Initiative (The Red Gambit Series Book 6) (48 page)

“Where’s the fire, Hermann?”

Keller said nothing, but hastily ducked into a small trench that led from his command position, gesturing for Von Scharf to follow.

Keeping low, the two moved quickly along the earthwork and into a covered observation post, from where two further trenches led off, one to a position occupied by a machine-gun crew who were clearly alert and ready for action.

Gently pulling aside part of the foliage that camouflaged the position, Keller invited his commander to take a look. Although the sounds of battle had been growing the closer he had moved to the edge of the hill, he was still surprised by what greeted his eyes.

“Verdammt!”

“Like I said, Herr Hauptmann, they’re hitting the bridgehead units… and winning as I see it. Look to the right and you’ll see the bastards who have us in mind.”

“Hurensohn!”

As they were alone, Keller felt duty bound to indulge in some humour.

“I love you too, Herr Hauptmann, but now is not the time.”

Von Scharf stayed focussed on the large movement of infantry.

“The mortars’ll be ready soon, but I suggest we don’t provoke them for the moment…”

He looked at his friend, “Just in case it’s not us they’re after.”

In truth, there was little chance that they intended to go around the 3rd Battalion, and both men knew it.

“Well, at least we’ll discharge our mission, Herr Hauptmann. Consider the enemy suitably distracted by our presence. High Command never mentioned that there were thousands of the bastards, and that they were full of fight though, did they?”

Von Scharf coughed politely.

“Cigarette?”

He took the offered smoke, checking that the bunker would disperse the smoke without drawing attention to their position. It was a Soviet bunker, so he didn’t expect a problem. The Russian knew how to build a bunker fit for purpose.

He returned to view the goings-on on the Saale.

“Mein Gott, the bridges are down, they’re cut off!”

Two kilometres away, the situation had changed dramatically.

“The bastards have organised a counter-attack damned quickly…”

He left the though hanging there as his mind came up with another possibility.

Keller’s eyes narrowed as the evidence of his eyes also suggested something extremely unpalatable.

“Mein Gott… it’s not a counter-attack, Hermann. We’ve only walked into a fucking Soviet assault force.”

The two took to their heels and headed back to Keller’s command position, Von Scharf issuing orders on the way.

Pausing to shake hands, the two went their separate ways; Keller to get to his radio and send out the warning, Von Scharf to get back to his headquarters and get ready to organise the defence of Height 462 against a mixed armoured and infantry force much larger than had been anticipated.

Fig # 201 - Rough layout of the area of around Height 462, Marienhagen, Germany.

That enemy force was better known as the 11th Guards Tank Corps, a veteran formation that had suffered less than most from the privations of winter and poor supply.

The Corps had also been no more than lightly engaged since the early months of the war, and was at nearly 80% strength, considerably more than most major frontline formations in the Red Army.

Von Scharf and Keller were right.

From their position, they had the benefit of seeing the real Soviet strength, something that was denied to the units dying on the Saale or fighting in Salzhemmendorf.

The intended distraction attacks had blundered into the waiting 11th Guards, whose own attack was scheduled to start that evening, once the sun had disappeared.

A reconnaissance mission by USAAF aircraft photographed nothing unexpected in the area, a testament to the well-known Soviet skill at camouflage, often referred to as ‘the ability to hide an elephant under a postage stamp.’

Von Scharf called in artillery as best he could, but a dedicated team was needed, and he asked for one to be sent forward immediately. German efficiency was such that a suitable observation section was quickly dispatched to join 3rd Battalion on the top of Height 462.

In the German rear, controlled panic ruled, as some staff officers redirected units to bolster the centre, whilst yet others pushed the pincer formations harder, sensing an opportunity.

Seven kilometres from where von Scharf had his headquarters, another bunker, secreted within Gronau Park, contained the commanders of 11th Guards Tank Corps, gathered together to review the attack plan, and now employed in responding to the unexpected German incursion.

The Corps Commander, Major General Amazasp Babadzhanian, had only just finished agreeing a fire plan with his artillery commander, Major General Mikhail Solukovtsev, when he saw the opportunity presenting itself.

“Comrades! Comrades!”

The hubbub in the bunker died away and the harried staff officers all turned to face their boss.

“Impress upon every officer… every soldier… we have an opportunity here. We can inflict huge losses on the green toads… but only if we attack hard… attack quickly… and do not stop. I’m convinced we can roll these bastards all the way to our first objective,” he tapped the map down the length of the heights between the Saale and the Ilse. “And probably beyond… but we must push… and push hard.”

Babadzhanian slammed his balled fist into his palm to emphasise his point.

“We have some air cover, but not enough, so make sure our AA assets stay tight,” he directed his comment generally, but his gaze was fixed on the Colonel in charge of the AA regiment.

“Now, leave 44th Tanks to overcome the river crossing, and implement the attack plan at,” he paused, looking at his watch, “1220. Move!”

To the untrained eye, it would have seemed that the command post descended into organised anarchy in seconds, but Babadzhanian understood that all was well, and his powerful corps would soon be crushing the hated Germanski under the tracks of their tanks.

The Third Battalion was engulfed in a man-made storm of fire and metal, as the Soviet artillery pounded the height with a regimental barrage, with numerous mortars adding their own brand of death to the party.

Men dug deeper, even as the artillery arrived and, now and again, claimed them and their comrades, the illusion of safety offered by the cool earth occasionally shattered by the explosive force of a Russian howitzer shell.

The telephone line had been laid, but was already useless, severed by some unseen strike.

The signallers were out, braving the storm of shells, seeking the break, the radio useless for reasons unknown.

A Soviet Guards radio unit hidden, west of Bantein, jammed the channels, furthering hampering the German defence.

Which meant the Von Scharf and the Third were on their own.

Their supporting artillery had ceased fire, unable to receive fire instructions from the OP group that had arrived, firstly because the radio was jammed, and subsequently because a Soviet fragmentation shell scattered a number of their bodies over the summit of Height 462.

By running cables through the trench system, the battalion signallers had enabled communication from the companies to the battalion command post, and it proved a godsend almost immediately.

“Herr Hauptmann. Seven Kompagnie.”

Scharf grabbed the handset and ducked, all in the same motion, as dust and earth shaken from the ceiling fell around him, the large calibre near-miss enough to shake the sturdy bunker to its core

“Scharf.”

“Herr Hauptmann. We have three companies of infantry forming up at the bottom of the slope. I’d say they are about set to charge.”

A nearby shell made Keller duck instinctively, as pieces of bark dislodged from the reinforcing tree trunks in the ceiling cascaded down like confetti on a bride.

He missed Scharf’s question.

“Say again. I can’t hear you.”

“Do they intend to flank?”

He was conscious that Keller’s men held the edge of the height, but that their position curled back on itself for the smallest distance before there was no defensive force.

“Not how they’re set up, Herr Hauptmann, but I‘ll keep watching. Perhaps send two squads to position there, just in case?”

Von Scharf battled against his instinct to support the Seventh Company.

“Nein. I need the reserve here, under my command. Ninth Kompagnie has infantry and panzers entering Marienhagen as we speak, and Eighth has a similar force as you to its front. Just watch that flank, Keller. I’m relying on you.”

There was a pause.

In the distance, von Scharf could hear the distinctive sound of MG-42s.

“They’re attacking now. Not flanking at the moment. Direct assault. Signing off.”

Keller was gone before he could respond, and, in any case, the telephone came to life in his hands as eight and nine companies reported their own problems.

More defensive machine-guns opened up as the height came under full attack.

The soldiers of the Second and Third Battalions, 27th Guards Motor Rifle Brigade, were less than enamoured with their allocated task. Trained to ride into battle alongside their armoured comrades, they were now committed to footslog up a hill manned by their traditional enemy, well-armed with automatic weapons.

None the less, they were Soviet Guardsmen, and they charged forward.

Babadzhanian accepted that he would lose some of his supporting infantry whilst he overcame any resistance on the hill, but he could not move forward with it in enemy hands, and felt the risk of waiting for an ordinary infantry unit to arrive was one he was not prepared to take.

His motorised infantrymen started to pay the price for his decision, the machine-guns of the 899th Grenadieres cutting down men half a dozen at a time.

Von Scharf, with limited mortar ammunition, held his fire until he could decide where the greatest threat was, and ended up not firing them at all, as the Soviet attack ran out of steam halfway up the slope.

“What’s happening, Aschmann?”

“They’ve gone to ground, Herr Hauptmann… well… mainly so. My left flank reports that the enemy attacking them have dropped all the way back to the valley. Centrally, we’ve stopped them cold, about a third of the way up. They found it more difficult to come up from Marienhagen, but the bastards are still clinging to the slope there.”

“Casualties?”

“A few hundred of them for sure, my own presently unknown, and very few from the infantry attack. It’s the damned artillery and mortars that’s hurting us. I had nineteen casualties before the attack. I’ll tell you the firm figure as soon as I know, Herr Hauptmann.”

Von Scharf wondered if he had been wrong to mistrust Aschmann. He sounded in control.

“Keep me informed, and keep up the good work, Oberleutnant. This hill is ours, and I intend to stay here, come what may. Alles klar?”

Half of his conversation had not arrived with Aschmann, as a mortar shell severed the cable precisely halfway between the two posts.

“Aschmann?... Aschmann?...”

He tossed the handset to his signalman.

“Verdammt… repair party!”

The two remaining signallers looked at each other, having only just returned from a dangerous spell outside looking for a break in the line to Eight Company.

“Somewhere between here and nine, menschen. Keep your heads down, but get it fixed quickly. It’s very important and I’m depending on you.”

He patted each on the shoulder as they gathered up their kit and, without a word, disappeared off into the barrage.

Von Scharf dropped onto the sawn-off tree trunk that served as a stool and lit a cigarette from the butt of his radio operator’s hand-rolled offering.

He dispensed with the cigarette holder, given the circumstances.

“Scheisse!”

They both gave voice to the word, as a shell landed adjacent to their position, bringing down more stone and earth, and shaking everything around them.

Drawing on the comforting smoke, von Scharf looked at his watch.

‘1243…scheisse! Is it only 1243?’

The field telephone announced itself through his thoughts.

“Bataillon… ja… ja… Herr Hauptmann, Stabsfeldwebel Keller.”

The receiver changed hands.

“Scharf.”

“Herr Hauptmann, the enemy are gathering for a second attempt. A large panzer formation drove past us, with panzer-grenadieres and… I’m not totally sure, to be honest… but it seems to have progressed beyond Salzhemmendorf and almost to Heights 397 and 420.”

Von Scharf consulted the battalion situation map before replying.

“What’s that you say? Are you sure, Hermann? There was a full bataillon of the 897th moving through there, with armoured support.”

“No, I’m not sure, Herr Hauptmann, but I do know that it certainly looks like there’s fighting going on to the west of Salzhemmendorf.”

“Are they coming round your flank yet?”

“No, Herr Hauptmann. That’s another reason why I think they’ve gone straight over the river. Nothing is developing to the south of Salzhemmendorf, which it would do if they had been stopped, don’t you think.”

“Ja, sound thinking. All right. Get me better information as quick as you can. Anything else?”

“Nein. We’ll hold, Herr Hauptmann.”

“Get me more information, Hermann. Out.”

Lighting another cigarette, he contemplated sending some of his reserve to the left flank of Keller’s company, but held himself in check.

‘I need facts… what’s going on… what the fuck is going on…’

It was then he realised that he had two cigarettes in his grasp.

He laughed inwardly and hoped that the other occupants of the bunker hadn’t noticed.

‘I’m getting far too old for this shitty mess.’

Fig # 202 - Soviet Order of Battle - Height 426, Marienhagen, Germany.

Lieutenant Colonel Vesnin knew exactly what was going on, and he held his leading platoons in check whilst his plan was put into place.

Resisting the standard shouts and threats from his Brigade Commander, he had withdrawn the units on his right flank, and sent them to move quickly around the base of his position, in order to extend and strengthen his left flank.

Careful examination of the heights, through a convenient shell hole in the roof of the west tower of Marienhagen’s evangelical church, led Vesnin to believe he had spotted the end of the enemy defensive line.

Lacking men to exploit his discovery, he did the next best thing by holding back his second attack, and allowing the withdrawn units to concentrate where he felt the enemy line no longer existed.,

Even as his supporting artillery and mortars redoubled their efforts to wear down the defenders, he could hear the sounds of small arms fire from elsewhere on the height, indicating that the other battalions were already into their own attacks.

Tanks of the 45th Guards Tank Brigade assigned to bolster his force, opened direct fire on the German defenders.

‘Hurry up, Dushkin… hurry up, man!’

No sooner had he thought the words than, as agreed, Major Dushkin sent a single blue flare skywards, which initiated a full-scale attack by all of Vesnin’s force.

He checked his watch.

‘1257.’

Fig # 203 - Soviet second assault, Height 426, Marienhagen, Germany.