by Colin Gee
Pierre Bosquet, Marshall of France, observing the Charge of the Light Brigade at the Battle of Balaclava, fought against the Russians in 1854.
Chapter 144 – THE TWENTY-FIRST
1600 hrs, Tuesday 26th March 1946, Schafstedt, Germany.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, thank you for coming.”
Colonel Prentiss, the Viscount Kinloss, called his officer’s group to order, and then spotted something…
“Good lord, Algie, where did you get that abominable cravat?”
The A Squadron commander rose to his feet in triumph, displaying the blue and red silk Guards Regimental colours for everyone’s consumption.
“Sir, I liberated the item from some Coldstream Guards’ officer by way of a pistol competition. The honour of the Regiment was at stake… and was preserved in style, I might add, Sir.”
Prentiss wrinkled up his nose.
“To be frank, Algie, that is not style and, were I to compete for that prize, I suspect my aim would have been somewhat wayward, honour or no.”
To a chorus of hoots, Major Algie Woods resumed his seat.
“Now then, gentlemen, let’s see how the war’s going, shall we?”
He turned to the briefing map and used the thin pointer to highlight the areas he was speaking about, starting with Denmark.
“Our German cousins have started tremendously well, and there are reports of Soviet surrenders in large numbers, and the latest griff suggests that we are already in possession of the Isle of Mon, and half of Falster too.”
He moved the pointer.
“Royal Marine Commandos landed here… at Harpelunde, and are being reinforced as we speak.”
He flexed the wooden pole between both hands, like a headmaster emphasising a point.
“The Soviet forces on the Danish islands are expected to either surrender or be overcome within the next twenty-four hours.”
He let the murmur die down of its own accord.
“Now, here, our pals in the 7th Armoured have broken through the enemy front and are on the outskirts of Bordesholm… ahead of schedule I might add.”
He flicked at a hair that had dropped across his eyes.
“Now, the 11th, with the Fifes leading the way, as you know, have bypassed Itzehoe, leaving some of the Rifle Brigade to mop up the blighters who have dug in there. 55th Division have put some men on the road to relieve them immediately. Rifle Brigade will then come back together and get back up to the Fifes.”
The annoying hair returned.
“Now, 3rd Tanks,” he referred to the 3rd Royal Tank Regiment who, with 2nd Fife and Forfar Yeomanry, joined with Prentiss’ 23rd Hussars to complete 29th Armoured Brigade, 11th Armoured Division, “Will move in front of the Fifes to continue the drive at first light, heading, as planned, towards Hamburg.”
He drew their attention to a different route.
“This is our new route of advance, gentlemen.”
They all strained to understand the map.
“We will move up shortly, moving around Itzehoe, and driving up Route 206 here… all the way to Bimöhlen, cutting the north-south road and, as the General expects, cutting off the retreat of some of Uncle Joe’s units that are presently holding up Guards Division’s move south down the Reichsbahn.”
A number of the men in front of him looked a little wary of such a task.
Not without reason.
Prentiss soothed them immediately.
“Now the General understands this could become a bit dicey, so he’s given me command of some extra stuff, which should all come in handy.”
He consulted his notebook quickly.
“118 battery from 75th Anti-tank, 1st Cheshires as infantry support, two recce squadrons from 15th/19th Hussars, and first call of some Army Artillery assets.”
That removed a few of the worried looks.
“I believe we’ll cope with that, don’t you think?”
Major Merton, B Squadron’s commander half rose from his seat,
“Any air, Sir?”
“Actually, the General specifically said you’re not to be involved with the usage of any complicated machinery, especially the likes of warplanes, Freddie.”
Raucous laughter drowned out Merton’s attempted riposte.
“Seriously gentlemen, we will have first call on air support from our naval brethren who, whilst we eat the mud and dust of European roads, are safely ensconced in their warm boats, just off shore. From what I’ve heard, they’re rather good at their job too, so we should treat them nicely, which,” he looked steadfastly at Merton, “Was probably what the General meant regarding your involvement, Freddie.”
The knockabout continued for a few minutes, something Prentiss actively encouraged as, in his view, it made for better teamwork.
Checking his watch, he tapped the floor with the butt of his pointer, calling a halt to the exchanges that had suddenly become a good-humoured attack on Emerson, the C Squadron 2IC, whose brother served with the RN on aircraft carriers.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, listen in now. D Squadron will remain here until the fuel situation is sorted.”
A supply of contaminated fuel had been used to fill each of D Squadron’s tanks, much to the chagrin of Major Thomas Fanshaw, its commander.
A quick investigation had discovered nothing of note, but security was tightened on all storage facilities.
“I want you back with your boys and set ready to move off on my order. Timing will depend on the arrival of our support elements and,” he tapped the map again, “How long it takes the Rifle Brigade to sort out Itzehoe.”
He pointed at Woods.
“For your sins and poor taste, A Squadron will lead, Algie.”
“My pleasure, Sir,” words his face denied, despite the smile.
“Rightho. If there’s no more questions, let’s get our innings underway.”
Itzehoe had fallen by the time Prentiss returned to his tent, or rather, the Soviet defenders withdrew in the face of building pressure.
23rd Hussars and their additions were on the road and passing Itzehoe as the sun started to descend on yet another bloody day.
15th/19th Hussars led the way, backed up by the Cheshire Battalion in its half-tracks.
The decision to push on at night was not an easy one, but melting Soviet resistance emboldened the British.
Expecting to find defences in Kellinghausen, Prentiss urged caution on his recon element, intending to avoid any meaningful engagement until the sun returned.
However, troops approaching Kellinghausen found only relieved German civilians celebrating their liberation. He was persuaded to continue by the enthusiastic 15th/19th Major, setting the railway line at Wrist as the furthest point of advance for the opening day of the Allied offensive.
The railway line at Wrist, running across the front of the advancing Hussars, and set between two watercourses, also coincided with the only Soviet point of resistance on the road to Bimöhlen, an overenthusiastic interpretation of a withdrawal order removing Soviet units from Prentiss’ axis of advance.
The lead Staghound armoured car set off a hastily laid mine, drawing defensive fire upon itself, a brief encounter that cost the lives of four of the crew and saw the vehicle provide a flaming beacon by which the Soviets brought the following troops under fire.
After a quick briefing from the Recon commander, and consultation with the last set of reconnaissance photographs, Prentiss was reasonably satisfied that nothing substantive lay ahead.
However, attacking such a position at night was not an undertaking for the faint-hearted, even with some of the new German design twin binoculars, one side normal, the other side infra-red, such as equipped each of his recon vehicles and his command tanks.
His orders on avoiding risk to his valuable heavy tanks were quite explicit, and a night attack into probable infantry positions with the lumbering Black Prince tanks was a risk too far
His orders on achieving Bimöhlen as soon as possible, and no later than m
idday on the 27th, left little room for manoeuvre.
A quick orders group committed the Cheshires into a hasty attack, supported by the Comets from A Squadron, 15th/19th Hussars, the FOO close by, ready to bring down the artillery, and with the engineers in tow, in case mines should prove a problem.
The engineer commander’s comments about the issues of night mine detection were acknowledged, but politely disregarded, as nothing in the venture was without risk, the need to advance reinforced by a curt message from Brigadier Roscoe Harvey, the 29th Armoured Brigade’s commander.
The assault moved in carefully, one mine causing two injuries amongst the Cheshire soldiers, but the enemy was gone, using the advantages of night to fall back under orders.
Prentiss Force pushed slowly forward, moving steadily eastwards.
To their north-east, the sky flashed and thundered as the Guards Division put in a night assault.
Fig# 154 - Bimohlen - Prentiss Force
0502 hrs, Wednesday, 27th March 1946, Headquarters of 10th Guards Army, Bad Oldesloe, Germany.
“He did what?”
“He pulled back beyond point dvadtsat' sem'… and we’ve only just found out, Comrade Polkovnik General.”
Mikhail Ilyich Kazakov stroked the ends of his moustache into points which, to his staff, was a tell-tale sign that an explosion was about to occur.
Mishulin, his recently appointed deputy, had circled point twenty-seven, the nondescript number allocated to a position of prime importance, namely Wrist.
“What order was Ibiankii given exactly?”
Mishulin snapped his fingers and a folder was passed over, listing all orders issued by 10th Guards Army command since the enemy had attacked.
“Quite clear. Hold the position around dvadtsat' sem' until further orders.”
The folder crashed onto the desk, scattering pencils and unweighted papers in all directions.
“The man’s an idiot… worse than that… what, Comrade?”
Mishulin kept a straight face as he delivered his information.
“Ibiankii is uncontactable. Apparently, he went forward to personally supervise the defence of dvadtsat' sem'. His deputy suspects he may have fallen to one of the air attacks.”
Kazakov grunted and his mind moved immediately to solving the problem.
“So, we have part of 7th Guards and 17th Anti-tank trapped above, being pressed by this Allied division.”
Again, he sensed his CoS had more to say.
“It’s just been identified as the British Guards Division, Comrade Polkovnik General.”
In Kazakov’s mind, that gave it a high status as, in the Red Army, reference the Guards was synonymous with increased combat skill and efficiency.
“So, we have their Guards and 7th Tanks, all coming down one axis, it seems.”
Kazakov sat back from the map, his hands selecting a Red Star cigarette that he crimped without looking, his eyes roving the map for a solution.
He tossed the pack to Mishulin, who was less sure about the harsh cigarettes. He carefully squeezed the cardboard tube that held the tobacco wad, flattening the tube in two different places, a necessary procedure for those who wanted to keep their throats intact. Mishulin was a Chesterfield man through and through, although, since they had captured a huge stock of British supplies outside of Lubeck, his preference had been for Craven ‘A’ cigarettes.
“Cancel the orders to 3rd Guards Mechanised immediately. Tell them to stand their ground and await further instructions.”
It was the way Kazakov operated; swift, clipped instructions, delivered unequivocally, and to be instantly obeyed.
He leant over the map, beckoning Mishulin to come closer.
“9th Mechanised Brigade are the nearest. Fuel situation?”
“As of the 0300 report, 9th were fully stocked, ready to move off south-west at 0600, Comrade.”
He took a scale ruler and drew a single line, then set the ruler at right angles across it.
“45th Tanks?”
“The 0330 report had them in the process of refuelling. They are still light on ammunition,” Mishulin leant across to the stack of papers recently retrieved from the floor and swiftly found the one he needed, “…on average 80% stock per vehicle, across the range of types, Comrade.”
“They’ll do. Send them a hold order immediately.”
Mishulin turned back from the clerk who ran off with the order.
“1823rd Artillery?”
“Not so good, Comrade. 50% ammunition, and their fuel train was attacked by aircraft before they filled up. There is a shortage of 76mm at the moment, which is being worked on. The quartermasters are also trying to get spare fuel to them as soon as possible, but we are…”
Kazakov interrupted.
“We are short, as always.”
However, a decision was needed.
“Tell 1823rd to hold immediately.”
He swiftly put his thoughts onto the map.
“Right. The Marshal was quite right to order us out of this peninsular, but I’m not going to leave behind the larger part of a Guards Rifle Corps doing it. We’ll organise a joint attack, bringing the 7th Guards southwards to here, and sending 9th and 45th Guards up from the south, squeezing the life out of this enemy force, and allowing the 7th to escape.”
Mishulin nodded and quickly spoke.
“An excellent plan, Comrade General. Should we seek support from Twenty-First Army from the east?”
Kazakov laughed, seeing the unintended humour in his CoS’ words.
“I rather suspect old Gusev has too much on his hands at the moment, don’t you?”
The map showed the understrength Twenty-first Army being pushed backwards slightly quicker than Marshal Bagramyan’s plan dictated.
“Right. Put that into orders my generals can understand and have them execute the assault at 0800. Make sure they know to get in close as they can to avoid problems from their Air Force.”
Mishulin scribbled away.
“The elements of 7th Guards will continue on through, the 9th Guards will cover the withdrawal and…” he came down the map a short distance, representing some five kilometres, “…the new line will be held at Kaltenkirchen.”
The scribbling stopped and his CoS waited expectantly.
“Get it done then, and accept no excuses. They can all be on time, regardless of the weather or supply. I’m going to phone the Old Armenian fox and tell him what I’m doing.”
The staff sprang into action as Mishulin issued the orders, Kazakov moving into his office to converse with Bagramyan, 1st Baltic Front’s commander.
By the time that he had finished the call, Kazakov had the agreement of Bagramyan, and unexpected support from Buiansky, the Frontal Aviation officer.
The opportunity to give the British Guards a bloody nose was not going to be wasted.
0745 hrs, Wednesday, 27th March 1946, Field Headquarters of Prentiss Force, Bad Brahmstedt-land, Germany.
“Maybe the buggers aren’t so short on ammunition, eh?”
Prentiss addressed the remark to no-one in particular.
Soviet artillery had been striking his positions since about 7am, and had drawn blood in both men and machines.
Prentiss Force was arraigned in a U-shape, the bowl of the U embracing Bimhölen, and with the open end towards where the British had just come from.
Fig# 155 - The Battle of the Streams.
The northern side started at Fuhlendorf, where part of the Cheshires’ support company, plus their 6 Platoon, were situated. Spreading eastwards from there were the Cheshires’ A Company and the four tank troops of Algie Woods’ A Squadron, backed up the H Troop Achilles’ of the 75th Anti-tank’s 119th Battery.
In and around Bimhölen, I Troop of the 75th and B Company, 1st Cheshire Battalion, sat alongside the Comets of 15th/19th Hussars.
The southern edge was screened by the Staghounds of the recce squadron, and formed from Merton’s B Squadron, C Company of the Cheshires, with so
me of the Engineers acting as infantry until reinforcements arrived.
The end of the line terminated at Bad Brahmsted-land, where the 75th’s G troop and 23rd Hussars headquarters combined with the company of engineers.
Major Blacker’s C Squadron acted as reserve, sitting in the small woods on Bimhölenstrasse, and able to move in any direction.
The FOO positioned himself on the high ground immediately west of the junction of the autobahn and Route 111.
Here, Prentiss also positioned some of his headquarters Crusader AA tanks, using the high ground to extend cover to as much of his formation as possible, not that air attack was very likely, given the state of the enemy’s air force.
Fig# 156 - Bimohlen - Prentiss Force initial dispositions.
The rest of the regiment’s headquarters men and vehicles remained on the eastern outskirts of Bad Brahmstedt-land, a local farm proving ample for Prentiss’ needs, the farmer’s wife plying the liberators with the fruits of her labours, in both solid and liquid form.
At 0754, the first of the air support promised by Major General Buiansky arrived, unchallenged and keen to make its mark.
The 314th Fighter Bomber Regiment, an under-strength mixture of IL-3 Shturmoviks and Yak-3 modifications, swept over the battlefield, releasing a cocktail of HE, AP, and fragmentation rockets on the northern defences.
Close behind came the remnants of another regiment, the 277th Ground Attack, whose six Il-10s dropped their bombs all over the defenders of Bimhölen.
Above them, Yak-3s of the 4th Guards Fighter Division waited for a challenge that never came.
Encouraged by the absence of enemy aircraft, both attack regiments swept over the battlefield again, intent on knocking out whatever it was that had clawed two of their number from the sky on the first pass.
Two Crusader AA vehicles engaged the lead Shturmovik with their 40mm Bofors, knocking vital lumps off the aircraft, which nose-dived into the roadway adjacent to the Osterau, a small stream.
