Breakthrough (The Red Gambit Series) (46 page)

Soviet
recon troops entering Kaufering found the bridges still down, having been destroyed by the Germans during the previous war.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Mercier was still asking for instructions,
desperate for information,
not even beginning to imagine how close he was to destruction.

A French officer from the 2e’s Fusiliers Marins Tank-destroyer unit had decided to dig his heels on the
Lech
, just east of Klosterlechfeld, and bloodily halted the unsupported
Soviet
infantry before they crossed the river.

The
Soviet
commander made a swift appreciation of the situation
,
and ordered units from Landsberg to move north, in order to drive into the flank of the French tank-destroyers.

Lacking good intelligence
,
he decided to order the Katyushas of 76th Guards Mortar Regiment to drop their rockets on likely defensive points on the road heading north, paying particular attention to Hurlach and Obermeitingen, both on the road to Klosterlechfeld.

3rd Battalion, 11th Motorised Rifles, was tasked for the attack, directly supported by a tank company from the 44th [Motorised] Engineer Brigade, with most of the 186th Tank Brigade to follow as soon as it caught up.

The 76th’s twenty-seven surviving
Katyushas
punched out their rockets, and, as was expected from such a veteran unit, they arrived on target.

In truth, few men were killed outright, and casualties were relatively light considering the amount of high-explosive that arrived in a short period of time.

However, the shock value was immense, especially to troops
that had sustained a constant moderate barrage for some hours
, and many a former FFI warrior
messed his pants and cried for his ‘mère.’

The 11th Motorised, although a unit
that
was tried and tested, also contained men who had seen little by way of proper combat.

Such a man was Major Vsevolod Skotolsky.

A French machine-gunner opened up as the lead units of the 3rd Battalion drove out of the cover of the trees and into full view. The sole casualty was the Battalion Commander, a popular officer who believed in leading from the front. Blood and brain matter splattered all over the panicky Skotolsky
,
and he turned his formation to the west, exposing the flank to further fire, as he desperately tried to regain the cover of the tree line to the west of the road.

The French were using an old Hotchkiss M1914 machine, unusually equipped with the 250 round belt, and the young Frenchman using it had no compunction about firing off every round, the shock of the Katyusha strike wearing off with the pleasure of retaliation.

One more man was injured in the hailstorm
and
all vehicles made it back into the woods.

Skotolsky, conscious of the passage of something unspeakable down his face, snatched up the microphone and called in a report.

By the time the unhinged de facto commander of the 3rd Battalion had finished, those listening believed that half the Allied Army was fortified within the confines of Hurlach.

The 76th’s
Katyushas
, already lined up for the next strike, were retasked, and let loose again on the small German village.

186th Tanks were redirected to take advantage of the west approach, intent on hooking up through Schwabmühlhausen and round the west flank of the Hurlach defences. More elements of the 11th were to accompany them as infantry support.

Unfortunately for
Semenchenko,
the new Commander of 10th Tanks, he received a call from Colonel General
Poluboiarov,
who had
recently taken over from the terminally-ill Volsky.

The man was impatient for news of success and, on being informed of the hold-up, ordered instant action, regardless of losses.

Perturbed, the normally calm
Semenchenko
quickly considered the options and made contact with the co
mmander of the 44th Engineer
Special C
ompany.

Orders given and acknowledged, he moved on to Skotolsky, pinning him in place until the 44th had arrived and then ordering him to support closely.

In the short period of time he had been commander of the 10th, he had not been able to acquaint himself with all his unit leader’s, so was unaware that Skotolsky was not the normal commander, otherwise he might have acted differently, especially as the 11th’s commander was close at hand in Landsberg.

But he didn’t, so he left the battle in the hands of an inexperienced engineer Captain
,
and an incompetent
,
panic-stricken wreck of a Major.

Mercier listened attentively as an NCO reported on the
Soviet
forces
, although the evidence was in front of his eyes.

They had stopped, and more than that, had stopped in a fixed position.

Such things are the recipe of disaster.

He beckoned his radio operator forward, detailing the unit he wanted to contact.

There was no reply.

“Merde!
Try another.”

Fig # 41 -
Battle
of Hurlach

The operator consulted the frequencies, altered to suit, and again transmitted.

Nothing.

A third try and the set chirped into life as an Oriental accent acknowledged the cry for help.

“Tell him to stand by,” shouted Mercier, fumbling with his m
ap.

He wrote down the map reference details and the coordinates and relieved the operator of the handset.

“Roger that, Emile Two-Four-Alpha. Shot on the way.”

Lieutenant Mercier had no idea what the 552nd was equipped with, but judging by the ranging shell that arrived and ploughed into the woods, it was very large and very deadly.

“
Raleigh
Two-Six, fire for effect, repeat, fire for effect.”

Ten OT-34/85’s of the
Special Tank Company, 44th [Motorised] Engineer Brigade leapt into view, driving hard in column until they cleared the edge of the woods
,
then shaking into line.

The young Captain in charge
went
by the book, organising his
tanks
as if back in
Officers
School
.

An experienced officer would have contacted the infantry, ensuring they were advancing with him but he was carried away by the moment.

An experienced officer would have spotted that the infantry were rooted to the spot and halted his advance, diving for cover as quickly as possible.

An experienced officer might well have destroyed his command in the doing, as the
155mm and 8”
H
owitzers of the American battalion placed their heavy shells right on the money, wrecking tree and vehicle in equal measure, transforming the former into lethal splinters that decimated the motorised troopers and converting the latter into funeral pyres for their occupants.

Men died
ten times over, tossed and smashed by the heavy barrage, buried alive or drive
n mad by the relentless assault. The
US
artillery strike coincided
with another
salvo
by the
Katyushas
falling full sqaure
on the French
positions
.

FFI soldiers who had risen to enjoy the view of t
he artillery
,
succumbed in large
numbers as the rockets crashed down.

The radio operator and his
equipment
became
victim
s
immediately
,
and Mercier could no longer speak to the American artillerymen miles to the rear.

This was unfortunate
,
as the
Soviet
armour approached his position in a steady line.

Had he fought the T34 before then he may have noticed the difference, but he hadn’t, so the surprise was as complete as the horror they brought to the battle.

OT34’s were modified for Engineer use, the hull machine gun removed and an improved ATO42 flamethrower installed, which flamethrowers now started to spit fire at the French positions.

It was too much.

Some ran, some stood and stared,
some
surrendered
,
and
some
died in the most horrible way.

Two American engineers lurke
d with explosive charges, waiting
for a moment to dash out and destroy a tank. Two ATO’s found them and transformed them into living torches, thrashing blindly in the ruins
until they were dispatched by a sympathetic burst from their corporal’s grease gun.

Skotolsky’s unit had started to move by themselves, a handful of vehicles and men moving out of the
artillery
death trap to close
on
the relative safety of the village.

Crying like a child, the
Soviet
Major was curled up in the back of his M3 Scout car, the driver having moved forward
of his own volition,
in search of safety, and to hell with the idiot in the back.

The young Corporal,
sat opposite Skotolsky, spat in contempt. T
he only other conscious survivor in the vehicle,
he
shouted at his officer, cursing, swearing, trying to stop the man’s shocked babbling.

Making the road, the M3 ground forward, all four tyres punctured and coming apart, finally surrendering to the inevitable as the vehicle ground to a halt close by the first fiery barricade.

Too close as it happened
. P
aint started to bubble immediately and petrol from a holed fuel container set fire to the nearside front.

The Corporal grabbed his
PPS
and screamed at his Major, pointing at the growing fire.

Skotolsky saw the flames and reacted, throwing himself theatrically over the side and landing face first.

The shock of the fall, and of the facial impact, seemed to calm him, and he rose shakily to his feet.

Bleeding from both nostrils, he drew his
Tokarev
automatic and staggered into the village.

The 44th’s flame-throwing tanks had set fire to over half the buildings, and acrid smoke filled the air, stinging eyes and torturing lungs.

French resistance was broken.

Survivors from the motorised infantry had closed up and
had started
herding the French survivors into a small field
,
west of Meitinger Straβe.

The Major saw two of his men
supporting
a French soldier, the man
’
s foot blown off at the ankle, carrying him to the collection area.

The
Tokarev
fired and the prisoner
dropped lifelessly away from the shocked men’s grasp.

“No fucking prisoners
!
No fucking prisoners!”

He continued repeating the order as he staggered unsteadily up the street, shooting an already dead body
he passed on the junction with BahnhofStraβe.

By t
he time he got to the small field he needed to reload, having shot another live prisoner and wasted bullets on four dead bodies.

Twenty-one battered and dazed prisoners were sprawled in the field, some being tended to by medical orderlies from both sides.