Hello guys, as you can see I managed to squeeze out a chapter nonetheless. I will see how many I can make this week. I will try my best.
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The sound of tank engines filled the city of Avila. Four Wehrmacht tanks rumbled down the normally lively main street, squads of soldiers jogging in the gaps of the column. Two supply trucks followed the line of men toward the city centre.
Paul sat in the lead tank and watched the men running behind them with a furrowed brow. Proper blitzkrieg couldn't be done with foot soldiers — they slowed them down too much. He noticed sweat pouring from the soldiers' temples, but before he could gather his thoughts a sudden explosion snapped him to attention.
The driver stopped. Paul peered through the viewport and saw a small crater in the road near his men. He raised his hand: halt. He set the column into a formation he'd devised for this kind of fight.
The tanks angled sideways and the soldiers flowed into the space along their flanks, using the armor as cover, only their muzzles showing above the hulls. Paul ducked deeper into his tank and retrieved a rifle. A barrel appeared at a small window in a nearby house — he barely had time to crouch before a shot cracked past his head and smashed into the steel behind him.
More rifles surfaced from the windows. Paul shouted as he sought better cover. "Ten o'clock! Concentrate fire on that house!"
The turrets creaked to bearing. A big exchange of gunfire erupted between the Germans and the Spanish guerrillas, who used the house as a hit-and-run shield. Paul's jaw tightened as he watched the turret angles. When the main guns finally lined up he barked the order: "Fire! Root those rats out!"
The two MG-13s erupted with gunfire, tearing tennis-ball-sized holes into the house. Screams quickly followed. The desperate guerrillas fled outside to escape the horrifying fire of the tanks, only to be met by the infantry's bullets.
After a while, Paul ordered the tanks to stop firing. A heavy silence filled the streets of Ávila, broken only by Paul's voice:"Sargeant Buchmann, take your men and storm the house. Kill any survivors."
The middle-aged man Paul had looked at immediately nodded and motioned for a squad of soldiers to follow him.
They moved toward the entrance with their Karabiners raised. The sergeant whispered something to one of the soldiers, who stepped forward and kicked the door open. A group of men stormed inside, shouting as they searched for survivors.
Gunfire erupted after a short while, then came the brief, sharp screams.
Moments later, a German soldier stepped out of the house and saluted to Paul."Herr Oberleutnant, the house is cleared."
Paul climbed out of the tank, landing on the ground. He adjusted his fluttering coat and motioned for two soldiers to follow him. They obeyed, flanking him like two loyal bodyguards, their attention sharp and ready.
Paul made his way toward the house, the same soldier from earlier holding the door open for him. Inside, he looked around — destruction everywhere: broken furniture, bullet holes, splintered walls, and, of course, corpses.
He moved through the rooms, analyzing each body in silence, counting fifteen Spanish soldiers who seemed to have stayed behind even after the retreat to the city hall.
Paul looked at one of the corpses and the shoulder straps. A Colonel, he thought.
"Good work. Quickly take what you want, then we continue towards the school," Paul said, turning around to leave.
The men lunged toward the corpses with greed in their eyes, looting whatever they could get their hands on.
When Paul stepped outside again, he walked over to Hasso, who was talking with another officer.
"Oberleutnant," Hasso greeted him.
"Why so formal? Call me Heinrich. Our ranks are not apart by such a big margin, Hasso," Paul said.
Hasso raised his brows in surprise, yet his eyes gleamed with happiness, realizing how lucky he was to befriend a figure like Heinrich.
"Of course… Heinrich."
"Great. How far are we from the school?" Paul asked.
Hasso glanced down at the map. "We're nearly there — only about one kilometer. Hopefully, we don't run into another one of these vagabonds."
"Yes…" Paul began, before his eyes caught something moving in the background.
He saw a young man glancing out from a window. The moment their eyes met, the man seemed startled, quickly pulling his head back and shutting the curtains.
"Hm." Paul looked for a moment longer before turning his attention back to Hasso, who stood there looking confused.
"We move out again," Paul ordered, not wanting to linger too long in one place.
"We move out again!" Hasso repeated, turning toward the soldiers behind them.
The column quickly started moving, making their way toward the meeting point.
Everywhere they went, the few people who dared to step outside quickly fled back into their houses — fearful respect in their eyes.
After a while, the tanks came to a halt before a group of half-alert Spanish Nationalist soldiers. They relaxed once they recognized the Iron Cross of the Wehrmacht painted on the armor. They motioned for the colum to enter the courtard, stepping aside.
The tanks rumbled onto the sandy courtyard, parking beside dozens of Spanish trucks and supply crates.
The disciplined German soldiers stopped synchronously, their boots striking the ground one last time.
The tank hatches opened. Paul, Hasso, Sergeant Ritter, and another sergeant climbed out of their vehicles.
The officers placed themselves before their column of soldiers — all three standing behind Paul, who was at the very front, hands behind his back, waiting.
Soon a burly man walked out of the building, flanked by a handful of officers. A smile appeared on his face as he approached their "new friends."
Paul and the other officers saluted the man, who seemed to be a major. The major returned the salute before they shook hands.
He signaled for a soldier to come over and patted him on the shoulder, saying something in Spanish.
The soldier quickly translated:"It's very good to see you here, friend. How about we go inside and discuss our approach?"
Paul nodded, then turned to motion for only Hasso to follow him. He then ordered the other officers:"Let the man rest for some time. We will soon face battle."
Paul and Hasso followed the major inside the school, which certainly didn't look like a school anymore. Guards were posted at every corner; Paul even saw an MG position at the entrance.
After walking through the complex and crossing paths with sleeping soldiers or others playing various games, they arrived at what seemed to be the major's temporary office.
The man motioned for Paul to take a seat before sitting behind the desk himself.
He looked at the translator again, muttering something in Spanish.
The translator turned to Paul and Hasso:"I believe we have not yet exchanged names. My name is Major Pablo Ramirez. I'm the commanding officer of the 2nd and 3rd Infantry Regiments of the Nationalist Army."
Paul nodded toward Ramirez before saying:"This is Leutnant Hasso von Manteuffel, and I am Oberleutnant Heinrich Jeager. I am the temporary commander of the first platoon of the second mechanized battalion, withing the Condor Legion."
The translator muttered a few words in Spanish before Ramírez spoke, a smile on his face.
"We thank you and your German friends for your support. Spain — the true Spain — thanks you."
"You should thank the High Command. I'm just an ordinary soldier," Paul answered.
"I would say humility does not fit you," Ramírez replied through the translator, looking at Paul's scarred torso. He seemed hesitant to ask about it.
"How about we talk about our approach now," Paul said, neutrally.
The major nodded and pushed some documents aside, revealing a map of Ávila. He pointed to the centre, a big building.
The city hall, Paul thought.
"How much time is left before their reinforcements arrive?" Paul asked Hasso.
Hasso looked at his watch. "An hour. Maybe less."
We are too late...Paul though, while his jaw tighted.
"Reinforcements?" the translator asked, bewildered.
"You don't know about them?" Paul said, surprised. "Our air force has spotted Spanish reinforcements coming to support the men here in Ávila."
The translator's eyes widened before he conveyed everything to the major, whose eyes widened too at the intel. He muttered something.
"That changes things."
"If not for all these shitty guerrillas on the way here we would have been faster," Paul muttered, looking at Hasso, who nodded and pressed his lips together.
Paul looked at the thinking major and then spoke his plan. "There is simply not enough time to take the city hall and defend it afterwards. The reinforcements would catch us right in the act."
The major stared for a moment, then nodded defeatedly. He looked at Paul again and asked a single word: "Retreat?"
After a moment, Paul shook his head. "How about we ignore the city hall for now and focus on their reinforcements. We should cut off their reinforcements with an ambush. There's only one major road from Madrid to Ávila, so we'll cut them off somewhere here. They wouldn't expect something like that."
Paul pointed at the map.
"After we decimate them we kill two birds with one stone. First, their reinforcements — so we don't have to fight two forces at once, but one after another. Second, their supply route: if we take that road and defeat the reinforcements, they'll be practically encircled, cut off from the outside world. Then we can lay siege."
Ramirez eyes began glowing more and more while the translator did his work. Ramirez pointed his thumb up and patted Paul on his shoulder while speaking to the translator.
"It's risky but that's what I call a proper Plan Obersleutnant!"
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