To Hell and Back (Luther)

[§:Sebastian Schweinsteiger]

Country: Bastogne, Belgium
Current Time: 0600
Weather Conditions: Frigid cold, snow on the ground, but clear skies.


December 26th, a day after Christmas. What Christmas? This was hell. This was Bastogne, and once thriving town in Belgium torn now in the midst of the Ardennes’ Offensive. It was now a crater of a city, being completely destroyed through constant battering by the Sherman tanks of Patton’s Second Armor Division. Up until this point, an Axis victory seemed at hand. The allies were surrounded, and though, as exhibited by General Anthony McAulliff’s defiant cry of “Nuts!”, it seemed that the allies would soon crumble. Seemed.

Sebastian Schweinsteiger had awoke at 0500 hours to begin his patrol. He and a few other platoons of the third SS division made up the left flank of the town of Bastogne. He had slept the night prior in the cold, as he had done for nearly a month now since being placed on the front line. His bed was the concrete floor of a hollowed out building with a large hole in the roof, being struck a few days prior by a mortar round—a continual reminder that no matter what, the hardened veteran was not safe. He could be killed at any minute on the battlefield. The night prior, no shots had been fired—a rather peculiar happening, as a lull in the fighting was almost never there. Constantly, mortar rounds could be heard going off. The continual fire of 88s, the muzzle flash from MG42s, and the constant screaming between German soldiers made it that much harder for anyone to catch sleep during the middle of the night. Though, for some reason, last night nothing was fired. Schweinsteiger was left with an uneasy feeling because of this. He knew something was awry. What? He did not know, but he arose at 0500 with a feeling of apprehension going into the day.

It was now around 0530 hours, and Schweinsteiger found himself eating a meager breakfast or rationed pork and bread. It was not much. He hadn’t had a filling meal in so long, but at this point, he didn’t seem to care. The cold took precedent over all, making him numb to everything else. The bitter cold stifled his appetite, and by now, it was beginning to show in the gauntness of his face. Schweinsteiger, once a specimen of physical fitness, now looked very peeked and very weak. War will do this to men. Schweinsteiger slowly consumed his meal. He wasn’t very hungry. His mind was elsewhere, mainly on getting through the day in these horrid conditions, his nerves and his apprehension making him numb to everything else.

0600 came around. It was now time to start his patrol. Schweinsteiger went over to the far corner of the building and picked up his trench coat. By this time, in late December, what was once a symbol of the authority of a proud SS officer was now in shambles—tattered, torn, and bloodied. Sebastian had felt the scars of the Ardennes Offensive well, and yet, none of this fazed him. By now, Schweinsteiger was motivated by hatred. Hatred towards the allies. Hatred toward the Americans. How could these vile creatures oppose the will of the fuehrer? Adolf Hitler was right in every action he made, and therefore, they were evil for opposing him. They must be punished. Schweinsteiger put on his coat and buttoned it. He then proceeded to dust it off, wiping off debris and snow from the previous day’s battle. Next to his coat lay his MP40. His trusted MP40, which he had relied on through thick and thin. When men failed, it was this gun that was able to get him out of tight situations. He clutched it tightly and took off the safety, thinking to himself that today more than any day, he would need it. He then proceeded to walk slowly to the downstairs floor of the building and exit it. He was ready to begin his patrol.

Slowly, a few other men joined Schweinsteiger, walking with him in a wedge formation. Schweinsteiger was at point, a rather odd position for an officer, especially an officer of his caliber. Schweinsteiger, however, preferred this position. He felt himself the most experienced of his men, and because of this, liked to be in the thick of the action, even if that meant making himself more vulnerable. It was this adrenaline rush of being vulnerable that made Schweinsteiger love war even more. He fed off of his adrenaline, his fear. Schweinsteiger felt it was destiny that he would die with his MP40 by his side. He embraced this destiny openly. Schweinsteiger and his men came to the edge of the town. There, they met a corporal—Stenger was his name, or so Schweinsteiger thought. He only met him on two other occasions. He was a feeble soldier, very weak, very gaunt, very…afraid. Every soldier on this battlefield was afraid. It was what you did with this fear, Schweinsteiger thought, that showed what kind of soldier you were. Stenger, like most soldiers, cracked under fear. Schweinsteiger had no respect for soldiers that cracked under such situations. “Report” bellowed Schweinsteiger at the corporal. Stenger, in response, clacked his jackboots together and saluted the Obersturmfuhrer. He then spoke, in a cracked, broken voice that the cold air was behind, “Nothing, Sir. Nothing happened the night before. I don’t like it. I don’t like the silence. It’s not good. Not good at all.” Schweinsteiger nodded, agreeing with what the soldier said, but not wanting to show his affirmation, kept his facial expression of fear hidden. “Thank you corporal, you are dismissed.” Schweinsteiger clacked his jackboots together and saluted the corporal. He then turned to his men and said in a lower tone. “Let’s move out. Stay on your toes, men.”

With that, Schweinsteiger and his men proceeded into the Ardennes forest, which was an eerie place in the early morning. Great pine trees had fallen everywhere due to mortar strikes, making it a difficult place to walk, especially in the dark. On occasion, Schweinsteiger and his men would step on a dead body. This, for some peculiar reason, did not faze the men. Death had been all around them. Why should it bother them now? All of a sudden, Schweinsteiger stopped. He raised his fist quickly, giving the order for his men to stop as well. He heard something, albeit feint and off in the distance. It sounded like a mechanical noise, like an engine. Not just any engine, a big engine, and Sebastian thought, that belonging to a tank. The noise got closer. Yes, Sebastian was sure of it now—this was a M4 Sherman tank. “Fall back! Fall back! Fall back!” Schweinsteiger yelled at his men time and time again. Seeing the urgency of their CO, his men began a mad dash back to Bastogne, Schweinsteiger right behind them. They reached the German occupied town, and Schweinsteiger, in attempt to alert the men of the approaching allied forces shouted with urgency, “Defensive positions! Defensive positions! The Tommys’ are upon us! Take defensive positions!” Schweinsteiger himself hopped behind a large boulder, a piece of concrete that once belonged to one of these buildings. Upon the top of the crater, Schweinsteiger placed his MP40, hoping to get a good shot at an approaching American soldier.

What came next was a sight Schweinsteiger was not ready for. Breaching the tree line was a line of Sherman tanks, 15 across. “Shit!” yelled Schweinsteiger. “Enemy armor! Man the 88s! Get the Panzerschreck to the front line!” Schweinsteiger bellowed at his men. His cries however, would not be answered on time. All of a sudden, the line of Sherman tanks opened fire, sending Schweinsteiger’s brothers flying. Limbs went everywhere. Screams were heard from near and far. Schweinsteiger himself was almost hit. Now, allied infantry was also breaching the tree line. Schweinsteiger decided to fall back, find some more experienced SS infantry, and hopefully try to make a stand. Back peddling towards a now destroyed 88 Flak Cannon, Schweinsteiger let out volleys of fire from his MP40, trying to cover himself from the approaching allied infantry. He was able to make it, miraculously to the broken 88. Looking to his left, Schweinsteiger saw a small number of SS troops running to regroup in a broken old shack, which, by the sign, Sebastian thought once served as a tool store. Schweinsteiger thought it would be a good idea to regroup with these men and made a mad dash towards the building. He arrived safely. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Schweinsteiger opened the door. Immediately, he found himself staring down the barrel of five STG44s. Schweinsteiger dropped his MP40 and put his hands in the air. Seeing it was one of their own, the SS troops stood down. Schweinsteiger then picked his MP40 up once again and walked towards the men. He recognized one of them, William Luther, a veteran infantry man for the Reich. Luther had been to hell and back, and here he was again, trying to fight his way out of hell. Schweinsteiger, even though he was the ranking officer of the two, felt it would be an honor to fight by Luther’s side. The men began making defensive positions out of the building, taking steel tables and using them for protection. Schweinsteiger and Luther hid behind one while the other two men by them made defensive positions out of another. Schweinsteiger decided to speak up, hoping to rally the NCOs in the room with him, “Sturmscharfuhrer Luther, I am Obersturmfuhrer Sebastian Schweinsteiger. It seems we are in a bit of a disadvantageous situation, but we will hold our ground here. I will be damned if I let the damned Tommys ta—“Before Schweinsteiger could finish his sentence, a few allied soldiers had breached the building. A grenade flew through the window. Luther and Schweinsteiger were lucky enough to brace themselves in time. The other two, however, died, shrapnel devastating their bodies. Now a few Allied soldiers poured through the doorway. Schweinsteiger let out a volley, killing them, but they just kept coming. Schweinsteiger, letting out a volley of fire, shouted at Luther, saying “You got any ideas?”

[William Luther]

Bastogne. Even the name was ugly, a now ruined and smoking town which was the death of thousands of soldiers. To it's credit, though, it was providing one hell of a battle. Sturmscharfuhrer William Luther was there, the entire 2nd SS Division has been posted to the Belgian town deep within the Ardennes. They had been there for only a few days, but already the division had taken a heavy toll, men, machines, food, weapons, ammunition. Everything an army needed to be effective was in shorter and shorter supply.

Luther was lucky, he was with Battalion headquarters, an out-of-the-way wood and stone construction that had been thrown together around an old well, a few hours labour creating a reasonably solid looking building strewn beneath SS camouflage netting. Luther had a foxhole to sleep in, about ten metres from the building, the top covered by a thick coat, now with a layer of snow above it to provide even more insulation. All in all, it was quite cosy as Luther woke at 0530, and shaved by the light of a small candle. Whilst there was only enough room to sit down in there, he had managed to dig a large enough hole for all of his marching order to fit in comfortably. Satisfied with his smooth face, he gently lifted one corner of the coat, emerging in to the dark Boxing Day morning.

He was wearing the same insulated reversible winter-spring anorak, pain white material which has acquired a visible layer of grubbiness over the previous few days. His ammunition belt wrapped around the top of it, magazines for his StG44 easily accessible. Thick leather boots kept his feet and lower legs warm with several pairs of socks on. He had swapped his clean and dry sleeping ones for the previous days wet and cold ones. An issue toque sat between his head and the issue stahlhelm, and it was enough to rive off the worst of the cold. Luther adjusted his belt, tucking a pair of stick grenades in to it, and shouldered the leather strap for his StG44.

He shivered involuntarily as he walked around inside the headquarters building, and smartly saluted the senior officers in the room. Being far enough away from the frontline, snipers were eliminated as a threat by the dense trees. He quick entered the building, grabbing a chipped porcelain mug from a shelf and pouring some ersatz coffee in to it, boiling water fresh from the fire. Even though the fake coffee tasted disgusting, it was enough to warm him up and kick start him, as much from the heat radiating through the fingerless gloves on his hands.

The assembled officers and senior NCO's all looked weary, the battle having taken it's toll on all of them. Luther had filled at least a dozen positions so far, from company sergeant-major to a temporary loan as regimental sergeant-major when the official one had to be hospitalised for a few days. Since then, he had filled in as a platoon commander with the line companies, and he was now repositioned as 'acting' officer in command of the support platoon. Being in charge of the battalions mortars, heavy machine guns and Panzsershrecks was no small responsibility, but he knew he wasn't the only NCO in the German army with such great responsibility.

A few more officers arrived – the four company commanders, and the regimental commander. With all the required men assembled, the days briefing could begin in earnest. Luther's position there was as first battalion sergeant-major, assisting his battalion commander and XO in establishing what morale was with the men, as well as their capability to carry on fighting. It was a hard balance, needing to push the men as far as possible without cracking, but after years of war, Luther was getting the hang of it.

He waited patiently, listening to the remarks of the other officers before he was cued in by the Colonel. “Gentlemen, I shan't lie, morale is very low. Now that we have been turned back, and even forced back in a few places, the men are doubting our capability to win this. This is exacerbated by the weather, with conditions so similar to the Ostfront, men are beginning to compare this to... the campaign.” He decided not to mention howin the winter, Russian soldiers had forced the entire German advance to turn around. “The hot Christmas meal yesterday lifted spirits briefly, but sadly not as sufficiently as we had hoped. However, we can only assume it is just as bad in the American positions, although, as you have mentioned intelligence officer, with the arrival of Shermans of the American 2AD, this may have a significant boost in their confidence, and this may cause us to lost further ground, and I don't need to spell out how this will affect our morale.”

He placed his mug on a table, and reached for a file as the radio sparked in to life, a few brief sentences made themselves across the room to Luther. ”Enemy advance... Shermans... Reinforcements requested.” The Colonel's eyes turned to Luther, “Anti-tank weapons?”
Luther took the hint, making his way towards the door, “On their way, Sir.”

As soon as he was out of the door, he broke in to a sprint, covering the fifty metres to weapon platoon's position. He slid in to the foxholes were groggy men sat around their heavy machinery. “We're in business, men. Enemy armour is breaking through. Mortar squads, stay behind, everyone else, weapons and army. Hauptscharfuhrer, get them moving.” With a few roars of motivation the Platoon Sergeant, Hauptscharfuhrer Smit had men on their feet, weapons held over their shoulders as Luther brass-checked his StG44 and Browning Hi-Power, making sure he was satisfied with them and ready to fight with them.

“On me, two files, disperse yourselves, but we're going to double this.” Setting off with a strong pace, wary he wasn't weighed down with excess weapons and ammunition, Luther made his way through trees, following the sound of gunfire and explosions. Sliding down in to positions by the line where they could observe everything happening, Luther quickly set up his men. “Section one, set up here. Enfilading fire, take out the infantry supporting the tanks. Scharfuhrer, don't let me down.”

Leaving the dozen machine guns behind, Luther and the panzershreck squad began moving from cover to cover as they approached the tanks. Machine gun fire from the tanks began ripping up the ground around Luther, who grabbed the arm of one of his men, their right calf practically disintegrating before Luther's eyes. The squad broke up, diving in foxholes and crouching behind large rock formations as Section One opened up, providing enough fire to take out many of the American soldiers, but as they fell even more took their place.

Luther looked around, trying to work out the next move. They needed to organise some sort of cover so they could get nearer the back of the tanks, and a tool shed with German soldiers around it seemed like a good start. Signalling to the rest of the section, Luther started towards the shed, supporting his limping comrade every step.

Bursting through the door, Luther helped the Sturmann to the ground, calling out for a medic. Machine gun fire picked up from outside, but it was not German guns, but a renewed assault by the Americans. Luther exited the shed, throwing himself down on to the ground, shouldering his StG44, and aiming towards one .30 cal the Americans had set up. He let off a few bursts, before heavy fire came towards him, Luther rolling off behind cover. As the fire spread away, Luther reentered the building, the gaunt faces of his men looking towards him. “We need a flanking mission, the Shermans are ignoring that, they think the column of infantry on their right is too strong for us to break thr-”

The door crashed open again, and Luther swing around, StG44 almost firing, his finger depressing the trigger up to first pressure. He relaxed when the incoming German officer dropped his MP40, and Luther quickly ignored him, returning to his platoon. “We'll have to get mortar section to cover our arses, but we'll pull through.. The Fuhrer didn't spend all this money for us to die, did he?”

The fact that the officer remained, instead of running outside caught Luther's attention. He tried to make pleasantries, but Luther just grunted, a rather rude grunt, cutting off the officer mid-speech Their wasn't time for this kind of thing. “Obersturmfuhrer, I need your platoon's radio man, and your assistance. We're calling for smoke and mortars so we can pu-”

Again he was interrupted, this time by the Americans blowing a hole in the side of the building, a grenade flying through at the same time. “Grenade!” Luther roared, “Doc, roll on!” The medic managed to lift his legs out the way, going over his patient, but preventing himself from becoming one. The Obersturmfuhrer asked what to do as both he and Luther took knees, firing towards the charging Americans. Luther would have shaken his head if he wasn't aiming and began talking loudly over the sounds of gunfire. “We need to push up our right flank so my panzershreck's can get behind the Shermans. Your platoon needs to come with us whilst our machine gun section covers us. Have your radio man call in the fire mission, but make sure he's good – We're danger close and I don't want my boys hitting German soldiers.”

As he finished his sentence, Luther's weapon clicked, and he went below the table, fidgeting for a new magazine with gloved hands. After exchanging magazines and cocking his weapon, he lifted himself again, taking a fire position. “Does that sounds good, sir?”

[§:Sebastian Schweinsteiger]

Schweinsteiger fired another quick burst from his MP40 at the American troops pouring into the building. Between Luther and Sebastian, the allies were falling like flies. As he was firing at the Americans, Sebastian listened to the plan Luther laid out. He thought it was a good plan, but the problem was he had lost the majority of his platoon in the initial defense. Schweinsteiger was someone hesitant at first to tell Luther this, but he it was necessary. “Unfortunately, Luther, my platoon was decimated in the initial defense this morning. We were on patrol. The Americans caught us off guard, killed the majority of my men. I was the only one who survived.” Schweinsteiger MP40 had now ran out of ammo. He unloaded the clip from it, and reaching into his back pocket for another clip yelled, “Cover me!” to Luther. He quickly snapped the clip in, and firing a few more rounds, was able to pick off one or two Americans.

Schweinsteiger knew that if he, Luther, and his men remained in this tool shed for much longer, they would all be dead. He decided to formulate a much different plan than Luther’s in his head. Schweinsteiger knew that three miles South of Bastogne was stationed a Wehrmacht support regiment. He felt that if they were able to rendezvous with this support group, which, to his knowledge, had a few Tiger tanks with them, they could possibly push this Allied offensive back. They needed to move swiftly though. This support regiment was no easy jaunt, especially with heavy equipment like a Panzerschrek, but Sebastian felt it was the only way. He decided to speak up. “Luther, we are the left flank of Bastogne, and we are crumbling. We won’t be able to flank the allied armor with such few men. 3 miles south of here lies a support regiment. They are most likely on the way to defend Bastogne themselves. Let’s fall back, rendezvous with them, and then lead a counter attack against these Allied Bastards. It’s the only way we will make it out alive.”

Just as Sebastian finished that sentence, allied troops began to flank the tool shed, appearing to the left of the shed as to hit Luther and Sebastian with enfilade fire. Schweinsteiger saw this out of his peripheries and was able to unload a quick burst of fire, which made the Allied soldiers duck for cover instead of moving in for the kill. Sebastian kept his MP40 fixed on this position, waiting for the Allied soldier to gain enough courage to try and flank them once more. As anticipated, he poked his head up, and as anticipated, Schweinsteiger let out a burst of fire, lodging a few bullets within the Allied soldier’s skull. At the same time, allied soldiers were moving in on the right flank of the tool shed, Schweinsteiger tried to pivot to take care of them, but Luther was too quick. He picked them off himself. The situation was looking bleak. Seeing as their flanking maneuver failed, the allies were again trying to assault the front door of the building. There was a lull in fire as Schweinsteiger heard allied soldiers lining up on each side of the front doorway, getting ready to breach. Schweinsteiger whispered to Luther, “They are planning to hit us with everything they have, but we are the rock upon which they break. On my signal, unleash hell.” Schweinsteiger waited for the allies to make their move. Soon, a fragmentation grenade was again thrown through the front doorway. “Grenade!” Schweinsteiger roared as he hit the deck. Luther followed suit. The grenade exploded and fragments scattered throughout the room, but Schweinsteiger and Luther were shielded from these fragments, most of them getting lodged in the steel tables they were crouched behind. Once the initial blast was over, Schweinsteiger yelled, “Now! Hit them with everything you got!” Schweinsteiger then went from prone to his knees, unleashing a clip from his MP40, killing a few allied soldiers as they filed through the doorway.

Having held off the initial breaching attempt, Schweinsteiger and Luther now had to deal with some of the allied soldiers who had not initially fired through the doorway. Instead, they were hiding behind the wall of the tool shed, slicing the pie, trying to make themselves small targets, while firing into the tool shed with the hopes of killing either Schweinsteiger or Luther. One allied soldier even tried to bust the window at the front of the tool shed to fire at Luther and Schweinsteiger, but Sebastian was able to pick him off quite easily. Schweinsteiger then picked a stick grenade from his pocket. He pulled the pin and heaved it through the doorway, yelling “Grenade out!” Schweinsteiger and Luther ducked as the grenade exploded, killing what allied soldiers that still opposed them. The cries and lamentations of the mortally wounded allied soldiers was met by a sadistic smile across the face of Sebastian. The cruel German commanding officer however, knew that this feeling of sadistic euphoria was short lived. There was a lull in the fighting, and things became eerily quiet for a second. Off in the background however, Sebastian could hear the mechanical sound of tank treads moving through the snow. They couldn’t stay in this position for long. Schweinsteiger’s plan had to be executed if they were to live. Schweinsteiger looked at Luther, and said in a commanding tone “We must rendezvous with the support regiment. Luther, rally your men, tell them of our objective. Let’s move out. That is an order.”

[William Luther]

The tool shed was a veritable shooting alley as the German and American soldiers exchanged volleys. The steel table behind which Luther and Schweinsteiger were taking cover was hardly bulletproof, and they were in a very precarious situation. They needed to move, but irrational decisions could get them killed. Luther could only swear as Schweinsteiger delivered the news about his decimated platoon – something Luther rarely did on the battlefield. From behind their cover, it was a race between Luther and Schweinsteiger to come up with a new plan as they took turns emptying their weapons.

“Three miles is a hell of a long way, why do we need to get to them? Battalion's radios can talk to every unit this side of the German border. If we go to the support units, our entire regiment could be wiped out, we can't commit a platoon – the least we need to get their alive – in the middle of this!”It was a length speech given the situation, and Luther regretted spending so long on words.As he crouched behind the table, once again reloading, he offered an alternative. “We need to regroup as many men as possible here and hold the line. Send runners to Battalion, they can organise support. We need every available rifle here, now.”

As he popped back up, something caught his eye to the right, an attempted American breach, and he twisted on his knees, lining up targets, and sending off semi-automatic rounds in quick succession, aiming for the heads, but resorting to the chest for a few soldiers. It didn't matter, the 7.92mm rounds of the StG44 had enough power to go in the chest and cause potentially fatal damage to the heart and lungs. The American would die, it would just be slower and more agonizing.

A grenade came flying through the broken side of the building, and Luther dived over a gap, taking cover behind another table, before quickly coming up to his knee, a stable firing position. There was now significant distance between himself and Schweinsteiger, meaning the two men would need to shout to communicate. Not that it mattered as American soldiers came filing in. The dozen or so ment that were in the building, the remnants of Luther's Panzershreck squad firing with their Lugers, and a few miscellaneous riflemen used their weapons to push back the assault, and Luther wasted no time in taking advantage of the counter-attack. Random fire pured in to the shead as Luther made his way up to the door, stopping only once by a killed StG44 wielder, grabbing spilled magazines from the ground and throwing them down the zipped collar of his anorak, the cold metal sliding down over his tunic. His belt stopped them, and they floated around his waist until he would have a chance to remove them and put them in the magazine holders on his belt.

Schweinsteiger threw a grenade out of the door, and as soon as the explosive went off, Luther was out, scrabbling around the corner of the shed, taking shots with his StG44, grimly killing the survivors so they were no longer threats. Two men, not at all liking their chances threw their arms in the air, dropping to their knees as their M1 rifles flew off to the side. Luther knew there was no time to take take prisoners, no chance to secure them, so he quickly killed them – two clean shots to the head which they so obligingly allowed him to take.

He was quickly followed by his men, pouring through the door to Luther, assembling themselves around him, their Panzerschrecks making them prime targets in the open. Schweinsteiger called through, telling Luther to move to the support regiment. Shaking his head, Luther repeated his thoughts, “Sir that's not an option, we can't leave this flank without AT capability. My men and I need to stay here, but you're more than welcome to find your platoon and try to find the Wehrmacht.”

He quickly turned to his men, pointing towards an empty trench, a slight plume of smoke suggesting that the occupants had been recently hit with grenades With this lull, they had time to take up new positions as the enemy armour regrouped for a second attack. “Trench!” Luther shouted, sprinting towards it and leaping in, boots landing on the still bleeding, but definitely dead body of a SS rifleman. It was a decent sized trench as the rest of the squad lowered themselves in, and Luther looked at the Panzerschrecks with a sight look of dissapointment. “Gather weapons and ammo. Rifles, MP40s. Quickly!”

The Panzerschreck men quickly climbed out, grabbing what weapons they could as Luther pulled the StG44 magazines out of his anorak, putting them in the slots on his webbing and throwing away his previously emptied ones. He looked at one of the riflemen who had joined him, quickly thinking . “You, my Machine Gun squad is twenty metres to our left. Find their weapons and ammunition situation, help how you can.” The rifleman, obviously not happy about having to leave cover, but disciplined enough to obey, climbed out and sprinted over the snow, as Luther addressed a second. “You, find a field radio and get it to me now.” The second rifleman climbed out as Luther addressed the third. “Do you know where the battalion CP is? Run to it, and make sure they know we are taking heavy casualties, and we need armour support ASAP. Then get as many MG42 belts as you can carry and come back here. Quickly!”

As the last man left, Luther's squad returned, armed with a variety of small arms and quickly took up firing positions along the lip of the trench. Luther quickly turned, searching for Schweinsteiger. If the officer was going to cause problems, that could be dealt with. Luther was confident that the man was not foolish enough to argue with the Battalion Sergeant-Major, after all, Luther had been winning battles since before this man had even signed up for the army, an Obersturmfuhrer was not overly experienced.

[§:Sebastian Schweinsteiger]

Schweinsteiger saw his plan unravel before his own eyes. Luther was reluctant to acquiesce to his order, and before the officer could reprimand Luther, he and his men and taken flight from the tool shed. Sebastian was somewhat frustrated at this, and a part of him still wanted to rendezvous with the support regiment 3 miles away. He thought, however, that he could not do it on his own. It was therefore, in his best bet to stay with Luther and his men and attempt to fight back the allied army, hoping all the while that support would eventually make it in time to turn the tide of this battle. Schweinsteiger reluctantly popped up from behind the table and began to walk, slowly towards the doorway.

Upon exiting, Schweinsteiger was met by the bitter cold. The adrenaline that was coursing through his veins by this point made him numb towards the bitter cold. Schweinsteiger placed the stock of his MP40 into his shoulder, and, pivoting to either side, made sure there were no American soldiers nearby that would try to pick him off. Schweinsteiger then saw a trench about 30 to 40 meters away in which Luther and his men were had positioned themselves in during the lull in fire. Schweinsteiger, wanting to take advantage of this short cease fire, sprinted towards the trench. He was able to make it. Once he entered the trench however, things began to escalate once more. It appeared that during the lull, the allies were making earthworks to the front of this trench. They were using downed trees, rocks, and mounds of dirt and snow to cover themselves as they fired. Not only were they doing this, but a few platoons were advancing upon their position, firing with automatic Tommy guns and other light weaponry as they advanced. Schweinsteiger fired a few rounds from his MP40, and as he was doing this, he shouted at Luther, “I will stay in defense of Bastogne!” He made himself clear that he was going to side with Luther, in the hopes to push the allied forces back.

The allied platoons that were advancing on their position were rather brave, maybe even foolish. Allied soldiers were being picked off left and right as they pushed forward. Their support fire was not enough to contend with Schweinsteiger and Luther. Still, Schweinsteiger was baffled by their tactics. Why would they just charge a trench from the front? It made no sense to him. He knew it had to be a diversion, but for what? A flanking maneuver? Yes, Schweinsteiger was sure of it. In fact, being a scholar of ancient battles, Schweinsteiger was able to discern what the allies were doing. A hammer and anvil attack. Right now, they were being pounded by the hammer of the assault—the frontal charge. This was however, merely a diversion. The majority of the attack was to come from the rear. Even more inauspicious, most generals, when executing this tactic, did so with armor. Schweinsteiger did not like the idea of armor sneaking up behind him. He called at Luther with a sense of urgency, “Luther, move your Panzerschrek units to the rear! This attack is a diversion! They are attempting to flank us! It’s a hammer and anvil!” Schweinsteiger moved to the rear himself. He was right, off in the distance, he saw a few German soldiers trying to fend off an M4 Sherman tank. They were torn to bits by the Browning 50 cal that was mounted on it. “Shit!” yelled Schweinsteiger. The tank was probably about 60 meters away, but soon, it wasn’t just the tank. Allied infantry was closing in from the rear of the flank too. This was not good. “Luther, I need those Panzerschrek units up here now! The allied anvil is closing in! They are in firing range!” Soon, bullets were now flying from the rear of the flank as well as the front of the flank. This was not a situation Schweinsteiger wanted to be in. He decided to commit to defending the rear of the flank as Luther was defending the front. Schweinsteiger was able to fire off a few rounds from his MP40. The rounds connected with an allied soldier 40 meters away, lodging themselves in his femoral artery. The soldier fell like a ton of bricks. Schweinsteiger did have a shot to finish him off, but he decided not to. He wanted this soldier to have an agonizing death.

By now, Schweinsteiger was joined by a few other SS soldiers, whom Luther had assigned to the rear, in the hopes that they would not be overrun. Still, the Panzerschrek unit was nowhere to be found. This did not set well with Sebastian, knowing that any second a Sherman would be upon them. Soon, Sebastian could hear the mechanical treads of the Sherman closing in. Schweinsteiger unloaded a clip from his MP40 into a few advancing infantry men, trying to make it so the only threat to overrun their trench was the Sherman tank. In the next couple seconds, the Sherman tank turned a corner and was upon them, around 40 meters out. Before Sebastian could do anything, the Browning on the Sherman opened fire, taking off the head of an SS men nearby. Sebastian and the other SS men hit the ground, so they would not share the same fate as their dead comrade. Schweinsteiger hollered at Luther, one last time, pleading, “Get me that Panzerschrek Luther! There is an abandoned building to the left side of that tank. I’ll give you all the covering fire I can, I just need you and your Panzerschrek unit to take out that tank!” Sebastian was able to lift his MP40 above the trench and fire a few rounds, which ricocheted off the tank. He hoped Luther could act swiftly. Schweinsteiger and the men to the rear were sitting ducks until the threat of that Sherman was disposed of.

[William Luther]

A large field radio was pushed in to the trench, fully-functioning unlike the soldier who’s responsibility had been to use it. Luther didn't waste any time, laying his StG44 down and peering through binoculars to double check the enemy position. As he lowered them, he began muttering to himself. “Treeline Alf, they're already zeroed.” He crouched below the lip of the trench, reaching a hand in to a pocket and pulling out a folded map. It was a view of the Bastogne area, and different locations had been designated names, so in a situation such as this they could easily be identified by mortar teams as targets. As Luther had deduced, the bulk of the American attack pointing towards him was in the area shaded red with 'Alf' written in large letters.

Fire upon Luther's position increased, suppressing fire from Brownings and sweeps over head by the .45 calibre Thompson sub-machine guns the American army was so fond of. It was a good technique, a few of the .50 calibre machine guns atop the Shermans were also firing, trying to keep the Germans pinned. Despite this, however, all of Luther's men had returned with their small-arms, and were returning fire towards the advancing men. An MG42 had fallen to the bottom of the trench, and after a few quick drills to make sure the weapon wouldn't misfire, it was now happily chatttering away as Schweinsteiger entered the trench, noting that he would remain in Bastogne. Luther only nodded as he hit the transmit button on the radio.

“Impedance, this is Ice. Standby for fire mission, over.” Impedance was the callsign for the mortar squads crouched by their weapons, eager to cause damage. All of the battalion’s commanding figures had been given wintry nicknames for the entire Ardennes offensive, Luther having been given Ice, an apparent reference to his attitude on the battlefield. He waited a few moments for the go-ahead before speaking up again. “Impedance, this is Ice. Company-sized American units are stationed in Sector Alf. This is danger-close fire. High-explosive rounds, I will correct, over.”

As Luther lowered the handset, he shouted out so all the Germans in the vicinity could hear him. “Friendly mortar fire incoming! Standby!” There was nothing much the Germans could do to prepare themselves, other than to know what was about to happen. Sure enough, mortar fire began to descend on the American lines, the explosions ripping through the treeline and causing massive damage. Luther smiled grimly as he raised the receiver again. “Impedance, this is Ice. Mission complete, standby for further orders. Out.”

With this assault dealt wit, Luther allowed his attention to turn to Schweinsteiger, who had been signalling to Luther as he spoke in to the radio. The threat of flanking armour was very real, indeed, detours around Bastogne would provide much better paths for armoured units than the narrow gaps between trees. Accordingly, most of the divisions AT-guns had been position to block this off, but there was every chance they had been overwhelmed. As a relief platoon came running over towards the line, Luther nodded at Schweinsteiger orders, and even gave a “Yes, sir!”

Luther and his men clambered out of the trench, allowing the anonymous support platoon to take positions. Luther looked around for his platoon sergeant, Hauptscharfuhrer Smit. Smit was only a few paces behind Luther, who quickly had a few words with him. “Get our MG section to move locations. Spread out amongst buildings and any other cover. Find me when you're done, Smit, we've got them on the run, we just need to secure this victory.” Smit smiled as he began running over the snow, making a straight line before sliding in to the foxholes the squad was based around. This gave Luther the time to focus on his Panzerschreck squad, who had now shouldered their small arms, so they could carry the great weight of the Panzerschreck in both hands. Combined with the weight of the rockets they carried on their backs, moving was no easy feat.

They began a quick jog, Luther essentially in charge of security along with a few other rifle men who joined the movement. It was with a large shock when the first shell from the Sherman arrived, causing the formation to break off, darting for cover. He found himself crouched next to Schweinsteiger, taking cover behind a large rock as Luther looked around, assessing cover. Attacking the Shermans head on wasn't particularly an option – there was no guarantee the armour would be penetrated, which meant Luther would need to attempt to flank the flankers. Taking a liking to a building, Luther looked for his nearest Panzerscherck man, as well as an StG44 wielding accomplice. “Himmel! Move up to the house, take that rifleman next to you.”

With a shout of “Bounding!” Himmel moved forward, sprinting across open ground to the building. Luther signalled another man to join him, and he sprinted after them. A hand on Luther's shoulder told him that Smit had arrived, and heavy fire quickly informed him that the machine gun section was up and running. Smiling, Luther addressed Smit, “Move the men up to the buildings, but ensure we always have enough cover. I'll organise the firing.”

Grabbing his StG44 with both hands, he tapped the shoulder of one of his gunners, who readied himself for the sprint. On Luther's mark, they both ran over the narrow street, entering the wooden house where the other occupants where setting up positions in a room with a collapsed section of the roof. Luther nodded, it was a good position. The Sherman that had had the audacity to fire at Luther was starting to turn away from them, but the heavy turret was aiming towards Schweinsteiger. “Wait for it, wait for it...” Luther warned, until he knew he would have clear shots. The moment the tank had turned a few more degrees, he gave the order, “Fire!”

Two of the Panzerschrecks kicked in to life, sending two rockets towards the rear armour of the Sherman, creating a pair of explosions that paralysed the vehicle. The turret hatch opened, and a the crew tried to escape, but machine gun fire cut them down as they emerged, bodies mercilessly shot in the gunners euphoria of having one less tank aiming at them.

[§:Sebastian Schweinsteiger]

The tide of battle began to change. The momentum was now with the SS. Finally. William Luther had called in a mortar strike on the hammer part of the Allied assault, and then he and his men ran on a flanking mission around the Sherman tank, disabling that as well. Schweinsteiger was in awe. He knew Luther was an excellent soldier, but this display was too much. Schweinsteiger, viewing himself as a good soldier, couldn’t let all the glory go to Luther. As the crew of the disabled and burning Sherman tank climbed out, Schweinsteiger was able to aim with his MP40 and hit an Allied soldier three times in the chest, killing him instantly. In his peripheral vision, Sebastian also saw another tank crewmember. Aiming at him, Sebastian riddled his body with bullets. He fell to the ground, instantly dead. With Luther now guarding the rear of the flank, Schweinsteiger turned his attention now to the flank’s front. He had seen that another platoon filled in. It was now time to push the attack.

Schweinsteiger walked down the trench, trying to find the leader of this platoon. At the far right of the flank, Sebastian found a overly muscular, burly second lieutenant. Schweinsteiger approached him. “Untersturmfuhrer…” The man turned towards Schweinsteiger, revealing an ugly scar that took up the majority of his face. “Tell your men to concentrate their fire on the hammer of this allied assault. They are waning, we must push them back!” As Schweinsteiger finished his sentence, he turned to the front of the trench. Aiming his MP40, he was able to take out two or three Allied soldiers that were trying to retreat. Once again, there was a lull. The allies had retreated and were attempting to regroup. Schweinsteiger took this opportunity to stock up on ammo. On the ground, Schweinsteiger found a mortally wounded SS corporal. He was bleeding profusely from the neck. Writhing in pain, he spat up blood, turning the snow below him crimson. Schweinsteiger did notice he was carrying an MP40. To the man’s right lay his MP40 ammo pouch. Schweinsteiger kneeled down and opening it, he emptied it, taking the ammo that was inside. Schweinsteiger then went to the man’s belt that carried his other supplies, both stick and smoke grenades. Schweinsteiger, with an emotionless face, stripped the dying soldier of his grenades and placed them on his own belt. Schweinsteiger felt pretty confident now that any further assault by the allies he could stop.

This confidence however, would be short lived. After Sebastian raided the dying soldier of his ammunition, the allies had moved into position once more. They were beginning to fire once more upon Axis positions. Schweinsteiger laughed at what he thought was a futile frontal assault. How impetuous were the allies. How stupid was Patton for letting his men attack head on? Surely this was not a tactic of the great general who, beside Bernard Law Montgomery, took down Erwin Rommel at El Alamein! Sebastian went to the front of the trench, aimed, fired, and took out a few American soldiers. However, in doing this, Sebastian took sight at the true plan of these American soldiers. Looking through his binoculars, Schweinsteiger was able to see, about 600 meters away, the allies had put into position five M115 Howitzers. “Son of a…” Schweinsteiger muttered in disbelief. How could he be so blind? He didn’t have too much time to think about his folly, as one of the Howitzer’s went off, sending a high explosive round towards the trench. This round exploded against a tall pine tree, which fell onto the trench, killing to axis soldiers. Soon, all five Howitzers were firing at Schweinsteiger and his men.

In this time, Schweinsteiger was attempting to find Second Lieutenant Kreips, hoping that he could use his radio to call in a mortar strike on the position of the American Howitzers. By the time Sebastian found him however, it was too late. His body had been ripped in half by high explosive round. “Shit!” Schweinsteiger said. Matters only became worse. The five Howitzers had now zeroed in on the trench, killing German SS men in bunches. Sebastian could not stay here. He had to rendezvous with William Luther. Climbing out of the trench, Sebastian Schweinsteiger started to sprint madly towards the building that Luther and his man, Himel were in. By the grace of God or some other miracle, the Howitzer rounds missed him. They did however, find man other targets. The relief platoon was taking heavy casualties and not many of them remained. The ones that did were also vacating the trench, hoping to find some shelter from the metallic envoys of death, the American Anti-Armor.

Schweinsteiger himself was barely able to make it to Luther. “Luther” Schweinsteiger screamed, his ears ringing from the constant shelling Bastogne was now taking. “We need to…” Schweinsteiger was interrupted by a round that came close to hitting the building he and Luther were in. “We need to fall back and regroup! The Howitzers are zeroed in on our position! We are getting torn to shreds! The support battalion should be on its way by now! If we fall back, we can regroup with it and hit these Howitzers hard with our armor!” As Sebastian finished his sentence, an American Howitzer went off again, hitting a German 88 that had been previously disabled. It was right by the building they were in as it went up in flames. The heat was intense, and it was a reminder that they were not safe, even in this concrete structure. “Get your man on the radio, signal for a retreat. We fall back, just outside the town. Regroup and counterattack! ”

[William Luther]

As the Panzerschrecks reloaded, Luther took a knee at the window, squinting along the sights of his StG44. Licking lips chapped from the cold, he fired single-shots, feeling the kick of the weapon, but not fighting it, only glancing at his targets after he fired to make sure that they were in fact down. He had lost count of how many rounds were left in his magazine, but after he had shot at a dozen American soldiers the bolt slammed forward and no rounds fired. Reloading, he reassessed the situation. The Americans were being forced to cover, but Luther had no doubt he was being targeted my mortars or possibly even artillery. At the very least, rifle-grenades would be in the process of being set up to take out his strong-house. It seemed like and apt time to move.

Calling to his men, they quickly ran down the stairs of the building, exiting through the back door in to a snow-covered garden. A low stone wall had once existed to surround the garden, but after battle, it was now missing several large sections, and rubble was mingled with azaleas and other flowers. The squad quickly ran towards as still-standing part of the wall, crouching down behind it. Luther raised a pair of binoculars to his face, peering between the other destroyed buildings. He could see machine-gun nests being quickly set-up, and pairs of men – presumably snipers – running about, looking for positions. It seemed that the Americans were settling in, expecting a German counter-attack, and they were establishing positions strong enough to hold it back.

Luther was weighing up the potential value of a counter-attack when his left flank began erupting in positions. He twisted, staring at the tree-line and recognising the unmistakable damage of artillery. Shit. Now, more artillery guns had opened up, decimating where Luther and his men had been taking cover in the trench. From his current position, though, Luther couldn't see where the fire was coming from. Not that it mattered, he didn't have enough men to attempt to storm the position, and he didn't have a radio to call in a fire mission.

Running from the trenches, Luther could clearly make out Schweinsteiger, so Luther decided it was a good time as any to hold position, and wait for the officer to make it over to him. By now, Smit and the rest of the Panzerschreck units had arrived, and Smit offered Luther a quick report on the state of the machine gun section. “Two men dead, but we've pulled another two soldiers in to act as loaders. All of our weapons are working, and we've got enough ammunition for a little while longer.”

Luther thanked him, it was a satisfactory report, acceptable losses especially considering the circumstances. Schweinsteiger arrived, giving the news that a fall-back was required. Given the approaching artillery, Luther strongly agreed that it was a sensible tactical manoeuvre. You couldn't be a strong tactician without embracing the fact that backwards was an equally viable direction to move – as long as you didn't go too far. Luther couldn't call a general retreat – he didn't have a radio and it would at least be the battalion XO that would need to authorise it. However, Luther and his men quickly clambered to their feet, beginning the run backwards towards the command element's location. There was another line of trenches near there, and with a smaller perimeter, the arcs of fire would have a higher overlap, theoretically creating a more concentrated killzone.

It was not at all a pleasant movement, coming under close-artillery fire, machine gun bursts raked across the Ardennes landscape, threatening to mow down any number of the German soldiers that were joining in the ex-filtration. At strategic points, different groups of men would take up firing positions, providing cover for the rest of the retreating men. Given the fact that most of Luther's men were weighed down with Panzerschrecks, they didn't stop to provide fire – it was better for them to get back quickly.

Coming through a final line of trees, Luther drew a sharp breath, seeing a pile of rubble where the Battalion building had been. Momentarily concerned that the entire command element had been killed, but he saw both the CO and XO in a slit-trench nearby, organising a defence. Taking their cue, Luther and his men dropped in to foxholes near the mortar pits. Judging by the large pile of boxes thrown as far a possible from the edge of the pits, lots of fire missions had been called through, but ammunition had been brought up to keep them going. As units clambered in to trenches, they took up firing positions, waiting for the Americans to come in to view.

[§:Sebastian Schweinsteiger]

Schweinsteiger was happy that it seemed for once Luther agreed with his plan. Luther and his men began a mad dash for the battalion’s front line headquarters. This was the only chance Sebastian had to call a retreat. Schweinsteiger knew what had to be done. He knew just due North of battalion headquarters was a frozen lake. He had seen it on patrol the day prior. The ice that covered this lake was thick enough for Axis infantry to stand on, but Schweinsteiger knew it would crack the second Allied armor was in position over it. If it were possible to call a retreat, they could fall back behind this lake, make a quick defensive line out of the earth itself and then hold out until the support regiment came with armor. It seemed plausible, and at the moment, with the Allied Howitzer’s zeroed in, Schweinsteiger found it the only viable option.

Schweinsteiger himself now began to make the mad dash back to headquarters. He had never run so fast in his life before. The adrenaline coursed through his veins. He fed off of it, breathed off of it, lived off of it. Buildings were exploding and crumbling all around him, yet he completely phased it out. The only thing that mattered to him at this point was making it back to the Battalion field post. It only took a few seconds, but it seemed like hours that Schweinsteiger had been running for. He found his way into the trench where the Battalion CO was. Despite the horrid conditions of this war, this CO seemed rather prim and proper. He bore circular glasses and seemed very astute. At his side sat a STG44, which he periodically put to use, holding it up, and firing, to cover the retreat of other axis soldiers. “You are the Battallion CO, ja?” Sebastian yelled, trying to be audible over the noise of the Allied Howitzers. The man nodded. Good. Sebastian pointed to a map that the CO had at his side. “Let me see that map.” The Hauptsturmfuhrer obliged, handing it to Schweinsteiger. “Herr Hauptsturmfuhrer, I would like you to take into consideration this lake as our last bastion of defense. There is no time to debate me; this is our best course of action! The enemy Howitzers are zeroed in! We will all die! HQ has a support regiment inbound. They have armor. If we can hold out until then, we should be able to push a counter attack.”

The CO was rather unsure of this plan. He voiced his reluctance to accept, “How can we abandon this town? We were told to hold at all costs!” Schweinsteiger was furious with this remark. He tried to calm himself down, keeping in mind he was speaking to a ranking officer. “Herr Hauptsturmfuhrer…” Schweinsteiger said, with a tone of defiance. “This isn’t a town! Look around you! This is brick! This is mortar! This is blood! This is death! If you don’t pull back now, we will be nothing more than brick and mortar, broken flesh and blood! Listen to me.” Schweinsteiger pointed to four locations along the trench, two in the center and two along the flanks. “Position MG42s here. They will cover the retreat.” Schweinsteiger then pointed to another area on the map, this one in the center of Bastogne itself. “This sector, right here. Tell impedance to fire mortars in this sector. Smoke, not high explosive rounds. Smoke. Once you can’t see through that area, tell them to fire for effect. Once the firing for effect starts, tell all MG units to open fire. This is the signal to pull back. Trust me, Herr Hauptsturmfuhrer, this is in our best interest.”

Though reluctant, The Battallion CO seemed to acquiesce to Schweinsteiger’s plan for a tactical retreat. He walked over towards a radio which was placed on a table in a makeshift HQ at the back of the trench. This makeshift HQ was rather smell and was covered by netting so that snowfall would not damage the equipment stored inside of it. The Hauptstumfuhrer began speaking into the radio, relaying a message to the radiomen on each flank of the trench. “All Units” the Battalion CO started. “This is Checkmate 6. Repeat, this is Checkmate 6. A tactical retreat has been called. Repeat, all units are to retreat and dig in approximately 700 meters North from here-Sector Rauchen. Repeat. Sector Rauchen. This retreat will start when MG units open for cover fire. MG units, maintain your current position and wait for Impedance to open fire.” The Hauptsturmfuhrer then changed frequencies to communicate with the mortar team’s radio. “Impedance, this is Checkmate 6. Repeat, this is Checkmate 6.” The Hauptsturmfuhrers voice rang in intensity. “A tactical retreat has been called. You will give cover fire for this retreat. Fire smoke rounds on sector quelle. Repeat. Sector quelle. After four volleys, change to high explosive rounds. Fire for effect. You will be aided by various MG units. Keep this assault up for 15 minutes. Then fall back yourselves. Checkmate 6 over and out.”

The orders had been given out. The Allied army was again advancing. Soon, German privates in the mortar squad were placing smoke rounds into their 7.58 cm Mortars, firing them at the designated sector. These rounds quickly exploded, setting off a thick smoke in the air, which hindered advancing allied infantry. Next, the mortars switched to high explosive rounds, tearing to pieces any allied soldier caught in the smog and eventually, impeding the allied advance so much that it came to a stop. The machine guns kept any allied soldier still alive pinned, assuring the Axis could retreat safely.

Schweinsteiger and his men retreated at a fast pace through the Ardennes forest. Eventually, they came to the lake that Sebastian wanted to set up a defensive perimeter on the other side of. It was a large lake, but it was crossable. Before Schweinsteiger step foot upon the ice though, he called out to his men, saying, “Anything cumbersome, abandon here. I don’t want to lose any men!” Men dropped off any heavy equipment they had, much of it frivolous and not needed in such a battle. They proceeded to make the trek across the lake. Schweinsteiger and his men moved at a normal pace, but they were cautious to stay spread out, as they didn’t want to cluster and potentially crack or break the ice. Eventually, this trek was complete. It took about ten minutes, and now Schweinsteiger urged his men to make earth works out of the terrain. Men got busy, working with shovels to build fox hills and large mounds of snow. After another ten minutes, this labor was done. They had dug in. All they could do now is wait. Pray. Hope reinforcements would get here. Hope that they would make it that long.

[William Luther]

In the mortar pit, Luther was slightly surprised at the details of the retreat. It seemed as if the mortar crews and the covering machine guns were being left for dead. Without any support, they didn’t have much chance to get back. Luther wasn’t going to have that, consigning units to being overrun without infantry support. As the mortar fire began, Luther moved forward, leaping in to another trench. A force of men, about the size of a platoon was gathered, preparing to move. Luther looked for an officer, but couldn’t see one, so he made a demand, “who’s your commanding officer?”

A Scharfuhrer pushed himself forwards towards Luther, confirming the fact that the officer in charge was dead. “Scharfuhrer, belay the retreat orders. You are to provide support for the mortar squads. Understood?”
Replying in the affirmative, the Scharfuhrer organised his men, and Luther moved back to rest of his weapon’s platoon. The machine guns were being set up beside the newly acquisitioned rifle platoon, and the panzerschreck gunners were assimilating themselves amongst the ranks. It was a matter of waiting, really, as the high explosive rounds pounded out from the mortars.

As the smoke began blowing away, the shapes of American armour could be seen in the gaps between trees, and they pushed forward, tanks with mounted dozers pushing down trees. Infantry, wrapped in large coats, was running between trees, making sure that they hadn’t let any Germans get behind them. Who thought that mortars could start armoured battalions moving forward? Luther wanted to avoid opening fire because the close armour would easily be able to wipe out his small force of men. From behind him, the MG42s were firing, but with the infantry hiding behind the armoured vehicles, they didn’t do much good at all. Luther was rapidly losing faith in this plan.

Only three minutes in to ‘fifteen minute’ barrage, the call went out that Luther had been hoping he would not hear for a long time. “Rounds complete!” Just brilliant. There was no point in remaining in their position and letting the armour get closer, they would need to pull back now. “Weapons platoon,” he called out, keeping a calm and steady voice. “Ditch the mortars, but take the machine guns and panzerschrecks. Fall back to the first stable house and provide covering fire. Mortar crews, carry MG42 belts and rifles. Standby to move.”

The weapons platoon began gathering up their weapons, and turning to face the rear. Smit pointed out the target building, and grasped his StG44 with both hands, waiting for Luther’s order to move. “Go!” shouted Luther, and the platoon opened up fire, viciously cutting down entire squads at a time with heavy rifle fire. Every so often, Luther would look backwards, checking on the retreating platoon, waiting for them to establish themselves behind cover.

It only took a minute for them to open up fire, sending very heavy volumes of fire down towards the Americans. Tanks were trying to get targets between the trees, and Luther knew he had to move quickly. “Rifle platoon! Up, move, move, move!” With the platoon, Luther clambered out of the trench, nearly slipping on the frozen ground, and began running straight towards cover. He overtook it, rounding a corner, and sighing with relief when he saw a straight, cover-filled route to the lake, where German soldiers were still advancing. The positioned machine guns were also moving, leaving just Luther’s weapons platoon providing cover. After a few moments, they also joined in the retreat, labouring under their heavy and hot weapons to make good time against the approaching infantry which was very sheepishly approaching the town, being sure to clear it one building at a time, and only firing potshots towards Luther and his men.

Crossing the lake was a very careful task, stepping around abandoned equipment with their heavy weaponry, making a solid jogging pace until they reached the hastily dug emplacements on the far side. By now, American infantry had set themselves up in the house overlooking the lake, and were opening fire upon any movement by the Germans, which was met with retaliatory fire from the entrenched SS division.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Moderation Post:

The following CP has been issued:

Schweinsteiger - 8

Luther - 8

-JT