“You understand me, son?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You make sure your Rangers know that… and make sure they know it from me… hell… I’ll tell ’em myself… get the…”
Pierce halted as the apparition came into view. A stretcher being carried by four Soviet prisoners under the supervision of a Ranger First Sergeant.
He looked at Barkmann quizzically.
“No idea, Sir.”
The stretcher was laid at the feet of the US General and one of the prisoners knelt by the side of the badly wounded man it held.
The Soviet officer laboured his words, and the stretcher-bearer had to lean further forward to understand.
Nodding at his commanding officer, he stood and saluted both Americans.
“My Colonel asked is he is speaking at the American commander please?”
Pierce gave Barkmann the stage and stepped back a short distance.
“I’m the commander of the force that retook this village.”
Translating Barkmann’s words, the Siberian rifleman listened as Astafiev spoke softly.
“My Colonel wanting to say thank you and to apologise for what is happen here.”
More words flowed from Astafiev’s mouth, even though his first tranche had yet to be fully delivered.
“He try to stop it, but he is shooted. He say that his men seed him bloody and lost mind. He also say that all have hear of Red Army soldier being shooted in other battles near here.”
Dropping to a knee, he took more input from Astafiev, his voice softer as his wounds made their presence felt.
“My Colonel wanting to thank you for not shooted his prisoner men. He know it would have been most easy.”
“Someone had to turn it off… someone had to stop the killing. What we do to each other as soldiers should not be like this.”
He pointed at the pyre.
The Siberian soldier translated back Barkmann’s words and those present could see the wounded Colonel’s acceptance, his head nodding as he looked at the pile of dead.
Astafiev raised himself up on the stretcher as best he could, given assistance by the translator.
He spoke a few words in his native tongue, words that brooked no argument.
Two more Siberian soldiers helped him to his feet.
Practising his words in his mind, he made himself as at attention as his damaged body permitted, leaning on the interpreter, but still in immense pain.
“Thank you, Leytenant.”
The salute was pretty good for a badly wounded man and Barkmann responded in kind, as did Pierce.
The effort proved too much, and Astafiev was helped back onto the stretcher and quickly carried away.
Pierce broke the moment carefully.
“Ok then, Lieutenant. As you’re it, and seeing on what you’ve done so far today, it seems reasonable that you make Captain permanently.”
He shook hands and continued.
“Now, get your boys reformed, just in case. The 2nd Infantry boys should be here soon, and you’ll hand the position over to them… and then get yourself the hell outta Dodge. I want you and your boys in Phalsbourg and resting. Clear, Captain?”
“Yessir.”
“Leave the Legion bodies to the 2nd. They can do the deed.”
“Sir, no Sir. Me and my boys’ll do that. We owe it to them, Sir.”
Pierce understood well enough.
“Son, you don’t owe those poor boys anything… but I understand why you’d want to do it. Carry on and good luck, Captain. I’ll be seeing you soon.”
Pierce took one last look and moved to his jeep, on his way to report to General Lavalle, deciding that his speech for the Rangers was unnecessary.
They had gathered for an orders meeting, and now they sat in stunned silence.
Lavalle.
Bittrich.
Knocke.
De Walle.
De Valois.
St.Clair.
The fact that the Mountain Battalion had been overrun was not news.
That there were no survivors was a horror that they had not anticipated.
That the survivors had been killed in such a fashion went beyond every line of moral decency and honour that any of them had ever drawn.
More than one eye was moist in grief and anger.
“Rettlinger?”
Strangely, it was Anne-Marie de Valois that posed the question. She had always liked the roguish man, and recognised the hurt inside him.
“Mademoiselle,” Pierce bought himself a moment to think, “He died in the defence.”
Anne- Marie knew a lie when she heard one and, in her own fashion, let Pierce know that he was transparent.
Lavalle joined in.
“Tell us please, John.”
Reluctantly, Pierce relayed the full information, seeing the pain in all their eyes as he described how Derbo had been singled out for special treatment.
St.Clair rose to his feet angrily.
“And your man let these bastards live? Eh? EH? How could he do that, mon Général, eh?”
Knocke saved Pierce the struggle for words.
Knocke stood and, as was his habit, pulled his tunic down and into proper order.
“The Ranger commander was quite right, Benoit.”
St.Clair looked at Knocke in astonishment as the German continued.
“Since Spectrum Black commenced, we have seen combat in its rawest and most vile state, all enhanced by atrocities,” he looked at the commanders around him, “For which none of us is innocent, no matter what the provocation.”
Nodding to Pierce, Knocke spoke in soft and reasonable tones.
“We should thank your man, General Pierce. He will have saved a great deal of suffering over the weeks and months ahead. He was quite right, although I doubt that I would have exercised the same judgement had I been there, although, for me it would have been more personal.”
“Thank you, General Knocke.”
And that drew a line under the matter, for now.
The group then continued on to deal with the fact that the Legion was stalled and coming under increased pressure. Their eyes turned to the north… and to Patton.
Chapter 116 – THE FOLDER
In war, whilst everything is simple, even the simplest thing is difficult. Difficulties accumulate and produce frictions that no one can comprehend who has not seen war.
As he had waited for his driver to return, Polish Army Major Kowalski had engaged the Legion officers in conversation, never turning away an opportunity to scrounge up information, even though he was now a double agent.
Two Majors started arguing over the map work, inviting another officer in to clarify matters.
Placing his own load of paper on the cabinet, the Capitaine attempted to lay out the aspects of the plan that were contested.
The top file caught Kowalski’s attention and he acted on impulse, encouraged by the heavy marks of secrecy emblazoned on its cover.
He swept the file into his own handful of reports and newspapers.
Next, he smashed his shoulder into the cabinet, sending paper flying in all directions as he seemingly tried to control a coughing fit.
Excusing himself, he moved towards the stairs, only to walk into his driver, fresh from parking the jeep.
Side by side, the two mounted the stairs in silence, he for the second floor rooms that were used for officer’s quarters, she for the attic rooms where the female staff were domiciled.
He opened the door of his room and stepped back, permitting Gisela Jourdan to step smartly in before anyone had a chance to see her in the out of bounds area.