Impasse (The Red Gambit Series) (24 page)

An
undetected ISU152 had put a shell into the tank and hit everything it needed in order to bring about a catastrophic end to Stokes-Herbst and his crew.

The squadron net was filled with voices, some demanding orders, some suggesting options, all decidedly unnerved by events and the presence of so much enemy materiel.

Moving up from the headquarters, Haines understood that command needed to be re-established quickly so he cut across the airwaves, his voice alone helping to steady the nerves of most of the listeners.

Not yet in a position to issue
definitive orders, he soaked up the information that his tank commanders relayed, building up a mental picture of a disaster in the making.

Standing in the cupola,
the Lancer officer should have seen the approaching problem, but was too intent on listening to the radio.

Clair shouted a warning as he flung the Sherman to the right, noticing just in time the huge shell hole in the road to their front.

Nellie Oliphant squealed as his head connected with the breech, causing him to recoil automatically.

His head, shooting backwards at speed, perfectly connected with Haines
’ groin, incapacitating him in an instant. The tank commander dropped into the tank, clutching his genitals as Oliphant struggled to regain his senses and work out what the red stuff in his eyes was.

Powell
took one look and acted.

“
Stumpy, pull her into cover now. Biffo’s hurt and Nellie’s pissing claret all over the fucking place.”

A
gruff acknowledgement and the tank shifted into a lower gear. The light through the hatch all but disappeared as the Sherman was taken into the safety of some nearby trees.

“
Need a hand, Killer?”

The gunner had already worked out what had happened.

“Nah. Nellie nutted the gun again. I’ll check it for damage obviously.”

“
That’s funny, no really.”

Nellie
didn’t mean it of course.

‘
Prat!’

“
Biffo took Nellie’s head in the goolies. Someone else can check them for damage later. I ain’t touching them for all the tea in China.”

There was no need for a headset to hear the guffaws from the two men in the hull.

Stumpy, grinning from ear to ear, took the initiative.

“
Right ho then. If you’re fine with the mental case and the eunuch, Sparkle and I’ll stick some more juice in the bus, quick like.”

The driver and hull gunner swiftly slipped out of the tank to drain down the fuel drum lashed on the back of the tank.

Powell got the bandages out of the kit and started to work on Nellie.

“
Just a small thing, mate. Less’n half inch, I swear. Just a lot of blood. Not even a lump.”

Killer
cast an eye at the incapacitated Haines every now and again, feeling the man’s pain but, without a doubt, seeing the funny side. He stayed silent in that regard, with no intention of testing matters, as he suspected that a heavy blow in the bollocks would have given the punchy officer a sense of humour failure.

As he cut
the bandage lengthways, so as to make a pair of ties, a slightly more coherent groan announced the return to life of the tank commander.

“
Urghh. Fucking hell! What hit me?”

Winning the battle of
‘keeping a straight face’, Powell finished his work on the person responsible.

“
‘Ardest substance known to man, boss. Our Nellie’s noggin. Took you in the meat ‘n two veg... right and proper.”

Haines, the pain still incredibly intense, realised he had been lost to the battle at a crucial time.

Straightening himself as quickly as he could, which was anything but quick, he took up the headset that had been wrenched from his head as he fell.

There was no traffic on the net.

He switched to command frequency to forewarn Colonello Pappalardo.

Nothing.

The set was dead.

He moved the frequencies.

The set remained stubbornly rooted in silence and that silence was heavy with meaning.

The waves of infantry and tanks had washed over the Baker line.

Some infantry and tank commanders had decided that, in the absence of any orders, a prudent withdrawal was called for, and what defence there could have been was swiftly undermined by the appearance of holes as a Sherman here, a section of infantry there, pulled back.

Isolated pockets of the Rifle Brigade resisted and, under specific orders, the attackers ignored them and swept on, eager to pursue and push forward.

The Folgore infantry, supported by the four 6pdr anti-tank guns of the Rifle Brigade, exacted a price from both T34’s and infantrymen, but their rally was brief.

Acting Captain Robinson was long dead and the
leadership spine in the 16th/5th was presently a CSM. His tank stood like a rock, attracting knots of infantry to it, the already bypassed defensive position building in strength by the second.

It could
no longer be ignored and the third battalion of the 62nd Tanks, committed forward from reserve, focussed all their energies upon it, high explosive and solid shot raining down upon the concentration of British soldiery.

The Sherman stopped firing, not destroyed but out of the fight, its crew almost catatonic with shock
and horror at the sight of the CSM’s headless body collapsed in the well of the tank.

Soldiers of the 115th Rifle Regiment moved forward in a focussed assault, their minds still full of the hideous events at the
Unterfederaun Bridge.

British riflemen and tank crew surrendered, hands in the air, most with the blank faces
and distant eyes of men who had been through hell.

A tanker fell, shot dead in revenge by a young
Soviet Corporal who had cradled a dying nurse.

Another followed, this time a Rifle Brigade officer, selected for no other reason than he tried to protest about what was to come.

The sixty-two prisoners were herded into a hollow behind the CSM’s tank and ordered to strip. Eleven accompanying NKVD troopers gathered up the uniforms and dog tags before the Chekist Captain nodded to his infantry counterpart, satisfied that he had obeyed his orders to the letter.

He watched, dispassionately, as the men of the 115th worked out their angst, replacing their grief at the deaths of those a
t Unterfederaun with a bloodbath, engorged by their frenzied bayonet practice on men who could do no more than raise a fist in their own defence.

Tanks and infantry moved on once more, leaving no witnesses to the events in the hollow.

The sixty-two uniforms, most with pockets containing papers and personal artefacts, plus the dog tags, started their journey to their destination, the temporary camp of an NKVD penal unit...

In a
concealed position...

In the Wurzen Pass...

On the Yugoslavian border.

              During the Second World War, the Italian Army had gained a reputation as slackers, lacking in soldierly skills, and being poorly led.

Erwin Rommel had once said
‘Good soldiers, bad officers’, which more accurately reflected the worth of the better formations of the Italian Army.

However, the Folgore Regiment had landed on its feet with Pappalardo
, and it was thanks to his efforts that some Allied units escaped the debacle.

The reserve Sherman troop,
call sign Robin, had been committed to stiffen the western defences, especially when the 142nd RAC disappeared from the airwaves and the Italian infantry commander reported his desperate position.

Reforming a reserve, the Italian Colonel put together two groups of Archers,
Apple and Arrow, each supported by a group of his infantry, complete with armoured transport.

‘
Biffo’s Bus’ had been swept along in the tide of retreat, Haines acknowledging that he could no nothing to stop the withdrawal for the moment.

His chance came
and went at the ‘Charlie’ line. There were no forces posted there, nothing to identify ‘Charlie’ as a firm defensive position, so there was no encouragement for those fleeing to stand firm and fight back,

At the
‘Dog’ line, he seized the opportunity and broadcast his orders, halting the few survivors from the 16th/5th and 17th/21st, turning the tanks around to support the men of the Folgore who had established themselves once more.

Getting some semblance of organisation took Haines some time
, but he was soon able to report to Pappalardo.

“
Firensay Dicky, Firensay Dicky, Cassino Six over.”

The Italian Colonel himself answered.

“Cassino Six, Firenze Dieci receiving over.”

“
Colonel, Able, Baker, and Charlie lines are down. Repeat, Able, Baker, Charlie are down. I’m organising on Dog but need back up. Request release of Robin, Cassino Six over.”

Haines was more than annoyed to find out that
‘Robin’ had already been sent to the eastern defences.

However, Pappalardo sweetened the disappointment.

“I have a group of six guns and infantry which I’ll send right no...,” the Italian Colonel was cut short as a number of heavy calibre rounds fell around the headquarters, “Fanculo! Cassino Six receiving over?”

“
Firensay Dicky, Cassino Six receiving over.”

“
Cassino Six, we were just hit hard. Wait...”

Pappalardo unkeyed the mike and took a moment to survey the surroundings. At first glance, it appeared that the HQ had been lucky.

His second in command had already started to organise another headquarters move.

“
Cassino Six, Firenze Dieci, we have to move. Will send the guns and infantry immediately. Call signs Apple and Arrow. I may be offline for a while. Over and out.”

Haines started at the silent radio for a moment.

Switching channels, he got through to the TD’s at the first attempt, sending the SP’s to the important height that dominated Pöckau and the Dog defensive line.

On his own initiative, the Italian infantry commander deployed his men to the north slope to screen the Archers, something Haines wholly approved of when the situation reports started to come in.

Organising those soldiers and tanks that had escaped the overrun Baker line, Haines created a bastion on and north of Route 83.

They had no chance to rest.

The headquarters was hastily set up, in as much as the radios were placed on the rear of a wooden cart, tables and chairs were rounded up and the security platoon dispersed around the farmyard.

Pappalardo watched as Haines
’ information on the latest assault was mapped. The Lancer officer was clearly under pressure but still coping and leading the defences well.

Prioritising his problems, the Italian officer turned his attention to the west, where contact had been lost with his infantry force commander.

Last reports had a large all-arms Soviet unit pushing that battalion hard.

Combined with the recent communication from the
‘Robin’ group, the whole thing stank of disaster.

Two of the three Shermans had been incapacitated, one by a simple track breakage, the other by a more serious engine problem. The third tank, that of the section
’s commander, decided to remain in close attendance.

Aircraft of both nations arrived over the battlefield, expanding the options available to both sides.

Thunderbolts and Mustangs fell upon the Soviet ground forces, whilst Shturmoviks and PE-2’s similarly attacked the Allied defensive positions, both sides with remarkably little success, considering the amount of ordnance they expended.

Other aircraft started to arrive,
some with stars, some with roundels, all with the intent on blowing up the ground trrops or shooting down the enemy’s machines. A full-blown air battle developed, even as the winter’s evening started to draw in.

402 Squadron RCAF had been disbanded in July 1945 and was one of those recently reformed and sent to Italy
, training to prepare for their New Year move to the German Front.

Four of their Spitfire Mk XIV-E
s arrived over the battlefield, carefully shepherding another four Spitfires, Mark IXs, each with a 500lb bomb aboard.