Leaving all his units in the hands of subordinates, Von Scharf had assembled his commanders for a combined briefing, debriefing, and general ‘how are you’ session at his command post.
With no incoming fire, and a constant stream of friendly aircraft overhead, the bare hill seemed almost like a paradise, compared to recent places they had served.
The bright sun almost seemed to gather itself to launch stronger rays, so a feeling of well-being grew as the senior men took time for a drink and a cigarette in the warm embracing summer air.
Keller lay flat on his back, his hands across his face, preventing the intense light from penetrating his eyelids, or more accurately eyelid, as his swollen face had completely closed one eye.
Von Scharf felt comfortable enough to produce his trademark cigarette holder, and was, when not puffing away, relating some portion of the recent battle to Behrens, who in turn enlightened his commander as to how Aschmann had been badly wounded.
Janjowski chatted with Erich Horstbeck, the fresh-faced commander of Eighth Company, who didn’t look a day over sixteen.
The impression never survived further examination of the man’s uniform, his impressive array of bravery and other awards evidence of a great deal of time spent in violent proximity to the enemy.
A member of the 44th Hoch- und Deutschmeister Division, the quiet unassuming Viennese had started the war as a private soldier and ended it as an Oberleutnant, decorated with most awards the Reich had to offer, save the Ritterkreuz and any type of wound medal.
The latter was nothing short of a miracle for someone who had served the six long years of WW2.
Horstbeck was enthusiastically displaying his left forearm, the rent flesh, the clotted blood, the ripped sleeve bringing him joy, rather than pain.
“Finally Kasper… finally! Wound badge in Black for certain!”
Janjowski immediately rained on his parade.
“That’s not an insect bite, is it?”
“Eh?”
“Looks like an insect bite to me.”
“It’s a bullet wound… went straight through, hit some rock… came back into me here and took this chunk out.”
Horstbeck used his other hand to detail the passage of the single bullet.
“Right… fine… keep your hat on… I will accept that, despite the fact that it clearly looks like an insect bite… but my point stands. Regulations clearly state that the wound must be either sustained from frostbite, air raid, or hostile enemy action.”
Horstbeck’s eyes narrowed.
“What are you saying?”
“I understand that Oberschutze Köttler has confessed to missing a shot on an enemy and accidentally wounding you.”
“What?”
“Not enemy action I’m afraid, Rupe… sorry and all that… but these things come across my desk…can’t possibly sign off on it.”
“You bastard! You utter bastard!”
He aimed a swipe at Janjowski, who fell off his log avoiding it.
His laughter spread throughout the assembled commanders, who had, one by one, stopped to listen to the exchange.
Horstbeck sprang to his feet.
“I swear you lot conspire against me, just because I’m a veteran soldier with more experience than all of you rogues put together.”
The laughter spread.
Janjowski stuck his head over the fallen tree trunk.
“Still looks like an insect bite to me.”
He dissolved into laughter once more.
Horstbeck threw his cap at the face of the laughing man.
With mock severity, Janjowski wagged his finger.
“A clear case of assault on a fellow officer. Disgraceful… all because I’m not falling for your weak attempt to secure a decoration!”
“You utter schwein! Herr Hauptmann! I’m being victimised!”
Von Scharf was incapable of adding any words to the conversation, as he descended into a laughter-induced coughing fit.
Janjowski tossed the cap back to Horstbeck and sat back on the log, holding up his hands in mock surrender.
“However, Herr Oberleutnant, with the correct inducement, I might… err… turn a dark eye to your clear attempt to gain laurels not due to you.”
Horstbeck played the game.
“You total schwein, Kasper, or should I say, fucking Judas! This wound was sustained on the field of battle whilst I and my soldiers valiantly held back the Slavic hordes… unlike you… sitting in the safety of the battalion bunker counting pencils and paperclips!”
The laughter was raucous, and just what they all needed to wash away the memories of hideous combat.
“It isn’t me that writes the rules, Herr Oberleutnant… I’m sorry, but there is little I can do… unless…”
“Unless what…eh? Unless… hold on!”
Horstbeck almost exploded.
“You want the pepper vodka!”
“What an excellent suggestion, Herr Comrade Starshy Leytenant. I accept.”
“You asshole… I’ll piss in it before I…”
Some new sound made Horstbeck stop in his tracks.
“ACHTUNG! Take cover!”
The echo of his words was replaced by the sounds of rapid movement, as the veterans threw themselves in all directions.
The sound of scrabbling bodies was, in turn, superseded by a familiar and very dreadful sound, as the first of one thousand and forty-four Katyusha rockets streamed out of the sky.
Height 462 disappeared in a deluge of high explosives.
“That is the latest situation report received from Generalfeldmarschal Guderian, Sir.”
“Excellent, General. Thank you.”
Ike gestured von Vietinghoff to a chair and poured two coffees.
“So it seems that this coincidence will reap some advantage for your forces, General?”
Von Vietinghoff accepted the cup and saucer with a nod.
“Very much, General Eisenhower. Their assault elements made our initial running difficult but… according to the report I have just passed to you, it seems we have routed the units that were to attack us and, as a result, their front line has collapsed in three places.”
He took the opportunity to take a sip of the excellent fresh brew.
“The initial pocket area has been redesignated, and the Feldmarschal privately believes we will bite off much more than the First Guards Tank Army.”
“Good news indeed, General.”
They lapsed into silence as the coffee called to them.
Eisenhower was the first to break it.
“General Vietinghoff… I just wondered if you could help me with another matter.”
“Most certainly… if I can, Herr General.”
“The movement of German forces into our frontline… well… it seems a little slower than we had anticipated. I want to be able to tell my President that the plan is on schedule. Political pressure at home, of course. You understand.”
“Of course, Herr General,” he said.
‘Not really,’ he meant.
“Another coffee?”
Eisenhower swept up the dirty ware and returned with a fresh set, filled to the brim.
“Thank you, Sir. General Eisenhower, I believed that General Bradley was in liaison on this matter?”
“I’ve not been in direct receipt of any definitive further information since our last joint meeting, General Vietinghoff.”
“Then my apologies for our mistake. Some units were delayed in moving forward as they needed time to finish conversion to the newer weapon systems that are becoming available. Somewhat perversely, it seems the more experienced men require more input… overriding their previous training is how it’s been put to me… anyway, the units are moving and some are already in position, ready to exchange with troops from General Bradley’s Army Group.”