Irlam was generally considered to be one of B Company’s greatest assets, despite the fact that everyone in the unit considered him to be totally mad.
His skill with the Springfield was legendary, bringing him regular awards and prizes in Army shooting competitions and, at least at first, earning his comrades many dollars in side wagers against over-confident opponents.
However, his weapon of choice was the dirk, a small Scottish blade.
The one he fussed over on a daily basis had been given to him by his father many years beforehand, and it was kept sharp and deadly, for there was nothing that Irlam liked more than to slide it into some defenceless body without warning.
In times of peace, Irlam might well have found himself in an institution, slated as a psychopath, but in times of war such men are useful, and so he found himself a decorated veteran of the Rangers’ war, and one of 2nd Rangers top soldiers.
The Springfield spoke again, sending another son of Russia to his maker.
Just to the right, an enemy vehicle burned.
“Gorod-five-two come in, over.”
Static.
“Gorod-five-two come in. Report, over.”
Static.
“Blyad!”
The Major in charge knew that Sukulov would never report again.
A recent arrival himself, he tried to work out what was happening, consulted the map, noting the markers suggesting where his point observer had been at that moment and working out where the enemy were.
He tapped the map and nodded to himself.
‘You will not have died in vain, Ilya Mikhailovich!’
He ordered the artillery to fire on the point under his grubby fingers.
The Spanish troops were all now within the Rangers’ lines and Lukas Barkmann was busy sorting them out as best he could.
To their credit, the survivors were still up for the fight.
Ford had a little Spanish language to play with, and two of the Rangers had more than a little Mexican in their blood, so between the four of them they were able to get the battered Spanish soldiers sorted.
The wounded were taken back to the aid station, set up towards the rear of Drulingen.
Detailing his two Mexican-Spanish speakers as escorts, Barkmann organised the remaining forty-one men into a reserve group, and sent them back into the village to lick their wounds in the Protestant presbytery on the Rue Durstel.
No sooner had they been sent on their way than Soviet artillery shells started falling on and around B Company positions.
To the Rangers’ front, the Soviet infantry had melted away, going to ground whilst their artillery and mortars worked on the defenders, and whilst their support gathered itself.
Barkmann, back at his command post, radioed his commander with a situation report.
Greiner read the message slip and checked off the details against the situation map.
“General, we have enemy contact reports from Ranger units here… and here…” he touched Bettwiller, then Drulingen.
The position of the 16th showed the advance units still short of the target hold line.
“Infantry and light artillery fire only at the moment.”
Pierce consumed his fifth coffee in quiet thought.
“2nd Infantry and Lorraine?”
“Not a squeak from 2nd, but Lorraine are receiving incoming artillery and have had light contact around Eschbourg.”
Indicating the location of that clash, Greiner waited.
“Anything more from the Spanish?”
“Nothing of use, General. They are still piecing together a better picture. From what we have so far, it seems they have broken open on Routes 9 and 178, here at Petit Pierre… and also on the 919 here at Tieffenbach.”
Pierce accepted yet another refill as he thought aloud.
“So the deepest move we have yet is against the Rangers front there at Drulingen. Is that because the Spanish folded easily on that line, or is that the centre of this attack, Ed?”
Greiner knew enough to know that Pierce had his own idea already.
“My gut tells me that they want to cut the route north-south. At Drulingen… well… they pretty much already got it sown up, seems to me. They will want to expand that some. I’m thinking two-pronged, Drulingen and Bettwiller, which takes out the railroad too, Sir.”
Pierce frowned.
“Nothing more expansive, Ed?”
Greiner shook his head emphatically.
“I don’t see it at the moment. Intel gives them limited resources as it is, certainly nothing has suggested any sort of major attack. My money is on a local op with limited scope for a specific purpose. Someone wants to remind the bosses that he’s about and on the ball.”
“How do you make that read?”
Greiner accepted the challenge.
“It reeks of a limited op run with assets to hand. No air force support. Yes, we know they are crippled, but if it was significant, then they’d have put some air up. The artillery sounds like divisional at best. Traditionally, they line the goddamn guns up wheel to wheel for full ops, whole divisions worth. Our recon has been excellent, the flights go out relatively unchallenged at the moment, so we pretty sure they haven’t moved anything new into the area, plus we’ve wrecked their infrastructure so bad they’d find it difficult anyway.”
“Not hedging your bets, Ed?”
Pierce’s smile was genuine, for he knew his CoS always told it how it was.
“I get the big bucks to make you look good, Sir.”
“OK then. So, looks like we have some options here. Weather?”
“Seaweed watchers reckon -15°, no snow, clear day all round.”
“Air?”
“All we want, and then some.”
Pierce finished the coffee and placed the mug down with an air of finality and decisiveness.
“I think we bring them on in outta the woods, get the bastards in one place… and turn air on ’em.”
The two officers leant on the map table, eyes drawn to Drulingen and Bettwiller.
“OK, we pull the Rangers back, once we have a secure perimeter here…” Pierce drew a rough pencil line up the 1061.
“Draw the commies on and then wipe the bastards out. Let Lorraine and 2nd be the rocks on our flanks as we feign a withdrawal to this line and bingo. Then we roll them back, all the way to the start line.”
Greiner stood.
“I’ll cut some orders immediately, Sir.”
In Drulingen, the pressure was mounting, as the artillery fire intensified.
“Al, orders from above. We gotta hold for another hour and then bug out as fast as we can to Weyer.”
“OK. Should we start moving some of the wounded back now, Lukas?”
“Good idea. Use any of the vehicles, ’cept the mobile reserve force ones. Get the wounded evac’d and that’ll be less for us to worry about when the time comes.”
Another 76.2mm HE shell landed close enough to shower the men with snow and earth.
“You get the feeling they’re going to push us soon?”
“Sure as shit… they ain’t here to admire the view, Lukas.”
Gesualdo’s grin was infectious.
“Get the wounded out a-sap then, Al.”
The 3” AT rapped out a shell, again causing ears to be assaulted by the sound.
“Goddammit!”
Barkmann saw, rather than heard, the replying shell, a supersonic streak of metal move across his vision, just missing the AT gun.
Both Ranger officers looked at the enemy lines and saw that the battle had changed.