Frontlines: The German Assault (IC/Open)

[Independent States of Tula]

Frontlines: The German Assault

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OOC

The Pub

Current Date: June 26, 1941

1st Campaign: Operation Barbarossa | Chapter One: Battle of Białystok–Minsk

---

Slutsk, Occupied Soviet Union, Generalmajor Max Fremerey

Generalmajor Max Fremerey looked over the regional map before him, to his east was a forest, to his north and south were more open plains perfect for Panzers. Of course it didn't matter much, intelligence had suggested that there was no major Soviet presence near Fremerey's position at Slutsk, after all about a hundred kilometers to the North was the city of Minsk which Fremerey had just received reports on being captured by fellow units of the 2nd Panzer Group and to the Northwest was a giant pocket filled with hundreds of thousands of Soviets stuck between Białystok and Minsk, some reports suggesting the encircled armies were even larger than the Dunkirk pocket which had gained the 29th so much fame back at home. If this was true than the Soviets would have no interest in Slutsk, which formed the outward positions of the Southeastern portion of the encirclement, but rather on retaking Minsk and reopening the pocket where it was thinnest. As such, Fremerey had been ordered to hold position and wait for reinforcements from the West who would relieve the 29th and allow them to continue their advance eastward alongside the rest of the 2nd Panzer Group.

With these orders Fremerey had ordered the 15th Regiment under Ulich to hold at Slutsk in reserve, Kandt's 71st Regiment to hold about 7 kilometers to the Northeast at a small town that overlooked the northern road into Slutsk, and Dierk Holst's 1st Regiment to hold 11 kilometers east-southeast on the southern railway into Slutsk at a town called...Urzecze? The writing on the map wasn't clear thanks to a convenient fold mark though that didn't much matter, the town's name was unimportant, what was important was the railway that it sat upon. Other than his three infantry regiments Fremerey had also sent Mutius's motorcycle battalion south to make sure the plains were secure, not that Fremerey expected anything from there, as there weren't any suitable roads or railways for a Soviet force to move on down there so if a counter-attack was to happen it would come from the East along one of those two roads. As such Siegfried Meindl's 2nd Battalion of Panzers were stationed with Holst's 1st Regiment on the southern approach, it was a risk not keeping them in reserve with the 15th Regiment at Slutsk but Fremerey figured that since the Soviets were so reliant upon railway to move large concentrations of troops quickly into new positions that any attack would focus on securing said railway so they could more quickly reinforce Slutsk if it were to be recaptured by them. With his defenses set up against an unlikely foe Fremerey gave a wry smile and turned away from the map, instead focusing on a bottle of wine he'd brought back from France.

After four hard days of advancing nonstop and finally getting a moment to rest and recuperate, Generalmajor Fremerey thought it only fair he get to relax with a nice vintage, after all the way things were going so far made it look like OKH's promise of an easy victory wasn't just bluster after all.

---

Urzecze, Occupied Soviet Union, Leutnant Heinrich Gunther

"Urgh…" Heinrich grunted as he stretched out his sore muscles, after having been stuck in the back of an Opel Blitz with half his platoon for four days almost without break it was nice to actually get to walk about again.

A few loud 'pops' were heard from his body before Heinrich finished his stretching, and he began making his way to the eastern portion of town, the one which touched the edge of the forests that surrounded it. First Battalion of the 1st Regiment had been ordered to hold this particular position of the town in the case of an attack, as such Heinrich and his men had made quick work of making their way there once they'd disembarked from the center of town where all the panzers and trucks were being left it seemed, though a few panzers seemed scattered here and there in various positions as Gunther walked along towards his platoon's position on the south side of the railway that bordered the northern edge of town. As Heinrich approached his platoon's position nestled in and around several small houses on the northeastern portion of town he took pride in their professional placement of the squad machineguns and their pre-smashing of windows to prevent the possibility of flying debris should a fight occur...though the previous owners of the abodes didn't seem to share Heinrich's satisfaction. However Heinrich didn't care what they thought, windows could be replaced, eyeballs lost to glass shards could not. It was a hard lesson learned by one of Heinrich's former platoonmates in Dunkirk when a French grenade detonated and shattered a nearby window that he'd been near during the house-to-house fighting in the city itself.

His men were experienced, but they were also men, and so it didn't surprise Heinrich when he came across some of his men drinking what must've been from one of the townspeople's vodka stash within their newly occupied house. However rather than scold the men for enjoying themselves Heinrich simply motioned for the bottle, one of the soldat's handed it to him with a grin and Heinrich took a long swig from the bottle, he almost immediately began coughing afterwards however as the vodka burned its way down.

He handed the bottle back to the soldat and noted, "Argh, they don't make their drinks like the French, that's strong stuff."

His men got a chuckle from that and Heinrich let them be as he moved over to a window in the small wooden house and looked East towards the forests and the railway that continued onward. Soon he and his men would be moving again in the back of those damned trucks, and soon they'd fight again like in France and Yugoslavia, and soon after that...maybe another victory? So far it had seemed so easy, nations fell under the might of the German War Machine, and Heinrich took pride in that. He was avenging his father, avenging his nation's pride and honor, retaking it from the disgrace of the last war. But a small part of his mind bugged him, asking him what was the cost, not just to him but to a certain women out there somewhere that he'd loved so very much. With a shake of his head Heinrich shook off these thoughts and turned away from the window, he'd have plenty of time to think of the costs once he was in Moscow and the war was won.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

What offended August most about the Belarusian town was what offended him most about the entirety of Belarus. Outside of the cities like Slutsk and Minsk, people lived in abject squalor. The roads were often no more than dirt tracks, and some houses seemed to be erected out of the same dirt. The heat of the sun bore down heavily on the peasants, standing around lazily, watching their column pass by. Not so much as a wave before they settled down in the shadow of the trees again, watching their fields with a pensive quiet. August could feel nothing but disdain for the land and its people. If the land had been German, there would be sprawling wheat fields here, with well-built farmhouses inhabited by gentlemen farmers, riding around the forests on horseback. The roads would be hardened, the towns neatly organised, and there would be no abject poverty like they saw in Belarus. It only took a few well-willing souls to pull an area out of poverty, but centuries of laziness and mismanagement had taken their toll on the region.

When they drove into Urzecze, this feeling of disdain hardly changed. The town was small, grown around a station that formed the centre of activity. At least, normally it would. Now, the whole town was quiet. Everyone had locked themselves in, peering through the slits in their curtains at the passing column of Opel trucks. The houses looked unremarkable, but the whole atmosphere was uneasy. August was reminded of the villages back home in Thuringia, where men and women greeted you in a friendly manner if you came into town, and where there was always a market or a feast. Here, they were hard-nosed, and there was not a market in sight. Another show of how laziness pulls down everything around it.

When the trucks of the 1st company pulled up next to the railway station, the trucks of the 2nd company did the same. August tried to be an aggressive example to his men, but four days in the back of an Opel truck appeared to be too much for his leg muscles to handle. His legs complained heavily when he jumped out the truck as he suddenly felt how stiff and sore they were. He straightened his back and walked to the side, although he had to retrain himself in order not to make any grunts or complaints. His men, now also disembarking from the trucks, apparently engaged in the same effort. They were proud soldiers, and they would not easily allow one another to notice that they were in discomfort or pain. The five squads quickly scrambled to form a single double-ranked line next to their trucks, shouted on by their sergeants, who quickly joined them. Within half a minute, the troops stood straight and unflinching in the Belarusian town, which gained them both weird looks from fellow Wehrmach soldiers and a few disdainful looks from locals, as far as they had not been evacuated. August took great pride in the soldiering of his men. They called their officers ‘sir’, had respect for their superiors. August performed a small inspection of his men, straightening a few buttons and ordering the better cleaning of a few rifles. Soon, however, he was content, and took up his position to the left of the column.

“Left face!” he shouted, a command that was immediately followed by the troopers.

“Left side – March!”

And thus, the platoon moved out. They had been ordered to hold a position to the east of the town, together with the rest of their battalion. 1st Company had gotten a slight head start, but that was only natural seeing the nature of their truck column. August was an odd sight in the company. He wore the uniform of an SS stormbahnführer, black with silver accents, and on his left hip he wore a slim sabre. While other officers had their sabres for the parade ground, August carried it along wherever he went, which had gained him the nickname ‘Leutnant Blücher’. It wouldn’t be a help in combat, but the uniform, the way he carried himself, the sabre, it gave him the air of an aristocrat, which was something he very much liked to convey.

When they had reached the outskirts of the town, the lieutenant stepped away from the column. With a loud voice, he bellowed “garrison!”, and his troops obeyed. The sergeants quickly went to work, each squad taking a different house to garrison. 2nd company 1st platoon wasn’t one for knocking. Back in Weimar, in their SS days, they were used to quickly kick in a door. The men had lost none of their aptitude, although the doors were a lot less strong here. Their locks shattered on impact, and men rushed in through the newly created gap. If the house still had inhabitants, they were thrown to the curb. The strong will survive, that was the unofficial motto of the platoon, and that would count for these people as well. If they were strong, they would survive. Without giving them so much as a look, the lieutenant went through the five houses, instructing the men where to place their machine guns and ammo boxes. While 1st company 1st platoon was busy smashing windows, August ordered them to remain intact. It would keep the could out during the night, and he was not one for wanton destruction. Thus, they settled, the lieutenant making sure each of his squads was properly supplied and had good placed to sleep, and that a latrine pit was dug by those soldiers whose buttons didn’t shine enough.

[Greater Dmanian]

Urzecze, Occupied Soviet Union, Leutnant Andreas Klebs

The somewhat dull landscape surrounding the town they now occupied was a welcomed relief to Andreas as he strolled behind his platoon's assigned defensive position protecting the south edge of Urzecze. The trip had provided little stimulus to both his senses and his legs and the inspection of the progress of the squad positions helped remedy both problems. Upon disembarking and forming up his squad he quickly went over with the squad leaders their tasks and roughly where their men should be placed before dismissing them. Nearly all of his NCOs had been veterans from Dunkirk and while he himself had some experience in Poland he put more stock in the accumulated wisdom from the more brutal fighting against a far better equipped and trained enemy, leaving him confident in their initiative to establish appropriate positions. He had not been disappointed as he left his makeshift headquarters, the sturdiest building he could find on the outskirts this side of the town had proved a perfect anchor point for the rest of the line. The 3rd Squad which was to act as the reserve had garrisoned the basement and positions in and surrounding the building itself.
On the upper floors he coordinated with the rest of the regiment via radio and his own command squad, the medic making the dining room into a makeshift triage area.

As he walked further out he spotted members from both the 2nd and 1st squad on either flank occupying buildings with their windows smashed out. Due to the limited enemy presence he had refused his men permission to carve firing loops into walls or dig earthworks within the town but they had sufficed in creating a robust enough defence either way, with the squad machine guns positioned to support the 4th squad with overlapping fields of fire.

Although barely visible from his position he picked out a number of foxholes and fighting pits dug out by the 4th squad in a spread out but supporting network making up the forward position of his defences; perfect to act as sentries and break up an advance in the event of an attack. While orders to move on could come at any time he made sure that the positions would be rotated giving each squad time out in the elements. Giving a satisfactory nod he turned to the runner that had been trailing behind him, "Soldat, pass along the order to have the platoon stand down and get some rest. Oh and keep up a minimum sentry element, even if the Russians are elsewhere we can't be sure if there are any partisans skulking about."

The boy perhaps a few years younger than Andreas gave a delayed nod, startled to be addressed suddenly and set off at a steady run. After watching him leave for a moment Andreas turned back towards the town and began the journey to his temporary command room. He paused on the open road when he got closer to the building, taking note with some approval of tiny basement window facing towards his front line occupied by a MG-34's barrel. Entering his command room he returned a salute from his Unterfeldwebel and approached the map he was now sprawling over, "Hello Kasper, I trust all is in order in here?"

He gave a curt nod, "Yes Sir, we've established communication with command and currently have a sentry posted at the front door to the building." he turned back to the map pausing half way as if he had forgotten something, "I also compensated the owners with some rations as ordered, they are upstairs in the master bedroom, you have what I believe was their son's room. " he added the disapproval in his voice clear. He opened his mouth to speak again but thought better of it and turned back to the map.

Andreas frowned, "Well Unterfeldwebel was there something else?" he asked firmly.

"Well sir, I think giving away food to these people is a mistake. We might be okay now but come winter those rations could have gone to our men. Why should we compensate people who might sooner cut our throats in the night." he finally answered trying his best to keep his tone even.

Andreas shook his head, "Or they may have no more love for the Bolsheviks than you or I and only need to be shown a kindness from a civilised army to become willing hosts or even informants. Perhaps they know of Partisans or our enemies movements. Yet If we abuse and disrespect these people than is it not assured that they will turn their knives on us in the dark and run willingly into the arms of our enemies? Food, alcohol or cigarettes are a price worth paying to me than another town of Ruskie conscripts for our men to fend off and harass our supply lines." he replied scathingly before settling into the nearest chair and withdrawing a cigarette and a lighter.

[Torrocca]

"Herr Leutnant?"
"Heh... Herr Leutnant," Josef joyously affirmed, grinning wildly at his family around him. His father stood front and center, most proud of his son with a wide smile on his face, hidden under a graying mustache. He had his only hand on the freshly promoted officer's shoulder, patting him lightly and in a most loving, fatherly way. His mother stood to his left, her arms wrapped 'round his father's with a worrisome look on her face, as if she were silently pleading, "don't go to war, my child. Don't go..." To his right stood sweet little Marly, who stared up with a wide-eyed sense of wonder and awe at her brother's accomplishment. He was beyond mesmerized by their happiness, their fear, and their awe, and he was stuck in elation at his own pride. Nothing could take that simple minute in his memories away from him.

"Herr Leutnant?" once more asked a discontent, tired, gravelly voice. Unterfeldwebel Ebner, stood separated from the Leutnant by a hickory dinner table with papers and the platoon leader's gear and cap strewn all about in the haste of the past couple hours he and his men had been in town. Normally Josef would've preferred organization to the disgusting mess fit more for the Soviets than for a proper officer of Germany, as he saw it, but for the time being he had no choice but to make due.
"Ah... apologies, Ebner," Hartmann sincerely replied, setting aside a pen in his hand and looking up from his seat on an old, wooden chair with a hint of displeasure at the older NCO. He rightly had a reputation for being a shepherd of a man; all bark and all bite, his stern attitude with the men kept them in total discipline both on the field and off it as well. "How goes our fortification efforts?"
"Well enough," Ebner replied, glancing at an old portrait hung on the wall nearest the two men. "The first line's finished. I have the men working on the fallback line now. Care to come and see?"
"You couldn't have asked sooner," the Leutnant replied with a yawn as he stood up and stretched, the joints in his back releasing a sickening, relieving symphony of pops as he adjusted himself. "I was beginning to wonder when I could get away from writing this report." He paused a moment, glancing over at the portrait Ebner had stopped to take a look at - it was the old family of the home he'd occupied: husband, wife, three children, two grandparents. On their faces, he only saw judgment, and in his mind, he gave a momentary parlay to the idea that it was a judgment purely reserved for him and his cruelty in those few hours in Urzecze. He paid no more mind to it as he put on his cap and said, "let's go, shall we?"

Josef and his battle-hardened men had only arrived with the rest of the regiment to Urzecze a few hours or so prior, and, with no rest for the wary, had toiled almost endlessly to prepare defenses in expectations for a Soviet counterattack somewhere along the frontline. In the haste of the near-constant retreat forced upon the Red Army by the joint-effort of the three Army Groups amidst the opening stages of Operation Barbarossa, a number of civilians had been thrown to the wolves, among them the townsfolk of Urzecze. Their reactions to the German presence were heavily mixed; as Josef found in his sector, they were particularly full of fright and wariness, something only exacerbated in the first couple of hours of the platoon's quartering in their part north of the town, along the center of the regiment's line.

As he made it certain - in total and complete compliance with the various orders, decrees, and decisions of the Fuhrer and Oberkommando der Wehrmacht - such fear didn't last long.

---

As he followed along the platoon's established line of defense, Josef seemed to assess it with a loving acceptance of its design: all the building windows facing out to the north and east had been smashed out by men's rifles or by other means, most furniture from the homes had been thrown about outside to create barricades along a single dirt road leading into the town - with a gap large enough for vehicles of the Heer to safely pass through, if ever needed - and between gaps in the various structures of their sector, and simple slit trenches followed the perimeter. Each squad had established a machine gun nest in their given zones with overlapping fields of fire so as to prevent an outflanking maneuver against them. Although not a remarkably tactical man on the defensive, the Leutnant figured the defenses they'd established were adequate enough for the time being until they were ordered out once more.

"Careful, Leutnant," Ebner cautioned as they approached some small mounds of freshly-shoveled dirt outside the perimeter, moved not more than an hour prior. "The dirt's still unsettled; Soldat Mueller made the mistake of stepping in one earlier and the damned fool nearly twisted his ankle."
Josef let out a disgruntled sigh at the idea of one of his men making such a foolhardy error in judgment. He turned to look at his subordinate as they walked and said somewhat solemnly, "a damn shame we wasted such fine bullets when we arrived. They'd have served our Reich better if we'd not killed them."
"Maybe, Herr Leutnant, maybe. We have our orders, though. These savages ought to have run. It would have at least made that more enjoyable."
"I think the men found themselves enough enjoyment already," Hartmann replied. "Whatever way they found their pleasures in these subhumans' drinks or women is none of our concern, though; after all, they're still working with the absolute diligence and discipline we'd expect of any man of the Reich. Who cares if they pleasured themselves with these Jewish-Bolshevik girls? It's not our place to express concern, after all. Our beloved Fuhrer grants them the right to do as they please, so long as they stay in line. Our concern is these fortifications and, luckily, there is nothing of concern. Carry on with the second line, I have a report to finish."

[The Frozen Forest]

Occupied Soviet Union, Urzecze, Leutnant Fritz Stracke

The Opel Blitz was a magnificent machine. It was like a horse in its speed and its reliability, however unlike horses it was capable of carrying over a dozen men. It took three Opel Blitz trucks to move all of second platoon though in reality that was only because three troops had to be standing or adjusted awkwardly in a seat on the vehicle in order for everyone to fit. It wouldn't be such a horrible means of getting around if they weren't so tightly packed. Soldat Berger and Soldat Wolf from third squad had almost gotten into a fistfight over who would be the next to take their turn standing. The two men had been at each others throats since they were little kids, both had grown up in the same small town, in the same neighborhood even. Despite that they never did get along, even through the war in Poland and France. Fritz had the bad fortune of being the one to break the two up before things got violent. "Soldats!" He yelled as he threw himself into a standing position atop the moving vehicle. "We've hardly been in the Soviet Union and your already making a mockery of second platoon. You will both stand until otherwise ordered, do you understand?" Berger looked as though he would protest but obviously thought better of it. "Yes Leutnant!" they chimed in unison.

It was another hour of travel before they reached the village of Urzecze. There were no further incidents between the men, at least not in front of their officers or himself. He was aware of the other trucks that would be moving towards the village. There was one behind and in front of him, his men, second platoon. They weren't as disciplined as Leutnant Heiringen's first platoon in second company, nor were they as informal with their officers as Leutnant Gunther's were. His men were an even mix of respect and fear, not for overly showy uniforms but results. He was a man who intended to get results, he expected the same from his Soldats.

The convoy pulled into the village nearer the top border. To their right were the troops from first platoon, they had smashed the windows of several unlucky townsmen. His troops were expected to do the same, experience was a hard teacher. The original occupants were to be moved, that was the job of two soldats from each squad, to relocate the villagers within the village and away from the defensive line. His men knew better than to try anything with the peasant girls that were pulled from their rooms. Machine Gun nests were established, because he was covering the northern flank it was essential that as much ground be covered as possible, they couldn't risk being outflanked if the Russians decided to attack them. The Machine Guns were spread out, foxholes were dug.

Fritz refused to be behind the fighting. He would be with his men, this was something that he had to insist on. They would not respect him if he weren't there to share the hardships with them, it was a simple truth. A learned lesson from the times of Napoleonic Europe, though he was no Bonaparte. He once again thought back to Leutnant Heiringen, perhaps he thought himself something like the little general. He certainly dressed as though he were more important than he was, as though he were part of the old Prussian Aristocracy.

Out of all his colleagues, he had to admit a truth, he intensely disliked the sort of attitude Heiringen put off. His self importance, his lack of compassion, he was driven to his work by who knows what, certainly not a love for people. Fritz was at this point pondering his dislike from the inside of a small room inside one of the sturdier homes. The accommodations were quaint, bare. It was obvious that these people didn't have much, but it wasn't as though he would spare rations or bullets or money for them. Those necessities were best used by his men. He kept very little on his person, most of what he had got sent home to Helga and the kids immediately. He thought back to them, wishing momentarily to be home. "Confiscate any luxury items. Alcohol, cigarettes, jewelry, you know what i mean." He received a hail from Soldat Keller before the goofy-faced man scuttered out to collect the valuable things to be found. Momentarily he wondered if he should contact the other two platoon leaders so they could coordinate their defenses. They wouldn't go for it, he thought as he picked his rifle up and rejoined the men outside.

[Tayner]

Lieutenant Peter Schwann
17th Pz.Div., 7th R., 2nd Batl.
1st Company, 3rd platoon

Occupied USSR was bleak, the dirt roads and rough terrain was quite unlike the Fatherland. Peter found himself in Urzecze, a small hamlet that's only matter of existence was the rail line that passed through it. He wasn't sure why the armor battalion had been posted here instead of being held in reserve, if the Soviets were to attack in the north the panzers might not be able to respond in time from Urzecze. However the little hamlet's strategic value wasn't lost on Peter, if the Soviets were to attack, they would undoubtedly utilize the railways, and they were to deny the Soviets that ability at Urzecze so they couldn't launch a large assault towards the north.

So Peter had ordered that his platoon take to the east side of town, utilizing the cover and concealment of the low walls and foliage to entrench their tanks. This would be the likely avenue of assault for the Soviets, as the forest provided it's own cover and concealment from the defenders, however it would be a rough assault for any enemy armor. The same could be said to the south, although the area was less forested the roads were still mud and dirt.

Peter made sure that his platoon was vigilantly watching east, as tank commanders used their optics to peer into the forest in anticipation of enemy movement.

[Vacif]

Urzecze, Occupied Soviet Union
Leutnant Kurt Richter
17th Pz.Div., 7th R., 2nd Batl.
2nd Company, 1st platoon

---

Army group center's advance was unfaltering, meeting little difficult resistance. They only had to stop because they needed to rest and resupply. Urzecze, a small, dilapidated village some where in Soviet Byelorussia was their rest point. Made up of an Eastern Orthodox church at the center, a rail station to the north-east, and several dozen small homes that looked more suitable for grain storage than living. Farm fields to the immediate south of the village with some poor dirt roads, followed closely by thick forest. To their east was much the same. The north was heavily wooded as well with no roads. While assault from the east was the more viable option for the soviets, they could not discount the possibility of an attack from their south. Schwann's 3rd platoon was already posted themselves to the east, along with some infantry from the 1st Motorized. After arriving at Urzecze, Kurt and the rest of his Panzerführers had walked across the entire village to inspect the terrain and the surrounding area. It made for some good mental and physical exercise.

After reviewing their options, first group under Feldwebels Liebermann and Essig would dig in to the right of the south-western dirt road, facing the forest to their south-east. The two were placed 50 meters apart from one another. Meanwhile the rest of the platoon would be held in reserve near the church at the center of town. This to maintain a degree of flexibility in their defense, and to maintain the shock and surprise of their Panzers (despite them being StuGs). Their StuGs fit snugly in the farmer's sheds, keeping them well hidden from encroaching eyes. Meanwhile the StuGs in the field deployed their camo-nets and their crews dug defilades for their tanks. Sight lines for their tanks were cleared and logs had been added to the tanks for additional protection..

[Greater Dmanian]

Urzecze, Occupied Soviet Union, Leutnant Andreas Klebs

Andreas had just finished his second cigarette when one of his runners entered his makeshift headquarters and came to attention, "Anything to report Soldat?" he asked while snubbing the still glowing butt into a nearby ration tin.

The Soldier nodded sharply,"Yes sir, from what I could get from one of the villagers it appears those gunshots earlier were executions." he paused letting his eyes drift from the far wall to take in the reaction of his superior.

"Where did these shootings take place?" Andreas inquired, turning to back to his map in an effort to hide his displeasure; the now heavily annotated map denoted the positions of the rest of his squads and the other platoons.

"In the north of the village Sir, the villagers also claim the soldiers to-"

"3rd Platoon... Leutnant Hartmann If I recall correctly" Andreas mused to himself cutting the soldat off, "I want the sentry increased, make sure they are on the look out for any suspicious activity." he finally ordered.

"Jawohl!" replied the Soldat before saluting and exiting the room.

Once the footsteps had faded down the stairs Andreas let out a sigh and folded the map back into it's protective casing, 'Have we already worn out our welcome here' he thought to himself as he retired to the bedroom given to him by the local, He discarded his equipment on, or against the bedside table, pausing to withdraw his sidearm from it's pouch and place it within reach of the bed; he'd quickly decided the pillow was too thin to make it's storage there remotely comfortable.

[Tarazed]

[Leutnant Johannes Cullmann] - [Seventeenth Panzer Division, Seventh Regiment, Second Battalion, 1st Company, 1st Platoon] - [Urzecze, Occupied Soviet Union]

“Leutnant? I have the platoon’s situation report, as you requested.”

The statement brought Johannes back to the present, away from his abstract pondering of the wider strategic realities of Operation Barbarossa. Away from mulling over the series of rapidly moving events which had resulted in him and his platoon being halted in the god forsaken backwater of a town that was Urzecze.

He climbed out of his commander’s hatch and jumped down from the tank, turning to face his radio operator, who’d been tasked with affirming the platoon’s combat readiness. The entire platoon was parked close to or in the centre of town, which afforded them a level of flexibility in responding to Soviet attacks from near enough any direction.

“Let’s see it,” Johannes said with a nod as the radio operator handed a thin paper folder to him and quickly saluted.

The report was ideal, all of his panzers remained combat effective and, aside from several complaints about being held in reserve in the centre of town from some of his more overeager subordinates, all of the crews were ready for further operations as well.

Johannes dismissed his radio operator and climbed back into his hatch, “Let’s see what you’ve got, Ivan,” he murmured in the direction of the frontlines, “The Greeks are outdoing you so far...”

[Helghon]

Leutnant Raus
Urzecze, Belarus
USSR

He cut a serene, lonely figure as he peered left and right along the railway track, standing parallel to it. His hands rested on his hips, peaked cap firmly placed on his skull and Maschinenpistole hanging loosely across his mid-riff by the strength of its strap, which straddled his upper back and cut across the non-firing shoulder. He adjusted the cap, or attempted to, as he rather failed in his choosing of the right moment as a gust of wind intervened and blew it clean off, carrying it east along the track by about fifty yards. He mumbled something incoherent and started off on the trek to retrieve it. Running a hand through his dark brown hair, he looked out across the landscape. That seemingly threatening wind also caressed the trees, rustling and waving them in perfect sequence, and cooled the sweat on his forehead that had been amplified by the Russian summer. 'Wind, he thought, 'a true double-pointed spear if ever there was one'. It could bring down a man's house just as easily as it could pick up the sails of his boat and carry him to the sandy shores of a whole new world. And a whole new world is precisely what Leutnant Werner Raus found himself in.

It took him a good five minutes but he reached the spot in which his cap had been blown and bent down to examine it. Unharmed, it seemed, save for a spot of dust clinging to the head of the silver eagle. He swatted the cap across his forearm twice, then replaced it on his head as neatly yet firmly as possible. Glancing up, he saw a thin film of black smoke rising in the near distance. 'Peasants in the next shit-hole village no doubt'. He reached into one of the breast pockets on his tunic and pulled out a heavily creased, folded map and began gently opening it up so as to avoid creating tears. Another mistake as it happened, due to the wind picking up again. But he was prepared this time, clamping down a hand to the edge of the map while unfolding with the other. Peering intently at the worn paper, it was difficult for him to make out some of the names, mainly of what appeared to be villages and towns, though major cities were readily observable. Printing errors, perhaps...

"Verkhutino, I believe they call it..." Raus snapped round at the voice as his military training kicked in, knees bent ever so slightly and hands moving to the sub-machine gun, while his mind frantically calculated the chances of him surviving should he attempt to dive to the opposite side of the railway track while spraying the enemy with fire. Not good, it screamed. He was met not with the sight of a Soviet infantryman brandishing his rifle, but that of the comparatively benign, short frame of Unterfeldwebel Kristus. "It doesn't say so on the map of course - that's Fremde Heer Ost for you - but my uncle was a cartographer before the war, a rather well-travelled man, and he was kind enough to procure a makeshift travel guide for my personal use." Werner let a relieved sigh escape his lips and released his white-knuckle grip on the weapon. "I'm supposed to be impressed, presumably?" he finally answered. The XO replied with a shrug. "Nein." He then sauntered over, his slightly over-sized greatcoat swishing to and fro, and bent down to pick up the Leutnant's map which had been so quickly discarded in that briefest moment of tension. "But perhaps it will prove useful should you misplace this in future." The two men broke out in laughter and began to walk back into Urzecze proper.

"Situation report Unteroffizier Boch!" he barked across the tent as he steamrolled through the flap with Kristus in tow. The young leader of the 3rd Platoon's 1st Squad stood to attention, saluted and, when put at ease, rattled off some tactical details. "Yes Herr Leutnant! First squad has taken up position alongside second squad to the west, where we're covering the first bridge across the river. I believe third and fourth squads are entrenched north of our position, watching a road that proceeds through a pair of forested areas just outside the village." Raus raised his eyebrows in concern. "You believe? Dispatch a runner at once and maintain contact with them." The squad leader simply nodded and marched away to carry out his orders. The officers also left the tent and proceeded at a brisk pace towards the centre of the village.

"Expecting trouble?" asked Kristus. Werner didn't respond for a moment, contenting himself with observing the movements of friendly troops. "The bridge guard may be unnecessary if the enemy is concentrated to our north. Would it not be wiser to do likewise, and send a vorausabtei-" The sound of gunfire momentarily cut the Unterfeldwebel's attempt at back-seat driving short. Both men stood still and looked at each other for a moment, heads cocked for the echo of return fire. When there was none, they proceeded onwards, more slowly this time. "An advance patrol is unnecessary for the time being. Besides, the kradschützen can handle that. But we need the bridge in the event that we are attacked from the direction of either pole, or both simultaneously. The tanks should have every possible route available to move freely. Der panzer ist könig." Kristus shook his head ruefully. "Und die infanterie ist...königewach?" Werner simply frowned as he looked east again, in the direction of the place he'd seen the black smoke rising from.

"We'll see".

[Independent States of Tula]

East of Urzecze, Soviet Union, Colonel Yura Viktorov

Four days...for four days the Fascist scum had pushed onward through the glorious Motherland, all the way they had raped, pillaged, and burned everything in their path. Just today they had taken that beautiful city of Minsk, a jewel of the Soviet Union, now in the claws of German beasts. This insult however was not so great as that of the 400,000 men stuck in the middle of the pocket that Minsk had made, hundreds of thousands of proud comrades were trapped no matter how hard they resisted the Fascist menace. That fact made Yura's blood boil in righteous fury, bolstered only by the fact that he was now about to lead the counter charge against the German stains as the Stavka ordered the pocket be reopened from the south. Slutsk would merely be the first of many cities to be liberated from the Fascist pigs, but first, Urzecsze.

It was a small town, a village more like, built of thin wooden and earthen huts...a simple farming village with only one thing of value...a railway station. If the men trapped in the pocket to the Northwest were to escape quickly and efficiently they'd need railway transport to move them en masse, this was common sense, otherwise they'd need to hold the corridor of escape for longer as the men slowly trudged out on foot...and that was something that Yura and the other commanders who would initiate their counter attack all along the southern edge of the pocket could not do while so understrength from nearly a week of constant retreat. And so, the plan was set, Yura would move along the railway line with three airborne brigades, retake Urzecze and then move on to Slutsk where armor support was promised. The plan was simple, Urzecsze would fall to the Yura's 8th Brigade as it assaulted west, it stood the best chance as the distance of clearing between village and forest was only 50 meters or less, a much easier position to cross than the two supporting brigades who would be assaulting from the North and South respectively. There they'd have to cross between 300 and 500 meters in some places of open fields being used for farming, as such it was expected they'd only be able to advance to within perhaps a 100 meters of the village before the Germans could stop their charges with machine guns and rifles.

Both 9th and 214th Airborne Brigades would take losses doing this, but it was determined by all the respective officers, not just Yura, that this was acceptable as the supporting brigades could pin down and prevent the Germans from halting the main thrust from the east driven by Yura's 8th Brigade. Colonel Yura and his men would force the Germans to retreat, fighting from house to house, and once the Germans who were dirtying Urzecze with their filth retreated, they'd find themselves out in the open by the time the Soviet armor that was promised arrived from the South. It should be a simple matter, Yura believed, the Fascists would soon find themselves receiving true Soviet hospitality.

---

Urzecze, Occupied Soviet Union, Leutnant Heinrich Gunther

14:07 Current Time

It had been a few hours since the First Regiment had taken its position in this village, and aside from an event involving the execution of several suspected Communists by some overeager officer, and the rapes of some of the village's women by some of the more lax officers there hadn't been much incident in the village all things considered. Heinrich personally couldn't get a bad taste out of his mouth at the idea of the rapes, but so far his men had controlled themselves to his knowledge, merely helping themselves to some of the local's liquor and a few cases of looting some valuables here and there...though the villagers hadn't been happy about either of those things Heinrich wouldn't hold them against his men, he had no time for such trifling matters which happened in every war and honestly those objects could be replaced far easier than a life or a hymen. Again, a bad taste at the thought, Heinrich this time needed to swallow away the taste even though it lingered. Heinrich thought to his sister, Hermine, and hoped to the Gods that she wouldn't have to experience such horrors, hoped that this war would remain far away just like all the others Germany had waged in just a few short years with victory after victory.

'Let the war stay in Africa and in these steppes, let its horrors never reach the Fatherland...that's my job, my duty, and I shall not fail it.' Heinrich thought to himself as he got up from the bed he'd "requisitioned" inside the small hut along the Eastern portion of the village.

With a sigh, Heinrich exited the hut and found himself facing two men drinking from the vodka bottle he'd taken a swig from before. The two men turned to him and smiled with nods of their heads in recognition of him, Heinrich recognized them, Paul and Heinz, two veterans from France who'd been with Heinrich since day one of his service with the 29th. They'd fought hard in France and had been both wounded at Dunkirk, requiring them to miss Yugoslavia as they healed, Heinrich was happy to have them back under his command...they were good men and excellent soldiers. However, before Heinrich could join them he heard a voice yelling something in Russian, turning his head in its direction he saw an older man and another who could've been his son...they were armed. The older man had an old and rusted revolver, the other man held in shaking hands a shotgun of some sort, they immediately raised their weapons at Heinrich, Paul, and Heinz who all frantically began pulling on the straps of their weapons, Paul even dropped the vodka bottle which shattered on the ground audibly.

None of the Germans, including Heinrich himself, were able to draw their weapons in the time it took for the two Belarusian men to fire. The first shot came from the older man's revolver, it hit Paul straight in his head, just right of his nose but not quite close enough to have hit his right eye, he crumpled to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The second shot from the younger man's shotgun blasted Heinz in his chest, tearing apart his field grey uniform into bloody ribbons, the young German soldier falling with a cry from the force of the blast. Before the two men could turn their weapons on Heinrich however he'd managed to tuck the MP40's stock under his armpit and with a quick slam of the cocking handle, he released the safety position of the bolt. Heinrich fired first, catching the younger man in the chest with several rounds, he fell wordlessly as his shotgun fell out of his hands. Turning his body, Heinrich used his right eye to aim at the older man and let loose another burst as the man's revolver let loose another shot, the revolver's bullet missed but just like in training Heinrich's submachinegun barrel was in line with his right eye and the old man caught two rounds to the gut.

He cried out in pain as he fell backwards and Heinrich moved towards him, this time moving the butt of his stock to his shoulder and taking aim at the downed man, who did the stupidest thing he could've in that moment and raised his hand that still clutched his revolver. Heinrich put a burst into the man's prone form and waited a moment to see if he was still moving, his foot twitched and Heinrich emptied the rest of his magazine into the body...more out of the cold rage he felt than to make sure he didn't get up. By now the rest of Heinrich's platoon had dropped what they were doing and were armed and alert, Heinrich guessed most soldiers in the town were as well after all that gunfire, of course, though fate would have it that Heinrich's men were all looking the wrong direction when the sound of whistles from the forests sounded.

"What the fuck is it now?" Heinrich nearly yelled out in frustration before suddenly the Eastern woods just a few dozen meters away suddenly opened up on the East-facing buildings in the village.

Without wasting time Heinrich shouted out, "ALARM! IT'S AN ATTACK!!!"

Within seconds Heinrich was sprinting through the door of his previously occupied hut and dived to the ground as rounds flew through the wooden structure, leaving new holes for light to escape into the hut from. Dozens of these new light fixtures left wooden shrapnel and hot lead flying inches above Heinrich, adrenaline began seeping into his veins and the Leutnant began crawling towards an East-facing window, thanking his intuition for smashing the window earlier so he didn't have flying glass shards to worry about too along with everything else. Eventually Heinrich got to the window and he pulled himself up just enough so his eyes were over the sill and he was able to observe the woods. Just 50 meters away and it looked like it was covered in flashes from gun muzzles as machineguns and rifles opened up on the edge of this village. Heinrich didn't know who had been caught out in the open, who was fighting back, but he did know that his platoon wasn't taking all of it, he could see that all along the line of the woods were muzzle flashes from Soviet guns...it looked like the fight everyone had been waiting for had finally arrived.

---

SITUATION REPORT:
MAP OF POSITIONS

INFANTRY:
NORTHERN FRONTLINE (BEING ATTACKED BY PORTIONS OF 214TH BRIGADE)-
LEUTNANT FRITZ STRACKE AND LEUTNANT AUGUST BOMBERG VON HEIRINGEN

EASTERN FRONTLINE (BEING ATTACKED BY FULL 8TH BRIGADE)-
LEUTNANT HEINRICH GUNTHER AND LEUTNANT JOSEF HARTMANN

SOUTHERN FRONTLINE (BEING ATTACKED BY PORTIONS OF 9TH BRIGADE)-
LEUTNANT ANDREAS KLEBS AND LEUTNANT WERNER RAUS (PORTION OF PLATOON NOT PRESENT IN SOUTH FRONTLINE, MUST BE BROUGHT BACK)

ARMOR: CAN BE MOVED TO WHICHEVER FRONTLINE THE COMMANDER BELIEVES IS IN MOST NEED OF ASSISTANCE.

SITUATION-
GERMAN FORCES ARE SURROUNDED ON THREE SIDES WITH WESTERN RETREAT AVAILABLE, SOVIETS TO THE NORTH AND SOUTH ARE ADVANCING OVER OPEN GROUND UNDER MACHINEGUN SUPPRESSING FIRE, CURRENTLY 500-300 METERS AWAY AS THEY EXIT WOODLINES. EASTERN FRONTLINE IS ONLY 50 METERS FROM FRONTLINE, NO ADVANCE FROM SOVIET FORCES, HEAVY SUPPRESSING FIRE.

ORDERS- MAKE ONE TO SEVERAL POSTS REGARDING YOUR PLATOON'S REACTIONS TO THE SITUATION, YOU MAY POST INFLICTING CASUALTIES BUT DO NOT OVERDO IT (WIPING ENTIRE PLATOONS FOR EXAMPLE) AND RECEIVING THEM INCLUDING INJURIES AND DEATHS. ATTEMPT TO HOLD BACK SOVIET FORCES, PHASE II TO BEGIN AFTER SUFFICIENT NUMBER OF POSTS HAVE BEEN MADE. RESULTS OF PHASE I WILL BE POSTED FIRST FOR WRITERS TO GO OFF OF.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

“God… DAMN!”

August was hugging the dirt-ridden floor of the Belarusian hovel occupied by his command squad, his black uniform stained with the brown mud of the Steppes and his officer sword awkwardly poking into his thigh. He had been enjoying a lunch from scraps found in the occupied homes, including tea, bread and meats, expertly prepared by the sergeant of second squad, who had a knack for cooking. Just before finishing their meal, a shot had rung out through the village. The sergeants and August had just looked up from their meal when all hell broke loose. The rattle of machine guns rolled over the grass fields to their north, and soon glass windows were blasted left and right. The mud-wood hovels offered little protection against the storm of bullets, but the least it did was shield them from view. His sergeants were also hugging the ground, but luckily for the lot of them they were just being strafed. The enemy machine gunners apparently didn’t have a clue where their enemies were, and they were trying their best to maximize their chances.

When the machine gun had moved onto the next house, August immediately grabbed the closest sergeant by the collar, and standing up, dragged the man up with him. Be straightened his uniform with his free hand before getting his luger, and nearly threw the man out the door.

“TELL THE MEN TO TAKE COVER!” he yelled at his assembled sergeants, who were now struggling to get back to their own squads.

“Hide until my signal! Let them get into the open first!”

He waited until he saw confirmation in the eyes of his NCOs, and then slid back on the ground, just below a window. Two of the men of his command squad took the lunch table and threw it on its side, placing it about half a meter from the wooden wall as a second layer of defence. August managed to get his binoculars and peeked through the side of the window, being careful to avoid the larger shards of glass on the floor.

There, 500 away from their position, he saw the flashes of Soviet machine guns. They were light ones, and they were edgeing their effective firing range. The DP-27 had an effective firing range of 800 meters, so by the time the shots arrived at the houses they were not in tightly-packed, effective groups. Under cover of these machine guns, Soviet soldiers were performing fire and advance maneuvers, with squads covering one another while advancing a few meters. However, with the platoon hiding, there was little to shoot at. The officers seemed hesitant at first, but the lack of return fire emboldened the airborne troops in their advance. They were lightly armed, luckily, by the nature of their service as an airborne brigade. No heavy guns, just rifles and light machine guns.

When the Soviets had approached to 250 meters, halfway between the forest and the village, August yelled out the command to fire. To accentuate this he fired at the formations of Soviet soldiers with his luger, of course without any effect. The pistol had a far smaller effective range, and August didn’t take the time to aim properly. However, it served as a signal for the rest of his platoon. The machine guns of his four squads opened up with a heavy rattle. This was something entirely different from the 60 round magazines of the DP record players. The Mg-34 held far more rounds and was more accurate than its Russian counterpart. The soldiers of the platoon had ranged their weapons well, and August saw a few Russians drop almost immediately. These troops were well-trained, though. At the opening of fire, instead of turning their heads and running, they dropped to the ground, hiding behind the irregularities in the landscape. There was one squad which, against the command of their sergeant, turned around and began to ran, proving easy targets for the accurate kar98 rifles. This was the exception, though, and August cursed internally as the Soviets followed their training almost perfectly. The machine guns too were proving it difficult to provide enough suppressive fire, and the Red Army soldiers were slowly beginning to return fire.

“Runner!” August yelled at one of the soldiers in his command squad. The man began to slide closer to his lieutenant, who instinctively grabbed him by the collar.

“Get to command, and tell them to get some light mortars into that forest! I want to get rid of those machine gun nests!”

The runner nodded, and immediately skirted out the door. He hadn’t walked five meters before a stray rifle bullet hit him square between the shoulders, dropping him immediately. August cursed silently, and gestured for another runner to come closer.

“Same story. Go get me some mortar fire!” He yelled, aiming his attention to the battle at hand.

[Vacif]

Urzecze, Occupied Soviet Union
Leutnant Kurt Richter
17th Pz.Div., 7th R., 2nd Batl.
2nd Company, 1st platoon

---

Kurt rocked gently back in forth in his hammock while gleaning over the contents of his journal, watching the dates grow closer and closer until now. While he appreciated being given the "master bedroom" of the house they were in, Kurt chose to use his own hammock. He didn't quite trust the hygiene of these simple villagers. Not like the locals minded the invader staying in their shed than their bedroom. As he rocked he contemplated what to pen in for this night's entry. The back of his pen idly tapped on his chin as he pondered.

"I suppose I should start with the date." he hummed to himself absently. It was a calm night, not much going on. His men never strayed too far from their vehicles, mostly staying in the center of town but one could never let their guard down. To do so was a fool's errand. Which was ironic conside-

BANG BANG!

Kurt practically rolled out of his hammock, his heart almost skipping a beat. He looked to Buhler, his driver who looked just as surprised as he. Then whistles, and a cacophony of gun fire. They didn't need someone to tell them they were under attack, or to get back to their panzers. Kurt hopped out of his hammock and hastily shoved his pen and journal into his breast pocket before sliding into the commander's chair of his StuG. Buhler was already in the driver seat, followed by Krausser and Baar. Kurt slipped on his headphones and turned on the radio.

"Status!"

"Russians! To the, south, and east!" It was Feldwebel Liebermann, "Mostly infantry, we are taking heavy small arms fire. No tanks or AT weapons yet." He reported.

"We've also got Ivan to our north." came the gruff Feldwebel Lang. "Permission to engage!" Requested the Panzerführer.

"Get into position, but do not engage, we must maintain the element of surprise." Ordered the Leutnant.

"Jawhol!"

Off in the distance, even from the inside of his StuG, he could hear the sound of a StuG fire, and a noticeable setting of oncoming fire.

"Group one. Report?"

"We have neutralized a pair of machine gun nests! The infantry still come." This time it was Feldwebel Essig.

"You know the drill, pull back if you need to. We cannot support the infantry if the enemy is on us."

So this was their move. By the sounds of things, this was not some skirmish, this was an attack. Perhaps a probing force, but that just meant further attack. In his opinion he should remain hidden and let the Russians believe there were less Germans than there actually were. They had wished for a fight, and now they were getting one.

[Greater Dmanian]

Urzecze, Occupied Soviet Union, Leutnant Andreas Klebs


Andreas had managed to get only a small amount of rest before he was awoken by a crack of gunfire; like a man possessed he flew to his feet and grabbed his webbing. As he tied the strap of the helmet sitting unevenly on his head he frowned as he noticed that the sound was coming from within the town to the north of his position, given away by a final burst. The moment of silence after the burst didn't last and as he reached for the door handle more gunfire sounded from the other direction.
He slammed the door open and with a swift pace quickly navigated down the rickety staircase to his operations room, finding Kasper annotating the command map while the radioman held a receiver to one ear and runners who came and went in quick succession gave reports in the other. The sound of footsteps on the staircase prompted him to turn to Andreas as he reached the landing and approached the table he was currently hunched over.
"What's going on Kasper?" Andreas asked sharply as he took in the new markings on the map,

"Reports of machine gun fire from the forests and troops movements are coming in from nearly all sectors, the forward squad has engaged the enemy with supporting fire from our squads on the flanks. Our fellow Leutnant Raus still has a number of men out of position but once that has been taken care of we should see this rabble off with such open terrain." Kasper replied, "We've yet to establish the strength of the force assaulting but command should pull through soon enough." he added, handing the radio phone back to it's operator.

Andreas paused taking in the information before giving out orders, "You boy, get out to the 2nd squad and tell them to direct fire to the left flank and provide supporting fire for our men in the East, there's less open ground and I don't want the Reds overrunning them and our flanks" he snapped pointing at one of the Soldat's standing nearby, "And you are to get to the 3rd squad to open up and pin down any enemy machine guns, cover the arrival of Leutnant Raus' men." he added, pointing to another runner who nodded and left, within a few seconds the muffled report of the squad machine gun came up from the floor boards of the room.

Satisfied for now he turned to the currently shuttered window of the house and reached for his binoculars, peering through a carved viewing slit he picked out the position of the 4th squad, more from memory than perception. Since he'd last inspected they'd used the dirt of their fighting holes to camouflage their positions along with turf and grass for their helmets. Andreas made a note to commend the Squad Leader after this engagement, although such incentive and practice was expected it didn't help to reward officers that lived up to the standard. The suddenness of the Russian attack had been a disservice to the assaulting element of the 9th Airborne Brigade as they had already moved deep into the open ground and well within the range of the machine gun positions of his defences. Combined with the hidden forward positions the centre of the initial spearhead had been shattered, the strew of khaki clad bodies a testament to the destructive power of a German Platoon in the defence. Although the summer grass made it difficult to pick out the rest of the Russians he figured from the occasional muzzle flash he did spot that the effective fire was pinning most of them down. However this wouldn't last if Leutnant Raus couldn't get his men into position to provide the fire superiority he needed to keep the more numerous Russian machine guns currently trying to cover the attack from eventually locating and pinning his own machine gun teams.

Further bursts of machine gun fire erupted on the left drawing his optics over to the edge of the forest that sloped closer to the town at the East, despite the limited view he picked out an increasingly growing band of figures who emerged with rapid muzzle flashes illuminating their flanks. Hopefully the 2nd squad could break them up enough to ease the defence of the eastern platoons. Andreas decided he'd stood close enough to the relatively flimsy cover for long enough and stepped back and turned to his radioman, "Gefreiter, get me in contact with the tank Platoon on our line! See if they can direct fire on those machine gun positions in the trees so we can focus on the Bolsheviks trying to close the distance." Andreas ordered, once he was confident in the situation of his defence perhaps he could direct a counter offensive to break the attack of one of the other lines of attack or simply direct supporting enfilade fire for the 3rd battalion on his right flank.