23 March 1918, 18:00 - Montagnes Bridge, northern France
Augustus Heinrich Dungerman was a commoner by birth who had been through four years of pure hell. At age 23 he was only just starting to realize his career in Chemistry at the Bayer labs when the war broke out, his technical degree only just finished a few months before. Like so many men of his generation he eagerly signed up for the army as a 'kapitulant' or long-term enlistee thinking he would be home by Christmas. That turnd out to be much wiser than the one-year enlistees who paid their own way, although he was obligated to serve until war's end, at least he would not die in crushing debt - the last of his schooling costs were paid in mid-1916. Now the 'old man' of the battalion at almost 27 years old and a Vice-Feldwebel, he commanded the men going 'over the top' on this glorious Spring day as part of some damn operation to 'Break the backs of the French and British before the Americans could arrive in full force' as it were. And here he was south of a stinking town of Peronne in France late on the 23rd of March, 1918.
"At least we're moving now, Feldwebel". Johann Schmertz was a country Saxon who knew the look on his friend's face when he was sullen. Schmertz had as much muscle as Dungerman had brains, the odd pair made for an effective reconnaissance team and Schmertz made it a point to do *anything* he asked of his soldiers - including scout trips. The bridge ahead was a key target, the rapid advance in this sector might be halted if the now-British held bridge were not quickly retaken. "And they are on the run, ja"?
"Only for now, freund", noted Dungerman as he found his target with the M1902 Madsen machine gun, an officer rallying his men as he prepared to see the Germans approaching the bridge turned to hamburger. At that moment the officer looked up and moved just out of the way of the shot, finding the pistol at his side and firing to hit Schmertz in the left shoulder and nearly taking Dungerman's head off. The new adrenaline punch allowed Dungerman to duck as he took out his prize Mondragon rifle from the Air Service after the MG14 and MG15 began coming into greater vogue. Self-loading rifles, he thought at the time, were the wave of the future, and where better to learn the damn thing inside and out. He swore he would build a better rifle after the war - for now, he just wanted to survive it. Looking to his left he saw Schmertz bleeding heavily from the wound to his left upper arm as the bullets came close to killing him too.
In a surge of adrenaline, partially for the wound to his left index finger he never felt take the end off and partly from watching his friend turned to hamburger in the resulting gunfire, Dungerman took off in a rapid pace with a captured American M1911 in one hand and his own M1896 in the other. Like a visage of the American cowboy many in Europe sought to read about, he walked into the area blind to his own lethal danger and one by one killed every one of the British men holding the bridge over the next 10 minutes. Twice he ran out of bullets and took out his knife, at one point having to punch a sergeant out cold before he could get to another gun. As the last officer alive - the same one he saw at the beginning of this mess - came before his eyes, he slowly walked over to him with a look that frightened his nominal opponent.
"My name is Lieutenant Alfred Herring of..."
They would be the last words the man would speak. Dungerman was later found mourning his friend perhaps ten minutes later as the Hauptmann arrived with new orders. He looked at the bodies...counting 68 of them in total, 67 apparently British...his eyes went wide briefly to the man who was still standing on the now German bridge. Apparently this bridge was taken back in a brief British counterattack, but now..."...Feldwebel, please stand".
Here we go, thought Dungerman, someone saw me take the knife to him and now I'm a dead man. Brief flashes of the gallows followed by a firing squad pulsed through him, but the response from Hauptmann Fischer was unexpected. "You are now the brevet Leftenant for these men, Offentzer is dead. Our next objective is take Chaulnes and the rail lines around it. I suggest you get moving - we can reach the town while it is still dark and take it by surprise if we hurry".
Augustus Heinrich Dungerman was a commoner by birth who had been through four years of pure hell. At age 23 he was only just starting to realize his career in Chemistry at the Bayer labs when the war broke out, his technical degree only just finished a few months before. Like so many men of his generation he eagerly signed up for the army as a 'kapitulant' or long-term enlistee thinking he would be home by Christmas. That turnd out to be much wiser than the one-year enlistees who paid their own way, although he was obligated to serve until war's end, at least he would not die in crushing debt - the last of his schooling costs were paid in mid-1916. Now the 'old man' of the battalion at almost 27 years old and a Vice-Feldwebel, he commanded the men going 'over the top' on this glorious Spring day as part of some damn operation to 'Break the backs of the French and British before the Americans could arrive in full force' as it were. And here he was south of a stinking town of Peronne in France late on the 23rd of March, 1918.
"At least we're moving now, Feldwebel". Johann Schmertz was a country Saxon who knew the look on his friend's face when he was sullen. Schmertz had as much muscle as Dungerman had brains, the odd pair made for an effective reconnaissance team and Schmertz made it a point to do *anything* he asked of his soldiers - including scout trips. The bridge ahead was a key target, the rapid advance in this sector might be halted if the now-British held bridge were not quickly retaken. "And they are on the run, ja"?
"Only for now, freund", noted Dungerman as he found his target with the M1902 Madsen machine gun, an officer rallying his men as he prepared to see the Germans approaching the bridge turned to hamburger. At that moment the officer looked up and moved just out of the way of the shot, finding the pistol at his side and firing to hit Schmertz in the left shoulder and nearly taking Dungerman's head off. The new adrenaline punch allowed Dungerman to duck as he took out his prize Mondragon rifle from the Air Service after the MG14 and MG15 began coming into greater vogue. Self-loading rifles, he thought at the time, were the wave of the future, and where better to learn the damn thing inside and out. He swore he would build a better rifle after the war - for now, he just wanted to survive it. Looking to his left he saw Schmertz bleeding heavily from the wound to his left upper arm as the bullets came close to killing him too.
In a surge of adrenaline, partially for the wound to his left index finger he never felt take the end off and partly from watching his friend turned to hamburger in the resulting gunfire, Dungerman took off in a rapid pace with a captured American M1911 in one hand and his own M1896 in the other. Like a visage of the American cowboy many in Europe sought to read about, he walked into the area blind to his own lethal danger and one by one killed every one of the British men holding the bridge over the next 10 minutes. Twice he ran out of bullets and took out his knife, at one point having to punch a sergeant out cold before he could get to another gun. As the last officer alive - the same one he saw at the beginning of this mess - came before his eyes, he slowly walked over to him with a look that frightened his nominal opponent.
"My name is Lieutenant Alfred Herring of..."
They would be the last words the man would speak. Dungerman was later found mourning his friend perhaps ten minutes later as the Hauptmann arrived with new orders. He looked at the bodies...counting 68 of them in total, 67 apparently British...his eyes went wide briefly to the man who was still standing on the now German bridge. Apparently this bridge was taken back in a brief British counterattack, but now..."...Feldwebel, please stand".
Here we go, thought Dungerman, someone saw me take the knife to him and now I'm a dead man. Brief flashes of the gallows followed by a firing squad pulsed through him, but the response from Hauptmann Fischer was unexpected. "You are now the brevet Leftenant for these men, Offentzer is dead. Our next objective is take Chaulnes and the rail lines around it. I suggest you get moving - we can reach the town while it is still dark and take it by surprise if we hurry".