Mantovian Gebirsjaegern

"Scheiss!" The spanner flew out of his hands and clanged against an oil can as Oscar bellowed and stuck his skinned knuckles in his mouth to suck on the coppery taste of the blood with notes of rust and oil from the tractor he'd been working on. He went over to the sink and turned the creaky tap to wash the wound. He'd have to go to the house and get it seen too properly. The tractor he was working on was a prewar model, made in Czechoslovakia, and parts were a bastard to get. He hoped that his farmer customers would be able to get new American tractors through some of the USAID programs established to rebuild the economy and keep the Communists away.

He listened to the radio as he winced and lathered the wound. The classical music program was interrupted with a commercial. "Konrad's Meats are having a big sale today on veal schnitzel. Hurry down today!"

"Scheiss." Oscar whispered to the shop. "Today" the commercial had said. Today. Heinrich's tractor would have to wait. He locked the shop door behind him and hustled across the courtyard to the house. Greta was in the kitchen looking worried. She'd heard. "Is it that bad Schatzi?"

"Ja, apparently so. I must hurry."

Within half an hour he had changed into his camouflage fatigues and was at the door with rifle and heavy pack. Greta kissed him fervently "Take care of yourself and come home to me verstehen?" She pushed a wax paper packet into his hands, It was still warm. "Here are some wurst and some strudel. There is enough to share with the boys."

Oscar kissed his wife, hoping he would see her again. "You think of everything liebling."

Greta fought back tears. "Well, someone has too!" She blew her nose. "Go now!"

Oscar walked up the cobbled street to the central market place. Others from the local Gebirsjaeger platoon joined him and soon they were gathered in the market. Old men and women watched them, with nervous eyes. They hoped it was just an exercise but the news on the radio had been getting bad. "Ja, everyone here?"

"Hermann isn't." 

"He's working nights."

"No one pound on his door as they went past? Gott im himmel." Oscar pointed at the youngest member of the unit. "Peter, you go. Schnell!"

As they waited for the stragglers to join them a big lorry pulled up. A leutnant, feldwebel and a few other troops similarly dressed in the camouflage uniform of the Gebirsjaegern jumped down. Oscar marched up and saluted. "All present sir!"

The leutnant returned the salute. "Excellent, gefreiter. Let's get the truck unloaded and get on our way." The truck had extra rations, ammunition, batteries for the radio sets. These were all quickly divided among their large mountaineering packs. When everything was ready the small detachment of local reservists and professional specialists set off along the road out of the small alpine town. A few kilometers out, where some trails led into the forests and up the mountainsides, and away from prying eyes, the leutnant gathered the entire platoon around a map. "Four teams. Each with a radio. We're to cover these peaks and watch for enemy movements along these valleys. Observe, report everything, and don't engage unless the Tartars try and get us. But if we stay covered, they shouldn't even know we're there. Verstehen?"

They all nodded understanding. This was it. This was what they'd trained for. All those weeks every summer and weekends through all seasons and all weather, hiking up and down the mountains, learning them intimately, setting up covered blinds, making radio reports, camping in the cold and wet. Peter spoke up. "You think this is really it, sir? Not just a false alarm?"

"Ja, it doesn't sound good. The Tartars are massing their tanks too close to the frontier." The leutnant folded the map and put it in a pocket in his trousers. "All right, let's go."

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I thought that the Mantovian army should have mountain troops. Controlling the peaks in mountain terrain is essential and I imagined that they might consist of mixed reservists and cadres of professionals who would be prepositioned in anticipation of hostilities. Like modern Special Forces, stealth, observation, targeting and intelligence gathering is most of their job. Although they're all excellent shots too and might be used to raid enemy high value targets when opportunities arise.

I started looking at alpine camouflage and found Swiss alpenflage.

Mantovian Gebirsjaegern set up their observation hide on a mountainside

Trying on a Swiss helmet one of my cadets had

Does this camouflage make me look fat?

Trying to paint that in 15mm without going mad was a challenge, but a good use for a number 2 brush that had splayed bristles. I started with a base of tan, then blodged on splotches of Vallejo German grey, TTCombat Briefcase Leather Red, and Vallejo Game Color Goblin Green. Ammo pouches and webbing were painted in Vallejo khaki.

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They emerged from the trees onto the yard of the schnitzlehaus. It was a popular weekend destination for day hikers  in the area. A fine lunch with a good view was a nice reward for trekking halfway up a mountain.

"Alright, we'll take a breather here" Oscar declared. The path beyond the small chalet got worse on the way to their designated hide.

Josep, the proprietor, who lived onsite with his wife Maria, came out wiping his hands on an apron. "Oscar. You boys aren't just here for lunch are you?"

Oscar shook his head. "Sorry Josep. Looks like the real deal this time."

The tavern keeper shouted in the door. "Maria! Bring six coffees and leberkase!" 

Soon his wife and a girl from the village came out with a tray carrying mugs of coffee and rolls filled with hot meatloaf slices and onions. "Danke Josep."

"Nicht var, Oscar. Wouldn't want it to go to waste. I think business will be slow for a while."

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Tartarian Combat Reconnaissance Patrol in heavy terrain

Of course the Tartarians should get some elites too, so their Combat Reconnaissance troops and Specialinas (Special Action Group commandos) get Soviet 1944 pattern camouflage uniforms.

I did a base of Americana craft Antique green and then splotches of tan. Equipment is in the German grey I used on the motor rifles.

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Shadows were lengthening in the valley below them as they reached their hide. They picked a spot well back in the trees, with good drainage. They dug as deep as they could and then built sangars from stones and covered everything with branches and their rain ponchos. Outlying positions at the edge of the trees where selected from which they could see all the way to the Tartarian Frontier. The radio operator set up his heavy set and made a report. Oscar made sure that their food and batteries were especially well protected from the wet, which was a frequent visitor in the mountains. The machine gun was set up to cover the most likely route of approach. A small stove was started to boil some water for tea and Oscar handed around Greta's sausages.

They hunkered down in the heather and pine trees, munching sausage and watched a rain storm move along the valley towards them, and waited.