by Gee, Colin
Quickly moving out of the Apothecary’s residence, Hüth checked with those members of first section on either side, ensuring the order spread to all twenty-six men who now defended Wistedt. And the order was simple.
Stand and fight.
Returning to his own position, he checked the machine-gun crew in the bedroom were ready, dropping off the last of the ammunition he had grabbed from the section stockpile. It was an old First World War MG.08, but it could still do its job and kill.
A mortar shell hit the corner of the house and a new hole opened up, providing an improved firing position for the NCO. He occupied it as soon as the rubble settled, gathering up grenades and his former commander’s sub-machine gun.
He heard the Russian ‘Urrah’ as the infantry surged forward, and he shouted out to his men to fire as soon as they saw a target.
The smoke was clearing slowly as the mortar crews had changed to HE only and shifted aim to Wistedt itself, seeking out the defenders.
The .08 opened up, its 7.9mm bullets pumping out at four hundred rounds per minute, dealing death to the first Russians through the thinning smoke. The crew had to be careful and nurse the machine-gun, as its water coolant jacket leaked profusely, requiring the loader to fill it with water from a number of old beer bottles laid out specifically for the purpose.
Hüth could not yet see a target, but he could hear the effects of the machine-gun firing from upstairs, as the sounds of men in pain reached his ears. Seeing a blur in the smoke, he threw a hand grenade and was rewarded with the sight of one of his enemies being propelled forward by the blast. The man landed and bounced forward like a child’s doll, lying still, never to rise again. Three others had been wounded by the same grenade, and their screams joined the rising sound of battle.
The Russian infantry did not lack courage and plunged on, even when another grenade extracted a similar price from the assault group.
Rifle fire now erupted as the last of the smoke disappeared in an instant, enabling all the defenders to engage.
Enemy soldiers dropped to the ground, some hit, others to seek cover. The MG continued its deadly work, steaming as it was when water was poured into the jacket at regular intervals.
Adler was dead already, a victim of one of the attacking units covering DP machine guns, which were being increasingly effective.
The Soviet infantry were chivvied to their feet by a young Lieutenant, who led them forward. Hüth dropped him with his first shot, but the impetus of the attack did not falter.
One Soviet sergeant threw a grenade at the MG team on the first floor. It landed amongst the bottles, where it exploded, adding a thousand lethal shards of glass to the shrapnel that cut the men to ribbons, and silenced the .08 permanently.
The old NCO took aim but someone else in Hüth’s group put the sergeant down, so he switched targets to the next in line, killing a submachine gunner with a shot through the chest.
The action of his rifle stiffened as brick dust gathered upon it, and he worked it hard, chambering the next round before sending it on its way, missing a running soldier who dropped into a shell hole.
Working the near-rigid bolt once more, he searched for another target, and saw a head pop up from the shell hole, firing more in reaction than calm aim. None the less, Hüth hit the target, blowing the top of the man’s head off and sending the ruined helmet flying.
Two riflemen and an officer were charging straight at him now, and he discarded the empty Mauser in favour of the MP40 and sent a stream of bullets at the running men, missing badly with the unfamiliar weapon.
The three were on him in an instant.
The leading rifleman lunged with his bayonet, which Hüth parried with the submachine-gun and shoved the man to the ground, using the Russians’ forward momentum against him. The second man had no bayonet and swung his rifle like a club, a blow glancing off the German’s shoulder.
Squealing with pain, Hüth fired his weapon again, this time pumping seven bullets through the man’s abdomen at point blank range. As he fired, the recoil pushed him back, causing him to lose balance. Hüth fell to the floor on top of the first assailant.
Before he could move, the officer shot him dead.
Not one man from First Section survived the battle.
Yarishlov watched satisfied as the 1st Battalion of 1195th Rifles swept into the village, and then turned his attention on the advance of his left flank units.
1197th Rifles had quickly reformed, its butchered second battalion being absorbed into the other units bringing both up to nearly 70% strength. Reports from reconnaissance teams operating in advance of the main force indicated enemy positions at Riepshof and Tiefenbruch, which information has already cost them two BA-64 armoured cars.
One company of 3rd/1195th had walked into Quellen without opposition and now waited for further instructions. The other companies were pushing to the south of Quellen, intent on capturing Tiefenbruch. 2nd/4th Guards Tanks provided some close support, but they were under orders not to become closely engaged so as to be ready to attack in depth when the enemy line was broken.
Further south-east two companies of tankers from the Guards had delivered their grapes of rider infantry from the 1195th into Otter, again undefended, whilst the 1st/1197th motored down the Dreihausen road, intent on delivering Yarishlov’s intended left-hook, supported by the rest of the 4th’s 3rd Tank Battalion. 1st/1197th was quite mobile, its enterprising regimental commander having acquired, stolen, requisitioned or captured numerous vehicles, from American Studebaker lorries through to a once pristine Wanderer W23 Cabriolet.
By accident, the Russian Tank Colonel had aimed his first effort straight into the weakest of the Canadian infantry units in front of him, Carleton & York’s C Company having been badly handled during its defence of Tostedt.
The situation had seemed stable enough to Lieutenant-Colonel Lascelles, although his five mile frontage was considerably more than accepted practice it was manageable because of the river lines.
Neither river was broad but days of heavy rainfall and considerable efforts by engineers and service personnel had made it into an obstacle that was more than enough to deny tanks and vehicles access and certainly deep enough that any infantry would be seriously slowed up swimming across it. A few mines scattered on the home banks also helped to make him feel secure.
The Carleton & York’s were bordered on the north-west by the Royal 22e Regiment, the famous Van-Doos of the 3rd Canadian Infantry Brigade. They were anchored in Tiste and maintained a contact with Lascelles’ own ‘A’ Company, whose flank extended to Burgsittensen. To the south-east was the Loyal Edmonton Regiment of the 1st Canadian Division’s 2nd Infantry Brigade, positioned at Konigsmoor, and running all the way to Luneburg heath and beyond.
The arrival of most of Kommando Tostedt had been a boon, as he had been expecting them to be lost in the hopeless defence of Wistedt. He assigned them a reserve position in Tostedt Land, where the carrier Platoon was also situated.
His perception changed, and the situation now seemed less than stable, as a report from ‘B’ Company indicated a large number of Russian infantry with tank support pressing hard against their positions around Tiefenbruch.
Lascelles had little idea that his whole battalion would be but a memory within two hours.
Yarishlov had halted the advance west from Otter on nothing more than intuition, sensing rather than knowing that he was missing something.
Calling his officers together for a brief orders group, he laid a map on the ground and dropped onto his haunches to examine the land once more.
Before he could address the group, the 4th’s Communications officer interjected, barely controlling his breathing from his run.
He passed over a message form that confirmed Yarishlov’s intuition.
“Comrades, we have an opportunity here, and I intend for us to grasp it.”
Passing the message back to his signals captain, he continued.
“The 79th Motorcy
cles has found Tiste unoccupied and the bridge over the Oste intact.”
Officers leant over and checked the map, developing immediate understanding of the enemy omission.
Such errors happen in war, and the Royal 22e’s had been withdrawn on orders, a mistake that left the Carleton & Yorks vulnerable.
“I am going to order,” he looked up to check that pencils were hovering over notebooks, “79th Motorcycles, my 1st Tank Battalion, and the Guards Engineers south over this Bridge.”
He checked the name on the village he was looking at.
“The engineers will occupy Burgsittensen and these woods, and hold.”
Moving down the map, he tapped a point approximately 1500 metres north of Stemmen.
“I want 79th to set a screen here running from these woods across to the river. This bridge,” he indicated the apparently intact bridge north of Stemmerfeld, “I want this under observation so we can drop artillery on them if they gather to cross it. That will be a priority target, Mayor, clear?”
The artillery officer nodded his understanding.
“1st Tank Battalion and its grapes will sweep up the river line and into Wümme. No further forward than that for now. I want anyone in this area to be an enemy,” he placed his hand over the land between the two rivers centring on Tostedt Land.”
“1st will take Everstorfermoor under fire and prevent westward movement.”
Checking the unit markings closely, Yarishlov made a quick note before speaking to the Infantry commander. He looked up and noticed the young infantry officer standing next to his temporary Divisional Commander, noting with satisfaction the new bandage on the recent arm wound.
“Your wound is treated satisfactorily, Comrade...?”
“Zvorykin, Comrade Polkovnik. Yes, thank you.”
Yarishlov grunted by way of reply and moved on, addressing the senior man, illustrating his words with gestures at the map.
“I want this unit, 2nd Battalion of your 1195th, to head to Vaerlon as quickly as possible, and then push south. I wish to test the possibility that the river can be forded. If it can then I want them in Avensermoor and no further. If it cannot then harass from as close to the river as they can comfortably achieve.”
The Infantry Lieutenant-Colonel understood perfectly.
“These units opposite Everstorfermoor, I want them noisy and harassing the enemy but no more for now. I want to keep them interested and confident in their positions.”
The acting Divisional Commander of the 360th smiled.
“Yes, Comrade Polkovnik, we can do that.”
The man, so often let down in the past by fanatics, whose ideas were no more than ‘charge and die’, found it wholly refreshing to be under the command of someone who was extremely competent.
“I want half of my 2nd Battalion here as soon as possible, leaving the other half to support the infantry around Tiefenbruch as before.”
Looking at his watch, he did the mental arithmetic.
“Units near Tiste must go now, so get those orders out.”
Two men hurried away to the radio to pass on the new orders.
“I want to start knocking on the door very soon, so I will go with what we have here, and the 2nd Battalion will have to catch up.”
Catching Major Zvorykin’s eye, he continued.
“You suggested the artillery change in case the enemy had defences on our flank here,” tapping the bloody mark the young man had left some time before.
“I shall give you an opportunity to test that. Your infantry will take the Dreihausen Bridge and hold it. Then you will take a force down the river on the south bank, linking up with my tanks at Wümme.”
The young officer kept his expression fixed.
“If there are enemy forces there, where you suspect, I want you to bring our artillery down on them. I want nothing of note on my left flank while I am pocketing these British clear?”
“Yes, Comrade Polkovnik,” a grin finally splitting his face.
“Right then, Comrades, any questions?”
The artillery officer chipped in with two suggestions on additional targets and offered some rapid fire plan call signs, but that was that.
“Then we will go now and pull the enemy in towards us. The trap can shut on a fat bag of Tommies. Good luck comrades.
An under-pressure Lascelles started to receive reports as the Russian plan swung into action. Artillery and mortar fire had intensified all along his front, and troops had appeared opposite most of his positions.
It seemed that only the ends of his line, namely ‘A’ and ‘C’ Companies, were not affected at the moment, so he focussed his attention elsewhere. The bridge at Everstorfermoor had not yet been blown, despite the efforts of a platoon of engineers. Orders went out to ensure the job was done.
Support Company reported their bridge ready for destruction and Lascelles immediately gave the instruction to drop it into the water, especially as Soviet infantry had appeared on the road from Rotenburg.
His strongest unit, ‘B’ Company, had already dispatched some Soviet recon troops, but now they were coming under increasing pressure in Tiefenbruch and Riepshof.
The presence of Soviet armour to back up the infantry caused him concern, so he ordered the carrier platoon to move across to assist. That would give them an opportunity to employ their newly acquired knowledge. Ex-soldiers in the Bucholz Kommando had shown the carrier platoon how to use the Panzerfaust, and each carrier had a load of six weapons. As a sensible measure, Lascelles had also agreed with the Bucholz KommandoFührer to release a dozen men to the carrier platoon, in exchange for one of the Vickers machine-guns, ammunition and two boxes of grenades. Lascalles now smugly felt it had been a fair swap.
Artillery fire was being mainly directed at the enemy forces opposite Everstorfermoor, and Lascelles was loathe to switch it to support ‘B’ Company until the Oste bridge was blown.
He rolled the unlit Cuban cigar between his fingers rapidly, a sure sign to his staff that all was not well.
Lascelles, not raising his eyes from the map, spoke to no-one in particular.
“Get on the line to Charteris and tell him to get that flaming bridge blown!”
The radio burst into life immediately as the operator requested acknowledgement from the engineer platoon.
“Sunray, Sunray, Forest-two-six receiving.”
Nothing but static returned.
The operator repeated the message, with the same result.
“Keep trying Barrington. Kevin.”
Lieutenant Barrington turned back in to his operator and placed an encouraging hand on his shoulder as Acting Major Kevin Roberts, temporary OC of ‘D’ Company, stepped forward.
Making sure that the reliable Roberts was paying attention, Lascelles pointed at Everstorfermoor.
“Grab the RSM and his merry men. Get over to here and get it sorted please Kevin.”
The pristinely turned out young officer saluted as if on a parade ground.
“Sah!”
Lascelles found the moment of humour lightened his feeling, which was the Major’s intention, for Roberts was no parade ground warrior. Immaculate he may be but his chest showed that he was a fighting soldier, sporting the DSO and MC, won in hard fighting on Sicily and in Europe.
The moment of humour passed as the radio burst into life.
“Forest-two-six to Sunray, come in.”
“Sunray, go ahead Forest.”
“Lieutenant Charteris dead. Sergeant Parks dead. Under enemy sniper fire. Charges not complete. Need support. Over.”
Every face in the room swivelled to Lascelles.
“Who is that?”
The operator made the request for information.
“Forest-two-six to Sunray. Corporal Harris, over.”
“Tell him help is on its way, Barrington. Tell him the bridge must come down. It must come down.”
The message was sent.
“Acknowledge Forest-two-six, acknowledge.”
&n
bsp; A few moments of static, then nothing.
“Acknowledge Forest-two-six, acknowledge.”
Silence.
Corporal Harris knew very little except that the pain was extreme. The bullet had taken him in the upper chest as he raised his head over the sandbags, the heavy impact throwing him backwards. Unfortunately for him, he now lay on top of Parks, his platoon sergeant, the extra height raising him subtly above the cover line provided by the sandbagged firing position. Another bullet thudded into his left side, but there was little pain of note, a strange coldness and numbness being the worst of it.
His head lolled over to the left side and he could see no enemy the other side of the river. The body of Charteris lay strangely posed, knees on the ground, backside in the air and what was left of his face flat to the road surface, the corpse almost perfectly reflecting an Arab at prayer. By the Lieutenant’s side lay the firing cables he had been trying to mend when he had been shot.
All around him lay two dozen still forms from the engineer platoon and the German Kommando, men who had tried their best and died.
The radio continued to call him but he was past caring.
‘Cold, so cold.’
Starshy Serzhant Olga Maleeva was also cold, but her coldness was within her mind. So far, her spotter tallied her at nineteen confirmed kills for the day, and it was extremely satisfying. The British deserved it of course, but she felt more joy when a German died, enjoying the vision thru her PU scope.
Sergei stirred her to greater efforts.
“He’s still alive. You’re slipping, sweetheart.”
That would have earned him a playful blow, and might still do later, but concealed as they were, it would not pay to make quick movements and attract the enemy’s gaze.
Admitting to herself that she had hurried the last shot, Olga took more care, ignoring Sergei’s jibe.
The sights settled on the face of a man in pain but she felt no sympathy for the wounded corporal.
