Stalemate (The Red Gambit Series) (30 page)

The sounds of terror reached their ears, Fusilov breaking down from professional soldier to terrified animal
, as horrible death stalked him within the confines of the small tank.

“Fuck it.”

The ancient BAR was placed against the wall.

“Corporal, you’re in charge til I get back, ok son?”

And without waiting for a reply, Mearns was gone.

Fusilov had been wounded before. Indeed, he had received burns before, when his T-60
had been knocked out by a mine in the winter of ’43.

That had been child
’s play compared to the pain of being slowly roasted alive.

He gathered himself for a final effort, willing his legs to bend and find some purchase to aid his escape.

Squealing with the pain, his left knee moved and found something, he knew not what, but sufficient to give him a small extra lift upwards.

He repositioned his right arm, the weight of his body perilously supported by his knee.

His arm took the weight, and he levered himself upwards, bringing his face into the afternoon light, partly brought by the rich sunshine, but also contributed to by the flames from his vehicle.

The fire surged, licking
at his bleeding leg wounds, causing agony at new levels.

He pushed upwards again, but found no strength and no more leverage, his damaged limbs refusing to function.

Head above the rim, he could see a soldier, an enemy soldier at that, running in the crouch of a veteran, speeding towards the tank.

He screamed, waving his hand in joy, dislodg
ing his tenuous hold and slipping back down inside the tank.

Gratefully, he looked up as the Am
erican mounted the burning tank. Holding up his right hand, Fusilov waited to be pulled out.

Two .45 bullets blew his head apart.

Mearns, sucking air greedily after his exertions, slid two replacement rounds into his Colt’s magazine, holstered it, and picked up his BAR.

He looked into the face of the young soldier, whose wide-eyes
silently questioned what the Master Sergeant had just done.

“No-one deserves to die like that
, son, no-one, y’hear?”

The boy said nothing, but his face said everything.

A shout from the far window cut short the exchange.

“Sarge, here they come. Lots of infantry
, and some fucking big tanks.”

“Ok people, let’s get ready to bug out. Corporal,” the younger man looked at him
, awaiting the direction, “Call it in, and give them some numbers. You have a minute.”

Whilst the corporal made the radio report, Mearns slapped the angry teenage soldier on the shoulder.

“Stow it for later, Reynolds. We’ll talk. For now, we gotta get the fuck out of here.”

On Colonel Antonov’s orders, Soviet mortars had recommenced hitting ‘Panyedelnik’, taking down three of the Master Sergeant’s men.

Eager hands grabbed the wounded, dragging them painfully clear
, as the short platoon withdrew to the main line position.

Antonov was an experienced and capable no-nonsense officer, and he didn’t like his orders one bit.

Reading the ground, he tried to put himself in the position of the defending commander.

A quick conversation with the officers commanding the infantry and support elements
, and a change of plan was set in motion.

Swift notations were made on maps, codenames checked, questions answered
, and the command group broke up.

The orders cascaded down to unit level, and 1st Company, 185th Guards immediately deployed to the left, pushing up through the woods as quietly as possible. 2nd Company of the sappers followed fifty metres behind, ready to assist or exploit
, as the situation demanded.

One light tank had tried to use the Weilandsbach stream as a cover, but found the modest watercourse to be deeper than expected. The recon tankers sat in the water, their engine swamped and useless.

Another T70 had already penetrated some way into the woods adjacent to the Argen, escaping the potential open killing ground either side of Route 7709.

The Guards infantry
of 3rd Company were soon level with the stationary reconnaissance tank, and the combined force moved slowly forward, intent on reaching their first designated line on the 7707.

Smoke from the burning farm buildings
, recently vacated by Mearns and his troopers, mingled with the richer, sweeter smoke of the burning T70, flowing gently south in the modest breeze, stinging eyes and tickling throats, as the infantry took their positions in the woods.

As the 3rd
Company had been advancing, so too had the 3rd Company of the Engineers, hugging the edge of the river in single file, crawling slowly through the trees and undergrowth that marked the banks of the Argen River.

Antonov judged the moment.

Waiting, …waiting, …waiting.

A final check of his binoculars,
quickly sweeping the open area all the way to his target.

Decision.

“All units, all units, Drook-one-zero, execute Adin, repeat, execute Adin.”

On receipt of the codeword ‘Adin’, the Soviet attack began in earnest.

Leading off in four columns, the armour of the 92nd Engineer Tanks emerged from
UnterWolfhertsweiler, the strange apparatus they pushed creating loud metallic sounds that could not fail to attract the attention of any would-be defender.

Fig #59 - Soviet developed attack, the Argen River, Germany.

Two of the PT34 tanks were kept back, ready to move up if one of their comrades was knocked out.

The PT34’s were 76mm gun T34’s with a difference. A metal jib protruded from the bow of each tank, pushing a heavy metal spoked wheel assembly, designed to sink into and chew up the ground ahead of the tank. It was called the Mugalev system
, and it killed mines.

Behind each PT tank came a line of four IS-II’s, their 122mm guns sweeping the area ahead, ready to lash out at any threat. Each IS-II had a grape of infantry from the SMG Company, each man steeled ready to throw himself off and into combat with the enemy.

Five more IS-II’s, including Antonov’s own vehicle, lay waiting in UnterWolfhertsweiler.

Butcher panicked.

“Hit
them, open fire, open fire now!”

The experienced
men around the Major did not react, knowing full well that he had lost it.

Only Travers followed the order, the young Artillery liaison officer sending the fire order to the waiting 105mm’s of the 66th Artillery.

Again, Butcher repeated his order, incredulous that no hive of activity had followed, no rumbling thunder, as the guns of his command engaged the enemy.

“You idiot
, Butcher. You fired off too soon. Now we’re for it!”

Captain Towers, commander of H Company, was furious, the hard work and planning sold down the river in a moment of panic by the inexperienced commander.

Lieutenant Travers, understanding little, tried to make amends by stopping the 66th’s guns.

Towers tried to make the best of the bad situation.

“Keep ‘em going now, goddamnit, keep ‘em going.”

Grabbing the radio from the operator, Towers brough
t himself up to his full five foot seven inches and threw a contemptuous look at Butcher as he got through to Hardegen.

Understandably, t
he tank man was extremely pissed off.

Towers nodded as he listened, alternating between a look at the battlefield and a contemptuous glare at Butcher.

“Yes, I know that! You can imagine what happened here. Over”

Clearly,
the tank officer was spot on in his guess.

“You got it
, Major.”

Pausing as another flight of 105mm shells landed
in front of the oncoming enemy, Towers risked a look out of the window.

Shouting at Travers, Towers focussed the inexperienced officer on getting his shells on target.

“Advance your fire, Lieutenant, you’re falling short.”

Turning back to the main radio, he returned to his exchange with Hardegen.

“I’m keeping the arty on the go. No one else fired, thank god. The enemy infantry in the woods on the right seem static for now.”

Hard
egen clearly interrupted, Towers taking the opportunity to gesture for a canteen.

The water was cool and refreshing.

Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he responded.

“Roger that. Has to be best. Can you deal with those monsters? Over.”

The tanker’s reply clearly hit the mark, and the small man laughed a big laugh.

“I hear that
, Major. Good luck to you. Over and ou...”

Butcher snatched the radio from his hand.

“Hardegen, this is Butcher, I am in command. You will open fire immediately. Over.”

Onlookers were unclear whether it was the collision with the
doorpost that knocked Butcher senseless, or whether it was the flashing impact of Towers’ rock hard fist.

Either way, the man was down and out for the count.

The radio was back in competent hands.

“Small problem, now resolved. We will execute as agreed, Over and out.”

Hardegen was grinning from ear to ear.

“
I was right. Sounds like Butcher panicked, but Towers has it under control.”

His gunner grunted, focusing on the job in hand.

Hardegen’s mind slipped back to his first meeting with Towers, a misnomer for one of such short stature.

The man clearly knew his business.

Which was very much an asset for the hairy minutes ahead.

Mearns burst into the command point.

“Who in the name of all that is fucking round and sacred ordered that fire?”

Enough eyes swiveled to an insensible lump in the corner for him to get the full picture in an instant.

Snorting in disgust, Mearns moved to Towers and threw up a salute.

“Captain, we bugged out as you see,
three wounded, one dead. Took a light tank out before we left. I’ve slotted my platoon in at the end of the track there.”

Towers nodded, rubbing his bruised right hand
, for no other reason than it hurt like hell.

“OK
, Win, you get them settled in there. Just spoke to tanks, and they are still sitting on plan.”

Towers jerked a thumb at the inert form.

“That prick lost it and called fire. Now we have to go with that.”

Another volley of artillery shells punctuated the statement, closer this time, walked forward by Travers.

Both men checked the approaching enemy, largely obscured by the smoke and flames of the farm buildings, as mortars and tank guns reduced it to rubble.

“Keep your eyes skinned for the flares
, and when they come, move like grease lightning clear?”

“You got it
, Captain.”

Mearns knew the plan, they all did, but he understood that Towers was going to reinforce the message all he could.