Impasse (The Red Gambit Series) (49 page)

The 415th had spent
a few hours in the company of survivors from the 412th Mechanised Brigade, from whom they had heard of the brutal actions of their opponents, excessive even for the hated SS. Their anger grew and grew with every new story.

They brought it all to the Battle of
La Petite Pierre.

In the
two-storey house that Rettlinger had selected, fighting was still in progress on the upper floor, where six of his soldiers valiantly resisted all attempts to force the landing, which open space was littered with dead and dying Siberian infantry.

Incensed, they scaled the exterior as best they could
, and stormed into the occupied spaces, overrunning the defence.

The two men who survived the assault were hacked to pieces with knives and spades in a frenzy of revenge.

Meanwhile, Rettlinger assembled a scratch force to counter-attack.

The MG42 did its work magnificently, slashing at any movement in the windows
, and keeping the defenders cooped up.

Rettlinger had gathered a dozen men to him. His three officers, eight of
his Legionnaires, and a French war correspondent who had attached himself to the Legion Battalion.

His protestations ended when Derbo removed his camera
and replaced it with an American grease gun.

“
There’s no fucking civilians today, newspaper man. It’s kill or be fucking killed. Stick with us, and remember who’s side your on!”

He quickly sketched out a plan
, and the small group attacked, intent on implementing a swift and violent assault.

Before they set off on Spectrum Black, o
ne of Derbo’s NCOs had ‘acquired’ a case of British No 77 grenades from a Spanish infantry unit's supply dump. Each man in the group, not including the reporter, had two.

Four were used to create a smoke screen, greyish-white smoke mixing with the snow to create an almost continuous vista of nothingness.

Avoiding the centre of the developing smoke, the group rushed forward, each window receiving at least one of the white phosphorus smoke grenades, whose other ability was to encourage fire.

With four of his men acting as a security force, Derbo oversaw the slaughter
, as Soviet infantrymen tumbled out of doors and windows, driven out by the unforgiving smoke and growing flames.

Each was shot down without mercy, even the Correspondent
relishing his turn in the killing.

The security force established themselves in a small position to the front of the burning house
, as Rettlinger led his reduced group towards the anti-tank position.

Checking that the gun was still capable
of being used, and that the enemy had been driven off, he took his group back to his headquarters.

Lavalle, until recently stretched out on a pile of cushions salvaged from the wrecked lounge furniture, wiped the sleep from his eyes, and tried to get into the operations area without bashing into too many sharp edges.

Summoned by one of his Lieutenants, he arrived in the midst of organised panic, as Derbo
’s message had been followed by others, all indicating a major Soviet counter-attack in progress.

A coffee was pressed into his hand, the orderly so intent on moving on quickly that he knocked the steaming mug, causing a surge of brown liquid to splash up his commander
’s shirt, scalding the skin underneath.

Lavalle did not notice, his attention fully
focussed on the situation map that was in a state of flux, his staff correcting and adding information with each new report.

The same Lieutenant who had so rudely awakened him presented him with a written message.

It was from Molyneux and he expected it to be about as much use as a chocolate fireguard.

He was right.

‘Resolve the situation immediately... Counter-attack... Push back the enemy...la la la... You’re a fucking idiot, mon General.’

The message found its way into the round metal
‘filing cabinet’ that the clerks emptied every couple of hours or so.

“
Get me General Pierce.”

“Right, listen in, people!”

Pierce
’s voice brought an instant quiet to the chaos.

“
General Lavalle’s ordered us to hold in place pretty much everywhere, create a mobile reserve force in case the enemy needs his fat ass moving outta our positions, and hang on tight to Camerone and Alma on our southern border there.”

He pointed at the map and eyes automatically followed his gesture.

“We also got us another mission. Some of our Legion friends have gotten into a whole heap of trouble at Dossenheim, Petite Pierre, and Neuwiller. You can see that we can’t let that stand.”

Moving closer to the main map, he tapped each location in turn.

“If the commies overrun those points then we are in deep shit... and I do mean deep shit.”

He looked at Greiner, just back from the radios. He raised an eyebrow of enquiry and was greeted with a shake of the head.

‘Godfuckingdamnit!’

“
We've no contact with Dossenheim, so we gotta assume that we'll have to push the Reds out of it. That’s where we’ll focus our main force.”

He listed many of the small units that had been held in reserve, a tank
platoon here, a mechanised infantry platoon there.

“
Get them formed up and on the road a-sap. We should have air today, which will help for sure. Now, the boss is sending a full RCT from the 2nd Indian Head to bust through to Petit Pierre from the north.”

He turned back to the map to consider Neuwiller
and La Petite Pierre.

“
Ok, so maybe they will get there in time, but seems to me they’ve some hard yards there, and the enemy ain’t getting any sweeter.”

Pierce leant over the map again.

“So, I believe it will fall to us to do both the deeds, and we need to scare up some assets.”

He grimaced as he recognised two notations
in prime position.

‘
Shit.’

“
George.”

Lieutenant Colonel George S Williams, commander of the 2nd Ranger Battalion, had already worked it out and knew what was coming.

“Yes, Sir.”

His voice betrayed him.

“You got Neuwiller and Petite Pierre, George. Just get in there and keep them ours. The Legion boys are having one hell of a time.”

Pierce wished it could be otherwise
, but the 2nd Rangers was it. He still tried to sweeten the pill.

“
I’ll shake you out some armored support... and some artillery too, George.”

“
Yes, Sir.”

“
Your orders are to move to Petite Pierre, through Neuwiller, as quickly as possible. You’ll defend both villages in harness with the Legion Mountain Battalion in situ... and you will not, repeat not, relinquish your hold on them. When the 2nd Division arrives, then give ‘em Pierre, and focus on Neuwiller. Are we clear, George?”

“
Yes, Sir.”

The 2nd Rangers had been to hell and back over the last few days
, and had been placed in a rear position to recuperate. The Soviet counter-attack changed that but they, as well as their commander, were tired and washed out.

Pierce knew this
, but difficult decisions are always the privilege of rank.

“
Good luck, George. Get your boys moving. I’ll send the support to... Griesbach... to rendezvous with you.”

Williams saluted and turned on his heel, followed
by the other Ranger officer. Both men had arrived the evening beforehand to plead in person for some reinforcements and time out of the line, and now left with a half-cocked mission that would cost more Ranger lives.

As he watched their backs, Pierce felt a spreading chill of
belief that he was sending them into the fires of hell.

‘
Goddamnit!’

Daring to venture outside once more, Rettlinger rolled across the small gap and
crawled up behind the MG position.

He came to rest face down in the crotch of the loader.

The former SS-Gebirgsjager was quite dead, a small trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth being the only indicator of his passing.

“
Just happened, Sturmbannfuhrer. Fucking mortar round.”

To his front
, the building was burning fiercely, adding to the illumination from other fires that were gradually claiming Petite Pierre from end to end.

Cradling the ammo belt
in his left hand, Ackerman pulled the weapon’s trigger, sending round after round into a group of enemy soldiers forming for a rush.

“
Could do with some more ammo, Sturmbannfuhrer.”

Casting his eye around, Rettlinger could only see the one belt
, and that was around the fresh corpse.

Pulling the man up, the cause of death became apparent as the head lolled to one side
, and a huge hole was revealed in the rear of the soldier’s skull and neck.

Derbo clipped the fifty round belt to the end of the one already inserted into the deadly machine-gun.

“I’ll get more to you as soon as I can.”

Rettlinger didn
’t wait for a response and threw himself back across the gap and into the doorway of the headquarters.

Scrambling further inside, he grunted in pain, his
wounded arm announcing its displeasure at a thumping impact with the doorframe.

“
Sanders! Grab as many of those as you can carry and act as loader on the ‘42 outside.”

The Sergeant, once an Oberscharfuhrer in the 24th SS Gebirgs Division
“Karstjager”, moved swiftly to obey, snatching up four boxes of ammunition and disappearing from sight.

“
What news, menschen?”

“
General Pierce’s coming from the east; he’s moving his forces now, Commandant. Nothing from the western force, but  we are assured they are on their way.”

The French officer was clearly rattled but still doing his job, not prepared to let his country down in the face of the Germans.

“Good. And us?”

Milke, the Battalions Operations officer, produced a hand drawn map.

“Sturmbannfuhrer. This is our perimeter. We may still be able to breakout to the south-west... if you order it.

The short Captain waited for a moment to let Derbo think on that.

“Do we have orders to withdraw, Hauptsturmfuhrer?”

“
No, Sir. General Lavalle’s orders are to remain in place for as long as possible. This is an important junction, and it protects the Amerikan Panzers rear.”

“
Then we move on to matters of defence.”

“
Sturmbannfuhrer, the untermensch penetrated our lines here, here, here, here, and here. We have counter-attacked successfully here and here. They still hold these other positions. For now, the enemy attacks have stopped.”

“
Reserves?”

“
Us.”

That drew laughs from the veterans present, which bemused the French reporter, whose German
language skills were insufficient to share the joke.

The camera now shared the shoulder quite comfortably with the grease gun, the thrill of killing a new and wondrous thing to him.

Rettlinger consider the sketchy map.

“
Well, we must have some bodies. Take them from here, where we have not yet been pressed. One in three... and here also... but make it one in five only. That should give us,” he made the quick calculation. “Thirty-two men.”

Milke made it less
, but he would manage to find the extra bodies to make his commander’s maths a reality.

“
Right, that’s one twenty man storm group. Who to command?”

All but the reporter stepped forward.

“Koch. Plug any hole, retake any position. Reform your men once the situation is restored. Klar?”

“
Zu befehl, Sturmbannfuhrer.”

“
The remainder will be positioned here under my command. Any questions?”

The M
ountain Battalion made its preparations for the next bloodletting.