Now that would be quite awesome. Especially when they have King Tigers.
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Now that would be quite awesome. Especially when they have King Tigers.
He introduced the SLR already, I think the precedent for tech coming a decade early is there. 
Now this is what I call saved by the bell. I am glad to see that Drake didn’t have to sacrifice himself like that. It would have been a great loss for the Empire. O’Rourke is wounded but still alive and that is good, I just hope his wound is not one of those wounds which might seem like a flesh wound, but in reality be internal bleedings because continuing the story without the crazy Irishman wouldn’t be much funny…
The mystery with the German 88s, I sure hope we shall soon see a new update so that this can be explained. But it would have been very funny if it had been the Germans coming to the rescue, but I am guessing it might also be some of the paras in the town has stumbled upon some equipment the Soviets had captured from the Germans and stored in the town and now the British are using it against the Soviets. I guess time will show, but I sure hope we don’t have to wait a long-time before the next update arrives
The mystery with the German 88s, I sure hope we shall soon see a new update so that this can be explained. But it would have been very funny if it had been the Germans coming to the rescue, but I am guessing it might also be some of the paras in the town has stumbled upon some equipment the Soviets had captured from the Germans and stored in the town and now the British are using it against the Soviets. I guess time will show, but I sure hope we don’t have to wait a long-time before the next update arrives
Just spent a week(or was it two) reading all of this!
Consider me a new follower!!
Consider me a new follower!!
Kurt_Steiner - Funny? I'm thinking major irony here... ifin that's the case...
Nathan Madien - Now, now, when have I ever left a question hanging... well, for more than a little while, eh?
Vann the Red - Confused? Perfect, your're just where I want you! Oh, wait, crap... different story...:wacko: Don't worry, Vann, all will be made clear.... soon...
Porkman - :rofl::rofl: That's good, I like that. I'll need to remember to use that next time someone pops a question I don't have a good answer for. Thanks!
Dead William - DW, have you been snooping around my notes again? Thankfully you got the first draft notes... I think...
trekaddict - What? D'ya wanna make the easy or entertaining? Ifin what DW refers to is correct, that is.
Kurt_Steiner(2) - Aye, as much as I love my Marlboroughs I do have the feeling they would have a bit of a tough time vs King Tigers.
trekaddict (2) - True... but for the Empire, not her enemies! Although I guess it should be expected... thankfully not yet... although there are other potential enemies whom the Empire has not yet encountered...
Lord E - Saved by the bell? How's 'bout saved by the shell? Okay, okay, I admit that was horrible. Every should strike that from their memories...
For your concerns on O'Rourke, and the mystery of the 88s... stay tuned, an update will be forthcoming.
Kurt_Steiner (3) - Many thanks, my friend! Quite an honor!
Zeldar155 - Welcome aboard, thanks for joining us, hope you continue to enjoy your read!
**
Once again, many thanks to Herr Steiner for his nomination and even more thanks to my loyal readAARs.
The next update is scheduled for posting tomorrow or Thursday so stay tuned!
Nathan Madien - Now, now, when have I ever left a question hanging... well, for more than a little while, eh?
Vann the Red - Confused? Perfect, your're just where I want you! Oh, wait, crap... different story...:wacko: Don't worry, Vann, all will be made clear.... soon...
Porkman - :rofl::rofl: That's good, I like that. I'll need to remember to use that next time someone pops a question I don't have a good answer for. Thanks!
Dead William - DW, have you been snooping around my notes again? Thankfully you got the first draft notes... I think...
trekaddict - What? D'ya wanna make the easy or entertaining? Ifin what DW refers to is correct, that is.
Kurt_Steiner(2) - Aye, as much as I love my Marlboroughs I do have the feeling they would have a bit of a tough time vs King Tigers.
trekaddict (2) - True... but for the Empire, not her enemies! Although I guess it should be expected... thankfully not yet... although there are other potential enemies whom the Empire has not yet encountered...
Lord E - Saved by the bell? How's 'bout saved by the shell? Okay, okay, I admit that was horrible. Every should strike that from their memories...
For your concerns on O'Rourke, and the mystery of the 88s... stay tuned, an update will be forthcoming.
Kurt_Steiner (3) - Many thanks, my friend! Quite an honor!
Zeldar155 - Welcome aboard, thanks for joining us, hope you continue to enjoy your read!
**
Once again, many thanks to Herr Steiner for his nomination and even more thanks to my loyal readAARs.
The next update is scheduled for posting tomorrow or Thursday so stay tuned!
I think if Erwin and Erich were riding to the rescue on a King Tiger tank, they probably wouldn't get far with all that mud in the way...not to mention oil consumption.
Pah - don't forgot that E&E would be using the Empire's logistic train. Not the rather flaky Wehrmacht version
Assuming Monty isn't in charge of that, too.
"Yes, you can have your oil. But first, I want to make sure the oil cans are positioned exactly on the ground. Give me about twenty minutes...thirty if I have to adjust my beret."
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED NINETEEN – Part One
The Dying Warrior
A wounded chieftain, lying
By the Danube’s leafy side,
Thus faintly said, in dying,
“Oh! Bear, thou foaming tide,
This gift to my lady-bride.”
‘Twas then, in life’s last quiver,
He flung the scarf he wore
Into the foaming river,
Which, ah too quickly, bore
That pledge of one no more!
With fond impatience burning,
The Chieftain’s lady stood,
To watch her love returning
In triumph down the flood,
From that day’s field of blood.
But, field, alas, ill-fated!
The lady saw, instead
Of the bark whose speed she waited,
Her hero’s scarf, all red
With the drops his heart had shed.
On shriek – and all was over –
Her life-pulse ceased to beat;
That gloomy waves now cover
That bridal flower so sweet,
And the scarf is her winding-sheet!
A wounded chieftain, lying
By the Danube’s leafy side,
Thus faintly said, in dying,
“Oh! Bear, thou foaming tide,
This gift to my lady-bride.”
‘Twas then, in life’s last quiver,
He flung the scarf he wore
Into the foaming river,
Which, ah too quickly, bore
That pledge of one no more!
With fond impatience burning,
The Chieftain’s lady stood,
To watch her love returning
In triumph down the flood,
From that day’s field of blood.
But, field, alas, ill-fated!
The lady saw, instead
Of the bark whose speed she waited,
Her hero’s scarf, all red
With the drops his heart had shed.
On shriek – and all was over –
Her life-pulse ceased to beat;
That gloomy waves now cover
That bridal flower so sweet,
And the scarf is her winding-sheet!
- Moore
November 24, 1941
Naro-Fominsk, Russia
6:11 a.m. Local Time
I wonder if this is how the men of the 24th felt anything like this during Isandlwana? Such were the thoughts racing through the raggedly tired mind of Colonel Sir Malcolm Drake as he walked down the snowy ruin that at one time had been the main street of the Russian town. While his pace was hurried, in the finest traditions of the officer corps of the British Empire, it conveyed to the battered Paras watching a sense that despite being outnumbered and surrounded it was the enemy that should be afraid and not vice versa. Due to his actions being governed subconsciously, thanks to both the tradition and training of the British Army as well as lessons learned from military heritage of his family, Drake was allowed to let his mind roam about searching for solutions to the myriad of problems facing the British Paras tenaciously holding the Russian town. Alright, Malcolm, back to the matter at hand, eh? This is most assuredly not the wilds of Natal.
In the hours since the return of his team from their sally against the Soviet trenches, despite a brief nap that lasted a quarter of an hour, Drake had been coordinating the placement of the five Para battalions that had reached the refuge that was Naro-Fominsk. Stepping out of the snow and into the doorway of a pot-marked building near the town’s governmental buildings he fought to keep an angry snarl from passing his lips. Instead of the five proud and full strength battalions that had left Leningrad only a few short days ago what had crawled into the town was the battered, bloodied and nearly spent remnants of the King’s Airborne Rifles Regiment, amounting to only enough men to make a pair of reinforced battalions. Drake had known that the losses had been high, after all his own battalion’s C Company had been wiped out to the last man and the rest of the battalion had suffered significant casualties, but seeing twenty bloody Paras as the only survivors of Colonel Richard “Dickie” Lonsdale’s 6th Battalion had found him taken aback. Instead of allowing himself to slip into shock, Drake had turned the surprise into fuel for a cold rage which he directed toward devising of saving what was left of his Regiment.
Pushing away the scowl he knew was still attempting to surface, he instead grinned at the soldiers huddled together on the floor just inside the entryway of the building. All the able bodied Paras had been thrust into the line holding the Soviets away from Naro-Fominsk while the walking wounded, there had been no invalid wounded thanks to the depravations of the hunting Red Army, where set up in secure buildings to recover as much energy as possible before they were sent back to the front lines. “You lads get enough to eat this morning?”
“Yes sir, Colonel,” replied a grizzled sergeant through chattering teeth as he struggled to rise to his feet.
“As you were, Sergeant, I’m only passing through.”
“Thankee, Colonel,” the man replied as he thankfully sunk back to the floor, a grimace of pain shooting across his visage as he bumped his wounded thigh against the shivering Para next to him.
Reaching over and tucking the tarp the men were using as a blanket about the group, Drake cursed vehemently in the back of his mind. “Keep warm lads and get some sleep, you’ll need it when we leave town.”
“You mean we’re surrendering to Ivan, sir,” gasped one of the younger Paras.
“Hell no, my lad,” Drake retorted. “We’re going to break this siege and when we do, Lord Gort’ll send us back to jolly ol’ England for some real rest.”
Patting the soldier on the shoulder he continued further into the building and thrust his head into the room that had been designated as the Regimental command post. Spying the Sergeant-Major of 3rd Battalion, a bantam weight by the name of Ackerman, working with one of the surviving wireless operators, Drake called out, “Sar-Major Ackerman! Where the Hell is O’Rourke?”
“The silly bugger is off with O'Hanlon from the 3rd, Colonel,” Ackerman replied with a slight muffle to his voice. Turning, and in so doing reveling the bandages that were keeping his left cheek, and hopefully his left eye, attached to his face, he continued, “The two of ‘em are scrounging for some supplies for our guests.”
Nodding slightly, and overlooking Ackerman’s wound as he knew the veteran would want, Drake looked down the hall and then back. It was the guests that had sparked an idea in his mind, an idea that might be salvation or a death knell. Of which he was still not sure. “Is every one already upstairs?”
“Yes sir,” Ackerman replied with a stiff nod of his own. “Including a few of the senior guests, sir.”
“Be nice, Sar-Major,” Drake said with an arched eyebrow, “our guests might just save the day.”
“If you say so, Colonel.”
“I do.”
Stepping back out of the doorway, Drake strode across the building’s foyer and mounted the steps leading to the second floor, taking them two at a time. Walking past two Paras standing guard and thence into a room, Drake had a momentary flashback to a similar scene that took place in Berlin several months ago. Pausing just in the doorway to unzip his dirty white combat smock and remove the distinctive red beret from an especially sewn pocket of his uniform pants, he took the few seconds it took to do so to study the occupants who had turned to stare at his entrance. Just as had been the case in Berlin, one side of the room contained British officers and the other German officers. However, Drake was fairly confident, none of the Germans would happen to be an agent of the Imperial Intelligence Office. I wonder what that chap, Fleming was his name I think, is up right about now, Drake thought, placing his beret atop his head at rakishly jaunty angle. Placing his fists on his hips and thrusting the remnants of that idle thought away, he thrust out his chin and inquired hoarsely, “Right then, who can make the introductions?”
“Sorry, Malcolm,” Colonel Howard “Sandy” Kippenberger winced as he adjusted the bandage binding his right shoulder and upper arm, the same arm that he had wounded in the Great War while a private fighting in the Battle of the Somme a quarter of a century ago. His New Zealand accent, more pronounced Drake assumed, due to the pain killer medication Kippenberger had been given for his wound, was distinctively reassuring for some reason. “This is Oberst Hyazinth Graf Strachwitz von Groß-Zauche und Camminetz. He and his men are the newest guests to Monty’s soiree and the men responsible for the artillery support of last night.”
Gazing at the indicated officer Drake first took in the unique black uniform of a German Panzer officer. Despite the uniform being battle worn, splotches of both mechanical fluids and the unmistakable stain of dried blood predominating, the man still cut a dashing figure in the black wool hip-length double-breasted jacket and trousers. The man was clearly older that Drake by at least twenty years, however, his aristocratic face was dominated by piercing eyes that sparkled intensely and gave weight to his stare. Surrounding those eyes were wrinkles that Drake knew were visible upon his own face, the mark of a man who experienced the stress of leading men in combat. Regardless of those marks, which on many men simply made them look worn out, this man wore them with pride that Drake knew only came from success on the battlefield. A unique version of the officer's Feldmütze, or field hat, his having fleece added to the turndown flaps, was perched atop his head while hanging about his neck atop a thick woolen scarf and glittering in the weak light of the room was the unmistakable piece of metal that was the Ritterkreuz des Eisernen Kreuzes mit Eichenlaub und Schwertern, the Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves and Swords.
A firm believer of knowing one’s enemy, Drake had been known to almost religiously study not only intelligence reports but also copies of the German press to gain insight to which officers the Germans felt were their best. That habit paid off for Drake was familiar with Graf Strachwitz. He was a gifted panzer leader, nicknamed by his troops as der Panzergraf, the Armoured Count. Many of Drake’s brother officers within the armoured regiments of the British Army had been quite glad that Strachwitz had been kept fighting here in Russia for while they were confident in their own abilities, a smart soldier preferred not to have to fight someone who was their equal or possibly better. Raising his hand to his brow, Drake provided a respectful salute before speaking. “Graf Strachwitz, it is an honor, sir.”
Snapping off a return salute that was accompanied by the sharp crack of Strachwitz’s boot heels clicking together, the German officer smiled a touch stiffly. “I too find it an honor to personally meet the officer that pulled that rat Hitler from his cesspit.”
With a slight inclination of his head, Drake acknowledged the German’s words, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. “I do not mean to be inhospitable, my lord, and while I most heartedly thank you for the support you provided last night, support without which my brother officers here and I would probably not be here, I have to know just how you and your men just happened to be in the area?”
“Before I do that, Herr Oberst,” the German aristocrat said as he pointed to the two officers at his side, “allow me to present my officers. This is Obersturmbannführer Kurt Meyer, my chief of operations, and next to him is Hauptsturmführer Max Wünsche, my adjutant.”
Looking at the first indicated officer, Drake was struck by the similarity between Strachwitz’s eyes and the penetrating steel-blue eyes that stared back from beneath the brim of Meyer’s battered Knautschmütze, his peaked officer’s field cap. There was also a note of recklessness in the German’s eyes, somewhat akin to the recklessness that was found in the eyes of Paras, but what Meyer’s recklessness was, Drake was unsure. It certainly was not the sort of recklessness in battle that was detrimental to the common soldier or der Panzergraf would not have made him his second in command. Taking this all in with a brief glance Drake then turned his gaze upon Wünsche, his eyes lifting upward to take in the difference in height between to two subordinates of the Graf. Meyer was at least five foot ten inches tall, but Wünsche had several inches upon the other man, making Drake think of how cramped it must be for the younger officer when buttoned up within his panzer. .
“You are SS then,” interjected the only unwounded British officer besides Drake, 1st Battalion’s commanding officer, Colonel John D. Frost.
“No, we are Waffen-SS,” replied Wünsche with a touch of heat in his voice. “Or at least we were.”
Responding to the raised eyebrows arching up on the foreheads of all four British officers, Strachwitz cleared his throat. After a hooded glance at the young officer he spoke directly to the Paras. “You will have to excuse Wünsche. He was a dedicated Party man since a child, even spending time as a vaunted member of the Begleitkommando des Führers. Finding out the truth about der Führer has come as a hard blow to him and a good number of the Germans fighting here in the East.”
The end of the German aristocrat’s explanation was filled with such a volume of contempt that Drake again had a momentary flash back to Berlin, this time recalling several conversations he had with another uniformed German nobleman, Claus Schenk Graf von Stauffenberg. His attention was brought back to the chilled atmosphere of the room in Naro-Fominsk by Kippenberger’s voice asking, “Begleitkommando des Führers? What the bloody hell is that?”
“The Begleitkommando des Führers was a select group of SS men serving as body guard to Hitler,” Wünsche answered, his incisive gaze taking in all three British officers. “I was an orderly officer before transferring to the Waffen-SS to serve under Panzer here.”
“Panzer?”
“Panzermeyer,” replied Meyer with a wry grin. “A nickname I picked up when a prank I attempted to play in my police academy days fell apart and ended up with me receiving over twenty fractured bones.”
“What in God’s name happened,” Frost asked, his interest getting the better of his distaste at dealing with members of the SS.
Still wearing his wry grin Meyer enlightened his audience. “The plan was to throw a pail of water on one of my classmates from the roof of the academy headquarters. I, however, slipped and fell from the top of the two story building. I landed on his feet, but as I said suffered over 20 fractures. I am told that I was expected to die, but as you can see I did recover. When I returned to my classes I found out that I had been christened him “Panzer” by my classmates because he was supposedly as tough as a battle tank.”
“Indeed,” grimaced the only man in the room yet to speak, the battalion commander of the Regiment’s 5h Battalion, Colonel Frederick “the Elder” Gough. The second eldest British officer in the room, Kippenberger was older by four years, he was the first of them to have received his Para wings and had a great deal of experience with broken bones that were the result of falls from heights.
Waiving his hand in front of his slightly bowed head as if he were attempting to drive away a bothersome fly Drake strove to change the subject of the conversation back to his question. “Hauptsturmführer Wünsche mentioned that you used to be Waffen-SS, Graf Strachwitz?”
“Meyer and Wünsche were both members of the Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler,” Strachwitz replied unapologetically. “I myself have always been a member of the Heer. With the Fall of Berlin and the coming to light of certain actions undertaken by the Party many members of the Waffen-SS broke ranks with the Party. Rather than return to Germany, however, they elected to swear allegiance to the new Kaiserreich. With many units of the Waffen-SS being weakened, Generalfeldmarschall Guderian ordered for them to be absorbed into Heer units as needed. The results are as you now see, Meyer and Wünsche were assigned to the Panzergrenadier Division Großdeutschland, and thence to me as my principals in Panzerregiment Großdeutschland. So, while they are technically still members of the Waffen-SS, they are Heer officers of the Kaiserreich.”
“Fine, now that we know who belongs where,” Frost growled, his ill feelings toward members of the SS obvious across his face. “Let us get back to something a tad more important if we can, namely how it was you and your men arrived in our little corner of frozen Hell.”
Strachwitz, as his officers well knew, did not take fools kindly and usually treated them accordingly, but chose to give Frost the benefit of the doubt. It was possible that his animosity toward the SS was justified, after all many of the members of the SS were fanatics and had no compulsion to follow the normal dictates of civilized war as did the majority of the Wehrmacht. Looking at each of the Para officers as he spoke, the German provided his answer to Frost’s inquiry. “Thanks to a very astute and quick thinking Heer liaison officer working with your headquarters in Leningrad, shortly after your departure for Moscow in addition to word being sent to Berlin, a messages was also sent to Oberbefehlshaber East, Generalfeldmarschall Guderian, that assistance may be needed by our new Imperial allies. The Generalfeldmarschall, as commanding officer of all German troops in the East, immediately ordered any and all Heer units still viably operating in the area to converge upon Moscow and render assistance. My lads and I, what is left of the Großdeutschland, were the only troops able to reach this far and thus we motored our way here with as much haste as the Bolsheviks would permit.”
“Assistance for which we are grateful, Graf,” Gough said around a wet cough. “But how the hell were you even close enough? We had been advised that the Red offensive in the middle of October pushed all German troops much closer to our own lines.”
A slight sneer crawled across Meyer’s lips before he spoke. “Most but not all, Herr Oberst. The men of Großdeutschland and SS-Panzergrenadier-Division Leibstandarte SS, led by capable officers such as der Panzergraf here, were able to smash the Bolshevik attack and actually take ground from the scum.”
“Thanks in large part, Meyer,” Strachwitz reminded his subordinate in a kind yet firm tone, “to the Imperial attacks in the south around Kharkov.”
Grudgingly the younger German nodded his head and then explained to the Paras. “Due to the dangerous success of those attacks, the Bolsheviks apparently decided to concentrate on stalling the attacks of your panzer armies in lieu of hunting down those of us left from Großdeutschland and Leibstandarte.”
“Which means,” Wünsche responded to Frost and Kippenberger’s blank looks, “that for the last few weeks the lines in this area have been extremely fluid and there has been very little contact between ourselves and the Bolshies.”
“And thus our arrival to this little corner of frozen Hell, Oberst Frost,” Strachwitz explained with just a hint of sharpness to his voice. His eyes, however, were behind hinting at the reproach and they blazed unmistakably with the sentiment.
Cutting through the tension with a simply question, Kippenberger asked, “Well, Graf, you and your men have broken through the Red encirclement of our position to join us… however, will your arrival allow us to survive or simply allow us to make the Reds pay more dearly for taking us down?”
**
Stay tuned, things just might get exciting here soon...
Mmmmh... der Panzergraf and Panzermeyer. Well, the war is almost won. Be ready to go home, boys!
Panzermeyer! Quick, hand him a Tiger, send him into a built up area and then begin counting the knocked out Cromw...T-34s.
Nice update, but some of these colors are impossible to read unless selected by mouse first.
Very interesting. Like the new additions to the cast. Must agree with Carlstadt Boy, I had to select the text to read. Particularly Drake and the Panzergraf.
Vann
Vann
Sorry 'bout the colors.... I was trying to make it easier to read with the forums new background color scheme. Obviously that didn't work.
Anybody have a problem if I refrain from using colors at all?
Anybody have a problem if I refrain from using colors at all?
As has already been commented upon the new forum colours are really destroying the use of colours in the story, some of the colours are fine, but others are almost impossible to read unless the text is highlighted, so I have to agree with the comments on this page that it would be most ok if you used less colours making it easier on the eye.
So it was the Germans after all, I seems a little tension here, maybe not so strange when one remembers that several of these para officers have fought against and lost several men in struggles with the fanatics of the SS. But having said that I am guessing their prejudices will be left behind if the Germans can prove themselves as though, well disciplined fighters that can help the British get out of this troublesome situation. I wonder how many tanks and armoured vehicles have the Germans got? Maybe they could mount the paras into their vehicles and then try o smash trough the Soviet lines?
So it was the Germans after all, I seems a little tension here, maybe not so strange when one remembers that several of these para officers have fought against and lost several men in struggles with the fanatics of the SS. But having said that I am guessing their prejudices will be left behind if the Germans can prove themselves as though, well disciplined fighters that can help the British get out of this troublesome situation. I wonder how many tanks and armoured vehicles have the Germans got? Maybe they could mount the paras into their vehicles and then try o smash trough the Soviet lines?