He spotted a T95 Leatherjacket not far from their position, well behind the most forward American units. Its role was to tackle any tougher obstacles left behind by the faster moving heavies. The T95 fired a round from its extra-long barrel, into a bunker complex one hundred yards to its front. It exploded on the outside of the eight-foot thick concrete of the bunker, sending a cloud of gray powder and smoke into the air. From inside the bunker, an anti-tank gun returned fire. Cooper saw its shell strike the tank square-on. There was no explosion as the armor-piercing shell impacted the tank’s 11 inches of frontal armor, which was too thick for the AT round to penetrate.
The Leatherjacket kept rolling as though it had just received no more than a slap in the face. At ninety yards, the Reds switched to HE and fired again. Same result, but this time there was some flame and smoke from the explosion.
At eighty yards, the T95 fired. Its 155mm High-explosive Squash-head, or HESH round slammed straight into the edge of the firing slit. Cooper had heard about the new HESH shells, and knew the effect they would be having inside the fortification. The plastic explosive in the shell’s nose flattened on impact. When it detonated, the shock-wave resonated through the solid concrete, and resulted in a deadly shower of fragments, or spall, blasting the anti-tank gunners within.
Infantry supporting the Leatherjacket finished the job. A satchel charge was thrown through the opening, which exploded with a jet of flame venting from the recently widened firing slit. Multiple detonations followed as the ammunition inside went up.
Position reduced.
The Chaffees shut down their engines at their halt point as the battle slowly progressed. The crews got out for a stretch, but Cooper and his radioman stayed on post so they wouldn’t miss the expected message from HQ for them to proceed. The commander leant his torso out over the flat top of the turret, focusing his glasses intently on one of the lines of advance.
Hurry up and wait …
Combat Command B was forcing a gap in the Red lines a mile to the north, and about a mile to the west of Combat Command A, which appeared to be getting bogged down in a dense system of minefields and trenches.
He could see where one of CCA’s tanks had been destroyed after its tracks had been blown off by a mine, making it an easy target for the enemy anti-tank guns. Combat engineers had then moved in and cleared a path so that the tanks behind could continue on. More difficult to make out at that range was the close-quarter combat raging around the rows of trenches. US infantry would occupy a trench, then have to fight savagely around every corner against the desperate Russians, trying to hold the last line of defense before the war entered their homeland.
Just before midday, Cooper got a radio message to advance. CCB had made its way through to the Kuźnica road. Cooper waved his troop forward. The four light tanks now had orders to reach the head of CCB on the left flank of the Division’s advance. On the map, this would be the top of the left prong of the horseshoe. Once they reached the road, they were to spread out and find the enemy.
As they rolled, a flight of fighter bombers roared low overhead, called in to hit the Russians retreating ahead of CCB.
Go get ’em boys, thought Cooper, don’t let any of the sons of bitches get away … else we’ll just have to beat ’em again tomorrow.
Cooper’s platoon reached the Kuźnica road in the early afternoon. Combat Command B had halted, and the infantry were finishing up clearing out a roadblock. As the Chaffees turned onto the road and headed north, they watched as behind them a T32 Grizzly fired its gun into a bunker and gutted it. From one side of the bunker, a group of Russian infantry jumped out of their trench and rushed the tank. Several were cut down, but one made it close enough to throw an anti-tank grenade onto the T32’s engine compartment just behind the turret. Shouting a curse, he then threw himself onto the ground beside the tank. The grenade’s shaped charge detonated on impact. The explosion blew up the engine and fuel tank, sending out jets of flame from around the base of the Grizzly’s turret. Two of the crew scrambled out from the front hatches engulfed in flames. Burning oil showered down onto the Russian soldier. His screams of agony fell on dispassionate ears as he writhed around and roasted.
With the assurance from air recon that the road ahead was clear, Cooper’s troop sped onwards. The commander reflected how scenes like the one they had just witnessed no longer affected him. In the war against the Nazis the GIs weren’t aware of the full measure of what they were fighting for until it was almost over, and the horrors of the Holocaust were made public.
The Allied soldiers in this campaign against the communists were different. The information war of the preceding year had seen to that. They knew what their enemy was capable of, and had become killers without question. As far as they were concerned, the communists were no different to the Nazis – guilty of indiscriminate extermination of people, albeit for the cause of collectivism, and for the perpetuation of Party ideology.
Why don’t we just drop a fucking A-bomb on them? he thought.
Cooper was from a small town in Arkansas. To him, the US had fought the war to get back at the Japs for Pearl Harbor.
If it was good enough for them, what’s the difference here?
He also knew the political view was different. Although the fledgling Union of Nations feared Soviet expansionism, they still weren’t comfortable with the idea of a conflict being settled by a weapon of mass destruction.
Too much collateral damage … and so here we are.
The booming sound of a barrage ahead brought his mind back to the present situation. Artillery fire and fighter bombers were being directed on to the next line of Red Army positions discovered by air reconnaissance. The Chaffees had several miles of clear road before they reached them. The Reds had left this area devoid of heavy defensive fortifications, leaving a gap where they could conduct a counter-attack using massed armor. The allies planned to use this open ground against them, and turn the tactical possibilities on their head.
It was going to be where the tank destroyers of the 558th would be operating once they caught up with Cooper’s platoon.
A mile from the Red defenses, Cooper radioed his troop. “Wideout Leader to all units, prepare to go cross country on my signal.”
The terrain was ideal for an armored engagement, low rolling grassland stretching for miles in all directions. The few obstacles to unimpeded movement were the scattered creeks and eroded gullies, which provided seasonal drainage for the now subsided winter snow-melt.
“Next radio check is at sixteen hundred hours. First one to bring in the flyboys gets to shout the others a round. Good luck!”
Cooper waved his arm and the light tanks dispersed according to their assigned headings. Three-Z trundled smoothly onto the vast carpet of undulating green, and for several minutes Cooper watched the turrets of the other Chaffees as they bobbed up and down over the rolling steppe, and then disappeared in to the distance. All manned by experienced tankers, he knew that each unit would acquit themselves as well as his own.
For the next fifteen minutes Three-Z’s crew went about their work in silence. Each member intently scanning their assigned direction with fingers rigid on triggers. Eyes sharpened by adrenaline, they put any weariness aside with thoughts of the next furlough.
The Chaffee slowed as it ascended a low incline, alerted eyes picking out any signs of life as they topped the rise and sighted another few square miles of unfolding greenscape, then coasted down the other side into the temporary cover between slopes.
Another slow climb, another ride downhill. And so on for half an hour.
From the commander’s hatch, Cooper was also keeping a lookout on the sky. He was well aware they were in Noman’s land, and their chances of being mistaken for an enemy tank by the allied air-force were increased. Coordination and communication between land and air units had improved significantly in the 3rd Army under Patton’s command. All of the units in the troop were in contact with battalion HQ, who were on standby
to relay any enemy contacts to the waiting air support overhead. In addition, the Chaffees could change to the designated frequency used by the fighter-bombers to either correct their targeting, or call off any misdirected fire.
The country started to turn from clean, grassy expanses to being dotted with trees and low shrubs. Another climb, more tense, watchful moments as they rolled over the top … then the ground erupted in front of the tank – shoveling dirt and clods of earth over the hull.
“Head for cover!” shouted Cooper.
Greene accelerated forward into the next gully.
“Anyone see the shot?”
No reply meant no one had.
The Chaffee sped up to get off the exposed slope, and then Greene had to start a gradual swerve so they could change direction and go along the depression instead of up the next incline. Once leveled out, he got the tank up to thirty miles per hour.
Shouldn’t be able to get her up to this speed down here …
Then he noticed something about the ground they were traversing. It was hard and compacted.
He looked down and saw why … tank tracks.
Another shell exploded not far behind them.
Greene didn’t have time to call out to Cooper … nor did he need to.
Cooper had turned around to see where the last round had come from. He could scarcely believe what he was seeing. Half a mile to their rear, the front face of a knoll was folding upwards as dozens of yards of canvas netting was being raised.
As it opened, Cooper gaped in horror, as he could see the menacing snouts of several IS2s emerging from beneath the rising camouflage.
It was an impressive piece of concealment. The netting matched the surrounding shrubbery and would have been invisible from the air.
He saw a bright flash shoot out from one of the barrels.
“Fire smoke!” he yelled, as the shell screamed past the fast-moving Chaffee.
They rounded a bend at full speed. A smattering of small-arms fire from dug-in infantry pinged off the hull.
“Stay down in this gully …”
Whoompf!
The muffled sound of another explosion echoed inside the close confines of the turret, possibly from an AT grenade. Cooper grabbed his map and checked their position against the expected path of one of the Hellcat platoons who should be following up along behind them.
“Head south … there’s a wide channel we can take to the left coming up ahead.”
The firing died down as they motored away in the direction from which they’d come.
The gully began to get shallower and a few hundred yards ahead the trees and undergrowth started to clear on either side, making way for the open grassland beyond.
“Slow us down … I want to halt before we go out on to the steppe again so we can look around.”
“We sure can’t turn and fight,” said Keponee. “The 75’s a pop-gun against those IS2s.”
Cooper swiveled his scope around, checking for any pursuers. “Aim at their tracks if we see any more of them, at least we’d have a chance of getting away.”
Greene slowed them to walking pace, and the crew scoured the slopes ahead for any signs of camouflage. The twin Cadillacs idled down to a purr, and the drop in volume seemed to coincide with lower heart rates for the crew as the adrenaline rush of the previous frantic minutes subsided.
They continued at a crawl, all eyes straining for any sign of the Soviets, then Cooper thought he heard something over the sound of the engines.
He flipped up one ear flap on his leather helmet so he could make out the sound more clearly. There! A deep rumbling, a throbbing that sounded like a very large … engine.
The sound grew, penetrating the air all around them … all of the crew could now hear it. Heads turned from side to side trying to locate the source of the sound… guns at the ready. Greene braked suddenly as lumbering out from the cover of trees to one side appeared the massive square turret of a metal monster.
“KV2!” the driver shouted.
They had nowhere to go but back.
“Turn us around!” Cooper yelled.
As Greene desperately reversed, the KV2 lurched into full view. A 50-ton giant, it looked like a steel blockhouse mounted on a tank chassis. Greene had no rear vision, so he backed around until he had room to execute a U-turn. Fortunately, the giant Russian tank was extremely slow at maneuvering, so he thought he could pull off the turn before they got in the Russians’ sights.
The crew’s heart rates went back up to emergency levels as half way through the turn, the Chaffee’s weak side-armor was fully exposed to the enemy tank. One hundred yards away, the KV2 was laboriously swinging its deadly 152mm howitzer … it was only a few degrees from pointing directly at them.
“Move! Move! Move!” screamed Cooper.
Greene pushed Three-Z forward just as the KV2 fired.
A massive blast of high-explosive threw up tons of dirt, smoke and flame over the little tank.
Cooper had been knocked down to the deck by the shock-wave’s impact, but recovered quickly. Planting his feet wide apart so as to steady himself against the motion of the wildly lurching Chaffee, he got up and put his eye back to his scope. Behind them, he saw a trail of fuel cans, ammo boxes and spare treads that had been blown off the back of their tank.
Expecting to be accelerating away by now, Cooper could feel something was wrong.
“She’s lost power …” Greene called over his shoulder, “… can’t get her past twenty …”
Three-Z hobbled away as the huge bulk of the KV2 turned slowly on its axis toward them, its crew reloading.
The Chaffee’s turret rotated around to face it. Keponee looked through his viewfinder and aimed in at the near side of the Russian tank. If he could damage one of its tracks it would immobilize them and slow them from bringing their gun to bear.
Only gonna get one shot.
He fired and watched helplessly as the smoke around the KV2 cleared.
“Hit! They’re tracked!”
“Only slowed ’em down …” Cooper said dismissively, as he screwed his eye up to his scope, “… they’ll still be onto us in a few more seconds.”
Now three hundred yards behind them, the muzzle of the 155mm howitzer inched around to line up on the limping Chaffee.
For the crew, it seemed as though there was nothing they could do. To the Chaffee’s 75mm, the KV2’s thick armor was impenetrable.
Keponee looked at Cooper. “Shit …”
∞
Captain Deming checked his map. According to Wideout’s last message, the Red armor would only be a mile and a half ahead. Following behind the scout tanks, the Hellcats were adhering to the new tactics and providing a block to the flank of the main thrust of the division.
While thousands of Allied troops and hundreds of T32s and T30s were slogging their way through the defenses around Krynki, four companies of the 558th along with their combat engineers, Legionnaires, and the LRDG were providing a defensive screen to their left.
The previous day, light tanks operating ahead of them had reported they’d found enemy armor, but there had been no indication of their strength. Then fifteen minutes ago, a recon flight had spotted a number of Red Army tanks moving east toward the left flank of 10th Armored Division.
Deming thought they were probably relocating for fear of being attacked by allied bombers, but as they were heading for the main body of the US division, the battalion had been called in to head them off. In addition to Deming’s force, three other Hellcat companies several miles away on either side, were searching for Red Army tank columns.
This change in formation meant that Deming’s tank was no longer the quarterback and now had another designation. “Running Back leader to all units, listen up …”
He waited while the other tank destroyer commanders in his company acknowledged, then continued, “We have confirmed enemy armor in the area, last known position five miles at our twelve o’clock, and moving on this position.�
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He looked at his map again.
“They should be coming at us from one of the gullies straight ahead. I want R-B One, Three and Five to flank right, Two, Four, and Six will go left. You know what to do, stay mobile, and engage the enemy on sight.”
“Shoot and scoot!” echoed over the radio from an officer commanding one of the flanking units.
Deming scanned the surrounding terrain again, double-checking he was satisfied with his choice for his own group’s position for the ambush.
“R-B Seven, Eight, and Nine are with me. Get your tanks hull-down behind the slopes around us here.”
There was no need for him to give more precise orders. It was up to the commander of each Hellcat to use their own judgment, and get their own tank sighted along the enemy’s expected line of approach. Deming then signaled the combat engineers and a company of Legionnaires to deploy on their flanks and cover the now stationary M18s from any enemy infantry.
The 558th had drilled for just this kind of scenario. Knowing its similarity to the type of terrain they would be fighting on, Colonel Corday’s battalion had conducted exercises on the rolling plains of Poland. Fast moving groups of tank destroyers, using their mobility to out-maneuver the much slower heavy armor of the enemy. They could hit and run, using the cover between slopes to avoid the return fire. This would be how they ran the upcoming play – Deming’s troop being the offensive line, and the wide receivers moving to outflank the enemy’s defensive line.
Black smoke blurted out from the Hellcats’ triple exhausts as the company began to deploy. The two flanking troops fanned out and soon disappeared from sight. Deming’s troop assumed a hull-down profile, where they could fire upon an eight hundred-yard channel of grassland in front of them, but quickly drop back behind the cover of the sloping ground to avoid return fire.
The Free World War Page 15