Breakthrough (The Red Gambit Series) (18 page)

Already the timetable was falling well behind
,
and so there was no time for the niceties of
complex planning
, even though his men were more
understanding
and proficient
tha
n
most
. But n
either did
that
mean that
t
he
tank Colonel
was going to just hammer in
,
regardless of casualties.

A cursory look at the map was sufficient for Yarishlov to appreciate the risks of his attack
,
and to plan accordingly.

Fig #
36
-
Tostedt
Land
dispositions

According to reports from the competent commander of the 360th,
the only bridge intact on his right flank seemed to be that
just
east of Everstorfermoor, the defenders having
brought down
all but one of
the bridges
west and south-west of Rotenburg.
T
he man believed that the water barrier was easily enough forded
by infantry
in places
,
but had not tested the possibility as yet
.
He was now on his way to the rear, his war cut short by a simple stumble
that
left the man with a painfully dislocated right knee. Yarishlov assumed command of all forces in the area and assembled his officers for a swift and simple briefing.

Unable to
take a
chance
th
at the
Oste R
iver
might be fordable and not having the time to do
proper reconnaissance
,
Yarishlov looked to a more southerly approach
for his main drive
, hooking around through the hamlets of
Riepshof
and Tiefenbruch and following the rail line through Dreihausen
, crossing
over the Wümme River by the rail bridge
that
was apparently still standing.

He described the line of march with his hands, examining each officer's reaction as he looked for a sign of weakness or doubt.
None was forthcoming
,
and
the tank C
olonel was encouraged as good questions were asked,
confirming
that the men of his command
understood
their business.

The area between the rivers, centred on
Tostedt
Land
, was of great interest to him and he drew his men in closer
to the map
, outlining a possible change of plan
,
should
circumstances proved favourable.

The young Major
now
commanding the
roughly
-handled 1197th
R
egiment moved closer and examined the map, suggesting a small modification to Yarishlov’s move westwards throug
h
Tostedt
Land
, leaving a smear
of blood on the
Wümme river line between Wümme and Dreihausen
. The modification was a good one
,
and
the artillery commander confirmed the change
was an improvement
. Devoid of ego
,
Yarishlov
always encouraged and welc
omed the input of his officers
,
and he
openly commended the man
,
which went a long way to overcoming the pain of the Major’s wound.

When he had finished his briefing
,
watches
were synchronised
,
and then
the
officers were dismissed to their commands, but not before he ordered the wounded Major to get some attention
to his damaged forearm.

Suddenly
finding himself
alone in the school room
that
presently
served as his headquarters
,
Yarishlov stretched and lazily searched his pockets for a cigarette.

A knock on the door startled the Colonel out of his daydream, the more so as the
knocker
didn’t wait for permission
to enter
and just kicked the door open.

Starshina Stefan Yurievich Kriks almost ran through the doorway, his hands full of huge enamel mugs brimming
wit
h obviously scalding
hot
liquid,
his cries of distress growing in volume with every
step
.

“Ay-yay-yay-yay-yay!”

The mugs hit the table, each spilling a quantity of
the
dark brown liquid. The NCO was more interested in his hands, licking each in turn, feeling the heat on his tongue.

Colonel Yarishlov drew himself up to his full height and adopted a formal voice.

“Starshina Kriks. Look at my door
,
you thug! What have you got to say for yourself?”

Kriks noted the displaced hinge and cocked an eyebrow. Maybe he had kicked it a bit hard after all.

“Comrade Colonel, I was bringing you tea and I could not delay. Had I waited for you to answer the door
,
then I would now be on the way to hospital with burned fingers, and I would be risking a charge of self-inflicted injury from our revolutionary brothers in the NKVD.
”

Yarishlov sniggered.

“Good answer
,
Starshina, good answer.”

The two men shared a grin, the sort that men who have
endured hell together exchange;
one
that requires
no words.

Kriks popped out some English
Players
cigarettes and the two relaxed in each other
’
s company, away from the rigours of military formality.

Smoking and sipping alternately
,
there was no need for words until an ambulance passing by the window ground its gears noisily
,
breaking the reverie
,
and making both look up, its woeful cargo immediately apparent.

Kriks pointed his mug at the vehicle.

“The 360th boys did their best today
,
Comrade. They took a beating
,
but they are
still up for a
fight.
I’ve seen nothing but an excellent spirit from them. I’m surprised they aren’t Guards yet.
”

Yarishlov nodded
in acknowledgement, both of the wounded men and of his NCO’s words,
and raised the drink to his lips again. Kriks, the man with the asbestos throat, finished his, exposing the maple leaf on the bottom of his mug.

“
Capitalist cigarettes, c
apitalist tea, capitalist mugs. W
hat are you doing to me
,
Stefan?”

Kriks turned his mug over.
On the underside was the outline of a maple leaf, the British War department stamp and, in pencil, the name ‘Wainwright’.

The Starshina shrugged.

“Comrade Colonel, it was Canadian tea or nothing.
This is the fault of my tank commander.”

The twinkle in Kriks’ eyes was very evident.

Replying as evenly as he could, Yarishlov kept a straight face.

“
I
am your tank commander, Comrade Starshina.”

Feigning surprise, Kriks proceeded.

“Quite so, Comrade Polkovnik. So
, I regret to say,
it
is your fault
alone
.
Had you not directed your brand new command tank through the treacherous Germanski undergrowth,
without need I might add,
then you w
ould still have good Soviet tea. W
hereas that tea, my smoked sausages
,
and certain other items of high value
,
are now hanging on some damn bush somewhere, to be found by some undeserving rear-echelon beauty who
m, I might add,
I desperately hope chokes on the fucking sausage!”

As time was short
,
Yar
is
hlov could only call a halt to the NCO’s diatribe by raising a hand.

“And speaking of my new command tank, has Lunin sorted the problem yet?”

“Indeed he has
, Comrade Polkovnik,
and you will be surprised to learn that it was not a transmission fault
, just a gear linkage problem, so our beast is up and running again.”

The C
olonel finished the last of his tea and thumped the mug on the table.

“Well, we have it so that I can write a report on its combat usage, so let us go and see how it fights
,
shall we?”

Slapping his senior NCO on the shoulder
,
he picked up the map and walked out into the evening sunshine, casting a professional and appreciative eye over the T-44/100 the Corps Commander had presented to him over a month ago.

The men of Kommando Tostedt were tired. Having fought alongside the Canadians in the defence of their
home
town
,
they had reluctantly fallen back, only to turn on their pursuers and deal them a heavy blow, combining with their new allies to drive the Russian infantry back through Rotenburg and Wistedt
,
where they now waited for the inevitable next assault.

The Canadian
Company Commander
ha
d
tried to persuade them to fall back to the river line but they refused
, offering to cover the withdrawal for as long as they could
.

Now they were all alone, sticking out like a sore thumb, the Canadians having pulled back to more defensible ground.

Numbering less than
one hundred and eighty
capable
men, the
Kommando sat astride the
four
roa
ds that
ran south-west from Rotenburg
and Wistedt
. Whilst
they could not bring themselves to quit their homes
quite yet,
their pragmatic leader ensured that he could withdraw his unit over the
Everstorfermoor
Bridge
at any time.

Alfred Dœring-Beck was a
veteran of both world wars
.
T
he
elderly
silver-haired Colonel
of Infanterie
affected a monocle, a clue to the fact that he
had
learned his soldiering in a different age, when
cutting-edge
tactics dictated lines of infantry sweeping down on defensive positions strewn with barbed wire and covered by machine-guns and artillery. Such ways were of little use in 1939
,
and he was forcibly
and very publically
retired
by
the then
Divisional Commander
of the 24th Infanterie Division,
Generalleutnant Friedrich Olbricht
. During t
he invasion of
Poland
,
Beck’s
32nd Grenadiere Regiment took unusually high casualties during the
Polish
counter-attack around Bzura in mid-S
eptember 1939, something which his inconsolable second in command reported instantly and directly to Olbricht.