Stalemate (The Red Gambit Series) (5 page)

Company Havildar Major Dhankumar Gurung looked around him, able to make out the shape of one of his men here, a weapon manned and ready there.

8th Platoon was quiet, safely hidden behind their tree trunks, protected by the hastily scraped foxholes, or comfortable in the old
German trench.

Not one man had suffered any injury as the
Soviet artillery, weak by comparison to normal, had probed the defensive positions of the Sirmoor Rifles.

Part of their line was a trench that was eight foot deep, wood reinforced, and with firing steps along its length. Some fading graffiti marked it as
German, and a relic of the previous conflict.

Gurung’
s soldiers had extended the trench, and taken advantage of natural depressions in the ground, as well as fallen tree trunks, creating a strong position from which to resist.

Thus far, the battalion had not seen an enemy, apart from the occasional flash of an aircraft overhead.

According to the legends of the British Army, no enemy relished fighting these wiry hill men from Nepal, and, to a man, they were keen to get to close quarters with the new foe to put their martial skills to the test against a strong and cunning enemy.

The Sirmoor Rifles, also known as the 1st/2nd [King Edward VII’s Own] Gurkha Rifles, waited in anticipation of the battle to come.

Allied forces – 1st/2nd [King Edward VII’s Own] Gurkha Rifles, and 2nd Platoon of ‘A’ Company of 6th Rajputana MG Battalion, both of 7th Indian Infantry Brigade, 3rd Royal Horse Artillery, and 11th Field Regiment, Royal Artillery, all of 4th Indian Division, directly attached to US 12th Army Group.

Soviet
Forces – 3rd Battalion of 22nd Guards Cavalry Regiment of 5th Guards Cavalry Division, and 2nd Company, 1814th Self-Propelled Gun Regiment, and Special Group Orlov, 7th Guards Horse Artillery Regiment, all of 3rd Guards Cavalry Corps, 5th Guards Tank Army, 3rd Red Banner Central European Front.

“Are you fucking kidding, Comrade Kapitan?”

“No, I am not
, Comrade Serzhant, and what’s more, we go in fifteen minutes because staff already fucked it up once.”

The old Cossack shook his head.

“They are fucking it up again then, Comrade Kapitan.”

He pointed in the direction of advance, emphasising his words.

“Those boys down there are proper infantry, with machine guns. They want us to charge them? Mudaks!”

“Calm yourself, Kazakov. A
pparently this is not your first action.”

“That is why I question this order
, Comrade Kapitan. It’s total fucking lunacy!”

Captain Babaev moved like a striking snake, the flat of his hand wiping itself loudly across the older man’s face.

“You shut your mouth, Serzhant, or I will shoot you myself!”

All around, t
he younger Cossacks froze at the sound of flesh striking flesh, their eyes drawn to the growing red weal on Kazakov’s cheek, the ferocity of the blow becoming more apparent with the darkening of the skin.

Kazakov froze, controlling his breathing, his mind racing.

Babaev looked at him with unconcealed contempt.

“You boast constantly of the action you have seen and the men you have killed, and yet all I hear from you is whining about being sent to fight.”

The officer cleared his throat, intent on completing the NCO’s humiliation.

“I say enough of it
, Kazakov! I demote you to Private immediately, and you will lead the attack!”

To the watchers
, it seemed that a strange peace settled on Kazakov. The few that really knew the man understood that a white fury was consuming the ‘former’ sergeant.

Finishing the job, Babaev summoned one of the observers to him.

“Comrade Levadniy, you are now Serzhant. Don’t let us down.”

“Thank you
, Comrade Kapitan.”

The new sergeant saluted respectfully, avoiding the burning eyes of the previous
incumbent, slipping quickly away to find some rank markings.

Kapitan
Babaev poked his finger into Kazakov’s right breast, hard enough to cause the man to sway under the blow. His finger flicked up at the medal that was the pride and joy of the man he had come to despise.

“The Order of the Red Star, for which I have been unable to find any proof of
entitlement I might add!”

Kazakov’s eyes moved upwards, making the eye contact that he had been trying hard to avoid.

“The divisional records are meticulous, except when it comes to you it seems.”

Kazakov exhaled slowly in an effort to control himself.

“I wanted to strip you of it, but the Colonel prevented it.”

The former Sergeant’s eyes blazed openly, his fury feeding on the officer’s words.

“So we have agreed to give you the chance to earn it. That is why you are leading the attack.”

Stepping half a pace closer, Babaev leaned his head forward so
that the distance between their faces was the length of a cigarette.

“And you fuck up in any way, any way at all Kazakov, and I will shoot you down like the cowardly dog you are. Clear
, Comrade?”

Babaev misunderstood the delay for compliance, whereas it was a moment of debate for the ex-sergeant. He decided against his preferred course of action and replied, coolly and softly.

“Understood completely, Comrade Kapitan.”

“Excellent. Now fuck off and get yourself ready
, Comrade Private Kazakov.”

Babaev smiled openly as the defeated man strode off, removing his epaulettes as he went.

The officer checked his watch, noting that he still had twelve minutes before the attack commenced.

He lit a cigarette and consumed the rich smoke avidly, happily unaware that it was the last he would ever smoke
, and that his life had seventeen minutes to run.

22nd Regiment had not conducted a horsed charge for over two years, the fighting mainly being done on foot with a few disappointed Cossacks left behind to restrain their mounts.

The general plan was to deliver a horsed cavalry charge into the positions of the Indian troopers, using the woods as a cover, accepting that the upright trunks would both conceal and break up the advance, slowing it to a modest running pace at times.

A small probe had already established that both roads were mined and to be avoided.

The woods were heavy, but gaps between trees were wide, and there was little thick undergrowth to halt the surge. The Pine trees had no low-lying branches to foul the riders, and so the normally unthinkable seemed feasible, at least to those who ordered the attack.

It would require excellent horsemanship, something that actually stimulated
many of the men who would make the charge, as the challenge appealed to their sense of showmanship, creating a stage for them to demonstrate their riding skills to each other.

Some wiser heads agreed with Kazakov, as horsed cavalry and machine-guns made for a bad mix, but a message from the new Major assured them that the enemy troops were ready to fold, and that a full-blooded Cossack charge would break them in an instant.

At 2025hrs, Soviet artillery commenced a brief but violent barrage on the enemy positions, partially to cause damage but also to mask the sound of harnesses and sabres rattling as the assault company got ready.

At 2030hrs
, the 3rd Cossack Battalion commenced its advance.

[Author’s note. Indian Army ranks. Lance-Naik = Lance-Corporal, Naik = Corporal, Havildar = Sergeant, CSM = Company Havildar Major, Jemadar = Lieutenant]

Sudden cries from the section on his right drew the attention of Company Havildar Major Dhankumar Gurung.

Some piece of artillery shell had found soft flesh
, and one of his men was screaming loudly.

A reliable Naik, Gajhang Rai, was already scrambling across the defensive position, and the medical orderlies were ready to move
, once the bombardment stopped.

To the right, a
nother shell found its mark, but this time there were no sounds from pained throats, the three men blotted out in an instant, and their Bren gun silenced forever.

Making a note to adjust his reserve Bren gun team, Gurung found himself showered with earth as a round landed nearby.

Fortunately, for the Gurkhas, the Soviet artillery was only of modest calibre, otherwise the accurate fire would have reaped more bloody rewards.

As it was, a small number of them had been killed and a handful more wounded.

So far.

Fig #53
- Defensive positions, junction of Routes 317 & 323, near Wolfegg, Germany.

One of the last shells tossed over by the 76.2mm guns hit on thick branch
directly central to the company’s position, exploding thirty feet above the ground, transforming the shell into deadly shrapnel and the tree into wooden splinters, equally capable of taking a man’s life.

Directly below a Vickers machine-gun team from the
6th Rajputs died, fast moving metal and wood taking the lives of every man in the position, metal alone responsible for perforating the water-cooler jacket on the big machine-gun.

Captain Graham, the
Gurkha company commander, recognized the problem immediately and gestured at his senior non-com.

Grabbing three of 8th Platoon’s men, Gurung sprang from cover to cover, making it to the
silent Vickers position as the Soviet guns fell silent.

Graham immediately shouted at his men to make ready.

The Company Havildar Major quickly organized the recovery of the Vickers, aware that an unusual sound was steadily growing from the direction of the enemy.

The
signaller with Captain Graham cursed, his radio another victim of the shrapnel. A small piece had somehow missed the man, who had protected it with his body, creating an insignificant hole in the top casing, but causing significant damage within.

The I
ndian artillery could not be called in until it was fixed, the spare radios already consumed in the earlier fighting.

The summer light was fading, but what there was illuminated the battlefield from behind the Gurkha positions, drawing the Cossacks forward.

The Gurkhas were straining to identify the sounds, allocating many identities to the enemy, until one horse planted its leg in a small hole, snapping the bone in an instant.

The cry of distress was easily identifiable.

“Jesus Christ! It’s cavalry! Pass the word, Jemadar!”

Captain Graham looked upon cavalry as a ceremonial necessity with no place on the modern battlefield.

But now that he was faced by the reality of approaching horse, he found himself unexpectedly challenged.

The Gurkha Jemadar saluted formally,
reporting that the company was aware of the enemy to their front.

“Fix bayonets if you please.”

The Jemadar passed the order on once more, despite the fact that he and his men preferred to do their close work with the kukri.

The noise of approaching cavalry was increasing and Graham’s bayonet order undoubtedly eased some of the tensions growing amongst the Nepalese
hill men.

Amongst the trees to their front, the shadows flitted as the day drew to a close, and the Cossacks pushed their horses hard.

In front of Graham’s eyes, the shadows became real, and dangerous.

“Fire!”

All along B Company’s positions weapons fired, filling the air with .303” bullets. Vickers heavy machine guns and Bren guns, held in competent hands, punched out their own version of death in deadly streams of bullets.