Trench 1915, p.17
Trench 1915, page 17
“Alright Richter, I managed produce a plan, so listen up. The enemy will hit this place soon, so we need to be prepared for them. I’m going to run the wire all the way to our old foxhole and set up the telephone; that way we can communicate with our artillery back at our lines. I also have in my possession a special rifle that will give us an edge. Get resupplied and grab a few ammo boxes for me while you’re at it. We’ll meet up at the first trench line. Ten minutes, do not be late.”
“Understood,” said Richter.
The pair split up both heading in different directions. Lothar ran the wire across the cross-section of the trenches and over the top toward their old foxhole located on a small hill. The landscape seemed different without the fog covering and that also meant Lothar would have to lay low, crawling to the foxhole. He made it safely and crawled in.
He set up the telephone and placed the fortress gun aside, checking his surroundings. When he was finished, he put a cover over the telephone box and another over the Ladera rifle. He crawled his way back to the first trench line where he would meet Richter. After what seemed like forever, he arrived at the trench line where the private was waiting, wearing an assault pack. Richter looked up and spoke.
“I’ve got what you asked for including the extra ammo, but do you think it’s going to be enough to stop them?”
“Let me tell you something, Private. Sure it’s a matter who has the biggest stick but what matters a lot more who’s swinging it. For now, either today or tomorrow, we’re going up against Frenchie’s best. So yes, Private, it’ll be enough.”
“So, we just sit here and wait?”
“That’s the plan. I’ve set up the box telephone where our foxhole was. All we have follow the line to get there when fighting begins.”
“How will we know it has started?”
“Well, their file mentioned something about “Wield the fist of steel” which probably means an artillery barrage, so when the shells start coming that’s when we run like hell to foxhole.”
“Alright then. Let waiting begin.”
CHAPTER 15
Their Finest Hour
Day 3, March 18
They sat in their trench, waiting for hours. Throughout the night more German troops started to arrive little by little, taking positions along the cross-section of the trench, fresh-faced recruits now a part of this region’s war. Lothar passed the time by polishing his weapon while Richter counted how many shells he has for his ‘drilling shotgun’.
They took turns performing lookout duties in case the French sends a trench raiding team. The only thing they had to worry about was the tiredness and exhaustion they felt from getting hardly any sleep. The only time they rested was only five, ten, and if lucky, thirty minutes, all the while keeping an eye out on the frontlines.
Suddenly, just before seven in the morning, a barrage of artillery was heard. Then came the all too familiar sound of incoming shells as they whistled their way down from the skies. Everyone took cover as the shells made impact. The men shouted orders and questions alike.
“In Deckung gehen! Eingehend (Take cover! Incoming)!” yelled one German soldier.
“Are they launching another offensive?!”
“Who cares keep your head down!”
The troops were confused and in a panic, while the more experienced veterans tried to maintain their composure and keep everyone calm. As for Lothar and Richter, this was their cue to go over the top and on their way to face the enemy in no-man’s land.
“Come, Pvt. Richter, into the storm of steel we go! Follow the wire!” Lothar said in an affirmative voice.
“Right behind you, Corporal!”
A sergeant noticed the pair leaving the trench and going into no-man’s land. He began to shout at them.
“HEY! Where the hell are you going? Deserters will be shot...”
“Leave them be Feldwebel (Sergeant), they have different mission to attend to,” directed Cpt. Schmitz, as he slowly lowered the soldier’s rifle.
Lothar and Richter followed the wire and checked it to make sure it wasn’t cut. They moved quickly through the decimated land, all while avoiding the artillery. At one point an artillery shell exploded ten feet away from them causing them to pause as their ears started ringing, and their bodies vibrated from the sound of the explosion, their vision shaking. They still pressed onward to their makeshift cover. At one moment the impact sparked memory in the two, remembering almost getting killed by artillery. As for Richter, he almost back at Ypres and the Marne again.
“Count to three, inhale. Count to three, exhale,” Richter repeated to himself.
They finally arrived at the foxhole and dove right in. Lothar uncovered the Ladera rifle and the telephone box. He immediately grabbed the phone. For a moment there was silence on the other end, then he heard a voice.
“Thunder here.”
“Thunder, this Titan squad, priority control ordnance at my command. I authenticate on reign on fire missions, Thunder,” Lothar screamed into the phone as the barrage continues.
“I hear you, Titan squad. Lend the coordinates and we’ll bring down the hurt. Thunder standing by.”
“Thunder, load HE shells and AP shells. Wait for my command to fire.”
“Understood Titan, doing so now,” the artillery officer shouts, ordering the men to load the requested shells.
Ten minutes later the bombardment ceased and there was nothing but an eerie silence in the air. Certainly unnerving. A line of smoke appeared thirty feet north of their position, then the sound of engines turning on, and a French soldier begins to speak.
“Remember men, what we succeed today could change the war tomorrow. For France and the Republic!” shouted Cpt. Dubois, as the trench whistle was heard along with a loud war cry.
Lothar handed the phone to Richter. He pulled out a small map of the area that was in a grid.
“I’ll call out coordinates, you repeat it to Thunder. Understood?” Lothar ordered as he took position on the Ladera rifle.
“I got it,” Richter replied as he readied the grenade launcher.
Through the smoke odd shapes appeared, moving at erratic pace. Something breaks through the smoke that leaves Richter in shock but would make Lothar more ready than ever.
Moving across the field were four Boirault Machine Model 1s. Along with them were four Breton-Pretot Tractors fully armored in the front with a cannon sticking out, and a platoon size unit following behind. The Boirualt Machines were in a spearhead formation that trampled over everything in its path, including left over barbed wire, abandoned wagons, dead trees, and logs. The skeleton bodies of the Model 1’s revealed no drivers, as if engines were running by themselves. The tractors lined up, side by side behind the Model 1’s and moved at a steady pace, their wire cutters at the front of the vehicles. The French infantry at the back of the formation were armed with label M1886 rifles, followed by small squads armed with Rossignol ENT B-1 self-loading rifles and three squads of Chauchat light machine guns.
Lothar took aim at the Boirault Machine at the front and fired, letting off a loud bang that jerked him back. The shot hit the machine and left a spark, but it was still moving.
“Woah, this has a kick,” Lothar said, as he felt the shock from it.
He aimed at the same machine at the front of the line and fired. This time he hit something vital which caused the machine to burst into flames. Immediately one of the Breton-Pretot tractors shifted and aimed its cannon toward Lothar. It fired a round at the pair but missed which caused Lothar to react quickly. He returned fire at the Breton. He fired a shot at it but ricocheted off the front of the armor.
“Verdammt, time to put my marksmanship to the test.”
Lothar took aim at what appeared to be gas canisters in the tractor. He fired and the thunderous sound erupted out of his rifle again, the bullet hitting its mark as a huge explosion is seen. The driver and gun operator were flung out of the fiery vehicle.
“Richter, fire mission coming up! Grid 3-2-7!”
“Thunder, this is Titan. Fire mission follows grid 3-2-7!” Richter yelled into the phone.
“Affirmative Titan, firing for effect.”
Not a second too soon the sound of artillery could be heard and twenty seconds later shells rained down on the Model 1’s and the Breton tractors on the left side. One Model 1 blew up completely while another was dislodged from its frame. As for the Bretons, some blew up and others were disabled, leaving some of the crew alive.
Lothar could now reposition himself to the right where the Breton-Pretot broke off formation and headed toward them with the 1st platoon following. Lothar fired a shot at the first Breton-Pretot he sees and immediately it stopped. Two people scrambled out of the vehicle and ran away, leaving the driver dead at his seat. Two others stopped and fired their cannons as 1st platoon sent two squads up the small hill and began to open fire to suppress Lothar. The squads were armed with Rossignol ENT B-1 self-loading rifles and continued firing on Lothar’s position.
“Verdammt (Damn it), they got me suppressed and they are getting close!”
“How many are coming up?!” Richter asked.
“About ten at least, why?”
“Keep me covered, I’m about to clear them out.”
“WHAT?! Are you crazy?”
“Just trust me!”
“Fine, covering fire,” Lothar shouted as he began firing his modified Benet Mercie at the incoming French.
Richter threw three smoke grenades and just as the large plume engulfed them, he jumps out the foxhole and sprinted into the smoke that the French squad was about to enter as well.
The French, now in the smoke, could barely see as they pressed forward until they spotted a silhouette coming right at them. Before they could react, five men screamed as they were knocked down following the sound of two shotgun blasts and a rifle shot. Richter switched to his Reichsrevolver and took down four more, then finished off the last soldier with a knife to his side. Before slugging him in his face.
As the smoke dispersed, another French squad held their ground trying to see what on earth was happening in there. The last sight they saw appearing from the smoke was Richter loading his grenade launcher and firing it. A single grenade wiped out the entire squad. Richter rushed over to the last two Breton-Pretot as he loaded his drilling shotgun. He cleared out the first tractor with his shotgun, with one casualty falling off the side; then he climbed up top and finished off the last crew on the next tractor with his revolver.
The French First Lieutenant and platoon sergeant, unhappy at the sight they witnessed, ordered the whole platoon into a full-scale charge with Chauchats laying down fire and as well as other self-loading rifle teams firing as they moved.
Richter retreated to the foxhole as bullets starts flying around him; the sound of the French shouting and cursing behind his back. Lothar got on the phone while firing his LMG.
“Thunder, new fire mission. Grid follows 2-4-8, danger close.”
“You got it Titan. Get to cover. Laying down the thunder!”
“Get in here, you idiot!” Lothar shouted at Richter.
Richter jumped in the nick of time as fiery explosions detonated behind him. They duck and cover while the artillery continued to fire on their position. When the artillery strike ceased, they saw a familiar sight. Bodies were littered all over the place leaving a grisly scene. Two out of the three Boirault machines, model 1’s, were also hit in the bombardment, leaving Richter to destroy the last one with his grenade launcher. It exploded into a ball of flames and then fell apart. The two stood there with their hearts racing and breathing heavily, then Lothar asked.
“So, is that what a Trench Trooper can do? I’m impressed.”
“I was trained for something like this. I won’t lie, that was intense. I’m just surprised it worked out so well. Is it over?”
“Nein, this was just the first wave, there was supposed to be another right after.”
Suddenly another thunderous barrage of artillery was heard and ordnance peppered the entire area. Lothar and Richter took cover. Again, Lothar gets on the line to Thunder.
“Thunder, prepare for fire mission! Thunder...THUNDER!” Lothar grabbed the wire and started pulling it, only to find out it has been cut by artillery.
Meanwhile back at the German trench line, Stefan is running through the trench network toward the HQ dugout, dodging artillery shells and kicking dirt everywhere. As he ran past the officers who were hiding under the table, Stefan grabbed the special telephone.
“Operator put me on the line to Hermes immediately. This is urgent! Exception phrase G.P.”
“Connecting you now, Geist,” and a click is heard.
“This is Geist Platoon member PFC. Stefan, ID number 442.”
“This Hermes, what’s the situation Geist?”
“Hermes, Hermes, Titan squad has engaged the enemy force! Right now, they are holding but are severely outgunned and outnumbered. Where the hell are the other squads?!”
“Geist, the other squads have left and are on the way. The good news is that this is the only area that is currently under attack. There were no reports of any military buildup in the other sectors. We cannot confirm at this time of ETA, but we can safely assume they’ll arrive in an hour or two.”
“They’ll be dead in thirty! Is there anything to spare?” Stefan queried with frustration.
“I’m sorry Geist, there is nothing else we can spare at this...Hold on. I have just been informed that 1Lt. Hoffmann of the Prussian Blue Tails is available for support.”
“Tell that sarcastic jerk to spread his wings and fly as fast as a European Swallow, NOW!”
“He is on the way! Sit tight.”
Back in no-man’s land, the artillery continued to hammer the area for fifteen minutes, and the artillery eventually ceased after firing its last shells that were apparently smoke rounds. The smoke covered the area blocking the field of view from the foxhole. Lothar reloaded both his LMG and the Ladera. Richter reloaded his weapons as well. They slowly moved through the smoke only to be shocked by what they saw. Five armored Boirault Model 1’s, with two machine guns on each side, ten Filtz armored tractors, and an entire company of French soldiers. The infantrymen came armed with Rossignol ENT B-1 self-loading rifles and B-2 Machine rifles, three Chauchat machine gun teams, the rest arrayed with Label M1886 bolt action rifles, Berthier bolt action, and portable shields.
“Oh Mein Gott (My God)! What’s the new plan, Corporal?” Richter asked shakily.
Before Lothar could answer they were forced to quickly take cover as machine gun teams and riflemen opened fired.
“Verdammt (Damn it), I thought the Tsar tank was bad, but this is worse. Ok, ok, we are going have to continue maintaining our priority on the armored vehicles, but what about the infantry? I’ve burned through half of our ammo cache. If we have to retreat, how would the boys in the trenches fare against this incursion? Verdammt (Damn it) think, Ludvig, think, what would Maxis do?!” Lothar processes.
“LOTHAR! What’s the plan?” screamed Richter, as he fired the rifle part of his drilling shotgun, still under fire.
“Uh, hell. Richter maintain security and prevent any Frenchie’s from getting too close to us. I have French armor to hunt down.”
“What if we get overrun?!” Richter asked.
“Then we fall back.”
Richter didn’t say anything after that response but hopped onto the machine gun and began firing.
Lothar aimed down at the first Boirault he sees. One of the machine’s side MGs begins firing at his direction, but Lothar quickly snaps at it and fires the Ladera. The bullet makes an impact on the landship but to no effect, he fires again. This time the thing stopped and started smoking from the inside before it blew up. He focused his fire on the next Boirault machine, and then the next. Lothar also targeted the Filtz armor tractors stopping them in their tracks with two or three shots in their front engine. Lothar managed to take out three armored Model 1’s and four Filtz.
At one point a French soldier managed to sneak up behind them and went after Lothar. The Frenchmen yelled as he kicked him in his back and was about to bayonet him before a sudden boom and a hole appeared on his chest. He fell down bleeding in their foxhole. Lothar looked and saw Richter holding his shotgun with one arm and firing the machine gun with the other all while repeating this phrase “Count to four, target sighted (deep breath), count to four, targets down (exhale).”
Richter tried his best to keep Gallus company back but failed to see that one Boirault machine was coming up on their flank. Richter managed to pull Lothar out of the way as the thing crushed through their holdout. Richter destroyed the thing with his grenade launcher.
“Verdammt (Damn it), the Ladera gun is destroyed and there are still six Filtz and two Boirault machines left,” Lothar said in frustration.
“There is also the fact that their entire Company is about to be on top of us,” Richter added.
“Verdammt (Damn it), we have no choice but to fall back. Find another holdout position and hopefully delay them a little longer with whatever we got,” Lothar said as he grabbed his LMG from Richter.
They vacated the area by moving downhill, as the sound of the French giving their war cry as they moved up hill with the remaining Boirualt Machines and Filtz armor tractors. Lothar and Richter took position in a shell and fortified it as quickly as possible. A trench whistle is heard and over the horizon two of the Boirault machine appeared along with six Filtz tractors, moving down as they fired their MGs with a horde of French infantry coming behind.
“This might be the end. I don’t have enough ammo for them all,” Richter said nervously.
“I know,” Lothar said, as he set up the bipod.
Then suddenly the sound of machine guns is heard from above. A LFG Roland C.II flew over, followed by three prototype Fokker Eindecker planes all with painted blue tails. They strafed into the French company with a hail of bullets as they swooped by. In the pilot seat was 1Lt. Hoffmann and his observer/gunner 2Lt. Schroder, who was firing his tail gun at the French troops below.
