Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series) (49 page)

At the main entrance, the latest Russian assault had been more fruitful. Forty men had gathered on the pathway near the gate and rained grenades on the defenders, killing or incapacitating every man not in good cover.

A sudden surge brought success and the wooden gateway fell, its guards slain with no chance to close the wooden door. It was a matter of design that the defences should offer no protection to attackers, so the turret and wall positions were all open to fire from inside the Château. Paratroopers surged inside, taking cover where they could but all the time suffering casualties from the numerous firing points that could bear in the killing ground between the archways.

The next gate was closed and barred, obstructing the way into the Basse Cour. The Captain in charge ordered two men forward with satchel charges to resolve the blockage. Above the door were holes designed in a different age, defensive measures that had permitted defenders to pour pitch and oils upon any assault force. The old provision proved equally effective when used in conjunction with grenades, and one per man arrived, shredding the two paratroopers before they could successfully deploy their explosives.

Reacting swiftly, the Russian officer sent forward one of his flamethrowers, and in seconds, fire blasted through the same slits to fatally envelop the grenadiers, their screams rising above all the noise of battle.

The Captain ordered more explosives forward but exposed himself in the doing, falling bloodily to the stone with his jaw shot away by a French rifle bullet.

Dubois had organised the defence of the lower courtyard, positioning the unit’s .50cal heavy machine-gun by a stone trough, ready to cover down the approach to the gateway and flay any attackers who got past the portcullis that he had ordered dropped.

Russian paratroopers charged into the smoke of the explosion and ran headlong into the medieval obstruction that barred their way.

Gathering in the areas between the two gates, more casualties were inflicted by the still active defenders of the living quarters, who shot down into the throng.

Makarenko pulled his men back into some sort of reasonable cover and ordered the portcullis destroyed. Three men dashed forward, one with explosives, the other two with rifle grenades. Meanwhile, support fire lashed the openings of the Basse Court Tower.

Both rifle grenades were fired through the portcullis and into the Basse Court itself, the first striking the door frame of the Alsatian House, killing three French officers who had posted themselves there. The other struck the rock path and sent deadly splinters into two commandos positioned on the corner of a low stone building.

The explosives set, the three retreated at speed, finding safety at the moment the portcullis disintegrated. A number of grenades bounced through the dust and smoke, causing casualties amongst the men who were swiftest off the mark. Reloaded, the two rifle grenade men sent their deadly missiles through the gateway, again finding targets in the Alsatian House and beyond.

Makarenko ordered a charge and his men surged forward. The front runners dropped immediately, struck down as more grenades burst to their front. However, more men drove forward and through the gate, seeking refuge in the shattered doorway of the Alsatian House.

Two French commandos leant out of the gatehouse windows from the portcullis room, intent on shooting into the rear of the assault force but were smashed back into the building by an accurate PPS burst from a watchful paratrooper.

The .50cal started up, its heavy calibre shells knocking lumps off the Alsatian House and anything softer unfortunate enough to get in the way.

The small assault force charged deeper into the officers accommodation to evade the .50’s deadly stings, finding dead and dying men in various states of dress. Some officers offered up resistance but were swiftly killed, the final deaths caused by a grenade thrown into a side room.

Makarenko sought refuge inside the tower’s shadow, his mind working the military problem. His ability to control his unit had been reduced when the radio operator had been smashed by a burst of fire from the Château above, wrecking the precious equipment at the same time.

He had many men gathered behind him, most still outside the Château, but numbers did not matter when the approach was as narrow as the one that now challenged his professionalism and courage. Just over a metre wide, the gap between the stone building and the Alsatian House restricted his options and provided the defenders with a deadly choke point.

A further surge of men had gained the house to support the first party, at the cost of half their number.

Dropping to one knee, Makarenko wrestled with the problem, noticing with horror that the stone pathway was running red with the blood of brave men from both sides. Gravity was bringing gentle streams down the slope, seeking out the gaps between the stone and passing out into the charnel yard behind him, adding to the scarlet effusions from the many Soviet dead lying there.

Momentarily distracted, he missed the initial sounds of more firing but quickly focussed on the new sounds and realised his north wall party must have come at the defenders from behind.

On his feet in an instant, he ordered his men forward and charged off up the path with gritted teeth.

Shouting “No grenades!” as he ran, he immediately shot down a wounded commando who was bringing his rifle up to fire.

A bullet tugged at his map case and severed the strap, carrying on to plant itself in the upper arm of one of his self-appointed bodyguards.

Looking up, he saw a figure on the battlements between the two towers and brought up his weapon, even though in the same moment his brain told him to hold his fire. He recognised the Soviet uniform first and the bark of an SVT rifle second, as the two platoons who had scaled the north wall caught the defenders looking the wrong way.

The heavy machine gun team were already dead, as were most of the defenders of the Lower Courtyard. The dog pens were smashed and broken, two of their occupants red and bleeding inside the splintered cages.

Makarenko’s troops had invested the Alsatian House and were lining up on the stone path, ready for the next attack. The north wall platoons assaulted the forge building, losing a handful of men on the run across the yard before demonstrating their superior close-fighting skills, killing the defending commandos.

The Senior Lieutenant leading the attack decided to launch a further assault, in the hope of carrying the stone staircase leading up to the Inner Courtyard.

He charged into the area at the bottom of the stairs and dove immediately to his left, as fire ripped down into his force. A wounded commando Petty Officer lay in what was obviously a administrative section, clutching an empty handgun, shot through both thighs and blinded by rock splinters in the eyes. Two shots from his Nagant ended the Frenchman’s life.

Behind him, one of his junior NCO’s had got a DP light machine-gun positioned and was sending accurate bursts up the stairway, scoring the occasional hit, but mainly denying the defenders the ability to fire down.

A grenade skipped down from above, its metallic bounce heard by all who were immediately threatened. It flopped in behind the corpse of a body in civilian clothes before exploding and distributing portions of the unfortunate ‘Deux’ agent all over the stairwell.

A shout attracted the attention of the Soviet officer, and he understood his Sergeant’s intent immediately.

Nodding to authorise the attempt and using his head to indicate the working DP, the Senior Lieutenant gathered himself for the lunge.

The Sergeant shouted instructions to the DP gunner, and the man flayed the stairwell with every bullet left in his weapon, raising a haze of stone dust as angry wasps ricocheted in all directions, two finding targets amongst the defenders clustered in cover all up the stairs and in the rooms leading off the north side.

Before the defenders reset themselves, the Sergeant brought up one of the panzerfaust’s he had found in the forge and fired the projectile, rolling immediately into cover.

The Panzerfaust 100 was the most numerous of the panzerfaust family, carrying a twenty-eight ounce explosive load. They were extremely effective against vehicles and hard targets and, as the Germans found out on the Russian Front, equally effective against soft targets like the human body.

Striking the corner of the right hand projection of wall, a few metres from the small drawbridge at the Lion Gate, the warhead exploded, sending deadly fragments of stone into three commandos gathered in the adjacent doorway.

The officer threw himself forward, closely followed by a group of his men, taking the stone stairs two at a time as they charged upwards, desperate to profit from the momentary shock and confusion.

The defenders opened up once more and paratroopers fell in the confined space of the stairs. Some made it to the first stage and ducked into cover within the rooms at the base of the keep, finding dead and wounded commandos littering the floors.

The Senior Lieutenant was tossed back down the stairs as a burst from a submachine-gun struck him in chest and abdomen, the journey down ending his pain as the fall broke his neck on first contact.

Capitaine de Frégate Dubois, changing the magazine on his Thompson SMG, ordered the drawbridge raised and two of his men surged forward to obey.

Beckoning Fournier to his side, he swiftly passed on responsibility for holding the approach, before doubling away up the next flight of stairs, where he encountered Prentiss and Ramsey organising orderlies and ‘Deux’ agents to defend the inner courtyard.

De Walle and Knocke strode briskly from the Hexagonal stairs, the former holding a plan of the castle and beckoning to Dubois.

Joined by Ramsey and Prentiss, the group of four took a rapid brief from Dubois, swiftly sketching his understanding on the map that De Walle held out flat for all to see.

As he ended, both Knocke and Ramsey went to point at a spot on the map. The German deferred and Ramsey spoke loudly, rising above the growing sounds of battle.

“Here is a weakness for us. We need men here in numbers or we are in trouble.”

His finger described the northern enclosed area, the access to which was controlled by a single portal close by the forge. Once through that obstacle the Russians would be able to make it to the Greater Bastion

“They may be through already.”

Anne-Marie Valois arrived with three other ’Deux’, each carrying three weapons and ammunition, taken from the secure lockers in De Walle’s office. In one easy movement and without waiting for orders, she hoisted a Sten gun off her shoulder into Knocke’s hands.

The other weapon, also a Sten, went to De Walle.

Valois set out her stall by retaining her own weapon.

As the remaining weapons and ammunition were distributed Dubois summoned his senior NCO, issued brief orders and the man sped quickly away, returning within a minute, a Bren gun team amongst the five men he had called to him.

Nodding at the swift response to his instructions, Dubois turned back to the assembled group, who were checking their weapons.

“The Petty Officer Major and his men, half of your party,” he indicated Ramsey who nodded his understanding, “And the Deuxieme, all will go to the Greater Battery and secure the northern door here,” Dubois tapped the map, indicating the base of the northernmost turret.

Turning to Knocke, he drew the German’s attention to a blind return in the wall on the north side of the inner garden.

A flare rose from one of the high points, a commando tasked with sending the whole supply skywards at regular intervals. Turning back from the distraction, Dubois continued.