From behind the northern woods came a roar of revving engines and very quickly the SP guns of the 396th charged into view, almost competing for the front position.
The senior officers watched with experienced eyes, understanding the subtle openings in the massed group as the different fire groups altered course.
Eighteen M-41 SP 155mm guns led the way, side by side with battery commander vehicles, and leading the ammunition train.
Behind them came Hammlett’s ace; a unit of five M-40 GMCs he had managed to retain and that were over and above the normal complement for an motorised artillery battalion.
For this exercise, M19 SPAA vehicles shook out on the flanks, occupying positions to screen the assembled artillery from any possible air attack.
Pierce always had high expectations of Hammlett and his men, but the exercise exceeded them, the guns putting rounds in the air in record time.
An eight round shoot was planned and it was over in the blink of an eye, the whole battalion suddenly up and moving like a spooked herd of buffalo.
“Goddamnit if that wasn’t impressive, Barksdale. Very impressive indeed.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Greiner couldn’t help himself.
“Well, let’s just make sure you put rounds on target before we start writing weekend passes eh, Colonel?”
“Do you have doubts, Colonel?”
Greiner had the scent immediately.
“What do you suggest, Barksdale?”
“I’ve got fifty that says we put 90% in the target area. What you got, Colonel?”
“I’ll cover that. I can’t lose, can I? I’ve either got an incompetent artillery commander but I’m fifty bucks up, or we’re on the ball, and the commies will get theirs. Win, win.”
Pierce grinned.
“My money’s on the arty. You want some?”
“I’ll cover that bet, Sir.”
Ninety percent was not unheard of, but to deploy so rapidly and make an accurate shoot, even with some prior knowledge of the telemetry involved, would be extremely impressive.
When the results of the shoot were in, Greiner was extremely impressed, as well as being a hundred dollars down.
Ninety-three percent of the shells landed within the designated zone, and there were weekend passes a plenty.
Unfortunately for Pierce, or more accurately, unfortunately for Acting Lieutenant Colonel Ewing of the 5th Tank Battalion, the artillery shoot was the highlight of the day.
Whilst the battalion achieved all of its objectives during the exercise on the old Austrian army training ground, it did it with an increasingly fewer number of vehicles, as mechanical casualties rose, along with Pierce’s blood pressure.
On the final exercise, one of the Chamberlains caught fire and became a total loss when it exploded, killing two men from the battalion maintenance company.
The General showed his harder side when dealing with Ewing, who was quickly advised that the whole thing would be re-run the next day and, as Pierce so eloquently put it, ‘the whole goddamned battalion better be on the final parade or you’ll be driving the shit wagon for the rest of your career.’
The repeated exercise saw two more Chamberlain breakdowns, but the efforts of the maintenance company saw them on the final parade and Ewing was saved from any further indignities.
Pierce’s report was forward to Corps HQ, and the 16th was rated combat ready.
1103 hrs, Saturday, 18th January 1947, the Viennese enclave, Austria.
Part of the negotiations over territory had resolved that Vienna would remain within Soviet hands until the wishes of the people of Czechoslovakia were fully known.
Hungary, pressured by an increasingly angry Tito, chose to remain within the Soviet sphere of influence, which meant that a small isthmus in the Soviet line could easily be maintained, a situation that most of the Allies were content with, except for the obvious noisy objections of German and Austrian contingents.
The Soviets were still in place long after the expected handover should have occurred, mainly because of the political situation in the Czech homeland, where the country seemed to be divided on an east-west basis, the eastern segment being more inclined to remain within the Soviet lines.
One of the easiest parts of the realignment of front lines had been from Bratislava southwards, where the Hungarian army took over much of the responsibility, bolstered by a few units of Tolbukhin’s Front, until the political boundaries met and Yugoslavian forces sat defending their homeland.
From the Soviet point of view, this released many units to return to Byelorussia and the Ukraine, or even to be transferred east or to the southern borders of Iraq.
The sole exception was Vienna, which remained occupied by the Red Army’s 4th Guards Army, one of Chuikov’s old formations, which was set in place in and around the Austrian capital; a powerful force placed to send the clear message that the Red Army would leave when it was good and ready.
Speer and Renner brought as much pressure to bear as they could, but the simple truth was that nothing would happen until the Czech question was resolved.
For their part, the Czech government was caught between two waves of strongly held feelings, and failed to bring about any useful decisions.
So Vienna remained a Soviet enclave, and Renner continued to cry foul to anyone and everyone who would listen.
“All quiet then, Al.”
“You betcha, Lukas. Far too cold for any shit. They know it… we know it… anyway, here’s hoping the Czechs pull their fingers out soon so we can spend the rest of this winter in warm houses in Vienna.”
“Somehow, I doubt it’ll be over by then. The Czechs seem to be in a right SNAFU.”
“You can but hope, Lukas.”
“Guess the neighbours ain’t got any fuel, eh?”
The Soviet troops were exercising vigorously the best part of eight hundred yards away.
“Fitness or keeping warm. Gotta be keeping warm. Only a complete lunatic would be out in this cold.”
Gesualdo kept a straight face and looked square at the man by his side, who had struggled through the snowfall from the battalion CP.
“Yep. No arguments from me on that score.”
“Fuck off, Captain.”
“Rank has gone to your head I see. Used to be that you were a nice guy.”
“I’m still a nice guy… just not to you. Anyway, like I said… only a lunatic would be out in this cold if a warm bunker was available.”
“Best we make sure we bring some along when we occupy their house then, Lukas.”
“Yep.”
They both dropped their binoculars at the same time, looking like performing artists with the precision of their movement.
Major Lukas Barkmann tapped out a cigarette and lit up.
“Yeah… well anyway… I’m here to see your updated planning, should we have to go and kick their asses along a’ways.”
“Let’s get back in the warm then, but there’s little change, except for some new fire missions based the latest aerial intel.”
“The Colonel wants it all just so, and he’s still got the hots for you after that punch up with the Brits.”
Barkmann referred to a mass brawl that involved B Company and a bunch of British soldiers from the Queen’s Own Cameron Highlanders that wrecked a fashionable establishment in Linz.
“You’re top of his shit list, Captain Gesualdo, and I suspect it’s as much for getting your asses whooped by men in skirts as for the brawl itself.”
Al Gesualdo bristled.
“We did not get our asses whipped. There were a goddamned sight more of the lunatics than we could handle for sure, but we stood our ground.”