Stuart Slade: Winter Warriors

“Captain, thank you for allowing me on your bridge.”

“You’re welcome Captain Lokken. We’re just pulling into Churchill now.” The exchange was interrupted by a blast on the ship’s siren, one that was picked up by other ships in the formation. The dawn seascape seemed to reverberate with the sounds.

“What is happening Captain?”

“Nothing to worry about. Two of the light fleet carriers are leaving the Fast Carrier Force. They’re on their way out to the Pacific Fleet. They’re just getting their send-off. Look over to port, you can see their replacements, Shiloh and Chickamauga. Sister ships of Gettysburg.”

“Two more great carriers like this one. It wouldn’t have mattered if we’d won would it? You would have just built more ships and come right back.”

“That’s right, captain. And since we won, we’re going to build more ships anyway. The Atlantic is our lake now, we’re going to go boating.”

Lokken nodded slowly, watching the long line of ships enter the huge natural harbor that was Churchill’s reason for existence. “And so it will go on.”

“Not for you Captain, as soon as our Doc releases you, you’re off to a prisoner of war camp. An officer’s only one of course.”

“I would wish to stay with my men. What few there are left.”

“I bet you would Captain, but it’s less trouble all around if we separate the officers from the enlisted men. So, it’s an officer’s camp for you. Don’t sweat it, I’m told the conditions are quite good and the Red Cross has its representatives on site. So, don’t worry, for you the war is over.”

Lang woke up, carefully and uncertainly. The last thing he remembered was the flames scorching his skin. His men had been rolling him in the snow to put him out, He couldn’t feel the burns now but that could just be anesthetic. In fact, he felt remarkably comfortable. He just lay on the bed, luxuriating in the feel of the soft mattress and the sheets.

“Comfortable are we, Major?” An acidic voice cut through his daze. Major-General Marcks was looking down at him.

“Sir, Sir?” Lang was flummoxed by the words but wasn’t quite sure why.

“That’s right Lang, its Major Lang now. And you have a piece of over-decorated tin to go with it. Also your friends on the General Staff want you back.”

“General Sir, tell them to go to hell. I’ll stay here, if you want me of course. And if I’m able”

“Asbach spoke quite highly of you. Thinks you have the makings of a good soldier. And your wounds are not severe, your greatcoat took most of the fire and your gloves protected your hands. You’ll be happy to know your silk scarf survived intact, in fact your men have it under guard for you. They’ve already beaten up one man who tried to steal it. But I’m not supposed to know that.”

“The men Sir? How many escaped?”

“Most who survived that last battle. We lost another halftrack to a Grizzly but that was all, and the crew of that escaped. The battle’s over Lang. We’re back to where we were before it all started. Just there’s a lot fewer of us. And the Finns are out of the war, they capitulated after the Amis burned Helsinki to the ground. This Winter War has not gone well. Asbach said it wouldn’t and he was right. Fortunately, the Navy has taken the blame, we were all betrayed by them you know.” Marcks was absent-mindedly rubbing his ear.

The way that Marcks spoke of Asbach suddenly sank in. “The Colonel Sir, how is he? How is Asbach?”

“Asbach is alive, although he was not as fortunate as you. Or perhaps more fortunate, depending on how one looks at it. His burns were much more severe. His injuries make him unfit for any kind of military service. He’s going home. He left a message for you though, he says that when you get some leave, if you have nothing better to do, drop in and see him. The two of you can kill a bottle or three of his family brandy.”

“I’ll do that Sir and, Sir, may I….”

“Stay with my division? I think so, I need somebody to replace Asbach. Yes, Lang, you can stay. Now, anything else?”

Lang thought for a second. “A bottle or three of brandy, that sounds good. Where does Asbach’s family live Sir?”

“On the Rhine, the family business is making brandy. Their home is in one of the small towns there, place called Duren.”

Marcks stomped out, swinging the door shut behind him. A sacrilegious thought entered Lang’s mind. At least out here I don’t have to keep remembering whose ass to lick. With that comfort, Lang relaxed on his pillows.

“Well, we’re nearly there. Knyaz, you’ll be leaving us now?”

“No, Commander, my division is grouped around this railhead. If it is permissible, I’d like to stay with you until we’re in.”

“Knyaz, if I may make a suggestion, why don’t you get your ski troops and go in ahead of us. That way you’ll get your welcome before this gun grabs all the attention.”

Knyaz nodded, that was a good idea. The escape of the railway guns had made headline news around the world, even if only one of the three had actually made it. There was even talk of making a Hollywood film about the exploit. I would rather like to be played by Clark Gable. Knyaz thought.

“Very well Commander, thank you. John, fly well and burn many fascists.”

Marosy mouthed the word “Napalm” and got an appreciative laugh from the Russians. “Knyaz, thanks for everything. We’d never have got out if it hadn’t been for you and your Siberians. They’ve got a new bird for us back at base. If you ever need anything, just get the word through. Anything bratischka, I mean that.”

“And I will take you up on it. Now goodbye my friend.”

After three days on the train, it felt good to be back on skis again. It had been a hard job repairing the tracks where the fascists had ripped them up. The engineers had settled for clearing the wreckage away and rebuilding the line by removing track from behind the train. Meanwhile, Knyaz and his men had kept guard but the fascists had gone. Once the work was done, it had been a gentle ride home. But it still felt good to be on skis again.

The cantonment started just as the railway like entered a marshalling yard. Knyaz had his surviving troops spread out on either side of the line, in echelons. He had to admit the arrowhead of ski-troops made a dashing figure as they entered the area occupied by the 78th Siberian Infantry Division. He could hear the watching men give the traditional ‘Urrah! Urrah! He brought his men to a halt in what passed for the parade ground. Across to his left he could see Rifleman Kabanov receiving an enthusiastic ‘welcome’ from two of the canteen girls. It was good to be young sometimes, Knyaz thought, forgetting he was only 26.

“Knyaz. You have returned.” It was his general, standing before him in the trampled snow. Knyaz frowned slightly. Things weren’t quite normal. The General usually called him Tovarish Lieutenant.

“Sir. Regret to advise you that we have lost 22 men dead and fourteen wounded. But we have killed many fascists and captured much of their material. I will have a full report for you later Tovarish General.”

“There is no hurry, you have a party to attend first, Tovarish Senior Lieutenant.” The General was beaming at him and Knyaz closed his eyes to imagine himself with his new insignia. And his extra pay. That thought made him wonder. Have I been around Americans too much?