by Colin Gee
Above them, the surviving tanks of the 1er BCL spotted forces moving up from the southwest.
“Hold your fire.”
The crews of the three tanks, concealed in over watch positions, expected to see the 7e RDM move north from Fuldatal, so saw exactly that.
The men of the 1er BAS expected to see the 7e RDM come up the road to the south from Fuldatal, so saw exactly that.
Except they weren’t the friendly troops of the 7e RDM, but the ATPAU moving down upon the stalled amphibious troops, tank guns silent in an effort to not attract attention and get in close enough for the ZSUs to do bloody work.
The senior man, a weary ex-Obersturmfuhrer from the Frundsberg Division and commander of the last surviving King Tiger, took an extra deep draw on his cigarette and exhaled as he spoke into the command net, informing them of the arrival of the lead elements of the 7th Legion Infantry Regiment.
“Ritter-one-four, out.”
He took another long draw, unaware that his report had triggered consternation in Camerone’s headquarters.
7e RDM’s radio sprung into life, requesting a situation report; the reply added to the confusion at base, as the whole unit was still stalled south of the Osterbach.
“Ritter-one-four, Ritter-one-four, Anton, over.”
“Anton, Ritter-one-four, go ahead, over.”
“Ritter-one-four. All units Rotkopf are stalled at point seven, repeat, all units Rotkopf still at point seven. Confirm identity of units to your front immediately, over.”
Lieutenant Laurenz threw his cigarette away and brought up his field glasses, this time using them to actually scrutinize the force that had appeared out of the trees, rather than just for a cursory examination.
“Scheisse!”
In his anger, he thumbed the throat microphone heavily.
“Anton, Ritter-one-four, force to front is Soviet armour and infantry, engaging, over.”
He switched channels immediately.
“Achtung! All units Ritter, enemy to front. Engage immediately, out.”
His ears were filled with the acknowledgements of the other tank commanders and the shouts of his own crew, as the gunner and loader made their reports, and the driver revved the Maybach engine, making sure he was ready for any movement order.
The amphibious unit suddenly had more to worry about than the desultory fire coming from the woods to their front.
Voices were raised in alarm as some soldiers identified the oncoming vehicles as enemy, or, more accurately, as not of the Legion.
Kon, sensing his discovery, ordered all vehicles to open fire, selecting a large amphibious vehicle as his first target.
The 130mm shell demolished the LVT, leaving precious little to mark its existence, and nothing in the slightest bit recognisable of the men who had been aboard it.
The other IS-IV managed to miss, the shell streaking through the target-rich area and ploughing into the ground a few hundred metres beyond.
Either side, the ZSUs commenced sending streams of heavy calibre bullets into the throng, cutting men and vehicles to pieces with the volume of fire, each DShKM mounting capable of flinging over three thousand rounds per minute at its enemies.
The noise was tremendous, but still not enough to mask the passage of high-velocity shells overhead.
Incredibly, the Legion tigers all missed with their first shots, the armour-piercing rounds serving only to announce the presence of unsuspected enemies on the western heights.
Kon, conscious of a lack of heavy opposition to his front, ordered the two IS-IVs to swing left, leaving the ZSUs to finish up the massacre of the amphibious unit.
To add to their problems, T34s slid out of the trees into firing positions, adding weight of shell to the streams of heavy machine gun bullets.
Kon could still see nothing on the heights and knew the enemy would get another shot in before he could use the advantage offered by his 130mm.
‘There!’
The muzzle flash gave him a point to concentrate on, and his sight revealed enough for him to fire at.
“Gunner, target tank, gun left eight degrees, range six-five-oh.”
The turret whirred briefly.
“No target.”
“The hedge, comrade, look at the hedge.”
The ‘hedge’ spat another shell downrange, and the white blob quickly grew large in both commander’s and gunner’s sights.
The clang was tremendous, but the shell failed to penetrate and, for the observers, flew spectacularly skywards, disappearing from view.
“Identified… firing…”
The vehicle almost staggered, losing forward momentum, as the huge 130mm flew back in its mount.
The shell missed.
Kon examined the lie of the land.
“Driver, move left… to that heap…”
The IS-IV slipped in behind the pile of something unmentionable, clearly the by-product of a thousand livestock.
The breech on the huge gun clanged shut.
Another shell struck the turret front and, again, deflected off without causing noticeable harm.
“Identified… firing…”
The 130mm tank version of the Soviet naval gun had been refined, with deeper rifling, an improved breech, an auto loading mechanism, and superior optics, making it potentially, the best gun on the modern battlefield.
Its weakness was in its ammunition, which failed to measure up to the potential offered by the huge gun.
None the less, the armour-piercing shell punched through the frontal plate of the Tiger I, exploding inside the tank, level with the right ear of the driver.
The Tiger came apart spectacularly, as the internal explosion set off other forces, ripping open the fifty-six ton tank like it was a balsa wood model.
The Soviet tankers celebrated their victory, halting only when another shell hammered into their frontal plate, causing many of the internal lights to fail.
‘Time to move.’
“Driver, move out left… head for the road… then full speed into the trees.”
Kon saw a way to get round the flank of the enemy, moving back towards the ZSUs he had left to cover his rear.
Laurenz completed his radio report and returned to fighting his tank.
“Leave that one, target, tank, left two degrees, range six hundred.”
“On.”
“Fire.”
The 88mm struck the IS-IV on the front plate, but the tank was expertly angled, giving the heavy tank the maximum protection, and another shell disappeared into the ether with no lasting effect.
To Laurenz’s left, the surviving Tiger I scored a direct hit on the nearest ZSU.
The IS-based ZSU-12-6 stopped dead, its engine wrecked by the passage of the tank shell, and was immediately abandoned by its crew, who sought cover from the vengeful Frenchmen of 1er BAS.
In an instant, the other ZSU realised its predicament, and dodged back behind a line of small trees.
The desperate manoeuvre did not save it, as the Tiger hit the gun mount with an armour-piercing round, smashing metal and flesh, and creating a mist of deadly metal fragments that claimed more lives.
The severely damaged ZSU made off, jinking to avoid further hits.
It escaped, aided by the fact that more Soviet armour was presenting itself on the east bank of the Fulda River.
Laurenz heard the squawk box alert him to the presence of someone outside the tank, and lifted the handset, leaving his gunner to fight the tank.
It was the deputy commander of the 4e RACE.
“Laurenz, we’re set up and ready to engage. Just making sure you aren’t going to move forward if we start sending our wasps down the hill.”
Nothing could have been further from his mind at that time, so Laurenz was able to reassure the Lieutenant.
The single Pak40 attached to the RACE lashed out at the assembling T34s, without success, and attracted a volley of shots that, while they missed, unnerved the crew for some time to come.
Laurenz’s mind idly debated what he was seeing, as well as the problem of the ‘whatever the big bastard was to his front’, and the other one that had skipped off to his right.
Ending his exchange with the anti-tank officer, Laurenz decided he had to do something about the missing tank, and switched to the local net.
“Ritter-two-one, Ritter-two-one, Ritter-one-four, over.”
The terse acknowledgement was accompanied by the sound of the other Tiger’s 88mm firing, and the howls from the successful crew.
To his front, the damaged ZSU was hit again, and this time started to burn.
“Ritter-one-four, Ritter-two-one receiving, over.”
He quickly checked and could see no sign of the missing Soviet tank.
“Ritter-two-one, that other bastard disappeared off to the right and into the woods. Take your tank and knock him out. Keep him out of point five at all costs… and don’t let him get behind us, over.”
“Roger, Ritter-one-four, Ritter-two-one, out.”
Laurenz stuck his head out and watched the old Tiger I back out of its position, angling away behind a stand of trees.
The roar of a passing heavy shell brought him back to reality, and he resumed command of his tank, only to be struck momentarily dumb by the sight in front of him.
‘What the…’
The T34s were moving forward in columns, four lines moving up to the east bank of the Fulda… and across the water…
Laurenz had heard of them before, but this was the first time he had seen them first hand.
He yelled at his gunner.
“Target tank, left four, range seven hundred, hit them in the water… hit them in the water!”
He switched to divisional net and made his report.
“Anton, Anton, Ritter-one-four priority one. Enemy tanks crossing the river at…” he checked the map and reeled off the reference quickly, returning his eyes to the spectacle of medium tanks driving over water.
“At least four, I repeat, four underwater bridges in place. Enemy forming for a counter-attack. Need urgent orders and reinforcements, Ritter-one-four, over.”
Nineteen T34s of 510th Separate Tank Regiment swept up to and over the river, descended quickly upon the savaged remnants of the amphibious unit, and sent men and machines to hell in a deluge of metal.
Behind them, a dozen IS-IIs of the 771st Heavy Tank Regiment, early models reclaimed from the Polish Army, moved out into the open, intent on following the T34s across the river.
One smoking tank sat, seemingly floating on the surface of the Fulda, where the King Tiger’s gunner had picked him off, the crewmen similarly appearing to run on water, as they escaped the inevitable second killing shot.
Laurenz went for the radio again.
“Anton, Ant…”
The world went red… orange… white… there was even a purple of sorts.
His mind failed to comprehend the situation as it struggled to complete the important task, not realising that a 130mm armour piercing had taken the lives of two of his crew, scattering their body parts and sharp metal throughout the interior.
Laurenz continued to speak into the microphone as the hatch beside him sprung open and his loader, decorated with the detritus of the hull gunner and driver, garnished with urine and faeces where the huge impact had loosened the man’s bodily control.
The loader rolled into the rear compartment, squealing with shock and terror, adding to the surreal feelings in Laurenz’s mind.
He continued to report the appearance of the Soviet heavy tanks, without comprehending that no-one could hear him, and that parts of the radio set were now embedded in his stomach.
The gunner, resembling something medieval and malevolent, emerged next, his cheek laid open by something sharp, exposing the ivory bone of his jaw.
He shouted as best he could, but his words fell on ears controlled by a distant mind.
He kicked the loader.
“Give me a hand for god’s sake!”
The action of his mouth caused blood to pulse from the open wound and triggered severe pain.
The loader looked vacant and the gunner knew he was on his own… and he also knew he had little time.
Wiping the tears from his eyes, he placed his arms around the exposed upper body of his commander and pulled.
Laurenz came up and out much more easily than he had anticipated, probably because the tank commander was much lighter.
His left leg was missing its foot, and his right leg was gone from just above the knee, with both thighs smashed and bloody.
Even as he was dragged across the rear deck, Laurenz continued to send his full report over a radio net that only existed in his shocked mind, until blood loss claimed his conscious thoughts and he departed to a darker place.
Meanwhile, his killer moved closer.
On the ridge, whilst Laurenz and his tank were both still intact, the 4e RACE engaged.
The X-7 Rotkäppchen was an ugly beast, but troop trials in the latter stages of the previous conflict had shown that, in skilled hands, it could take out anything on the battlefield.
Provided the operator was on the top of his game.
The Legionnaire, once Oberscharfuhrer Peters of SS-Kampfgruppe Dora-III, and considered a master of his craft, waited as the mobile launcher was moved forward, clearing the undergrowth in which the unit had concealed itself.
From the moment the rocket left its cradle, Peters would have roughly seven seconds to make the corrections to the wire-guided missile’s flight and bring it into contact with his chosen target; the lead IS-II.
Accelerating quickly, the X-7 Rotkäppchen’s speed rose to over one hundred yards a second.
Peters realised he had missed his initial target so, calmly, made the smallest of corrections, sending a signal down the guiding wires.
The tail fins acknowledged, altering the course sufficiently to hit the third heavy tank in line.
The small rocket packed a powerful punch, and the penetrative ability of the hollow-charge warhead exceeded the thickness of the IS-II’s armour by some considerable amount.
One other X-7 struck home from the first volley, two more going off elsewhere, seemingly with minds of their own.
No sooner had the rocket left its cradle, than the support crew grabbed the wooden frame and set a new X-7 in place, attaching more cabling, and finally pushing the whole assembly back into place.
By the time the well-drilled crew had completed the task, nearly a minute had passed, during which time the Soviet armour swept closer.
A single T34 came apart spectacularly, as the 75mm Pak penetrated the medium tank’s hull armour, setting off ammunition in its passage through the compartment.
Some of the surviving amphibious troops caused distraction, but, in the main, the ridge ahead became the focus of the Soviet drive.
The concept had been to lure the Allied force into overcommitting at Hann Münden, trying to cramp the advance with stiff resistance.
It might have succeeded, but for the astonishing successes in the defence of Wilhelmshausen, and the unforeseen attempt to cross the river directly in front of the underwater bridges and the secreted Soviet tanks and infantry, east of the Fulda River.
The Red Army tankers pressed home their attack, intent on driving up the ridge and severing Route 3233.
Preparing to send his fourth rocket down the hill, Peters suddenly jumped as something moved at the very edge of his peripheral vision.
The IS-IV had slipped out of sight once Laurenz’s tank had been silenced, and had also slipped from the consciousness of the rocket operators, each assuming another had destroyed the threat.
The threat in question manifested itself once more, having crept up a tree-lined track that ran parallel to Route 40.
Shouting at the others, Peters waved his hands, sending signals about the new target.
The two crewmen leapt forward and reposition
ed the rocket so it was pointing roughly at the huge enemy tank.
The flight was brief.
It was also unsuccessful.
The trailing control wire snagged on a low bush and parted, pulling the X-7 sufficiently to the left to ensure a miss, the smoky trail serving only to mark out where the shot had come from.
Attempting to recover the trolley, the two crewmen were both wounded by a burst of machine-gun fire, which also rendered the mount unusable.
Both men rolled away as best they could, fully expecting the follow-up shell that swiftly arrived and turned the wheeled wooden mount into splinters no bigger than matches.
Neither of them had managed to roll away far enough from the monster shell, and both received more wounds in the process.
Peters dropped back into cover, hoping the hedge would save his life. Despite the hopelessness of the task, he took a firm hold of his Walther pistol and waited to see what the IS-IV did.
What it did was surprise him by staying put.
The act was forced upon the leviathan as a Legion AP shell struck the front idler and separated the track in a spectacular display of sparks and flying pieces of metal.
Peters looked around him as best he could, and saw evidence of friendly armour on the field of battle, albeit the nearest of which was a smoking Panzer IV chassis, whose unrecognisable upper works lay behind it, where the impact of a 122mm shell had deposited it, by weight of shell alone.
The sound of tank cannon rolled over the battlefield, as Legion armour arrived to blunt the Soviet advance.
Uhlmann had dispatched part of his own 1er CDA back to come into the northern flank of the thrust, and sent seven AFVs from the 1st Bataillon Anti-chars Lourde to protect the direct route to the important road.
It was the first major combat for the new SPATs, and great hopes rested on the three Schwarzjagdpanthers, the upgunned production version of the Jagdpanther, kitted out with the lethal 128mm gun and increased armour protection.
It differed from the Einhorn because it possessed the new drive train, whereas the Einhorn used the older Maybach engine and had no transmission revisions. The Einhorn’s engine was placed under greater stress, with the additional weight of the heavier gun and applique armour, potentially increasing reliability issues and reducing speed. However, the payoff of survivability and greater killing power had tantalised the Legion, and the handful of Einhorns were considered to be amongst its most potent weapons.