A Cold Winter Knife

[Anton Maas]

Terrain: The dense, frozen forest of the Ardenne
Time: 14:00
Weather: Overcast, cold, foggy and snowing

Pvt. Staub didn’t so much drive the German supply truck towards the stalled Ardenne Offensive, as pray that a tree, rock, or other obstacle didn’t suddenly emerge from the white soup that surrounded him and his cargo and end their trip short. Although he didn’t want to have first hand experience on the kind of explosion that occurs when a truck loaded with munitions and petrol has a high-speed, front-end collision, he didn‘t have much choice. He was under direct orders to bring his ’precious cargo’ to the frontline as fast as possible, which was sitting still beside him, snug under a few layers of blankets in the unheated cab as the Private shivered in his common cotton uniform.

The sudden jerk of a front wheel plowing into a pothole in the worn-out dirt road dragged the young Kriminalinspektor, Gustav Messer, from his deep sleep. For a moment he smacked his dry lips together and looked around, thinking back about where he was. Then he remembered, and frowned. He wasn’t the kind of man that enjoyed a country drive through the forest, especially to the front to inspect the troops. He wasn’t an outdoor person at all, really. Nor did he like the cold. Or trucks. And taking corners at a breakneck speed brought the sort of memories he drank to forgot. And he didn’t have a drink.

“Was versuchen Sie, privat zu tun?“ Kriminalinspektor Messer growled to his driver, ” Töten Sie uns? Verlangsamen Sie sich, oder wenn ich nach Berlin zurückkehre, werde ich Sie anhalten lassen, um dem Helfer den Feind zu versuchen.” It was a hollow threat, but it worked and the truck slowed to a speed that gave Staub some control over which bump or dent would stress the suspension. Gustav took the extra 30 minutes added to the trip to fantasize about what charge he could stick on whatever General Staffer decided to bring up his enlistment in the Allgemeine-SS for this assignment.

Behind schedule, the truck finally reached it’s destination, the frozen encampment of the once glorious 21st Panzer Division, who’s tanks were out of gas and men were out of will. Gustav was there to change that. And he thought about the best approach to urge the men forward as he climbed out the truck and surveyed the platoon, the snow covered and worn out men shivering in their holes. Messer frowned at the despicable state of the German Army. He scowled at the heavy snow blotting over his clean uniform, then grimaced at the truck’s logo, and spat as he remembered the last time he rode in an Opel.

Men began to unload the much needed supplies and Gustav just watched them with disgust on his face as he tried his best to brush off the snow that fell on the sleeves and shoulders of his old fashioned SS uniform, the slick black style of the late 30’s standard. His prized red armband finished his outfit, and if it wasn’t so foggy, would make him an Allied sniper’s wet dream. Staub had that thought and brought over a trench coat and asked the Kriminalinspektor to wear it for his safety. Gustav would have none of that.

”Nein!” Messer grabbed the trench coat and tossed it into the snow, ”Angst ist so viel wie eine Waffe als eine Kugel. Ich bin nicht dabei, mein Leben oder meine Dignität heute zu verlieren. Finden Sie mich jetzt den verantwortlichen Offizier.”

-Translations-

Was versuchen Sie, privat zu tun? Töten Sie uns? Verlangsamen Sie sich, oder wenn ich nach Berlin zurückkehre, werde ich Sie anhalten lassen, um dem Helfer den Feind zu versuchen.

“What are you trying to do, private?“ Kriminalinspektor Messer growled to his driver, ” Kill us? Slow down or when I return to Berlin I’ll get you arrested for attempting to aide the enemy.”

Nein! Angst ist so viel wie eine Waffe als eine Kugel. Ich bin nicht dabei, mein Leben oder meine Dignität heute zu verlieren. Finden Sie mich jetzt den verantwortlichen Offizier

”No!” Messer grabbed the trench coat and tossed it into the snow, ”Fear is as much as a weapon as a bullet. I’m not going to lose my life or my dignity today. Now, find me the Officer in Charge.”

[Dietrich von Kriegstahl]

The back of the abandoned troop truck had been converted into a rather comfortable living space for Leutnant Kriegstahl. The vehicle had ran out of fuel countless weeks ago, and any precious gasoline handed out was used for the giant Panzer tanks laying like steel goliaths around the clearing. The bed of the truck was covered with a large tarp covered with several layers of blankets. The opening at the end was covered by two quilts that made a heavy cloth doorway, retaining all the heat that was produced by Dietrich, but unfortunately the precious warmth was not common. The sheltered bed was musky and dark, hardly high enough for a grown man to stand up without bending his knees. The only light came from a covered oil lamp perched on a makeshift desk, a solid monolith made up of two empty crates and a board. Maps and aerial photographs were strewn everywhere, tacked up on the tarp, or piled on his desk. Kriegstahl sat on a small barrel next to his writing surface, writing feverishly on a single piece of paper. His rapidly graying hair was matted and wild, sticking out at bizarre angles. He wore the standard officer’s wool uniform of a German soldier, but it was almost unrecognizable under the caked mud and frosty fabric.

Dietrich heard the trucks coming before anyone could fetch their officer. He was eager to receive whatever the Fuhrer had found fit to donate, praying with mad fervor that it was gasoline and food. Kriegstahl stood up, stretching his cold-paralyzed muscles before reaching for his dark greatcoat and slipping the heavy, warm garment on. Buttoning up his coat with one hand while pulling an officer’s cap tightly over his head Dietrich wondered who was delivering the supplies this time. Last week it had been a Hitlerjugend who wouldn’t even be allowed to drive before the war.

Kriegstahl grabbed his MP-40 before moving aside the quilt doorway and hopping onto the ground, walking towards the supply truck parked near the edge of the snowy forest. A member of the Gestapo was screaming at poor Pvt. Staub. “Was das Bumsen dieses Bastardtun ist...” Dietrich whispered under his breath, walking swiftly towards the supply vehicle.

TRANSLATION

What the fuck is this bastard doing…

[Anton Maas]

Covered with more frozen mud then wool, the leutnant that appeared from his makeshift HQ and began to walk towards the Kriminalinspektor looked more like a golem of Jewish lore then a platoon commander. Oddly enough, Gustav could recognize the face hidden behind the smudges of dirt and blood. When he had first met the now frozen 2nd lieutenant, it was a beautiful time for the Third Reich, it’s armies were making great strides in the Eastern front and North Africa, and Messer himself was serving Germany and the Fuehrer in the best way he knew how, by arresting communists and other subversive persons in such beautiful places as Paris, Rome, and Amsterdam. But oh how the times had changed, the unrelenting Allied advance had captured all of those places and he now was standing in the middle of a frozen hellhole to try and find why they were losing the war. From a man who once had suspected ties to Jewish Bolsheviks no less. This certainly would not be a happy reunion.

“Ah, Leutnant Kriegstahl,” Messer bent his right arm at the elbow and flicked his hand back as he spoke, not so much words but German growls fled his dry, coarse throat, “Heil Hitler. Ich sollte angenommen haben, dass Sie an der Front dieser Marktbude der Operation sind. For the moral of the men, the Gestapo agent wisely decided not to bring up the circumstances of their last encounter, only insinuate. "Glücklich für Sie bin ich nicht hier in meinen offiziellen Kapazitäten als ein Kriminalinspektor in der Gestapo. Aber eher bin ich hier im Auftrag Der Fuehrer und Berlins, um nachzuforschen, warum zum Teufel Ihr Fortschritt angehalten hat. Sie sollten die Vosges Berge inzwischen durchbrochen haben. In Blitzkreig, der stillsteht, ist ebenso unverzeihlich wie das Zurückziehen.”

-Translations-

Ich sollte angenommen haben, dass Sie an der Front dieser Marktbude der Operation sind

I should have expected you to be at the front of this stall of the operation

Glücklich für Sie bin ich nicht hier in meinen offiziellen Kapazitäten als ein Kriminalinspektor in der Gestapo. Aber eher bin ich hier im Auftrag Der Fuehrer und Berlins, um nachzuforschen, warum zum Teufel Ihr Fortschritt angehalten hat. Sie sollten die Vosges Berge inzwischen durchbrochen haben. In Blitzkreig, der stillsteht, ist ebenso unverzeihlich wie das Zurückziehen

Lucky for you I am not here in my official capacities as a Kriminalinspektor in the Gestapo. But rather I am here on behalf of Der Fuehrer and Berlin to investigate why the hell your advance has stopped. You should have broken through the Vosges mountains by now. In Blitzkreig standing still is just as unforgivable as retreating,