Chapter 808: Times Are Different
When a paratrooper’s feet touch the ground, his battle begins. Sometimes, the battle is fought alone, a desperate struggle in an isolated and helpless environment. Borol had once fought alone in a dark corner. He knew that terrifying experience, so when his feet touched the ground, he habitually grabbed his rifle and cautiously dropped to a low crouch.
When he raised his head, holding his helmet, he saw some surprisingly bold new recruits recovering their parachutes. The battle-hardened veterans were setting up machine gun positions. More soldiers were squatting by the bushes, waiting for him to give the order.
The Soviet counter-attack was surprisingly weak. There was not even any decent resistance in the entire landing zone. An anti-aircraft machine gun position had caused some trouble for the German army, but after taking two Panzerfaust rockets, it had wisely stopped its attack. Many Soviet soldiers were already squatting with their hands on their heads, being guarded by some special soldiers in black German uniforms, watching in terror as the German paratroopers landed.
“Hey! Look at those arrogant bastards. Each one has a new model MP-44 with a folding stock. Even their helmets are the improved M37 with ear guards!” Borol muttered under his breath to Donner, who had landed at about the same time, as he slung the Mauser 98k rifle he disliked over his back.
“The Division Commander said there would be friendly special forces on the ground to meet us. It must be them. There aren’t many of them, but they look like they’re good at fighting… We didn’t meet any resistance, so it must be their work,” Borol said as he led Donner towards the back of a small mound that looked like a temporary command post.
Two high-powered radios had already been set up there. The windproof tent that had been erected was covered with some weeds and loose snow, looking extremely well camouflaged. The tall radio antenna was also camouflaged with withered branches. Without careful inspection, it was difficult to spot the existence of this command post.
Several radios were working. Some individual walkie-talkies were on a table, connected to a simple hand-cranked generator, apparently charging. The leading officer saw Borol approaching, stood up, and extended his hand with a smile. “Welcome, paratrooper gentlemen.”
The walkie-talkie was a new gadget in this era, and its普及率 (rate of issue) in the German army was not very high. Most of the equipment was given to the special forces, with a small number being tested in a few of the main army groups. Due to cost, it was still being equipped at a slow pace. The German army, with its nouveau riche nature, still had a long way to go in some details to reach the level of the United States in 1944 in another timeline.
“It seems we’re late. You’ve done all the work,” Borol said with a smile, extending his hand and shaking the other’s. “Is there anything we can help with? I am Captain Borol, a battalion commander from the 1st Paratrooper Division.”
“Fought at Damanhur?” The German special forces officer, who had a mustache like General von Seeckt’s, had a charming smile of a middle-aged German. He looked at Borol as he asked, seeming to be more interested in Damanhur.
Borol smiled and pointed to Donner behind him, who was wearing the Damanhur commemorative medal, and said with a proud tone, “If you’re talking about the place where he lost his hand, I think I’ve been there. But Patton’s tanks are too crappy. It takes several of them to trade for one of our paratroopers’ hands.”
The officer laughed heartily, then saluted solemnly and said, “Heil Akado Rudolph, our Führer! Let me formally introduce myself. I am the commander of the 2nd Action Group of the German Special Operations Force, my name is Otto Skorzeny. It is a pleasure to meet you, Major Borol. I have heard much about your battle in Damanhur. It is a great pity that I could not fight alongside you then.”
“Believe me, that’s not a good place,” Borol said, looking at some German paratroopers in the distance who were getting onto a Soviet truck with a German national flag draped over its front and driving away. He casually pointed to his own head and said, “We didn’t do anything remarkable. We just squatted in the trenches and tried not to let the American bullets blow our heads off.”
Skorzeny laughed, revealing a set of healthy teeth. Not far behind him, a paratrooper fighting vehicle was rumbling up a slope. Many German paratroopers, carrying various weapons, followed behind this vehicle, heading towards their destination.
“What’s the situation now? I was ordered to come and reinforce your position, but to be honest, I don’t know much about you, nor do I know what the state of things is here,” Borol said, walking to a hastily erected table and tilting his head to look at the extremely precise operational map.
The still-unfamous German special forces commander extended his hand, pointed at the map, and began to explain the current situation. “Last night, we took control of 44 anti-aircraft gun positions and marked some of the larger main positions. Most of these facilities were destroyed in the air raid just now. It can be said that there is not much Soviet resistance here now.”
After speaking, he moved his finger to the due east on the map. “Another action group called ‘Viper’ has already taken control of the railway bridge leading to Stalingrad. They are setting up a defense there and are in urgent need of support. We lack the equipment to deal with heavy weapons, so someone must rush over to help.”
“Now I know why, even though you guys are so skilled, you still had to drop us here,” Borol said, taking out his own less-than-precise regional map. He compared it with the other and marked some important locations and symbols on it with a pencil. “We’re very good at dealing with tanks with bayonets and saliva.”
He looked at the somewhat flustered Skorzeny and pointed to a few captured Soviet trucks in the distance. “You don’t mind lending us these things, do you? To be honest, we’re not good at walking on our own two feet, ever since we learned that we’re only 6,000 meters from our destination.”
“When have you paratroopers ever been so close to your landing zone?” a special forces radio operator who was fiddling with a radio interjected.
“Counting from the moment we jump out of the plane!” Donner said, pointing to the sky with the hand that was covered by an iron brace. Borol didn’t say much, just gave Skorzeny a slight nod and then left the simple command post with Donner. They walked to the side of a car and arranged the combat mission with the 1st Company commander who had run over to report.
“How many men have you found?” Borol asked, as was his custom, to confirm the strength of his forces. If it were night, he would at most be able to find 200 men from his entire battalion. As a commander, he had to know how many subordinates he had before he could decide on the next course of action.
“This time we’ve hardly suffered any losses. 2nd Company has already assembled over 100 men, and 3rd Company has 110. My unit has the most, with all 130 men present and accounted for. Only one idiot sprained his ankle!” the 1st Company commander reported on the situation of his unit. The condition of the entire force was so good that Borol could hardly believe it.
“Put the Panzerfausts and the heavier equipment on the trucks. All soldiers, carry only your weapons and travel light!” Borol said, taking out his map. He compared it with the one in the 1st Company commander’s hand, then pointed to the position of the railway bridge on it and laid out a brief operational plan. “Our mission is to stop the Soviet advance and control the transportation hub. This railway bridge can shorten our defensive front. I think it’s best to set up a defense line here.”
“Isn’t that a bit too far forward? Will we be a priority target for the Soviets?” the 1st Company commander asked, glancing at Borol.
“Scared? Then I’ll go and tell those sissies from the 2nd Battalion and give this bridge to them,” Borol said, making a motion to fold his map.
The 1st Company commander quickly waved his hand. “No! From Holland to Damanhur, when has our 1st Battalion ever been scared?” He was a soldier who had only joined the 1st Battalion at Damanhur. He had actually never fought in the Dutch campaign, or even the Battle of Crete, but he always talked about those classic battles of the German paratroopers as if he were a paratrooper veteran, just like Borol.
“Donner, you take the car. Go to the regimental headquarters. Gather as much ammunition as you can. If there’s any surplus, bring some anti-tank guns and a paratrooper fighting vehicle. I’ll give you credit for it later!” Borol said, throwing his backpack onto the car. He then gave Donner instructions, pointing out a road and showing him how to catch up with the main force.
When Donner set off, he also took a platoon of soldiers with him, to escort the munitions and to act as porters once again. After all the tasks had been assigned, Borol, with the sling of his rifle over one shoulder and one hand on the holster of his pistol, set off with his soldiers towards the railway bridge marked on the map.
…
In the Soviet command post, Rokossovsky was hastily deploying his troops. He had issued an order by telegram, telling the frontline units to stop attacking each other, and had sent out the two most elite armored divisions under his command, hoping to break through the key transportation hub and allow the frontline units, which may have already been routed, to withdraw.
His heart was in a turmoil, because the Germans were showing him an unprecedented mode of warfare. This mode of warfare was more three-dimensional, and its methods were more complex… but this seemingly from-a-different-era mode of warfare was more effective than the previous methods.
These tactics had changed the fixed rules of warfare of the past, making it impossible for the enemy to defend against them. He couldn’t even guess where this change in the Germans had come from, or what it would eventually evolve into. Standing in front of the map, watching the painstakingly built defense line collapse in an instant, he couldn’t help but sigh, “The times, they really are different!”
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