Breakthrough (The Red Gambit Series) (34 page)

Sparing a quick
and
unsympathetic
look
at
his commander
,
he organised his shocked men into action.

The
comparative safety of the woods
seemed
closer
where he was
,
as the undergrowth had advanced more than elsewhere
,
and he could fall back into the trees to the
east
.

“OK boys, pull your smoke
s
and put them down”

Each man he touched and pointed, indicating where he wished the smoke to go.

“On three, ok?
O
ne, two, three!”

Four grenades sailed as directed
.

Three plumes of grey smoke slowly erupted, the fourth bringing forth whitish
-yellow
smoke and
high-pitched
screams.

The man had thrown a phosphorous grenade instead of smoke. It had hit the road and bounced
,
and was at fa
ce level when it went off. T
he hideously
injured and still
burn
ing
Komarov
added
his
animal cries
to those of Pritchard.

Here and there
,
hands started to rise
as shocked and stunned GI’s gave up the unequal fight, all except the survivors of Track 2
,
wh
o made their burst for freedom. They all fell
short of the tree line
. albeit
by only a few feet, riddled with bullets.

Individual Russians started shooting at the surrendering soldiers
,
and the
fighting
picked up in intensity again.

One enterprising DP gunner dropped flat on the road at the rear of the column
,
and pumped bullet after bullet into the exposed soldiers.

Soon
,
only the
mournful cries
of the hideously wounded rent the air
, and
un
sympathetic guardsmen moved amongst them dispatching each with a bullet or the thrust of a bayonet.

It was only Pritchard’s
higher piercing
screams that kept the killer’s at bay, so
awful
were they.

Colonel Artem’yev arrived, panting after sprinting forward to command his men.

Gesturing to one of his young soldiers, he sent mercy to the wounded American.

Two bayonet thrusts and the screams ceased, although Pritchard remained conscious for some time after, he felt no pain and slipped quietly away to answer to a higher authority for his incompetence.

That left only Komarov’s cries filling the senses.

Three medical orderlies were trying to do what they could to a man with no face
,
and whose chest and arms had been burnt down to the bone.

A barked order and simple gesture moved them away from their charge.

Two shots rang out and one more kill was made. The screaming stopped.

The executioner lowered his head, in reverent salute to the comrade he had just granted the mercy of death.

Artem’yev calmly re-holstered his pistol and moved
off
to leave Komarov’s comrades to do what they could to honour their friend’s remains.

Every American lay dead upon the road or in the vehicles,
either slain in combat or dispatched when wounded or surrendered,
testament to the brutal efficiency of his warrior’s.

The pride
he felt
at his men’s
conduct and skill
in the ambush
did not remove the
awful
image of Komarov, and the
tough Colonel unashamedly spilt his l
u
n
ch upon the ground,
retching
until nothing came
but air
.

The firing stopped
,
and the Master Sergeant was veteran enough to understand that the sounds of
only
Russian weapons closing
the action meant
just
one thing;
Pritchard had been defeated and was probably running to the river.

“No time for subtlety, let’s roll!”

Performing hand signals for the benefit of the other vehicles
, Hässler was thrown about as
‘Liberty’ leapt forward and picked up speed, the others falling in behind.

Near
Diembot
,
all was confusion.

An ad hoc aid unit
,
formed of personnel from the 363rd Medical Battalion
,
was loading up wounded GI’s and German civilians, the
sounds of
nearby
battle
lending speed to their efforts.

Security was provided by a handful of green replacements
that
had been destined for the 263rd Engineers
,
but were now officially attached to the medical group as protective infantry.

Covering one route was
P
rivate
Homer Laidlaw
, who
manned a .5
0cal
M2
machine-gun
and imagined
himself
holding back the
whole
Soviet
army for weeks, mentally seeing the red hordes buckle under his fire. He was
eighteen years old, nineteen on Thursday
,
as he
had proudly informed
the nurses in the aid post.

John Evans, h
is
number two
,
was
an equally beardless youth
,
who only smoked to make his voice lower.
H
is eyes were sharper
,
and his hearing more
acute
,
and
it was
he
who
shouted a warning, readying the belt of APIT rounds the pair had loaded into their fearsome weapon.

Coming from the direction of Werdeck
,
an armoured vehicle burst from the woods
, driving hard and fast with no
other
purpose
apparent
than to ride down the two youths.

Laidlaw’s great-
grand pappy
had been honoured
in the Union cause
at
Chickamauga
,
and the family never stopped talking about it.

Now was his chance.

The .5
0cal burst into life, tracers betraying his wayward fire. Showing a calm
well in excess of his year
,
he walked the bursts into the vehicle
,
using the star as an aiming point
and was rewarded with hits.

APIT
s, or Armour-Piercing Incendiary Tracer rounds, were designed for soft skinned and lightly armoured vehicles
,
and at the
five hundred
metre
range
at which they first engaged the vehicle
,
the
ir
penetration exceeded the armour thickness of the target.

The half-track slowed and wobbled
,
before ramming
and riding up upon
a tree
stump,
stopping abruptly,
and
send
ing
one
man
flying forward to bounce on the
unforgiving
road.

The damaged form
tried to rise
,
but Evans
picked up his Garand. The beardless youth
had spent much of his youth potting squirrels
,
so
he found that
putting a bullet into a large man was easy enough.

The two patted themselves on the shoulders until they saw
three
other vehicles rounding the bend.

They heard screams and believed they were coming from those
left alive in the
smoking
vehicle
. That was
before Evans was propelled forwards into the earth by a body blow
,
as a
US
medical Lieutenant barrelled into him.

“What have you
done?
You stupid bastards! Oh fuck, you stupid bastards.”

Both boys looked at the red-faced officer, and at the target,

Where once there was an enemy vehicle
,
now stood an American half-track.

Where once there was a red star as a point of aim
,
now clearly visible was a muddy white star.

As both
Laidlaw and Evans
started to realise what they had done
,
the paint started to blister as the
fuel ignited by the ince
ndiaries spread through and under the vehicle
, so they failed to see
the name
‘
Liberty
’
slip like molten metal off
her side.

The other halftracks caught up and started to deploy to attack the enemy force
,
before realising that a tragedy had occurred.

No further shots were exchanged
, and
men sprinted to get
other
men out of a rapidly spreading fire.

Evans remained head down on the ground, sobbing uselessly, never to take up a weapon again in his life.

Laidlaw took off with all the vigour and com
mitment of his years
,
and plunged
into the burning halftrack.

He laid hands on one olive drab clad figure and pulled him clear, the medical
Lieutenant
taking the dead man and dropping him to one side. Both pushed back
in to the flames and smoke,
each return
ing
with a bundle of torn and burnt flesh. The flames grew even higher and the Lieutenant went no more
, kneeling to tend to the unconscious
and bloody
Rosenberg
.

Laidlaw
took a deep breath and threw himself into the vehicle, his flesh searing and blistering as his hands sought one more soul to save.

He grabbed at something and pulled. It remained stuck. He took a better hold and pulled backwards with all his strength, freeing the man, sliding at speed to the back of the halftrack until he fell out the rear door
,
bringing
Randolph
out on top of him.

It was fortunate that the
young private
was unconscious, otherwise the pain of being wrenched free of his crushed and burnt legs would have been too much to bear. His arms were deeply burned where they had lain in burning fuel but his torso and face showed only mild signs of the heat that had claimed everyone else in the vehicle.

More medical staff arrived and
,
although some recoiled from the horror before them
,
they worked the miracle and kept the
grievously
wounded man alive.

No one saw Laidlaw throw himself back into the halftrack, determined to save one more.

Perhaps
,
unfortunately,
rather than going on his gut instinct,
the
medical
Lieutenant
, Acting Captain
Thomas
Goulding
,
discussed the matter with his Commanding officer at the first opportunity
,
and received
clear
guidance not to make any recommendations on the matter
,
as the boy’s conduct
, brave as it clearly had been,
was
obviously done out of grief and atonement rather than
raw
courage
.