"Franzerl Pt. 10"
Moss (1944), Franzerl des Panzerl
Part 10
20.4.1929
As we turned south the atmosphere was different. While obviously there had been a war going on, and during combat everyone was as professional as you could expect from a volunteer militia, the mood had been lighter. They were liberating their home and they were winning. There had been humours and lewd marching songs, joking around, good natured ribbing. As we marched south from Bozen that mood was gone.
While they still didn't march in the Stechschritt as some of the German volunteers, they moved with a purpose now. Looking back it was easy to see where everything changed. Before they were farmers and hunters, locals just fighting with what they had. Afterwards they became one of the legends of this conflict, tales of their marksmanship radiating back and forth trough history. Before the Austro-Italian war nobody thought that Tyrolean had shot Admiral Nelson, afterwards it suddenly turned into fact.
The Italian troops that had been south of Bozen were driven in front of quickly advancing Gebirgsjäger, and the various other formations were mostly following after them. We passed Salurn with little notice, aside from a quick comment about the traditional language border. Soon after we arrived outside of Trient. Some people were worried about the fortresses that surrounded the city, even if others with more local knowledge claimed that they were little use against an enemy coming from the north. Then the artillery opened up. Especially the heavy guns that had arrived with the tanks. An older Stahlhelm quickly stated that it reminded him of Verdun, and I'm still uncertain if he was joking.
It took nearly two hours of bombardment before we moved into the city. The are around the railway station had been flattered and while the old town behind it still stood, quite a bit of damage had been done there too. The defensive line that had been built at the entrance to the city was simply gone. The garrison troop had taken heavy casualties and were in little shape to resist. All around people were digging into the rubble, but those pulled out were dead more often than not. The division that had been on a fighting retreat all day hadn't stopped there, but continued to retreat.
When we were taking a break in front of the surprisingly intact cathedral I then heard a familiar sound and turned around. There he was, red eagle and all, Franzerl, though with a couple of additional scratches. Johann rode along on it, but quickly dismounted as he saw me. Johann was far more cheerful than the Schützen I had been traveling with. He then started to regal us about the story about how Franzerl had managed to take out the Fortress at Franzensfeste all on his own, trapping the Italian troops that had escaped Bozen south of Brixen and then quickly taking most of them prisoner.
Their icon turning up again seemed to lift the mood some, Michael and Ignaz behind us started mourning several old buildings, but especially a Gasthaus where they once got black out drunk. But while the mood had gotten better, there was still a bitter melancholy under it all.
Soon after we turned south again. In the evening we camped out in a small village just north of Rovereto. Here in Welsch-Tyrol people were noticeable more hostile than further north. While a handful of man had still joined up with the Schützen, insults had been more common. While there had been offers to stay in some of the houses, I still had the image of that Blackshirt in Thuins in front of my eyes, and the woman who threw him out the window. So I organised a place in one of the armies tents and settled down for the night, the rumbling of engines in the background, as they brought up munitions and supplies for the troops.
Part 10
20.4.1929
As we turned south the atmosphere was different. While obviously there had been a war going on, and during combat everyone was as professional as you could expect from a volunteer militia, the mood had been lighter. They were liberating their home and they were winning. There had been humours and lewd marching songs, joking around, good natured ribbing. As we marched south from Bozen that mood was gone.
While they still didn't march in the Stechschritt as some of the German volunteers, they moved with a purpose now. Looking back it was easy to see where everything changed. Before they were farmers and hunters, locals just fighting with what they had. Afterwards they became one of the legends of this conflict, tales of their marksmanship radiating back and forth trough history. Before the Austro-Italian war nobody thought that Tyrolean had shot Admiral Nelson, afterwards it suddenly turned into fact.
The Italian troops that had been south of Bozen were driven in front of quickly advancing Gebirgsjäger, and the various other formations were mostly following after them. We passed Salurn with little notice, aside from a quick comment about the traditional language border. Soon after we arrived outside of Trient. Some people were worried about the fortresses that surrounded the city, even if others with more local knowledge claimed that they were little use against an enemy coming from the north. Then the artillery opened up. Especially the heavy guns that had arrived with the tanks. An older Stahlhelm quickly stated that it reminded him of Verdun, and I'm still uncertain if he was joking.
It took nearly two hours of bombardment before we moved into the city. The are around the railway station had been flattered and while the old town behind it still stood, quite a bit of damage had been done there too. The defensive line that had been built at the entrance to the city was simply gone. The garrison troop had taken heavy casualties and were in little shape to resist. All around people were digging into the rubble, but those pulled out were dead more often than not. The division that had been on a fighting retreat all day hadn't stopped there, but continued to retreat.
When we were taking a break in front of the surprisingly intact cathedral I then heard a familiar sound and turned around. There he was, red eagle and all, Franzerl, though with a couple of additional scratches. Johann rode along on it, but quickly dismounted as he saw me. Johann was far more cheerful than the Schützen I had been traveling with. He then started to regal us about the story about how Franzerl had managed to take out the Fortress at Franzensfeste all on his own, trapping the Italian troops that had escaped Bozen south of Brixen and then quickly taking most of them prisoner.
Their icon turning up again seemed to lift the mood some, Michael and Ignaz behind us started mourning several old buildings, but especially a Gasthaus where they once got black out drunk. But while the mood had gotten better, there was still a bitter melancholy under it all.
Soon after we turned south again. In the evening we camped out in a small village just north of Rovereto. Here in Welsch-Tyrol people were noticeable more hostile than further north. While a handful of man had still joined up with the Schützen, insults had been more common. While there had been offers to stay in some of the houses, I still had the image of that Blackshirt in Thuins in front of my eyes, and the woman who threw him out the window. So I organised a place in one of the armies tents and settled down for the night, the rumbling of engines in the background, as they brought up munitions and supplies for the troops.
Moss is a bit more aware of the march of history in this that he should be... Eh, don't have the time to edit this more. The next bit of Franzerl would be a natural stopping point for this, but it will take quite a bit more editing. We'll see if I manage to get something together for tomorrow.
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