by Gee, Colin
His thigh protesting loudly, Von Arnesen got to his chosen position and signalled the attack with a simple nod.
Both man and boy pulled the pins on the grenades and threw them into the enemy position.
Both bounced into the trench, just as the defending DP started firing again after a reload.
The two Soviet soldiers who had covered that reload darted back into the trench and found themselves staring at death on the floor.
One threw himself back around the corner, falling in front of his machine-gun team who were busy firing at nothing in particular, just denying the French the trench on front of them.
The man died messily, and also blocked the DP’s fire.
Both grenades exploded, sufficiently apart to be individual, and to do their own specific killing.
The Soviet officer was first, thrown up out of the trench.
Three of his men were killed or wounded by the same grenade.
Von Arnesen’s grenade killed the DP gunner and badly wounded the loader, and spread its shrapnel equally between the remaining guardsmen.
Both attackers jumped into the trench and went about their grisly work, pistols barking in unison.
None of the defenders were in much state to put up any resistance, and so the two worked swiftly.
The main group arrived, less the medic, who remained to tend to the French NCO.
Quickly reloading his pistol as he moved, Von Arnesen found himself looking at the wooden structure rising out of the groun. Inside, the sounds of a huge fire fight broke out.
He halted his men, in order to understand what was happening.
‘Durand?’
Rushing into such a position, when there is an uncoordinated friendly attack going on was a stupidity, and so Von Arnesen’s group took cover and waited whilst their leader made an assessment.
Where the trench butted up to the bunker, a camouflage net hung, obscuring a doorway.
The netting ripped apart as a squealing Soviet officer threw himself through it, pursued by a bloodied Legionnaire.
The Soviet officer’s scream was cut short as a bayonet sliced into his throat and trashed the base of his skull.
The Irish Legionnaire, one of the old 13th DBLE men, recovered his rifle and made to defend himself against the new enemy, not realising they were friends.
Von Arnesen leapt up and shouted as loud as he could, as the blood-crazed man seemed intent on killing his whole party.
“A moi la Légion!”
Words that burned through the legionnaire’s bloodlust and brought him back to reality, which was just as well as Fischer was about to drop him dead.
With a slap on the shoulder and a gesture, the calmed man turned back to the fight and Von Arnesen led his men into the bunker.
Durand was using a rifle to deadly effect, his own submachine gun discarded for the moment in favour of the new weapon’s longer reach and accuracy.
Soviet soldiers were in view through the bunkers openings, retreating as fast as they could towards Grafenau, some dropping as Durand’s force opened more fire upon them.
The hedgehog had been taken.
Von Arnesen looked at his watch as he beckoned the radioman forward.
‘0958. Time flies.’
He watched as Durand dropped another running figure, silently impressed with the Frenchman’s skill.
Taking up the handset, he broadcast his success to Knocke, happily noticing more of his men popping up in positions to his left.
Turning to his right, he spotted more and, continuing his report, looked further on and saw the tanks of 1st and 4th Company in their defensive positions.
Some of them fired, and he looked to see what they were firing at.
“Mein Gott! Julius-zero-one to Anton. Russische panzers, at least two regiment’s worth, heavy and medium types, moving south from Magstadt towards Dagersheim, straight at our panzers over.”
“Roger Julius, Anton to Berta receiving over.”
0949 hrs, Thursday 30th August 1945, French First Army Headquarters, Hotel Stephanie, Baden-Baden.
Saluting an arriving USMC Lieutenant Colonel, Kowalski strolled casually out of the Hotel Stephanie and, as was his habit, turned to the right and walked up Schillerstraβe.
That was precisely what had been expected, but that didn’t mean that other eyes weren’t ready to follow him, had he turned the other way.
No chances were being taken with ‘Leopard’.
Crossing the road near the junction, Kowalski took a left into Bertholdstraβe, appreciating the fine lines of a classic Rolls-Royce that swept past.
He stopped to light a cigarette, turning back to the bin to deposit the spent match.
Kowalski had a lighter of course, but the walk past the bin and back permitted him to reverse direction quickly, just in case he was being followed.
He wasn’t.
Satisfied he was not under surveillance, he drew in the rich smoke and watched a convoy of Military Police drive slowly by.
But he was, and numerous eyes feigned disinterest in his presence, but were keenly aware of his every move.
He passed the newspaper seller and repeated his u-turn exercise, again seeing nothing untoward.
Paying for the newspaper, more of a local news pamphlet in reality, he folded it neatly and resumed his stroll.
An obvious suspect for ‘Deux’, investigations had discovered that the newspaper seller had some interesting sexual preferences, something that they would revisit in less fraught times. But other than that, he was clean.
He crossed the junction of Ludwig-Wilhelm-Straβe, increasing his pace, before turning right into Maria-Viktoria-Straβe. He entered a small bakery.
1000 hrs, Thursday 30th August 1945, German defensive tank line, north-west of Dagersheim, Germany.
Uhlmann dispatched an IS-II that had slewed sideways, a single shell smashing the huge tank’s engine.
He keyed the mike as his gunner sought another victim.
“Berta engaging eighty plus tanks, IS-II and T34 type, to front. Approaching due south from Magstadt, over.”
The crack of 75mm and 88mm guns could be heard all over the battlefield, rising in frequency and urgency, punctuated by the replying 85mm and 122mm weapons of the fast approaching enemy.
“Anton to Berta. You must hold, repeat, you must hold. Help is on its way, over and out.”
Uhlmann already knew he had nowhere to go, for to withdraw would leave the hedgehog outflanked, and the rest of ‘Camerone’ exposed.
The first part of Knocke’s assistance became apparent as shells from the Brigade’s artillery started to fall.
“Anton to Berta over.”
The response was not immediate, Uhlmann having more pressing concerns as two T34’s drove hard straight at him.
‘Schiesse, you brave bastards!’
The first one was stopped dead by a direct hit, smoke swiftly building and pushing out of the sprung hatches before being replaced by urgent orange flames.
The second tank died within seconds, one of 4th Company’s Hetzer’s joining the action late.
Knocke understood his Tank Regiment commander was under pressure and so waited patiently.
“Berta to Anton receiving over.”
“Anton here. Passing Artillery to you. Further, over.”
Uhlmann looked at the shells landing and determined to alter the barrage a little, although Knocke had made a good attempt from distance.
“Berta here, roger, go ahead with further, over.”
“Anton here, deploying part of Emil to your right flank, securing against ‘Minsk’, remainder of Caesar to your position, further, over.”
Uhlmann processed that information. The rest of his First Company was coming to his rescue, and part of Third Company would seal any gap between his positions and Dagersheim.
“Berta here, roger, go ahead with further, over.”
“Anton to Berta, Julius will...”
The next part of the message was lost as a huge force
struck the Panther tank, rocking it like it weighed no more than a kilo.
“Berta to Anton, message lost, say again, over.”
“Anton to Berta, Julius will hold in position and cover. Friedrich will move up through Leningrad and engage flank, over.”
Uhlmann acknowledged his leader’s information, pausing only to draw the gunner’s attention to a flank shot on an IS-II.
‘Excellent, that should do it. Now, the artillery.’
“Berta to Nordpol, over.”
The slight correction brought the artillery of ‘Camerone’ closer to his tank line, creating a beaten zone to prevent the enemy from closing further, as well as causing casualties amongst those foremost.
Braun was getting vexed.
“Die, you bastard, die!”
For the eighth time the gunner put a 75mm AP round on target, and yet again it failed to have any apparent effect.
The IS-II seemed to have a charmed life.
“Again!”
The shell sped on its way, and struck, sticking hard in the gap between the turret and mantlet and jamming the gun in a raised position.
Another shell hit the nearside track, which came apart slowly, bringing the huge tank to a halt.
Braun encouraged the hull gunner to help the abandoning crew on their way with a burst or two of machine-gun fire.
An exploding shell flipped a T34 onto its side, the crew popping the hatches and exiting slowly, injured and in shock. Braun’s machine-gunner had an easier target, and only two men made it safely to cover.
Seeking out another target, Braun spotted what looked like an ISU and ordered the gun laid on it. It burst into flames before he could fire, victim of one of 1st Company’s Panzer IV’s in Dagersheim.
This flanking fire drew the attention of a number of Soviet tanks, and the Panzer IV decided to retreat back into the town and relative safety.
Numerous enemy tanks lay smoking on the field. The legion tankers had certainly slowed up the advance, but the Soviets did not lack courage and still pressed on.
Their commanders got a grip, and the IS-II’s became a wedge, moving inexorably forward, shrugging off many hits.
The range was now down to four hundred and fifty metres and the situation was desperate, with legion casualties mounting.
The lead IS-II, driven forward hard by the commanding Major, seemed to stagger, speed falling away and slewing off the direct path. A second shower of sparks betrayed a further hit, a solid shot boring into its flank and bringing havoc to the men inside.
The next IS-II in line required only one shot, its wrecked engine stoking up into a roaring fire within seconds, the stunned crew baling out, only to fall victim to vengeful machine-gunners in the Legion tanks.
The damage was being done by two anti-tank guns positioned in the hedgehog.
Von Arnesen controlled the larger gun’s fire, and directed the 100mm anti-tank gun to shoot into the flanks of the heavy tanks. The other weapon, an ex-German 75mm Pak40 under the command of Lieutenant Durand, reached out at the T34’s with equal success.
Some Soviet tanks turned to meet this new threat, exposing their sides to the tank line and paying the price for their stupidity. Others halted, trying to angle themselves to best effect against the two threats. Some lumbered on and some retreated.
Suddenly, the organised Soviet attack became a mess, one crew even quitting their intact vehicle and running back towards their lines.
The Soviet attack had quickly transformed from a serious threat to a shooting party, although the ‘game’ in question still packed a serious punch.
Taking advantage of the confusion, the Legion tanks repositioned, just in case, although the normally excellent Soviet artillery was proving strangely ineffective.
Uhlmann popped his head out of the hatch and gulped in the fresh air. The Hetzer beside him burned brightly. He hadn’t even noticed that it had died, so intense had been the fight.
His gunner made his seventh kill, putting a solid shot into a reversing T34.
4th Company’s Sturmgeschutz vehicles moved up and over the hedgehog, finding a choice of suitable firing positions, and lashing out at the trapped Soviet armour.
Knocke’s experienced eye understood the field, and the fact that the enemy was on the verge of sheer panic.
However, mercy was not on his agenda.
He called the various elements, pushing them hard to finish the job, solely choosing to give his artillery the cease-fire order, and that only because his ammunition supplies were strung out for some kilometres and could not be up to the field in good time.
By the time he had finished with the artillery, the battlefield looked completely different. Everywhere Soviet tanks lay smashed or abandoned, burning or just silent.
About twenty or so tanks had made it back into the relative safety of the built-up area, but still men died, as the Sturmgeschutz and Panzers sent their shells into tender rear and side armour.
Shortly afterwards, Knocke ordered his panzers forward, following in the wake of the retreating tank units.
Moving up with his reconnaissance force in the lead, and an infantry group from the RDM’s 1st Battalion, plus the Brigade’s Assault Engineer force, the Legion Brigade found that the enemy force had melted away. It had left behind some wrecked vehicles, a few wounded men, and a few hastily laid booby traps.
Uhlmann organised the refuelling and reammunitioning of his tank companies, sought out the living and the dead, and began the process of putting his wounded regiment back together.
Elsewhere, other commanders, or in too many cases their deputies, began similar processes.
Knocke, his command Panther parked under the only stand of trees left in the park adjacent to Allgäuer Straβe, consulted a map in harness with Von Arnesen, combining their talents to extricate the Stuttgart garrison.
Uhlmann was still busy with his unit, and Lange was on his way to the rear with a twisted ankle and a nasty head wound, earned when leading an assault on Rostov-8.
Knocke’s mind posed a question.
‘Maybe I was wrong to have doubts about him?’
A radio transmission broke through his thoughts, bringing him quickly back to the problem in hand, and how to pass the 3rd Algerians through his positions.
The senior radio operator turned to report, but Knocke stopped him with a soft gesture.
“Thank you Lutz, I heard. Acknowledge and inform Commandant Uhlmann to direct them across the tank battlefield to pass south of ‘Leningrad’, where they will be met by elements of Julius and Otto with further instructions.
“Zu befehl, Standartenfuhrer,” and he returned to his radio before he caught his commander’s admonishing look.
Moving to the other radio operator, Knocke dictated a simple report to be passed to an expectant Lavalle.
Stuttgart had been successfully relieved.
With that simple message, ground-attack aircraft that had been husbanded for the secondary purpose, swept out over the surroundings kilometres, seeking out the Soviet artillery, which could yet inflict heavy casualties on the escaping Algerians.
Most Soviet artillery units deliberately misconstrued their orders and kept silent. Those that didn’t experienced a long enforced silence, as fighter-bombers visited themselves upon the ground forces with great effect.
1505 hrs, Thursday 30th August 1945, Rüssel Bäckerei, Maria-Viktoria-Straβe, Baden-Baden, Germany.
Kowalski purchased his normal pastries and tendered up his cash.
The standard procedure was for him to say ‘Keep the change’, which indicated that the notes that seemed stuck together actually were sealed and had a message inserted between them.
If there was a message in return then the offer would be refused and smaller denomination notes would be returned, similarly sealed.
This was the emergency communications route, and a back-up if there was a failure elsewhere. Although rarely used, it was a routine he undertook every day he was present in Baden-Ba
den. Otherwise, the baker passed the messages to a certain hotel employee when he attended the bakery in the early mornings.
Today there was no message back, but his message regarding the deployment of ‘Camerone’ was there, circumventing the hotel orderly because of its importance.
“Keep the change, Mein Herr.”
“Danke, Herr Maior, danke.”
A number of sweet pastries changed hands and he left, holding the door open for an old woman, who had also completed her purchases.
“Gnadige Frau.”
“Dankeschön, Herr Maior.”
‘You Russian asshole.’
1645 hrs, Thursday, 30th August 1945, the Schloss Hohenbaden, Baden-Baden, Germany.
Despite having only one arm, Rüssel was an accomplished cyclist, and he undertook a number of deliveries for his special customers, once he had shut up shop for the day.
His wife would take any leftover product and sell it in the street, whilst he peddled through Baden-Baden, delivering special orders to those with sufficient means to pay for it, and he didn’t mean money in most cases.
He most often exchanged goods for his wares, jams and preserves, with which he created his special cakes.
All except one customer, that was, a journey Rüssel hated because it involved cycling up to the four hundred metre line, following the winding Alter Schloβweg, to the main door of Schloss Hohenbaden.
As far as the entire house staff was concerned, the Oberst, as he was known, liked to meet with the tradesmen, as he enjoyed the haggling process. In reality, the trading covered the exchanges between him and the baker and other agents, information from a number of contacts one way, or orders and enquiries from GRU control going the other.
Oberst Christian Adolf Löwe summoned his manservant to have the baker seen off the premises, and returned to his drawing room, which was truly a room with a view, enjoying the all the sights of Baden-Baden in the valley below.
The gardener and his new apprentice didn’t even seem to notice the cyclist’s departure, so engrossed were they in their topiary.
