Breakthrough (The Red Gambit Series)

by Gee, Colin

  The infantry of the 5th RdM had reached Rostov-Four, a small hamlet lying near the Stockachgraben stream, where Knocke could see a vicious fire fight taking place at close-quarters.

  A report from Uhlmann broke through his concentration, the tank officer reporting a successful breach in the lines at Dagersheim.

  Also, the voice of Lange made itself known, encouraging his men forward.

  “Anton to Gelbkopf-zero-one over.”

  The reply was distorted and Knocke tried again.

  This time Lange’s reply was loud and clear.

  ‘Strange.’

  “Anton to Gelbkopf-zero-one. What is your status over?”

  Again, the response was crystal clear.

  “Gelbkopf-zero-one to Anton. Have experienced communications problems. Now sorted. Am in command, over.”

  Knocke toyed with the possibilities and gave him the benefit of the doubt.

  “Anton to Gelbkopf-zero-one. You have command. I am behind you with Anton and Emil. Ende.”

  ‘Some explaining to do later.’

  Knocke’s thoughts overrode the reply from Lange.

  To his front, the ISU’s were coming off much worse, two more of their number dying before his eyes in return for a JagdPanther damaged.

  The Nashorne was methodically working the line, its lethal gun requiring only a single hit to claim a kill.

  The legionnaires of ‘Alma’ had taken Rostov-Four and reported its fall over the radio scheme, closely followed by Rostov-Three, as they moved to join forces with Uhlmann’s troopers in Dagersheim.

  Von Arnesen’s lead units were held up within the hedgehog, and he reported that he was going forward to ‘encourage’ his men.

  Knocke half considered warning his old comrade to take care but reconsidered. Such advice was wholly unnecessary in the circumstances.

  He turned back to watch ‘Rostov’, his concerns soothed by the now regular radio transmissions from Lange.

  0927 hrs, Thursday 30th August 1945, The Hedgehog Position, designated ‘Leningrad’, Dagersheim, Germany.

  Considering that the Soviets had been occupying the positions for only a short time, they had done a fine job of making them difficult for any attacker.

  Von Arnesen, his thigh aching from the exertion, had moved forward through the trenches, and discovered an increasing number of dead and wounded from his legionnaires. These casualties came in groups throught the defences, groups that marked the location of each pocket of resistance, as the Soviets gave ground reluctantly.

  Ahead of him, a grenade exchange was taking place. One of his French officers, a Legion Captain, was organising an assault, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his left hand was shredded and useless.

  He left the man to it, solely ordering the officer to accept the ministrations of the waiting medic.

  Moving off down an adjoining trench, Von Arnesen’s point man was nearly bowled over by a soldier bursting from a small gully, laden with bags of grenades, intent on supplying his comrades with the means to hold the Allies at bay.

  Fortunately, the Corporal leading the party recognised him for what he was, and dropped the Russian with a controlled burst from his ST44.

  The heavy bags of Soviet grenades were taken up, to be used against their former owners.

  The sound of tank guns firing rose to a crescendo, as did the radio messages from the Tank companies, who were having their own problems in Dagersheim.

  Von Arnesen’s party moved forward again.

  The trench fed into an anti-tank gun position, containing what used to be an anti-tank gun, and probably what used to be its crew, although it was extremely difficult to tell, as the bits were spread around like some mad butcher had thrown tidbits to his hounds.

  Here a small aid station had been set up, and six badly wounded legionnaires were receiving attention from orderlies, the wounds testing their medical knowledge.

  Swift questioning of the orderlies revealed the correct route to follow, and von Arnesen’s party set off down the central trench. After a few minutes, they approached a growing fire fight and arrived as the Russian infantry were launching a counter-attack.

  Unfortunately for the Soviet soldiers, their attempt to attack both through the trenches and over the top proved unsuccessful, Von Arnesen’s group flaying the exposed guardsmen as they prepared to grenade the German legionnaires below them.

  Von Arnesen risked a swift look over the edge to orient himself and dropped back down again as fire from an enemy machine gun whipped up the earth nearby.

  Summoning the legionnaire officer to him, he hastily drew a plan in the damp earth floor, using a large wooden splinter.

  “Lieutenant Durand, here is the gap,” the original plan made a gap in the woods to the rear of the hedgehog a focal point.

  “Here is the log bunker,” he made a hole with the stick and drew the road in behind it, running from left to right.

  “Here we are,” a very deliberate thrust of the stick generated a suitable marker.

  “Take your platoon around to the right and get behind the bunker to this point,” he emphasised the location with another, deeper hole, “Take anyone who retreats from the bunker and prevent its reinforcement, but do not cross the road. Move now, but stay in that position until we come up to you.”

  Lieutenant Durand, once of the Vichy 6th REI, captured in Syria in 1941, understood his orders and sped away to get his men together.

  Von Arnesen turned to his own group, and the stragglers who had joined it, briefing them in their part in the push, namely the trench assault on the bunker.

  A quick radio conversation informed Knocke of his intent, and a second ordered two more companies of legionnaires into the hedgehog defensive system.

  The group of twenty men moved off into the left-hand trench as the last of Durand’s men disappeared down the larger right-hand trench.

  Elsewhere in the hedgehog, submachine guns were at work, assisted by grenades. The more grisly and close work made little identifiable noise.

  At the front of Von Arnesen’s group there was a sudden commotion, and he could see men scattering.

  An explosion and cries of pain followed, the point man having been wounded by a Soviet grenade.

  The bleeding man was dragged backwards and young legionnaire took his place, dropping his Kar98k and picking up the wounded corporal’s ST44 and spare magazines.

  Checking behind him, the legionnaire took a quick look over the parapet. Satisfied he dropped down again and then stole a look round the corner. He shouted a warning but stood his ground, pausing to catch the thrown grenade before returning it down the trench.

  A solid crump followed, followed by more screams. The legionnaire ran forwards, the assault rifle spitting bullets in short bursts.

  Support quickly followed, and another section of trench was wrenched from Soviet hands.

  Three Soviet guardsmen lay wounded on the ground, obstructing the way forward with their damaged bodies.

  Two legionnaires dragged them backwards swiftly, immune to the extra screams from the most wounded one, his entrails catching on an ammunition box as he was moved.

  Ex-Hauptscharfuhrer Höffman cocked his Colt pistol and dispatched each in turn, killing with a single shot to the forehead, his eyes cold and clinical.

  “Schiesse untermensch.”

  The Colt was replaced and he thought no more about it.

  Time was against them, so Von Arnesen pushed them on again.

  0932 hrs, Thursday 30th August 1945, approaching Soviet position designated ‘Minsk’, Dagersheim, Germany.

  At ‘Minsk’, it was mayhem.

  More T-70’s had declared themselves, harrying the infantry, whilst trying not to expose themselves to the Panthers and Panzer IV’s of Uhlmann’s command.

  The battle with the ISU’s had distracted him momentarily, but he saw the fight going in the Allies favour and returned to his own more immediate issues.

  It was easy to see what was happen
ing, house to house fighting going on in front of his eyes.

  He pushed the Panzer IV platoons closer up, with orders to support the infantry using high-explosives and machine-guns, retaining his Panther units on the flanks to increase their killing zones.

  The Panzer IV’s were shelling furiously, some directed by infantrymen, NCO’s and officers sheltering behind their turrets, pointing out a tough pocket here, a suspected position there.

  Dagersheim seemed to be slowly melting before his eyes, the edge of the town crumbling under the assault.

  To avoid artillery, Uhlmann moved his command group once more, favouring the southern side again.

  His gunner spotted an ISU and sought permission to engage, but the SP gun was knocked out by another tank before he could fire.

  Uhlmann spared another look at the ‘Alma’ units and saw them closing, much as his own infantry force, closer combat taking place in the woods and outskirts of Boblingen.

  Numerous ISU’s were knocked out within his field of vision, yet more marked only by a pall of smoke from somewhere in the distance.

  He grunted with satisfaction as he dwelt on one of his Bergepanther’s, rushing up to a disabled JagdPanther, the self-propelled guns’ heavy track unravelled after a direct hit.

  His ears became aware of the distinctive crack of a Panther’s 75mm, and then the reports from his 2nd Company commander positioned on the North side, reporting a sally by Soviet tanks.

  Between the Hedgehog and Dagersheim, the ground had been shorn of trees by the artillery of both sides, both from this conflict and the last. Uhlmann’s Panthers used the field of fire to its fullest extent.

  A second report quickly followed.

  “Dora-zero-one to Berta over.”

  Uhlmann faced north, watching his Panthers urgently redeploying.

  “Berta receiving. Go ahead.”

  “Dora-zero-one, we have numerous IS heavy tanks to our front, supported by...”

  The transmission cut short, coinciding with the appearance of an immense fireball topped by a slowly-rolling tank turret, tons of metal thrown skywards by the force of the explosion.

  Uhlmann could imagine Schneider’s baby face as the turret tumbled back to earth.

  “Berta to Dora-one-one, report.”

  The first platoon’s second in line responded professionally.

  “Dora-one-one to Berta, zero-one is destroyed. Heavy and medium tanks in brigade strength to our front, range two thousand metres. Dora is engaging, over.”

  “Berta acknowledged. I will order Friedrich to support. Take care. Ende.”

  Braun, call sign Dora-one-one, now the commander of first platoon, switched quickly to his own net, more to encourage his troopers than to issue orders, his eyes glued to the command sight.

  Fig #49 - Relief of Stuttgart - Soviet attack

  “Target, heavy tank at 12 o’clock.”

  “On.” The gunner had anticipated Braun’s selection and was tracking the leviathan’s progress.

  “Feuer!”

  The 75mm spat its high-velocity shell as the IS-II fired back.

  The moving IS had little chance of success, and its shell passed the 75mm and disappeared beyond the target.

  The Panther’s shell struck the front armour and ricocheted skywards in a shower of sparks.

  Braun could comfortably expect to fire off three shells to every one from the IS-II.

  Their second shell totally missed the Soviet vehicle, much to the surprise of commander and gunner, although not so much as a grunt passed between them.

  The loader rammed home a third shell and the gunner sent it on its way, striking the enemy tank on the join between turret and hull, jamming the turret in place but not penetrating.

  Another 75mm struck the IS, fired from a different angle, the solid shot penetrating between the front idler and the hull.

  Hatches flew open, and the tank crew fled in all directions.

  Braun ordered another target as the other Panther finished the tank off.

  The T-70’s were buzzing around like flies but had no place in the tank engagement, their guns and armour insignificant in the confrontation between main battle tanks.

  It was almost as if the Soviet commander had left them on the battlefield to distract the legion gunners, and to soak up shells that could have taken out the battle tanks.

  If so, the tactic was successful.

  Many of them were destroyed.

  The T34’s understood that their best chance of survival lay with closing, and they split into two wedges, flanking the heavy tanks and driving hard for the legion tank line.

  The eight surviving Panther’s followed standard doctrine, working from the edge inwards, but in this instance the doctrine was flawed.

  The T34’s were closing fast.

  Braun hit the transmit.

  “One-One calling. First platoon concentrate on the left hand group of T34’s, second platoon on the heavies.”

  Braun’s gunner traversed and selected the nearest T34.

  “T34 target. On.”

  Braun gave the order and the tank jumped.

  Satisfied that his target was destroyed, the gunner moved on.

  With half an eye to his own tank and the other half on the larger battle, Braun noticed the IS’s stopping.

  ‘Verdamnt normal!’

  He counted twelve IS-II’s intact upon the field, and each one put a 122mm shell in the air.

  An express train went past his turret, the whoosh discernable, a sound well-remembered from battles on the Eastern Front.

  Another passed on the other side.

  All in all, ten shells sailed past. Two hit.

  The two shells arrived simultaneously, striking the hull front of a second platoon tank as it moved locations.

  Braun knew better than to expect survivors.

  Another two IS-II’s succumbed to direct fire, joining four more T34’s added to the total since Braun had claimed his last kill.

  However, the tide of tanks was still flowing closer, and Braun was tempted to relocate backwards.

  However, such a withdrawal would leave the forces at the Hedgehog dangerously exposed, and open up the rear of Dagersheim.

  A Panther tank from another unit dropped into a position just forward and to his right, the markings clearly that of his regimental commander and future brother-in-law.

  Uhlmann also saw the T34’s as the greater threat and joined with First platoon in engaging them. His gunner was a fresh-faced young corporal, once of the Hitler Jugend Division. It was accepted that he was an uncanny marksman, without equal in ‘Camerone’, an ability he ably demonstrated by firing three quick shots, each of which hit home, stopping his two targets and sending the crews to a fiery death.

  The HJ gunner was already the proud holder of the Iron Cross First and Second class, and Braun suspected he would receive more jewellery in the days ahead.

  Another shell from his own tank struck a T34 on the gun barrel, bending it dramatically, rendering it useless.

  However, the Soviet gunner fired in his panic and the shell detonated in the barrel.

  The crew abandoned but did not make friendly cover as an MG42 lashed out from the hedgehog area.

  A Panther took a hit on its turret side with spectacular results. The 122mm shell bounced away, ploughing into a small farmhouse and bringing down the gable end.

  The welding on the Panther’s turret had conceded to the kinetic shock and come apart, opening the side of the turret to sunlight. Not that it bothered the gunner or loader, as both were killed by the shockwave.

  The commander, his face bashed and bloody when his head was dashed against the cupola, groggily ordered a withdrawal and the damaged second platoon tank pulled back, pursued by fire from the rapidly closing T34’s.

  Braun took the opportunity of a side shot on a manoeuvring T34 and wrecked its engine, leaving it side on and unable to move. The crew decided to evacuate, escaping before second shell destroyed the vehicle.


  Uhlmann had organised an air strike, and three USAAF Thunderbolts swept the battlefield, sending twenty-four rockets into the stationary IS-II’s, two more being instantly transformed into expensive scrap metal.

  Soviet artillery was falling more heavily around the tank line, and Uhlmann ordered an immediate adjustment of one hundred and fifty metres backwards, tanks leapfrogging to rear positions.

  The company’s most venerable Panther tank, an Ausf D captured in Normandy, broke down as it left cover, suddenly attracting the attention of both IS-II’s and T34’s.

  No shots struck the lame duck.

  But an immobile vehicle is no place to be on a battlefield so the crew abandoned their smoking tank, a small fire having started in the engine compartment. It burned lazily for the rest of the battle.

  On the edge nearest the hedgehog, the T34’s were up to two hundred metres, although over half had been knocked out as they charged forward.

  An 85mm pinged off the Panther’s gun mantlet, a white-hot trail rising straight up into the sky; a second clipped the top of the turret, the metal glowing a dull red momentarily.

  2nd Platoon’s northernmost tank was forced to rotate its turret, determined to stop its flank being turned, but in so doing exposed the side to a solid shot.

  To the inexperienced eye, there was little more than a hole the size of a tea cup, precisely central on the side plate. Those that had experienced the horrors of tank warfare understood that the solid shot had transformed the turret into a charnel house of pieces that even a mother wouldn’t recognise.

  The gap needed to be filled and Braun reacted immediately, moving his tank to cover, halting, and turning one of the T34’s into a metallic bonfire with a single shot.

  Selecting a hollow position behind a modest bush, he kept his silhouette to a minimum and worked the flanking force, picking off another tank.

  ‘Are the bastards breeding?’

  It seemed no sooner did one tank get knocked out than another two took its place, which in fact was probably a fair description, as the Soviet Brigade commander frantically fed more of his forces into the fray.