Impasse (The Red Gambit Series) (64 page)

“Dragonfly, Mohawk-six, roger.”

Dragonfly, the call-sign for the 191st’s artillery officer, contacted the waiting 155mm howitzers.

Zinc chloride smoke shells soon began to burst all around the
river and road ahead, drifting back towards the task force and masking the flames of the destroyed M24.

No further shots came from the defenders, wherever they were.

Hardegen was on the radio.

“Mohawk-three-one, push your element down the track to Strassfeld. Push on one mile
, and then turn north. Come in on the flank. Be careful, Chris. Mohawk-six, over.”

“Roger Mohawk Six. You too, boss.”

The seven medium tanks selected, one tank platoon enlarged by two stragglers, bolstered by a platoon of M5 Stuarts from D Company, pushed off to the right, followed by their supporting infantry element from the 53rd Armored-Infantry, plus two M36 Jacksons, last remnants of one of the 808th TD’s platoons, recently adopted by the infantry.

CCA was in it up to its neck
, but didn’t yet know how deep.

The main thrust up the 194 had run straight into a prepared defensive position, manned by determined infantry from the 101st Rifle Corps, backed up with anti-tank guns, mines
, artillery, and a few tanks.

Hardegen’s force, sent on its flanking mission, had hit the join between the 52nd and 101st Rifle Corps, filled with a composite force of exhausted units.

Artem’yev’s guardsmen, pulled back for a rest, were once again pitch-forked into a cauldron of fire.

However, they were not unsupported.

The gun that had claimed the lead M20 was a 152mm, mounted on a tank chassis, in the form of an ISU-152 of the 378th Guards Heavy SP Gun Regiment. It had seven of its friends on the field.

There was also one other vehicle assigned to Artem'yev's command.

Fig#108 - TF Hardegen's assault on Müggenhausen & Strassfeld, 11th December 1945.

Captain Christian Moreno was experienced enough to understand the task ahead
, and he pushed his element hard towards the track he had selected.

Strassf
eld was the first objective. He studied the map closely and decided to change the approach.

“
Mohawk-three-three, Mohawk-three-one, over.”

The reply from 1st Lieutenant Garcia was tinny and light, the effect of the radio, not the man himself.

“Mohawk-three-three, Take D/3rd and your group south onto the Strassfelderweg. I'll send a platoon of the armored infantry and some change to back you up. Push up, do not enter the village. Leave D/3rd to cover, shift right, and then envelop, understood, over?”

“
Mohawk-three-one, Mohawk-three-three, roger and understood. Sixty-one on my right flank. I’ll need one of those platoons to cover my right flank and rear, over”

“
Mohawk-three-three, Mohawk-three-one, the Stonewalls will come with the doughs. They are for the flank and rear cover. Now move ‘em out. Over and out.”

The Stonewalls were the M36 Jackson tank-destroyers, the civil war reference having been too hard to ignore.

Hardegen checked with his binoculars, watching in satisfaction as the well-trained men of his command implemented his orders.

“
Driver, move up.”

His
own Sherman surged forward towards Strassfeld.

Artillery started to drop in and around Strassfeld. Large calibre rounds of all varieties, all with the potential for death and injury in common.

Artem
’yev could simply not believe it.

After all they had been through, yet again, he and his men found themselves in the hottest of places.

He shouldn’t have been there by rights, having been summoned to a 1400hrs meeting with the Army Commander, but the weather had cancelled the trip, so he found himself in command of three hundred and forty-seven exhausted men and women, sat on a piece of German real estate that the Allies very much wanted.

Again.

He turned to his officers.

“
Once more then, Comrades. It seems once more before we can escape this hellhole!”

On the wall of the old carpenter
’s shop, a hand-drawn map of their positions had been carefully created, positioned next to a German army map that held the more precise details of the position.

Because the hand-drawn map was in larger scale,
Artem’yev briefed from it.

“
The Amerikanski are advancing cautiously, and our men will slow them down for a while. It won’t last, and they will be here soon enough.”

He circled the village with his hand.

“Our anti-tank guns will do what they can, but it won’t be much, I think, so we’ll pull them out early on, clear?”

The young anti-tank Lieutenant
commanding the last handful of AT guns from the 179th didn’t actually understand, but was grateful for the reprieve he had just been given, having resigned himself to dying at Strassfeld, alongside his three gun crews.

“
The timing of that… well… that’s your call, Leytenant. Hurt the Amerikanski for sure, but I want you out and redeployed here, with as much as you can salvage,” he pointed out a small raised area of no more than fifteen hundred square metres, sat just north of the junction of Routes 182 and 210.

“Your job then is to stick fast to the hill, come what may. C
over the road… and Müggenhausen to the north, and watch our flank to the south here.”

The AT officer didn
’t bother to remind the Colonel that there was only one lorry and that the other two Zis-3s would have to be pushed by hand. Artem’yev wasn’t that sort of Colonel.

“
I’ve asked for a couple of the SP’s from the 378th, and anything else that can be spared. Comrades, for what it’s worth, I think they’ll swing their whole advance through here if we don’t hold.”

Weary men suddenly felt wearier at the thought of more heavy fighting.

“This will be the last time. When this one is over, I’ll march you to the rear myself, Comrades. With or without orders!”

He lifted them enough with his words. None the less, none of them were under any illusions.

“We will not resist at distance, not until we get tank support, otherwise the Amerikanski tanks will just swat our men away with their shells. Entice them closer, where we can fight their infantry up close, and their tanks cannot fire for fear of killing their own, clear?”

The nods were controlled
, but they knew why Artem’yev was choosing this path.

“
We’re better in close, so their numbers won’t count. Getting them in close’ll also switch off their artillery.”

Artem
’yev held up a hand, silencing two of those present before they started to complain.

“
I know, Comrades, but, at the moment there isn’t any, and that’s the way it is. Our units have taken heavy losses at the hands of their air attack regiments, and we may not get any artillery or rocket support at all.”

He needed to lift them again.

“Commander 11th Guards Anti-tank is going to release some of his 76mm’s to form an artillery unit for this area. If we hear a unit called Murmansk on the system, that’s them, and we get them working straight away.”

“
Back to the village, Comrades. Keep their tanks out and make them go around. Once they move round the flanks, then the big boys can pick them off.”

That was easily understood.

“No retreat, Comrades, Not one centimetre beyond the plan. It cannot be allowed, or the Capitalists will split open the two Rifle Corps, and there’ll be hell to pay.”

Artem
’yev knew, just as they knew, what that order meant.

“
Here is important.”

He pointed to the area east of Strassfeld.

“We must not let them past us and round there or we will be cut off. The 52nd Corps will be moving units into Heimerzheim, but that will take time. We must expect no help from that quarter for now. When we pull back from Strassfeld, these positions, north of Olsheim… we hold them, come what may.”

He emphasized the position.

"There are two AT guns already in the defences, plus some of the engineers. We will hold there."

A
partial company of engineers had taken a wrong turn, and found themselves unable to refuse Artem'yev's 'suggestion' to remain, so now formed part of his force, part in Strassfeld, part in the secondary defences.

The plan was relatively simple and without frills, not that there were the resources or time for either them.

Artem’yev addressed the interloper, a highly decorated tank commander, who had arrived without warning.

“
Starshina, you’ve already chosen your ground and it suits our purpose. I know you have special orders but, for all our mother’s sakes, just let me know if you have to move back.”

Kon nodded his understanding, also acknowledging that the infantry Colonel understood the value of his vehicle.

“I hope it won’t come to that, Comrade Polkovnik.”

“
Remember, Comrades. Listen for Murmansk and no retreat. Good luck now.”

The orders group broke up as the enemy artillery increased in its fury, a sure sign that an assault was about to begin.

“Roger, Mohawk-three-three, out.”

Moreno ordered his units to advance, despite Garcia
’s contact report.

After all, it was just a handful of mud bandits
, and they had been dispersed.

The anti-tank fire had stopped abruptly, the sole victim, a halftrack, lay smoking just off the track ahead. The
track’s .50cal was working the building line ahead, the gunner desperate to avenge the two buddies that lay unequivocally dead in the front seats.

The unrecognizable bodies had taken the full force of an anti-tank round striking the engine
, and passing through to the dashboard before exploding.

It was a miracle that anyone had survived, not that the gunner would see it until the tears and anger subsided.

Other infantry had dismounted and run forward, encouraged by the relative absence of fire from their target.

The lead Sherman, a 105mm howitzer equipped M4A3
, seconded from the gun platoon, put one of its large shells into the nearest building with unusual results.

Fire spurted from every window as it exploded
, but the structure itself seemed to hold, until something gave and it folded in on itself like a house of cards.

The snow reduced
visibility and thus affected all ranges of fire, helped further by the smoke and dust from the German village.

The 105mm closed a little more, encouraged by its destruction of the large house.

Alongside, Garcia’s Sherman moved level, ready to provide support as the howitzer tank did its job.

From a hole to one side rose its killer, clutching a grenade. Taking rapid aim, the Soviet guardsman threw his RPG-6. He was an experienced tank hunter
, and the RPG-6 was a much improved anti-tank weapon.

He had dropped back down into the hole before the American tank crew could raise a shout
, and the grenade detonated before they could scream.

When t
he grenade exploded, its HEAT charge focussed its power and punched through the side of the turret.

Apart from a modest hole, no external damage was evident.

Inside, the story was different.

The loader and gunner had been transformed by the explosive blast. Garcia had lost both feet
from the knees down, as he was pushing himself up and out the hatch at the time of impact.