by Gee, Colin
One US staff officer tried to climb up onto the M26 and suddenly howled with pain and jumped back. Sucking on a finger, he complained to the Captain with him that he had broken a nail.
Two other men, one English, the other Russian, drifting away from unsatisfactory company now stood together close by and exchanged glances. Although they spoke no words, their eye contact spoke silent volumes and they shared a professional smile.
To date, generals and crony’s apart, there had been little mixing but, with the awkward silence broken by the American officers misfortune, the two struck up a conversation.
The Englishman saluted, which the Russian smartly returned, and stuck out his hand.
“Good day to you Colonel. John Ramsey, Major, The Black Watch, 51st Division.”
“Comrade Major,” acknowledged the Colonel with the slightest of grins and shook the offered hand firmly. Ramsey’s relief at finding an English speaker was very evident. “Colonel Arkady Arkadyevich Yarishlov, Red Army Tank Corps.”
With a swift toss of the head Ramsey ventured “Two different types of officer here today Sir.”
“Yes, I agree. Let us hope his nail to be fine in the morning Major.”
Ramsey had always thought of the Russians as a humourless lot, so the comment caught him unprepared and he laughed aloud.
“Indeed Sir, or the division will grind to a halt.”
“I think it will have done so already Major.”
And so the professionals broke the ice at the expense of the amateurs and walked by some unspoken agreement to a more private place, strolling silently along a small well-worn path until stopping adjacent to a large rock.
“You speak excellent English Colonel. Cigarette?” Not the first time Arkady had been told that, and always in such a way as it seemed a question as to how.
He was happy to supply the answer.
“Thank you Major. When I was in Military Academy, I were tasked to draw up a total presentation on the Battle of Waterloo. I had to learn English to read the books. Do you know of this battle Major?”
The unintended humour of that question timed with a deep draw on his cigarette caused Ramsey to cough violently.
“I am aware of it Colonel. We and our German cousins gave the frogs a damn good hiding as I recall.”
“I’m sorry Major. Frogs? I do not …err...understand.”
“Ah so sorry. It is our pet name for our French allies, Colonel.”
“Ah yes, I remember now. But why?”
“Something to do with their culinary habits I understand.”
Unfortunately, that was also wasted on Yarishlov.
“What is culin-airey Major?”
“I was talking about the things they eat Sir. Rumour has it they eat bits of frogs, such as the legs, Colonel.”
“A uncivilised nation indeed Major, and my apologies.”
No matter how many times it happened Ramsey could never get used to it. Yarishlov came to full attention and saluted the British Major because of the small piece of ribbon on his left breast.
The salute returned, Ramsey ventured “Thank you Colonel. I suppose that you also learned of that little custom from your English studies?”
“I study some more than Waterloo, Major. You are the first VC medal man I have see”.
Within the British and Commonwealth forces, any holder of the VC was saluted first, regardless of rank, as an acknowledgement of the importance of the award.
“There are a few about Sir, certainly a number more since all the unpleasantness started in thirty-nine. You are not without your own awards I see. I suppose we also know that we wear them because we were fortunately seen to do what we did or were just plain lucky, and that countless others who deserve the same went without recognition.”
Yarishlov did not ask about the words he didn’t understand because he identified with the spirit of what he knew the Englishman was saying.
“Yes you are right; mine each having memories, all of which are bad but they also remind me of comrades and friends I have bury.”
A second of silence and a slow knowing nod, “Yes Colonel, I know exactly what you mean”.
A nod was returned. Surprisingly the following silence was not awkward, just two men in inner reflection, with understanding of the others experiences and both with their own private hells.
Ramsey broke the moment.
“I think we might get back to the group now Sir. It seems that a decision has been reached. End of business for today by the look of it”.
Yarishlov swivelled to stare uphill and turned back to Ramsey with a beaming smile on his face. “Good. I have had enough of watching these American tanks now. It has been good to meet you Major Ramsey, and I wish you luck for the future.”
“As I do to you Colonel Yarishlov. I hope our future is brighter than some people seem to think.”
As Yarishlov had started to move, this comment brought him to an immediate halt.
“What do you mean Major? The Germanski is defeated is he not? Soon we go home!” he slapped Ramsey on the shoulder in a way that was as wholly acceptable to comrades in the Russian tank force as it was unacceptable to British army officers. In particular, British army officers who recently had a rifle bullet dug out from the same area. It hurt like hell and Ramsey could not help but yelp.
Yarishlov looked appalled. “My friend, I am sorry. You hold yourself well. I did not know.”
“It wasn’t much but you know how it is. The small ones hurt like hell Colonel”.
“They all hurt Comrade,” stated Yarishlov with a smile, evenly and with the knowledge and conviction of a man who had experienced the full spectrum of what battlefield wounds had to offer.
“I am sorry. What was it?”
“Sniper in Nordenham, just before the end. Nothing serious Colonel”.
“Then we move on. What did you mean?” The imperative present in the first question had gone but the answer was still expected.
“I mean that relations between the allies and your country seem a little strained at times, and there is some worry that your country may wish to aggravate matters more. After all, look at the issues we are facing with moving to the correct demarcation lines.”
“I know little of the….aggravation,” a moment’s pause to receive a confirmation on pronunciation, “Major Ramsey, but I do believe that some people have done some stupid things on both sides.”
Ramsey could not argue with that so accepted it. “I know there have been difficulty to withdraw some of our forces, particularly in the Austria area. The Germanski was very good for wrecking, as you know. The train lines are not good. My own unit has had equal difficulties.” A dismissive wave of the hand said all that Yarishlov had to say on that point.
“As for the rest, it is just politicians hot wind is it not? None of us front animals want to start the dance again. Forget it Major, the Soviet Union is your friend, truly.”
And to be honest, Ramsey believed that this Russian meant what he said, and believed what he said. However, what he had heard on official briefs, plus his Battalion Commander’s confidential chat about his experience at the Hamburg Symposium, had made him worried that something was coming, and it was not going to be good. Maybe this Colonel just didn’t know, or he was a damn good liar?
“Come Major, I am taking dinner in Schlangen with the generals and I need to practice lying so I can tell the Americans how good they are.” Given Ramsey’s last train of thought that was not the best thing Yarishlov could have said, and he felt a momentary coldness in his stomach.
The Russian looked around and pointed.
“Let us talk to those officers there so I can get my lies practice right.”
It was the grin that did it, splitting the Russians face from ear to ear, and the coldness went as quickly as it had come. They strolled leisurely forward towards a group of American officers.
“I’m afraid I can only lie so much Colonel. I may have to answer a call of nature if it gets too bad.�
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“What is call of nature Major?”
“Too much coffee Colonel, a man must walk off alone to get rid of it.”
“Ah, you need piss yes?”
“Well not yet sir, but I may do if the Americans ask too many potentially embarrassing questions.”
“I think I understand that. A good plan. Perhaps I should have some more coffee first?”
Ramsey liked this man although something told him he really should not. One of the American’s moved forward and a Texas-twang cut through his thoughts.
“Ah, Lootenant Colonel Yarslov, I hope you enjoyed the display we put on sir?” The casual salute was only just on the right side of acceptability, whereas Yarishlov’s by return was as impressive as earlier.
“Yes thank you, Major?”
“Parker, Nathaniel T, sir.”
“I learned much. May I introduce Major Ramsey of His Majesty’s Black Watch?”
The two Majors exchanged salutes that confirmed the lack of respect in the salute given to Arkady. Neither did the American honour the VC, although that was never an issue for the holder in this case. Yarishlov noted the immaculate nature of the man’s uniform and the vast array of medal ribbons on his chest.
“It’s a shame we had to curtail the day sir. We had a real peach of a run organised for number three.” If he could have puffed himself up any more, then the American would have exploded in a second. “Designed it myself sir. Armoured wedge attack over open ground with artillery rolling only one hundred yards in front of the van. Would have been a real show for y'all.”
“Another time Major, another time.”
Words that were meaningless, for Yarishlov had already promised himself never to attend another of these nonsense’s if he could possibly avoid it.
“Your General enjoyed the two we ran though. Very complimentary sir, very complimentary.”
“Then you should be pleased, for the General is a man of great experience and knows what he is talking about.” The General did indeed know his trade, which was why Yarishlov knew the General must have practiced his lying too.”
“Excuse me,” swiftly saluting both, “I need to answer a call of nature,” and Ramsey was quickly gone.
“He means he needs piss Major,” confided Yarishlov, in the style of a teacher back in his old school.
“Musta needed it badly that’s all I can say Colonel.” Gazing with scant interest at a retreating Ramsey, “Looks a bit weak in spine to me.”
Yarishlov looked directly at Parker, face smiling, eyes not.
“That being caused of bullet from a fascist sniper Major.”
He turned his gaze in the direction of the disappearing Englishman.
“He also wears the Victoria medal, so his spine is not being so weak. You might not have see that. Anyway, it have been too much coffee for him I thinks Major.”
“So he’s been around the block too. Medals everywhere around here,” dismissed the American, actually annoying Arkady.
“Anything I can help you with before we move off Colonel?”
“Are the tank recovery team well practised Major? They seem to be taking their time down there,” swiftly changing the subject to mask his strange feeling of hurt for the British Officer and indicating a field of bogged-down armour and half-tracks with a gesture of his left arm.
“No sir. We sprung this on them as a surprise exercise. Part of the plan. It will take them a'whiles to get the vehicles back online.”
Yarishlov could not suppress the amusing thought about who had been practicing lying the most, for the American was being outrageous.
“Not same Sherman tanks to the one’s I had used Major.”
“Indeed sir? We sent you a few I believe and I’m sure they made all the difference. The Sherman is a good horse with plenty of firepower. Equal of the panzer in my view Colonel.”
Which it certainly was not but Yarishlov wasn’t going to argue with the man’s obvious lack of hard-won expertise on enemy armour, no matter how outrageous he was being. His view of Americans was nose-diving by the second.
“Still y’all had a good day. Makes nonsense of all the talk doesn’t it?”
“What talk might that be Major?” the annoyed Russian already preparing a similar response to the one Ramsey had received earlier.
“I mean all this nonsense about you maybe planning an attack on us Colonel. Spent a whole week in some French castle with some ex-kraut officers. Learning about your tactics just in case. Their top dog was ex-SS too”. The Major deliberately hawked and spat, solely to impress Yarishlov.
“Bastards got me transferred from my unit because they couldn’t deal with the fact that I was better than them.” The bitterness in his voice was extreme. “Cost me my bird for some time to come” Yarishlov evidently did not understand. “My bird,” tapping his collar, “Lieutenant Colonel’s rank. Won’t get that because of the attitude problem they reported I have.”
Yarishlov had a look on his face that Parker interpreted as support but that was actually something entirely different.
“Anyway, whole thing doesn’t scour at all. Waste of time. We all kicked the krauts out so why would we start on each other? Reckon it’s the goddamn Nazis agitating myself. Goddamned symposium nonsense. Hell, we’ve even got one of our own too!”
Parker let out a huge sigh.
“It’s enough to try the patience of a saint Colonel.”
Parker extracted his lucky strikes and proffered the pack to Yarishlov, who declined.
Parker lit up.
“Still I’m having a week’s furlough in the south of France soon as I can. Colonel, Biarritz, you should go there some time sir. Hell of a place for a man to relax.”
The Major just let it all come tumbling out without a care in the world. Had he looked more closely he would have realised that a Russian Lieutenant Colonel just had his antenna twitch. But he didn’t, so he had no idea that the Russian was making a mental note that this ‘symposium” was something he had to write up in his report on return. He also missed the look on the face of a Black Watch Major returning from his unnecessary call of nature, wondering incredulously whether he had just heard what he thought he had heard.
“I may well do Major,” was about all Yarishlov could say as he processed the look on the approaching Ramsey’s face.
Something was wrong, but what was it?
“Did you see much action Colonel?” was about the most stupid question the fool could have asked but it didn’t stop him from asking it.
“I saw a few battles Major, enough to satisfy my childhood desiring for such things.”
“We saw quite a bit ourselves of course,” which both Russian and Englishman knew was a crass lie, for both had discovered that the soldiers present had only been in Europe since early March, and at a time when the German was surrendering to anything that came from the west. It was different for the Russians of course. Their final days of combat had seen the bloody Armageddon of Berlin that had cost so many lives.
However, both men’s thoughts were still in turmoil. Ramsey working out what had been said; did he really hear the words “Biarritz” and ‘symposium”? Yarishlov replaying the event and trying to decide what exactly had happened.
“Anyway Major, now I must have piss of nature too. Goodbye and thank you. Major Ramsey.” Salutes exchanged and Yarishlov was gone.
Ramsey struggled to find a way to approach the matter without going at it head-on. So he did. “Did you tell the Russian about the symposiums Major?”
“Hell no, just told him we get a whole load of boring lectures that’s all.”
“And Biarritz? You mentioned Biarritz.”
“That’s where I’m going on furlough next week Major. Just told the Colonel that he might want to go there someday.”
Ramsey could not help think the very obvious thought that the Russians might well want to go there one day, in something painted green, but resisted further enquiries. He would have to mention this in his report any
way, so he would leave it for now. What Ramsey did know was that both words appeared on his top secret joining orders for 6th August, for a week’s special training. Secret was a word he understood and clearly the yank did not.
None the less, he took further stock of the young Texan in front of him and his eyes were drawn to an ornate emblem on his chest.
“May I enquire what that is for Major? It is very grand and must be important indeed.”
The American swelled and puffed out his chest.
“I got that for being second in my class at the Texas Military Institute Major. That reminds me. The Colonel said you have the Victoria Cross. What did you get that for?
“For being first in my class in the School of the Reichswald, Major. There were no prizes for being second. Good day to you.”
And with a salute that Ramsey had never meant less in his entire career, he strode off towards the Brigadier and his staff.
1602 hrs Monday, 23rd July 1945, Former SS Panzer Training grounds, Paderborn, British Occupied Germany.
Yarishlov joined up with the Soviet entourage returning to Schlangen for a dinner with the American Staff. He was beckoned forward by the general.
“Ride with me Arkady Arkadyevich and tell me your thoughts.”
“Yes, Comrade General,” directing his own staff car to follow without him.
As the Mercedes-Benz, which had been appropriated some weeks before hand, started off on the short journey, Yarishlov spoke further.
“I believe that the unit we saw today is extremely inexperienced, unless the Americans are deliberately misleading us. I am not sure they are that clever.”
“You are right Colonel, they saw little action. We have no intelligence on a 15th Tank Division in any case but we know they have been in Europe for only a few months. However, it is not important. What is important to me is what you think of them?” The strange emphasis on the word “them” caused Arkady a moment’s puzzlement.
He replied with the truth as he saw it.
“They have neither the skills nor the equipment to function properly in the field. Their experienced units simply have to be better than these we have seen today or the green toads would have devoured them in an instant. The new Pershing tank looks nice but it floundered in modest mud as you saw.”