Breakthrough (The Red Gambit Series) (37 page)

“Merde!”

There was nothing the
Canadian
tankers could do to stop the massacre
of the engineer troops
on the bridge
,
except to try and kill as many T34’s as possible.

Blanc
took a deep breath and engaged the latest target, muttering as his round sailed closely past its turret.

A deafening clang took away the Canadian crew’s senses
,
as an 85mm shot clipped the turret side.

Shaking his head
,
Revel
tried to focus but couldn’t, as much a pr
oduct of the shells
effect on his ears and brain
as the damage it had wrought on his
commanders
optics.
Blanc
retained sufficient sensibility to successfully engage the leading tank
,
which halted immediately, the
surviving
two
crew
members
debussing straight into small arms fire from the surviving
vengeful
engineers.

Another loud clang indicated a Russian hit, this time clipping the front of the tank on the edge above the hull gunner position. The shock caused him to
partially
evacuate his bowels
,
but he stuck to his job
,
although petr
i
fied, burst
s
of .30cal seeking out the Russian soldiers hopping from position to position.

The rain intensified
but grew patchy
, sometimes hiding the
Soviet
s completely, other times offering up enough of a view for a 75mm shell to follow.

The
Sherman
relocated for a third time, the new position almost hugging the western edge of the rail track.

A second T34 was hit and knocked out, a small fire apparent as the crew bailed out, all surviving the reduced small arms fire from the beaten engineers.

             
Revel regained his senses and noted the
damage to his optics
. Opening his hatch
,
he stuck his head out and brought his field glasses up to his eyes.

“Take the one by the carrier, Guillame!
Left turret a few degrees!”

The turret traversed a small distance and locked on the target tank.

The turret crew became aware that the tank was turning
as the driver started to panic.

“Non! Arr
ê
te!”

Blanc swivelled his turret
, ready
to
loose
a shot once the damn fool driver had finished jinking the tank
,
whilst Revel spoke gently down his intercom, trying to calm the young driver.

The
Sherman
stopped dead, nearside flat on to the enemy.

Both guns fired together and both shells hit their intended target. The 75mm shot struck the glacis plate and ricocheted off into the rain clouds above, leaving a gleaming silver scar on the brand-new tank.

The 100mm shell
struck the side of the
Sherman
immediately to the left of the driving position, entered the tank
with ease, before exiting
almost millimetre perfect through the same position on the offside.

Its path took it directly through both driver and
machine-
gunner.

The smell of
tortured metal and burning competed with the sickly smells
of blood and gristle, all
invad
ing
their every sense.

“Get out, everyone get out!”

Revel pulled himself up through the hatch and rolled onto the rear deck, scrabbling around to lie in the lee of the turret. Blanc rolled on top of him and dropped to the ground below. Henchoz, the
loader, desperate to escape, misjudged his exit and cracked his head on the unforgiving metal rim,
the impact
filling his eyes with blood and dropping him stunned to the floor of the vehicle.

The
strike
of another
Soviet
shell threw R
evel
onto the ground
and silenced the cries of the
petrified
blinded man
left in the tank.

Both survivors watched as the enemy tank moved on
over the bridge
to engage the
three
Sherman
reinforcements
that Revel had summoned, wincing as it killed each in turn, shaking off hits without
sustaining any
apparent harm. The final vehicle
it
destroyed burst into flames immediately
,
and the two Canadians witnessed a blazing survivor running blindly around the battlefield as his flesh
dropped
off
,
until a merciful burst of bullets from the enemy tank put an end to his misery.

They were broken men, reduced to pitiful creatures by the death and destruction all around them.

Safety was their prime concern, their only concern.

Revel and Blanc slithered across the sodden ground and slipped under their
knocked-out
tank, seeking both a respite from the d
riving rain as well as cover fro
m whatever horrors the Russians would bring next.

Yarishlov saw no need to bother his infantry commander with flares as the rain was doing an excellent job
in
masking his approach.

A
single
Canadian tank was withdrawing rapidly, laden with men desperate to escape
the
inevitable.

Two shells from Yarishlov’s T44 turned it into a fiery beacon that burned for many hours.

Caught between the guardsmen north of the river
,
and the newly arrived armoured force
,
the fight went out of most of the Canadian infantry.

Hands were raised
,
and only a few stalwarts scampered away to fight another day.

Major Deniken led his men forward, detailing some to take the prisoners under guard, whilst others were sent in search of intelligence.

An extremely well camouflaged position was located, betrayed mainly by the sounds of pain coming from within. The dry and warm first aid post contained the Canadian wounded
,
and Deniken ordered that all
Soviet
wounded and medical supplies should be brought to the same spot. Within minutes
,
a
Russian doctor
and a Canadian doctor were operating side by side, fighting to save the life of a sergeant who would
, despite their extraordinarily skilled
efforts,
never see the shores of
Canada
again.

Yarishlov surrendered to the
latest
offer of the schnapps, having j
ust reoriented the 22nd’s units,
sending them westwards to provide security
whilst
his tanks and the infantry sorted themselves out.

“
Five
kills
,
Comrade
Polkovnik
. Your report
on the worth of your tank
should make interesting reading.”

Kriks
took the flask back and swigged
another
mouthful, belching in satisfied fashion
,
as the fiery liquid disappeared into his belly.

“That
gun
,
Stefan. W
ould that we had had the beast when the Ger
man Pant
er
a
s ruled
our world eh?”

The Starshina could only nod.

“I thought your gunner did excellently well
,
Comrade
Polkovnik
. Perhaps immediate leave as a reward?”

“You are going nowhere
,
Starshina Kriks.” Yarishlov spoke with mock
sternness
,
and his face split into a tell-tale grin
,
which he accompanied with a hearty back-slap, spilling some of Kriks’ precious liquid.

“You did do well though
,
so maybe the General will consider it when I write it up
,
eh?”

Yarishlov stretched, suddenly extremely weary and aware that he had not slept for many hours.

“Do we have enough fuel to do the rounds?”

“Barely enough left to
manoeuvre
if they counter-attack
,
Comrade Polkovnik
.”

“In which case
,
I will beg a vehicle from our infantry cousins, go and check the men at the rail bridge
,
and then find time to sleep before the fuel trucks arrive.”

Yarishlov wandered out to
locate
Deniken, only to find the
infantry officer
with a few of his men
,
tinkering with a
Canadian
jeep
that had seen better days
.

As the Colonel was about to speak
,
the engine roared into life and a very smug looking Senior Sergeant emerged from under the bonnet
to the accompaniment of cheers and much back-slapping
.

The Major acknowledged the approach of his superior with a casual but respectful salute, returned in the same fashion by Yarishlov.

“
Comrade Mayor!
I was about to ask if you had a vehicle I could borrow to go and see to my men by the rail bridge. Seems that you have one ready for me.”

Deniken recognised the comments for what they were.

“Unless the Comrade
Polkovnik
intends to pull rank on me
,
might I suggest we go together?”

Yarishlov dropped his backside into the front
passenger’s
seat without another word
.

The Major whispered to a tough looking Starshina who nodded and disappeared off on whatever mission Deniken had entrusted him with. Two other men were selected with the wave of a hand and climbed into the back of the jeep, their PPSH submachine guns providing security for the two officers.

Deniken graunched the gears, causing his superior officer to cast an enquiring glance at his new driver.

“Have you driven one of these before
,
Comrade
May
or
?”

The grind
ing
of anguished metal indicated another gear shift.

“Never
,
Comrade
Yarishlov
. We can discover its capabilities together.”

Yarishlov
punched Deniken’s arm in a comradely fashion
, very much approving of the infantryman’s humour and style.

“It’s your capabilities that worry me
,
Comrade!”

The jeep leapt forward, almost losing the two sec
urity troops
over
the back,
bringing
the sound of
barely-
controlled oaths questioning the parentage of their leader.
The canvas roof and sides
that
normally kept the weather off the passengers had
been removed by its previous owners
,
so all four were lashed by the downpour as they bore down on the rail bridge.

The jeep hit a small hole and literally flew out the other side, crashing down on its tough suspension
,
and firing mud in all directions as the wheels sought traction.
The
vehicle was sliding now,
its
rear almost racing with the front, heading sideways towards a stout tree stump.

Yarishlov, as befitted his rank, said nothing and contented himself with
reciting
a silent prayer.

Deniken crashed down a gear and the jeep surged away, resuming its progress towards the bridge.

“Do you have any driving credentials
,
Deniken?” his blanched face betraying his concern.