Breakthrough (The Red Gambit Series) (50 page)

Seven
Sherman
had been knocked out or disabled so far, in exchange for only three T34’s. ‘C’ Squadron attempted to push forward once more, partially as a response to the screaming and shouting
over the radio from
the Lieutenant Colonel commanding
,
and partially in an attempt to get out from under the barrage of artillery fire.

The
Soviet
M-30 122mm howitzers were pumping out five rounds a minute, successfully lashing the Poles struggling towards Grundoldendorf.

Behind the allied lines, the lessons of the previous days were being put into practice by the radar section of the
Polish
Anti-Aircraft Regiment. Experienced eyes checked maps and trajectories and found four suitable areas, relaying the coordinates to the
two
waiting batteries of 5.5” medium guns.

Ordering two full salvoes on the nearest possible location, the
Royal A
rtillery officer waited for reports of slackening enemy fire.

None came
,
and the failure was emphasised by the distant but none the less spectacular destruction of a
Sherman
, blown apart by a direct strike on the turret roof.

Fire was switched to the second location, eight hundred yards behind the first and more high explosive was dispatched, but again, no lessening in fire resulted.

The Artillery Major
from the 53rd Medium regiment
examined the latest data and realised that the trajectory information had been misinterpreted.

Looking further afield he identified an area just east of route 141, beyond the range of his weapons standard ammunition.

However, in 1944
,
the British Army had introduced a super charge shell for the 5.5”, capable of reaching out
to over eighteen thousand yards. H
is orders sent four salvoes of these 82lb shells into an area fifteen hundred feet wide
by
a thousand feet deep.

The effect was instant.

At the front line,
Soviet
artillery fire immediately halved, dropping away further as each salvo arrived on target.

The
Soviet
M-30 howitzers were being hit
,
but worse
still
wer
e the casualties to their crews. M
en
were being
obliterated as the effective counter-battery fire did its grisly work.

Hardly a shell failed to kill or wound, injure or destroy, but the
Soviet
gunners, inspired by their
fearless
commanding officer walking through the steel storm, strove hard to hitch up their charges and get the guns out to another location.

The
Polish
troopers in the southern prong stubbornly clung to their ground
,
but now lacked the strength to advance until reinforcements arrived.

Polish
infantry
Lieutenant-Colonel Micha Krol
, OC of the Highland Battalion,
was in a blue funk. His attack had gone to pieces, the southern prong exposing its flank and then being battered into immobility by enemy artillery, his central force finding it unexpectedly hard to pick its way through the rubble
of Schragenberg and Habecksfeld, the northern force slowly crawling through unexpectedly boggy conditions above the rail line.

Faulty reconnaissance work had failed to spot that the ground, whilst capable of supporting the
Humber
armoured cars of 10th Mounted Rifles advance element, would not take the medium tanks of ‘
B’ Squadron
, 1st Armoured Regiment.

There was no opportunity to chastise the officer responsible
,
as
‘A’ Squadro
n of the Rifles Reconnaissance R
egiment had taken casualties and ground to a halt within
Habecksfeld,
its commander’s vehicle g
ently burning on the main road.

H
is own ‘A’ and ‘HQ
’ companies were badly strung out between the two
villages
and under fire from
Soviet
mortars.

Whilst
the German
Paratrooper unit
was in the woods behind Postmoor
,
and could have been sent to stimulate the southernmost prong, he decided to sort out the main attack first.
Prejudice and hate had played their part in his positioning of Perlmann’s unit, and both continued to do so, excluding the experienced unit from his thinking.

The company commanders of the
Highland Infantry’s ‘A’ and ‘HQ’
companies received forceful reminders to push forward in support of the tanks and he ordered more artillery to suppress Nottensdorf again.

‘B’ Squadron’s tanks were getting nowhere fast
,
and Major Pomorski decided to switch back to firmer ground, moving his command’s axis of advance to the rail track.

Immediately they made better progress, despite
Soviet
anti-tank guns bringing them under fire.

The lead tank was a relatively new M4 Sherman
Firefly
with a
17 pounder
high-velocity gun, flanked by two 75mm equipped versions of the famous American medium tank. The nature of the terrain, boggy on one side with a small stream to the south, ensured that the
armoured triangle
was tight.

Pomorski’s ‘C’ Company pushed up with the tanks,
successfully
swatting aside
Soviet
infantry who had pushed out in advance of the main positions, losing only one vehicle as the combined force pushed on.

T
he force was
made swift progress and quickly found itself
level with Not
t
ensdorf,
screened from the town by trees.

The southernmost 75mm boomed
,
and a small hut disappeared, complete with
whomever
it was that had been stupid enough to show themselves as the tanks approached. The
Sherman
's
hull machine gun r
apped out small bursts, lashing each clump of bushes or section of hedge with .30cal bullets.

The lead tank stopped and its turret moved almost imperceptibly. The gunner had responded to the commander’s orders and sought out the target that had been called. He found the squat shape immediately.

“On target!”

The commander, a battle-hardened old Sergeant, wasted not a moment.

“Fire!”

The tank bucked and the breech threw itself backwards.

“Driver forward and right...
,
”
the smoke of his own gun obscured his view
,
so he quickly tried t
o remember the terrain ahead, “I
n behind the hedge to our right front
,
Jan!”

The tracks rode over the rails, bouncing the tank, as the driver located the spot he had been directed to.

The gunner rotated his gun to try and keep it pointing in the direction of the enemy tank. Another shell was already
waiting
in the weapon.

Sergeant Grybowski did not like what he saw through his periscope.

“Shit! There are three of the bastards!”

The gunner, Lance-Corporal Nowicki, had eyes solely for the one in his sight.

“On target!”

Grybowski gave the order as his periscope filled with light.

The 17 pounder shell grazed the gun mantlet of the
Soviet
tank, distorting the end of the co-axial machine gun before rocketing skywards without penetrating.

The armour-piercing shell from the IS-III’s 122mm gun struck on the
base of the
Sherman
’s
turret, instantly tossing the huge lump of steel and its human contents upwards and backwards. The two
hull
crew members
, shocked, stunned, disoriented,
looked back into unaccustomed daylight, albeit slightly blurry with smoke
,
and marred by fresh red stains
,
and a pair of trousers still containing the lower half of Lance-Corporal Nowicki.

Captain Evanin had split his small force, sending the group commanded by Stelmakh north, whilst pushing his own group of four tanks into the woods at Fischerhof, and it was Stelmakh who had destroyed the Firefly with his first shot.

The other two tanks fired at the accompanying Shermans, achieving one first time hit that transformed the notorious ‘Ronson’ into a fireball
,
from which the crew were lucky to escape.

The other
Sherman
dove to the right, spotting a track in the woods heading south.

Two minutes later
,
it ran headlong into one of Evanin’s group, and died.

Back on the assault route, ‘B’ Squadron tried hard to press home the attack, and accompanying infantry debussed into the woods, charging forward to threaten a flanking movement on the monster
Soviet
tanks.

Evanin may have been relatively new to com
bat himself but he was nothing i
f not efficient, and Stelmakh’s group profited from the close support of a full platoon of sub-machine gunners and a section of engineers.

Casualties amongst the
Polish
infantry were modest but enough to halt their efforts to get around the IS-III’s.

Understanding the problem’s, Stelmakh ordered his unit to move forward slowly, not wishing to find himself under artillery fire, orders which he passed on by hand signal to the accompanying infantry. The tremors in his hand went unnoticed.

A number of small and extremely bitter combats broke out in the woods as the Poles were slowly rolled backwards.

More
Shermans
were transformed into scrap metal for no loss, the enormous armour
protection of
the IS-III’s being impervious to anything the 75mm and 76mm guns could throw. The 17 pounders might have had a chance but
,
for reasons known only
to the commander of ‘C’ Squadron, the remaining Fireflies were at the back of the advance. In truth
,
he had preserved his main gun tanks
,
as he expected solely infantry and anti-tank guns in defence, and had been supported in his view by reconnaissance photos taken that morning, photos
that
had singularly failed to spot any of the tanks of 47th Mechanised or 6th Guards Tank.

There was nothing the IS’s could not kill, and their heavy guns fired repeatedly, claiming hit after hit.

Stelmakh’s tank, ‘Krasny Suka’, was leading the advance
,
and therefore was the most vulnerable
and vulnerable
.

Spotting enemy infantry close by on the left
,
Stelmakh ordered his gunner to traverse the turret and spray the woods.

The weapon immediately malfunctioned as the first two bullets jammed hard in the distorted barrel.

Vladimir
squealed in fear as an enemy shell struck below his hatch, the shaped charg
e PIAT round failing to explode, skipping off to drop beside the heavy tank.

Driven by self-preservation
,
he hauled himself
up
through the hatch and swivelled the heavy 12.7mm
DShK
machine-gun mount.

A second PIAT round whistled past him and he sent a stream of heavy cal
ibre bullets into the group of Polish
anti-tank soldiers, killing and wounding all six men.

A number of bullets pinged off the turret armour as both riflemen and machine-gunners attempted to cut down the foolish
Soviet
tank crewman.

He ducked back down inside the relative safety of the IS-III, his neck wet with blood from a metal splinter hit and his trousers again
damp with the product
of his bladder.