Narrative: Deserter!

Wilhelm fell back into his newly constructed shallow dugout on the edge of the wheat field. His dark sunken eyes, sallow face and dirt encrusted greatcoat cut a sorry figure. The bright-eyed idealistic youngster who had marched forth from his recruiting station and climbed aboard the train moving East two years earlier had long since gone. His National Socialist fervour, dedicated to the ideals of creating Lebensraum in the East for his Reich and Fuhrer, had since been burned to ash in the forge of war.  His spirit bent to breaking point by the hammer blows of the enemy on the anvil of his soul.

He was part of the 282nd infantry division and they had been mauled six weeks earlier at Kirovograd and had been falling back West ever since. They had been constantly harried from land and air by the enemy and suffered with erratic supplies of food and ammunition.

He settled back into his dug out for some shut eye but it seemed to his sleep deprived brain and exhausted body that only seconds later he was being tapped on the shoulder and told to take watch; and yet, in fact, he had had three hours of sleep.

“You’re up, Will.” “Second platoon reports signs of enemy activity so keep sharp”

As he looked out over the swaying wheat field through the early morning mist which would soon be burned off by the rising sun he thought he saw movement 500 yards ahead. At that instant the whistles blew and the golden wheat stalks were replaced by an equal number of brown clad soldiers. As if with one voice they issued a bloodcurdling cry and charged forward with, it appeared to Wilhelm, only one thing on their minds – his own personal destruction.

As they charged forward, as if on cue, three aircraft came screaming over their heads towards his position. The fighter bombers banked revealing red stars on their wings and the ground in front of him exploded as if a thousand raindrops were peppering the dry Ukrainian soil.

He was lifted skywards by an explosion and fell in a crumpled heap back into his foxhole covered with dirt, debris and the bodies of his comrades.

He lapsed into unconsciousness.

It must have been some hours later when he came back into the conscious world, a world of pain and destruction. He listened for a while, eyes closed shut until he was certain the chaos of battle had moved away and that the Russian “corpse prickers” had gone. The Russians were known not to bother with prisoners or the wounded.  He heard, silence, so he opened his eyes and heaved himself up out of the pit. As he did so the head of his closest friend rolled forward to his feet and the weight pressing on his chest was revealed to be the bent and lifeless body of a new recruit whose name he had never bothered to learn. Slick with entrails it slid off his own bloodstained jacket.

At that point something snapped in Wilhelm; the primitive part of his brain took complete control of his mind, body and soul and his only thought was to flee and to survive, regardless of his love of Fatherland regardless of the pledge to his Fuhrer and regardless of the consequences.

He travelled west, always west, as much as he could by night; hiding during the day. He avoided all forms of human contact, both enemy or ostensibly friendly, and lived off the land; taking hedgerow berries, stealing from the farms he came across and often eating the swill and animal feed as the safest option to avoid detection.

In the early morning of the fifth day just as the sun was rising over the horizon, he found a small shelter at a junction of four fields and, burying himself under a mound of straw, settled in for the day. He lapsed into exhausted sleep.

He was rudely awakened by a kick in the ribs and found himself being dragged backwards and upwards out of his shelter, then beaten back to the ground again. A cruel voice shouted, “What have we here” and then answering its own question “More deserter scum”. Wilhelm opened his eyes despite the large swelling and bruises inflicted by the beating and saw a black clad figure with red piping and shiny black boots standing before him; a coterie of brutish thugs by his side. Wilhelm as if on automatic pilot stood to attention as best he could and shouted his army number.

“Cowardly trash! you insult the glory of our armed forces by uttering your allegiance to it. Riffraff like you don’t deserve to be associated with the brave soldiers of the Reich.”

“Okay boys show him how we treat traitors to the Fatherland.” Fists and cudgels rained down on Wilhelm and he fell to the ground, cowering, his hands above his head in a vain attempt to ward off the savage, sadistic blows.

The beating seemed to continue forever until the captain called a halt to his torment. He turned to his Ukrainian henchmen. “Into the wagon with him, death would be too kind a punishment for filthy trash like this one”

Half an hour later they arrived at a makeshift camp where miserable groups of locals, captured enemy combatants and Germans such as himself had been assembled into work parties. The black clad captain jumped down from the cab and shouted to a lieutenant exiting a nearby hut. “Hey, Dieterich, I’ve got a live one for you”, “The boys have had some fun softening him up so he shouldn’t be too much trouble, I recon you’ll get a couple of weeks work out of him.”

Wilhelm was dragged over to one of the work parties – his life in the 560th penal battalion had just begun.

Turn Report

Weather- Clear

Army of Norway: The Soviet advances in the south force the whole perimeter to shrink a hex as the Axis decide to abandon the Lakselv/Kautokeino line and fall back towards Narvik for a last stand.

AGN: (1 attack) Draining manpower reserves to the last infantry and armour point replacements move in to stiffen the line in the north and reconnect Konigsberg to the rest of the Fatherland.

German armoured forces mass and attack the trapped Soviet Tank Army at Bialystok. Total destruction of the enemy is prevented by the NKVD unit bolstering the morale of the troops and two cardres remain. After heated discussion at Army Group headquarters it is decided to maintain the blockade and attempt to eliminate the rump next turn.

AGC: (No attacks) Army group centre is in tatters and has insufficient manpower to maintain a coherent front line. Infantry units struggle West as best they may to avoid being pocketed and isolated. Many reach a point of supply but will not survive a second blow from the enemy. Mobile units move further West to form a second intermittent line of defence and protect the airfields and small number of Engineer, infantry and Security troops et cetera which have made it to North-western Ukraine.

AGS: (No attacks) Army group South units stream West, many manage to infiltrate between the roving bands of Soviet tank formations in their rear and a defence of sorts coalesces in front of Odessa. (Trapping 2 enemy Tank xxxs). With truck support and sacrificial security units providing supply corridors the Army Group is placed back in supply, but many units are strung out and practically surrounded. In the face of the mass of advancing Soviet units they will have have little chance of surviving the next month of conflict.

Rumanian and Hungarian home defence forces mass at their borders to attempt to protect their homelands from the advancing Soviet tide.

Air Combat: A typical turn of interceptions and Elimination with honours pretty much even although the VVS suffer more Aborts. The different repair rates between the German and Soviet forces consistently means that the latter have a far lower percentage of active units fit for combat at any one time.

Combat Report

Attacks = 1.

Losses: Axis = 1x Air, Soviets = 17 (Isolated), 2x Air.