Initiative (The Red Gambit Series Book 6) (74 page)

His ears heard more firing to the north and he ordered his command tank repositioned so as to observe the attack on Height 233, where some resistance was being encountered.

Even as he watched, he observed a handful of old T34s armed with 76mm guns try and fail to halt the advance, the venerable tanks simply swept aside in a volley of 75mm and 88mm high velocity shells.

Stelmakh was silently pondering the command and control problems of a tank unit with less than half an issue of fuel in their tanks, less than full ammunition stocks, operating under the umbrella of a powerful enemy air force, and overseen by an officer of dubious worth.

His mind could find no light in the darkness of his thoughts.

The enemy force that had halted before Trendelburg was now moving again, and more of the bastards were knocking away at the heights on his right.

He looked, and looked again.

The enemy forces had exposed flanks, their attempted smoke cover next to useless in the growing breeze.

‘We have an opportunity…’

“Cherepakha-krasniy-odin, Chorniy-Odin, urgent situation report over.”

“What is it about fucking radio silence that you don’t understand, Stelmakh?”

‘What a fucking idiot.’

“Cherepakha-krasniy-odin, Chorniy-Odin, urgent situation report, enemy flanks exposed to our front, and on location Sem, over.”

“Get off the radio… now! Don’t reveal our presence or position. Fire discipline. Do not fire, repeat, do not fire. Stay hidden and let them pass. Out.”

There was silence in the tank, broken by a contemptuous fart from the driver’s position.

“That’s my fucking comment on that load of shit. The man’s an idiot, Comrade Kapitan. Look at that target… look at it, for fuck’s sake! We’ve got them on fucking toast, and he wants to hide.”

“Thank you, General Stepanov.”

The growing tension in ‘Krasniy Suka’ dissuaded the others from any comment or contribution.

Vladimir Stelmakh thought hard, knowing his time for such activity was extremely limited.

He then acted, switching over to his own unit’s frequency, and pressed the transmit button.

“All units Cherepakha-Chorniy, Cherepakha-Chorniy. Stand by to engage targets moving to your front.”

He unkeyed the mike.

“Yuri… get ready to fire on my order.”

“Uh-huh.”

The turret moved slightly in response.

“All units Cherepakha-Chorniy, ready…. Ready… fire!”

Five 122mm guns sent their deadly projectiles down range.

“Achtu…”

Someone shouted into the radio, an unknown tank commander who perished within milli-seconds, as three of the massive shells struck home, easily penetrating the side armour of the Panthers and Jaguars leading the drive into the west edge of Trendelburg.

Von Hardegen saw the smoke marks from the enemy positions, but such was the quality of their camouflage that he still could not see where exactly they were, or what they were.

“Gunner, engage… distract them if you can.”

“Jawohl.”

The Panther’s turret swung and the gunner found a drifting smudge of smoke. Another immediately declared itself, as the enemy fired once more.

Five of Third Company’s tanks now lay smashed on the valley floor, and no enemy had been successfully engaged.

The 75mm spat an AP shell towards the smoke spot, uselessly, as nothing but earth and stone was damaged by its passage.

Europa’s commander checked the tanks of his third company and immediately saw that Walküre-three-six was now amongst the casualties.

‘Another of the old comrades.’

Third Company had reoriented and were trying to strike back, the powerful 88mm’s lashing out at anything that looked remotely like it could be a threat.

An anti-tank gun fired from across the Diemel, striking, but not killing, the nearest Jaguar.

Seemingly with disdain, the turret swung, the driver re-angled the tank, and the anti-tank gun was blotted out in an instant.

The Jaguar commander ordered a purple smoke shell placed on the same location, and the circling attack aircraft swooped down to bathe the area in rockets and napalm.

Walküre-three-six’s last act had been to do the same, but the IS-IIIs held fast, knowing that of they moved out of their bunkers, they would be easy meat for the vengeful DRL airmen. However, other Soviet vehicles moving in the open to the north attracted them away from the purple smoke marker, and the remnants of the mechanised unit, plus both of the 6th’s T34s, were quickly butchered.

“Chorniy-Odin, Seeniy-odin, over.”

Stelmakh directed his gunner to engage a new target before answering.

“Seeniy-odin, Chorniy-Odin, receiving, over.”

“Chorniy-Odin, our glorious leader just fireballed. You’re in charge. Say the word. Over.”

Stelmakh felt the smile start, but resisted celebrating the man’s death, even if he was a liability.

“Seeniy-odin, situation report. Engaging company of enemy heavy tanks to my front. Under air attack. Holding. Do you have the other enemy force in sight? Over.”

“Chorniy-Odin, yes. Heading north towards objective Shest. Clear shots. We can engage immediately. Over.”

“Seeniy-odin. Engage immediately. Do not move out of your bunkers whilst enemy aircraft are here. We relocate only when they are gone. Understood? Over.”

The commander of the Seeniy group responded, but Stelmakh heard not a bit of it, his hearing lost to the immense clang of a shell striking his gun mantlet.

“Gunner! Get the bastard quick!”

Ferensky was on the case and sought out the enemy tank.

“Firing!”

The breech hurtled back into the turret as a HEAT shell went from muzzle to target in the blink of an eye.

The front of the Panther went orange and white but, when the bright lights disappeared, the vehicle stood defiant.

But it was silent, a small hole betraying the penetration point where the particle stream overcame the tank’s armour.

The men inside had perished instantly.

Third Company had now lost eight tanks, and not one IS-III had been knocked out in return. Now their air cover was leaving, short on fuel, and simply nothing was going right.

Von Hardegen knew his force was in big trouble, particularly as the group attacking Height 233 had been taken under fire by another concealed enemy.

“All units Walküre, All units Walküre, Wotan-six, smoke the target areas, repeat, smoke the target areas, keep it in place until air arrive. Out.”

He switched channel immediately.

“Mime-two, Mime-two, Wotan-six, over.”

“Wotan-six, Mime-two, go ahead, over.”

“Mime-two, limettensaft, limettensaft, Acknowledge. Over.”

“Wotan -six, Mime-two. Order is limettensaft. Understood. Over.”

Von Hardegen didn’t bother to speak to the DRL officer again. Having ordered his own desperate limejuice air strike, he went back on the radio to order a platoon from First Company back to assist Third Company.

A sharp crack on his left hand side summoned him from his thoughts and he risked a quick look.

One of the 88mm Pak 43s had joined the fight, and with good effect.

From its raised position, it had fired at an angle that brought its shell into contact with the open driver’s hatch of its target.

The heavy shell passed easily through the flesh and bone and destroyed everything in its path before finally angling upwards and slamming into the underside of the turret roof, when it dislocated the IS-III’s heavy metal frying pan shape from its mount.

The growing purple haze prevented the AT crew from putting another shell into the target, just to make sure.

As the smoke started to disperse, another smoke shell was added, maintaining a marker for when the aircraft summoned by the limettensaft order arrived.

Which was reasonably quickly, for it seemed no more than a minute since the message had been sent than a flight of Hs-129s from 13th Sturzkampfstaffel arrived on the scene.

They were eminently unsuited to the work, being better employed against open targets, rather than aircraft hidden in bunkers.

None the less, the DRL pilots tried to make a difference, but the best that they managed was to knock apart the camouflaged bunker surrounding one of the enemy tanks, revealing the nature of their enemy at last.

‘Scheisse!’

A common thought amongst the German panzer crew who spotted the low shape of the deadly IS-III.

‘Blyad… our bunker’s fucked!’

“Driver reverse!”

Stelmakh had no choice, his hidden position savaged by the exploding 30mm shells from the Henschel 129-B-2 aircraft.

The IS-III virtually flew backwards out of the bunker position, and avoided a further attack completely, as the aircraft’s shells chewed up the vacant ground and woodwork.

Looking back towards the rear, Stelmakh directed Stepanov to reverse into a nearby stand of trees, near where their secondary position was located.

Two 30mm shells hit the side of the tank, inches apart.

Whilst not a killing hit, the blast wave took hold of Stelmakh’s exposed head and dashed it against the cupola. The unconscious officer dropped like a stone to the turret floor, his face a bloody mess, and his mouth smashed; blood and broken teeth created an awful looking injury.

In the driver’s position, Stepanov had a similar experience, the back of his head thrown back against the unyielding metal, splitting his skin and knocking him unconscious with his foot on the accelerator.

‘Krasniy Suka’ started to lose speed as the tree trunks resisted her, eventually stalling as a stout beech proved too much of an obstacle.

Kalinov, ignoring the dislocated finger that had resulted from trying to steady himself, acted swiftly, grabbed a smoke grenade and dropped it onto the engine grille.

“What you doing, Leo?”

Ferensky spoke like a drunk, clearly not totally with it.

“Only chance is if they think we’re already fucked. Help me with the Kapitan.”

They pulled Stelmakh into an upright position, and Kalinov started to clear away the detritus of his teeth and gums.

As he worked he called to Stepanov.

“Oi! You lazy bastard! Bloody driver!”

He counted eleven smashed teeth in the commander’s mouth.

“How’s he doing, Leo?”

“Well, it’s going to fucking ache a bit, that’s for sure, and soup’ll be his favourite food for a while.”

The darkness of a huge bruise was already spreading around Stelmakh’s face.

Ferensky had shaken himself out of the stupor induced by the enemy shells, and stuck his head out of his hatch.

What greeted him was a scene of horror.

Another of the IS-IIIs had been knocked out, this time very dramatically so, and its turret lay some yards away from the spectacularly burning hull.

The remaining two tanks were still resisting but their positions were now exposed, meaning that the enemy tanks were making hits, although the heavy armour of the IS tanks resisted well.

Ferensky’s mind registered a sound from another time, a growing screaming wall of sound that he had not heard for many a month.

Automatically he looked to the sky and there it was.