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Carter’s mind was already addressing the problem. For a moment, he considered not calling James, but relented, sending the clerk to fetch the Colonel.

Drawing heavily on his pipe, James stumbled into the halftrack.

“What gives, Major? I see the smoke up there.”

“Sir, the enemy has ambushed our point outside of Petersbach. T-34 tanks are reported, as well as infantry and mortars. I’ve prepped the tank-destroyers to move up to back-stop the lead elements on your order, Si…”

“You’ve what?”

“I’ve prepped them for a move up to form a defensive line here, Sir.”

Carter indicated a point of higher ground, just south of the junction of Route 9 and 107.

“Well, we won’t be doing that, I can goddamn tell you, Major!”

Carter looked at the Colonel in a neutral way.

“We are attacking. Our orders are clear, Major. Order the lead elements to coordinate and push the enemy out of that village.”

Carter looked at the Colonel in disbelief.

“Sir, we have T-34 tanks identified in that position, supported by infantry and mortars. Our intelligence report tells us that Petersbach is in our possession. Clearly it isn’t, so it would seem that the Soviets are attacking. To send our boys forward into that is…”

He stopped and deselected the word that would have put him way out of line.

“Is what, Major Carter? Bold? Carrying the fight to the enemy? Carrying out our orders? What?”

Carter looked at the Colonel in a neutral way.

“Sir, we don’t know what we face. If we are savaged, we’ll not be able to discharge our orders, and those Legion boys’ll pay the cost of our failure.”

James looked at the Major with contempt.

“If I didn’t know that you’d been decorated for bravery on a number of occasions, I’d think that you’re a fucking coward, Major Carter.”

Every head in the halftrack had been studiously avoiding looking at the pair, but such words drew them all to gaze at the two officers.

Colonel James saw the silent reactions of his men.

“As you were, soldiers!”

The men snapped round to focus on their own posts once more.

“Major Carter, you will order the lead elements to form for a frontal attack on Petersbach, straight down the ‘9, using speed and superior fighting ability to overcome the defences.”

Carter considered his response carefully, but had only started preparing it before the radio crackled into life and the world changed.

He held eye contact with James, both men silent, listening to the reports from the point column as they were assaulted by a large wave of T-34’s, probably a regiment’s worth, with infantry support.

Keeping his eye contact with Carter, Colonel James spoke rapidly.

“Tell the lead elements to hold and await reinforcements. Radio the TD’s and have them move up as previously discussed.”

James paused as 105mm shells streaked overhead, artillery support fire brought down to halt the Soviet thrust.

“Is all of Second Battalion closed up?”

Carter suddenly realised that the words were directed at him.

“Yes Sir. When contact was made, the battalion spread out either side of Route 107, on that higher ground, north-east of Lohr.”

James looked down at the map and made some decisions, bringing Carter in closer.

“Get First Battalion positioned at this stream here,” he ran his finger along a small watercourse on the outskirts of Lohr.

“Third can move up the Route here,” he tapped Route 13, that joined the ‘9 just west of its junction with Route 107.

“Get ’em up to the junction and then we’ll see what gives. Send a company of the 741st boys with them.”

Task Force James had two companies of the 741st Tank Battalion in its inventory.

“Yes, Sir.”

Carter translated the Colonel’s words into orders that could be transmitted and, within moments, the soldiers of Task Force James were tasked and organised.

James relit his pipe, making no effort to hide his annoyance, staring at his Major without a hint of comradeship.

Carter reported back that all had been done as ordered.

“Thank you, Major Carter. Troops, listen in!”

The surprise was tangible, but more was to come.

“You heard the exchange between Major Carter and me. I withdraw my comments, and apologise to him without reservation. He was right. I was wrong. I’ll do better next time. Now… as you were.”

James brought his lighter to his pipe bowl and puffed away madly, his eyes fixed upon Carter, the faintest hint of a smile mainly concealed by the flurry of smoke.

Carter nodded gently, understanding that James had just demonstrated a quality scarce amongst men, let alone leaders of men.

‘Son of a bitch.’

Task Force James had run into an advancing element of the 25th Tank Corps, detached from 3rd Guards Army, tasked with threatening the northern flank of the Legion incursion.

The 2nd Division’s soldiers would advance no further that day, or the days to come.

The Legion would get no help from that quarter.

0728 hrs, Saturday, 7th December 1945, Mobile Headquarters, 16th US Armored Brigade, Ringendorf, Alsace.

Pierce received the two reports without emotion, or at least, any external display of note.

Inside, he part screamed and part bled.

The parts that screamed understood that the 2nd Infantry had been halted by a Soviet combined armored and infantry force at Petersbach, and that the Rangers push had all but withered in the woods, west of Griesbach.

The part that bled had listened impassively to the news that Williams, the Ranger commander, had been carried from the field, felled by an enemy mortar round.

“Jeez, Ed. Tell me there’s some good news. Neuwiller? Dossenheim?”

“They’ve had no contact from Dossenheim yet. Our advance is slow, but we are still moving forward. Nothing from Neuwiller, Sir.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing since the last report, made when the Legion boys occupied it.”

Pierce took a deep breath and a big decision.

“Hold the Rangers in place, Ed.”

Pierce waited as Greinert issued the orders in clipped tones.

When his number two had finished, he continued, albeit briefly.

“Let’s get ’em some more muscle before we ask ’em to move forward again. Talk to me.”

“There’s a unit of the 712th at Imbesheim. It was missed off the maps initially, as the majority of the battalion had moved on.”

The much-reduced 712th Tank Battalion had been added to the 16th’s inventory late in the day, but proved a welcome addition with its mix of late model and very special Sherman tanks.

“Two platoons of Sherman Calliopes. They were left behind because of supply issues. These have been resolved, Sir.”

“What’s that… two miles?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Then get ’em up there right now, Ed.”

The orders were sent.

“Now, what else can we send the Ranger boys?”

0810 hrs, Saturday, 7th December 1945, five hundred metres north-west of Griesbach le Bastberg, Alsace.

“Roger that, out.”

Lukas James Barkmann took a moment to compose himself. His ankle continued to remind him of its condition, even though he had been off it for some time now, hidden away in the roadside ditch that represented his command post.

The initial advance from Greisbach had been stopped dead, enemy tanks and guns forcing the Rangers to ground virtually as soon as they moved off.

Two of his supporting Shermans were burning on the field, joined by at least six transports, victims of the intense defensive fire.

Lieutenant Colonel Williams had been in the nearest one, the upside down jeep smoking, but not alight, oil cooking on the hot engine.