"I'm getting too old for this shit." Anse Hatfield swung off his horse, the dull pains in his back and legs reminding him that camping rough and riding all day was a young man's game. He waved to Sergeant Albrecht. "Hold off making camp. Now that we've finally caught up with the Army, I'll go see where they want us."
Following General Torstensson's army on the march from Hamburg had seemed like an interesting assignment. Then he discovered that when the Swede moved an army, it really moved. They were better than twenty miles ahead of the TacRail company sent to support them. Not surprising when TacRail laid track at two miles a day and Torstensson moved his army a good twenty miles in the same period. The roads behind the army had been a mad house. Companies of troops and batteries of artillery were all moving forward, all trying to get into position.
Finally they stopped just out side a little town called Ahrensbok Anse's surveyors hadn't kept up really; only the fact that they were all mounted and the army had stopped allowed them to make contact.
Anse had to ask directions twice, but he found the command post. He spotted Cameron Hinshaw setting up his radio on the back side of a small knoll. "Hey, Cameron. How's it going, and where do I report in? My people need a place to sleep tonight where no one will roll a cannon over their tents."
Hinshaw looked up and grinned. "Bit of a cluster fuck, ain't it? We been running the legs off of the infantry, and they're still coming in. Where you camp is up to Colonel Jackson and I guess he's who you should report to. I doubt you'll get much sleep though. Even if no one rolls a cannon over you."
"Whoa, Bubba. Last time I looked Frank Jackson was a general. When did this happen?"
Hinshaw glanced around. "You know Torstensson is in charge?"
"Yeah. So what?"
"Well, Torstensson wanted Jackson on his staff, but as a colonel. So General Jackson is now Colonel Jackson in the USE army, but he's still a general for Thuringia-Franconia."
Anse smiled. He always thought Frank Jackson was getting too big for his britches with that general business. He was going to enjoy this. Frank Jackson was standing with a group of officers at the top of the knoll. Anse nodded goodbye to Hinshaw and walked over.
He gave his best parade ground salute. "Chief Warrant Officer Hatfield reporting in with a party of eleven, Colonel. We are surveying the route for your TacRail support, Colonel. If it pleases the Colonel, we will camp with the army tonight and head back to deliver our survey." Anse was proud of working colonel into his report three times.
Before Jackson could answer one of the other officers turned. Anse recognized General Torstensson and snapped to attention.
"TacRail? You don't have one of your trains with you, do you? That would be too much to hope for."
"No, sir. We're just surveying the route. The railhead is about twenty-two miles back. It'll be at least a week before they can get a line here, maybe ten days. However, the telegraph line should be here tomorrow or the day after and we have a line clear back to Hamburg."
"Oh, well. We fight with what we have. And we fight tomorrow morning." Torstensson turned away.
Anse didn't realize he was just standing and gawking until Colonel Jackson caught his attention by saying, "You picked a hell of a time to show up, Hatfield. We've got a battle to fight."
"Where do you want my men?"
Jackson was getting a harassed look on his face. "Get your men over with the organ guns, put them under Len Straley and come back here."
The organ guns were bound to be in the thick of any battle. And Anse knew Len. Anse didn't think he'd want eleven strangers added to his command just before a fight. Before Anse could make a fool of himself by protesting one of the other officers turned and smiled. It was Nils Ivarsson, who had been on that darn trip to Suhl with him. "Colonel Jackson, if I may I would like to have Herr Hatfield's party as part of my force. Since my troops are skirmishers, his people would be a positive addition. While with the organ guns they might have problems of coordinating." Nils pointed. "We are out on the left flank."
Colonel Jackson stood and pondered. "Very well, Captain. Mr. Hatfield and his party will be attached to your troops for the next few days. And, Hatfield, don't screw up. I want to see you after the battle."
Ivarsson waved to Anse and they walked back toward the radio. "Congratulations on your promotion, Captain," Anse said. "I was surprised to see you."
"General Kagg thought I needed some time with the troops to further my military career. Besides, where better to be than directly under Torstensson's eye when I do my deeds of glory?"
Anse looked up and saw Nils was grinning. Anse didn't like that grin. Nils was sometimes devious, very devious. "What do you need me to do?"
"Do? I want you and your men in my line. I was short a lieutenant, now I have you. I'll bring your people up to a half-company with some of my extra men. Don't worry, I have a good sergeant for you, and I'll put you right beside me in the line. I've seen you in action and I know you can do this."
Anse thought those organ guns were starting to look good. "Well, I have to warn you my people include a couple of untried kids. So don't expect too much. It's just a surveying party with a couple of linemen to string telegraph wire. That better be a damn good sergeant."
"Not a problem. I have some of the best trained men in the army. I recruited a number of Jaegers while we were in Suhl and we all have the new rifles. More importantly, Linkersdorf is a very good sergeant and a Jaeger himself."
Sergeant Albrecht had the men resting under some trees, and the horses were placidly chomping the grain in their nose bags. Anse had the thought, once again, that it was great to be working with professionals. Udo Albrecht was only twenty-five, but he had been a soldier for years before joining TacRail. "Sergeant, this is Captain Ivarsson, and we're joining up with his people. The French have been caught."
Sergeant Albrecht looked at Anse, then looked closer at Nils and turned to his men, "Load up men, we are going with the captain."
The Swedish/USE line extended for a little more than a mile to Anse's right. To his left was a half company of Nils' skirmishers and then nothing. If the French tried an end run around them, they would have to slow them down and fall back. But it didn't look like the French were planning on much. Anse could almost make out some of the men's faces, they were that close. Not surprisingly, the men he could see through his binoculars looked a lot like his own. Young men who had no idea what was going on and no real understanding of the issues involved.
PFC Hagen Filss slid in beside Anse holding a bowl of porridge. "Chief, Sergeant Albrecht said you missed breakfast so I brought you some porridge." Hagen handed Anse the bowl, then twisted around to peer at the enemy.
"Keep your head down, Hagen," Anse said. He put down his binoculars and took a mouthful of porridge. "The French ain't going to sneak up on us. Did you get any thing to eat before you brought me this?"
"I wasn't hungry Chief. My stomach is too jumpy to eat."
Hagen had never been in action before. Anse gave him a stern look. "Go back and eat, force it down if you have to. It's going to be a long day and our next meal might be a long way off. And keep your head down." Hagen looked doubtful, but duck-walked back toward the cook fire. Anse took another small bite. It was pretty good porridge, for field rations, even had some crisp bacon pieces. But he found that, like Hagen, he wasn't really hungry. He set it aside and went back to watching the French.
Linkersdorf, the Jaeger sergeant, slid behind the log. "See anything interesting, sir?"
"No, Sergeant Linkersdorf. And I've told you before; I'm not really an officer. Call me Chief or Herr or, shoot, even Anse, will you?"
"Sure, Chief." Linkersdorf pointed to Anse's unfinished meal. "Stomach a bit touchy, Chief? If you don't want that I'll finish it. Waiting for a battle makes me hungry."
The Jaeger was testing him. "No, Sergeant," Anse responded, picking up the bowl. "I was just letting cool a bit before I finished it. It's too good to waste." He forced himself to start eating again.
Linkersdorf pointed to Anse's binoculars. "May I?"
When Anse nodded the sergeant took the binoculars and looked over the log. Anse used the time to study his men's position once more. It was damn strong in his opinion. They had deepened a natural ditch and piled logs in front of it to give more protection. Anse looked further down the line. Ivarsson had set up his command post in the center of his company.
Linkersdorf started cursing in German too rapidly for Anse to follow. Anse slid his rifle over the log and looked through the scope. A fancy dressed man on horseback was riding up and down in front of the French lines. That had to be an officer preparing the troops for an assault. What a waste of horse flesh. Anse could see the ribbons braided into the horse's mane and tail. Ribbons that matched the officers coat. The horse was actually prancing, almost dancing across the front of the French troops. What an asshole. The officer had now drawn his sword and was using it to point and wave at the USE lines.
Anse tapped the sergeant's arm. "Run and tell the captain what you saw, and ask what he wants us to do."
Linkersdorf backed away from the log and Hagen slid back into his place next to Anse. "Is this it, Chief? Are they going to attack?"
"It sure looks like it, Hagen. Get ready." Hagen rolled over and started digging in his pack. Anse was not surprised when he pulled out two hand grenades, but the M-1 folding stock carbine was a total surprise. "Where did that come from?"
"It is Sergeant Toeffel's."
"I know it's Toeffel's. What are you doing with it?"
"Toeffel gave it to me. He and Sergeant Rau told me to look after you."
Anse snorted at the idea of having a seventeen-year-old bodyguard. "Stay close and keep your head down. And remember that's just an overgrown pistol. Use your rifle until they get close."
Hagen looked a bit doubtful, "But it will shoot as fast as I pull the trigger? Won't it?"
Before Anse could answer all hell broke loose. It sounded like Friday afternoon in a boilermakers shop when the right flank advanced.
Linkersdorf dropped beside Hagen. "The captain says we are going to stay in place. If the French advance we are to hold them until the right wing breaks their army. He says to start harassing fire to slow them down."
Anse called out, "Everyone in line. TacRail men, check your priming and hold your fire until they get within a hundred yards. Jaegers, fire when you have targets. Sting'em, boys. Make them hurt." The railroaders and Jaegers were mixed together in two and three man groups, so that each Tacrail man had the support of at least one experienced Jaeger. Anse was glad to see that they all knew enough to stay low behind the logs that formed their line.
Anse returned to looking through his scope. The same officer was still out in front of the troops across from him. The horse had stopped its dance and the officer on its back was just staring at the battle forming up on the French left.
It wasn't sporting, it might even violate the rules of war they had here and now, but it might help keep his men alive and even some of the French troops alive. Anse let the cross hairs settle on the officer's throat. The rifle jumped in Anse's hands and the bullet sped down range. Anse watched the officer slump in the saddle.
Everyone seemed to take Anse's shot as the signal to open fire. Not just Anse's men, but Lieutenant Gressler's men to the left and the rest of Nils' company to the right.
Anse brought the rifle down to scan the French line. He worked the bolt, watching another French officer wave to the troops. Anse aimed and squeezed the trigger. The man fell out of the saddle.
Hagen started to rise up and Anse kicked his leg, "Keep your head down."
Anse saw a smile on Linkersdorf's face as he reloaded. "You must be a rich man, Chief." The sergeant shook his head.
"What?"
"You just threw away twenty thousand guilders in ransom if you capture an enemy officer." Linkersdorf brought his SRG up and rested it on the log, "The proper way to slow down an assault is to shoot the sergeants." He fired and a man holding what looked like a half pike at the end of the French line tumbled into the dirt.
Things were starting to happen quickly now. The French were still advancing. taking casualties, but never wavering from their steady approach.
Anse was reloading for the third time when he felt something hit him and found himself sitting on the ground with no idea how he got there. Hagen was looking at him with a wide-eyed stare. Only then did Anse feel the pain in his left hand.
"Hold still, Chief," Hagen said. "Let me bandage your hand."
Anse had to know, he pulled his hand out of Hagen's grasp. The bullet had neatly clipped off the entire ring and little finger and taken the first two digits of his middle finger. And now it hurt like hell. Anse let Hagen finish his bandaging.
He pulled himself back to the log and looked around. The bullet had smashed through the stock of his rifle, right at the magazine. The rifle was a write-off. He drew his pistol and peeked over the log. The French infantry in front of them were still advancing. There was a terrible beauty to it, but the fire from Ivarsson's skirmishers was tearing their formations to pieces. Then officers and non-coms were waving their men forward. The whole mass started to charge across the field toward Anse's position.
Anse checked his men. Most were firing; a couple looked like they had been wounded by splinters and a couple of the Jaegers were down. "Pour it on boys, pour it on and they'll break."
But the French didn't break It looked like they would not be stopped, but they had to be stopped.
"Everyone load and hold fire," Nils shouted. "We'll give them a full volley when they reach fifty feet. Those who have them, check your bayonets."
Anse gave the same order, shouting to his men in case they hadn't heard it. They prepared for one final desperate attempt to break the French advance.
The French musketeers halted at close range and took aim. Anse realized only the logs and ditch could save his men."Down everyone," he cried as he ducked behind the log.
The impacts of the bullets nearly destroyed the low log wall. Anse peered through the gunsmoke. The French pikemen were charging, the musketeers close behind.
Anse had just started to aim his pistol when he saw Hagen pick up the carbine and jack a round into the chamber like he had been using auto-loading weapons his whole life. That reminded him, the grenades. He bent over to reach for the closest hand grenade and a hammer blow drove him to the ground.
Through a red haze, Anse saw Hagen standing over him, the carbine pointed toward the French. Hagen was finding out if the carbine did fire every time he pulled the trigger. Anse's world faded to black.
"He was a good man. I liked him."
"Good man is not enough; he was the best man in a fight I ever saw."
The voices filtered through Anse's ears as he regained consciousness. Who are they talking about? Surely not me, I ain't dead . Anse tried to move and a burst of pain flashed through him. Well, that settles that. I'm alive. Being dead couldn't hurt this much. But why can't I see. Am I blind?
Anse tried to speak; all that came out was a croak. But that was enough. "Hey, the chief is awake." Light flooded Anse's vision when the cloth that covered his eyes was pulled away. But why was his vision so blurred?
Bottger touched his right shoulder. "Don't try to move, Chief. You got a nasty wound, but you'll live." Bottger brought a canteen to Anse's mouth. "Take a drink."
Anse swallowed a mouthful of water. It was foul and tasted of the metal in the canteen. It was the best tasting water ever. He took another swallow, tried to raise his right hand and was rewarded by pain, but the arm moved. He pushed the canteen away. "How long have I been out?"
Bottger looked doubtful, like he didn't want to answer.
"Tell him, Private. He needs to know," another voice said. The stranger was a tall thin man. A Swede or someone with the Swedish army. At least, Anse thought, he wasn't a prisoner.
"You've been unconscious for the better part of two days, Chief," Bottger stammered. "You had us worried. We were afraid we were going to lose you a couple of times."
Anse asked the first thing that came to his mind. "Did we win?"
"We sure did. The French cavalry ran off and the infantry surrendered. We have been picking up their wounded for two days. It was a murdering great battle. The battlefield is a mess."
"That might be a little more than he needs to know right now," the stranger said.
Bottger went on. "Chief, you were hit in the left shoulder and it looks like you took a bunch of splinters in the face. The surgeon had to cut out the bullet. All told, you've lost a chunk of muscle about the size of a turnip."
Anse started to relax a bit. It sounded like he wasn't likely to lose the arm. At least both wounds were on the same side, left hand and arm. "And my face?"
Bottger looked at the stranger. Anse could tell that the private didn't want to answer. "Go and tend the other wounded, Private. I will tell him." The stranger squatted next to Anse. "I am Dietrich Weiss, a surgeon with General Torstensson's army."
Anse was starting to worry again. It had to be bad if an experienced man like Bottger was afraid to tell him.
Weiss looked Anse straight in the eye. "I have always found it is better to have a man's friend tell him about his wounds if possible, but your private likes you too much and is afraid of hurting you."
"Get on with it Doc. You're starting to scare me."
"You have lost a great quantity of blood, but you will live. Keep that foremost in your mind. You will live to a ripe old age… if you avoid battles in the future. As the private so elegantly put it, you have lost a large bit of muscle tissue from your left arm and shoulder. I doubt you will never regain the full use of that arm, but I may be wrong. Your will have some use of your left hand as I was able to save the thumb and first finger and a piece of the middle finger."
"My face, Doc. You're not telling me about my face."
Weiss squeezed Anse's shoulder. "You took a large number of splinters in your face, as the private said. One of which penetrated your left eye. I am afraid you will never regain vision in that eye."
"So my left arm is crippled and I'm blind in one eye? Is that everything?" Anse tried to act calm, but inside he was screaming, "I'm alive."
Weiss smiled. "Yes, that is all. Except for the bruising you received when your man Filss fell on you."
"Hagen was hit? Where is he? He wasn't killed was he?"
"He is right next to you." Weiss pointed to the right. "He refused to leave your side."
Anse turned his head and was confronted by Hagen's smiling face on the pad next to his.
"Chief, it is good to have you back. I was worried for a while. I don't know what Sergeant Rau would have done to me if I lost you."
Anse could tell by the look on Hagen's face it was more than fear of Rau that had kept him close. "Hello, Hagen. How bad were you hit?"
"I got wounded in my leg. The doctor says I am healing fine and it will only bother me in wet weather."
"Who else was hit?"
Hagen's smile disappeared. "Captain Ivarsson was wounded, but not badly. He is in command here now, guarding the wounded prisoners. Linkersdorf was killed. He was a very brave man; he took over when you went down. We TacRail men emptied our revolvers, and then the infantry arrived to drive the French back. Privates Bock, Fasch and Moeller have minor wounds. Most of the rest of our people just have cuts, bruises and splinter wounds." Hagen paused. Anse could tell he was bracing himself to deliver bad news. "Chief, Sergeant Albrecht was hit bad just before you were; he is dead. We heard about it just as you woke up."
"Oh, shit. He was a good man." Albrecht left a wife in Grantville and a girlfriend in Magdeburg, but he was still a good man. Anse knew he was going to be the one to tell the women Udo wasn't coming home.
Weiss stood. "I will leave you to talk. I do have other wounded. Oh, your colonel left this package for you." He dropped a packet of papers between Anse and Hagen.
Anse used his teeth to untie the string holding them together and unfolded the top one. The hand writing was a scrawl, but easy to read.
Hatfield,
I stopped to see about you before we pulled out to chase what's left of the French cavalry. They tell me you'll live. Got some orders for you, see attached.
Don't get a big head, but you did good. Learn to keep your head down in the future. I still think you run your mouth too much, but you're one mean SOB.
That kid, Hagen Filss, saved your life, you know. Stood over you, kept firing until he ran out of ammunition. I'm putting him in for a Silver Star.
You really ought to teach him to keep his head down, you know. What is it with you TacRail types?
Frank Jackson
"Damn Hagen, thank you. You saved my life."
"Not me alone. All of the men were there and the French broke when we charged."
"You still did good."
Anse quickly looked through the rest of the documents. When he reached the final page, it turned out to be part of a field order. Anse read it, then read it again.
Field Order 321 (Abstract)
31. CWO Andersen Hatfield 1TR1003VS is granted ninety (90) days convalescent leave. He is ordered to Grantville SoTF, his home of record.
32. CPL Hagen Filss 1TR1061V is granted ninety (90) days convalescent leave. He is ordered to Grantville SoTF, his home of record.
"Hagen… we're going home."