Fox at the Front (Fox on the Rhine) by Douglas Niles, Michael Dobson Page B
Authors: Douglas Niles, Michael Dobson
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his heels together. “Herr Generalmajor!”
Wakefield returned the salute. “Tell him I need this area cleared. My engineers are going to be setting up a pontoon bridge across the Meuse. While he’s at it, I want to get some scouts out. My people will take the other side of the river, but we’ll need Germans to cover this side. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Porter replied, and immediately began to translate.
The German major looked puzzled, then embarrassed. He shrugged, then began speaking rapidly.
“He’s very sorry, General,” Porter translated. “He says he understands that his forces have surrendered to you, but that he cannot take the actions you request without permission from his own superior officers.”
“Yeah, I kinda figured that,” Wakefield growled. He chewed his cigar for a minute.
“Tell him I’ll get an okay from his superiors. But I don’t want to waste any time. Tell him to get a work detail here and ready to coordinate with my engineers, and tell him that if the German army has got the sense God gave green apples, he’s already got scouts out.”
Porter tried to translate both the words and the forcefulness of the delivery. Something of Wakefield’s intent must have gotten across, because suddenly the major was stammering his agreement. “Yes, yes, of course we have scouts out. And a work detail can be arranged—but you must get approval from my superior as soon as possible!”
When the agreement was translated, Wakefield nodded with satisfaction. “Good. Have the scouts report as they normally do, but I want a runner to inform me about anything out of the ordinary. And tell the major he has half an hour or so before the work detail needs to be here. It’ll take my engineers a few hours to get their work done.” He looked at the major. “Dismissed,” he said firmly. Some orders seemed to be the same in any language, because the major immediately saluted. First he started with the Nazi salute; then he changed course to give an imitation of an American salute. Wakefield returned the salute with gravity. The major clicked his heels, said, “Herr Generalmajor!,” and left.
“I understand the bridging, but not the scouts. Why, General?” Porter asked.
“Rommel has surrendered two armies that have God knows how many SS divisions in them. He’s already said he can’t guarantee that everyone will stand down. I want scouts out on both sides just in case. I’ve already radioed to my combat commands and their scouts are out already. Maybe nothing is going to happen, but I’d hate like hell to be caught with my pants down.”
Wakefield stood silently at the water’s edge for a minute or so. “Something doesn’t feel right,” he growled. Striding back to his jeep, Wakefield picked up a large walkie-talkie. Giving his radio call sign, he made contact with Colonel Bob Jackson, commanding CCB. “Bob? This is General Wakefield. I’ve got the wind up my shorts, and it’s probably nothing, but I want a line of field artillery covering the river valley. Set it around the fortress I see on the cliff. Make sure you’ve got scouts out in all directions. Armor covering the roads into town, good cover. Dig in like you were preparing for a siege. Got it?”
The crackling voice over the radio responded, “Got it, General. No specific threat indication, this is a just-in-case. Artillery at the citadel and along the cliff, scouts out and active, roads into town fortified. Call you if anything happens.”
“Right, Bob. That’s exactly what I want. Thanks for humoring an old man.”
“Any time, General. Jackson out.”
“Good man,” growled Wakefield. Then he was on the phone to Frank Ballard, commanding what was left of Combat Command A in the lower city.
“Good evening, General. My scouts can see you down there by the river,” came the voice over the walkie-talkie.
“Got a damage assessment put together yet?”
“Yes, sir, and it’s not real pretty. In a nutshell, we’re
Wakefield returned the salute. “Tell him I need this area cleared. My engineers are going to be setting up a pontoon bridge across the Meuse. While he’s at it, I want to get some scouts out. My people will take the other side of the river, but we’ll need Germans to cover this side. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Porter replied, and immediately began to translate.
The German major looked puzzled, then embarrassed. He shrugged, then began speaking rapidly.
“He’s very sorry, General,” Porter translated. “He says he understands that his forces have surrendered to you, but that he cannot take the actions you request without permission from his own superior officers.”
“Yeah, I kinda figured that,” Wakefield growled. He chewed his cigar for a minute.
“Tell him I’ll get an okay from his superiors. But I don’t want to waste any time. Tell him to get a work detail here and ready to coordinate with my engineers, and tell him that if the German army has got the sense God gave green apples, he’s already got scouts out.”
Porter tried to translate both the words and the forcefulness of the delivery. Something of Wakefield’s intent must have gotten across, because suddenly the major was stammering his agreement. “Yes, yes, of course we have scouts out. And a work detail can be arranged—but you must get approval from my superior as soon as possible!”
When the agreement was translated, Wakefield nodded with satisfaction. “Good. Have the scouts report as they normally do, but I want a runner to inform me about anything out of the ordinary. And tell the major he has half an hour or so before the work detail needs to be here. It’ll take my engineers a few hours to get their work done.” He looked at the major. “Dismissed,” he said firmly. Some orders seemed to be the same in any language, because the major immediately saluted. First he started with the Nazi salute; then he changed course to give an imitation of an American salute. Wakefield returned the salute with gravity. The major clicked his heels, said, “Herr Generalmajor!,” and left.
“I understand the bridging, but not the scouts. Why, General?” Porter asked.
“Rommel has surrendered two armies that have God knows how many SS divisions in them. He’s already said he can’t guarantee that everyone will stand down. I want scouts out on both sides just in case. I’ve already radioed to my combat commands and their scouts are out already. Maybe nothing is going to happen, but I’d hate like hell to be caught with my pants down.”
Wakefield stood silently at the water’s edge for a minute or so. “Something doesn’t feel right,” he growled. Striding back to his jeep, Wakefield picked up a large walkie-talkie. Giving his radio call sign, he made contact with Colonel Bob Jackson, commanding CCB. “Bob? This is General Wakefield. I’ve got the wind up my shorts, and it’s probably nothing, but I want a line of field artillery covering the river valley. Set it around the fortress I see on the cliff. Make sure you’ve got scouts out in all directions. Armor covering the roads into town, good cover. Dig in like you were preparing for a siege. Got it?”
The crackling voice over the radio responded, “Got it, General. No specific threat indication, this is a just-in-case. Artillery at the citadel and along the cliff, scouts out and active, roads into town fortified. Call you if anything happens.”
“Right, Bob. That’s exactly what I want. Thanks for humoring an old man.”
“Any time, General. Jackson out.”
“Good man,” growled Wakefield. Then he was on the phone to Frank Ballard, commanding what was left of Combat Command A in the lower city.
“Good evening, General. My scouts can see you down there by the river,” came the voice over the walkie-talkie.
“Got a damage assessment put together yet?”
“Yes, sir, and it’s not real pretty. In a nutshell, we’re
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