by Colin Gee
The next aircraft flipped away in a hard port turn, the damage easily discernible as pieces of the wing and control surfaces fell away in its slipstream.
Three more Seafires were knocked out of the air, none of the pilots having the remotest opportunity to escape before the expensive aircraft converted themselves to scrap as they drove hard into the ground.
The remaining Seafires aborted their attack and formed up around the damaged aircraft, determined not to lose another friend on a day when the war had become more than a game.
Offshore, the damaged aircraft waited whilst the remainder of 802 landed on their carrier, the Barracudas having already been recovered and been taken down into the hangar.
HMS Venerable, a Colossus class carrier, recovered her Seafires and then the flight operations officer set about bringing in the damaged bird.
No sooner had he lined up the damaged Seafire, than the weakened wing structure lost more integrity and the resultant displacement was sufficient to spin the aircraft into the water.
Most aircraft could float for enough time to allow the pilot to escape, but this aircraft was keen to rest on the bottom of the Baltic and speared under the water in the blink of an eye.
A wingtip appeared, as the buoyant wing struggled to bring the fighter back up, but it quickly disappeared, taking another of 802’s pilots with it.
Back at Naugard, the AA’s success was already forgotten as the British attack smashed into the Guards positions.
[HMS Venerable was sold to the Netherlands in 1948 and served as the HNLMS Karel Doorman. She was later sold to Argentina and renamed ARA Veinticinco de Mayo. She was scrapped in 2000.]
1331 hrs, Monday, 1st April 1946, HQ, 1st Guards Mechanised Rifle Division, Farbezin, Pomerania.
Deniken listened to Lisov summarising what was going on, or as best as the man could interpret from the reports of soldiers under pressure.
Fig# 173 - Naugard - Soviet defensive positions.
The major combat elements of 1st Guards, Yarishlov’s Tank unit aside, were the 167th, 169th and 171st Guards Rifle Regiments, 25th Guards Artillery Regiment, and 121st Guards Tank Battalion, the latter a mixed bag of T-34s, but with Yarishlov’s old T44/100 in the HQ unit.
The artillery were well set back, covering all areas.
The 167th and 169th Rifle Regiments were arranged numerically from west to east, with the 167th centred on Naugard itself. The 171st provided the main infantry reserve in Deniken’s pocket, the headquarters units and First Battalion lying back from the frontline to the south of Naugard.
2nd/171st sat between Naugard and Yarishlov’s tanks, whilst 3rd/171st was on the other side of the defences, in the woods north of Route 144.
Yarishlov’s SPs covered the approach from Kartzig, the 121st, less a shock group of six tanks, set up ready should anything approach from Eberstein or Minten.
The fighting to date had claimed many lives and consumed ammunition at alarming rates, forcing Deniken to send roving units into the rear, seeking ammunition and supplies willingly given or, if kind words failed, to appropriate anything that was needed regardless.
The commander of 1st Guards Mechanised intended to keep his unit in the fight for as long as possible, and his orders to hold left no room for personal interpretation.
Now, his 2IC seemed to describe a full frontal assault by Allied forces, aimed directly at Naugard.
Tanks and infantry picked their way steadily forward, angling in towards the town.
Deniken felt confused.
“7th Tanks?”
“Comrade Polkovnik, the enemy attack is angled in as you see, more so than previously for certain. The flank seems a little exposed, an error that I haven’t seen from these English before.”
‘Is it an error... or is it something else...’
Deniken put his thoughts into words and then started to work the problem.
“If it’s a mistake, then 7th can move up to the edge of their woods and take them in the flank.”
Lisov nodded, accepting the unspoken invitation to continue with the hypothesis.
“If it isn’t a mistake, it might be an attempt to get us to push 7th up and expose it to some other sort of attack.”
Deniken nodded.
“Air attack? Heavy artillery? Something else?”
Lisov countered.
“They have no heavy artillery of note, or they would have used it by now. We’re beyond their naval guns so, if it is such a manoeuvre, then it must be aircraft... or it’s a big error... either way, you need to decide, Comrade Polkovnik.”
Fig# 174 - Naugard - First phase of the Allied Attack.
Time and battles wait for no man...
Deniken spoke quickly to the communications officer.
“Confirm with 7th Tanks that they have no direct threat, only the enemy moving across their front to Naugard.
The steady crack of 122mm guns reached their ears, as the ISUs started to engage.
Impatiently, Deniken waited, passing the time by playing with his lighter, his last cigarette consumed when he rose for breakfast.
Lisov leant forward and whispered in a runner’s ear, sending the man on a mission of mercy.
“Comrade Polkovnik, 7th Guards report nothing directed at them. Only targets are enemy tanks and infantry moving eastwards towards Naugard.”
That was the confirmation Deniken needed, and yet, he still hesitated.
‘Why do I wait? They’re there, ripe for the plucking...’
The runner returned with the opened packet of cigarettes he had found in Lisov’s quarters, as directed.
Deniken smiled and scrabbled for a life-saving cigarette.
“Thank you, Comrade Yefreytor, thank you!”
The man stood back, happy to have been praised by his commander.
Deniken leant into Lisov’s neck and whispered.
“Can I award a medal for providing me with nicotine?”
With a deadpan expression, Lisov delivered his considered opinion.
“If I write it up, you’ll sign anything I put in front of you.”
Deniken slapped his 2IC’s shoulder, resuming the mental tussle with his tactical problem.
The field telephone announced itself, and an incoming message was taken and quickly passed on.
Lisov moved to the map.
“We have a problem here. Apparently, a Germanski paratrooper unit has pushed into our flank... here. A reinforced battalion is the best guess at the moment.”
South-east of Eberstein lay some woods, and the enemy had used them to sneak the Paratroopers in close, a threat that was now moving south to turn the flank.
“They intend to pocket us up.”
Lisov pondered the statement as, somewhere on the battlefield, artillery started to drop in increasing volumes.
“Possibly, Comrade Polkovnik, but where is the power here. None of our units report overwhelming force to their front. No-one is screaming for more men and vehicles. This Germanski unit is easily stopped, by committing our reserve immediately.”
Deniken absorbed the words and processed the map information.
“Get the reserve battalion and the special tank group together and stop that Germanski force from manoeuvring... Tell them not get committed yet, just to stop the green bastards from moving around... keep the enemy north of the river if possible.”
Lisov moved and got the orders passed with professional speed and efficiency.
“Comrade Polkovnik, we are delaying. The 7th’s in an ideal position. If you order them to advance now then we have the British on a plate. Even if they are trying to encircle us, that part will come to nothing... end of problem.”
Although the sound was no different to any other time the field telephone had rung, this time it somehow oozed urgency, and both Colonels instinctively sensed that the game was about to change.
Fig# 175 - Naugard - Allied Assault forces.
The signaller wrote out the message and passed it to the Communications O
fficer, who, in turn, passed it to Lisov.
“Govno!”
Deniken knew what it was before Lisov briefed him.
“That artillery? In front of Yarishlov’s positions?”
“Yes, Comrade Polkovnik. Heavy calibre rounds from at least fifty guns firing in salvoes.”
“And?”
“Enemy force of tanks and motorised infantry in sight, running from Kartzig area, straight at his positions. Looks like they intend to go between the lakes, Comrade Polkovnik.”
Deniken remained silent for longer than anyone felt comfortable with, before pouncing on the Communications officer.
“Is the 7th still on the line?”
“Yes, and awaiting orders, Comrade Polkovnik.”
He moved across the intervening space like a sprinter, taking the handset from the signaller.
“Polkovnik Deniken speaking, who is this?”
“Praporschik Kriks, Comrade Polkovnik. Polkovnik Yarishlov is easing his units up to the wood line and has asked me to get your orders.”
“Kriks, tell him that everything else is a feint, a device. Everything rests on his holding. The enemy intend to push us away from the main road. I believe they’ll try and mount a full-scale attack down it once we’ve been pushed aside. We will not be pushed aside. Tell Arkady I’ll send what extra I can find, but he must hold and ensure that nothing pushes him away from Route 28.”
Kriks repeated the order as, across from Deniken, Lisov tried to understand how his commander had arrived at such a conclusion.
Discussion complete, Deniken moved back to the map.
“Right, Comrade. What can we send to prevent this fucking disaster from happening?”
“Are you sure, Comra...”
“Yes, Comrade Lisov, I’m sure. I’m staking my life on it.”
Shells churned up the area where 7th Guards might have been, had they accepted the possibility of making the flank attack.
Six miles to the north, men sweated over the huge 7.2” Mk VI Howitzers, trying to maintain a round every three minutes and, beat it if possible.
Behind the slowly creeping barrage came the spearhead of the Allied attack, the 5th Polish Heavy Tank Regiment [AK] supported by two motorised battalions from the Azul Division’s 11th Assault Infantry Regiment, the new designation of the 263rd Regiment from the German War.
The 8th Assault Infantry Regiment formed the greater part of the forces attacking Naugard direct, with the 11th’s remaining units forming a sizeable reserve force.
By comparison to the defending Soviet forces, 8th and 11th Assault Infantry Regiments were at full strength, bringing nearly three thousand five hundred men to the field, whereas none of the three regiments in the 1st Guards exceeded a thousand and the 167th Regiment only just crossed the seven hundred mark.
Reports flooded into Deniken’s headquarters, detailing the building pressure of the attacks, but still none pleaded to withdraw or sought more men, although resupply of ammunition was a constant theme.
His interpretation, some would call it guess, seemed correct.
Fig# 176 - Naugard - Second phase of Allied assault.
There was no urgency about the Allied thrust; no speedy work, except for the group driving hell for leather at Yarishlov.
He eyed his PPSh, hanging on an old hat stand, and momentarily considered driving out to support his friend on the field of battle, but those days were, for him, now gone.
So he studied the map, absorbed the changes, the new reports, the spoken information, and imagined himself leading soldiers in battle alongside Yarishlov’s tanks
He closed his eyes and could imagine the green tanks in the green woods, moving into firing positions...
1249 hrs, Monday, 1st April 1946, HQ, 7th Guards Tank Assault Brigade, Forward positions, Schwarzow - Naugard road, Pomerania.
The green tanks moved forward through the green woods, carefully easing themselves into prime firing positions, their caution aided by the Typhoons now circling the battlefield, waiting patiently for a target of opportunity.
The Allied artillery had stopped, the last shell dropping short of the woods by just under fifty metres. Not dangerous as such, but close enough to leave little silver scars on the nearest tanks, courtesy of shrapnel from the huge shell.
The SMG battalion shook out well behind the T-54s, its role now one solely of covering their armoured comrades’ rear, keeping any infantry anti-tank teams from getting in close.
The tactics that were to be used excluded them from sitting tight to the T-54’s.
Some medium artillery started to drop in the woods and achieved some success amongst the infantry. Most importantly, amongst the command group, who suffered one direct and two close hits in under two minutes. Men and equipment suffered badly, and a lesser unit might have had problems, but the 7th Guards SMG Battalion was an experienced unit.
As their former commander and half his staff were taken away to the casualty station, the Battalion command shifted effortlessly to a Major who knew his business just as well.
Kriks had passed Deniken’s orders and was now in his own tank, three to the left of his commander.
Radio communications still only existed in limited numbers of tanks, and these, reasonably enough, were reserved for unit commanders.
That the Soviet sets were unreliable was a fact of life the Red Army tankers simply accepted with stoicism, unless they were lucky enough to have their set replaced with one ‘liberated’ from enemy vehicles. Poor radio communications was a fact of life that hamstrung the effectiveness of the Soviet war machine throughout the conflict.
Yarishlov spoke into his microphone softly, his eyes firmly glued to the enemy force, estimating the range.
“Drakon-lider, all commands. Stand by.”
There was a certain irony that the first real opposition his unit would face would be tanks born in the same factories as those the 7th rode into battle.
The approaching front of metal consisted of IS-IIs and T-34s, more the former than the latter, which made them renegade Poles, and beneath contempt.
“Drakon-lider, all commands. Tanks to front are Soviet build. You know their weak spots. Stand by.”
The IS-IIs made Yarishlov think, their thick armour worrying him into delaying the fire order.
Kriks was humming ‘Kalinka’ to himself, his nervous energy building up and needing some sort of release.
He had long ago selected his first target, an IS-II virtually at 0° to him, one he had selected according to doctrine, to avoid multiple shots at one target.
His headset spoke and he automatically gave the order.
Yarishlov had sprung the ambush.
The opening volley was spectacular for a number of reasons.
The first reason was that the 100mm gun on the T-54 had excellent hitting and penetrative power, and made short work of the T-34m44s available, only one surviving the initial salvo of AP shells.
The second reason was the incredible sight of numerous white blobs bouncing skywards, as IS-II armour proved its value against 100mm shells.
Yarishlov gave the order.
“Drakon-lider, all tanks, advance! Out.”
The T-54s pushed forward immediately, knowing that the woods would soon become an artillery killing zone. Keen to get closer to the IS-IIs, understanding that losses would occur once the Typhoons understood the danger, and accepting them for the safety that proximity to the enemy offered.
The 7th Guards were well trained, despite the limitations of supply, and practised move-stop-fire tactics to increase their hit ratios.
Yarishlov saw an opportunity, as one IS-II swung on a broken track.
“Gunner, target tank at three left, nine hundred, engage.”
“Set.”
“FIRE!”
As soon as the shell left the barrel, the driver eased the T-54 forward and jinked left and centre, moving forward but changing lines.
Yarishlov slapped his gunner on the shoulder.
“Hit! Well done, Anatoly.”
The professional was back in an instant.
“Driver, halt. Gunner, target tank at zero, eight hundred. Engage.”
The delay was tangible.
“Set.”
“FIRE!”
The last T-34 exploded in a fireball, leaving no doubt about the effectiveness of the round.
“Driver, find me a hull down position.”
The driver had already scanned ahead but not seen anything suitable.
He moved the tank forward, angling left.
An opportunity presented itself immediately, and he dropped into a shell hole, shouting a warning as he approached.
The T-54 was swallowed up, the hole bigger than expected, leaving Yarishlov with no vision whatsoever.
“Sorry, Comrade Polkovnik.”
“This will have to do,” and Yarishlov eased himself up out of the cupola, discovering that if he knelt on the metal roof, propping himself against the DSHK mount, he could see the battlefield reasonably well.
The tactical situation was favourable and he pressed his mike to issue an order to take advantage of it.
“Drakon-Lider, Drakon-odin, come in.”
The first battalion commander responded immediately.
“Drakon-odin, move your battalion around to the left, circling the village. The enemy has narrowed his front. You can get at his flank, over.”
Dragon-one acknowledged and Yarishlov’s first tactical decision was implemented.
He then realised that he had made an error, the sort that could prove fatal on a battlefield policed by aircraft.
His tank had sat still for too long.
A typhoon was already in its death-bringing dive.
‘Blyad... no time!’
Instinctively, he dropped into the turret and grabbed the firing handles.
The Typhoon was aimed at a point behind Yarishlov, the pilot allowing for the natural fall of his rockets, which leapt from the rails in pairs, until all eight were in the air.
