Cauldron of Blood (7 page)

NINE

Peiper bit his bottom lip, then nodded to the young lieutenant who was going to lead the advance. ‘Give them every chance,’ he ordered. ‘Every chance possible, but,’ he hesitated momentarily. ‘But if they don’t get out of the way, you know what to do?’

‘
I know, sir,’ the teenage second-lieutenant said suddenly realizing that he was going into action for the first time — against his own people! He clambered inside the turret, slipped on his earphones and mike. Giving the controls in the turret a quick check, he ordered: ‘Carbide!’

Peiper
smiled momentarily. Like all greenhorns, the youngster tried to cover his inexperience by using the old soldier’s slang. He stepped back hurriedly as the Panther’s motors roared into violent life, its exhausts spouting thick blue streams of smoke as it started to rattle down the snow-covered slope towards the bridge.

Peiper
climbed up to his own position in the turret of the command-tank and said through the intercom: ‘To all. We’re going in. As soon as we’ve passed our own lines, button up and keep your eyes skinned. There’ll be three days inside the building for anyone who manages to let some Ivan pop an anti-tank grenade up his arse. Over.’

There
were chuckles everywhere.

‘
All right, roll ’em!
Over
and
out
!’

*

‘
Wer
da
?’ The challenge came just as the Panther swung around the ninety-degree angle, spraying up snow and mud on both sides, and came to a noisy halt just in front of the barbed-wire hurdle which barred the entrance to the bridge. On either side were two dug-in 57 mm anti-tank cannons. The young lieutenant blinked as the bright light caught him directly in the eyes.

  ‘
For god’s sake, douse that shitting light!’ he cried. ‘You want every Ivan this side of Moscow to see us?’

The
man with the light, who had challenged them, a burly bearded middle-aged man, laughed heartily. ‘What makes you think they don’t know all about us already, sonny boy?’ he demanded, but he lowered the torch.

‘
Don ‘t call me sonny boy. I am a German officer.’

‘
Yes, and I’m the shitting Queen of the May,
sonny
boy
!’ the bearded man replied easily. There was a low, tired rumble of laughter from the anti-tank gunners on both sides of the road.

‘
Listen, old Fireball has told us all about you young fellas from the SS. We know you’re full of piss and vinegar like all the SS, ready to die for Folk, Fatherland and Fuhrer so that yer mothers can collect a bit of tin and stick in a cupboard to gather dust — when yer dead. But I’ll tell you this, sonny boy. I’ve been out here since 1941 and before that I was in France and Jugoslavia and Greece and all the rest of those shitty places. I’ve got a whole shitting room of tin. You can have it if you want. But understand this, kid, you’re not passing this point as long as old Fireball is in charge here.’ The hardness disappeared from the old soldier’s voice to be replaced by a tone of understanding. ‘Don’t try to shit old heads like me and the rest of the boys. Go back to where you came from and forget all about it.’

Trying
to fight back his tears at this unfair treatment, the young officer had the presence of mind to kick the driver down below in his compartment with his right foot — the signal to keep moving forward.

Gently
the driver eased off his brakes and almost imperceptibly the Panther rolled a few centimetres closer to the barbed-wire hurdle which barred the entrance.

With
surprising speed for his age, the man with the lamp flashed up his machine pistol, snapping off the safety-catch as he did so. ‘I’m warning you, sonny boy. Another move like that — and I’ll fillet yer! SS lieutenant or not, I’ve got my orders. I’ll feed yer lead as soon as I look at yer.’

‘B
ut we’re only trying to do our duty,’ the young officer cried, his voice a mixture of rage, frustration and desperation. Already he could hear the rest of the small task-group clattering down the slope. He could not fail his idol
Obersturmfuhrer
Peiper — he simply couldn’t! ‘All we want is to cross the bridge and fight the Russians.’

‘
You’ll get your bellyful of old Ivan before yer finished, sonny boy, believe you me,’ the old man said stolidly.

‘
Ay, that he will!’ a half-dozen gruff voices agreed.

‘
I order you to move out of the way!’

The
man barring the way laughed hollowly.
‘
Order
! The only officer giving orders here, is the Fireball,
sonny
boy
!’

The
young officer’s nerve broke. ‘Driver,’ he cried, voice shrill with overwhelming rage. ‘
Advance
!’

‘
I’m warning you—’

The
driver let go of the clutch. The steep prow of the Panther smashed into the hurdle, scattering it in half-a-dozen pieces to both sides of the road. The Panther started to rumble forward. The sentry sprang to one side. He didn’t hesitate. Almost automatically he pressed his trigger. The schmeisser chattered. A stream of white tracer cut the darkness. The young lieutenant screamed. His spine arched like a taut bow and he fell across the front of his turret.

Task
Force Peiper had suffered its first casualty....

*

Now the little convoy was approaching the area where the Russians had to be dug in. Up ahead was the vague blur of the high bank. Obviously they would have men up there, but undoubtedly they would have already sited a couple of outposts at the bank’s base too.

Peiper
pressed his throatmike. ‘To all crews. Button up now. Keep well spaced. We’re running—’

The
rest of his words were drowned by a tremendous explosion to his rear, which flung him against the front of the turret. For one long moment the sky was as light as day, as explosion after explosion rent the night stillness, and angry red flame ripped the darkness apart.

Peiper
cursed. Fireball had been true to his word. He had blown the damned bridge. Now they were cut off too. But at this moment what was more important was that the explosions must have alerted the Ivans. He pressed the throatmike again.

‘
All right, boys, no use playing cat and mouse now. The Popovs will be waiting for us. So let’s hit hard where it hurts most — in the eggs!
Over
and
out
!’

At
top speed the little group of Panthers, spread out now in battle formation, long overhanging cannon waving from side to side, ready for the first sign of trouble, rattled towards the stark black incline, still silent and ominous, though Peiper had the eerie feeling that they were being watched all the time.

‘
Driver, you ready?’ he rapped through the intercom. ‘Yes sir. The old trick?’

‘
Right.’

Now
Peiper’s tank started to draw ahead of the others, so that they were drawn out in a flying arrow formation with the command Panther at the point. The ridge grew ever closer. Peiper could already make out the lines of firs which marked its summit like a regiment of spike-helmeted Prussian Guards on the march. Eyes narrowed to slits, he swung the periscope from side to side, searching the gloom for the Ivans who he knew
had
to be there.

A
soft thud, muted by the noise the tracks made. ‘Enemy fire ten o’clock!’ the driver’s scared voice reported.

Peiper
pressed the button. The electronically operated turret swung round easily. A faint white blur was hurrying towards them, gathering speed at every instant. ‘
AP
!’ he yelled. ‘Driver, you ready?’

  ‘
Sir!’

  ‘
Now
!’

In
the same instant that the anti-tank gun to their left fired again, the driver threw the Panther around as if it were a child’s toy and flashed on the powerful headlights. Suddenly night was transformed into day, as the twin white beams shot through the darkness, illuminating the little group of enemy soldiers scuttling around a small anti-tank cannon, abruptly pinned down by the blinding light like insects trapped by a lamp.

‘
Fire
!’ Peiper commanded, knowing the old trick only worked if its user was quicker off the mark than his opponent — then if he wasn’t, the lights gave away his position completely.

The
gunner needed no urging. He jerked back the firing bar. The gun erupted. The breech shot backwards, ejecting the glistening golden shell-case with a stream of smoke and clatter of metal onto the steel floor.

‘
Dead on, gunner!’ Peiper cried joyously, as the anti-tank gun exploded in a ball of angry red-flame, its barrel peeling back like a skinned banana, its crew flying to all sides in a mess of flailing arms and legs. ‘Now the shit will really hit the fan!’

Peiper
was not exaggerating.

Flame
began to stab the darkness on all sides. Abruptly the night was hideous with the noise of battle, as tracer and shell zipped back and forth, with the V-shaped Panthers firing to both sides like old-style men-of-war. They relentlessly pushed forward towards the crest and the relative safety they hoped to find on the other side.

Metal
clanged against metal. At the right side of Peiper’s head, the inner wall of the turret glowed an angry red. They had been struck by anti-tank shell.
Would
it
penetrate
? the frightening thought flashed through his brain. If it did, then within seconds every man in the tank would be a moaning, mangled wreck, for the shell would fly round and round in the confined space, ripping man and metal apart.

With
a howl, the shell ricocheted off the sloping metal of the turret. Peiper breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief and wiped the sweat from his brow. They’d got away with it once again.

Now
the flying V started to slow down, as the lead tanks hit the incline that led up to the tree lined ridge. Peiper’s brow creased in an anxious frown. This would be the spot where the trouble could really start. Any Popov hero with a grenade could hit them at this slow speed. ‘Gunner,’ he ordered, ‘man the m.g. Keep your eyes peeled for infantry.’

‘
Sir!’

Knowing
the risk he was taking, for the Soviets had excellent snipers, Peiper threw back the hatch cover and peered over the edge of the turret.

Behind
him, the timber bridge, or what was left of it, was burning fiercely, outlining the dark shapes of men running everywhere. Hastily he counted the number of tanks crawling up the slope behind him. He nodded his head in silent approval. They were all still there. Then he concentrated on his front, as below him the driver slammed through the gears and the tank’s progress up the steep slope was reduced to almost a walking pace.

It
happened so abruptly that he was almost caught off guard. Suddenly, a dark shape raced out of a hole and was pelting towards the command tank. Expertly, he ran right up the steep glacis like a bold child might do up a slide and was on the deck, sticky anti-tank grenade clutched in his hand. At the very last moment, Peiper automatically whipped out his pistol and pumped a wild volley at the Russian. He screamed shrilly, his hands clawing the air, as if he were climbing the rungs of an invisible ladder. Next instant he was over the side and being churned to a bloody pulp by the tracks of the following tank. But the bold Russian was only one of several. Now the bombers were streaking out of their hiding places all around the slow tank formation, running forward, ducked low against the hail of tracer and desperately attempting to fix their sticky grenades to the Panthers’ sides.

Man
after man was bowled over by the hail of fire. Then tragedy struck the little force. Even above the racket kicked up by his command tank, Peiper could hear the fatal clang of metal adhering to metal. Just behind him in the second Panther, one of the attackers had managed to attach a sticky grenade to its side — there was no mistaking the noise as the powerful magnets made contact. He swung about and fired a burst from his pistol at the running man. Too late! He ducked into a shell-hole out of sight.
‘
Bail
out
...
bail
out
...’ Peiper screamed hopelessly. The crew of the other tank had buttoned up.

Frantically
he pressed his throatmike. But already he was too late. There was a thick muffled crump. The second tank came to a sudden halt, as if it had just run into a brick wall. For one long moment nothing happened. Suddenly great puffs of ugly black smoke came from every welded seam on the stranded Panther. Then the massive structure started to fall apart, great pieces of torn metal sailing through the air, as it trembled and shivered, the streams of smoke growing denser by the second. Then one great rending, ear-splitting crash and the turret flew twenty metres into the sky to come thumping down with an impact that made the very earth tremble.