The tent suddenly emptied, leaving Patton and the Signals Officer alone, the former scribbling a note whilst the latter felt distinctly uncomfortable being alone with the ‘old man’.
“Here, get that off straight away. Any reply comes back to me a-sap.”
Patton didn’t stop his continuity of thought and action, immediately lifting the telephone and calling for a connection to higher authority.
It took two minutes to speak to the name he asked for, indicating that his commander had already taken to his bed.
“Bradley here. What’s going on, George?”
Bradley could almost hear the smile down the phone.
“Brad, we’ve got the sons-of-bitches split, and we didn’t even try hard. They’ve done the job for us.”
“Where we talking, George?”
“On the Moselle. You gotta map to hand?”
“Yep. Fire away.”
“Seems like Fifteenth pushed on the join between two units, and they both moved open, creating a gap. Guess the bastards didn’t want to be caught in the river bends. Look at Zell-Mosel in the south, Cochem in the north. I’m finding out what Leonard has planned, but it seems to me that, if the gap is that wide, it’s a great spot to go. Brad, I know the terrain’s not ideal, but we’ve been here before, and Koblenz is goddamned close.”
“Your assets, George?”
“Have the Twenty-second to hand immediately. The logistics people are working on the rest, but I can get my whole outfit online in two days, guaranteed.”
“How firm is all this, George?”
“I’m getting the full picture now, but I see no goddamned sense in delaying, so I’m preparing all my boys for a swift move forward.”
The delay in Bradley’s was minimal, but none the less evident.
“Okay, George, but make sure Leonard is onside with your plans before you move, clear?”
“Sure thing, Brad. Will you prep the airborne boys, just in case I need ’em?”
“Will do. On that one, advise me of likely drop sites a-sap. I’ll call this one up to Ike with my endorsement…err…” the pause as Bradley consulted a list was considerable, “I’m assuming you are looking at Plan Delaware or Oregon?”
These were two of the thirteen possible attack options laid out prior to the assault, basic framework plans on which meat and bones could be hung when the actualities of combat were known.
“First thought’s Delaware, given the other goings-on, but I ain’t committing to anything as yet, Brad.”
“Okay, George. Keep me informed. Good luck.”
“Thanks. You too, Brad.”
Both men replaced the telephone and then picked it back up.
Both men repeated the same message, almost word for word.
“Get me Fifteenth Army, General Gerow, immediately.”
Bradley lost the race and made do with the Fifteenth Army’s CoS, who confirmed everything Patton had said, and more.
Next call was for Eisenhower, who was enthusiastic beyond words.
Bravo Company, 320th Infantry Regiment had point, backed up by a platoon from 35th Mechanised Recon.
The messages had driven them on faster than they would have liked but, maybe, just maybe, the brass knew what they were doing, for nothing got in their way.
Until Alf.
Sat at the narrowest point between two curves of the Moselle River, the smallest of German villages was full of desperate Soviet soldiery, all intent on escaping through a gap less than four hundred metres wide.
Bravo’s company commander knew a turkey shoot opportunity when he saw one, and soon afterwards shells from the 127th and 161st Field Artillery Battalions started to claim scores of lives amongst the retreating men.
Charlie Company pushed up level and the two units together herded the enemy into the fire zone.
A radio message shifted the fire of the 127th’s 155mm’s towards the crossing point at Zell, but the Major commanding understood perfectly that the bridge was needed intact, as did the aircraft that were soon to follow on in.
The escaping Soviets, a mish-mash of supply troops, rear-echelon security forces and escaping frontline stragglers, were pounded into pieces by the relentless accurate fire.
An AOP arrived overhead, taking over direction duties, and moving the fire to the two hundred and fifty metre summit on Barl, as well as the rear slopes on either side, down to the district of Kaimt.
The other infantry company, Able, found the bridge at Reil damaged but passable, and quickly disposed of the small engineer force waiting in vain for orders to blow the Moselle bridge between Kaimt and Zell-Mosel.
Able Company pushed hard, losing their lead half-track to a random mine, and found a vantage point from where they could overlook the main crossing point at Zell, a solid structure that was rapidly becoming crammed with fleeing Russians.
Thoroughly briefed on their mission, A Company’s commander contacted the AOP and had fire moved, and then used his own forward air controller to call in the hounds of hell.
The unfamiliar aircraft is US markings swept over Alf, travelling around the height at Barl, using the Moselle to guide their attack.
AD-1 Skyraiders, a new aircraft in the Allied ground attack inventory, had been hurried to the ETO well ahead of proper schedules, their superior abilities recognised at an early stage, although the haste of their deployment led to tragedies early on, with some structural and mechanical failures, something that low-flying tolerates very badly.
The USAAF planners had got their act together, and the Skyraiders were equipped with nothing that could overly damage the bridge.
That would be of little comfort to the fleeing Red Army soldiers.
Fourteen Skyraiders came in, line astern, pumping 20mm cannon shells into the helpless mass struggling on the bridge.
Two twin DSHK mounts, mounted on high ground surrounding the bridge, opened up, solely succeeding in drawing attention to themselves.
The flight leader detailed one aircraft for each, and both positions were obliterated in short order.
The geography of the target was poor on their first run, denying them a proper opportunity to drop ordnance, so the Major leading the squadron took his aircraft round in a lazy circular route. Approaching from the south-east, up the valley that carried Route 194, presenting a length-on target to the deadly aircraft.
The leader dropped his payload beyond the bridge, the mass of soldiers being too easy to miss.
Each M-29 cluster bomb weighed in at a healthy five hundred pounds, and the formidable Skyraider carried ten, which were now descending through the Moselle’s morning mist.
Nine hundred bomblets, ranging from five to thirty second fusing, hit the packed masses.
The Major was already pulling up on his stick, rising into the air, and therefore not able to witness the butchery that occurred as his plethora of four-pound charges started to explode.
Behind him, the second in line had placed four napalm bombs on the same spot, immolating hundreds in the blink of an eye.
The second pair dropped the same loads, but nearer the bridge, working back and pulling up before risking any harm from exploding munitions dropped by the lead.
And so it went on, seven attacks in total; cluster bombs followed by napalm, until the final drop was made on the junction of Routes 421 and 194.
Many of the men of Able Company, watching from their vantage point above Zell, watched in horror at the fate of hundreds of men, women, and horses, all destroyed by the efficient killing machines of artillery and aircraft.
The Skyraiders swept back over the scene, but the total devastation yielded nothing worth shooting at.