George Elford - Devil's Guard

“Where in the hell farther west? There is the river!” He shrugged. “A river won’t stop Krebitz…”

“Send word to Eisner. He should move farther up, closer to the bridge, but no one is to fire before we open up here.”

“Understood!” I pointed toward the forest line where the trail entered the woods. “Karl! You should deploy on either side of the trail, keeping low. Riedl will join you.”

Shouldering their submachine guns, Karl and Helmut rose. “Wait a moment,” Noy spoke, lifting her kit. “I am coming with you.”

I pulled her back in a not very gentle manner. “I have the feeling that you are not going anywhere. You are staying right here.”

“But I only—”

“Noy! You just do as I say.”

She sat down.

“Where are Chi and Thi?”

“With Sergeant Zeisl, I think,” Suoi replied hesitantly.

“I asked you to keep them in sight, Suoi. Zeisl won’t have time to look out for them.”

“I am sorry…”

I sent a trooper to fetch the girls.

The guns were coming across the bridge. A short, stocky guerrilla waded forward. Gesturing and hollering toward the peasants, he called to them; the peasants dropped their tools and rushed to help the guerrillas hauling the howitzers. On the other side of the river more Viet Minh emerged from the woods. Suspended from long poles which four men were carrying on their shoulders hung crates and sacks. Still others were pushing bikes laden with bags and boxes.

“A nice party,” Erich commented. “The air force would love to join it. Shouldn’t we call them, Hans?”

“Some other time, Erich. I want to get hold of those howitzers—undamaged.”

He looked at me sharply. “The heck you want them. We cannot haul artillery pieces.”

“You will be surprised. We are going to haul them right up here and prepare a reception party for some others.”

“Are you planning to hold this hill?”

“This is a busy trail, Erich, with plenty of targets coming our way.”

For a moment he looked startled; then he shrugged. “I guess we could camp out here,” he said. “We have a good platform for the MG’s, ample cover, and a good view of the river.”

“Exactly!”

“Sergeant Krebitz is calling,” Corporal Altreiter reported, holding the earphones for me.

“Krebitz… Where the hell are you?”

“Across the river— watching the show.”

“How did you get there?”

“We forded a mile upstream. No one has spotted us yet.”

“How far are you from the bridge?”

“How far?” he repeated my question. “Can you see that tall peasant just moving down the trail toward the river? He is wearing a straw hat with a net hanging from it. The one with the bike… tin cans all over it…”

I picked up my field glasses.

“Right now, he is passing a bare tree.”

“I can see him.”

Krebitz chuckled. “If I stretch my leg a bit I can kick him in the ass.”

“Keep an eye on the group.”

“How about keeping a couple of MG’s on them?”

“Don’t shoot until we open up here.”

“Understood!” The six howitzers were rolling along the trail and had almost reached the woods— where, if all went well, Karl and Helmut should be ready for them. A group of about fifty Viet Minh were still on the bridge; another party-was between the bridge and the forest. The rest of the enemy detachment, I thought, was covered by Gruppe Drei.

“Achtung!” I warned my gunners, who tensed; eyes focused, trigger fingers tightened, gun barrels traversed slowly from left to right, then back again as the men tested the pivots.

“Fire!” The muffled MG’s caused little noise but their effect was shattering. We carried a large number of automatic weapons and, although as the attack progressed we gradually phased out a number of guns to save ammunition, our initial assault was always delivered with everything we had. The weapons were muffled to confuse the enemy at least for a few minutes. Afterwards the mufflers had to be removed to prevent the guns from overheating.

Between the river and the woods a section of the trail ran unprotected. The enemy was exposed to our fire from all sides. Within minutes the majority of the guerrilla company lay dead or wounded in the shrubbery along the trail. With our superior position resistance was futile. The surviving terrorists bolted for the forest only to run into Karl’s favorite toy—the flamethrower.

Belching eighty-foot flames, Pfirstenhammer’s group advanced on the river, burning the bewildered escapees as they went. Riedl took possession of the howitzers along with discarded crates and bags which littered the trail. The detachment caught on the bridge had been wiped out. Our six sharpshooters were busy picking off the swimmers and the few men who had managed to reach the far bank. On our side of the river, the enemy rout was complete. On the far side, Sergeant Krebitz and Gruppe Drei fared not so well. After the initial surprise the Viet Minh commander had managed to gather his battered company and they now began to fight back. The sharp staccato of the enemy MG’s could be heard distinctly. Soon a dozen or more Viet Minh machine guns were chattering above the rapidly increasing volume of rifle fire.

Suddenly I realized that there must have been considerably more enemy troops on the far side of the river than Krebitz had previously observed. Since Krebitz had only about forty men with him, I began to worry for their safety. My fears seemed justified when a few minutes later mortar shells began to explode on and around the hill which Krebitz occupied. We later learned that a full Viet Minh battalion was only a mile from the river when the shooting started. Rushing forward, they joined the battle and the sudden reinforcement was now threatening to swamp Krebitz.

I called him on the wireless. “Tell Krebitz that he should have his eyes examined,” Schulze yelled. “He sees a platoon where there is a whole goddamned brigade.”

“Krebitz! How are things over there?”

“Shitty!” he replied flatly. “Is the way to the river free, Hans?”

“For the moment at least. Evacuate immediately and cross the river if you can manage it. Dammit, Rudolf— we cannot afford to lose you.”

“Thanks for your concern about me, Hans.”

“I am concerned about Gruppe Drei, you idiot!”

“Just have a few clean underpants ready for us,” he cracked, “we might need them.”

“We are giving you cover. Move out!” I sent a message to Eisner to advance on the bridge and provide covering fire for Gruppe Drei. My gunners concentrated on the narrow strip of shrubbery that stretched between Krebitz and the Viet Minh MG’s. The mortar fire was intense, and shells began to burst around our own positions. Five of them exploded below the hill but others were creeping upward, seeking our machine guns. We were heading for a major battle with a large enemy force, probably two battalions, and our immediate future did not seem too bright.

I watched Krebitz and his men as they came dashing from cover to cover between the shrubs. Bullets threw dust and dirt all around them. Every one of our weapons was now covering Gruppe Drei but even so, a couple of the men fell, never to rise again.

“They already got four of them!” Schulze yelled and swore. The next instant I heard a swift “whoooz” and we ducked instinctively. Three mortar shells screamed in and exploded in rapid succession. Whoever was directing the enemy mortars must have been an expert, for shells now began to fall everywhere; on the hill, in the river, along the trail. I saw that Eisner’s company was getting its fair share, too.

“They are firing from over there!” Schulze yelled, pointing at a wooded hill about a mile from us on the far side of the river. Focusing my field glasses, I could just make out a group of Viet Minh working a dozen mortars. We managed to pin down the enemy MG’s and riflemen while Krebitz was crossing the river. They couldn’t use the coverless bridge, so Gruppe Drei had to wade and swim for the shrubby sanctuary on our side. None of our machine guns could effectively reach the enemy mortars, though some of Erich’s gunners tried to jam them by firing at extreme angles.