Durand had sent a written message, one that he spent some time writing. Such things should not be spoken of over the airwaves.
The note made its way into the hands of Ernst-August Knocke, and then further up the chain of command to Lavalle.
The knowledge of what had been discovered in Mittelschaeffolsheim spread through Camerone at lightning speed, seeping out into Alma and the 16th Armored. It was not long before most of the Legion Corps D’Assault was aware that they had lost one of their best in extraordinarily awful circumstances.
The story, by the nature of matters spread by word of mouth, grew and grew, until those at the end of the chain were utterly shocked at the loss of a full platoon beheaded and the beloved Vernais emasculated and ripped apart.
Truth or not, motivated professional soldiers suddenly had another reason to close with the enemy, and less of a reason to conduct themselves within the rules of war.
Soviet resistance on Routes 30 and 226 had been overcome, the legionnaires of the 1st RDM sweeping all before them.
Olwsheim had proven a tough little nut, but thirty minutes of close-quarter fighting had reaped a good crop of prisoners, and driven the remaining enemy out in full retreat, giving the Legion control of both Route 60 and Route 226.
The advances continued, two of the three columns coming back together at the junction of Routes 30 and 60
Until they came to Brumath, where the attack floundered in a hail of machine-gun bullets and anti-tank shells.
Braun’s Panther had taken five hits, and he had quickly reversed under the cover of smoke grenades. Hastily deployed mortars from the RDM added their own smoke to cover the withdrawal.
“We can wait for Alma to come into position, probably for hours yet… and certainly in the dark, or we can attack again… now.”
Durand listened to his Battalion commander think aloud, the harassed man’s eyes straying between the commanders present.
“If we’re going to go again today, we’ve to go soon. The light.”
Braun need say no more than that.
The low cloud that was keeping the air forces at home brought with it the strangest of lights, an almost perpetual dusk that would undoubtedly accelerate the end of daylight, such as it was.
“Durand?”
Commandant Emmercy sought an opinion from a fellow Frenchman.
“I’m not the one to ask, Commandant. My men can do it, of course, but not without tanks in close support… that’s a question for Braun to answer.”
Despite the fact that he was the only non-officer in the orders group, Braun now had everyone waiting on his words.
“We’ll go, but it won’t be without cost. The enemy seems more oriented to the south edge of Brumath… probably to protect the ‘47’ and keep their supply route open.”
He pointed at, and then drew an imaginary line, east from Stephansfeld.
“If we move to the right here… and then drive at speed straight north, we should be able overcome them before they reorient. ”
Emmercy looked round his leadership, noting their grasp of the plan.
“The Neumatt and Schlonen are not obstacles to my tanks. In any case, this small farmer’s bridge is still standing, as are most of concern to us… and our English panzer-pionieres can put one of their wonders over the Zorn… here.”
He fingered a point on the small river.
The recently arrived British tank officer recorded the location in his notebook. The 2nd Lieutenant was part of a small group from the 79th Armoured Division, whose units had been spread throughout Germany at the beginning of the new war.
At first, the British ‘funnies’, a troop of the 42nd Assault Regiment RE that had been doing demonstrations for French general officers, had been the subject of much derision, but those German soldiers who had experienced their capabilities in Normandy soon silenced the doubters.
Braun had decided that the Churchill bridge layer would earn its corn by spanning the Zorn River.
“Hauptmann Durand’s men can accompany us in their halftracks… but we’d need a distraction attack down the same axis we’ve just tried.”
That made sense to all.
Emmercy pondered the suggestion.
“Yes, ok. I’ll get some artillery down on the south-western edge… here and here. You take 1st Company,” he nodded at Durand, “And drive hard to here. They’ll turn for sure ,and then I’ll push the rest of the force hard up the road and Brumath will be ours.”
There was no time to lose, so the command group synchronised watches and sped off to their respective units to get ready.
“What the fuck?”
Braun looked, but did not believe his eyes.
Again he spoke, this time directing his words at his men.
“What the fuck?”
His crew didn’t answer.
In truth, they hadn’t been inclined to resist when the idea had been put to them by ex-Hauptscharfuhrer Stepanski and, now that the reality of it was now in front of them, the events of Mittelschaeffolsheim had priority over the observing niceties of war.
1st Company boasted a strength of eight Panthers and three Panzer IVs, and each had its own pitiful cargo of Russian prisoners, all from the group taken when Olwusheim had been overrun.
Most had been butchered at the time of surrender, but a few, very few out of the two hundred or so that had raised their hands, had been taken alive.
Between four and six Russians were ‘sitting’ on each tank, mostly bound in place; those that weren’t were kept in position by the threatening muzzles of weapons held by the grenadiers positioned on the rear of the tank.
Braun’s gunner finally spoke, the issue now resolved in his mind.
“Human shield, Johan. Old Stepanski’s idea. Make the bastards think twice about firing at us, eh?”
The Senior NCO’s mind processed the sight, but the vision of Vernais appeared, stronger than the appalling images before his eyes.
“Fuck ’em.”
He waved his hand above his head, the circular motion bringing his tank commanders to him.
The quick briefing commenced without giving the POW’s a second thought.
Durand’s company arrived, halftracks racing into position, ready to support Braun’s tanks.
The plight of the Soviet prisoners drew every eye, but not one word was spoken in protest.
The men of the 1st RDM cared little for the swine who had tortured their talisman.
Most of the halftracks now sported a large white ‘V’ on each side, which stood for Vernais or Vengeance, depending on which legionnaire was asked.
Behind Braun’s back, the sound of falling artillery signalled the commencement of Emmercy’s distraction, giving only ten minutes for the preparations to be completed.
The Churchill bridge layer arrived, accompanied by two Churchill AVRE’s carrying fascines, the 2nd Lieutenant’s own little touch to the attack.
His joy at being able to add to the plans of the veteran soldiers he was supporting evaporated in a microsecond. He had seen the Legion tanks.
“What the deuce?”
The Churchill halted and the young officer dismounted, deciphering the numbers on the Panthers as he worked out which tank belonged to Braun.
He spotted the NCO scaling the rear of his tank, avoiding the reluctant passengers at the front of the tank.
“I say, Sergeant Major. We can’t do this, we simply can’t.”