Firestorm: Red Thunder

Counterattack at Gera
HQ, TF Fitzi, Sept 15
Major Fitzi listened to the briefing with half his mind. The rest was on the possibility of filching a donut from a pile of pastries. Apparently the new ‘brigade’ commander had connections to a bakery somewhere back in Stuttgart, currently experiencing the war vicariously. It was amazing how your world could shrink down into survival mode. They had been down to one ration per day instead of the normal three with a ‘B’ ration on odd-even days to hold starvation and scurvy at bay. That was the reason why the ‘brigade’ had been joined with a German brigade and part of the 25th Armored Division as a composite force to retake Gera. The very clever NATO counteroffensive had feet of clay – a logistics link back to the US bases in the Saarland so thin it was damn near invisible. The PACT counterattack that had shaken the 1st Armored and split 1st Gebirgsjager had barreled through to Gera, which the 2nd and 13th COSCOMs had undertaken to use as a forward railhead.
Now everybody was on short commons, as the attack had captured a couple hundred trucks, 7 days of rations for two corps, maybe a half million gallons of petroleum supplies, and a day’s worth of ammo for six divisions.
And even a damn train.
The briefing finished to stony silence. The Brigade S3 was another jumped-up Captain wearing Major’s insignia. Fitzi had never liked him. Right now, he hated him. Nobody seemed to want to speak first. Fitzi cleared his throat. “This is a brilliant plan, and I’ll be suitably impressed if it works. But in case you hadn’t noticed, my so-called brigade is really a weak battalion, and what it’s mostly weak in is ass in the grass. My seven rifle companies barely number 300 men between them. 16 tanks instead of fifty, right? And we’re going to attack a pretty sizeable village, and alongside us my German friends are going to put less than 200 men on the ground. Intel says there’s at least a battalion defending this Bad Kostritz.”
First Armored Division had effectively been reduced to two brigades. What was left of 3rd Brigade had been joined to 2nd Brigade. Third Brigade still marched on paper, and Fitzi was senior officer, attached to Colonel Greieser’s 2nd Brigade. The support troops and the artillery battalion had been attached to Div Arty. It would look great on his ORB if he survived until the next review cycle. Brigade commander.
The Colonel stood up tiredly. He seemed a lot less the starchy prick of last week, once you got to know him. He made allowances for the men and his junior officers. He had inherited command of the combined brigades when 2nd Brigade HQ had eaten a FROG barrage for breakfast. “Major, I’ve been arguing with HQ all night. I want to bypass this damn village and go for the railyard. They’re terrified that that Teuffel Nagten will blow up the ammo train in our faces. Hell, I’ve been arguing for no attack at all. Corps says go, and Division says we can’t sit this one out. So when you’re ready, Fitzi, why don’t you go take that damn town?
“Mienen Soldaten sint jetzt bereit. Wir macht jetzt.” A harried Oberstleutenant had brought two weak panzer kompanie to hook up with a couple shattered battalions of Gebirgsjagers. That was the other ‘brigade’ scheduled to attack today.
A hurried translation told Fitzi that the Germans wanted to go first. Fine. “That suits me, Colonel.”
Aftermath
Fitzi reviewed the morning. The Germans had thrown two kamphgruppes into their early assault and been shattered. When his troops went in, he could see where the damn VA had dragged the wrecks into the lee of buildings to clear lanes of fire, and even put out some of the hulks to improve visibility.
Then the minefields on the northern corner of town had pushed his troops south, channeling them into a nasty killing ground. These may have been reservists, but they had clearly been to school. Using Abrams as long range fire support, along with a scattering of M109s, had conserved these assets but been awfully hard on the infantry. His 300 riflemen were down to 100 hale and hearty, and another 50 would probably be back after treatment at the brigade’s medical shop. The losses in M113s had been staggering; deprived of Abrams and support weapons as targets, enemy RPGs and Spigot missiles had gone after them with a vengeance. He had lost 75 percent of his transport in two hours.
Then the PACT forces counterattacked, and Fitzi’s command had been caught up in the rout. Fortunately this turned into a tactical pursuit, and so Fitzi’s dismounted survivors weren’t annihilated as the Gebirgsjager Brigade had been a week before.
The Colonel walked into Fitiz’s M577, currently containing Fitzi and two stretcher cases. “Well, if it’s any consolation, you were right. The Corps G2 got relieved when the CO found out we had intel that their entire division had halted here in a perfect deployment of an operational maneuver groupment. We never had a chance.”
Fitzi gestured to the two men on stretchers, mercifully unconscious. “I’m sure they’ll be comforted by that.”
The Colonel frowned. “Major, they don’t die or suffer for us. They had their own reasons to join up, and took a soldier’s risk. That’s something to hang onto, or they’ll eat your soul a piece at a time. You did the best you could. Refuse the order, and your XO ends up leading the attack. He hasn’t even been to the Advanced Course yet. He would have pressed on, and those tanks would have finished off your task force. So you made the right call both times. Good news, they’ve delegated Major promotions to the General Court Convening Authority, and the Corps Commander just confirmed yours by radio.”
Somehow it didn’t feel like a reward.