Endgame (The Red Gambit Series Book 7)

by Colin Gee

  Stelmakh himself had risked all by attacking the ambush group head-on, and more than one shot hit the IS-III as it presented opportunities of a side shot to some of the tanks on the height.

  It was his 122mm that had turned the Kätzchen into so much burning scrap, along with its highly trained crew and two valuable Rotkäppchen missiles.

  6th GIBTR had made it into the lee of the slope and that immediately resulted in a great lessening of incoming fire.

  They moved forward cautiously, their surviving SMG soldiers, always conscious of the threat of enemy anti-tank soldiers, shooting enthusiastically into all sorts of bushes and possible hiding places on the principle of ‘better safe than sorry’.

  Waiting for them were the SPs of the headquarters and 3e/1er Régiment Blindé, commanded by the unflappable Jorgensen.

  The reports from the northern sector were worrying in the extreme.

  The size of the enemy force was rapidly approaching the point that Knocke feared his lines would be overrun, no matter how well his men fought… and they were fighting magnificently by all accounts.

  A number of the bridges were now down, although the precise numbers were not clear. But enough tanks and APCs had crossed the water to make them less of a priority target.

  In the Legion tanks, gunners and loaders sweated profusely as they worked their weapons hard, all in an effort to stem the mounting tide.

  The ARL-44s had all gone.

  The IS-IIs had gone.

  Two of the Pershings had gone and another was unable to fire, even if it could find a replacement gunner and loader

  The Tiger II in the headquarters had gone… along with the unit’s commander.

  Lieutenant Albrecht von und zu Mecklenburg found himself in charge of the unit, with his battalion commander and company commander both dead, and the second in command on his way to the aid post, knocked unconscious and bloodied by Soviet mortars.

  At first, he had resented being given command of the British tank, but quickly understood that his veteran crew found the vehicle more than up to the task of killing the enemy and, more importantly to all of them, very good at keeping them alive.

  The Centurion once known as Lady Godiva had taken three hits and shrugged them off without any overt sign of damage or effect, other than to fray the nerves of those inside her steel walls.

  The 20pdr cannon fired a range of telling projectiles and he had not yet needed to use the few HESH in his stock, the APDS round more than sufficient to defeat the T-54s on front of him.

  Unlike the 17pdr, which had required men like Patterson to create special shells, the 20pdr came equipped with its own lethal canister shell, and Mecklenburg was keen to see its effects on the approaching Soviet infantry.

  He had spent the earlier war serving on the Italian Front in an aufklarungs unit, where he had once seen a 234/3 armoured car smash down a British infantry attack single-handed, with the use of the 75mm L/24’s canister round, a singularly deadly shot containing nine hundred and sixty steel balls. The 20pdr canister was apparently much worse, and he relished the opportunity to flay the hated untermensch with it.

  There was a problem with his gun’s stabiliser, a lovely advantage when it worked, but as he was engaging from cover in the main, the loss was not too keenly felt.

  All in all he loved his new tank and, despite his relative lack of experience, controlled his portion of the battlefield with ease.

  “Target tank, left two, seven hundred, engage.”

  “On. Firing!”

  The 20pdr shell streaked down towards the T-54 and found luck on its side.

  The enemy tank dipped its nose into a small hole and opened up its vulnerable roof plates to the incoming shell.

  In a flash of sparks and molten metal, the APDS ate straight through the modest top armour and exited through the floor, having travelled through some of the underfloor ammunition and the loader’s right foot.

  The man barely had time to scream before the propellant charges surrendered to the energy of the passing shell and exploded.

  Pieces of tank flew in all directions, causing havoc with nearby infantry.

  Still the 7th Guards Tanks pressed forward for, even though they continued to suffer, the fire was steadily lessening as, bit by bit, their persecutors grew fewer in number.

  On the Legion’s left flank, Lohengrin was holding her own but Köster understood it was only a matter of time.

  “Scheisse! Target tank, left eight, six hundred, fire when on!”

  He had missed the approach completely, and his mind was already working back over things to establish how the enemy could have got so close without being observed.

  “Firing!”

  Jarome hit, but the shell angled off into the sky, the angling of the thick turret armour saving the vehicle and crew.

  “Make sure of the bastard, Hans… we’re gonna have to move shortly! Driver, stand by!”

  Jarome concentrated by some sense made him hold his fire.

  Köster dropped his head down into the fighting compartment to see what was going on just as the breech leapt back and the gunner’s fire warning reached his ears.

  The enemy tank had stopped to fire and Jarome seized the moment, slotting a solid shot into the join between turret and hull immediately underneath the main gun.

  Whatever it did inside was anyone’s guess, but the driver pushed himself up and out of vehicle and staggered away before collapsing onto the damp grass.

  Köster decided that now was the time.

  “Driver, reverse and back left… move!”

  Two more tanks came out of a defile, clearly how the first had come so close without being observed.

  One put a shell on target, a fantastic shot from the moving tank, and the 100mm shell banged into the turret front but the angle saved them and it ricocheted off.

  As the Tiger I reversed, Köster called the gunner in on the new targets and had a grandstand view as the lead tank ran straight over the survivor of their last kill.

  Köster grimaced as he fancied he heard the man’s scream, but concentrated on looking backwards and correcting Meier’s reversing angle slightly.

  “And halt. Forward and right… behind that wall.”

  The driver changed gears with ease and Lohengrin was back behind some cover in an instant.

  “Are you on, Hans?”

  “And waiting...”

  “Fire!”

  “Firing!”

  Again the 88mm hit its target and swiped straight down the nearside running gear, making a huge mess of tracks and wheels alike.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Report.”

  “No way I aimed there… that hit must have done something.”

  “Can you fix it, Hans?”

  “Maybe… but no time, Rudi. I’ll have to judge it.”

  An inaccurate gun was all that Köster needed, especially in the gutter fight around him.

  “You have the tank, Hans. Commander out!”

  He grabbed the MP-40 and pushed himself up and out in the blink of an eye.

  Köster dropped behind the turret, rolled across the engine gratings and off the rear, careful not to burn himself on the hot exhausts.

  As he scuttled down the offside, half-crawling, half-kneeling, the 88mm cracked again and he knew the gunner had scored a kill, the secondary explosion and fireball both noticeable, even in the growing sound of the battle.

  From a position just in front of his tank, he could see the new scar on the turret front, and it ran through the area where the gunner’s sight lay.

  ‘Verdammt!’

  He retraced his steps to the rear of the Tiger and pulled himself back onto the vehicle engine deck.

  A shell casing flew out of the loader’s hatch in the rear of the turret, followed by a blackened face.

  “Hans reckons we’ve gotta go as soon as you’re in, Hauptscharführer!”

  “Ok!”

  A quick look revealed the reason for the move and h
e dropped back inside the turret and ordered Meier to reverse once more.

  The positions on the right were almost overrun and Lohengrin was out on a limb.

  The tirailleurs of the 7e had put down scores of the advancing infantry, but still they came, driven on by anything from courage to fear of the consequences of failure.

  Around them came the surviving T-54s, firing as they came.

  The Soviet barrage arrived on cue, held back until the final moment for its fullest effect.

  Zilinski knew he had one shot with the hidden unit and expected no more as, as recent history showed, surviving the battle was the priority for the rocket barrage troops, rather than actually firing the a second salvo.

  Katyusha units had learned to relocate to avoid the counter-battery fire and roving ground attack aircraft.

  The Katyusha rockets arrived along the ridgeline and the northern edge of Sulisɫawice and brought death and destruction at a critical time.

  More of the 3e’s precious tanks were destroyed or immobilised, and the tirailleurs suffered horrendous casualties.

  Zilinski had gambled and succeeded.

  Some of the 7e RTA gave way and ran, leaving the surviving tanks exposed and with precious little support.

  Here and there, a few braver men stayed close and kept the enemy anti-tank hunters at bay, but the Soviets, armed with a mixture of LANs and RPGs started to score hits.

  Von Mecklenburg dithered for a moment, caught between no retreat and understanding his predicament.

  “All Fuchs, all Fuchs. Pull back to the edge of the village. Repeat, leave the ridgeline and fall back to the village. Ende.”

  He gave his own driver the order to reverse and the Centurion moved back smoothly.

  Exposing himself as little as possible, he observed a pitiful few vehicles moving back as per his orders.

  The last Wolf used its superior speed to roar backwards and away from the advancing terrors, passing the retreating Wirbelwind, the quadruple AA tank having not yet fired a shot.

  A single M26, smoking like a factory chimney, reversed away from the ridgeline, both crew and observer unsure if the damaged tank would make it.

  Both Centurions were still runners and seemed to be the most reluctant to move, still remaining just short of the ridgeline.

  The last vehicle he could see clearly was the ISU-122, still alive, still fighting, stopping to fire and dropping back alternately, the heavy machine-gun on its roof belting out at any infantry that threatened.

  A sharp crack to his rear startled Von Mecklenburg and he turned wide-eyed.

  The liberated M-24 light tank had now joined the fray, helping to keep the enemy away from the Soviet SP gun’s path of retreat.

  He turned to the left and tried to make out anything of note over in the nearby village of Nietuja.

  He thought he saw something but lead spattered off the Centurion’s flank and forced him to duck low.

  ‘Seven… is that fucking all… just seven?’

  In the fiery ruins of Nietuja, the last two tanks of Third Company were hidden in the smoke and so evaded his gaze, but thanked their lucky stars for the cover as they slipped back as Soviet tank hunting teams swarmed over the ridge.

  Von Mecklenburg spotted the surge of enemy infantry off to the left of the ISU.

  Now was his chance.

  “Load canister. Gunner target right four… anti-tank troops… take them out.”

  The shell slid home and von Mecklenburg settled himself to observe.

  ‘Fucking slavs!’

  “On!”

  “Fire!”

  The 20pdr spat out a stream of solid steel balls which engulfed the nine men stalking the ISU.

  The Soviet anti-tank teams simply flew apart, the high-speed impact and power of so much metal simply destroying any semblance of their human forms and scattering pieces and fluids in a wide arc.

  “Fucking hell!”

  “Donnerwetter!”

  “There’s more to the left… another shot!”

  The Soviets decided that discretion was necessary and melted away into the ground before the metal storm arrived.

  None the less, the ground was churned up in places, and turned red with the products of dying men.

  Von Mecklenburg was seriously impressed, but could not enjoy the moment.

  “Achtung! APDS. Target tank, left six, three hundred, fire when on!”

  The turret swung easily and the gunner’s warning and weapon discharge became one.

  The 20pdr’s APDS shell punched through the T-54’s armour like the proverbial hot knife through butter but failed to hit anything of note and the enemy tank moved on, angling itself and setting up a shot.

  “Driver, back le…”

  The huge double sound robbed him of his senses, so loud was the shock of the 100mm shell’s passage, angling off the glacis plate before smashing into the very top of the gun mantlet and deflecting upwards.

  His gunner remained on target and another APDS struck the target, this time with even less effect than before.

  Von Mecklenburg shook his head to try and regain some of his senses and felt the blood run down his face and splatter on his hands.

  He hadn’t even realised he had hit his head, so badly had his senses been affected.

  His lips moved but he could hear nothing, and wasn’t sure that he was even making sense.

  None the less, the tank stopped as he had commanded, and the enemy’s shell streaked past the turret by the narrowest of margins.

  His ordered ammunition change had also been heard, and the gunner put a HESH shell on target.

  Externally, the shell left a mark to show its point of impact.

  Internally, spalded metal reduced the turret crew to nothing more than offal.

  The T-54 was as dead as they came.

  Speaking without hearing, von Mecklenburg ordered the Centurion further back and into the building line, taking advantage of a lull as the Soviet thrust temporarily ran out of steam, and the Guards’ officers prepared their men for the final attack.

  Deniken’s force from the 171st Regiment struck hard into Haefali’s men, forcing them backwards.

  The legionnaires rallied and counterattacked, retaking a portion of the Floriańska road.

  Harangued by Deniken, the 171st’s leader led his men forward from the front in a second surge, assisted by men from Artem’yev’s 361st Guards Rifle Regiment and a company of tanks from 53rd Guards Tank Brigade.

  By accident, not design, the focus of the attack struck the join between Haefali’s 1st and 2nd Battalion, battalions in name only, having been reduced by the heavy fighting to keep open an escape route for the Uhlmann attack force.

  Haefali’s group split in two and the attacking Soviets pushed hard and opened the gap, moving left and right but also pushing forward until they encountered a scratch force of recon troopers and engineers at Rozdole, and the semblance of a Legion defence line formed again.

  None the less, as Haefali’s report to Knocke indicated, it was only a matter of time until the Soviet numbers proved decisive.

  In the confusion of the battle, Knocke did all he could to stave off disaster, and his urgent request to St.Clair got reserve units of the Alma moving to protect Route 79, the escape route from Koprzywnica.

  It was Knocke’s last act as a divisional commander before circumstances returned him to another side of his role; that of combat soldier.

  From the north, the Soviets swept over the ridgeline in greater numbers and smashed into the waiting tirailleurs and legionnaires.

  From the east came the remainder of the 171st Regiment, supported by more men of the 116th Division and tanks from the 6th Guards Tank Corps, released by Rybalko to ensure success and the capture of Route 9.

  From the southeast came the remnants of the 6th GIBTR.

  All were focussed on the modest village of Sulisɫawice and control of its heights and roads.

  “Alarm!”

  Knocke looked up from
the map table as the shout was taken up by others around his headquarters building.

  Firing commenced close at hand, although the sounds of battle had generally been increasing as the fight grew closer.

  Maillard, the man who had once struck Knocke with his weapon at the behest of Molyneux, dashed in breathlessly, gasping in air to deliver a report.

  “Deep breaths, Captaine.”

  “Apologies, mon General. The Russians have broken through in the east. They are less than a hundred metres from this building. You must evacuate yourself immediate, Sir.”

  Knocke nodded and shrugged.

  “I think the time for evacuation is well past, Capitaine. We must stand and not move back. The whole division is relying on us.”

  He grabbed Maillard’s shoulder as he seemed to flag.

  “One more effort, Capitaine. We’ve beaten them before and we’ll beat them again.”

  Knocke looked around the headquarters and realised that every eye was upon him.

  “Time to earn our pay, Kameraden.”

  He beckoned D’Estlain to one side.

  “Still nothing from Emmercy?”

  “Nothing at all, mon Général. Given the enemy’s present moves I suspect he is beyond help or contact.”

  “Yes, you’re probably right, Alphonse, but keep trying. I’ll contact Lavalle immediately. You speak to St.Clair. Tell him of our predicament and that we’re relinquishing control to him until this mess is sorted, Make sure all Camerone units understand the situation. Make sure you speak to Durand and Haefali directly.”

  “Oui, mon Général.”

  “Then I want you and a skeleton staff to get out of here. Head towards Bukowa and keep on going until you find friendly units. If you can re-establish control then all well and good, but I need you out of here as soon as possible… just in case.”

  D’Estlain opened his mouth to argue but Knocke stopped him with the simple measure of offering a salute.

  His protest was strangled at birth and he could only start obeying his commander’s instructions.

  Knocke noticed Hässelbach and Lutz stood in the doorway, each carrying sufficient hardware and ammunition to conquer a small country.