Impasse (The Red Gambit Series) (30 page)

Brigadier-General John L. Pierce was unhappy, and he let his staff know it.

The prongs of his advance had made quick progress, the 16th pushing ahead on a frontage of just under four kilometres.

It was not wasted on him, nor on those who received the same reports, that positions expected to be manned seemed to have been hurriedly vacated, with only a few hastily laid booby-traps left behind by their former owners.

Fig#89 - Operation Spectrum Black, Alsace, 2nd December 1945.

The main southern push had moved over the small watercourse, La Zinsel du Sud, making the junction of Routes 716 and 116 on schedule.

Moreover, at very little cost.

Pierce was not to know that his southern prong should have met resistance on the small river, but an error on the part of one Soviet Colonel, withdrawing past his allotted stop line, meant that the way was left clear.

Not so for the northern force, where the lead infantry and recon elements ran straight into a determined enemy with a lot of firepower.
It had stalled at the La Zinsel, but this time the same frozen dribble of water had cost him a whole bunch of his doughs, as well as the 18th’s Armored-Infantry’s battalion commander.

Pierce’s
vehicle, an M9A1 half-track stuffed with the paraphernalia of command, was pulled over under snow-laden trees. The breeze was strong enough to stir the branches and occasionally dislodge a white deposit to fall on the cameo below like a one-sided snowball fight.

The 16th
’s senior officer had his normal set-up erected; a trestle table surrounded by a canvas screen, with a camouflaged sheet roof strung from the half-track to a pair of poles, all of which provided sufficient shelter and area for him and two others to work.

Consulting the situation map, a solution presented itself immediately.

“Here’s what we do. 18th will keep up the pressure, but keep it low key. No hero stuff. We shift one of their companies north and cross here... at the end of this track. It’s frozen good enough for foot infantry to cross. They can pick up their tracks later.”

His CoS
was furiously making notations.

“
They then turn south and come into the top end of the defences.”

Pierce checked his map in the half-light.

“The Rangers can send a company, no, two companies to the south. In fact, send the whole unit. Tell Lieutenant Colonel Williams to cross the Zinsel eight hundred metres to the south of Hattmatt and form a block oriented to the east and south-east. He’s then to strike northwards, in support of a further infantry attack by the 18th. Tie in with Hetherington on timing, but the pair of them must get this sorted a-sap. Clear, Edwin?”

Colonel Greiner understood the orders and moved into the halftrack to get the signallers ready, once he had formulated the orders in a
proper military fashion.

Pierce moved on to other matters, knowing that his boys would get the job done.

Williams, the Ranger’s commander, unfolded his map and beckoned his officers in closer.

“And that’s that, boys. Leave Charlie at point, but push Dog and Easy in close behind.”

The responsible officers nodded their understanding.

“Move and move fast. Get over the water straight away and give me breathing space, say... all the way up to Route 116 here.”

He indicated the most junior man present, now in charge of Fox Company whilst the
normal commanding Captain was treated for a dislocated knee.

“
Gesualdo’s Fox boys will move straight over and push north to this road here, securing me a start line.”

The map rustled as Williams repositioned it.

“You two, you got the lead here, Barney, will push Able and Baker through Fox, and drive hard into the flank here.”

Barney Meade, no-one but no-one called him Barnett, acknowledged without a word, his gruff, silent approach to matters hiding the dynamic go-getting combat officer that he was.

He shared a look with the commander of Baker Company and nodded.

Williams continued.

“Timings and comms have gotta be tight here. Watch for the 18th’s boys coming in from the west, as well as some more driving down from the north. I want no foul-ups. Clear?”

It most certainly was.

“General Pierce wants this done quick, so he can pass his armor on and get at Bouxwiller before the schedule goes to pot.”

He folded the map with an air of finality.

“It sure as shit ain’t gonna be us that lets him down, so get your boys moving... watch yourselves... hit ‘em hard... and let’s get it done. Any questions?”

There were four.

Two confirmations of orders, one regarding call signs, and another on what would happen next. All were swiftly dealt with and the leadership of the 2nd Ranger Battalion went on their way.

Major Din was suffering.

His both ears were bleeding, Shockwaves from impacts adjacent to his command position had caused damage to the delicate organs. US 155mm guns had swept his location, a mixture of ground and air burst causing severe casualties amongst the 424th’s survivors, old soldiers that he had managed to extricate from the debacle that had spelt the end of the 19th Army in Alsace.

The Soviet forward command position was in what was left of a modest wood, just west of the Rue des Acacias, north of Hattmatt.

Din had instinctively moved out of his better-appointed headquarters, partially to get closer to the action for better control, and partially in case the enemy had done their reconnaissance properly.

His instinct proved correct, as the command point was destroyed by artillery in the first strikes.

424th Regiment had represented the largest surviving formation in 132nd Rifle Corps, and the Corps was quickly disbanded and its bits and pieces used to bolster other savaged units.

For want of anywhere better to put it, the 424th was taken under the mantle of the Special Combat Brigade, but then quickly attached directly to the 3rd Guards Cavalry Corps, another unit that had suffered badly in the preceding weeks.

The weight of Spectrum Black fell upon units ‘resting’ in a supposedly quieter zone of the front line
, and Din’s men found themselves the focus of attention in and around Hattmatt.

Fig#90
- The assault on Hattmatt, 2nd December 1945.

The 424th
was under pressure from three sides as Pierce’s plan squeezed Hattmatt hard.

The sound of a Maxim opening up nearby barely registered on Din.

The white ground was profusely marked with patches of brown, black, and occasionally, red, where the artillery had turned over the snow and transformed the landscape and the men clinging to it.

Everywhere Din looked, he could see his men up and firing at an enemy whose numbers seemed to be growing every second.

‘This is hopeless. I can’t hold here.’

“
Oleg, report into command. Request permission, on my authority, to withdraw to position three. Bystro! Dawai!”

The signals officer worked the radio and got through quickly.

Colonel Pugachev, commander of what was left of the 22nd Guards Cavalry Regiment, listened sympathetically, still mourning the decimation of his unit near Wolfegg.

He seized the radio from the startled
Cossack operator.

“
Can you hold for another hour, Comrade Din, over?”

Oleg Stavins turned to his commander for a response but the message had gone unheard.

“Comrade Mayor!”

The injured eardrums prevented his commander from hearing, so Stavins tapped Din on the arm.

He turned, the modest touch breaking his concentration.

More 155mm artillery arrived, clearly moving
forwards like a rolling barrage, and away from the advancing American infantrymen.

The ground shook
, and the noise of the nearest shells penetrated even Din’s damaged ears.

“What?”

“The Polkovnik wants to know if you can hold another hour, Comrade Mayor.”

Din took another quick sweep around the positions he could see, sensing the pressure on his men, feeling their resolve start to crack, knowing the answer instinctively.

“Tell Polkovnik Pugachev that we’ll be lucky to hold for another ten minutes.”

Din turned again, his attention caught by a
different type of motion, as one group of his men rose and fled, leaving a vital hole in their defence of the main road, Route 116.

His arm shot out and he shouted.

“Starshina, sort that out!”

The senior NCO,
waiting nearby with a group of picked men, was ready for just such an occurrence and led his men forward to plug the gap.

Turning
back to the communications officer, Din saw, rather than heard, the explosion.

As the 155mm shell exploded on the edge of the headquarters position,
the Major somehow remained intact and untouched, the wierd selectiveness of high explosives ensuring that the artillery shell did not claim him that day.

In fact, he barely felt the blast, th
e vagaries of explosives leaving him untouched and upright, although he nearly suffered injury as Stavins’ head, almost surgically removed from his shoulders, sailed past his own body with inches to spare. It was accompanied by parts of the radios, tables, weapons, and men that had been placed against that side of the position.

Back in the enemy artillery positions,
gun layers added extra range again, moving the barrage on another fifty yards, and so Din was not troubled further by their shells.

The only survivor of the 424th
’s Regimental Headquarters took up his PPD and, now totally deaf, went out to lead his men in their last fight.

Barney Meade was screaming louder and louder as his death approached. He had not received a scratch in all the combat he had particpated in during WW2, or in any of the actions he had led in the latest bloody affair.

It was a unit joke that he would make it home without the obligatory Purple Heart.

A Soviet mortar shell, one of the few that the enemy unit had got off before Baker Company overran them, had exploded virtually at his feet.

One leg was missing, with next to nothing left for the medic to get a tourniquet on. His testicles and penis were severed, the same shrapnel having penetrated deeper, shredding his bladder and lower abdomen.

More pieces of metal had punctured his upper body and arms, the one piece that hit his head having opened up the right orbit, from whence his mutilated eye hung.