Out of the Frying Pan ...

Source

"DOWN!!"

The men all went to ground at the call of one of the sentries posted along the riverbank. It had snowed the night before and from what the erstwhile sailors in the company were saying, the river could ice up before another 24 hours passed.

All those thoughts ran through Krafft's head as he watched the three Ilyushin Sturmoviks lazily following the curve of the river to their south. They passed to the north and out of sight. Krafft heard his lieutenant sigh.

"Sir?"

"Nothing seems to be going our way, Staber. Ivan has his aircraft up, Küstrin is being pounded, and we're on the wrong side of the Warthe."

It was true, in the direction of Küstrin could be seen towering columns of smoke by day and at night the horizon glowed from the fires in the city. Ivan was making a major push on the city, no doubt with a mind to eventually forcing their way over the Oder beyond the town.

They had put the boats ashore not long after boarding them and getting the engines running. They hadn't gone far when tracer fire from both banks of the river began crisscrossing through the air to their front. Von Zitzewitz had ordered the boats to the opposite bank of the Warthe, his reasoning being that at least that would be one river behind them. After looking at the map though, he realized that they had a new problem now.

"Dieter, we need to move away from the Warthe and head south, but then we need to cross the Postomfließ¹, I don't know if we can ford that, it's fairly wide." Von Zitzewitz shook his head at this new problem.

"Well, we need to get away from here. I hate leaving the boats but from the look of things, Küstrin has already fallen or will soon. Going there seems less and less an option."

"Agreed, so we strike south. Get the men ready."

It wasn't long before the company was retracing its steps back to the Warthe. The land between the two rivers was a network of small streams, swamps, and small lakes. Krafft realized that there was no hope of going that way. He just hoped that the boats were still there.

The boats were there, however they weren't alone.

Source

The lieutenant called out to the man standing atop one of the vehicles, scout cars from a Panzer Aufklärungsabteilung².

"How goes the war Oberfeldwebel?"

The sergeant turned and nodded at the lieutenant, "Not well I'm afraid. We're trying to retake Küstrin and we're getting our arses kicked." Then noticing that von Zitzewitz was an officer, he hastily added the word, "Sir."

"How did you get here? We were coming down the Warthe from Vietz. The plan was to relink with our forces at Küstrin, is that still possible?"

"Afraid not, Herr Leutnant, Zhukov's boys hold the city. If you come with us we have a pontoon bridge over the Postomfließ close to where it meets the Warthe, hopefully we still hold it. From there we can hopefully make our way through the suburbs then cross the bridge over the Oder. If it's still standing."

Von Zitzewitz shook his head, things were looking bad indeed.

The company had followed in the wake of the two armored cars, their sergeant apologized for leaving them but he had his orders. After the cars left, the sergeant and the lieutenant consulted the map.

"Maybe two kilometers?"

"Ja, Herr Leutnant. We should leave now, but if Ivan is over the Warthe, we'd be sitting ducks. And if that's the case, that pontoon bridge will be in their hands. I'm for waiting until nightfall, a short march in the dark and if needs be, we take the bridge by a coup de main."

"Are you serious, Dieter? We have, what, seventy men?"

"We get over the river, Sir, or we prepare to march to Siberia. Or we have no more worries as we'll be quite dead."

"Scheiße," the lieutenant muttered.

"Indeed, Sir. Nothing but ..."

The night was a long time coming, Krafft tried to sleep as best he could, to no avail. He had a strange dream during one bit of restless drowsing, he was back home in Köln, listening to his wife complaining about rationing.

He awoke with a start, how much food did they have left? Only what the men were carrying, he knew he had a little bit left, but if the bridge wasn't there, the next few days would be hungry ones.

Shortly after nightfall, they moved out. Lang and his little band of scouts, as he called them, led the way. After about two hours of struggling along the river bank, one of the scouts returned.

"Bridge is still there, Herr Leutnant. We saw the reconnaissance troops, they're at the bridge waiting for us. They have orders to blow it up, Unteroffizier Lang talked to their Oberfeldwebel, he said to hurry up, Ivan is starting to advance in their direction.

Before von Zitzewitz could say a word, Krafft was on his feet, "Double time lads, not a moment to waste!"

They were over the Postomfließ and moving towards the Oder. One of the armored cars had been destroyed at the bridge, the other had run out of fuel and was left behind. The reconnaissance Oberfeldwebel and his two crewmen had joined the company in their retreat.

"Name's Wagner, Gottfried Wagner." The Oberfeldwebel had managed to gasp as they ran for the Oder.

"Krafft, Dieter Krafft, pleasure to make your acquaintance. Come this way often?" he said with a gasping chuckle.

"Verdammter Komiker,³" Wagner answered with a groan.

In the distance they could see that one of the bridges over the Oder was still standing. Artillery fire could be heard and seen falling all over the far side of the river and in the Küstrin suburbs on the eastern side of the river.

"We just might make it," Krafft heard one of the men say.

Then he saw bright flashes all along the bridge, followed moments later by the sound of explosions. They were too late, the bridge was down.

Krafft stopped running, Wagner kept going but had turned to his left. He looked back and shouted, "Follow me, there's another pontoon bridge further south!"

The company followed the reconnaissance sergeant, von Zitzewitz fell back to run with Krafft, though now it was more of a shuffling jog.

"Still knee deep in it, aren't we Staber?"

"If life were easy, we wouldn't be soldiers, Herr Leutnant."

"Ja, vom Regen in die Traufe!⁴"

¹ The Postomia is a river feeding into the Warthe.

² Armored reconnaissance detachment/battalion.

³ Damned comedian.

⁴ Out of the frying pan and into the fire, literally "out of the rain and into the eaves. (The water dripping from those.)

The River

Source

As the sun set on another day, Krafft yawned. He was exhausted, yet he felt another sleepless night forthcoming. Kurt Lang had taken a patrol west to see where the Russians might be. He feared that the assault on Küstrin had already begun, which would mean they'd have to cross the Warthe and the Oder. Something which seemed unlikely in the extreme.

"Worried, Herr Stabsfeldwebel?" Rudi Müller asked with concern in his voice.

"Yes, Rudi, I am. Kurt is a capable guy. Leutnant von Zitzewitz was smart to make him an Unteroffizier, but I'm still concerned. The Ivans seem to be everywhere, while they are focused on Berlin, they're smart enough to watch their flanks as well. Kurt may poke his nose someplace the Ivans don't like."

Müller thought about that for a moment, then stated frankly, "He'll be back, the bullet that kills him hasn't been made yet."

Krafft shook his head, "I hope you're right, Junge."

While that conversation was taking place, some five kilometers ahead newly promoted Unteroffizier Kurt Lang was looking down on a Soviet roadblock, not far from the river. Odd place for such a thing, he thought.

He hissed at Gefreiter Kaufner, "Willi, slide down to your left a bit, is there anything going on at the river?"

Other than the sibilance of the grass as Kaufner slid over it, the night remained as silent as the grave. The sun had gone down not 30 minutes ago. The Ivans had been standing around, smoking and chatting as if they hadn't a care in the word. When night fell, they went quiet as if they knew something was "out there," something which wanted their destruction.

Hearing his man moving through the grass again, Lang turned in that direction.

His lips close to Lang's ear, Kaufner whispered, "You're not going to believe it, two boats are tied up to a makeshift pier. Three men are on duty there. That roadblock is to protect those boats I'll bet."

Lang realized that they now had a way across the river, provided they could get their hands on those boats.

"Willi, can you find your way back to the company?"

Kaufner nodded, "Aber natürlich."

"Go then, tell Krafft and the Leutnant that we have a way over the river, if they come up quickly and quietly, stress that 'quietly' bit, okay?"

"Bestimmt.¹"

Then without another word, Kaufner vanished into the night.

"A boat you say?" von Zitzewitz couldn't believe it.

"Boats, Herr Leutnant, two of them, fairly good size. I think what's left of us could fit aboard easily." Kaufner explained, the lieutenant seemed to act like they had all night to act on this intelligence.

"Well ..."

Krafft put his hand on the lieutenant's arm, "It's worth checking out, Sir. But we don't have all night. We need to get up there, check out the situation and seize those boats."

Von Zitzewitz nodded, "How many Ivans did you say, Schütze Kaufner?"

"Three guarding the pier, five more on the road."

Krafft chimed in again, "If we move fast, Sir ..."

Von Zitzewitz nodded, "Very well, Staber, get the men up and moving. You take 2nd and 3rd platoons, I'll have 1st and 4th behind you. Stress to the men that they must be as silent as the grave. Otherwise they'll be in one before dawn."

"Clear your chambers, weapons on safe. I don't want anyone's weapon going off accidentally. This will be spade and knife work. If you can't handle that, you can hang back with the overwatch section. Questions?"

Von Zitzewitz deferred to his sergeant for this task. He wouldn't have thought of having the men clear the chambers of their weapons. Krafft had asked him to stay with the thirty men detailed to the overwatch group. They would take position on slightly higher ground to keep the road, and the men on it, in sight.

Lang was taking six men down to the pier, Krafft would take twelve men down to deal with the road block. Krafft had a number of Russian speakers in his group who would, if necessary, take uniforms off the dead and pretend to be Ivans should the need arise. Von Zitzewitz hoped that wouldn't be the case.

Krafft had said to him, "Don't worry Herr Leutnant, this will work instantly or not at all. We have no idea what else Ivan has in the general vicinity. A shot is fired, someone screams, and we could have all of Moscow on us before you know it. That's why we're leaving half the company well back from this site. If it all goes to hell, they might still have a chance.

The men at the pier were overwhelmed without a sound. Lang and two others had waded into the Warthe and come up from under the makeshift pier where the two boats were tied up. Each man, chosen for their experience in hand-to-hand combat, had pulled "their" Russian into the river and viciously cut their throats, at the same time holding them underwater. The Ivans either bled out or drowned in very little time.

At the road things hadn't gone as smoothly. Rather than five men there had been six, one man, an officer, had been sleeping in a small vehicle when the attack went in. One of his men, nearly decapitated by a sharply swung entrenching tool had fallen heavily against the side of the vehicle. Waking the man within.

He had stumbled out into a scene of chaos. One of his men, sans head, was lying at his feet. He saw another of his men go down with his skull split by a German shovel. The only Russian to not go down quietly had screamed as a German combat knife slid across his throat. The knife had initially missed anything vital. The second stroke cut off the man's scream in the middle.

The Russian officer reached for his pistol then dropped to his knees with Krafft's knife embedded in his skull. Krafft's blow had been powerful and swift, the Ivan had died before his brain could process what had happened.

"Everyone present?" von Zitzewitz asked as he looked at his men in the dim lighting near the pier.

"Yes Sir, two men are still up at the road, watching for trouble. They didn't bother to change into Ivan's uniforms, they just doused the lights. They're both fluent Russian speakers, if anyone comes along, they can handle it."

Krafft was anxious to get in the boats and get moving. A couple of the men had been commercial sailors before the war, they told him that the boats were in good working order and had full fuel tanks, as far as they could tell in the dim light.

"Very well, Lang go get our boys from the road. Run!"

Lang sprinted off and moments later he and the two Russian speakers were back and climbing into the boats.

"Cast off."

Moments later the two boats slipped into the Warthe, engines silent as the sailors explained that the current would carry them down to the Oder. Before reaching the Oder, they would pass along the Küstrin riverfront. If still under German control they would be safe to proceed to the Oder, after checking in with Küstrin's defenders. Provided they weren't roped in to that town's defense, which von Zitzewitz considered likely.

Source

"Not trying to be funny, Herr Leutnant, but let's cross that bridge when we get to it."

Lang pointed out that if Küstrin was still part of the Reich and they weren't stopped, they could land on the other side of the Warthe and march over the bridge at Küstrin-Kietz.

"Good point, Kurt." Krafft then looked at his officer, "Sir?"

"Sounds like a plan. I doubt we'll get in trouble with the Feldgendarmerie. They'll be looking for single individuals trying to get over, not a formed body of troops."

"Let's hope so." Lang offered.

"Hope ain't a plan, Kurt. Sir, shall we get moving?"

The lieutenant nodded. Engines rumbling to life, the small band of German soldiers continued towards home, and the unknown.

¹ Certainly.

He said his name was "Vegas!"

Well Campers, it's been a long and, unfortunately, excruciatingly painful week. My trip and fall episode described last week is still in full afterburner.  CatScan didn't show any fissures nor did the X-ray.  Got an MRI scheduled for week after next. Then the Doc will see me.  He thinks it's probably Sciatica.  The pain starts above my hip radiates down my thigh, circles around the knee and heads on down to my calf.

Needless to say, I haven't had much continuous sleep.  An hour sleeping, then, an hour tossing and turning trying to find a comfortable position, another hour sleep....Rinse and repeat until sunrise.

Getting old (there's a lot of interpretations of that statement).

Obviously, there hasn't been an awful lot of good story telling adventures going on around here lately, and I know that you don't want to read any BMAC*. So you get a repost from wayback in 2014 in one of my first posts on Sarge's blog.  

 

VEGAS!

 

So there I was….stationed at Holloman AFB in lovely Alamogordo-by-the-sea NM. I’ve been married about a year now and my personnel officer bride and I have managed to align the moons of Jupiter and been assigned together.  She is working at the Consolidated Base Personnel Office (CBPO) and I am assigned to the 435^th Tactical Fighter Training Squadron (TFTS) as an Instructor Pilot (IP) at Lead-in Fighter Training (LIFT). (Yes, I was trying to expand Sarge’s Acronym Locker back then).The 435^th mission was to teach newly graduated pilots the basics of flying a fighter, and also trained existing fighter pilots in the AT-38B and qualified them as IPs.

I’ve completed instructor training (Ed Rasimus was my IP), and have been working as Squadron Scheduler.  Ed’s description of his Replacement Training Unit (RTU) scheduler, Wimpy, in “When Thunder Rolled” accurately describes a scheduler’s duties.

In any case, I’m building the schedule one day when the Squadron Commander walks in.  He’s one of the VERY few people allowed in the scheduling office when the schedule is being built.  Reduces distractions, eliminates the opportunity for pulling rank, bribery or blackmail to get on the schedule.  But the Squadron Commander is the boss, so he’s allowed.  Anyhow, he walks in and says “Juvat, old boy, I've got a good deal for you!”  Immediately I think “Shields to Maximum!  Ready all phasers and photon torpedos!”  I am attentive to his every mannerism at this point and, based on previous experience, am evaluating various escape routes.

He says “You know we’re getting a new DO (Director of Operations, the person in charge of all the Operational aspects of a Fighter Wing, an O-6, Full Colonel) shortly.  Because we’ll have to work around his schedule, and since you’re the scheduler, I want you to be his Instructor.”

Now, I need to go off track a bit to set the stage for what I envision is an opportunity to commit career suicide.  At this point in time, Tactical Air Command had instituted a policy which, to me, was absolute genius.  They modified the uniform regulation for flight suits so they could include a small patch on the sleeve showing a pilot’s experience level.  One silver colored star for every 500 hours of Fighter Time.  Additionally, a pilot would have a gold colored star if he had even 1 hour of combat time and would add additional gold stars for every 500 hours of combat time. 

There were a lot of Vietnam era pilots in the 435^th at the time.

Ed had at least 3 gold stars ( I think he might have had 4).  Most of the Majors and above had at least 2. 

Since I had a little less than 1000 hours in the F-4, I had one silver star.

The reason I thought this policy was genius, and undoubtedly the reason it was done away with, was you could instantly judge a senior officer’s credibility with a quick glance to his sleeve. Fighter Pilots judge credibility primarily on having employed weapons from a Fighter in anger, multiple times.  So an O-4 with 3 Gold Stars and 6 Silver stars (4000+ hours of flying time and at least 1000+ combat time, AKA Ed) had much more credibility than an O-6 with 2 Silver Stars (our Wing Commander at the time).

About now, Sarge is probably saying “Get ON with it, juvat!  We’re paying by the electron here.”  Back in the squadron, as I have now eliminated all possible escape routes as impossible, I’m thinking about the many different ways I can screw this up.  If he’s a rising star in the, as the Viet Nam Vets who "been there, done that" would say, Chair Force, I will probably run afoul of him because, well let’s just say, I’m not very tactful.  If he’s actually a Fighter Pilot (an attitude not an AFSC), what is little ol’ minimally experienced ME gonna teach him?

But, the die is cast; I am to be his IP.  The day of his arrival is now upon us, and I happen to be looking out the window when I see a brand new Corvette sweeping into the parking lot.  By sweeping, I mean driven as a Corvette should be driven, with authority! Out steps the driver who jams his flight cap on his head at the requisite Fighter Pilot angle and with the Fighter Pilot crush at the back. 

Robin Olds, NOT Vegas, but the flight cap is right.

A quick glance at his sleeve, 3 golds, 6 silvers.  He’s been there, done that!

He strides into the squadron like he owns it (which technically he does), and the squadron is called to attention.  Bellows “As you were”.  Walks up to me sticks out his hand and says “Juvat, I’m Vegas” I reply…..”Pleased to meet you, Sir.”  We sit down and I begin the flight briefing for his first ride.

The Instructor Pilot program at LIFT was divided into 2 parts, aircraft qualification and Instructor qualification.  Aircraft qualification was 5 flights, 3 in the front and 2 in the back followed by a check ride.  Successfully completing the check ride meant you were qualified to fly the aircraft.  The front seat rides were for practicing aircraft handling as well as landings.  The back seat was for instruments.  Landing from the back seat was taught after the check ride as part of the instructor qualification.

So, for Vegas’ first ride, we’re going to go out to the area and do a little acro then some stalls and falls, then return to the base and beat up the landing pattern.  We get suited up and walk out to the jet, fire it up and taxi it out.  The AT-38 was a pretty sweet little jet and performed the LIFT role well, but takeoff at Holloman on a hot summer day was often exciting.  Holloman’s field elevation was 4000’, which meant that a lot of runway 22’s 12000’ was needed. 

Vegas gets us airborne and flies the departure like he’s been doing it for years, we get through the advanced handling without me demo’ing any of the maneuvers, the man has golden hands.  Back into the pattern, pitch out, configure, on airspeed in the final turn, touch down on the numbers on speed.  Power back up; go around, another perfect landing and another and another.  Full stop and taxiing back in, I’m trying to figure out what to say in the debrief.  I can’t say “Got nothin’ Boss, great ride!” without appearing like a suck up, but that’s what it was.  However, we get into the debrief and he starts with “Man, I think I was about 2 knots fast on that first touch and go……” and proceeds to conduct his own debrief.

Second ride is in the back seat, he wants to do the takeoff.  Smooth as glass.  We head to Roswell to shoot an approach.  That penetration and approach was pretty tricky, there’s a big descent to make a hard altitude and if you’re not paying attention, your airspeed can get away from you, making the rest of the approach difficult.  More than one pilot has busted a check ride on that approach.  His approach was textbook. 

At one point in my life, I could read this.  Now, pretty much Greek.

We get back to Holloman and I’m looking forward to maybe getting SOME stick time at least with the landing, but NOOOOOOO.  Vegas asks if he can do the landing.  Greases it.  I’m glad I let him land, might have been embarrassing.

So this goes on for rides 3 and 4.  I’m learning more from him than the other way around.  We’re now heading back into the pattern on ride 5, his last ride before the qual check.  I’m very relaxed.  He pitches out, configures, comes around the final turn and we’re over the overrun, but a few knots slow.  I notice the nose start to rise a little sooner than I expected as he begins the flare and the throttles start coming back.  BAM, we smack down on the runway.  Power comes up, we complete the touch and go and get cleared for a closed pattern (pitch up to downwind from the end of the runway rather than go out to the pattern entry point and reenter traffic).  I’m thinking, what the heck was that, a fluke?  Configure, start the final turn, rollout.  And the same thing happens again.  Too slow+Early Flare=Hard Landing.  We've got gas for one more pattern so I can’t demo. If he doesn't land correctly this time….He doesn't.  If anything the full stop was worse.  So much so, that we’re taxiing on the runway longer than usual.  He asks me “How was that?”  

The mind is racing.  Decisions, Decisions…

“Well, sir, I think you need another ride.”  He says, “Can we do that? How?”  I say “I bust you on this one.”

 Silence.

I’m thinking, well at least McDonald’s is hiring.

After clearing the runway, we typically would call back to the squadron with the Aircraft status (Code 1-fully operational, music to Sarge’s ears, rarely happened; Code 2-flyable, but some problems; Code 3- not flyable without repairs) and the mission status (T3C -Student Passed, T2M- mission unsuccessful Maintenance, a needed system was inop, T2W- Unsuccessful Weather and T2S- Unsuccessful Student non-progress). Hard Landings have to be written up, so the jet is Code 2.

“Black Eagle ops, Juvat, Code 2, T2S” 

“Juvat, Black Eagle Ops, say again” 

“Black Eagle ops, Juvat, Code 2, T2 Sierra” 

“Standby Juvat”

“Juvat, Black Eagle One (the commander), say reason for T2S”

Before I can respond, the DO gets on the radio from the front seat and says “If my IP says I busted this ride, I busted this ride!”

I’d follow him through the gates of Hell.

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 his O-6 counterparts 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 on his last ride before his check ride.  Apparently, he had forgotton 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.

Update: Vegas was an outstanding Leader, Fighter Pilot and Friend! Unfortunately, he's no longer with us.  I can only hope that the afterlife has fighters up there and I can get there and spend eternity flying and fighting with and against him.  THAT is my definition of Heaven.

 

 

 *Bitchin', Moanin', and Complainin' 

 

All Work and No Play ...

Ghost of Tsushima
In game screenshot

"Hi, my name's Jack."

Okay, it's not but you get my drift, I hope. After a couple of days of working in the yard and slaving over a hot keyboard, I've decided to take today off.

With the new computer I can now play all the many computer games I bought (like the one above) for my high powered, "yes, I'll melt in 20 minutes" laptop, which, as you know, didn't work out so well.

With the new liquid-cooled Maxim machine gun, er, I mean new liquid-cooled gaming desktop I can game as long as I want without the aroma of melting/hot plastic wafting into my nostrils. Especially as The Missus Herself is visiting family in Korea. So while I miss her very much, I don't really miss the "are you going to be on that computer all night" remarks.

Right now, if I want, I can safely answer that question with, "Yes, I just might."

So for now, I'm going to play.

Go read the folks on the sidebar, it's why they're there. (Their blogs, that is. I've always wanted to drop the three versions of that word in close proximity. Mission accomplished.)

So, I'll be back on Tuesday trying to get those Germans across the Oder River.

Oh, one last thing, why is everyone on the Book of Faces going batshit crazy? Jeebers people, calm the f**k down. And no, you don't need to comment on that, it's just an observation from this correspondent who uses the Book of Faces to stay in touch with family and friends. The non-insane ones at any rate.

Be seeing you.

Withdrawal

Bundesarchiv

It took Krafft a few moments to figure out where he was. His ears were ringing and his head was throbbing. Then it all came back to him, the Ivans had saturated the area with Katyusha rockets.

"I guess they really want this village," he muttered as he tried to get up.

Lang put a hand on him, "Slow down, Dieter. You are probably concussed."

Krafft could see the man's lips moving, but he couldn't hear him. He pointed to his own ears and shook his head, which was a mistake. His head really hurt.

"Rudi, help me get the Stabsfeldwebel on his feet. We need to get him out of here."

"Lang, Müller! Is Krafft okay?" Leutnant von Zitzewitz came into the ruined barn and looked around. "We need to get moving before Ivan shows up."

Krafft managed to stand, he swayed a bit but managed to stay upright. He felt something wet on the left side of his face, he reached up. His hand came away bloody, the hearing in his right ear seemed to be coming back, but the left? Nothing.

He felt a hand on his sleeve, he looked up, it was his lieutenant.

"Can you hear anything, Dieter?"

Krafft held his hand out palm towards his officer and said, "A little, in my right ear. I think the left is gone."

The lieutenant leaned in and took a quick look, "Probably a punctured ear drum, can you walk?"

Krafft looked around, where was his weapon? Another hand on his shoulder this time, he looked over, it was the kid, Müller. He was handing him a StG 44.

"Danke, Rudi. Yes Sir, I can walk, the dizziness is passing."

"We need to move and we need to move now." The lieutenant was insistent.

"Right. Where to?" Krafft thought the woods to the north might be a good idea. The lieutenant did not.

"We'll head to the river, the Warthe leads to the Oder and we need to get across. Ivan will stick to the roads. I thought about the forest to the north, but it'll take too long. I think the Warthe is our only chance."

Krafft knew better than to move his head too quickly, so he just said, "Führen Sie den Weg, Herr Leutnant.¹"

The village had been in rough shape before the Soviet rocket attack, now it was nearly completely shattered. What was left of the buildings was burning, rubble was strewn everywhere. Krafft turned to Lang.

"What did I miss? How long was I out?"

"Just a few hours, Dieter. Von Zitzewitz brought our men back from the flank, we lost two guys over there, just in time to have the rockets start landing. They're not real accurate, but they fired a lot of them. Both Panzers were damaged, mostly the running gear, and von Tetz was killed."

"How many men do we have left?"

"Seventy-five, give or take. We haven't really had the chance to call the roll."

"Seventy-five? We had a hundred and five men just three days ago! Losing two doesn't ..." Krafft stopped talking, they must have lost some men in the rocket barrage.

"We did lose a few killed thanks to Katyusha, a few more probably ran off."

They walked quietly once they had crossed the road and entered the fields where von Zitzewitz had laid his trap for the Russian column. Overgrown, a number of woodlots, it made Krafft a little more comfortable, at least it wasn't wide open steppes as he remembered in Russia.

"Dieter." Lang hissed at his sergeant.

"What?"

"Von Zitzewitz knows about Schultz."

"Knows what?"

"Lang stopped and put his mouth close to Krafft's good ear, "He knows you killed him."

"How?"

"No idea, all I know is he came to me and said, 'Keep Krafft out of trouble, we can't kill everyone who stands in our way. As much as we'd like to.'"

Krafft was dumbstruck, the lieutenant was a lot smarter than he gave him credit for.

The Warthe River, near Vietz.
Source

Leutnant von Zitzewitz held up his fist, "We camp here for the night. The Ivans will look further up the river for any stragglers. Provided they come back this way at all." As the men prepared hasty fighting positions, the lieutenant walked down the column, getting the men moved up to the riverbank and also looking for his sergeant.

He saw Krafft, Lang, and Müller bringing up the rear. He told Lang and Müller to move up to the riverbank, he also informed Lang that he was now an acting sergeant.

"But Sir ..." Lang protested.

"The war is nearly over, I need help getting these men home, you've shown leadership ability which I suspected you had. I've seen your records, distinguished record in Poland and France, started out well in Russia then court-martialed for assaulting an officer, an SS officer no less. Then the penal battalions, I'm surprised you survived that. I'm promoting you to help me get the men home, I'm not making you stay in the Army or anything. Soon we won't have an Army at any rate."

Lang started to speak, but von Zitzewitz shook his head and said, "Go do your job, Unteroffizier Lang."

As the two men moved off, von Zitzewitz turned to Krafft, who braced for what was to come.

"So Dieter, administering your own form of justice again, I hear."

"Sir, I can explain ..."

"No. No, you can't. We all fired on the Feldgendarmerie, you and you alone murdered a German officer. Certainly it was a heat of the moment thing, but it was murder nevertheless. Schultz wasn't that bad a man, bossy yes, thought he knew it all, yes. An Arschloch, most certainly yes. But a bad man? No. However, you did it for the benefit of your own men. As I told Lang, the war is nearly over. All I care about is surviving and helping my men to survive."

"Jawohl, Herr Leutnant, I understand."

"No more summary justice, Stabsfeldwebel Krafft. If you do, make sure you kill me as well, for I will certainly kill you. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good, now let's figure out how we're going to go down the Warthe undetected, then get across the Oder. We need to link up with our own forces soon."

"Why Sir, why not just keep going west?"

"I'm still thinking about that, Krafft. I'm still thinking. Now go, rejoin the men."

As he set off, Krafft felt oddly okay with himself. No one had chewed his arse in a long time. Thinking about things objectively, he certainly had needed it. The lieutenant had surprised him.

When did von Zitzewitz get so smart?

¹ Lead the way, lieutenant.