The man’s voice grew in pitch as the words came tumbling out, his ‘incapacitated’ men realising that their subterfuge had failed and another tack was needed.
“My men here… all of us…we’ve done our bit, god knows… and fucking more besides… more than you high and mighty soddin’ regulars and that’s that, so…”
Had the NCO but realised it, the Lancer officer Captain Haines had disappeared and had been replaced by something called Biffo, a creature with a short fuse and little capacity for compromise.
One straight right put the Sergeant on his backside in the muddy snow of the courtyard.
The Lancer extended his hand, the Sergeant so confused that he accepted the help without question.
Biffo posed a simple question.
“What was that you were saying, Sergeant?”
The NCO regained his senses and spat some blood away, barely missing Haines’s tank overalls.
“Sir, you gotta understand. We’ve been through hell, in this one and the last. Me and the boys are done… really we are. There’s no fight left in us.”
A murmur from the rest of the RAC troopers supported the assertion.
Biffo and Haines silently wrestled for supremacy and unusually, especially given the circumstances, Haines won through.
“So, you think you’ve done your bit and now you intend to sit this out, eh?… EH? Leave your mates to fight… whilst you sit back and press wild flowers? Is that it?”
The sarcasm stung a little and the Sergeant stood a little taller.
“Yes, Captain, we’ve done our bit and more… and our mates have been killed by the dozen…and for what, eh? For fucking what?”
He turned to his men, almost preaching to them, rather than reasoning with Haines.
“For what? Get rid of one fucking Hitler and another comes along straight away. A few yards here, a few yards there… and all the time we bury our chums.”
Biffo was back in the ascendency again and the Sergeant had an extreme close-up of the angry lancer’s face.
“Listen to me, you sorry excuse for a fucking soldier. You and your men’ll do as you’re ordered for a number of reasons. One, because you’re soldiers and you obey orders. Two, because if you don’t, all of your mates will have died in vain.”
The Lancer officer focussed his attention purely on Massala.
“And three… ‘cause if you don’t, I’ll stretch the lot of you wankers in the snow… starting with you, sunshine. Fucking comprendez… Sergeant?”“
The delay in stating the man’s rank supplemented the contemptuous tone, stinging the Armoured Corps NCO as it was meant to do whilst, behind Biffo’s back, the fourth reason had traversed its gun and was pointing at the nearest Churchill, with Stumpy and Killer, equipped with sten guns, covering the group from the driver’s and loader’s hatches respectively.
“So… you and your sorry bunch get your tanks moving… and we’ll say no more about this. Clear?”
The Sergeant exchanged looks with some of his men, the little shrugs and head movements telling the watchers that the Lancer officer had won the day.
“Clear as crystal, Sir.”
“OK then. Stay on the net… and if you see anything, anything at all, I need to know straight away. If you and the Eyeties can’t handle it, I have Archers and a ready troop of Shermans that can get up to you. Call signs Apple and Robin. Released on my orders only, clear?”
For the benefit of the surly group that was starting to sort itself out, Haines increased his volume.
“You’re not alone in this fight, lads, just as you’re not alone in losing mates, We’ve all done our bit… and I wish we could all just go home… but we can’t, not while the sodding Russians keep this nonsense up. We’ve to stay here… and we’ve to do the job, otherwise it’ll be your sons,” he selected one of the older troopers for some serious eye contact, “Or your grandsons who’ll have to do the business for us… and then what would we think of ourselves, eh? EH?”
The grumbling continued, but they moved smartly enough to their vehicles.
“Sergeant, a word.”
Taking the RAC man aside, Haines laid it out clear and simple.
“If you and your men do this right, we will say nothing more about any of it, Sergeant.”
The man nodded.
“However, Sergeant, if you or your men let me down in any way, I’ll visit myself upon the lot of you and you’ll pray for the sodding Redcaps to take you away. Are we clear?”
“Clear as crystal, Sir.”
The NCO’s nose trickled blood again.
“Good luck to you and your men, Sergeant.”
A brief salute was exchanged and both men quickly to their tanks.
Nellie made a great play of following each vehicle with the gun barrel until his commander put an end to the game.
With ‘Biffo’ safely back in his cage, Haines waited until all the Churchills were on the road before moving back to the headquarters position.
By the time Haines returned to the headquarters, Brigadier Ambrose was on his way to the rear. The medical officer, a man scrounged up from one of the Eighth Army’s rear echelon units, decided that Ambrose needed to be evacuated and that he was the only one who could go with him.
Haines sought out the staff officer he had entrusted with the task and nodded his acknowledgement.
The Italian Colonel had arrived to report to the Brigadier, only to find that he was now the senior officer on the Allied side.
To be fair to him, the man had the common sense to understand that he was not equipped to lead the tanks, so he was openly relieved when Haines returned.
Colonnello Dante Pappalardo was perplexed by his sudden elevation to leadership but took it in his stride, unaware that he had already taken orders from the Lancer officer he now commanded.
The basic position seemed sound enough, or as sound as it could be, especially as Haines’ provision for Nötsch was soon to be in place.
Another Soviet attack had fallen before the Rifle Brigade and Italian infantry force, but again, had cost valuable British tanks.
Stokes-Herbst reported two more 16th/5th losses and four from 17th/21st.
“The bridges, Capitano? They are ready?”
“No, Sir, they are not. Brigadier Ambrose had requested some engineers to prepare them, but none have arrived.”
One of the Lieutenants passed Haines a message chit.
“Here we are. Demolition squad requested at 1312hrs on 26th November. Acknowledged and action was promised, Colonnello.”
“Merda! So where is our next line of defence?”
The staff placed a hastily prepared overlay on the map the Colonel had supplied, an Italian army map of superior quality.
The next position lay between Riegersdorf and Pöckau, then just outside of Pöckau itself.
After that, one further line obstructed the approaches to Arnoldstein before the defensive positions were set in Arnoldstein itself.
“So, we have some time, at least. Tenente, repeat that request for demolition team please.”
The Lieutenant moved off to the radio immediately.
“Your thoughts, Capitano?”
“Sir, these positions,” he ran his fingers over the ones between Arnoldstein and Riegersdorf, “Are less than satisfactory for the tanks. No field of fire for us really.”
The snow had gone and visibility was now excellent.
“We need to hold this line as long as possible… that way I can guarantee the best support for your infantry forces, as well as the artillery observers having the best possible opportunities to do good work.”
Pappalardo could understand that.
“So why not bring all of your tanks up to this line, Capitano?”
‘Good question, Colonel.’