Panzer 413 - Interlude (21 Dec 17)

(Source)

As Tennessee Whiskey rumbled up the road to Gouvy, Mac Peterson was still thinking about the incident at the crossroads. Should Tom have let those Tigers slide on by? If he had, Boston Beans would be rolling down the road behind them. Now Tom and his crew were dead. Gone.

Yeah, sure, they'd killed a Tiger. But another Tiger had killed them. Mac had run, no other way to look at it, they'd run away. But Jesus, square off against a Tiger? He was also pretty sure that there had been a third Tiger, skulking behind the one Boston Beans had killed.

One Tiger was iffy, two? No thanks.

"Hey Sarge, you awake up there?"

The call from his gunner snapped Mac back to the present. That's when he noticed headlights coming down the road, faint headlights. Mac realized that the snow had lightened up some, otherwise they would have run smack into whatever was coming down the road.

"Louis, halt! Jim, load armor piercing!"

"Up!"

"Easy does it boys, could be one of ours." Mac was watching intently as the other vehicle slowly approached. As it got closer, he realized that it was an M8 scout car, with infantry hanging all over it. A second followed, it too had men clinging to the outside.

When the M8 spotted the Sherman in the middle of the road, it stopped rather abruptly, almost spilling a couple of its passengers. One of those passengers jumped down and approached Tennessee Whiskey, the man was taking no chances, his Thompson was ready and pointed in Mac's direction.

(Source)

"Chef ..."

Horst was on the intercom, Willi thought he knew why, but he asked anyway, when the boys started calling him "chief," it made him nervous.

"What is it Horst? Make it quick, I think that's Limerlé up ahead."

"Fuel, Chef. We're about to see if this beast can run on fumes."

"Verstanden. We should be able to fuel here, I hope. Or we will become a very expensive bunker."

Willi could see a couple of Kettenhunde¹ by the first house in the village ahead, which he really hoped was Limerlé.

One of the Kettenhunde stepped into the road, signaling them to stop. Willi ordered Horst to stop, he would like to run the guy over, they'd hassled him in Russia one too many times, but he decided to play nice.

"Is this Limerlé?"

"What unit are you with?" the military policeman asked, ignoring Willi's question.

"Schwere Panzer-Abteilung 506, we were attached to 6th Army, but the battalion has been directed to here, then Bastogne."

"Ja, your boys were through here four hours ago, where have you been?"

Willi had had enough of this man's arrogance, over the intercom he told Schmidt, "Junge, point your MG at this Schweine, I want to get his attention." Then to the man in the road ...

"We've been fighting the Amis, not bothering honest soldiers. We need fuel, does this town have any?"

Obergefreiter Johannes Töricht, was ready to order this tanker down from his hatch and give him the business, how dare he talk to the Feldgendarmerie in such a manner? Then he noticed that the tank's bow machine gun was pointed right at his head. Taking a couple of steps to his right, he noticed that the gun followed him.

"Down this road, second house on the left, I think there are some fuel cans there. Now move it, you're blocking the road!"

"Insolent child," Willi muttered as he told Horst where to go. Damn Feldgendarmerie, never fighting, always harassing honest soldiers.

Feldgendarmerie
(Source)

As the man with the Tommy-gun approached, Mac could see that the man was a major.

"Evenin' Sir, we're on the way to Gouvy, then on to St. Vith to hook up with the rest of our battalion."

"Which outfit you with Sergeant? Last I heard, St. Vith was cut off. We were ordered back to Houffalize, but we've been dodging Nazis for the last few hours." While the major had lowered his weapon slightly, it would easily swing towards Mac if he wanted. The guy was obviously on edge.

"Second Platoon, B Company of the 17th Tank Battalion. Have you heard where they might be at, Sir?"

Mac was getting a bit edgy, it was getting lighter, he was hungry, he was sure his crew was hungry and he was worried that Tennessee Whiskey might be thirsty. They needed to gas up, soon.

"No Sarge, haven't heard anything about that outfit, but I know 7th Armored was supposed to fall back on Elsenborn Ridge. If I was you, I'd turn around and follow us to Houffalize."

"Love to major, but I need gas."

The major went back to the leading M8 and after a brief talk with its commander, came back to Mac's tank.

"Should be some fuel in Gouvy, if the engineers haven't torched it yet. The Krauts are coming on fast, we don't want them using our fuel, so I'd hustle Sarge." With that the major headed back to the M8, then he stopped.

"One more thing Sarge, there are rumors of Krauts running around in our uniforms, driving Jeeps or some such nonsense. Keep your eyes open."

"Copy that Major. Good luck."

"You too, Sarge. You too."

"Willi, isn't that der Spiess² over there?"

As Willi helped Horst, Peter, and Georg move another fuel drum over to 413, he looked up. Next to a small shed was a battered Kübelwagen, and sure enough, it was Otto Krämer, Fourth Company's Spiess.

"Hallo, Spiess. Was passiert?"

Krämer looked over and saw Willi and a big grin broke out on his face. He'd known Willi since Poland in '39.

Kübelwagen
(Source)

"How are you Willi? Where's the rest of your platoon?"

Sighing, Willi lowered his head, then looked back down the road into the village. "411 broke down after we crossed into Belgium, engine fire. The lieutenant was going to try and get the engine swapped out, wanted us to wait. Some SS officer ordered the rest of the platoon to get moving, we were blocking the road."

Looking puzzled, Otto asked, "So where is the young Leutnant?"

"Dead. A stray Ami artillery round sprayed some shrapnel around, a couple of wounded, but Leutnant Hansel was dead. Freak accident I guess you'd say. Then 412 was killed by a Sherman earlier this morning. Now it's just us and 414."

Otto paused, as if he didn't know what to say next, then he just blurted it out. "We just had word, München was bombed three days ago. A heavy raid, the Tommies in the night, the Yanks in the day."

Willi was from München, his parents and his sisters still lived there. Before he could ask, Otto looked at him sadly and said, "They're gone Junge, all gone."

Tennessee Whiskey was all gassed up and ready to move out. Mac Peterson was pondering his next move, probably Houffalize as the major had suggested, he'd actually found that on his map, they should be able to make it there by mid-afternoon. If all went well, but so far, nothing had gone well.

Mac looked up as the engineers seemed to be finishing up whatever it was they were doing. One of them, a Master Sergeant was walking over to him.

"Hey buddy, where you headed? Me and my guys could use a little help. A tank might come in handy. We're supposed to head for Houffalize, putting down mines and dropping trees across the road. We might get to blow a bridge or two. Interested?"

Mac looked around, the engineers had a couple of weapons carriers and a jeep. What the Hell, he could use the company.

"Sure, you guys ready to move out?"

"Yup, go ahead and roll, we'll be right behind you!"

As Tennessee Whiskey headed back the way she'd came, Mac heard a loud "woomph" and looked back to see the last fuel in Gouvy go up in a big fireball. In front of that devastation, he saw the three engineer vehicles speeding towards him.

That MSgt was gesturing at him to "follow me," he looked scared for some reason.

On the other side of Gouvy, a long column of Panther tanks from the 9th SS Panzer Division, Hohenstauffen, was moving rapidly down the road into Gouvy.

SS-Hauptsturmführer³ Kurt Langanke slapped the turret of his Panther in frustration as he saw what had to be the fuel stores in Gouvy go up in flames. His tanks needed fuel, the Belgians they'd questioned said they'd seen the Amis storing fuel in two places, Gouvy and Rettigny.

No chance of getting fuel in Gouvy. Next stop then, Rettigny.

(Source)

"Meine Panzer brauchen Treibstoff!⁴" Langanke bellowed at the lowering clouds.

They gave him snow.

Fuel dump near Stavelot.
(Source)

¹ Kettenhunde, literally "chain dogs," German Army slang for military policemen because of the gorget worn while on duty which was suspended from a chain.
² der Spiess = German Army slang for a unit's first sergeant.
³ SS-Hauptsturmführer, Captain in the Waffen SS (SS = Schutzstaffel, Protection Squadron), the Nazi Party's armed forces. Separate from the Army, Air Force, and Navy.

⁴ My tanks need fuel!

Panzer 413 - The Road to Gouvy (20 Dec 17)

(Source)

"Hold up Louis, hold up." Sergeant Mac Peterson yelled over the intercom to his driver. Fumbling with his map, looking at the crossroads ahead, Mac realized, he had no idea where they were.

On the radio to the only other tank in the platoon, Mac ordered, "Tom, let's stop here. Do you have any idea where the Hell we are?"

"Belgium?"

Tom Friedberg, always the freaking comedian, Mac thought. 

"Yeah, that's right, we're in freaking Belgium. Get over here, put out security, let's figure this out."

Part of the 7th Armored Division, these two tanks were all that was left of 2nd Platoon, B Company, 17th Tank Battalion. Now they were moving forward on a bitter cold day, somewhere in Belgium, looking to meet up with their replacements to bring the platoon up to full strength.

But sometime over the past couple of days, in heavy fog, rain, and now snow, they'd gotten lost. The night before they'd seen a lot of movement to the rear, not organized, but a full panicked retreat. They couldn't get any scuttlebutt from those guys other than, "The Krauts are coming, thousands of 'em!" And "You're going the wrong way pal, unless you want to die!"

So Mac had to figure out just where they were, in order to figure out which way they had to go, in order to get to where they were supposed to be. In the middle of a battle, apparently. Mac could hear the rumble of artillery in the distance. A lot of artillery.

(Source)

"Nein, we should have turned left at that last crossroads. The rest of the company must have turned, we continued straight. Scheisse!" Willi was livid.

First the busted track on the first day of the offensive. Then trying to get through the traffic jams at the border. While American resistance had been sporadic, they were already behind schedule. They'd expended what, two rounds so far? What was worse, they were already well behind the rest of the battalion. The rest of the battalion in their slow and clumsy King Tigers had left them in the dust. (So to speak, what with all the rain and snow the roads were mostly mud and frozen mud.)

Now the sun was already below the horizon, at least Willi thought it was, he hadn't seen the sun in over a week! It was rapidly getting dark and the snow was starting to pick up, as was the wind. Another cold night rattling over these crappy roads, trying to get into the fight.

Damn it, what else could possibly go wrong?

"Horst, crank it up, there should be a small crossroads just ahead, we take a left there. Then we'll motor down to Limerlé and lager there for the night."

"Jawohl Herr Oberfeldwebel! Zu befehl!"

As Panzer 413 rolled forward, Panzers 412 and 414, started up with just enough of an interval to keep an eye on the tail light of the tank in front but not too close. Visibility was bad, and getting worse, but you didn't want to be too close to the tank in front, had to leave some room for maneuver.

Willi turned to see where Panzer 412 was when a streak of fire came out of the night from not even 50 meters off the road. Willi watched in horror as the streak slammed into the side of 412's hull. Panzer 412 immediately pulled off the road to the left, seconds later a bright flame shot skyward from the commander's cupola as the ammunition began to cook off.

In the sudden light Willi saw two Shermans in the spot where the shot had originated. He also noticed, briefly, that he had not seen the intersection, it was a small side road, and they were still on the main road to Limerlé. All that passed in a flash, just then 412's turret shot into the sky, the seven ton turret flipping into the air like a child's toy.

As Willi ordered Horst to make a hard right turn, to put their thickest armor towards the enemy, he barked out, "Panzer, three o'clock, load Panzergranate!"

Georg, the loader, immediately yelled out - "Panzergranate geladen!" - as he already had an armor piercing round in the gun.

Gunner Fritz Weber was cranking the turret to the right to lay the big 88 on the target, which he couldn't yet see.

"Holy crap! Louis back her up fast! That's a bunch of freaking Tigers!"

Louis Clark had "Tennessee Whiskey" backing up fast, almost before Mac ordered it.

Tigers scared Louis. I ain't messing with no Tiger, Louis thought to himself, trying to push the accelerator through the floor.

As Louis pushed the tank to its limit, Mac felt the hot breath of a tank round pass just over his turret.

"Scheisse! Missed! Reload, reload dammit."

Out of the corner of his eye, Willi could see that Panzer 414 had gone left off the road and behind the burning hulk of 412, though 414 was as visible as if the sun was up, the wreck of 412 shielded them from the two Shermans which had ambushed them so effectively.

"Panzergranate geladen!" Georg bellowed.

Before Willi could yell "Feuer," Fritz fired the main gun, at this range the 88mm round went into the front of the American tank as if it's armor was mere paper. Willi could see a bright glowing hole where the round had hit.

In the next instant he had to duck down inside his cupola as the Sherman's ammunition ignited. The turret, much like 412's, flipped end over end over the back of the destroyed tank and over the second Sherman which Willi could see backing quickly into the brush.

"Shit, shit, shit. Damn it!" Mac nearly sobbed as he watched Tom Friedberg's tank come apart. Then he ducked reflexively as Tom's turret flipped overhead and then came down just behind their tank.

"Ah crap, Louis! Left stick, left stick or we're gonna get hung up!"

Tennessee Whiskey turned just in time to only scrape the side of the burning turret that moments before had destroyed an enemy Tiger. Mac looked to his front, nothing. The snow was now falling hard, visibility was near zero. When they were about a hundred yards from the road, as Mac figured it, he decided to gamble and see if the Krauts were chasing them.

"Louis, stop the tank!"

The tank came to an abrupt stop and slewed sideways, the field they were in was starting to freeze. Mac listened intently but couldn't hear anything but Tom's tank, Boston Beans, burning furiously. In the snow ahead and to the left there was a harsh glow, but no sign of pursuit.

Willi waited. Part of him wanted to chase the damned Sherman, killing the one that had killed Gerhard and his crew was somewhat satisfying, but he wanted both. Just then the radio crackled to life.

"So, Willi, do we give chase or proceed to Limerlé?" It was Hans Schäfer, the commander of 414, which had halted out in the field to the left of the road.

"It's not getting any warmer you know."

"Ja, marsch! We proceed to Limerlé!"

With a last long look at the funeral pyre which had been Panzer 412, Willi turned to the front and began looking at each side of the road. Visibility was so bad that he couldn't see more than a few meters to either side.

"Ich hasse diesen gottverdammten Krieg!¹"

"Louis, crank it up and head back to where we left Boston Beans. I want to get to Gouvy and fast. I just hope we don't run into any more Krauts tonight. We need to let someone know that there are Tigers behind us, on the road to Bastogne."

Tennessee Whiskey rolled past the wreckage of Boston Beans and then turned hard left back on to the road to Gouvy. The burning Tiger marked the intersection where the road curved towards Limerlé.

"Goddamn Germans, goddamn war."

(Source)

(Source)

¹ I hate this goddamned war.

Panzer 413 - The Onslaught (16Dec17)

(Source)

As the crew mounted up, Willi saw Major Lange coming back down the road. Seeing that 413's track was repaired the Major grinned at Willi and pointed to the west.

"Greife meine Kinder an!¹ Go get 'em boys!"

Issuing a gout of smoke from the exhaust, Tiger number 413 lurched forward. Willi Hoffmeister hunkered down in his commander's cupola. He didn't want to stand fully upright, he knew the Amis² could still be around, the little outpost they'd overrun certainly couldn't be all of them. Could it?

"Shit, shit, shit, shit." Sergeant Billy Jenkins muttered as he lowered his field glasses, he'd just seen a freaking Tiger tank on the road leading to his position. Dropping down into the turret he ordered his crew to load up an armor piercing round. They'd had high explosive loaded because they figured there was nothing but Kraut infantry out here. Nobody said anything about freaking Tigers.

But they were in a good position, just the turret was above the terrain and their cannon covered the road down to the treeline, about 500 yards away. The Tiger he'd seen was coming down a ridge on the other side of the small woodlot. No way he would try a shot at that range. He had buddies who'd gone up against Tigers in Normandy. You got up close and personal with those bad boys. Preferably behind them.

Bundesarchiv

"Fritz, American tank at 2 o'clock!"

Feldwebel Fritz Weber traversed his sight to that position, there, just above the trees in the woodlot ahead was an American Sherman tank. As he cranked the turret to line up the shot, he heard his loader shout out...

"Panzergranate geladen³!" Gefreiter Georg Hansel, the tank's loader reached back into the shot locker for another anti-tank round in case Georg missed or if another tank showed itself.

"Horst, stop here."

Willi was watching the American, he was confident that the American saw him, his turret though wasn't pointing at them, it was pointed down the road. Probably the Yank meant to pot them when they rolled out of the other side of the woodlot.

"Fritz?" While he knew his gunner was ready, he wanted to make sure that he'd acquired the Ami tank.

"Ready Willi..."

"Dammit! Johnnie boy back it up, move! That Tiger has spotted us!"

The Sherman, built in Detroit six months ago, began to move quickly in reverse. All they had to do was move about ten ...

"Feuer!"

"Auf dem Weg!⁴" Fritz barked as the big 88mm gun belched and sent the big anti-tank round down range. As the gun recoiled back and spit the shell casing out, Georg kicked the spent brass out of the way and loaded another round.

"Panzergranate geladen!"

The 88mm round slammed into the mantlet of the Sherman, disabling the cannon and killing Teddy Wexford, the tank's loader. While the Tiger round didn't penetrate, it sent spalls off the tank's interior into the crew compartment, which is what killed Teddy and blinded Steve Baxter, the gunner.

John Reese, the driver, was screaming, "Billy, what the hell, what the hell..." over and over again. He kept the tank backing up though, as commanded. He didn't notice that his buddy Bob, the bow gunner, wasn't saying anything, he was slumped over his gun, unconscious from the concussion of the 88 slamming into them.

Willi blinked, the Sherman was still moving. He'd seen the sparks thrown off the enemy tank's turret when his shot had hit it. Yet it still moved.

Bringing his binoculars up, he could now see that the Ami tank's gun was cocked at an odd angle.

"Verdammt! Fritz you must have hit the mantlet! Scheisse!"

Dropping into his seat, Willi took command of the gun. Looking through his sight he saw that the Sherman was backing up, rapidly. As he laid the gun on the target, he saw the Sherman rear up, as if the back end had dropped into a depression behind it. For a moment the lower front of the enemy tank was exposed.

Willi almost felt guilty as he squeezed the trigger, this was too easy.

"What the ..." Sergeant Jenkins never had time to finish that thought as the next shot from the Tiger sliced through the front of his tank, hit the transmission, and then ricocheted up through the Sherman's ammunition storage. The shock and the heat detonated a smoke round, then a high explosive round. Jenkins was thrown out of his seat and back over the rear deck of the tank.

As the remainder of the ammunition cooked off, the surviving members of Billy Jenkins crew died instantly. Jenkins braced himself as he expected to be run over by his own tank, he lay there helplessly as "Maggie" lurched to a halt just inches away.

He rolled away as fast as he could, "Maggie" was starting to burn now, Shermans loved to burn. Panting he lay momentarily in the mud, staring at the wreck of his tank. He could feel bitter tears streaking his face, his men were dead, his tank was gone, and the freaking "defeated" Germans were coming out of the woods in force.

"Jesus ..." Jenkins prayed as he shuffled away from "Maggie." Off to who knows where ...

Willi ordered 413 forward. He could see the Sherman atop the next rise, burning vigorously. He thought he saw someone scramble away into the brush, probably one of her crew. Poor bastard.

¹ Attack my lads!"
² Ami - German slang for an American.

³ Antitank shell loaded!

⁴ On the way!

Panzer 413 (A Series Rerun - On the Road Again)

Southbound over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge
(Source)

The youngest member of the tribe turns 1 year old this week. As that part of the tribe is "only" 400 miles away, it's in attendance we'll be. So I've decided to rerun an old series of posts, a series which led to the writing of the book. (Which remains in stasis since the death of the laptop. The very latest copy was on the laptop's hard drive, the latest, but one, I have on a thumb drive. Guess what I was going to do that weekend the laptop died?)

Part One will commence in this post, the others will follow over the next few days (seven part series, I'll skip Monday, that's juvat's day) and should keep y'all "happy" until my return.

The rest of the gang (Tuna and Beans, sounds like a weird lunch special doesn't it) can feel free to chime in with their own posts, no problem with two posts in a day, is there? As I'm not bringing a laptop with me to Maryland, it's "smart" phone only, and I'm looking to spend time with family, that's why. (The reruns that is.)

Also granddog Kodi is having surgery on Thursday, she's a lab/pit bull mix and she's ten - so any surgery requiring anesthesia is a BIG DEAL - prayers would be appreciated.

She's a good dog.

Now the first part of the series ...

(Source)

"Oberfeldwebel! How long do we have to sit here with the engine off? I'm freezing my arse off!"

 "Krebs."

"Ja, Oberfeldwebel?"

"Slap Schmidt for me would you?"

Schmidt was a Grünschnabel, a rookie, he had only been with the crew of Panzer 413 for two months, straight out of the Panzerschule. Kid was only 18 years old, a volunteer! The rest of the crew had been together since '42. They'd lost their old commander when he went off to become an officer shortly after Arnhem. Everyone else had changed positions and poor Schmidt got stuck in the front as the radioman/bow gunner.

Now they were sitting in the dark, operating the engine periodically to keep the oil warm, waiting for the attack to jump off. Ten days before Christmas.

Willi was nearly nodding off when he heard the sharp rap on the hull. Stirring he popped his hatch open to see the face of his platoon leader, Hauptfeldwebel Müller.

"Crank her up Willi, we're about to move. Just waiting for the Landsers to clear the road ahead."

"Zu befehl Kurt! Fire up the engine Horst, lets get Schmidt warmed up for battle!"

Panzer 413 jerked forward onto the road. Tracks throwing up mud, Horst maneuvered into position behind Panzer 424. While he desperately wanted to sit below his hatch, he couldn't see anything due to the mud being thrown up by 424. The wet mist was clinging to everything, including him, and he was starting to shiver.

Willi was standing up in his commander's cupola, wishing he was the gunner once more, out of the wind. But 413 was now "his" Panzer, though the battalion commander, Major Lange, might disagree. It had been a long time since they'd rolled into the attack, most of the battalion was excited by the prospect.

Except for Schmidt of course, he was cold, he was damp, and he missed his home in the Harz Mountains so much. Last Christmas he had still been in school, home for Christmas with his parents and his sister. His oldest brother had been killed in action in 1941, fighting with Rommel in North Africa. His next oldest brother was still in hospital, recovering from the traumatic amputation of both legs below the knee when his Panther had been destroyed by an American Jabo (fighter bomber) near Falaise in France.

He had wanted to join up and fight the enemies of the Reich, but his father wanted him to finish school first. As Vati was a Party official, Schmidt had stayed home while nearly everyone else his age had already been swept up by conscription.

Tank school had been fun. But now he was at the front, the enemies of the Reich were much closer now. Fantasy had become reality. Reality was cold, drizzle, fog, bad food, and the distinct possibility of being killed or maimed in the days ahead.

As the tank rolled towards Luxembourg, all Schmidt could think was how badly he wanted to go home.

"Hey Sarge, you hear that?"

"Hear what Jackson? All I hear is the rain and you yapping."

"Tanks, I hear tanks."

"Bullshit."

Then Staff Sergeant Jones heard it too. The squealing of tank tracks and the low rumble of what had to be a tank engine. Multiple tank engines. He was staring down the road from where they had set up in a hasty position, a couple of mines, a rickety wooden barrier, and the barest amount of wire they'd grabbed from a farmer's barn in the village to their rear.

The sound was getting louder now, though it was still dark and the fog was thick, Jones figured that whatever was making that noise would soon roll into view.

Then the world erupted in fire and death.

Precisely on time, German artillery began slamming into American positions all along the Ardennes front. 10. 5 cm artillery rounds slammed into treetops, detonating and sending hot steel and wood splinters into the men clustered below. No one had had time to put up any overhead cover over their foxholes. Fortunately the trees were so thick that very few were wounded, but everyone had their heads down, waiting for the barrage to roll over them.

"Jackson, come on we gotta move!" Jones yelled as he grabbed Jackson's shoulder.

"Come on man!"

That's when Staff Sergeant Jones realized that Jackson wasn't going anywhere, ever. A wood splinter had been driven into the back of his neck, Jackson was a goner.

"Shit!"

Jones stayed low as he turned and ran down the track towards his company CP. But not low enough.

Gefreiter Pizzeck was the bow gunner in Panzer 424. As his tank rolled out into the open he saw movement just down the road. Swinging his machine gun in that direction, he squeezed out a short burst. Whatever had been there wasn't there anymore.

Staff Sergeant Jones, from Milwaukee, had been thrown into a patch of low brush by the burst of machine gun fire. He was trembling from the shock of it, he'd never been shot at before by someone actually trying to kill him. Oddly enough, he felt no pain, just sleepy, very sleepy.

Panzer 424 halted just past the rudimentary roadblock, after crushing it underneath 424's tracks. The tank commander, Leutnant Rolf Eberhardt, looked back towards 413 to see the second Tiger in the column right where he should be. To his right, in a shallow hole, was a dead American, just up the road, partially in the brush was another. Probably the man that Pizzeck shot at. Wasn't much left of him below the waist, Pizzeck's MG 34 had torn the soldier nearly in half at this range. He idly wondered where the man's legs were when a loud bang behind him made him turn.

Panzer 413's left track had rolled right over one of the mines Jones and Jackson had planted in the road. One of the links was shattered and the rest of the track had rolled right off the drive sprocket. For now, 413 was stuck, in the middle of the road, blocking the rest of the battalion from moving forward.

Eberhardt jumped down from his tank, right onto the second mine which Jones and Jackson had planted in the road. Though his weight shouldn't have been enough to set the mine off, a faulty fuse and the extra impetus from Eberhardt jumping down off his tank was enough to trigger the mine.

There was less of Eberhardt left than there was of Jones.

"Scheisse! Dismount, get that spare section of track off the turret, grab the tools, lets fix that track or no one is going to be advancing!"

As Willi's crew began to fix the busted track, Major Lange came up.

"What's the holdup Hoffmeister?"

"Mines Herr Major. We hit one, Leutnant Eberhardt stepped on another. We should have this track patched up in 30 minutes."

"Shit. I'm sending some engineers up to check for more mines. Watch your step!"

"Jawohl Herr Major."

Ewok Report: January - Addendum

The guided-missile destroyer USS Gravely (DDG 107) launches Tomahawk Land Attack Missiles in response to increased Iranian-backed Houthi malign behavior in the Red Sea Jan. 12, 2024. As a part of the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower Carrier Strike Group, Gravely is deployed to the U.S. 5th Fleet area of operations to support maritime security and stability in the Middle East.
(U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 1st Class Jonathan Word Source)

Just as I have sent my first report, a few new analyses showed up on my radar which can help with the understanding of global situation.

A focus on Red Sea actions, from a very good channel by US veterans, especially note the economics of war: using a million dollar missile is a bad investment when killing 10,000 dollar drone, unless you consider it saves 100 millions or more of wares aboard container ship (not to mention lives of those onboard).

North Korea rumblings in focus, with some other developments also covered.

And as a final addendum, news emerging of huge corruption in the PLA, even prestigious rocket forces.

My take is, Xi noticed how Russian corruption hurt their Ukrainian war, and went hunting corruption in his own armed forces. Good news, the corruption seems so big that any war against Taiwan might be postponed. Bad news, when the hunt is over, PLA will emerge more effective, and more loyal to Xi. This might take some time, though to produce the results Xi wants.

This is Ewok, out for now.

Updates on WX and Chems

 For those of you still working stiffs, let me warn you about an aspect of retired life that I hadn't known about until I pulled the handles.  If you're not very careful, it becomes very difficult to determine what day of the week it is.  One day just seems to be like the next or the day before or two months ago.  

My workaround is Sunday church.  Mrs J and I go to the early mass and then go have breakfast at a nice diner nearby.  Some of my former students work there,  which kinda helps you keep track of your own age.  "Geez, she had just turned 16 when she was in my class, now she's got two kids in elementary school!"

Ages ya, pretty quick!

Stay on Target, juvat!

On Target, aye, Sarge!

Where was I?  Oh yeah, Mass on Sunday.  The rest of the week is defined as one, two or three days since Sunday and three, two or one until Sunday.  Keeps me sane (-ish).

However,  my good friend, Winter Storm Heather, arrived a week ago (Sunday before last).  Freezing rain was the forecast, and since sunrise this time of year is ~0730, seeing any icy spots is problematic.  Ergo, we asked for papal dispensation for Mass that morning.  

Same weather forecast was announced for today, so we decided to go to Mass last night.  All is well and good, temps didn't really get much below freezing, and little to no rain.  

However, I am writing this a little later in the day as my usual Sunday schedule is Mass, Breakfast, Blog.  Since neither of the first two happened and therefore were not marked in my brain, I had a sudden realization later in the day, that "Aww, Crap!  It's blogging day and I'm behind the power curve."

But, here goes.

Managed to survive Heather's best.  The weather itself wasn't too bad where we live, thankfully.  We managed to avoid power loss and had no snow.  It did get a tad icy in places, but nothing horrible.  Monday and Tuesday the temperature didn't get above freezing and Monday it was in single digits.

Yeah, I hear ya!  "Here in (Insert Northern State name here), We go skinny dipping in single digit weather!"

Good on ya, Mate!  We don't.

We stayed home.  Mrs. J was able to take several long naps, more to follow.  I did a lot of research on turning things on the lathe.  As I said last week, that pen with the excellent finish didn't make it through the final couple of steps and, while functional, isn't going to leave my desk.  But, I did learn quite a few techniques on YouTube, so not a wasted period of time.

But, Heather did have two unfortunate effects on Rancho Juvat.  

First, we did have one busted water line.  Tuesday, I was driving to the mailbox to see what there was to see.  No ice/snow/water of any form on the road, so no big deal.  I was passing by one of our fields and noticed that there appeared to be ice out in the middle of it.  Stopped, got out and went to look.  Sure enough, there was ice in the middle of the field.  At that point, I couldn't figure out where the water had come from.  

The ice that's pointed at the top is the tire track.  The ice in the top left is where the crack is.  Neither of which I knew at the time.

 

I'm looking around and see a couple of tire prints in the dirt around the area.  A couple of months ago our "Hay Guy" had cut and harvested our coastal hay.  I suspected that the tire marks were from that event.  But, where did the water come from.  I'm looking around, see our old house (where LJW and Miss B live now.)  I had called earlier and checked that they still had heat and water and were doing ok. They were, so no answer there.  I continue looking around and our two guest houses still have water, so...Continue to sweep my view and next thing I see is our original well house.  I do a quick 180^o and low and behold, in an extended direct line from the well house to the ice is the old house.

The Well House is at the right end of the green line, the line break is the left end

 

So, I got back in the truck and drove back to the house and called our plumber.  I politely asked the lady taking calls that I knew they were probably busy, but I wanted to get on their list.  Explained the issue and my suspicions of what had gone wrong.  She said she'd get with the boss and see what he could do.  Not an hour later, I get a call from a strange number.  I say "Hello" and get a reply "Hello, Mister juvat, this is Thomas, I was one of your students when I was in HS.  I understand you've got a water problem and need my help."  

"Why yes, I do.  When do you think you'll be able to get here"

Wait for it....

"I'm on your property right now, where do I need to go?"

"Give me thirty seconds I'll be right there."

Have I ever mentioned that living in a smallish town definitely has its advantages?

I show them the problem area and they commence to digging.  About an hour later they say they've found the problem, but would need to shut off the water to the old house completely.  I call LJW and advise her on the situation.  She's OK with the water being shut off. So, I head back down and take a look at the pipe.  

I still don't understand why the old house still had water if the pipe was broken.  Thomas and his helper were still digging around the pipe as I drove up.  He explained that it was just a hairline crack caused when the tractor went over it, but it had been leaking for a couple of months and so the ground was pretty soft and providing little support for the pipe.  And the freezing temps hadn't helped.

So, cutting out the bad section and replacing it was the thing to do.  I gave him the go ahead.  I get another call about an hour after that, saying that the repair is done, but the glue needs a couple of hours to dry and they had another call.  They'd be back, turn the water back on, check for leaks and bury it again.

Which they did.  

 I asked if they did new projects.  They said they did, what did I need done.

Well, when we inherited the horses and built the barn, it was summer and we just dragged a hose over to the barn and attached a float valve to the hose end in the trough.  Worked like a champ for 4 years now.  

Until Heather.  

I'm braving the weather to go and feed the horses.  I happen to glance at the junction of the two hoses.  (It's about 200' from the house faucet to the barn, so 2 hoses.)  At the junction of the two, I see a large chunk of ice.

Aww, Crap!

Walk into the barn and look at the trough.  It's almost dry and the horses are looking a tad thirsty.  I happen to have a 5 gallon water bottle nearby, so dump that into the trough.  Fills it about a quarter of the way.  

So, I go back to the house, and google "How much water does a horse need to drink per day?"  5-10 gallons, more if the weather is too hot or too cold.  A gallon of water nominally weighs  8.33 Lbs.  So my 5 gallon jug weighs 40 Lbs+.

Carrying that about a hundred yards, while 40 years ago might not have been difficult, now and in freezing weather, not so much, and, at least 4 times a day, makes it even more fun.

We also learned that we had to portion it out into 4 or 5 trips spread over the day so we didn't cavitate the well at our house.

After explaining all that, Thomas asked if we wanted to install a pipe from our house well to the barn.  I told him that when he was in my class, I thought he was a very astute individual and that hadn't changed.  I asked him when he thought he could come take a look.  He said given Heather's impact it might be a couple of weeks.

Fortunately, the weather is a tad warmer and the hose plan is working again.  Although I do disconnect and drain it in the evening, so it doesn't freeze again.  

See, Sarge, old Fighter Pilots CAN learn from their mistakes.  

But....I am looking forward to a little construction between the well and the barn.

As are the horses.

To end with some Good-ish news.

Mrs. J had her 4th of 6 infusion sessions this past week.  Part of that process involves drawing some blood and doing the voodoo magic on it to find out the "numbers".  Well, when this whole cancer thing started a few months ago, her main indicator number was 12. (No, Suz, I have no idea what the name of that indicator is or what they're measuring.)  This visit it was 7.  Based on that, I assume Oncologists (AKA Cancer Doctors) take their golfing serious, because in this case, lower is better.  So...Thank You, Lord.  

Apparently, as I've never personally experienced it, just seen it in action, Chemo takes a lot out of you.

 Not out of the woods yet, but two more Chemo treatments, then a couple of months of Radiation and then see what's what. 

I/We really appreciate all the prayers all y'all are saying.  Please keep them up. At this point, they seem to be working.

Peace out, y'all!

The Needle Gun

Erstürmung der Düppeler Schanze Nr. 2
Wilhelm Camphausens
(Source)

Well, I finished the last episode of 1864 Saturday morning. Tried to watch all eight episodes Friday night, but ran out of energy around 2300. Off to bed I went and got up, had breakfast, then headed (with my coffee) "back" to Denmark.

This war took place at the same time as our own ACW was going on, so I was thinking percussion cap rifled muskets all the way. The Danes certainly were using them, there were some good scenes in the series of soldiers loading their rifles. Ripping the end off of the paper cartridges, pouring powder and ball down the muzzle, placing the cap on the nipple and BANG!

Only to do it all over again. There is one very good scene where the Danes are training, one soldier is standing off maybe 50 yards away, carrying a broom, of all things. Seems that the officers want to show the men why it's necessary to reload quickly.

One soldier simulates firing his rifle, then the guy with the broom starts advancing at him while the man with the rifle begins reloading. Man with broom has his war face on and is bellowing his war cry.

Long story short, man with broom shoves man with rifle to the ground, simulating bayoneting his hapless, reloading victim. Yup, load fast or die young.

Though I hadn't really thought about it, in the wee hours the thought came to me, "Did I see what appeared to be a bolt on the Prussians' rifles?"

Why yes, yes I did.

Note the huge bolt protruding from the rifle, how did I miss that?
Screenshot from 1864
Incidentally, that is the excellent German actor,
Ludwig Trepte, portraying a Prussian infantryman

Yup, there's a bolt on that rifle. So did the Prussians not use a muzzle loading rifle in 1864?

No, they did not, they used these -

The Dreyse continued in use until the Franco-Prussian War, only with the advent of metallic cartridges did the Dreyse fall out of favor.

An interesting artifact of war.

And some very nice detail on a very good period film. (Now I need to research why the Danish infantry are carrying short swords AND bayonets.)

Figure (b), you can the scabbarded sword hung with the scabbard for the bayonet.
Why both?
(Source)

And I'll leave you with that little mystery ...