by Colin Gee
Chuikov grabbed his chin and worked it, feeling the stubble under his fingertips, his piggy eyes devouring the information on the map, which was, to all intents and purposes, exactly the same as it had been the previous evening.
‘The bastards are up to something.’
“Get me Marshal Vasilevsky!”
Author’s note - Following the disappearance of Marshal Konev, assumed killed in the bombing attack on Nordhausen, Vassilevsky had been immediately selected as commander in chief of the Red Banner Forces of Soviet Europe, handing over command of the increasingly impotent Eastern Forces to his deputy.
Many saw Vassilevsky’s appointment as an incredible snub to Zhukov.
Stalin undoubtedly put Vasilevsky in place as he considered the man competent, yet malleable to pressure.
Marshal Zhukov’s personal diary makes it clear he saw the move as a good thing for the Red Army and Mother Russia, his personal negative feelings about Konev being reasonably well known in higher circles.
Zhukov’s relationship with the new commander was very good, both viewing the other as an excellent field commander and adept strategist.
Once Zhukov returned to work, their cordial professional relationship would be tested over the coming months but would, undoubtedly, make a positive impact on Red Army performance during their period of command.
I no more believe in God, the Devil, or Heaven than I do in mermaids and fairies. However, Hell‘s another matter. It exists; it’s a very real place. I know ‘cause I’ve been there.
Lukas J. Barkmann, Major, US Rangers.
Chapter 142 - THE SIXTH
0758 hrs hrs, Tuesday, 26th March 1946, Toul-Rosières, France.
The young and enthusiastic war correspondent, only recently arrived in France, hopped from foot to foot in excitement, watching the USAAF P-51s rise into the air.
Three squadrons, one after the other, a total of sixty-three aircraft, took a long time to get airborne, but the spectacle engrossed the reporter for its full duration.
“How long before they’re back, Hank?”
The MP Corporal assigned to ‘keep the goddamn limey reporter outta the goddamn way’ actually had no idea but plumped for two hours.
“Time to get a cup of tea then.”
The two sauntered off to the mess hut where the reporter’s hunt for tea proved fruitless, and coffee became a substitute.
Rapidly consuming a plate of eggs, fried potato, and fried ham, he set up his typewriter and set to work on his first report ‘from the front’.
The journalistic reports of John Thornton-Smith, War Correspondent for the Daily Sketch newspaper.
With the United States Army Air Force, somewhere in Eastern France, 8:42am, 26th March 1946.
Dear Reader,
Today is the first day of the grand new offensive, aimed at kicking the Communist hordes back to whence they came, something we have all been waiting for ever since their dastardly betrayal last August.
You will all be thrilled to learn that our soldiers, airmen, and sailors are all keen to press on with the job, and to carry the fight back to the enemy, and they speak of nothing but victory and getting the job done.
At the time of writing, I am sat waiting for a group of young Americans to return from their first combat of the day, the whole three squadrons having leapt into the crisp morning air and sped off to do battle with the enemy, before returning home to prepare for another joust later in the day.
Around me, the airfield is a hive of activity, even though there are few aircraft left to tend. The ground crews are taking no rest, preparing the fuel, bombs, and bullets to be loaded on the returned aircraft, to quickly make them ready for the next show.
I spoke to an experienced Captain, a leader of men, with many kills under his belt already.
He spoke of his pride in his boys and the way they had handled everything that this war had thrown their way.
A quiet, unassuming man, his pilots obviously worship him. I can only call him Jim, but many of you will have read his name during the previous unpleasantness.
Jim is a man of few words, but before he climbed into the gleaming aircraft, he asked me to send his love and best wishes to his family back home, especially his wife Martha, and his two sons, James and Richard.
His steed is a modern, state of the art fighter, and he has promised me a closer look once A-GQ returns.
How I envy him and his men the freedom of the skies and the wondrous experience that must be the carefree nature of flying.
How wonderful it must be to return from lashing the enemy, and to exchange yarns on the day’s events.
I will share some of those stories with you in due course, but, for now, you all back home can rest assured that our finest are doing their best and that it is only a matter of time.
John Thornton-Smith
(Correspondent)
With the United States Army Air Force, somewhere in Eastern France, 9:13am, 26th March 1946.
The aircraft are returning and excited ground crews celebrate when they recognize their own man and machine taxiing into the bays where each aircraft is worked on.
Two fire engines almost seem to twitch nervously on the perimeter road, although all the aircraft so far landed seem to have had an easy ride and to be without any marks of distress.
And yet, as I type, one aircraft comes into view, its presence marked more firmly by the smoke it trails behind it.
The damaged fighter bumps down hard, both fire engines in hot pursuit, keen to get to grips with any fire that might endanger man and machine.
The aircraft slips off the runway onto the marshy ground and is brought to a swift stop by the cloying grip of the mud that surrounds this base.
The firemen are all over the aircraft and the pilot is removed. He is taken to the arrived ambulance to be whisked away to the doctor for a check-up
Beside me, Jack, a USAAF cook, compares numbers with his pal, Ray.
The numbers do not tally and it appears that some aircraft have not returned.
That is not unusual, for even though the Allies have mastery of the air, losses are inevitable and, sadly, there is occasionally loss of life, which can affect those in a tight-knit Squadron such as this.
Let us hope that our brave fliers have landed elsewhere or managed to take to a parachute.
Now I must away, in order to share in the sense of fun that must accompany these men returning from their labours against the foe. I shall report back with some of their stories of missions accomplished and great deeds performed.
John Thornton-Smith
(Correspondent)
[Author’s note – On the 26th March, 354th Fighter Group flew 178 sorties out of the airbase at Toul-Rosières, France. The group lost a total of seventeen aircraft that day, and twelve pilots were killed over their targets, with two severely injured, including the pilot whose landing was watched by JTS, namely the 355th Fighter Regiment’s Captain James Z. Steele Jr, pilot of GQ-A. He had flown with the RAF Eagle Squadron in the Battle of Britain and was a highly experienced flier with eighteen and a half kills. After-combat reports all agreed that Steele’s aircraft was struck by ground fire as he led his section in a ground attack role on Soviet armoured and motorised forces at Imbsheim, Germany. He died in the ambulance, succumbing to his wounds.]
With the United States Army, somewhere in Eastern France, 11:13am, 28th March 1946.
Dear Reader,
Unfortunately my time with the brave US air force pilots was cut short, so I never had the chance to look over AC-Q, or to hear the yarns of aerial combat as the pilots boasted of their successes.
I promise to return as soon as circumstances permit.
Now, I find myself with the Army Command, observing the machine that moves our glorious soldiery around the landscape of Europe, sending extra men to trouble spots, directing fast-moving reserves to exploit holes riven in the front lines of our dastardly foe, and that organizes the whole war with the ease of a game of chess
.
Whilst the great General himself organizes the movement of his huge army, I have been extremely fortunate to have been shown around by one of his senior staff, who I can only call Colonel Arnold.
He has explained the complexities of warfare on this scale, as best as this reporter can understand, and it seems that our forces have planned and planned for this huge battle, and that all is going precisely as anticipated.
Colonel Arnold tells me that there have been some casualties, but less than predicted, which can only be a good thing, and supports the view that this is going well and easier than expected.
The loss of any soldier is a tragedy, of course, but back home, you can rest assured that your fathers and brothers, husbands and sons, are in the best possible hands and as safe as can be.
The offensive goes on and, with the special permission of the commanding general, I will be permitted to go further forward tomorrow, and visit a Division Headquarters where I can get experience of real fighting at first hand.
To me, this is yet another indication of the ease and success of our efforts against the enemy of free Europe.
The best indication of all is the confidence of the officers and men moving around me, their serious faces showing dedication and great intent in their work, betraying their total commitment to the success of this great crusade.
The General himself, who I cannot name, works with great energy and care, his ebullient manner and outgoing nature both clearly advantages in the management of his war machine and the men who serve it.
Before I finish this report, I must speak of what now flies over this headquarters. My companion estimates some seven hundred aircraft, of all types, passing over our heads, carrying the war forward.
Such numbers will not, cannot be denied.
We must all give thanks for our leaders’ planning and the strength of our armies.
Perhaps our boys really will all be home for Christmas.
John Thornton-Smith
(Correspondent)
[Author’s note – On the 28th March, US Seventh Army logs show the presence of John Thornton-Smith, and also show that he was placed under the care of Lieutenant Colonel Arnold H. White. A note from White’s personal diary betrays a certain dislike of the young reporter, based around his innocence and enthusiasm for war. According to that diary entry, it was Patch’s deliberate decision to send JTS forward, where he might get some experience to be able to understand what war was actually about. My profound thanks to the family of Brigadier-General Arnold H. White.]
With the Allied Army, somewhere in Eastern France, 3:17pm, 29th March 1946.
Dear Reader,
Today I am privileged to be able to speak with soldiers from across the ocean.
Not from our dear Allies, the Americans or Canadians, but from new Allied states.
I write of the South Americans.
All around me are excited men and officers, assembling for a briefing on the present state of affairs at the front. None of these men know, but today may bring their call to action, as all their units have, so far, acted as a reserve, and lain awaiting the call to summon them to glory.
My guide for the day, a South African Captain called Johannes, walks with me amongst the excited jabbering common to the races of that wonderful continent.
Amongst them are voices from Rio de Janeiro, Montevideo, Buenos Aires, Asunción, Havana, and Mexico City.
Smart and well armed, these soldiers from so far away are ready to fight and play their part in the great journey that is being undertaken, and, to a man, they pray that it will take them all the way to Moscow and beyond.
Most of these men could not have dreamed of being here a year ago, and you can see their pride and fervour.
They display their weapons with pride and, despite their relaxed manner, exhibit an energy I have rarely seen amongst the common soldiery.
Their very real joy when friendly aircraft fly overhead brings on spontaneous displays of emotion, manifesting itself in shouting, prayers to God and, when the excitement is too much, the firing of weapons into the air, something their officers move quickly to discourage.
You cannot fault the ardour of these men, and their wish to get to grips with the enemy.
It is my fondest hope that I will have an opportunity to observe these wonderful soldiers experience their first taste of battle, when, I am convinced, they will take the battle to the Communists with great elan.
John Thornton-Smith
(Correspondent)
Further to my submission, the briefing did not bring forth the news that these brave soldiers were waiting for, and they are yet to remain in our reserve, waiting for the moment that they are set loose.
Whilst their disappointment was evident, they resumed their duties with joy in their hearts.
The atmosphere around me is one of noisy anticipation, and I suspect that the campfires will be surrounded by laughter and song well into the night.
For my part, I will miss it, as I move forward again.
[Author’s note – On the 29th March, JTS was visiting the forces of SAFFEC, the South American grouping that was kept in reserve during the early days of the attack. I discovered that his guide, Captain Johannes de Wilhout, acting as a liaison between 6th SA Armoured and the SAFFEC headquarters, was killed in an accidental discharge incident two days later. His room mate, Major Fidel Castro, was also wounded.]
With the United States Army, somewhere in Eastern France, 11:13am, 30th March 1946.
Dear Reader,
Having taken my leave of the wonderful South Americans and my gracious South African host yesterday evening, my excitement knew no bounds this morning, as I arrived at the battle headquarters of a division at the cutting edge of our glorious advance into enemy held territory.
The sound of gunfire reached my ears, heavy gunfire that continued without let up, as nearby friendly artillery units persistently poured their shells into the enemy hordes.
How marvellous it was to listen to the wondrous instrument of war that our leaders have created, the constant crack and rumbling of heavy weapons a fitting backdrop to the critical decisions being made within the command tent in front of me.
Today, my escort was Major William, an experienced front line soldier with more medals on his chest than I have seen in a lifetime.
A man of few words, his grunts of agreement and occasional shakes of the head answered all my questions, as we observed the divisional commander responding to whatever problem was brought before him.
Muddy men came and went, some with information, others to take away orders.
This was where the business of war was done, and where the link between the commanding general and the man in the trench lay, translating the orders into commands that the Lieutenants and Sergeants could understand.
Occasionally something would happen, an unexpected event, a problem, but the commanding officer of the division would calmly consult with his closest advisors.
Once, our planned move forward was halted, even as orderlies and officers worked to strike down tables and phones. A small enemy counter-attack gave the command group a different priority.
It proved to be no great issue, and the command group relocated some hours later.
The weather played a part today, as torrential rain curtailed some of the carefully laid assault plans and played a merry dance with our expected air support.
Again, I found myself given permission to go even further forward, and I am so excited that I will be given the opportunity to smell the smoke of battle first hand.
All the better to tell you, dear reader, what the war really is like for the men who carry the rifles and drive the tanks that are pushing the hated enemy back into their lair.
John Thornton-Smith
(Correspondent)
[Author’s note – On the 30th March, JTS was known to be at the headquarters of the 66th US Infantry Division. Whilst I can find no official record of his presence (many of the 66th’s files we
re lost subsequently), I managed to get a word of mouth report from Sergeant Hank P Watermayne, a senior NCO with the unit. According to his report, Major Guillame J Rousseau, who was JTS’s escort, could barely speak to someone he considered an idiotic child. It was Rousseau who secured permission for JTS to go forward to the 264th Regiment, possibly to rid himself of a troublesome duty. As an extra, the reason that the headquarters did not relocate was because of a violent Soviet counter-attack that, according to the divisional history, very nearly split the 262nd Regiment in half. The counter-attack that was, according to JTS, no great issue, was the single-greatest loss of life to the 262nd Regiment in a single combat, as five hundred and thirty-seven men became casualties in the two hour struggle against a strong counter-attack, out of which three hundred and two men permanently fell. The 66th Division had experienced a catastrophic day once before when, on Christmas Eve 1944, the troop ship Leopoldville, carrying members of the division to Cherbourg, was sunk by a torpedo. This sinking, only a few miles off the French coast, resulted in the loss of seven hundred and sixty-two men.]
With the United States Army, somewhere in Eastern France, 12:33am, 1st April 1946.
Dear Reader,
Today I am privileged to be with a Regimental Command group in a fighting American division.
This group of young GIs has been in Europe since December last year, and have been constantly embroiled in the heaviest fighting against the former German enemy.
Now, allied with those same soldiers, they push forward against a common foe.
My escort for today hails from St Petersberg, but not the former city in the Russian Empire, but the city in Florida, USA, a place where cold and wet conditions such as we have today are rare, and sun is the norm.
