by Colin Gee
The mortars’ rate of fire increased, which in turn spurred the platoons to greater efforts.
A small firefight developed when an unseen trench, near the base of the tower, burst into life, its five occupants opening fire prematurely and failing to register a single hit on the attackers.
The location was quickly flanked and two grenades silenced resistance.
First platoon swept either side of the church, leaving third to go up the centre and assault the main entrance.
1825 hrs, Tuesday, 26th March 1946, St. Bartholomäus, Ahlen, Germany.
The first pair through the tall rounded double doors had spilt either side, but it hadn’t saved either of them, as both PPSh and DP-28 poured fire into the narrow confines of the entrance.
A runner from Keller arrived.
“Herr Ober… leutnant…”
“Catch your breath, kamerad… steady now.”
“Sir, Unteroffizier Keller… reports growing numbers of enemy… coming through the marketplace… like a counter-attack is developing…”
Growing sounds of small arms fire supported Keller’s view.
“Alarm! Panzer!”
The call came from the AlterHof side of the church grounds, and was quickly followed by the detonation of one of their few panzerfausts.
Von Scharf realised instantly that it was too late to pull back, as Soviet infantry came into view in AlterHof, and yet others emerged from Südenmauer.
The radio operator called urgently, adding to his officer’s mental load.
“Sir, headquarters, Oberstleutnant Bremer himself, Sir.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Von Scharf spoke quickly to Keller’s runner.
“Can you make entrance to the church your side there?”
“Yes, Herr Oberleutnant. Windows and a door.”
“Tell Keller that we’re stuck here. It’s up to him to gain entrance… and do it fucking quickly!”
The man was instantly on his way.
“Scharf.”
The radio crackled into life and the commander of the Kampfgruppe broke the news of the enemy counter-attack.
“Ah Scharf...it seems we’ve driven straight into the 513th Motorised Rifle Division’s centre. A new division, not on our intelligence sheet. Probably just arrived, as it’s not on that map. It has an integral tank battalion, so watch out for tanks, over.”
“Already encountered some at the bridge, and now near Bartholomäus church. We’re already nearly surrounded by the enemy surge. I’m going to barricade myself inside the church until the attack is beaten back. These new troops, Sir, they’re boys and old men, low quality, over.”
“That may well be, Scharf, but air reconnaissance reported a column moving up. We’ve checked it with your map and it’s coming from a position marked for a Guards Engineer Brigade, so don’t expect children and geriatrics when they arrive, over.”
Firing from inside the church revealed that Keller had made an entrance.
Scharf waved one section forward, to try the main entrance again.
“Sir, do we have any air support, over”
“Not yet. It appears that our 1st Panzer-Grenadieres have run into a tank unit and are having a time of it, over.”
Von Scharf dropped the handset and put two rounds a piece into the pair of Soviet infantrymen who loomed up behind his radio operator.
The funker went white as a sheet but stuck to his radio.
Retrieving the handset, Scharf was eager to get moving.
“Sir, I must sign off, It’s getting hot here. I’ll contact you once we’re in our strongpoint, over.”
“Keep your heads down, Scharf. Our artillery took a beating from some counter-fire, but we do have more artillery coming soon, so if you can provide some fire control, it will help. Hals-und beinbrach. Out.”
A single bullet whizzed past his ear as he passed the handset back.
“Raus, Schneider.”
The radio operator needed no second invitation.
Inside the church, the firing had stopped and Keller was already making it into a fortress.
Fig# 147 - Soviet reinforced forces at Ahlen.
1920 hrs, Tuesday, 26th March 1946, St. Bartholomäus, Ahlen, Germany.
“Then fix the shitty thing, Schneider. It’s vital.”
The radio had simply decided that enough was enough. Whilst it seemed undamaged, there was no spark of life in it.
Spotting from the tower proved to be a hazardous duty, and one Gefreiter had already been shot dead trying to look around.
The Soviet OP had been disposed of, mainly by the sniper, the remaining two men quickly cut down by the first landser to reach the top of the tower.
Across the way, Von Scharf had spotted his sniper, safely concealed in a gorgeous spot adjacent to the chimney stack in a ruined attic. How he had got there, Scharf had no idea, but it was a perfect place from which to shoot and feel safe from interference.
Three Soviet rushes had faltered around the church, as the heavy structure performed like a fortress for the defenders.
For the last twenty minutes, the Guardsmen Engineers, for that was what they clearly were, had satisfied themselves with containing the bottled-up Germans, whilst the rest of what was probably a reinforced battalion pushed hard against the bridgehead.
Scharf’s men at the bridge were having a very hard time, but the STUG was holding the tanks at bay superbly, having added three more to the tally of metal hulks in front of the German line.
Von Scharf found a hole in the stonework and used it to observe enemy preparations for another bridge attack.
His foot was screaming blue murder but he ignored it as best he could.
Looking straight down Kampstrasse, two T-34s were revving up ready to dash forward, and a company of engineers were moving along the road, ready to support them.
The failing light was of little help as his eyes strained at three lorries set well back from the point of attack.
He fumbled for his binoculars.
“Mein Gott!”
Turning back to Schneider, he spoke with a calm he didn’t feel.
“Alles klar?”
“Just about to try it again, Herr Oberleutnant. The capacitor seemed to have come adrift a little.”
Schneider worked his magic, and the radio burst into life.
“…ive-three come in please!”
“Koenig-five-three receiving, over.”
“Scharf! Thank god! Situation report, over.”
“Herr Oberstleutnant, we’re bottled up, but they can’t get us out of here. Sturmgruppe has seven casualties. Ammunition low. Ready to spot for artillery, over.”
“Received. The artillery support is online and ready, 32.2, call sign Surfer. Latest assessment is that the entire engineer brigade has moved forward. Surfer’s available just for you. Use it to keep them off that fucking bridge or you’ll be cut off and we won’t be able to get to you. Out.”
Consulting the map already laid out on the floor and weighted down with rubble, part of Von Scharf’s brain processed target information, whilst part wondered what sort of unit ‘Surfer’ was.
“Schneider, get Surfer up on 32.2.”
He listened as an American accent acknowledged the message.
Passing Schneider the coordinates, Von Scharf decided that the three lorries with the red explosives flags were worth the effort.
A single large-calibre shell arrived, sending pieces of engineers flying in all directions.
“Tell them left two hundred. salvo fire!”
Twenty-three seconds later, twelve M-101 HE shells, each containing just under ninety-five pounds of high-explosive, arrived in and around three lorries carrying roughly two thousand pounds of captured American manufacture TNT demolition charges.
The result was spectacular for onlookers, much less so for anyone within the burst radius of shells and charges.
A substantial part of Kampstrasse and Freiheit disappeared in one monumental surge of energy.
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Of the line of waiting engineers, half simply evaporated, half were knocked senseless by the blast.
Von Scharf had thrown himself on the radio with the first flash, understanding what might be about to happen.
Bits of the belfry flew off as the shockwave washed over the church.
“Fucking hell!”
Schneider blinked his eyes free of dust and rammed his fingers in his ears.
“What the hell are they firing?”
Von Scharf grinned.
“Trucks carrying explosives… they hit trucks carrying... a lot of explosives!”
He risked a quick look and saw utter devastation, added to by another salvo landing on the money.
“Tell Surfer to cease fire and await further instructions.”
He looked at Schneider and waited for the order to be relayed.
“Mind you, someone should have their arse kicked for putting that lot so near the danger area. They must be desperate to bring the bridge down, but still... dumb move.”
The man responsible for the ‘dumb’ move had been pressured beyond measure by his commanders. Tasked with blowing the bridge at all costs, he had brought up his explosive to reduce the delays involved, as the infantry commander held little hope that the bridge would be retaken and held for long.
In any case, the engineer officer had been among the first casualties vapourised by the explosions.
The Soviet infantry commander immediately halted his attack, set his men into some sort of defensive positions, Setting one of his more trusted officers to get the engineers into some sort of order, he sent a message for more explosive, and then turned his eye on the group of Germans in his rear.
“Panzer!”
The T-34 rumbled around the corner of Südstrasse, into the Markt, where it abruptly stopped.
The 85mm gun adjusted slowly and fired an HE shell at the church.
It struck the mid-point underneath a small window on the north-east corner, overlooking the square.
The MG34 and crew were not directly struck, but the blast and spalding stonework destroyed them equally as well.
Scharf pulled the OP group off the roof and down to the next level, away from any windows or openings.
Quickly checking his map, despite the cascade of dust and stone caused by a direct hit on the position he had just vacated, Scharf passed coordinates to his radio man.
“And tell them not to undershoot. Danger close, tell them danger close.”
The German officer’s plan was simple but dangerous.
Get the artillery dropped to the east of Südstrasse, preventing any reinforcements moving up. If he got lucky and speared the tank, then great, but Scharf couldn’t count on it, so made his way to the ground floor to set another plan in motion.
The US artillery was superb, dropping accurately amongst the Soviet infantry who had formed up in the built-up area, east of Südstrasse.
The tank, and another that emerged from the fire zone, remained alive, pounding the church and surroundings with direct fire.
Behind the German front line, the situation was suddenly considered dire, as more Soviet forces than expected were present.
Additional units were requested and approved, creating a growing focal point at Ahlen.
The German command seized the opportunity immediately and turned the reserve of the 1st Panzer-Grenadiere Division back, to head north-west, and into the rear of the Ahlen defences, anticipating the destruction of a good portion of the defenders, as well as relieving the under-pressure infantry division.
Whilst the forces of both sides gathered themselves, the soldiers and civilians in Ahlen continued to suffer under heavy mortar and artillery fire.
2058 hrs, Tuesday, 26th March 1946, Hamelin Jail, Hamelin, Germany.
Having narrowly escaped the destruction that befell his headquarters facility at Barntrup, Malinovsky had, on nothing more than a gut feeling, declined his alternate set-up at Gross Berkel, settling for a swiftly organised additional site at the notorious jail in Hamelin, where, amongst a German civilian population, he felt safer from further Allied air attacks.
Reports of the destructive raid at Gross Berkel reached him as he pondered the recently updated situation.
“What’s that swine doing?”
Savvushkin, his second in command, was equally exasperated.
“I don’t think the idiot knows to be honest, Comrade Marshal.”
They were referring to the newly frocked Major General Inutin, commander of the 4th Motorised Army, one of Stalin’s new formations.
“And he’s definitely been given the order to withdraw?”
Savvushkin checked his notes.
“On three occasions, Comrade Marshal, and each time acknowledged.”
“Fucking swine.”
The situation for 4th Motorised Army was nothing short of dire.
Faced with German forces to its front and southern flank, pressed by an American Corps to the north, it would take only a change of axis by the German forces attacking Beckum to seal a good part of the Army in a pocket from which there would be no escape.
“Beckum will hold.”
It was not a question.
“The reinforcements we sent have stopped the enemy advance in its tracks but...” Savvushkin described a single line from Beckum to Ahlen, “That might be because they have moved to take advantage of Inutin’s lack of movement.”
‘Lack of movement?’
Before the rebuttal sprang to Malinovsky’s lips, Savvushkin’s eyes betrayed another presence.
“Greetings, Comrade Mayor General.”
Malinovsky turned as the round faced NKVD officer strode in with his normal arrogant gait.
“Greetings, Comrade Marshal. How goes the fight against the Capitalist forces today? It seems their Air Force was very lucky earlier?”
Mayor General Vladimir Budarev was the Chief Counter-Intelligence Officer and Commander of the SMERSH Western Front units, and normally to be found at the European Forces HQ.
He had avoided the destruction of the main headquarters at Nordhausen and was now, acting under instructions from Beria, and ultimately Stalin, moving between the various front command centres and ensuring full Soviet enthusiasm for the unyielding defence and subsequent counter-attacks.
Which, in the present military circumstances, made him a very dangerous man indeed.
Without any hint of sarcasm, Budarev made comment on the map notations.
“So, what skilled plan have you devised to push the fascists back, Comrade Marshal?”
The abundance of arrows were unclear in their meaning to a man like Budarev, whose position had been earned on the basis of political reliability and a fanatical obedience of all orders, not military knowledge
“We are recovering 4th Motorised from the Ahlen area, in order to make the enemy overextend himself.”
Savvushkin moved his hands rapidly around the markings, whilst Malinovsky kept his amusement firmly hidden.
“So, you are conceding ground to the enemy?”
“Yes, we are retiring under orders, whilst still in contact with the enemy. The Marshal has arranged our remaining anti-aircraft assets to cover the build-up of forces as we compress into this area, before launching a counter-attack aimed at relieving Beckum by retaking Hamm.”
Budarev made the noises of a man studying the situation, and both senior officers wondered if he actually believed he was fooling them, or even fooling himself with his ponderings.
“When this is approved, I wish you every success, Comrades. Now, I must report back to the Chairman.”
Formally saluting, Budarev disappeared as silently as he had arrived.
Waiting an appropriate time, Malinovsky looked at his 2IC with a quizzical look.
“So, I’ve ordered my wealth of AA assets to cover a counter-attack against Hamm, have I?”
Savvushkin replied with a deadpan expression.
“Not wholly untrue, Comrade Marshal. A reserve AA regi
ment has been sent to cover the withdrawal of 4th Mech assets...”
“And Hamm?”
“I suspect that your masterful plan will be overtaken by events.”
Malinovsky slapped his man on the shoulder in his normal hearty fashion.
“Quick thinking, Mikhail.”
Hands on hips, the commander of the 1st Red Banner Army of Soviet Europe eased the stiffness from his back.
“Right, no more worrying about Budarev. Let’s concentrate on saving the 4th and stopping the Allied advance. Give me some alternatives, Comrade.”
Within ten minutes, Malinovsky sent the order that relieved Inutin and replaced him with his 2IC. It was accompanied by another that again ordered 4th Motorised to move back to bring the line level with Beckum, especially as the German attack there had been halted so convincingly.
Part of that repositioning required the defenders of Ahlen to stand and die or, more accurately, to attack and keep Allied attention firmly fixed on the small German town.
4th Motorised was to sacrifice one of its units so that the others could escape.
As the young soldiers of the 513rd charged with fanaticism, the rest of 4th Motorised Army, or at least what was left of it, disengaged and fell back, unobserved in the first instance.
Allied artillery and night attack aircraft harried the retreating columns once the withdrawal was detected, but the Soviet air defence commanders had called upon all of their remaining night fighter assets, and the Allied attacks were often spoiled.
And whilst the movement of divisions took place, the danse macabre in Ahlen reached a peak.
2328 hrs, Tuesday, 26th March 1946, St. Bartholomäus, Ahlen, Germany.
Der Totentanz.
A fortunate by-product of the artillery cover was the amount of firelight that spread around the church, illuminating any enemy movement, whilst the fires themselves denied many areas to the gathering Soviet soldiery.
It was added to by the two burning T-34s, which had both been knocked out by direct strikes from Panzerfausts.
