by Gee, Colin
Rosenberg had been propelled towards the front of the vehicle when it struck the tree trunk, his face smashing into the flat edge of Randolph’s machine-gun cupola, removing teeth and crushing bone. His unconscious body had started to suffer burns, until he was pulled clear by Goulding.
Stabilised quickly, he was loaded into the same vehicle as his friend, and both left the field, heading for the comparative safety of the new American lines.
Fox Company had ceased to exist.
0958 hrs, 15th August 1945, Veersebrück, Germany.
The 49th Guards Rifle Regiment slipped through the positions held by the exhausted and bloodied soldiers of the 360th Rifle Division, and headed south to Rotenburg.
A force from 2nd Guards Tank Corps had displaced the defenders of Scheeßel, and the 11th Guards Army Commander, Nikitovich, wanted Rotenburg quickly, in order to trap whatever units the enemy had to the east. A southern approach would be made by forces of the newly-arrived second wave formation, the 4th Tank Army. Its 22nd Tank Corps was sending a force northwards to pinch out Rotenburg, closing the jaws on the enemy troops to the east.
Time was of the essence, and the Corps Commander ordered the 49th to Rotenburg by the most direct route.
It was not without risk, especially as it placed the Soviet troops on the same side of the Wümme River as their quarry. Normally a modest waterway, the recent rains had swollen the Wümme to twice the size, and defensive work on the banks, both from the previous conflict and more recent additions, had created an obstacle of note.
At Scheeßel, the newly promoted Major Deniken, now commander of the much depleted 49th Regiment, sought out the 4th Guards Tanks’ commander, and requested support from the man. Despite having ground to a halt with fuel supply issues, the Tank Colonel understood the situation perfectly and made arrangements for fuel to be siphoned from a number of vehicles, providing a back up force of ten T/34’s and two SPAA vehicles for Deniken’s advance.
The concussion he had received at Heilingenthal was almost past, but his arm wound still ached, and the healing process was constantly disrupted by his inability to rest.
Taking leave of the Tank officer, he brought together his command group and organised the move, so that he would be ready the moment the tanks were provisioned.
Kriks saluted and stepped to one side as the infantry Major left the room, watching the man depart before he entered the HQ and offered his commander a German canteen without announcing its contents.
Yarishlov sniffed cautiously and was greeted with the sweet smell of peach schnapps. He took a small sip before handing it back to his senior NCO.
Lighting up two cigarettes, the Starshina gestured in the direction of the departing Major.
“That man looks like he knows his business, Comrade Polkovnik.”
Taking the cigarette, Yarishlov could only agree.
“He has the look for sure, and he wears the Gold Star, so he has seen his combat time, and done well it seems. We just discussed his mission, and I am going to give him a helping hand.”
Yarishlov extended his hand to illustrate the point, which Kriks also interpreted as an opportunity to press the canteen into his Colonel’s palm again.
With a shake of his head, the offer was refused.
“A clear head is needed. Maybe later, if you manage to leave any, Comrade.”
In mock subservience, Kriks crashed to attention.
“It shall be as the Comrade Polkovnik directs, Comrade Polkovnik.”
“Hmmm,” was all Yarishlov could muster by way of reply, as he was concentrating on the map in his hand.
Outside, there was a hive of activity, as officers moved to obey the order and directed the siphoning of fuel from vehicles, but only after ensuring the non-runners were well hidden and properly positioned in the event of an enemy counter-attack.
Kriks stubbed out his cigarette on the window sill as he took in the scene.
“Comrade Polkovnik. I notice your tank is being fuelled. Are you planning to go on this outing too?”
Folding the paper carefully, and sliding it into his map case, Yarishlov considered his reply carefully.
“Starshina Kriks. I have been entrusted with a brand new vehicle and have yet to use it. The Corps commander might accuse me of avoiding the action if I don’t give him a report soon. And that could mean you end up with a new Polkovnik, who might be less tolerant of your little ways!”
The senior NCO smiled broadly.
“Then I will go and hurry matters along, in order to save you from such accusations, Comrade Polkovnik”, and punctuated his departure with a final swig from his liberated flask, “Your health, and long may you remain our understanding commander.”
The Soviet force set off south, preceded by Deniken’s depleted reconnaissance unit, and flanked by special platoons thrown together for the purpose. Immediately behind came the mixed force of armour, flak and mortars that could immediately swing into the support of the forward infantry units.
The recon troopers disappeared from view quite quickly, absorbed by the woods into which they drove at high speed.
3rd Battalion, under the trustworthy Grabin, was oriented to the east of the main road, accepting slower progress south in exchange for increased protection to the flank of the main force. A battalion in name only, 3rd comprised no more than one hundred and sixty fit soldiers, taken from all parts of the regiment.
Fig #37 - Veeresebruck dispositions.
1st Battalion had been butchered during the attack on Westergellersen and its survivors were moved into the 2nd Battalion, which had fared better during its own assault on neighbouring Südergellersen and now provided the main force of the 49th Guards Rifle Regiment.
Deniken’s HQ group consisted of a handful of staff officers, an automatic weapons laden headquarters infantry company, and the relatively unblooded mortar platoon, all other elements having been destroyed, or their remnants absorbed into 3rd Battalion.
From what Deniken could gather, his division would not be called upon further once this mission was out of the way, and a time of recuperation and reinforcement would follow. Not before time, as 36th Guards Rifle Corps had suffered horrendous casualties since the start of hostilities.
The sudden crack of a high-velocity weapon reached their ears over the drone of vehicle engines, telling Deniken that the dying was not yet over. Deeper explosions and the rattling of automatic fire followed.
Lead elements of the 2nd Battalion had reached the main body of the woods and immediately deployed from their vehicles, securing the edge, and ensuring the units behind could safely advance.
Deniken’s arrival with the 2nd coincided with the erratic return of one of his remaining BA-64 armoured cars.
The Lieutenant commanding the recon troop pointed out that his radio had been destroyed, lifting a bloodied arm as best he could to indicate the entry hole of solid shot in the hull front. He dropped to one knee and spread out the map he was holding, rapidly relating what had happened to the lead unit.
Deniken overhead it all as he strode up, the wounded officer’s voice loud, accentuated with pain and the excitement of battle.
The upshot of it was that the other armoured car had run over a mine and that the infantry had gone to ground either side of the road, receiving casualties from enemy machine-guns as they deployed.
The surviving BA-64 had manoeuvred quickly, but an anti-tank gun had made a hit, destroying their radio and wounding the driver, who was being retrieved from his vehicle even as the young officer passed on his information.
Not wishing to interrupt, Deniken stood back and let the Captain from 2nd glean all he could.
Consulting his own map, he listened in, making his own notes on likely anti-tank positions and machine-gun nests.
Without doubt, the enemy were sat astride the bridge in some strength, and had no intention of moving.
Walking away to his own command group, the growing racket of an armoured vehicle distracted him and he looked
up to see the Tank Colonel approaching.
The tank, he wasn’t sure exactly what type it was, halted and the officer dropped swiftly to the ground, followed by a submachine gun toting NCO who adopted the position of bodyguard.
Exchanging casual salutes, Deniken briefed Yarishlov in on the latest developments.
A moment’s silence passed as each looked at the alternatives.
“The rail bridge, Comrade Polkovnik?”
Yarishlov could only agree with a nod.
“Get your other infantry element mounted up on my tanks and I will rush it. I take it you will do a set-piece holding action against the bridge here, Mayor?”
“Yes, I think so, Comrade Polkovnik. I will get my men in position as quickly as possible, get some mortar rounds on them, and pin them in place. Command have been very specific about the time we are to have secured Rotenburg by”, and with more than a hint of sarcasm, “Although less specific about the enemy sat in our way.”
With a disarming smile, Yarishlov ventured his opinion.
“That is why we frontline soldiers take our precautions, is it not?”
It was Deniken’s turn to nod.
Returning to his map, Yarishlov considered matters further.
“I suggest you start immediately, Comrade Mayor, as will I, once your men are aboard my tanks. When I am at the bridge, the rest of your men can push up and secure it. I will leave some support for them, say two tanks, but I will turn quickly and cut into this lot from the flank.”
The Major followed the plan on his own map. It was simple but effective.
“If needed, make sure your mortars can put down some smoke to mask my approach clear? On your own initiative, or if I request it.”
“Yes Comrade Polkovnik. My mortars have four smoke rounds each.”
Yarishlov cocked an eyebrow at the infantry Major, impressed that the man had such knowledge at his fingertips.
Deniken almost blushed under the complementary scrutiny.
“What can I say, Comrade Polkovnik, counting mortar shells is my only vice.”
Kriks, taking a sip from his canteen, spluttered, caught unawares by the man’s humour.
Yarishlov and Deniken exchanged grins before swiftly moving back to business.
“Radios and codes. This one we will call Ivan,” he indicated first the road bridge before sliding his finger to the railway bridge, “And this one Boris. Your radio sign is?”
“Narot. Narot-three-one, Comrade Polkovnik.”
“Sable for me. Sable-seven-one.”
“My radio is misbehaving, so I suggest back-up signals, Comrade Polkovnik. I have a lot of green flares at the moment, so shall we say two greens if the circumstances are right and I decide to press the position to move them off the bridge before you get there.”
“Excellent, so if I need your smoke I will launch two blue as a back-up to the radio. Let my force take the initial strain here, so don’t risk your men unnecessarily. My tanks….” Yarishlov ground to a halt in mid sentence, “Apologies Comrade, I know a good officer when I see one. Right, let us to the business of the day, Comrade Mayor. I will ensure 22nd Tanks know your flare signals and call-signs.”
Salutes were exchanged and both officers went their separate ways as the clouds started to grow dark and drop their heavy loads on the battlefield.
The defenders were a hastily cobbled together force of Canadians from the 1st Canadian Infantry Division. A savaged company of the Loyal Edmonton Regiment of the 2nd Infantry Brigade, until recently assigned to the extreme left flank to join up to the Carleton & Yorks of the 3rd Brigade, sat astride the road bridge. They were complemented by two 6pdr anti-tank guns that they had managed to drag back with them.
Fig #38- Veeresbruck assault.
At the rail bridge was a scratch force of men from the 1st and 4th Field Companies, engineers who were tasked with ripping down the structure with their expertise alone, explosives being a medium of distant memory.
Supporting the two defensive points were five Shermans of the French-Canadian 12th [Three Rivers] Armoured Regiment, vehicles that all showed the scars of recent combat.
Each bridge had one tank close-in, the three vehicle section dwelling in between, ready to respond to wherever the crisis was worst.
Deniken’s mortars started to bring down their barrage on the Canadian positions, accompanied by machine-gun and rifle fire. A 6-pdr anti-tank gun spat shells back and wiped out a Maxim crew, just before two mortars shells dropped from the sky, wrecking both gun and crew.
Visibility dropped dramatically as the weak sun disappeared and the murky day became a rainstorm of monumental ferocity.
Deniken pushed his lead elements closer to the Veerse River so that they could continue to bring down fire on the defenders who, for their part, were just as decisive in defence. After a while, the two forces had closed up to within one hundred metres, with the swelling river in between, and still not close enough to truly see what each was firing at. Casualties still occurred on both sides, as speculative shots found warm flesh, more against the Soviet infantry by dint of their larger numbers.
Yarishlov’s group, skirting the woods and advancing slowly, suddenly found the going getting very heavy.
‘Too slow, too damn slow!’
The experienced tank colonel reacted instinctively, switching his force to the railway line, accepting the disadvantages of a column formation and off-setting them for the advantages of getting closer quicker. The violent downpour helped the Soviet force deploy undetected, even at the relatively modest distance of three hundred metres, the sound of the rain successfully obscuring the noise of approaching armoured vehicles, at least until it was too late.
Engineers labouring in heavy rain dropped to the ground as the leading tank’s hull machine gun found targets.
Even then, some of the troops clustered around the rail bridge did not fully understand the nature of the sounds that were reaching their ears.
The Sherman tank crew, woken from their slumber by a soaked and agitated gunner, got their tank ready for action, as their commander tried to understand what he was hearing and seeing.
Grey shapes in the rain materialised into enemy tanks, and he quickly called range and angle bearings for his extremely unhappy gunner before alerting the central tank troop by radio.
Taking his angst out on the enemy, the dripping Lance-Corporal Blanc made sure his first round hit the target, stripping away the front hull hatch that had been opened to permit the now-dead tank driver to see where he was going.
The T34 slewed quickly and stopped, sending its infantry riders flying, and leaving the offside completely exposed to the second round. Wheels and pieces of track flew off as the armour-piercing shot wrecked the rear drive sprocket and severed the track.
Other T34’s sought out the Sherman and the commander decided to move off before the gunner could get a third and decisive hit.
Dropping back and right to the secondary position he had spotted only that morning, hasty shots flew into the former hiding place, marking the quality of his decision.
If anything, the rain had intensified, and the damaged Soviet tank could only just be observed from their second position. The young sergeant received a timely reminder that observation is a two-way thing when the T34 got off a well-aimed shot, the glowing metal striking the side a glancing blow before flying off into the field beyond.
His own tank halted in its new firing position and he gave the order to fire.
The delay was such that he repeated his order and looked across to his gunner.
“Just getting it right, Maurice. Watch this and give me a medal.”
The 75mm gun spat out its shell and it tracked in through the driver’s broken hatch and exploded within the tank.
“Viens m'enculer, Guillame!”
Sergeant Revel leant across and slapped his gunner on the shoulder.
Lance-Corporal Blanc wanted to bask in the moment but couldn’t, as other indistinct shapes clarif
ied into Soviet tanks that pushed past the dead T34.
“Merde!”
There was nothing the Canadian tankers could do to stop the massacre of the engineer troops on the bridge, except to try and kill as many T34’s as possible.
Blanc took a deep breath and engaged the latest target, muttering as his round sailed closely past its turret.
A deafening clang took away the Canadian crew’s senses, as an 85mm shot clipped the turret side.
Shaking his head, Revel tried to focus but couldn’t, as much a product of the shells effect on his ears and brain as the damage it had wrought on his commanders optics. Blanc retained sufficient sensibility to successfully engage the leading tank, which halted immediately, the surviving two crew members debussing straight into small arms fire from the surviving vengeful engineers.
Another loud clang indicated a Russian hit, this time clipping the front of the tank on the edge above the hull gunner position. The shock caused him to partially evacuate his bowels, but he stuck to his job, although petrified, bursts of .30cal seeking out the Russian soldiers hopping from position to position.
The rain intensified but grew patchy, sometimes hiding the Soviets completely, other times offering up enough of a view for a 75mm shell to follow.
The Sherman relocated for a third time, the new position almost hugging the western edge of the rail track.
A second T34 was hit and knocked out, a small fire apparent as the crew bailed out, all surviving the reduced small arms fire from the beaten engineers.
Revel regained his senses and noted the damage to his optics. Opening his hatch, he stuck his head out and brought his field glasses up to his eyes.
“Take the one by the carrier, Guillame! Left turret a few degrees!”
The turret traversed a small distance and locked on the target tank.