Outside of Oran, Algeria - June 1960
The heat was almost unbearable, the sun's piercing rays bearing down on their backs. 4
th Company, 2
nd Battalion, 1
st Regiment of the 1
st Army suffered under this intense onslaught. They had just come from fierce fighting in Tindouf and were ragged, dirty looking even. The dirt and sand covered their uniforms, unpolished boots laying discarded in the sands. Barren
hamadas surrounded them and from their weary gazes, approaching trucks and armour could be seen from the distance. They kicked up dust and dirt, barreling towards the tent encampment they set up in the middle of nowhere. It was tiring work and many of the men were getting quite antsy. Several men and women decided to play cards to distract themselves from their burning skins - one Private, a Muhammad Hakim, paused to look at the oncoming convoy. "Fuckin' Germans," he started, peering into the distance "why do we even need to be here? We don't need training from some colonial bastards."
Sergeant Francoise raised an eyebrow under his brown
sesh. He shuffled the cards in his hand, looking at the young soldier. "You're gonna need all the training you can get Private, you're the greenest motherfucker in this whole company." He pointed towards the vehicles edging closer and closer. "Those nice group of sobs offered to train us in real warfare, not the anti-insurgency bullcrap we've been taught in training. Those are some A-class soldiers right there, not desert rats like us."
The Private turned towards the Frenchman with an annoyed look under his wide brim hat. "We ain't desert rats and we don't need help from colonials. We have enough Frenchies like you in our company and you're native. These are some inbred monarchistic colonials right here. We've never needed them before and we don't need em now Sarge."
Sergeant Francoise glared at the Private and the offending man received a few punches and kicks from the soldiers next to him. Racism and divide wasn't going to go away in just a few decades after all. Although, Hakim was the local greenie and the idiot of the entire company. The convoy was approaching fast and soon enough, halted in front of the card playing group of soldiers. It was headed by a Renault M35 straight from France painted in a tan brown to suit the environments. It turned out of the way to reveal the trucks full of German soldiers. The sergeant stood and walked up to greet the lead truck.
"Sabaah al-khayr.""
Sabaah al-khayr....al-salaamu ‘alaykum," replied a rather finely-dressed German Captain - his tag-name stating his last-name was Brandher. While whose accent was heavy, said their reply in kind - and added 'peace be upon you' as an additive. Namely already appearing the more cultured one - since he added the second line, which was usually customary for meeting a person, that you wanted to befriend. While going with simply 'sabaah al-khayr' without saying 'al-salaamu' - left one appearing...ill-mannered. It spoke something of the colonial Germans to learn such a fine distinction.
He soon shouted some words in German, and soon enough the squad of men soon came out of the truck. Together the colonial Germans looked more fancier than the entire Company of Algerians here. Surprisingly enough, they even had a few black ones with them.
They didn't waste time with formality after that - simply addressing Sergeant Francoise to the nearest obstacle course. Namely the course - that had been set up and dug by the men and women of the Algerian Army - so they could be taught modern warfare. Although, doing that had been a long pain - since nobody had the drive to do so, in this scorching heat.
"What is the time?" he asked, switching to broken-French with Francoise. The Germans themselves were dressed in some more summer-variants of their usual gray uniforms. Despite that and the scorching heat - none of them were complaining much.
As namely Captain Brandher wanted to know how fast the Algerians had completed this obstacle - before the Germans came.
Francoise looked back at the company tents and back at the Captain. "About two to three hours or so? These men and women ain't used to this type of warfare, I'm afraid." He could appreciate the captain's use of French, his native language and Algeria's unofficial business language, when speaking to him. As he looked out on to the obstacle course, he picture the slow process of getting over all these entrenched positions under fire. It was painstakingly slow and there were minor injuries but the NCO wasn't about to admit that his people were bad at their jobs. Just unused to conventional warfare.
Defecting to the Algerian side during the War of Independence was the best decision he could have made but unlike the French, the Algerians used very underhand tactics. Although they have since gotten rid of suicide bombers and child soldiers, it still acted very much like an irregular force. Compared to the Germans, their military doctrine was completely different. Years of fighting insurgents had also sharpened the army in counter-terrorism and assymetric warfare but did no help with conventional warfare. They fought like insurgents themselves, loyal and cunning but not as disciplined as the normal soldier. It was up to these Germans to make 4
th Company into a conventional force. High command were planning to siege Assekrem in the upcoming months after all.
Captain Brandher soon had everything brought out and set up. Namely as he deployed one machine gun to the second trench and a second machine gun into the third trench. In addition with crates of ammunition. It looked like, compared to what they had done - the Germans planned on doing it with blanks to simulate actual battle-field conditions.
While everybody in the Company was called to watch on the battlements how the 'inbred colonials' would do.
As they watched the colonial Germans soon take their position in the first trench. Then with a loud blow from Captain Brandher' whistle - the course started, with Sergeant Francoise holding the stop-watch. The machine gun in the second trench soon started firing - and the Germans in the first trench took cover. As the sand behind them soon blew up in pockmarks. The Germans were crazy all-right - they were using live-ammunition for this course.
Then once it stopped the 'gunner' took cover - as the Germans returned fire. Hitting the targets set up in the second trench. While this happened Captain Brandher yelled next to Sergeant Francoise - loud enough to make one deaf at this close. Although - despite usually having a Captain also be in a trench - he had enough power in his wind-pipes to reach even down to the obstacle course. "BAYONET!"
Soon enough, they fixed bayonets and charged at the second trench. Just as the gunner fled to the third trench. The roar that accompanied the bayonet charge - loud and fierce to even shake fear into a Great War veteran. As the colonials charged - stabbing the dummies, hard enough to draw cotton from their insides. Some colonials even bashed the dummies hard enough to break their leather covering.
Then came the charge to the third trench - which was across a large expanse. While also having the machine gunner. This time around, they used the radio given to them for this mission. Captain Brandher answering like he was actually in a trench in the Great War. As quick commands later - he brandished a grenade launcher and fired into the second and third trench expanse. Namely tear gas to stimulate actual chemical warfare.
It didn't take a lot - before the Germans pulled out their gas-masks and put them on. Despite it being a training and in the scorching heat. As soon Captain Brandher blew his whistle as hard as possible. As the colonials soon charged ahead - straight through the tear gas, wearing masks and into the third trench at a running pace; bayonets fixed.
"Time..." replied Brandher, after his men - took the last trench; having shown the Algerians a mere taste of actual warfare.
The company stood slack-jawed at the display of sheer ferocity and efficiency the Germans demostrated. One tick for German efficiency. They were awed at the display, the cards falling out of Private Hakim's hand. The Sergeant whistled at the time on his stopwatch, the only one who wasn't frozen to a standstill by the display. "Under ten minutes, Captain Brandher. Impressive display." He looked back at his surprised company with an annoyed look, pointing towards the victorious German soldiers. He switched to Arabic, preparing for some classic NCO disciplining
"This is how real soldiers play in battle, you pieces of shit! This is how you play war! This is how you fuck the enemy and their mothers without taking a single casualty! They just made fools of this damn company! You're supposed to be fucking veterans, you just cycled out of shithole that's Garet Djibelet and you've just made the Algerian Army look like a bunch of amatures. How dare you call yourselves soldiers, you undisciplined, pathetic excuses for a company? Shut your mouths and learn or I swear by Allah if you make our company look like fools again, we're going to run back to Oran!" Francoise's face was furious under his sesh and his eyes promised pain. The company stood straighter and clenched their jaws, standing stiff at attention under the intense berating of their sergeant.
The shouting man turned towards Brandher and sighed, cooling down. He switched back to French, nodding his head in apology. "I am sorry, Captain. I had to instill some discipline in them but truly, commendable work by your soldiers. I must applaud their efficiency and prowess in conventional warfare. We are slightly lacking in that regard." He wiped the shaming amount of time his company took to clear the trenches from his mind. He had fought with them in the underground tunnels and the door-to-door of the villages. He had faith in his men and women, they just needed more training in this regard.
The German Captain nodded in reply - and soon recalled his men, so the Algerians could get their first lessons in discipline kicked into them.
Namely it started with likely three things nobody wanted doing - cleaning their uniforms, cleaning their rifles and cleaning their act up.
First was eliminating any of their 'fun-housing' - which Sergeant Francoise had the honor of enforcing and collecting. Any back-talk or hiding and he'd have to punish the entire Company for that.
Secondly, they had to get their dusted uniforms into a more decent shape and also make sure they looked like soldiers and not some desert raiders, that hadn't seen a shower in a week. They enforced strict hygiene and baring some cultural differences - most had to trim their hair into managable size. Even the women, needed to braid and hide it and not let it flow around.
Thirdly - Captain Brandher, had the Company strip all their rifles open and he inspected every rifle and gun. He wasn't satisfied - and had them start cleaning almost immediately.
If the Germans were disliked before - they likely were hated now, as they enforced group punishments. One screwd up then the whole Company suffered. Although, despite that Captain Brandher had his men and himself do all the things with the Algerians. Plus he explained all three reasons to them, as they worked.
As firstly - they needed to keep a certain degree of professionalism and discipline. Fun-housing was all well and good - on their own free-time, but open displays invited rule-breaking and such a thing lowered their discipline and thus their readiness.
Secondly, hygiene was most important. As he keenly explained all the medical reasons for it. Rash, itchiness, sores, uncomfort and namely lice. They did a very dirty job, and unless they kept themselves clean - they'd get sick and reduce morale and effectiveness. As for the uniforms - if they looked like soldiers, then they'd feel like soldiers as well.
Thirdly - as Captain Brandher explained. "Your gun is your life in the Army. Only you may hold it, care for it and watch over it. That ends only when you die or retire. Your responsible for this. Mistreat it, and it will not save you," he explained. As it was the duty of every soldier to care for his gun - thus constant cleaning was required. Especially in the desert, where sand could jam their rifles at a crucial moment.
As for the group punishment - it was an old tactic. Since the basic idea was to be able to work as a cohesent unit - and nothing built team-work better than a common enemy. Or in this case, a German. While the first day was a nightmare, one could say - the Algerian Army, looked a ten-time deal better than before they arrived. Even the Algerians could feel, a bit better - since they didn't look like a bunch of rebels anymore. They looked like actual men and women of an Algerian nation.
Sergeant Francoise grinned under his sesh, looking upon his company with pride. They had been turned from battle-worn, dirty fighters into polished soldiers. It almost brought a tear in his eye, if he wasn't such a strict man. He had lined them up in neat rows. They weren't perfect but looked a whole lot better than last time. He had asked Brandher to keep his men to the side. The sergeant started to walk back and forth in front of his comades, hands clasped behind his back. "Now, you look like soldiers!" He spoke in French, pride evident in his voice. "Now you look like Algerians, actual veterans!"
"However, this is not the end." He allowed the company limited praise and turned back to that serious, almost condescending tone he commonly had. "We are to be trained by these German's for the remainder of this week, shown how to fight in their wars. We are the pussies, the greenies for this week and we need to learn our place. I don't want this grumbling and complaining anymore. Sharpen up! You are in the presence of real soldiers!" Some of them flinched at the harshness in his tone but kept still otherwise.
"We're going to meet their standards and prove that we aren't a bunch of bandits with guns! We're better than those Tradies, aren't we? We better shape up or we'll be as bad as those traitors! Do you want to be a bunch of traitors, 4
th Company?!"
"NO SERGEANT!" Francoise simply nodded at them and strode off, inviting Brandher to take the stage and debrief the company. The Algerians immediately stood a little straighter than before, setting their eyes forward and heels together in attention. The conditioning was already starting to take a hold.
Captain Brandher soon walked up and next to Sergeant Francoise - letting him translate into Arabic for the others. "Algerians....your the worst bunch of soldiers I have ever seen. I have seen fresh Cadets with better discipline. But is a beat better than drunk idiots of morning," he spoke. "There will be changes coming. And as Sergeant Francoise said. Shape up, or be shipped out - your choice either head low or in a wooden casket..."
In the coming days and week to come - the Algerian Army would get a feeling of the training of a true conscript army. Although it meant that Sergeant Francoise needed to take a more firm hand in the dictation of his men.
The usual hygiene, inspections and group punishments were enforced. The Germans were harsh but fair. Mostly mild physical exercises, push-ups in the sand - that in time, would build-up. The Sergeant would know himself - that as this continued, their discipline would grow better. It would mean they'd complain less, be more effective, able to absorb shock better and any rewards they got would be much sweeter.
Hard in training, easier in war - as the saying went. The days to come - it was a shock course, in actual combat. The Germans had the men form-up into squads of their own - while Francoise had to assign certain Corporals to those squads. The understrength company was absent of an officer attachment so the non-commisioned officers had to take up slack. A chain of command needed to be established - as well as, it created a rivalry and effort to out-do the others - thus improving overall quality of them all.
They also learned some actual battle tactics - as the Germans, had them practice flanking. Shown their firing, taught how to operate the radio and read a map. Simple things - but as explained, in war could mean the difference between life and death.
As also they learned basic medical aid, in case one of them was shot or hit by debris. How to identify such wounds and how to triage for the medical personnel back at base camp.
Since the Algerians didn't have much time for a decent training regime - the Germans improved on what they called 'force multipliers' or namely things that would improve lethality no matter what happened.
Several crackshots got training in special squads and trained to be either marksman or actual snipers. The German even provided the best even German rifles with decent scopes and range although some kept to their Kar98s and MAS-36 Variants. Extra training for these unofficial crackshots was useful, especially under ruthless German standards. It offered a mighty challenge for the men and women who called themselves "sharpshooters".
They also focused heavily on getting the mortar and howitzer into some kind of usage. Namely combining it with on the ground information from soldiers. It was a difficulty - since soldiers needed to pass on information to their Sergeant, then the Artillery Unit had to read coordinates and open fire.
It was a headache itself - but Captain Brandher wanted the Algerians to have the basic of artillery support. If they sucked anyway - then Traditionalists could still be blown away with the Artillery.
By the end of it, the Algerians had been shaped up into as best a conventional force as they could in the time span given. There were plans for further training with the Germans later but due to the mobilisation of the 3
rd Army and tensions heating up with the Moroccans, the training camp was to be split. Now, on their last day of German training, the company was lined up within the first trench from a week before. Sergeant Francoise nodded at the Germans who stood on standby while the company gripped their weapons in focus. Brandher nodded back and started the timer.
Rounds pelted the Algerian positions but the soldiers kept calm under fire, loading their MAS-36s & 39s as the bullets kicked up sand and dust into the air. They let the gunner run out of ammunition before Sergeant whistled, the company rising as one to fire. The sharp
cracks of their French 36's resounded through the air while a few people with FM 24/29 suppressed the opposition trench positions. Dummies were downed and the gunner cowed slightly under the onslaught.
Francoise blew hard through his whistle, unsheathing an Algerian M50 Nimcha before shouting "Bayonets! 39ers to the front!" Those with 39s, a CQC sub machine gun, fixed bayonets and charged out of the trench first with a loud warcry. They were often the crazier ones in the company, preferring the close range supremacy of the sub machine fun over normal rifles. They yelled until their throats went dry, crashing into the line with bayonets and close fire. After "eliminating" dummies with an initial charge, they utilised dangerously close but accurate short round bursts to neaby "enemies", used to the danger of such close combat. The 36ers and LMG users followed close to their CQC counterparts, finishing off any enemies left over with bayonet stabs or blunt trauma to the face.
Wiltering gunfire peppered the second trench from the third, soldiers hitting the dirt as it started. The Sergeant knew they couldn't utilise the grenade launcher trick that the Germans used but he had a more primitive, cheaper solution. "Slings on the ready!"
The Algerians knew how to improvise in combat and often copied some tactics used by their enemies to be used against them. They also loved their explosives and each soldier had at least two grenades each, explosive experts could have as much as six. Several of these specialist soldiers took out slings from their pockets and placed impact grenades. They slammed the bottom of the tube shaped grenade to activate them before readying to throw.
"FIRE!" Rounds pelted the third trench as the enemy gunner reloaded, the specialists spinning up their slings before throwing them out into the air. Some of them landed short but many met its mark near or in the trench. They were fragmentary impact grenades, sending shrapnel everywhere in the trench. The gunner hid from the explosions as a hot piece of metal cut across his cheek. It was like a makeshift artillery barrage.
With another whistle, the 39ers charged at a running pace as specialists continued their barrage, overshooting the third trench to prevent any friendly injuries from flying shrapnel. To the observers, it was quite the sight and was confusing to watch. They were using slings, for Christ's sake! It went against everything strict military doctrine had taught them. But as the 39ers entered the trench, guns blazing and bayonets through their enemy's skulls, it at least proved effective this time.
Captain Brandher watched it happen, then with a wide grin - he pulled his usual grenade launcher and fired. Namely tear gas as usual - but to stimulate the worst aspects that the Traditionalists might use. Now it was up to Sergeant Francoise to alert his men to the danger - that was every bit real and a possibility.
The Sergeant had kept back, behind each charge. Although he would love to be with the gloryhounding 39ers, he had a job to do as the acting leader of 4
th Company - to watch out for German bullshit.
And the bullshit did come and Francoise wished he could swear at the Captain right now. "Gas! Masks on you buncha greenies!" The soldiers nearest to him, namely the second wave and some lagging 39ers, floored it to avoid fire before reaching for their masks. The ones clearing the trenches finished their bursts of fire before grabbing for their masks with frantic speed, trying to find cover while doing so. A few struggled to put their masks on but they eventually continued. With fast beating hearts, the tear gas spread across the obstacle course as the rest of the company ran to the final trench. They cleaned up and helped the surrending gunner out of the trench.
As the tear gas dissapated and the soldiers cleaned up, Sergeant Francoise called the all-clear and removed his mask. He called back to the Captain, a little annoyance in his voice. "Time, Captain Brandher?!"
"Ten minutes..." he spoke, although without his usual arrogance or pride. "Not bad. For a week of practice that is very good."
"You might not thing this is equal to our performance, but we're all old veterans. We lack the youth you possess. Your young, eager and full of spunk."
"If given a choice, I would share a trench with you. Better than what you were a week ago," he spoke, and considering the difference between them - that was likely the best 'well-done' that they might get.
"Now. Your final lesson," he spoke, pulling out his Luger, pointed it at their Sergeant and pulled the trigger. Nothing. Although it likely gave everyone a good scare. Private Hakim jumped at the gesture, the gas mask that hung from his neck smacking him in the face.
"War. War is cruel. When you engage in trench warfare, you will see the worst aspects of the human psyche. Like now, your friend, lover or officer might be taken away with a snap," he explained - the most serious he had ever been.
"I may look gruff and arrogant. I was once in the trenches of the Great War. I watched real horror unfold before my eyes. You have likely seen it too. Trench warfare gives you no option of running - simply begging to your God for salvation. Remember this, remember your duty and kill the bastards before they kill you," he spoke - with that notion, he gave the likely surprised Sergeant his side-arm. An old 1914 model - a symbol of times once happened. Then he left them to enjoy their victory, once the shock wore off.
There was somber silence as the Captain left with his men back into the encampment. The Sergeant stared at the old pistol in his hand before looking back at his soldiers. The men and women of 4
th company looked worn and ragged but victory was in their eyes. They burned with a youthful fire and their stances were filled with confidence. Private Hakim shook with barely contained excitement before raising his fist. "We survived Kraut Week!"
Cheers erupted from the company as firearms were raised, some shooting into the air in their euphoria. They hugged and kissed, jumped and cried. They survived their first camp in conventional warfare and they had come out as the first soldiers in the entire Algerian army with trench warfare training. This understrength company, battered and worn from battles past, had become something
special. Francoise smiled at his men and women as they celebrated before looking back at the retreating back of Captain Brandher. The man and his soldiers had tortured his company and taught them a good lesson.
His smile turned into a full grin. It was their turn to teach them a lesson. He returned his gaze towards the celebrating infantry and raised his hand, 1914 in hand before firing into the air with a full clip. The energy stopped suddenly and his subordinates halted almost comically, Hakim was halfway through firing his 39 before he dropped it.
Francoise glared at them. "You should be ashamed of yourselves, acting like this in front of your superior officer." The wiltering gaze was powerful, landing on each man and woman. His face and demeanour instantly changed into pride as he felt the mood dampen. "This celebration is for Oran, not some shithole in the desert! Ready the trucks, and change into your civvies, we're going fun-housing you miserable sobs!"
The crowd cheered and ran to the tents, overtaking the German soldiers with their hurried pace. Francoise lagged behind and jogged up next to Captain Brandher, winking at the man. "Time for some RnR in the city, isn't it Captain?" he suggested before running off to catch up to the rest of his company.
The Captain merely shook his head and continued his slow pace to his own tent. Hoping that this training would save some of them from death and lead them to victory.
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