Breakthrough (The Red Gambit Series) (85 page)

“Let us hope it does not mean what we think, Comrade Praporshchik!”

He was 21 years old and one of the final products of the officer
production line
that had tried to keep up with extreme losses during the closing year of World War Two.

His life had been spent studying the Samurai Arts and preparing for the day
that he w
ould bring his warlike skills to the field, for the benefit of the Emperor.

2nd Lieutenant Mori Sazuki imagined himself at the head of an army, driving all enemies before him, the men behind him in awe of his valour, his Emperor’s eyes upon him as he swept the field.

His capabilities did not live up t
o his expectations, being only f
ive foot four in his best boots, and wearing the trademark round glasses so beloved of his hero and mentor, General Tojo.

He was puny, even by Japanese standards, the ration
ing
resulting from
the American blockade imposing restrictions on his growing body that did not permit the
proper
development of muscle and fat.

None the less,
he had made his way through the training process and now found himself entrusted with
the responsibility
of command,
pushing
his tank forward to support infantry units being
penned
back
on
Route
304
, as Chinese Divisions rallied and fought back.

The advance divisions of His Imperial Majesty’s Armies had invested Guiping, only to be pushed
out
;
the first reverses anywhere in
China
since the new conflict erupted.

It had been decided to push Rainbow into a defensive line, using their talisman status with the troops
,
as well as their firepower
,
to halt the counter-attack.

Sazuki’s Panther was an older model A, a tank that had seen active service in three armies to date, and taken lives
with each.

The previous
commander
had fallen to enemy machine-guns, slain as he rose from the turret to get a better view. Traces of his blood could still be seen on close examination, or as Sazuki found
out to his disgust
, picked up by contact with various surfaces in the
commander’s position.

His sponsorship by
General
Tojo ensured he was placed in one of the
G
erman t
anks, his survivability increased by its thick armour, although other officers disputed the inexperienced
soldier’s
ability to handle and fight the prime vehicle.

Complimented by its own grape of infantry, riding high on the hull, the Panther named as ‘Zuikaku’ ploughed forward to its
allotted
position on the fringe of Highway 304.

It shared
its
name
with an Imperial Japanese Navy Aircraft C
arrier, the seaborne ‘
Fortunate Crane’ proving less than fortunate,
having been
sunk during
the Battle of Cape Engaño on 25
th
October 1944
.

The dead officer’s brother had served aboard the carrier, surviving the sinking
,
but not the injuries he sustained.

Sudden f
iring ahead focussed the
minds of the tankers and rider
infantry, Sazuki
directing
his
driver
to slow down in order to orient himself with the situation.

He felt the elation of his first battle wash over him
,
and he automatically checked that his Senninbari was in place around his waist, picturing the proud Tiger stitched into the cloth of his ‘belt of a thousand stitches’
, the traditional Shinto good luck symbol.

Familiar uniforms suddenly emerged from the surroundings, a party evacuating wounded
,
and a senior officer bearing down on ‘Zuikaku’ with undoubted purpose.

Sazuki dismounted and took his orders
, the
Major’s
simple instructions being to move up to the road junction and hold it.

The senior man disappeared back into cover, quickly returning to where he was needed.

Climbing back aboard ‘Zuikaku’,
Sazuki
ordered the infantry group to dismount and deploy
close
behind, and pushed his tank forward again.

He ducked as one,
and then
two more bullets pinged off the armour
in quick succession
, strays not intended for him
,
but close enough for the first doubts to undermine his childish enthusiasm for the combat to come.

The tank emerged from the trees and bushes, sliding between two infantry positions with inches to spare.

At the road junction
,
there was a triangle where the three roads met, and the fallen trees upon it
offered a reasonable firing position and
lured Sazuki forward, ordering his dr
i
ver to position behind the obstruction.

More bullets
splattered on the armour
, this time meant for
‘Zuikaku’
,
and a cry of pain indicated at least one of the infantry group
behind
had been struck.

The turret rotated and the gunner lashed out with his co-axial, putting down a group of Chinese soldiers huddled behind a bush.

Mori Sazuki was confused beyond words, his officer
’s
brain registering the fact that the crew were fighting without orders, the child’s brain wishing he were anywhere but where he was.

Raising his head above the hatch, h
e watched as more Chinese were chopped to pieces, a combination of the hull weapon and an infantry machine-gun ripping the bodies to pieces in front of his eyes.

‘Uncle Tojo lied. It’s horrible!’

To his front
,
a patch of the bushes grew darker and then disappeared as an enemy
armoured vehicle
worked its way
forward
into a firing position.

“Tank!”

His training forgotten,
all he did was shout and point
, attracting a swarm of bullets from vengeful enemy infantry.

The gunner, an experienced Corporal, caught the rough direction of his commander’s arm, rotated the turret and picked up the shape of the tank-destroyer.

He fired and missed, concentrating more as a squealing Sazuki dropped inside the turret clutching his ruined right hand, bullets having neatly
separated
the second and fou
r
th fingers, as well as
removing half the palm.

Despite the screaming in his ear, the corporal placed the next shot on target, knocking out the enemy Hellcat.

The
fire fight
around the junction was growing
in
intensity, and the tank crew knew they were in for the fight of their lives

All except Sazuki, who,
having stopped screaming
,
seeme
d more interested in how he would no
w
hold his sword than giving orders to his men.

As the loader laboured to serve the main gun, he
stole swift
glances
at
his officer trying to fit his wounded hand around the hilt of his sword, the face betraying the
young
man’s shock.

The infantry grape had been decimated as the Chinese stepped up their attack, not put off by the presence of the powerful tank.

The infantry company had suffered badly too, and the Major chose to withdraw further, sending a runner to the tank with the order.

The runner took a rifle bullet in the thigh before he relayed the instructions, bleeding out from his destroyed artery before he could take his own life with a grenade.

It was the driver who first spotted the danger.

“Enemy infantry in close! Left side!”

The gunner screamed at his officer.

“Keep them off the tank!”

Sazuki, strangely comprehending the man’s words, extended his head
out of the turret
, noting men in close
.

The turret crew heard him shout at the figures scaling the side, ordering them off his tank like they were soldiers caught on a prank.

His brain seemed to comprehend what was happening, and the loader saw the ruined hand trying to free his Nambu pistol.

A dull thud overcame the other sounds of battle
,
and the young officer dropped back into the tank, his nose
and jaw
broken, front
teeth removed by the powerful swipe of a
rifle butt.

The loader had his own pistol out, shooting the fir
st Chinese face that peered down the hatch
.

“Move the tank!” He shouted, wondering why it hadn’t already reversed away.

The driver was already dead, shot in the face at point blank range.

In an attempt to swat the unwanted passengers off, the gunner traversed the main gun
.

A disembodied Thompson sub-machine gun hovered over the hatch, discharging two burst
s
of bullets.

The turret stopped turning, the hull machine-gun stopped firing.

Only Sazuki remained alive, unharmed by the bullets that claimed the other three crew members.

An accented voice spoke in Japanese.

“Come out now or you die.
Speak.
”

Mori pulled himself upright as best he could but, his face swollen from the blow, was unable to speak.

His silence condemned him.

Rain descended through the hatch, falling on top of him and the dead loader.

He raised his face, appreciating its freshness, before realising that it was not rain and that death was about to visit him.

“Mother!”

A burning rag was dropped through the hatch and the inside of ‘Zuikaku’ became an instant and deadly inferno.

The betrayal of trust carries a heavy taboo.

Aldrich
Ames
.

The efforts outside
Stuttgart
had salvaged the Algerian Division
,
but only that, Soviet forces continuing their advances elsewhere and forcing back most of the French First Army.

De Lattre was already
well
in
to
the process of moving headquarters, quitting the quaint town of Baden-Baden for the baronial sur
roundings of the Château de Craon, often referred to as the Palais d’Haroué. The relocation back to the
Nancy
area was considered appropriate by some, excessive by others.

However, for the Headquarters of the Legion Corps, it meant that buildings fit for purpose were becoming available and
legionnaires
now started to occupy rooms as the First Army personnel departed
Baden-Baden
.

‘Camerone’ had been pulled back, now floating around behind the front line ready to act as a fire brigade
,
should there be an issue. Its commander, Ernst-August Knocke, was also using
the time to integrate the new units
allocated to him
according to the new order
of battle, the former
Alma
unit. T
he 5th RdM
was
now permanently a part of ‘Camerone’, bringing it up to divisional strength.