Endgame (The Red Gambit Series Book 7)

by Colin Gee

  Quite clearly, they were a self-appointed bodyguard and Knocke was secretly pleased to see them so well prepared.

  He pored further over the map to see if there was more that he could do and decided on one last radio message.

  Durand signed off and returned the handset to his radio operator.

  The remaining leadership of the Uhlmann group had gathered in woods just south of Cegielnia, and the strain was writ large on their faces.

  They had heard Knocke’s final instructions to them and understood that if Sulisɫawice fell then they would not escape their present predicament… unless they moved fast now and to hell with all caution.

  Knocke had not given them false hope, and had admitted that the likelihood of a successful defence of Sulisɫawice was not high, but that it would be held for as long as humanly possible.

  He had not ordered them to do anything as such, but had given them alternatives, depending on their tactical situation.

  Above all, they were to save as much of the group as possible, and work with Haefali to extricate the Camerone from its disastrous predicament.

  He had quickly set out the options as he saw them and placed the decision in their hands.

  The call had ended in a rushed fashion as some threat caused Knocke to cut short his messages.

  Durand looked at the map, gripping the small table in his vice-like grip, an outward display of his anger and concern.

  “Ideas, mes amis?”

  Jung, somehow separated from his unit in Haefali’s group, spoke nervously, unused to such invitations.

  “The shortest route seems to be back to Alma but…”

  “…but if Łoniów has fallen, we’ll have the lot opposite up our arses in an instant.”

  Braun had a way with words.

  Durand laughed.

  “All our options will end up in a fight, but I agree with Major Braun.”

  He used the French rank, even though it sometimes brought confusion.

  “We could cut due east and use the river as a secure flank… a longer journey and still fraught with danger, although we can find refuge with the bulk of Alma.”

  No one fancied that option.

  “Join up with Haefali, leapfrog back across country rather than the roads, and smash our way through Łoniów?”

  “There’s another way… another option… one I think we have to take.”

  Artillery started dropping to their rear, almost as if to affect their thinking.

  “Well, Uncle Joe’s boys are trying to reduce our options.”

  Durand’s comment had the desired effect and the group laughed lightly.

  “What’s your other way?”

  Durand accepted a cigarette from Braun and listened as the senior NCO spoke.

  “The one route we’ve rejected. The Oberführer told us there was no chance of escaping to the west as he’s about to be overrun, only south or southeast. But there’s the issue. The Russians also know that, so west… that’s where we can go and achieve some surprise surely?”

  Durand married the words to the map.

  “But here’s a Soviet infantry regiment by all repor…”

  They ducked low as a shell whipped in close by and dropped earth and stones amongst them.

  “A full regiment with tank support and all the rest of it.”

  “So we go above them, Commandant.”

  “The Floriańska?”

  “Yes, Sir…why not? They won’t be expecting it… it allows us to move tight with Haefali. Yes, we’ll have exposed flanks but we’ll have exposed flanks whichever way we go, and this way we serve a higher purpose… Sulisɫawice… we’ll save Sulisɫawice!”

  The men stiffened, for they knew what Braun meant to say, but held back from voicing.

  ‘Knocke… we’ll save Knocke!’

  Durand clapped his hands to break the moment.

  “Let me speak to Colonel Haefali… but I like it.”

  Aircraft of the DRL flew away from the target area, satisfied that they had put their ordnance bang on target.

  In that they were wholly correct.

  The furthest advance of Rybalko’s northern force had been stopped dead in its tracks, in some cases quite literally, as the panzers of Kampfgruppe Schemmerring, derived mainly from the 116th Panzer Division, smashed the lead elements in and around the village of Ujazd.

  From there, they and the Grossdeutschland group had rolled much of the enemy back, leaving a few pockets of resistance to be mopped up later.

  At Kamieniec and the river line of the Koprzywianka River that ran through it, elements of the 167th Guards Rifle Regiment and its tank support from 7th Special Guards Tank Brigade stood and stopped the German advance.

  Neither mortars nor artillery could shift the defenders and the urgency of the situation with the Legion Corps meant that there was no time for finesse.

  As he was about to send his men forward, Schemmerring received welcome news and delayed his attack.

  DRL aircraft from two units swept over the battlefield, followed by a squadron from the USAAF.

  The lead unit was the 11th Schlachtstaffel, the last unit in the DRL to operate the Hs-129-B3 ground attack aircraft that had graced the Luftwaffe in WW2.

  The new leadership of the Luftwaffe had decided that such a powerful weapon could not be allowed to fade away, so production of a version with new power plants, an improved recoil mount, and a more streamlined gun pod had been authorised and commenced, despite the fact that testing of the prototype had only just got underway

  Their powerful 75mm Bordkanone ripped the T-54s apart like tin cans, and the first pass the DRL flyers left eight in various stages of disrepair.

  Each Hs-129 was equipped with a magazine-fed main weapon that could fire twelve rounds simply by a press of a firing button.

  The payoff was an aircraft that was slow and cumbersome to fly, which was why the Hs-129s never went anywhere without friends.

  The Red Air Force tried to interfere, but the DRL had FW-190s and Spitfires flying overhead, and no interceptors ever looked like getting through.

  The Henschels made further passes, losing one of their number to ground machine-gun fire, but exacting a huge price on the tanks and vehicles of the defenders.

  After them came Thunderbolts, who firing their rocket ordnance in the village, deliberately avoiding the two bridges that spanned the river.

  They then turned and bore in again, and each aircraft in turn dropped two M29 cluster bombs, which held ninety 4lbs fragmentation charges each.

  Finally came the USAAF, a full squadron of the improved Skyraiders laden with everything in the inventory.

  5” FFAR rockets streaked down and smashed the infantry positions on the riverbanks.

  By now the Soviet soldiers understood the pattern of attack and Guards’ soldiers who had stood the rigours of the Eastern Front started to flee from their positions, knowing what was to come.

  Running down the river line, the squadron of USAAF attack aircraft laid napalm along the defensive lines, taking the lives of those who had broken ranks as well as those who had stoically remained.

  Men ran like burning torches, screaming, squealing, adding to the horrific scene that greeted Schemmerring as he observed the strikes.

  The situation was now changed and he ordered a modest part of his force to attack the defences at Kamieniec, sensing that the enemy was spent and needed only the smallest of pushes to run from the field, preferring to concentrate most of his force for the push to break through to the surviving legionnaires of Emmercy’s group, surrounded at Pokrzywianka and a couple of other places further east.

  Part of the Grossdeutschland battlegroup pressed ahead and crashed straight into the fires and destruction that was Kamieniec and showed that Schemmerring was wholly correct, for the surviving Russians fell back in disarray before them.

  His main force, the remainder of the GD group plus his own 116th Division Kampfgruppe, turned to the southeast and pressed down Route 75
8, pushing the stunned Soviet guardsmen before them.

  The headquarters of the Legion Corps D’Assaut was a hive of activity; some of it well focused and direct, some of it the work of men who were clearly rattled by the worsening situation.

  Lavalle took a minute to himself with a cigarette and coffee, observing the map as it was updated, and no amount of reappraisal could make it look anything other than a disaster of monumental proportions.

  Either the Legion had been tremendously unlucky and simply attacked into an unknown major Soviet assault, or it had walked into a well-concealed trap.

  Whichever it was would be decided by men other than he, who would have time to consider everything in their enquiries.

  Time was not a luxury he had.

  ‘What else can I do? What els…’

  “What was that, Maurice? What did he say?”

  Delacroix smiled as he replied.

  “Good news, mon Général! Our comrades in the German Army have driven back the Soviet incursion northwest of Klimontów. They report good progress and anticipate relieving Colonel Emmercy within the hour.”

  “No… no … not that… what did Haefali say?”

  Delacroix turned back to the radios and refocussed on the one man who was recording the words of the third assault group’s commander.

  The operator finished writing, acknowledged receipt, and handed the paper to an NCO who handed it on to the Legion’s CoS.

  He skim read it and moved to the map, reading its subtle lines and colours as he translated the words into the battle situation.

  “Mon Dieu! He can’t be serious, Sir?”

  Lavalle read the report and laughed aloud, albeit briefly.

  “He’s deadly serious, Maurice. Absolutely deadly serious. Now, let’s get Alma prepped up for this… maybe… no… definitely get the part-brigade from 1st Division moved up to Route 9. No sense in keeping them back in reserve now. We need to distract as much as possible if this is going to work. Get onto air… we need as much as they can give us. We also need to tell our DRH comrades. Merde… he’s either brilliant or suicidal… and I can’t decide which. Now, if you please, Maurice. No time to lose!”

  Delacroix sped away to do his commander’s bidding as Lavalle headed for the telephone to report to the Army Commander.

  After some questioning, he escaped his leader’s wrath and incredulity, and returned to the map table.

  Lavalle relaxed as much as he could, and the moment of lessened tension gave him a clarity he had lacked in the previous moments.

  He nodded to himself and smoked another cigarette as he wondered why he hadn’t understood in the first instance.

  Delacroix disturbed his thoughts.

  “All communications sent and acknowledged, mon Général. You look like you’re happy. Something the Général said?”

  “Hardly, Maurice. He said if that doesn’t work you’re being transferred to the Camel Corps.”

  The comment hit the spot and his CoS guffawed loudly.

  “I’ll take you with me, mon Général. But why the smile? Have I missed something, Sir?”

  “We both did, Maurice… we both did.”

  The colonel waited expectantly, casting his eye over the map to find signs of Lavalle’s revelation.

  A finger was tapping on convergence of two routes.

  Route 9 and Floriańska.

  Sulisɫawice.

  Delacroix didn’t understand.

  And then he did, and simply nodded.

  ‘Knocke’.

  0654 hrs, Tuesday. 1st April 1947, Sulisɫawice, Poland.

  They were still holding against all comers or, as Knocke thought to himself, the Russians were simply not trying as hard.

  The hastily-dug trenches had proven invaluable as the remnants of the group clung to the rear end of Sulisɫawice and the small hamlet of Skwirzowa-Młyn to the south.

  They had resisted everything the enemy had thrown at them, and exacted a terrible price from the attacking Guards, but not without cost to themselves.

  Knocke’s bodyguard was now down to one man, with Lutz seriously wounded and near death in the aid post, his stomach perforated by a burst of PPSh fire.

  Amongst the dead was Colonel Renat-Challes, cut down by a mortar splinter as he organised the eastern defences.

  Commandant Truffaux was there too, killed up close and personal when his position was overrun and he refused to leave a wounded officer behind.

  A counter-attack by his men recovered his shattered body before the position was lost once more.

  Companies were now platoons, and units were led by sergeants and corporals.

  There was no man now who was safe and away from direct fighting.

  Nearly every legionnaire was in the front line, for they were surrounded and there was no place to hide.

  The sounds of fighting to the northwest grew louder, but the ring around them remained.

  Solid and impenetrable.

  Zilinski, coordinating the attack, winced as the orderly handled his ankle.

  He had mounted a ruined wall to better observe the enemy positions and it had collapsed, snapping his ankle and tearing flesh from his calf.

  He had ordered the bone bound as tight as possible so that he could manage to move around in some way.

  The pain was immense and he had slugged a couple of glasses of vodka before the doctor had slipped him something outside of army issue to help ease his suffering.

  His mind was now relaxed, almost emptied of the stresses of battle, unless he focussed hard on the problems he faced.

  Which were twofold.

  Firstly, the ex-SS and their lackeys fought every bit as hard as they had done in the Patriotic War.

  He hadn’t fought them in the new war until this point.

  Now he knew that the rumours were true, and they were still the hardest men the Allies could field.

  Secondly, his commander, the ill-humoured Major General Deniken was on his back, threatening and cajoling him to complete his mission and secure the roads in and around Sulisɫawice.

  His units, such as Deniken insisted that he should be attacking and winning with, were great on paper.

  But his battalions had shrunk to companies and his command structure was ravaged.

  As always, the enemy killed the leadership whenever the opportunity arose, and they had given the Legion bastards plenty of opportunities.

  Leaving his mortars and artillery to put shells into the enemy defensive perimeter, Zilinski had earlier met with the commanders of 53rd Guards Tanks, and the 361st, 167th, and 171st Guards Rifle Regiments, in order to plan one last coordinated attack.

  0700 hrs, Tuesday. 1st April 1947, Sulisɫawice, Poland.

  “Urrah! Urrah!”

  “Alarm! Alarm!”

  Shouts came from men on all sides, as the Guards rose up and charged once more, the tanks moved forward, and men stood to their weapons for the final defence.

  Again, it was the tirailleurs of the 7e RTA, battered and reduced to a shadow of their former strength, that suffered the focus of Zilinski’s attack, his 167th Regiment augmented by his own headquarters troops and those of the 53rd Guards Tank Brigade, mainly consisting of two companies of SMG troops.

  Elsewhere, a wave of attacks went in, providing pressure on all points of the enemy defence.

  The light tanks and armoured cars of 3rd Guards Motorcycle Battalion had cut the road west, and they now demonstrated against the rear of the Legion position, although more carefully than before now that they understood that enemy anti-tank troops were there in numbers.

  They actually were not as numerous as the motorcycle troops thought, but Peters’ men had plenty of weapons and the will to use them profligately, as the ruined T-70s and 80s indicated, the last of which had fallen to a shot from an enemy Tiger I tank that arrived in the nick of time.

  Zilinski’s attack plan simply required the motorcycle unit to remind the defence of its presence, not expose itself to greater harm, an ord
er followed with great enthusiasm.

  The Legion perimeter buckled but held, the tirailleurs pinned in place by the bastions provided by the survivors of the 1er BCL.

  The Centurions were both still operational, although von Mecklenburg’s fellow commander had been killed during the last attack.

  His position was taken by the commander of the overheated ARL-44, his vehicle having seized up and stubbornly refusing to move.

  1er BCL was down to five running tanks.

  Two Centurions, the Tiger II, a Wolf, and Lohengrin.

  The M-24 and one M-26 Pershing were still fighting, but neither could not move.

  The ISU-122 had succumbed to enemy RPGs and grenades, and the Wirbelwind had died spectacularly when an 82mm mortar bomb had dropped into its open turret.

  The initial explosion had been impressive enough, but the subsequent fireworks were remarkable as its mass of 20mm ammunition exploded like a children’s party display.

  Elsewhere, nine Panthers of various types clung to the ruins.

  Jorgensen’s tank-destroyers had survived well, losing solely two Jagdpanthers and, as always, the Einhorn remained supreme with seven kills to its name.

  The surviving Legion mortars were down to a handful of rounds and already the crews’ thoughts turned to the moment when they would have to pick up their weapons and become infantrymen.

  For now they waited, sights almost on minimums, waiting for the order to fire their last few rounds at the point of most concern.

  They had very little time to wait as the positions of 2e Compagnie of 3e/5e RdM were overrun by a wave of screaming guardsmen from Artem’yev’s 361st Regiment.

  Mortar shells started to land amongst the second echelon of the 361st’s men, which gave the survivors and two platoons of the reserve 1er Compagnie to counter-attack, supported by a pair of Jaguars.

  They nearly succeeded but the mortar shells ran out and the Soviet reserves surged forward in time to stop the Legionnaires in their tracks.

  Leaving one platoon to bolster the front positions, Lieutenant Tüpper, the de facto commander of 1er Compagnie, recovered his men and got them resupplied and readied the reserve unit for the next call to action.