly vertical.  About this time, I learn an important lesson. Jet engines need air to run.  In addition, the flight controls need air to function.  There is very little air above 50K'.  

In short I'm riding a bullet with nothing to do until gravity takes pity on me and begins pulling me back to Earth.  That happened at 78,123' on my altimeter.  The sky was very dark and the SR-71 was a reddish-white.

The GCI guy and I reviewed my video tape in private.  No sense in causing consternation in our higher ups.

And THAT is why I recognized the Rutowski Climb Profile immediately.