by Colin Gee
He pondered the question for the moment.
“Unless we have good reason, I say use this opportunity. The attack order stands until I rescind it, Général Knocke… no… use any resources you need to deal with this incursion in the first instance… we will adapt… yes indeed, no plan survives first contact… bravo!”
Lavalle smiled.
‘So typical of the man. What a soldier!’
“And to you Général Knocke. Stay safe.”
He replaced the receiver, having committed his forces to use the enemy’s attack to his advantage, to overcome it, and continue their own drive on the Vistula.
Suddenly, Lavalle felt the weight lifted, the suspicion that had troubled him previously had declared itself and was now addressed, and the enemy’s attack would now be used against him, as his soldiers were now out in the open, not in prepared positions from which they would need winkling at greater cost.
All in all, despite initial losses amongst his forward assault units, not a bad exchange.
0219 hrs, Tuesday. 1st April 1947, headquarters, 116th Guards Rifle Division, Koprzywnica, Poland.
“No, Comrade Mayor, withdraw now… that’s an order.”
Artem’yev pointed to the situation map, drawing Deniken’s eyes to where the Major in question sought to press home his attack.
“No, Mayor. You’re the only one having successes. We’ve run into a prepared enemy. Call off your attack and withdraw to your start position… now, Sokolov…now!”
Żyznów had almost fallen before the assault of one of Artem’yev’s battalions and the keen commander had wanted to press on and occupy the village.
In fairness, Artem’yev conceded, the man does not know the full picture.
Satisfied with the response, he tossed the handset back to his radio operator and turned back to Deniken.
“Without a doubt, Comrade General, we’ve run into forces that were preparing to assault us. My casualties are bad but the plan’s running, young Sokolov aside.”
Fig # 240 - The battleground, Koprzywianka River, Poland.
He waved his hand in the direction of the radio.
Deniken studied the map in silence.
Artem’yev took a long swig from a water bottle and joined him.
“I think we have a problem in that our timings are going to be totally fucked up, Comrade General… but… our plan to draw them on is going to work because they already intended to come.”
Deniken nodded and accepted the water bottle and slaked his own mounting thirst.
‘Nerves?’
Artem’yev read his thoughts.
“I always get thirsty in combat myself, Comrade General.”
“New one to me, Comrade Polkovnik. Perhaps the weight of command, eh?”
The infantryman accepted the water bottle back with a smile.
“Yes, Comrade… they will come on… but they won’t be as vulnerable as we hoped. They’ll be prepared for an advance, so things’ll be more difficult. None the less, the opportunity to destroy the SS bastards is here and we’ll seize upon it. Your assessment of our new timetable?”
Artem’yev looked at the distances involved and made a swift calculation.
“The SS of old would be up my arse in an instant… these bastards have the same reputation… they’ll take what they see as an opportunity and come on hard and fast… I’ll be back on the Klimontów line within the hour… units will filter in bit by bit but it will be established by 0330, no later.”
Deniken made his notes as the older man spoke.
“Here the trick will be not to retreat in such a way as to make them suspect anything… but fast enough to preserve my boys… I’m thinking 0430 to be back on the Śmiechowice to Samborzec defensive line.”
Nearby artillery hammered into the ground, dropping a few specks of earth across the maps.
The two grinned at each other.
“Like the SS bastards of old.”
“We beat them once. We’ll do it again, Comrade General.”
Deniken slapped his comrade on the shoulder.
“We will indeed… but only if we get this right. 0430 it is… I’ll hold you to that, Comrade. Keep them interested… keep them coming on… and at 0430, I’ll unleash the very devil upon them.”
They shook hands and Deniken rushed out into the darkness to make it back to his own headquarters before daylight brought the enemy’s aircraft buzzing round.
As his staff car leapt away, the night sky was riven by yet more enemy artillery as Camerone reacted to the 116th’s attack with its own advance.
Involuntarily he shivered, although both the morning and rain were warm enough.
‘Like the SS bastards of old… a hard day ahead…’
He shivered again, for he suspected that the Devil would accommodate both sides this day.
0250 hrs, Tuesday. 1st April 1947, Camerone Division Headquarters, Staszow, Poland.
Knocke examined the map and was cautiously pleased.
He wasn’t quite sure where the caution came from, for his main assault element was driving the enemy before them, not allowing them to settle into any defensive positions.
But the caution was there, an almost instinctive thing that made him examine the battlefield further afield.
Two of his three assault groups were now engaged, with only Haefali’s 3e Group as yet unblooded.
Uhlmann’s 1er Group was leading the way towards Koprzywnica, with Haefali’s men tucked in behind, ready for their phase to start.
Emmercy’s 2e Group were already investing Klimontów on the left flank, although the retreating Red Army were less inclined to give ground in that area than to the south, where larger inroads were being made.
The DRH forces, drawn from the Grossdeutschland Division, were advancing into the enemy lines and were well advanced down Route 74.
A battlegroup had already occupied the key position at Włostów, and would soon be in possession of the key junction at Lipnik, which meant that Route 77 would become available for Emmercy, once he had overcome resistance in Klimontów.
Up against the Vistula, the assault elements of Alma were moving steadily forward, maintaining pace with Uhlmann’s advance in order to keep the Camerone legionnaires’ left flank secure.
Everything was going well.
And yet…
‘I’ll move up now… get Truffaux up with the divisionalreserves… Route 9… just south of Wólka Gieraszowska… yes… yes, that’ll do… but into a defensive posture I think…’
He wished the Corps’ reserves were closer up but that was beyond his capabilities.
‘What’s the problem here?’
Knocke senses were alive with the scent of danger.
Morning would hopefully bring aerial reconnaissance information that would make the smell go away, but for now he pondered the map and the continuing reports, seeking the thing that troubled him.
Lavalle had his own suspicions and decided to do something outside the plan.
Only a small adjustment but once it was done he would feel easier.
“Colonel… Knocke will need some support I think so order Général Renat-Challes to move the Corps’ reserve units forward now. I want them at Sulisɫawice immediately... on and around the junction of Floriańska with Route 9. Also inform Général Knocke of my actions.”
The new CoS questioned him with a quiet look.
“Yes, Maurice, I know. It’s far forward but I want it done. And remind Général St.Clair that I want Alma sticking to Camerone’s right flank like glue.”
The man moved away to get Lavalle’s words transformed into action.
Somehow he felt easier for the call, and recalled the words of one of his instructors at St Cyr.
‘Small decisions can sometimes affect great enterprises.’
Not that he knew it, but between them Lavalle and Knocke had just saved their Corps from annihilation.
0321 hrs, Tuesday. 1st April 1947, two kilometres northeast of Koprz
ywnica, Poland.
The artillery fire was provided a constant ‘strobe effect’ of lighting for the Legion’s forces to advance.
Although not all were going forward.
Uhlmann’s tank was pulled over under a stand of trees as his driver checked the problem that was dogging the engine performance.
Whilst the regimental commander was delighted with most aspects of his Schwarzpanther, even though it was not one of the turbine versions that the DRH was equipping with, he was less than enamoured with its reliability, something his crew sweated over often.
The old problems with overheating and engine fires had been solved in peacetime, but the new beast suffered from electrical issues and often transmission problems, the latter of which often meant a tank lost until it was recovered, or at least in the workshops for a long time.
“Wiring loom, Obersturmbannführer.”
The driver dropped back into his hatch and the engine turned over first time.
Uhlmann ordered the tank back into line and joined the column just behind the tank belonging to his senior NCO and friend, once a Sturmscharführer of the SS Wiking Division.
Braun recognised his commander’s tank by its markings and waved respectfully to the indistinct figure in the cupola.
Ahead of them, the recon element, 1er/1er REC, had just lost one of their few antelope, the match of SDKFZ 251 hull and Puma turret falling foul of an enemy anti-tank gun.
Uhlmann listened as reports flooded in and orders were given, the lead elements of his advance deploying swiftly to isolate the problem and permit the advance to continue.
A handful of Soviet dead caught his eye, the obvious signs of clothing disruption betraying the looting of their corpses by others ahead in line.
They were prime men, who apart from the obvious evidence of traumatic death, looked fit and well fed.
‘Fit… well fed…’
The radio overrode his thoughts with calls to arms, as ahead the battle grew fiercer.
‘They’ve decided to stick then… now why is that… Samborzec?…’
He dropped into the turret and examined his map, seeing the notations that might or might not refer to possible defensive works on a line centring on Samborzec, and running northwest to southeast.
‘Let’s make that definite then… they are defensive positions… right… I’ll move the RdM units to…’
“What the fuck did he just say?”
His attention transferred from map to headset in an instant.
The desperate commander of the 3e RdM, Alma’s lead unit, called for help once more.
‘At Skotniki… tanks… merde… on our flank… there should be no tanks…’
Reports assailed his ears as the night sky started to flare up badly on his right flank, precisely where Alma ran into something unexpected.
Taking a few moments to examine the tactical position, Uhlmann debated two courses of action and elected for positive action on both fronts.
He ordered the advance to continue, but switched Braun’s oversized tank platoon, part of 1er/1er RdM, and the 1st AT company to move towards the flank of the obstacle that presented to Alma, seeking to relieve the pressure that seemed to be bearing down on his sister division.
Exactly as Colonel General Rybalko had hoped.
As Uhlmann’s forces split their focus, the Soviet retreat turned into a counter-attack of monumental proportions.
Two factors proved vital.
Firstly, the lead units of the DRH’s Grossdeutschland had not secured the main road junction at Lipnik, as the leaders of the Corps D’Assaut had been informed, which meant that the left flank was not only insecure, but in an extremely precarious position.
Secondly, Ernst-August Knocke had positioned both himself and his reserve force at Sulisɫawice, a small backwater soon to enter into the annals of Legion history.
All along the front, flares and star shells brought day light to the battlefield as men died in their scores.
Fig # 241 - Legion Corps D’Assaut radio call signs.
0331 hrs, Tuesday. 1st April 1947, Route 79, three kilometres northeast of Koprzywnica, Poland.
“All received and understood, Anton-two. Berta-six out.”
Uhlmann had an aversion to retreating, something men of his breed shared, but he was also wise enough to understand that, no matter how good his men or equipment were, there were times when the enemy would have their day.
The situation had clarified itself very quickly, as Alma’s lead units found themselves entwined in prepared defensive positions and tanks, all of which meant that his flank support had been temporarily lost.
The relocation of Braun’s small battlegroup, actually Durand’s battlegroup, as the 1er’s battalion commander had joined the small force and taken personal command, was still ongoing, but Alma’s reports of counterattacks made by flame-throwing engineers and medium tanks meant that the attempt to turn the Soviet’s own flank was dead before it started.
That, and the order he had just received from Anton-two, Colonel D’Estlain, the acting CoS for Camerone, which halted his force’s advance and required a realignment to remain butted-up to Alma’s under pressure forces.
‘Realignment equals retreat in my fucking book… but the Oberführer knows what he’s doing.’
“Berta, Berta, Leopard-zero, over!”
“Leopard-zero, Berta receiving, over.”
“Berta, Leopard-zero. Heavily engaged by tanks, infantry, and rockets, five hundred metres west of Skotniki. Four vehicles and three personnel carriers destroyed. Unable to advance. Over.”
From memory, Uhlmann could place Skotniki and worked out that Durand must have crossed the river.
He made an instant decision.
“Leopard-zero, Berta. Withdraw immediately to the river line and hold. Understood? Over.”
“Berta, Leopard-zero, Understood. Unable to contact Dora units, over.”
A momentary chill pierced Uhlmann’s heart.
“Leopard-zero, Berta. Understood. Wait out.”
He switched to his regimental frequency.
“Dora-one-one, Dora-one-one, Berta, receiving, over.”
“Berta, Dora-one-one, receiving, over.”
Uhlmann’s relieved exhalation of breath carried into the airwaves as he transmitted the retreat order and advised Brain of the loss of communications with Durand,
“Berta, order understood… tank to front, left three, two hundred, fire when on!”
The close encounter played out over the radio net as Braun forgot to stop broadcasting.
“Good shot, hard kill… driver… back up slowly… shit.”
The radio went dead for the briefest of moments, long enough to make Uhlmann’s heart skip a beat or three.
“Berta, Dora-one-one. Apologies…Recruit’s disease. Order understood and executing. Dora-one-one out.”
Braun switched to his platoon net and ordered the surviving five tanks back to the river line, where the enemy tide would be more easily halted.
He also confirmed the orders with the AT company commander, who reluctantly started to give ground, leaving behind three of his Schwarzjagdpanthers.
Back in the main attack area, Uhlmann, operating well to the left flank of his force, ordered his Schwarzpanther in behind a well-tended square bush, almost perfectly Panther-sized, so he could update his map and make sure his orders were correct.
The ground was lower and the vehicle nestled into a small depression… ‘that’s perfect’…and the engine immediately died.
The driver disappeared to resolve the matter, accompanied by the loader whose speciality had once been bicycles.
As Uhlmann spread the map on the top of the turret and covered himself with a zeltbahn to hide the pen light, the other crew took the opportunity to refresh themselves and smoke.
0334 hrs, Tuesday. 1st April 1947, Route 79, four kilometres northeast of Koprzywnica, Poland.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely, Comra
de Mayor.”
Kalinov, drenched with rain, reseated himself, having been allowed to get out of the tank for a call of nature, during which he had seen movement in the semi-darkness of the night battle.
His tank, an IS-III, was concealed along with the rest of the 6th Guards Independent Breakthrough Tank Regiment, a greatly reduced formation in terms of size, but one that packed a considerable punch.
“We’ll remember him if he stays but we’re under fire discipline so just line him up, Oleg.”
Ferensky, the gunner, whispered with his loader and brought the 122mm gun to bear on the square hedge that Kalinov described.
The 6th had stayed silent as a considerable enemy force had passed under its guns, all part of the plan that intended to do the enemy units the maximum amount of harm.
The debate on ammunition reached Stelmakh’s ears.
“What’s the problem, Comrades?”
“Comrade Mayor, we’ve HEAT loaded but I recommend we switch to solid shot.”
Stelmakh understood Kalinov’s concern, although his gunner was confident that the hedge would not prematurely detonate the HEAT shell.
Stelmakh was inclined to change but consulted his gunner anyway.
“Oleg, can we be certain?”
“Well… I s’pose not, Comrade Mayor. The AP would certainly go through but I’ve fired through bushes with HEAT before without problems so…”
“No chances then… load AP, Comrades. We take no chances tonight.”
There was no further discussion and Kalinov began the task of changing rounds, made more delicate an operation because of the two-part ammunition.
The task had been completed and another round of cigarettes had been consumed before Stelmakh’s radio crackled into life.
“Chorniy-odin, Chorniy-odin, Zimniy Dvorets… execute, execute, execute, over.”
‘Shit… here we go!’
“All units Chorniy, all units Chorniy, plan one, repeat, advance plan one…commence attack, repeat, commence attack… out.”
