Breakthrough (The Red Gambit Series)

by Gee, Colin

  The tracks rode over the rails, bouncing the tank, as the driver located the spot he had been directed to.

  The gunner rotated his gun to try and keep it pointing in the direction of the enemy tank. Another shell was already waiting in the weapon.

  Sergeant Grybowski did not like what he saw through his periscope.

  “Shit! There are three of the bastards!”

  The gunner, Lance-Corporal Nowicki, had eyes solely for the one in his sight.

  “On target!”

  Grybowski gave the order as his periscope filled with light.

  The 17 pounder shell grazed the gun mantlet of the Soviet tank, distorting the end of the co-axial machine gun before rocketing skywards without penetrating.

  The armour-piercing shell from the IS-III’s 122mm gun struck on the base of the Sherman’s turret, instantly tossing the huge lump of steel and its human contents upwards and backwards. The two hull crew members, shocked, stunned, disoriented, looked back into unaccustomed daylight, albeit slightly blurry with smoke, and marred by fresh red stains, and a pair of trousers still containing the lower half of Lance-Corporal Nowicki.

  Captain Evanin had split his small force, sending the group commanded by Stelmakh north, whilst pushing his own group of four tanks into the woods at Fischerhof, and it was Stelmakh who had destroyed the Firefly with his first shot.

  The other two tanks fired at the accompanying Shermans, achieving one first time hit that transformed the notorious ‘Ronson’ into a fireball, from which the crew were lucky to escape.

  The other Sherman dove to the right, spotting a track in the woods heading south.

  Two minutes later, it ran headlong into one of Evanin’s group, and died.

  Back on the assault route, ‘B’ Squadron tried hard to press home the attack, and accompanying infantry debussed into the woods, charging forward to threaten a flanking movement on the monster Soviet tanks.

  Evanin may have been relatively new to combat himself but he was nothing if not efficient, and Stelmakh’s group profited from the close support of a full platoon of sub-machine gunners and a section of engineers.

  Casualties amongst the Polish infantry were modest but enough to halt their efforts to get around the IS-III’s.

  Understanding the problem’s, Stelmakh ordered his unit to move forward slowly, not wishing to find himself under artillery fire, orders which he passed on by hand signal to the accompanying infantry. The tremors in his hand went unnoticed.

  A number of small and extremely bitter combats broke out in the woods as the Poles were slowly rolled backwards.

  More Shermans were transformed into scrap metal for no loss, the enormous armour protection of the IS-III’s being impervious to anything the 75mm and 76mm guns could throw. The 17 pounders might have had a chance but, for reasons known only to the commander of ‘C’ Squadron, the remaining Fireflies were at the back of the advance. In truth, he had preserved his main gun tanks, as he expected solely infantry and anti-tank guns in defence, and had been supported in his view by reconnaissance photos taken that morning, photos that had singularly failed to spot any of the tanks of 47th Mechanised or 6th Guards Tank.

  There was nothing the IS’s could not kill, and their heavy guns fired repeatedly, claiming hit after hit.

  Stelmakh’s tank, ‘Krasny Suka’, was leading the advance, and therefore was the most vulnerable and vulnerable.

  Spotting enemy infantry close by on the left, Stelmakh ordered his gunner to traverse the turret and spray the woods.

  The weapon immediately malfunctioned as the first two bullets jammed hard in the distorted barrel.

  Vladimir squealed in fear as an enemy shell struck below his hatch, the shaped charge PIAT round failing to explode, skipping off to drop beside the heavy tank.

  Driven by self-preservation, he hauled himself up through the hatch and swivelled the heavy 12.7mm DShK machine-gun mount.

  A second PIAT round whistled past him and he sent a stream of heavy calibre bullets into the group of Polish anti-tank soldiers, killing and wounding all six men.

  A number of bullets pinged off the turret armour as both riflemen and machine-gunners attempted to cut down the foolish Soviet tank crewman.

  He ducked back down inside the relative safety of the IS-III, his neck wet with blood from a metal splinter hit and his trousers again damp with the product of his bladder.

  Fear ate at his insides as he tried to remember his training, a fear he overcame, pressing his eyes to the periscope again.

  Regaining his composure, he once more started to direct the crew of ‘Krasny Suka’ in the fine art of killing.

  Evanin’s IS-III’s had engaged the lead elements of the reconnaissance unit from their hidden position in the edge of the wood at Fischerhof.

  Yet again, the Allied tanks were no match for the leviathan’s, and the Cromwell’s of the 10th Mounted Rifles were knocked out in quick order, the last two survivors falling back between Postmoor and Schragenberg, leaving the infantry component clinging to Habecksfeld.

  Captain Evanin pulled his unit back five hundred metres and set about resupplying main rounds to his greedy tanks.

  The IS-III carried only twenty-eight main gun rounds, which in modern combat was a distinct disadvantage and one the 6th had practised long and hard to overcome by constant exercises with their supply element in close support.

  Elements of the supply company also awaited an opportunity to restock the other group, but the intensity of the fighting prevented then getting close in safety.

  Whilst the heavy tank unit had remained unscathed, that could not be said of 47th’s tank units, numerous oily columns of smoke marking the position of dead T34’s.

  The main group of IS-III’s moved back once the swift restocking had been completed, and immediately ran into problems.

  Artillery started to arrive on Evanin’s position and he kicked himself for returning to a previously registered position, regret that turned to anguish when one IS-III was struck by a heavy artillery shell, transforming the tank into silent wreckage from which no-one emerged. The remaining three tanks swung south-west and skirted the edge of Nottensdorf, looking to deal death and destruction to the Poles struggling around Bliedersdorf.

  Five Shturmoviks appeared, survivors from a full regiment tasked with supporting the intended Soviet attack.

  Selecting the most advanced group of allied tanks and infantry, the vee of aircraft swiftly attacked and dropped their PTAB cluster munitions over the southern prong of the Polish attack with devastating effect, killing tanks and halftracks as well as men.

  High explosive transformed a few acres of Northern Germany into a place of death, and flames and smoke gave credence to the thought that the very gates of hell had been opened.

  The 1st Armoured Regiment retained four Crusader AA tanks in its order of battle, and these were disposed in a line between Bliesdorfer and Postmoor.

  The Soviet ground attack aircraft chose to turn hard starboard, intending to reverse course and return at low level, following the Elbe, which course took them right over the waiting twin 20mm Oerlikon’s of the AA Platoon.

  One Shturmovik staggered as two AA tanks successfully found their target, the heavy 20mm cannon shells destroying the port wing, knocking off the aileron and wing tip, before they progressed further, chewing lumps from the fuselage on their way to damaging the tail plane and removing the rudder.

  Uncontrollable, the Ilyushin aircraft rapidly lost height and crashed into a Polish anti-gun position halfway between Horneburg and Neuenkirchen.

  A second Shturmovik was badly hit, rapidly falling behind its comrades. The struggling aircraft eventually fell victim to a roving RAF Mustang fighter.

  Fire from the three IS-III’s under Evanin’s command was sufficient to break the nerve of a few of the Polish soldiers, whose panic became infectious, and soon the whole southern prong was retreating back into Bliedersdorf and, in quite a few cases, well beyond.

  The centra
l force, now aware that their comrades had been badly beaten, halted, and then started to give ground, moving back to occupy and defend Habecksfeld.

  1522 hrs Monday 20th August 1945, Horneburg, Germany

  Major Pugach enjoyed the sight of the withdrawing Allied forces, but lacked the strength to push forward and make use of the advantage gained in the repulsing of both the southern and central assaults. To the north, the sounds of heavy fighting now became overpowering, particularly the boom of the big tank guns, and he ordered a further company of his infantry up to support the 6th Regiment’s tanks.

  His opposite number, Lieutenant-Colonel Krol, was incensed that the Polish attack had ground to a halt.

  Quickly consulting the map, he summoned up a possibility that had been discussed earlier that morning, and swiftly set his men to the new task.

  Pulling back two troops from ‘A’ Squadron, a Firefly-heavy troop from the stalled ‘B’ Squadron, and adding in his own HQ tank troop as well as a troop of Stuart light tanks, Krol ordered a rapid movement to the north, hooking round through Neuenkirchen and then eastwards towards Jork, the plan being to secure the latter before driving south and into the unprotected rear of Nottensdorf.

  Infantry support came from the carrier platoon, as yet unblooded, and ‘A’ Company’s 3 and 4 Platoon’s, also unscathed.

  Perlman, the Fallschirmjager Major, who had recovered sufficiently from his ordeal at the Hamburg Rathaus, was unsure what to think. The Poles had started badly but now seemed to be reacting well to the crisis, still planning to attack.

  He waited for a break in Krol’s orders, or as he started to think, when the Pole actually decided to take a breath.

  He seized his moment as the harassed Polish officer lit up a cigarette.

  “Oberstleutnant Krol, may I offering my mobile platoon for some measure?”

  Krol’s knee-jerk reaction was to decline, but the professional in him decided he could not refuse thirty well-armed experienced men, experienced soldiers who also carried a number of the excellent panzerfausts in their vehicles, two SDKFZ 251 Ausf C half-tracks and one of the later model Ausf D’s. The additional firepower of the vehicle mounted MG42’s would also be welcome.

  Again he consulted the map, drawing the German forward.

  “Get all of your men up to Guderhandviertal immediately, not just the mobile platoon, and be prepared to act as my reserve force, Perlmann.”

  “As you order, Sir. I will forward Hauptmann Schuster’s mobile platoon immediate and following with the rest of mine men in the lorries.” His nod to the Hauptfeldwebel was sufficient to set the man moving to the task.

  1541 hrs Monday 20th August 1945, Dorfstrasse [Horneburg – Jork Road], Germany

  The HQ light tank troop had pressed forward swiftly, performing a standard leap-frogging advance up Route 140.

  The route was less than ideal. The coastal plain was normally boggy, without the recent rains. The additional water ensured that nothing but a man on foot could move far from the roads.

  ‘Almost like there isn’t a war on’, thought the Sergeant in charge of the lead vehicle, right up to the time that a relic of the previous war exploded, the Stuart swinging off the road, its broken right track flopping uselessly out both behind and in front of the immobilised light tank.

  The column of recon vehicles moved slowly past the stricken tank, continuing the leapfrogging style, an occasional cat-call or laugh aimed at the hapless crew as they dismounted to effect repairs.

  Bazyli Czernin, an experienced NCO, dropped to the ground at the back of the tank, his feet positioned neatly on the soil disrupted by the intact track.

  “Watch out, idiot!” he shouted as Kondrat, the clumsy new boy, landed heavily and nearly knocked the sergeant over. Kondrat and the other one weren’t bad soldiers. They were just new to the game and had much to learn.

  “Careful boys, if the bloody cleaners missed one, they could have missed more.”

  He stepped carefully around his vehicle, examining each blade of grass and stone as he went, satisfying himself that there was no further danger from mines.

  Mazur, experienced driver, excellent soldier, and quite the most ugly man ever to inflict his visage upon the planet, had dismounted at the front, stepping onto the sanctuary of a fallen tree trunk. From there, he surveyed the ground at the front of the Stuart.

  The other new boy, Rakowski, fed up with waiting on the glacis plate, gingerly stepped across onto the wooden refuge and slipped, his hand shooting out to steady himself.

  Both he and Mazur went tumbling, falling either side of the trunk.

  Czernin heard the crack and scream as Rakowski’s leg, held firm by a rigid branch, snapped at calf level. The bone ripped through flesh, exiting into daylight. Blood spouted, but the screaming stopped abruptly, as the young trooper smashed his head face first into the ground.

  On the other side, Mazur landed heavily, winded, but unblooded.

  Czernin called for the First Aid kit and saw Kondrat climb up into the tank in response.

  Aronowitz, the tank’s experienced gunner moved quickly to assist Mazur.

  Click.

  Even with the noise of the passing vehicles, the small sound was recognised for what it was by the experienced men, and Czernin locked eyes with Mazur for the briefest of moments, a microcosm in time during which both men read fear in the other.

  The German S-Mine was one of the most effective anti-personnel mines ever invented and this one, a 1945 version, had been put in the ground a few weeks before the German capitulation.

  The initial charge fired the mine upwards where another ,more deadly charge, delayed for a few seconds, exploded and sent the contents of the mine in all directions. This mine did not contain the standard steel balls, as it was one of the last produced. The desperate Germans had filled it with old rusty nails, screws and waste metal shards.

  The mine exploded at precisely three foot above the ground. Aronowitz was shredded by unforgiving metal, his lower and central portions instantly transformed into a bloody mulch.

  Mazur received dozens of fragments, none of which killed him outright, although the totality of the damage gave him less than two minutes to live before his system drained of blood.

  New boy Kondrat was struck in the right shoulder as he emerged from the turret and immediately dropped inside, screaming as blood from a major vessel pumped over the interior of the tank.

  Rakowski’s open fracture, exposed to the mine, was flayed by metal, severing the leg at the site of the wound and causing more damage all the way to the knee and beyond.

  Only Czernin was unscathed, his quick reactions allowing him to use the tank as cover.

  Raising his head, he saw his senior crew members were beyond help, and that young Rakowski was mercifully still unconscious. Pulling off the boy’s belt, he fashioned a tourniquet to staunch the flow of blood.

  The screaming in the tank had dropped to a low animal moan and he saw Kondrat hauling himself out of the vehicle, the covering of fresh blood making him seem almost demonic.

  The fortuitous appearance of one of the infantry’s ambulances saved him moving, and he gesticulated at the orderlies, sending them to the tank first.

  Reaching around and under his wounded comrade, Czernin staggered to his feet, surprised that the explosion seemed to have robbed him of his balance.

  He took a moment to steady himself and draw a deep breath before picking up Rakowski, surprisingly lighter than he expected until his mind factored in the missing part.

  Clutching the badly wounded boy to him, the veteran Sergeant carried him towards the waiting ambulance.

  Click.

  1610 hrs Monday 20th August 1945, An der Chaussee [Heitmanshausen – Jork Road], Germany.

  Leaving behind his two running mates, Acting Senior Lieutenant Stelmakh acted on a hunch.

  The enemy forces to his front had withdrawn to holding positions and hunkered down, not even engaging his small force.

  Artillery s
tarted to fall and he reoriented his unit to avoid further loss.

  He could only guess that a flanking movement was in progress. Communicating with Kapitan Evanin, he received permission to investigate, as well as the welcome news that his commander would send one of his own tanks back to help.

  Ordering a squad of the accompanying infantry to board ‘Krasny Suka’, he moved back down Cuxhavener Straße into Heitmanshausen and turned northwards to cover the road from Jork.

  As he found a suitable position, Stelmakh was surprised to find one of the 3rd/47th Mechanised’s 76mm anti-tank guns arrive, complete with a T34, and a full platoon and headquarters group from the 3rd Battalion, 66th Engineers.

  The Kapitan in charge sought the tank commander out.

  “Greetings, Comrade Mladshy Leytenant,” Stelmakh’s temporary rank not apparent to the engineer, “Onipchenko...”

  His brief introduction was cut short by a coughing fit, during which the Engineer Captain extracted his map and spread it on the turret roof.

  Stelmakh’s quizzical look drew a response.

  “September 43, Germanski bullet in the lung, Comrade, liberation of Bryansk.”

  The younger man could only nod in acknowledgement as Onipchenko looked down at the map, orienting himself quickly.

  “Command structure is shot, Comrade. Enemy aircraft have hurt us badly. General Skorniakov is wounded and out of the fight. Colonels Polunin and Rumyantsev are dead. It falls to my Brigade commander to sort this mess so,” he found what he was looking for, “Colonel Khozin has decided that we will envelop the enemy force.”

  The engineer swiftly indicated two lines of advance drawn in red on his map.

  “This axis is aimed firstly at Bargestadt and Harsefeld, part of that force will then head northwards.”

  Using both hands, he described a classic pincer movement.

  “Our force will move up to Jork and then push hard towards Stade.”