Story 2837
East of Brandenburg, April 15, 1945
Slim Williamson sipped his coffee even as his stomach was unsettled. The rumble of artillery that he had barely heard for a week of exploitation had started up again in the morning when the cavalry ran into roadblocks and hard points that they could not just bum rush. A few burning jeeps and half tracks later, the forward infantry companies had started to deploy fixing forces as other companies from the lead battalion of two of his regiments began to look for ways to go around whatever positions shattered German remnants had held. They had done this a few times in the past week, and usually the Germans broke once they were flanked. The one time that they had to fight French volunteers, they had fought to death or incapacitation. He had spent more time in a field hospital that night than he had in a month visiting the freshly wounded boys.
The first flanking attack failed. There was a thick minefield covered by mortars and machine guns. The divisional artillery had taken most of the morning to get sited and situated even as a deliberate attack was being planned for late afternoon. The guns had started to fire ten minutes ago. A battalion was demonstrating while two other battalions supported by all the tanks attached to the division were moving to hit the other flank of the German position. Even as they advanced, a few anti-tank shells screamed out of the German lines. Forward controllers soon moved mortar shells onto the likely dugouts of the heavy anti-tank guns. Soon the artillery ceased and the crack of rifle shots and the thump of grenades began.
Slim Williamson sipped his coffee even as his stomach was unsettled. The rumble of artillery that he had barely heard for a week of exploitation had started up again in the morning when the cavalry ran into roadblocks and hard points that they could not just bum rush. A few burning jeeps and half tracks later, the forward infantry companies had started to deploy fixing forces as other companies from the lead battalion of two of his regiments began to look for ways to go around whatever positions shattered German remnants had held. They had done this a few times in the past week, and usually the Germans broke once they were flanked. The one time that they had to fight French volunteers, they had fought to death or incapacitation. He had spent more time in a field hospital that night than he had in a month visiting the freshly wounded boys.
The first flanking attack failed. There was a thick minefield covered by mortars and machine guns. The divisional artillery had taken most of the morning to get sited and situated even as a deliberate attack was being planned for late afternoon. The guns had started to fire ten minutes ago. A battalion was demonstrating while two other battalions supported by all the tanks attached to the division were moving to hit the other flank of the German position. Even as they advanced, a few anti-tank shells screamed out of the German lines. Forward controllers soon moved mortar shells onto the likely dugouts of the heavy anti-tank guns. Soon the artillery ceased and the crack of rifle shots and the thump of grenades began.
