Opening Moves

Moving to the rough hand-drawn map on the rear wall the Welsh Commander quickly ran through the defensive positions, fields of fire, artillery, and mortar support available. He updated the new arrivals on the previous Soviet tactics, pointing with his left hand, taking hurried bites of his doorstep in between sections of his briefing.

Llewellyn was adamant that each company should provide a reserve force to counter-attack any position lost or to reinforce one under extreme pressure.

Richardson strongly resisted the use of his platoon as a tactical reserve, seeking a position in the front line where he and his vengeful engineers could kill their fair share of commies. John Ramsey said nothing but prepared to intervene if it proved necessary.

It didn’t.

Major Tewdwr Llewellyn would not be moved but assured the NCO that his men would get all the action they could stand when the Soviets came again.

Ammunition was a problem but he had sent a party with the RSM back to get more, even for the German weapons of Perlmann’s unit.

Once he had finished, he sought questions from the group. Perlmann and Ramsey sought clarification of where the counter-attacking forces would be positioned but there were no other questions or suggestions as the defence was pretty straightforward. There was nowhere to run to, no room for manoeuvre, so it was a case of stand or die.

The group broke up, dispersing swiftly, inadvertently leaving Llewellyn and Ramsey with the remaining sandwiches.

Both eyed the tray and each other.

The Welshman led the way.

“Can’t let these go to waste now can we?”

Offering up the tray to his companion, he grinned.

“Be rude not to,” the end of which was slightly distorted as sandwich went from tray to lips in one easy movement.

The Welshman’s eyes strayed to the ribbon on his fellow officer’s breast.

“Well, we Welsh are used to this of course. This will be the new Rourke’s Drift but without the singing.”

Meeting the young man’s humour with his own, the Englishman swallowed his last mouthful.

“Singing may be all we can hold them back with if the ammunition doesn’t arrive. These buggers don’t use assegais old chap.”

Not willing to be bested, Llewellyn fought back in the traditional way.

“My boys will keep quiet and let you strangle that cat, which should keep the Reds at arm’s length.”

Even though he was an English officer, Ramsey appreciated the value of Pipes to the Scottish soldier. He considered continuing but decided against it, ceding the last word to the younger man with a decidedly mischievous grin.

Both left and immediately separated, heading out to their different units as the Hamburg Council Chamber clock moved silently to 4.15.

It was nearly time.

1615 hrs Sunday 12th August 1945, The Rathaus, Hamburg, Germany.

Ramsey strode purposefully out of the main entrance deep in thought, nearly colliding with a stationary Maior Perlmann.

“I do apologise Herr Maior,” the words out of his lips even as he brought himself back upright

“Alles klar Englander,” was Perlmann’s dismissive response, distracted as he was. The British officer looked at the inscription above the door that had held the paratrooper’s attention so much he had not noticed Ramsey’s impending arrival.

Perlmann weighed up his British counterpart.

“Do you know what it is saying Herr Maior?”

“I’m afraid your ability with my language is far better than mine with yours Major Perlmann. If you please?”

The paratrooper tugged his camouflaged jacket formally, ensuring it was properly in place before he spoke.

“I was born in this city so I am lived with the knowledge of this words since I can remember.”

Ramsey remained quiet, aware that the German was strangely emotional.

“I have just fight a war, a loosed war, and during those six bloody years I never really knew this words, and what they mean, until today.”

Perlmann coughed gently, more to buy him a moment to compose himself than for any other reason.

“It says ‘May the descendants look to maintain the freedom that was winned by our fathers.’”

Ramsey nodded in understanding, drawing out more from the German.

“How is it that I never knew what this words mean until today,….this hour,….this minute?”

Considering his words carefully, the British Major spoke softly and with feeling.

“In truth Herr Maior, I suspect that when you fought for the Nazi cause you didn’t understand the words because they had no meaning,” emphasising the word ‘had’ brought the point home, “Whereas now that meaning is crystal clear and very real for you and all Germans is it not?”

Perlmann considered the words for a few moments, his face screwed up in thought, frowning as he worked it through.

An onlooker would easily have imagined the men as enemies, both by posture and atmosphere.

“Do not think for any moment that most of we Germans fought for anything but our country Herr Ramsey.”

The tension mounted in seconds.

“Do not think that you are the only ones having honour, the only ones fighting for freedoms for six years.”