THE FORUM HEROES--REVENGE!!!

[Commissar D, the Evil]

Petrovich’s Revenge Part One

As any combat soldier will tell you, war is divided into those parts in which one is terrified and those parts in which one is totally bored.

With the destruction of Ivanov’s Brigade, the Guard’s Tank Corps was scarcely in a position to aid in the advance on Ivanograd. This had to be left to the infantry divisions. What Stavka planned was a double encirclement and the lack of German reserves seemed, at the moment, to make this just barely a possibility.
The Guards Tank Corps therefore took a breather, occupying itself with tank maintenace, training replacements and resting for their next assignment. But while this period of relative inactivity was welcomed by the men and officers of the Corps, Commissar Petrovich was scarcely satisfied with a seat on the sidelines. A Commissar’s life vaguely resembles that of a shark’s, in that one must keep swimming, from achievement to achievement or risk drowning. And, of course, as fierce as any particular shark might be, there were always bigger predators in the sea.....
So, Commissar Petrovich contrived to get the Guards Tank Corps back into the war. His first opportunity came with the arrival at the camp of Comrade Rebski, a leader of the local Red Partisan Group. Rebski was one of those larger than life figures, famous in his own area for his massive strength and sly tactics. He and his small group moved virtually at will throughout the German rear areas. His fame was such that Comrade Petrovich had been given standing orders to cooperate with him and the two had developed a fairly amicable relationship.
When he arrived, he was quickly hustled to the Commissar’s tent. His PPsH was slung over his back and he carried a long wooden box with both hands. Petrovich was drinking vodka and conferencing with Major Igor Luposky, commander of the Guards Heavy SU Regiment and Colonel Valery Sonofovich.
The Commissar, who–to Valery’s intense surprise-- had been a toy maker before the war, was showing off his latest “invention” between rounds of vodka. He greeted Comrade Rebski profusely and the partisan leader laid the heavy box on the table, immediately seizing a glass and pouring himself a tumbler of vodka.
“It’s what I call the better mousetrap,” Commissar Petrovich said with a pretense of modesty.
Valery looked at the device, constructed from wood, metal and string. “It looks like a scale model of a guillotine”, Valery commented.
The Commissar smiled and pushed a tiny cart covered with a handkerchief across the desk to the device. Lifting the handkerchief, he revealed a fieldmouse, strapped to the cart, with a tiny blindfold tied over its eyes. He pushed the cart closer, until the creatures head was underneath the blade of the model guillotine.
Comrade Rebski took a long drink of vodka–the Commissar seemed to him to be a magic fountain of very good vodka, so he rarely regretted his trips to the camp. Major Luposky was essentially a captive audience. Since his ISU-152 regiment was essentially intact, it represented the main striking power of the Corps, so he was summoned to every meeting the Commissar held. Valery was in a similar situation, knowing that, if it were possible, the Commissar would have blamed the Corps’ last disaster on him.
But Valery’s real interest was in learning more about the Commissar, so that he might think of a strategy that would, one, enable him to survive the Commissar’s leadership and two, allow him to think of a method of eliminating Petrovich. This, Valery considered, was simply a matter of self-defense, so he observed the festivities with great interest.
“You see, the device is simple.” Commissar Petrovich said as he bent over the little machine. “The true science is in deciding the weight of the blade and the height it must fall from to deliver a clean blow.”
“Yes, yes, that makes sense.” Comrade Rebski said approvingly.
Commissar Petrovich pulled the little handle with two fingers. The gleaming blade fell, striking the unfortunate creature on the neck and the mouse’s severed head feel into a tiny basket on the other side.
Petrovich clapped with glee. Valery cast a glance at Major Luposky, who took a drink in disgust.
Comrade Rebski made a toast, “And another enemy of the great Socialist state gets his just desserts!”
Valery wondered exactly how the mouse had managed to strap himself to the tiny cart, but decided, in the face of Petrovich’s obvious satisfaction, not to say anything.
Turning away from his handiwork, Petrovich grinned at Comrade Rebsky and said pleasantly, “So, what have you for us today, Comrade?”
Rebsky had been slightly disappointed with his haul for the day, but seeing how good a mood the Commissar was in, opened the box with a smile.
“I intercepted a package sent to the 585th Really Heavy Tank Battalion, addressed to its commander. It’s mostly medals and commendations for the fascist invaders. I though you might want to have it.”
The Commissar peered into the box and plucked one of the smaller cases out. Opening it, he saw an Iron Cross First Class. A strange gleam appeared in his eyes as the germ of a plan took root in his devious mind.
“Excellent!! Excellent!!” He enthused, much to even Comrade Rebski’s surprise. “You have given e the perfect way to strike at the Nazi dogs!!! Colonel Sonofovich, I will need the services of your repair section and three–no, four good machinists.”
Valery nodded.
“And notify the Soviet Union Parcel service I have a package that needs to be delivered in four days!”
“UPS?” Valery questioned, “Why not use RedEx instead?”
“RedEx always misses people and leaves those stupid white signs on their doors that say “We Missed You,” The Commissar growled. “ UPS is much more reliable.”


“OH DON’T YOU KNOW, THAT'S THE SOUND OF THE MEN, WORKING ON THE CHAIN GANG.
OH DON’T YOU KNOW, THAT'S THE SOUND OF THE MEN, WORKING ON THE CHAIN GANG.”

The mournful tune from his soldiers mixed with the sounds of pickaxes and shovels as the Oberleutnant Otto Dietrich’s company dug in on the Southern approaches to Ivanograd. The 25 year-old Hessian strode among his men, making suggestions here, giving orders there, all in the hopes of constructing a defensible line where none existed. Gangs of Russian civilians–the old, the young, the women–hauled up supplies of wood and filled sandbags with the earth his men dug up. To his experienced eyes, too many things were obvious; his company couldn’t be stretched to defend his sector adequately, there was a depressing lack of anti-tank weapons and his men were relatively inexperienced. Dietrich himself had just returned to the front, having spent three months recovering from, of all things, a bayonet wound. Now he was building tenches again and had every reason to expect more hand to hand fighting.
The men made bitter jokes about “digging their own graves”, but it was a Landser’s duty to bitch about digging in and they soon found that Dietrich’s sense of black humor matched anything they could think of saying. He had been on the Ostfront--or convalescing from it--for three years now and had heard all of the jokes before.
He fingered the Iron Cross at his neck, for good luck, he told himself, and not out of nervousness. But Ivanograd was no more a fortress than he was a virgin and he was quick to tell his men to dig deep, before they all got screwed.

Major Rosselsprung read his latest orders with extreme displeasure, but there was nothing for it. He passed the papers to Hauptman Nibelung who read them and grunted in annoyance. Under no circumstances were the two leaders going to allow their unit to get itself trapped in Ivanograd. Corps had agreed to that, but Corps was also obviously under pressure to aid the town’s garrison. Reluctantly, they summoned Leutnant Wirbelwind and Sturmmann Hansen to the tent.
Unpleasant news, Miha thought, was best given without hesitation and as quickly as possible.
Major Rosselsprung told the two men to stand at ease. Hansen was a veteran, so he took this as permission to tense himself for bad news. Wirbelwind, not having Hansen’s innate cynicism, smiled and seemed anxious for any news.
“There’s no sugar-coating this one, gentlemen.” The Major said gravely. “Corps has ordered that I send you to Ivanograd. Sturmmann Hansen, you are to take your S.S. troopers and two trucks to the town’s southern defense sector. Report to Oberleutnant Dietrich of the 644th Infantry Regiment. You are to reinforce his outfit.
Leutnant Wirbelwind, it looks like you’re going to be under Luftwaffe command again. Take a driver and a kubelwagen and report to the town’s Commander. A Luftwaffe officer named Gunter Rauch is flying in tomorrow. I don’t have much information on him, but he’s probably in charge of air support and resupply if the Russians complete their encirclement. You’ve been requested because of your knowledge of the area and your expertise.”
Rosselsprung stood up and offered his hand to Wirbelwind.
“Sir, one request, may I take Feldwebel Kohler as my driver?”
Rosselsprung considered. “Kohler’s a good man. If you ask him and he agrees, fine. But remember before you ask that this may not be a good ride to bring a friend on.”
Then the Major shook Hansen's hand. “I’ll try to get you and our Leutnant back if I can, Sturmmann. Both of you are good soldiers, I need you here, but orders are orders.”
Both men snapped to attention, saluted and said, in unison, “Yes sir!”

[Freiritter]

Hello,

Sweet, SS soldiers to reinforce my hard-fighting Hessians against the oncoming Red hordes. Pardon, soon to be hard fighting Hessians. Dig fast and dig deep, boys.... Thanks, Commissar for allowing me in the story.

Cordially,

Freiritter

[Commissar D, the Evil]

No need for thanks my friend. We are all forum heroes. I simply hope that this story won't disappoint anyone.

Best Regards,
David

[Commissar D, the Evil]

Revenge Part Two

The entire Battalion turned out to see Wirbelwind, Hansen and his troopers off. Oberfeldwebel Heinrich Paum gave Wirbelwind and Hansen each a preciously hoarded cigar. He promised Wirbelwind that he’d put a good crew on the “1st Orel Air Support Squadron” and keep it safe for the Leutnant’s return. To Hansen he gave a hearty slap on the back and thanked him quietly for his support on the hill they retook. It was all that he could say, they had fought as comrades together and respected each other, but each knew that the odds in war were against their ever meeting again.
Beppo Schmidt, the irrepressible Tiger commander gave Wirbelwind a bottle of good German wine. Tankers have more space to hoard the little luxuries and Beppo remembered and appreciated all of the times young Wirbelwind had called in the stukas to save their asses.
Nibelung distribute a couple cartons of cigarettes among the S.S. troopers. The truth of it was that he never had much use for the S.S., regarding them as a private army of the Nazi party that only existed to siphon troops and supplies from the Wehrmacht. But these men had proven steady and reliable and he knew that the battalion was that much weaker without them.
He gave Wirbelwind his heartiest handshake, which was little enough to give a man who had saved his life, but there were no words to express that kind of gratitude, it was a favor that he would someday have to repay and the handshake sealed that promise in his mind.
Rosselsprung made a brief speech, just enough to thank the men leaving and promise them that they always could find a home with the battalion. As commander, he couldn’t indulge in any deeper display of affection or allow himself to feel any greater sense of loss. In fact he was already mentally grappling with the problem of what to do without the core of his infantry support, deciding what promotions to make and who would take over the two halftracks Hansen’s men were leaving behind.
What surprised Rosselsprung the most about the entire event was the presence of Feldwebel Kohler at the wheel of Wirbelwind’s kubel. Not being intentionally cynical, he hadn’t expected Wirbelwind to ask Kohler to accompany him after the little comment he made to the Leutnant. As a purely practical matter, he certainly wouldn’t have expected a veteran like Kohler to accept the invitation.
Out of curiosity he edged closer to the kubel and gave Kohler a hard look while Wirbelwind was occupied thanking Beppo for the bottle of wine. Meeting his gaze, Kohler shrugged and said simply, “I volunteered.”
Rosselsprung shook his head and smiled ever so slightly. Loyalty, he suddenly realized, was Kohler’s weakness--or strength, depending on the outcome. One never knew in war when a virtue becomes a vice or a vice a virtue.
Just before Wirbelwind got into the car, Paum approached him again and grasped him by the shoulder. “Look, as long as you’re going to be there", he whispered, "check in on our two argumentative doctors and that lovely nurse, I’d really like to know how they made out.” Paum winked at Wirbelwind who smiled back and eagerly agreed to let him know.
And then they were on the road, the kubel leading the two trucks. Ahead of them lay only uncertainty, left behind them were good kameraden whose farewells faded too quickly into the distance.

[Tom Houlihan]

David, only you could write a tale that manages to mix together a crew like this, and not simply make it authentic sounding.

It takes great skill to work in lyrics from songs written well after the actual period, along with humor and the pathos of war. Methinks Tom Clancy is damned lucky you went to law school.

<salute>

[waldorf]

Great story!! When you retire you should put together a historical novel. You could be the next David Robbins writing about the Eastern Front.

[Commissar D, the Evil]

Hey THANKS GUYS!!!!

Let's see how this developes, I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

Best Regards,
David

[Commissar D, the Evil]

Revenge Part Three

General Gunther Stuck was not the sharpest pencil in the box, even he would admit that if pressed. But he was not totally untalented. An early and energetic member of the Nazi Party, he had ingratiated himself with some of the most powerful members of the Party, through his willingness to use force against Communists, Socialists and other left-wing political opponents. In the early years of the Party, like so many others, he saw the Nazis as the only alternative to a weak and poor Germany. It would be difficult to say at what point this idealism degenerated into opportunism, as difficult, perhaps, as to say when his muscles began to sag or when they were replaced by flab.

Stuck had served well in World War One in the Kaiser’s Army as a supply officer and was on the reserve list at the outbreak of the War. He was a young, dynamic and devoted officer in the First World War and was rightfully proud of his earlier military service. Perhaps his memories of youth and his sincere believe in the evil of Communism had combined to motivate him to finagle a command on the Ostfront. The war had been going well when he obtained his active commission and his experience fighting the Russians in the First World War lead him to whole -heartedly believe the Fuhrer’s view that they would collapse if only the Army fought hard enough. As Generals fell from grace in a campaign that gradually took on the appearance of being interminable, he rose in rank serving in various Staff positions.

Finally, he was awarded a combat command, the brand new 787th Infantry Division and he had his own staff officers. His friends in high places saw to it that the division was posted to a peaceful sector of the front and his future had never seemed brighter. But the Ostfront, as history would prove, often was as deadly for a Division Commander as it was for any of his troops.

With the failure of the German offensive at Kursk and the subsequent Russian counter-offensive had turned his peaceful sector into the focal point of an entire Russian Army. And he was staring at a map where his forces, represented by blue lines formed a tenuous bulge outlined by red lines and accentuated by red arrows.

It didn’t take the sharpest pencil to write those lines and he read them with increasing horror.

His Fuhrer had declared Ivanograd a “Fortress”. He could not retreat. His orders were literally to stand and hold “at all costs”. To the North his division’s contact with friendly forces was tenuous. To the South there was a gaping hole between his division and the nearest German forces. Of his three regiments, the 645th in the center had been savaged and driven back upon the town by a Russian night attack. The 646th in the North was relatively intact. The 644th was in decent shape, but it had the hardest mission, since its extreme flank was completely open. So he had pulled it back closer to the town and was sending anything he could get his hands on to reinforce it.

The Russians hadn’t pushed hard, even after the 645th collapsed. It was possible, he reasoned, that the Russian offensive was running out of steam. But if they were to stave off encirclement, he couldn’t hope to do it with only the Division. And yet his pleas for the commitment of the 585th Really Heavy Tank Battalion were continually rebuffed by the Corps Commander!
Stuck vaguely suspected that his Corps commander, a general known to be politically unreliable, was somehow deliberately sacrificing him and his Division. He sat down at his desk, angry and baffled by the responsibilities weighing on him. Almost without thought he reached inside of the desk drawer and pulled out the pouch of coins. He began to count them, just as he had every day since he received them. The coins gave him an odd feeling of content. The touch of them relaxed him and yet focused him on the deplorable behavior of his Corps Commander, General Lamming.
This was all General Lamming’s fault, he told himself as he heard the fingered the coins. The man must be a traitor, bent on the destruction of his Division and his reputation......



Whatever plan Commissar Petrovich had in mind, he certainly worked on it with a will. Night and day he and the Corps’ artificers went at it with the clang of hammers and the hiss of hot metal filling the air.
Valery regarded all of this as a welcome break from the Commissar’s bouts of drinking and scrutiny. It did bother him some that his four best tank repairmen were running around like demented tinkers and that he wasn’t allowed to enter the repair shack. And still no word from or about Commissar Davidov. It was all very perplexing.


Feldwebel Kohler and Leutnant Wirbelwind watched as Hansen’s trucks took the fork south away from the town. They were alone on the road now and Wirbelwind drove while Kohler kept an eye out on the countryside. Kohler cradled his beloved FG-42. It had been a while since he heard her speak in anger, but he knew in his heart that it was only a matter of time.
“So Leutnant, do you think you could get be a soft berth on one of those Auntie Jus–you know, a quick trip home for a little leave?”
Wirbelwind chuckled. “And you’re going to just leave that thing behind? I’ll keep it for you.”
Kohler rubbed the side of the weapon. “It’s been a year since I last had leave, I’d really like to check up on my fiancé.”
“Fiancé?” This was the first time Kohler had mentioned a fiancé. Wirbelwind had babbled on about everything in his young life over the past few weeks, but Kohler had always been slightly reserved about his private life.
“She gave me this before I left last time”, Kohler said, pointing at his sidearm, a 9mm Mauser 712.
“Ah, a woman who likes big guns”, Wirbelwind said, then he blushed, realizing the pun in his comment.
But Kohler laughed it off. “No, no, she’s not like that. She’s very pretty though, but she’s a real lady. It’s hard to run into real ladies nowadays, especially one that doesn’t mind a big uneducated lug like me.”
Smiling, Wirbelwind replied, “You’re a good man Kohler, any girl could see that.”
Kohler looked suddenly thoughtful. As if he had something to say but was reluctant to say it.
“The truth”, Kohler said after a moment, “is that Karen is blind. She lost her eyesight in an accident a few years after we met.”
“Oh.” Wirbelwind struggled with the inadequacy of his remark. “I’m sorry to hear that, really. I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing for it”, Kohler replied. “You’re the only person I’ve ever told about it. Her name is Karen Altmann, it would be a real favor to me if you took her address from me, you know, just in case.”
Wirbelwind glanced at him, feeling very awkward an unsure what to say. Kohler produced a piece of paper and stuffed it into the Leutnant’s breast pocket.
“Leutnant, you’re a good person. And I’m not worried about something happening to me, so don’t you worry about it. But a soldier likes to know that one of his kameraden will tell the truth about him to his family if something does happen.”
Wirbelwind understood and was gratified by the Feldwebel’s request. He filled the rest of the drive with pleasantly bubbling conversation. For his part, Kohler felt relieved. Russia was a vast place, it could swallow a man and his entire life without anyone noticing.


“The master race is in dire need of master minds”, Rottenfuhrer A.A. Arajs declared in Latvian to his friend Rottnefuhrer Vitols as they climbed aboard the truck in Ivanograd. Janis Vitols laughed, as did the other twelve members of their squad. “I can’t believe they dropped us off in this s***hole!”
The Latvian S.S. men were well aware of Arajas’ biting wit and most of them secretly agreed with him.
“This place is supposed to be a Fortress, do you see any forts?”
The men laughed harder.
“Only the superman with poor eyesight would mistake this dungheap for a fortress.”
Everyone laughed at the obvious reference to Himmler, head of the S.S. But the men had the right to be bitter, even if they weren’t as eloquent in their bitterness as Arajs. They were returning by air from Germany after training with the S.S., then their flight had been diverted. They set out again by train, but that too had been diverted. Another flight, another diversion until they ended up in Ivanograd. Now, in full kit, including entrenching tools–never a good sign– they were being sent to the front line as emergency reinforcements.
It was one thing to fight the communists for possession of their native Latvia–quite another to end up in the middle of Russia fighting the red hordes for a town that no one ever heard of and looked like the last stop on the train ride to Hell.
About the only cheerful thing any of them could think of was the fact that no one here was likely to speak Latvian, so they were free, for the first time in their lives, to speak their minds without fear.

[AAA]

Ahh, setting the scene in three parts already. Apparently, AHF being down makes time for other projects.

Very good so far, Herr Commissar. I agree with the others, this writing kicks ten pints of c*** out of most published WWII novelists.

Oooo, I see some of my past sarcasm on some other forum is coming back to haunt me.

[Commissar D, the Evil]

To tell you the truth AAA, I am most gratified by the reception these humble stories are receiving here on Soldatenheim and I am sincerely impressed by the contributions of characters and background information made by everyone interested in them. This makes it fun to write. Even if AHF comes back up tomorrow, I hope to focus on the Forum Heroes tales here. I hope that what I write brings a bit of relaxation and pleasure. It beats the hell out of the ideological flame wars I moderate on AHF. My only real enemy is time, that is, finding the time to write the stories without real life interrupting. Sometimes, it is good just to have some silly fun with a subject as intense and contentious as World War II.

Best Regards,
David

[Prit]

My dear Commissar,

What can I say?

Once more, you demonstrate your mastery of this sort of thing.

Keep it coming!

Prit

[M.H.]

Sad to see Hansen leave his comrades but anxiously awaiting new adventures!
Thank you Commissar!!!!

[M.H.]

I hope to focus on the Forum Heroes tales here.

Oh yes...we too!

[Nibelung]

Commissar...this may sound so old and over-used but: you got what it takes!

Great story so far...I bet part Four will be brilliant! :D

1000 post - who would have thought...

best regards,
Miha / Nibelung

[Tom Houlihan]

1000 post - who would have thought...

Now, if you can only get 1000 enemy tanks, we'd be doing alright! Maybe even lift the siege on Ivanograd!