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Beginnings
by Blackhawk

The history books would have you believe it was easy; that the French threw up their hands at the first sign of panzers. The Battle of France is related as if it were little more than a live-fire exercise for unopposed German tanks, as they rolled through the Low Countries and on into Paris.

In the event, it was a blur of terrible days and sleepless nights for everyone involved.

Unteroffizier Werner Hauke used both hands to brace himself as his panzer advanced cross country. He was thankful for his padded black beret - exclusive to the panzer troops - which did its duty as a crash helmet on more than one occasion as he rode in the open commander's hatch. The wind forced him to squint as he checked his position in the platoon formation, venturing a glance over his right shoulder to spot tank number 221, his Platoon Commander's mount. As the platoon's second in command, Hauke rode tank 222, directly abreast of the CO when deployed in combat formation.

His intended glance involuntarily turned into a lingering gaze, as he admired the muscular lines of Leutnant Ormann's Mark III tank. These new panzers weighed well over twice as much as Hauke's 9-ton Mark II, and their imposing 3.7cm main guns put the Mk II's 2cm popgun to shame. Unfortunately for Hauke and thousands of tankers like him, the Mk III had not yet been produced in sufficient quantities to replace the bulk of the older, lighter panzers. So it was that the Wehrmacht charged into France mounted on panzers that had only been intended as training vehicles! As bad as it seemed, Hauke and his unit were actually more fortunate than most. In his Waffen-SS Division, every platoon leader had the privilege of driving a Mk III, and the rest of the division rode in Mk II's. In many other divisions, the majority of the panzer units were handicapped with the lowly Mk I machinegun carrier.

Hauke put and end to his musings and deliberately tried to focus on the advance. Whenever he began to reflect upon such matters, his thoughts followed an inevitable progression from equipment shortcomings to national readiness and finally on to political considerations. Many of his kamerades had misgivings about the Western Offensive. Most Germans had been firmly behind the occupations of the Rhineland, Austria, and the Sudatenland. After all, those were former German territories, and Germany was merely taking back what had once been hers.

The invasion of Poland, however, was not so easily rationalized on moral grounds. The German populace had been led to believe Poland had been ready to invade, thus legitimizing a preemptive attack for Germany's security. Nonetheless, with the subsequent declaration of war by Great Britain, the Common Soldier realized Hitler had started another Great War, and no one really wanted that - especially the veterans. Even in the ranks of Hauke's SS elite unit, under the surface lay some serious moral misgivings - specifically in the command ranks, which were filled with veterans of the Great War. Overpowering these feelings however were the compelling calls of nationalism, duty, and military spirit. The crisis of conscience was nonetheless uncomfortable for Hauke, and so he always chose to focus on the task at hand.

"Driver, adjust left, avoid ditch."

"Adjust left," answered the driver.

The tank jolted to the left, and Hauke cringed as his hip smashed into the hatch side as he was thrown up and right. It was for precisely this reason that Hauke had long ago foregone wearing his service pistol in his tank. His driver, fresh from the National Labor Service when the division was deployed to Poland, was a mere 18 years old and had a habit of throwing the tank around. Hauke wondered if he would've been better off taking the ditch straight on, as growing to resent a careless driver was less desirable than it was to bear malice toward a depression in the ground. As he had countless times before, Hauke let it go for now, and would have yet another talk with Private Bohg about his driving grace at an opportune moment.

Anticipating another harsh turn, Hauke crouched down in his seat, so that only his head was exposed. Fully bracing himself by the shoulders, elbows, and hands against the square hatch lip, he gave a new order to Private Bohg.

"Driver, adjust right, return to formation," ordered Hauke, carefully even-tempered.

"Jawohl," came the reply.

The tank curved gracefully right, and then drifted left again, returning to its position in the formation. Apparently, Bohg had remembered one of those talks, and he'd corrected himself on the second maneuver. Even the slow can eventually catch up, thought Hauke with a wry smile.

An ear-popping "CLANG!" broke Hauke's smile instantly. It was followed immediately by a rapid succession of smaller pings, which he recognized as the familiar sound of machine gun rounds raking the tank. Hauke kicked out his legs, dropping himself down into the turret and reducing his exposure to the enemy fire.

The radio came alive with Ormann's voice, "Platoon, engage infantry, right, bearing 350 degrees, dispersed in woodline! Range 300 meters!"

"Driver, halt! Come right sixty degrees!" barked Hauke.

"Jawohl!" replied Bohg in a wavering voice. Bohg had seen combat in Poland, so Hauke wasn't sure why his voice was so shaky. He did little more than note it, however, as his head was filled with the task of finding the enemy.

As soon as his tank lurched to a halt, Hauke scanned the indicated treeline with the criminally deficient commander's periscope mounted on the Mk II. He could see nothing, hampered somewhat by the tank's slowly diminishing oscillations on its suspension as it recovered from the skidding stop. Another startling "CLANG!" signified a hit from something larger than an MG round, and the urgency to find and engage the enemy was elevated to a critically high level. Finding the periscope useless, Hauke hoisted himself back up into the hatch, grabbing his field glasses from the rack on the inside wall.

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