Winter Warriors

“Asbach spoke quite highly of you. Thinks you have the makings of a good soldier. And your wounds are not severe, your greatcoat took most of the fire and your gloves protected your hands. You’ll be happy to know your silk scarf survived intact, in fact your men have it under guard for you. They’ve already beaten up one man who tried to steal it. But I’m not supposed to know that.”

“The men Sir? How many escaped?”

“Most who survived that last battle. We lost another halftrack to a Grizzly but that was all, and the crew of that escaped. The battle’s over Lang. We’re back to where we were before it all started. Just there’s a lot fewer of us. And the Finns are out of the war, they capitulated after the Amis burned Helsinki to the ground. This Winter War has not gone well. Asbach said it wouldn’t and he was right. Fortunately, the Navy has taken the blame, we were all betrayed by them you know.” Marcks was absent-mindedly rubbing his ear.

The way that Marcks spoke of Asbach suddenly sank in. “The Colonel Sir, how is he? How is Asbach?”

“Asbach is alive, although he was not as fortunate as you. Or perhaps more fortunate, depending on how one looks at it. His burns were much more severe. His injuries make him unfit for any kind of military service. He’s going home. He left a message for you though, he says that when you get some leave, if you have nothing better to do, drop in and see him. The two of you can kill a bottle or three of his family brandy.”

“I’ll do that Sir and, Sir, may I….”

“Stay with my division? I think so, I need somebody to replace Asbach. Yes, Lang, you can stay. Now, anything else?”

Lang thought for a second. “A bottle or three of brandy, that sounds good. Where does Asbach’s family live Sir?”

“On the Rhine, the family business is making brandy. Their home is in one of the small towns there, place called Duren.”

Marcks stomped out, swinging the door shut behind him. A sacrilegious thought entered Lang’s mind. At least out here I don’t have to keep remembering whose ass to lick. With that comfort, Lang relaxed on his pillows.

Curly, Battery B, US Navy 5th Artillery Battalion, Kola Peninsula.

“Well, we’re nearly there. Knyaz, you’ll be leaving us now?”

“No, Commander, my division is grouped around this railhead. If it is permissible, I’d like to stay with you until we’re in.”

“Knyaz, if I may make a suggestion, why don’t you get your ski troops and go in ahead of us. That way you’ll get your welcome before this gun grabs all the attention.”

Knyaz nodded, that was a good idea. The escape of the railway guns had made headline news around the world, even if only one of the three had actually made it. There was even talk of making a Hollywood film about the exploit. I would rather like to be played by Clark Gable. Knyaz thought.

“Very well Commander, thank you. John, fly well and burn many fascists.”

Marosy mouthed the word “Napalm” and got an appreciative laugh from the Russians. “Knyaz, thanks for everything. We’d never have got out if it hadn’t been for you and your Siberians. They’ve got a new bird for us back at base. If you ever need anything, just get the word through. Anything bratischka, I mean that.”

“And I will take you up on it. Now goodbye my friend.”

After three days on the train, it felt good to be back on skis again. It had been a hard job repairing the tracks where the fascists had ripped them up. The engineers had settled for clearing the wreckage away and rebuilding the line by removing track from behind the train. Meanwhile, Knyaz and his men had kept guard but the fascists had gone. Once the work was done, it had been a gentle ride home. But it still felt good to be on skis again.

The cantonment started just as the railway like entered a marshalling yard. Knyaz had his surviving troops spread out on either side of the line, in echelons. He had to admit the arrowhead of ski-troops made a dashing figure as they entered the area occupied by the 78th Siberian Infantry Division. He could hear the watching men give the traditional ‘Urrah! Urrah! He brought his men to a halt in what passed for the parade ground. Across to his left he could see Rifleman Kabanov receiving an enthusiastic ‘welcome’ from two of the canteen girls. It was good to be young sometimes, Knyaz thought, forgetting he was only 26.

“Knyaz. You have returned.” It was his general, standing before him in the trampled snow. Knyaz frowned slightly. Things weren’t quite normal. The General usually called him Tovarish Lieutenant.

“Sir. Regret to advise you that we have lost 22 men dead and fourteen wounded. But we have killed many fascists and captured much of their material. I will have a full report for you later Tovarish General.”

“There is no hurry, you have a party to attend first, Tovarish Senior Lieutenant.” The General was beaming at him and Knyaz closed his eyes to imagine himself with his new insignia. And his extra pay. That thought made him wonder. Have I been around Americans too much?

As if to confirm his belief, there was a deafening whistle from the approaching train. Curly edged into the marshalling yard, surrounded by cheering troops. They ran alongside the lines to welcome the gun back home. The General looked at the railway gun and shook his head. “You can’t keep it you know.”

Knyaz tried to look shocked. “Tovarish General, it is not our fault. He just followed us home.”

EPILOGUE

C-99B “Arctic Express” Seattle, Washington, Ten Months Later

The rumble of the nose doors opening and the whine as the engines behind the wings spooled down were so familiar to Major Dedmon that he hardly noticed them. Around Arctic Express, tracks would be gathering to remove the cargo. It was mostly 20mm Shvak and 23mm V-YA cannon for aircraft. Built in Russian factories, the guns were reverse lend-lease. Their value was charged as a payment against Russia’s account. Even in a world war, the accountants had to be kept happy. Around him, the flight deck crew finished their shutdown checks. Dedmon signed the chit that handed his aircraft over to its ground crew. That also was routine. He would leave his aircraft in their hands and they’d look after her before the next long haul to Russia.

Inside the terminal, Dedmon’s crew, as usual, started to go their separate ways. This time, however, they were stopped by Colonel Sutherland. “You men, a moment please. I’m pleased to inform you that your tour of duty on the Air Bridge has been completed. I have your new assignments here. Some of you are going to the Pacific Coast to fly with the C-99 flights to Hawaii and Australia. Others will be going to other bases in the Zone of the Interior for other air transport duties.” He handed out envelopes.

“You’re breaking my crew up?” Dedmon was upset at the idea.

“I’m afraid so Bob. Needs must when the devil drives I’m afraid. There’s too much expertise here to keep in one group. It needs to be shared out. You’d better hurry by the way. There’s a C-69 Connie leaving in two hours. One of the seats has your name on it.”

“Very good Sir.” Dedmon went off to say his farewells to the crew that had been with him for nearly a year. If he moved fast, he would just have time for a quick wash, climb into a new uniform and collect up his property. Behind him Colonel Sutherland watched with a degree of sadness. It was hard to play the genial old man, put out to grass in a backwater assignment, while watching these young men and deciding when they were ready to go on to bigger and deadlier things. The crew of Arctic Express, formed a group, shaking hands and slapping backs. Doubtless they were promising to keep in touch. Those promises would almost certainly never be kept. Then, they finally went their separate ways.

C-69 Constellation “Queen of Naugatuck”

“Hi Sir, I think we’re going to be neighbors for the next few hours.” The young Captain managed to combine the right amount of respect for Dedmon’s rank with friendliness and the camaraderie of pilots. Dedmon found himself instantly liking the man.

“Looks like it. I’m Bob Dedmon. Been flying C-99s for the last year or so.”

“Andras Pico, co-pilot on C-99s for about the same length of time. My bird was Snow Queen”

“Arctic Express. The flight roster says we’re heading for Fort Worth. That’s Texas. My home state.”