The World is a Jungle by Gabriel Timar	Table of Contents
Book Two: The Violent Jungle The Face of Defeat

Only two Hungarians were present at the briefing by the German General: the artillerist Lieutenant Bartos, and Les. They were attached to the Viking SS Armored Division by direct orders of the Army Group Commander.

In the spring of 1945, the average age of the tank commanders present at the briefing may have been less than twenty. The faces of many of these young officers had never seen a razor at close quarters, but these youngsters had considerable combat experience. In every respect they were veterans.

Brigadier General Dietrich gave a short pep talk, assuring everybody of quick, decisive victory.

“The code name of our offensive is ‘Rising of Spring’. We are going to break through the Siberian Guards near Lake Balaton, advance to the south-southeast in the direction of the only bridge standing over the Danube. By taking the bridge, we shall cut Ivan’s supply lines from the East. The Gross Deutschland SS Division to the north of us is going to protect our left flank and the Hungarian Army, the right.”

The General stopped for a moment. Les thought it was a sound plan if the participating units were resupplied and at full strength. However, it was common knowledge that the Gross Deutschland was about a third of its normal strength; and the defeated, disorganized Hungarian Army was dysfunctional by this time, although a few officers were trying to whip the demoralized troops into shape. Even though there was a resemblance of order on the Southern front, at best, the Hungarian Army Group could have held its position with difficulty; but to attack, that was too much to ask for in the spring of 1945.

Apparently it was impossible to convince the German High Command that their forces were in no shape to mount an offensive.

The brigadier started issuing the orders to each unit under his command. In the end, he was looking at a group of black leather-jacketed tank commanders standing in the back.

“Colonel von Walden,” he said, “your regiment is going to take the point. You must capture the fuel dump northeast of Lepseny intact. There we fill up the division, strike out eastward, cross the Danube at Foeldvar and sweep Ivan out of our way. By mid-March, the Gross Deutschland shall retake Budapest. In April, we reach the River Tisza, and in June, we fill up the panzers in the Romanian oil fields of Ploesti. Colonel Von Walden, you have the honor of leading the charge to change the course of the war!”

There was silence in the room, one could have heard a pin drop. In the back, a tired-looking officer stood with his left hand in his pocket. He wore the black leather jacket over the uniform of the Vikings; a Knight’s Cross hung on his neck and he wore the yellow cravat, the identifying mark of former officers of the elite Africa Corps.

“Begging the general’s pardon,” von Walden stated, “my regiment is less than half strength. We are short of ammo and fuel. The morale of the men is low, and I doubt we can attain the objectives you just outlined. To have a fighting chance of taking the fuel dump before Ivan blows it, we need refurbishment, rest, and many more replacements.”

“Such defeatist remarks, Colonel, are uncalled for. We all have difficulties, but we carry out our orders and cope with the problems. Perhaps, von Walden, you have lost your heart and your faith in victory.”

Les thought it was bad policy to dress down a colonel in the presence of captains and lieutenants; doubtless Dietrich made a mistake. Suddenly, all eyes were on von Walden. The colonel slowly stepped forward, looked at the general and quietly remarked: “No, General, I have not lost my heart, I have lost my left arm.” He slowly and pulled the empty sleeve of his jacket from his pocket. “I’ll get your fuel dump, sir, or die in the attempt.”

Brigadier General Dietrich turned red as turnip, stood up and declared, “You all have your orders, gentlemen. Dismissed!”

The young officers stood up and in the back one of them broke into a song: Auf der Heide blüht ein kleines Blümelein, und das heißt Erika...

* * *

The Russians buried Colonel von Walden with full military honors in the cemetery of a small Hungarian village.

Copyright © 2009 by Gabriel Timar

to Challenge 337...