Tiger Command!

by Bob Carruthers

  “Then we must oblige,” said von Schroif, his mood changing. “It will be good to see the unit again. It’s great tank country, down in the southern sector.”

  “Don’t plan on it,” said Rondorf curtly.

  Later that night, Hans von Schroif gathered his crew and told them the news.

  “I don’t think she’s ready,” said Bobby Junge, “she is still basically a prototype.”

  “I know,” replied von Schroif, “we all have reservations.” But then, feeling he should engender a less anxious state of morale amongst his comrades, he decided to shift emphasis. “However, as far as the gun and the communications go, I don’t think any further improvements need be made. They are ready to go.”

  “So is the loader, sir,” added Otto Wohl, “...he’s never been fitter!”

  “Is it back to the Division...? Rostov?” asked Bobby Junge expectantly.

  “I would imagine so... They’ve done well without us. Rostov is back in our hands. We’re missing the party. They’ll need us to help push on beyond. Rostov is great tank country, and we have to remember our mission. Rostov is where we suffered our first setback, so it is entirely fitting that we return and, with this great tank at our side, let Ivan know the reverse was only temporary. In fact, now that I think about it, this is where we could make our most valuable contribution! Now, let’s get some sleep.”

  “Sir, has anyone ever loaded a section of these things on a train before?” asked Michael Knispel as the men readied to leave.

  “I don’t know,” said von Schroif with a shrug.

  “Me neither,” said Bobby Junge.

  Junge, Knispel and Wohl stood up, then made their excuses and left. None of the men betrayed their true feelings over the matter. Soldiers very rarely did.

  Staying behind, Wendorff sat without speaking, but had the look of a man beset by problems.

  “Are you sure it’s Rostov, sir?” asked Karl Wendorff, finally breaking his long silence.

  “No,” replied von Schroif truthfully, “...perhaps it was wishful thinking. We can only hope. We have to trust those above us.”

  “Assuming that it isn’t... given the importance of this new weapon, surely you could make representations?”

  “The order has come from the top, and we will follow it.”

  Wendorff knew there was no point discussing it further. He rose and saluted. “Goodnight, sir.”

  “Goodnight, Wendorff.”

  Hans von Schroif sat looking out over the river, the fierce red heat of the sun fading into cooler night. In the distance he could see the cathedral and, without wishing it, couldn’t help thinking of Saint Liborius, the patron saint of a good death. It wasn’t a thought he wanted to have at that time, but once present in his mind he could not easily dismiss it... a good death... What was a good death?

  CHAPTER 8

  ELVIRA

  “Elvira,” answered Karl Wendorff, “...Elvira Schorr, according to the programme notes, trained at the Staatsoper in Munich.”

  “Hah! A Bavarian. I knew it... Does it give an address?” asked Wohl hopefully.

  “It doesn’t reveal that kind of information, Wohl! I’m afraid you will have to do your own detective work.”

  “Unless, of course, you have good contacts in the Gestapo,” suggested Knispel.

  “Not my kind of people. Jumped-up cops, if you ask me,” replied Wohl. “...I just don’t want to forget her face.”

  “I didn’t see you looking at her face,” said Junge.

  Ignoring the barb, Otto Wohl glanced across to a mother with a young child sitting at the window on the other side of the railway carriage.

  “Excuse me, Madam, may I borrow one of your son’s pencils?”

  “Of course, sir. Heinrich, please give the soldier one of your pencils.”

  The child obliged and Otto smiled at him. He then looked around for something to write on.

  “Use this,” suggested Bobby Junge, offering a page from his Tiger manual. “It’s practically unreadable. Perhaps you can brighten it up!”

  Wohl picked a page and started sketching Elvira from memory. Of course, his only memory was her performance as a Rhine maiden on stage in Paderborn. If the performance of Das Rheingold had appealed to Karl Wendorff’s ear, then the sight of Elvira on stage had appealed to Otto’s eyes, which widened as he sketched Elvira’s long blond hair and fulsome bosom! Of course, Otto Wohl, being Otto Wohl, the dress started to remove itself, and before too long poor Elvira was completely naked.

  “One Reichsmark for a copy of the lovely Elvira standing with her back to you, two for her...”

  “Wohl...” interjected von Schroif, motioning with his eyes.

  Otto looked across and could see young Heinrich staring at the disrobed Rhine maiden with a look that was rather inappropriate for one so young. Otto immediately shut the book and quickly stared out the carriage window as the train slowly ground to a halt for the thirtieth time that morning. Everyone knew the reason. There had been a heavy raid during the night, targeting the rail network north of Kassel.

  “God, if I get my hands on one of those RAF villains, he’ll pay,” said Knispel. “What a damned waste of time!”

  “We don’t have to waste the time,” said Wendorff.

  “I’m not volunteering to fill in bomb craters, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I can’t run this war single-handed, you know.”

  “No, this is brainwork.”

  “Well, that rules out Knispel!” exclaimed Wohl.

  “Careful, Wohl,” warned Knispel.

  “Gentlemen, please,” interjected Wendorff, “...I think we may have finally found a positive use for both of your talents. Why don’t you, Wohl, put your skills as a cartoonist to use and make a Tiger primer for all the other kids coming to Paderborn who will follow in your shoes. Your own Wundertüte, but with a purpose... you could make Elvira the star of the show. That would certainly hold the attention. Who knows? She could even lose a few garments along the way!”

  “That’s a brilliant idea!” exclaimed von Schroif enthusiastically. “There will soon be thousands of young idiots like Wohl at Paderborn; we need something more memorable than reams of paper, full of charts and tables. Something accessible, with lots of memory aides. Some of your technical drawings could be useful too, Junge.”

  “If it saves lives, I’d be only too happy to oblige, Haupsturmführer.”

  “Then let’s get started,” said von Schroif.

  Without any further prompting, the five Tiger men set to work to create an illustrated manual which would incorporate all the tricks of the trade in an accessible way. The rest of the journey flashed by as the Tigerfibel, a primer for Tiger students, was hastily created. It featured a combination of jokes and limericks from Knispel, with the text supplied by Wendorff and von Schroif. Wohl’s risqué cartoons and Junge’s excellent technical drawings helped to illustrate the simple lessons on maintenance and combat, including the simplified lessons involving the clover leaf, meal times, the anti-Goetz, and a hundred other things which the coming waves of Tiger men might need to know.

  Wohl couldn’t resist weaving a new and bold hero into the creation, a purely fictional gun loader called “Hulsensacke the indefatigable”, who wins the hand of the beautiful Elvira.

  Eventually the line was repaired, and the train began its painful progress. The crew had just completed the work and were settling back to a well-earned rest when von Schroif glanced up just in time to see the refection of a tall, formally dressed man standing over him.

  “Gentlemen, may I join you?” came the request, his hand motioning to the one empty seat opposite Wohl.

  “Of course,” answered von Schroif.

  The man sat down, put his briefcase in his lap, and made himself comfortable. There was then a pause, followed by a question.

  “Ah, the Lions of Rostov we have read so much about... Where are you going today?”

  The manner was direct and too forward for a civilian. There was s
omething about the plain and formal dress, the way he guarded his briefcase, and also a lack of sincerity in the voice which antagonised von Schroif and encouraged him to adopt a less than friendly manner.

  “You know I cannot give you such information.”

  “Of course. Do forgive me. Well, we can share some time. Kassel is also my destination. May I say what an honour it is to meet men such as you, men who are in the very vanguard of this noble and historic mission?”

  “Noble? A fine word, best reserved for those who know nothing of war,” replied von Schroif, rather disparagingly.

  “But surely, however difficult the waging of war, there is still nobility in its overall purpose, the protection and furthering of the German people – and, of course, in carrying out the will of the party?”

  “Party? You mean the gangsters who run this country?” snorted Otto Wohl, his antipathy spilling over into venom. His tone surprised even himself, let alone the well-dressed stranger who sat opposite.

  This was dangerous talk. Who was this gentleman sitting opposite? And how did he know they were headed for Kassel? It took von Schroif to draw the situation’s sting.

  “SS-Panzerschütze Wohl is doing no more than any soldier in his circumstance would do... he is not making a political assertion... Soldiers get tired, and soldiers through the ages let off steam, and it is usually their superiors who feel the brunt of it... but I can assure you, sir, his actions tell a different story. This is one of the bravest warriors on the whole of the Eastern Front.”

  “That may very well be the case, Haupsturmführer...?”

  “Von Schroif,” replied Hans, curtly but politely.

  “Yes, that may very well be the case, Haupsturmführer von Schroif, but, no matter how well a man has fought, if his purity of thought becomes degraded, this infection could spread not only to his greater self, but also to others. I have to tell you, I am quite shocked to hear words such as these from men of the Waffen SS. Men from within the Führer’s personal bodyguard division! If I may, it does not reflect well on the commanding officer of such a unit.”

  The stranger opened his briefcase and took out a notepad on which he began to make a record of the conversation.

  “I am sorry,” replied von Schroif calmly, “I don’t believe you have introduced yourself yet.”

  “I, too, am sorry, but there is no need for introductions...” said the stranger. “Certainly not at this point,” he added, rather ominously. “I am afraid this conversation is over. For now... Good day, Hauptsturmführer von Schroif, gentlemen, and... er... SS-Panzerschütze Wohl?” adding Otto’s name in the way a man does when he pretends to be asking a question whilst already knowing the answer.

  The smartly dressed stranger rose and left the carriage.

  “Bastard,” muttered Knispel, out of earshot of any of the passengers who might be listening, and then flashing out his right fist in a pretend blow. “I’d give him that! Who was he?”

  “Heinrich Bremer. Kriminalrat, Geheimestaats-polizei... RHSA...” Wendorff informed them. “Well, that’s according to the letterhead on one of the letters in his briefcase.”

  “Gestapo, eh?” added Junge. “You should have asked him for Elvira’s address, Otto!”

  The crewmen laughed, except for von Schroif, who saw only the serious side.

  “For God’s sake, Wohl! I order you to make this the last time your stupid mouth opens when it should stay shut. If they come to take you, there’s nothing even Knispel here can do to stop them.”

  Wohl’s smile faded quickly as he stared out the carriage window, the rain sleeting against the glass.

  The dismal conditions were also informing the thoughts of Hauptsturmführer von Schroif. Soon they would be back in Russia, and incidents like the one that had just occurred sapped at one’s resolve. It was completely unnecessary, given the sacrifices they had already made, let alone those that were still to be made, but it did beg an uneasy and unwanted question.

  “How many enemies were they actually fighting?”

  Dimitri Korsak was a dedicated enemy. He was happy to be back in the vicinity of his native Leningrad. The city itself was under siege, but he was only ten kilometres from Mga. A big offensive was in the offing, and it hadn’t been too difficult to arrange a transfer.

  Arriving in the Volkhov front, it had proved predictably troublesome to obtain a KV-1, and he found himself having to have a few words with Moscow with regard to future requirements, but, for now, one tank was enough. His new crew was less than inspiring, and he had found it necessary to shoot his first driver. After all, no one wanted to go into action with a driver smelling of vodka.

  Sergei Ovanovich, the new replacement, was well aware of the fate of the previous incumbent and was understandably nervous as Korsak began to outline the advantages of his favourite tank, known to the troops as the KV-1.

  “As you know, comrades, twelve months of war have seen substantial changes in the design of tanks available to the Red Army. The best of these, you see here. It is the Klementi Voroshilov. You will notice that it has many fine features.”

  Korsak began pointing out the advantages of the tank as he spoke.

  “It has a good, high road-clearance. It can ford streams 2 metres deep. Its length of 6 metres permits it to span trenches 12 to 14 feet wide. Our comrades in the design teams have worked hard on this machine, and improvements have been made in the track plate, as well as in the method of interlinking them. There are no projections on the outside edges of the track plates on which snow or mud can become firmly lodged. You will notice that the tread of the track has a grid pattern which insures a firm grip in snow and mud, and reduces side-slipping. Thus, snow and mud cleats are not required.

  “A new method of joining the track plates has been devised. Observe that each section or plate of the track has nine links, which are interlocked by a full-floating pin. See how the pin itself is held in position by small disks, or lock washers. These in turn are held in place by a spring collar fitting in a recess between each of the nine links of the plate. A broken track pin is thus prevented from working out of the links and causing the track to separate and thereby immobilise the tank... ingenious.

  “The contoured turret is cast in one piece and weighs approximately 10 tonnes. The frontal armour of the turret is 90 mm thick and, as I can assure you from long experience, it is exceptionally rugged and capable of withstanding sustained enemy fire. It can be revolved 360 degrees, either by power or by hand. These heavy steel bars you see are laid on edge and welded at the base of the turret to deflect shells which might cause it to jam.”

  Korsak now turned his attention to the armament.

  “Observe the 76 mm long-barrelled gun, and one 7.62 mm machine gun mounted coaxially. Do not overlook this weapon, as many targets do not require high-explosive. Machine gun bullets will do the job just as well. Conserving ammunition prolongs missions and aids the motherland in her hour of need. You will also note the forward 7.62 mm machine gun. As you know, there are two spare 7.62 mm guns as replacements for the turret or hull guns. Remember that one may be mounted on top of the turret for anti-aircraft fire, or even used on a tripod for dismounted action.

  “My concern as commander is the fact that we carry only ninety rounds of armour-piercing and incendiary shells for the cannon. My preferred ratio is 40% armour-piercing, which the loader must ensure are carried at all times. We should also ensure that we have at least 4,000 rounds of machine gun ammunition in drums.”

  Korsak now moved towards the rear of the vehicle, the crew following smartly in his wake and hanging on his every word.

  “The Klementi Voroshilov is propelled by a 600-horsepower 12-cylinder V-type diesel engine. Unlike the fascists, it is driven through a transmission and final drive to the sprockets at the rear of the tank. The motor is noisier than I would like, but this serves to frighten the fascists. The tank is equipped with both electric and compressed air starters.

  “The Klementi Voroshilov carries
600 litres of fuel inboard and can carry an additional supply in saddle tanks. Do not forget to fill the tank at every available opportunity. The normal range of action without saddle tanks is 110 to 125 miles across country.

  “Our recent experience of tank warfare has taught the designers many lessons which have influenced this tank design. The turret is located well forward to permit desyanti tank infantrymen to use it as a shield while riding atop the tank. Every provision has been made to prevent unwelcome riders from getting aboard. You will note the lack of external fittings, tools, and sharp projections. You must keep it this way. This uncluttered surface meets the double purpose of eliminating hand grips for enemy hitch-hikers and reducing the chance that a firebomb or other missile could lodge on the tank. Also observe that the fender of the tank is very narrow, so that ‘tank hunters’ who seek to jump aboard run the risk of being caught in the track. As a further protective measure for the tank crew, the hatch in the top of the turret is so constructed that it cannot be opened from the outside. A special tool is required to open the hatch from the inside. Do not, at any time, take it out of the tank, and do not lose it.”

  Eventually, Sergei Ovanovich plucked up the courage to speak. “Excuse me, Comrade Korsak, but I was trained on the T-34, and it appears to me that the T-34 is the equal of the KV-1.”

  The other crew members stood back in terror, expecting a blast of rage from Korsak, but none came.

  “That is an intelligent question, Comrade Ovanovich. The T-34 has indeed a high level of manoeuvrability, and a relatively spacious interior arrangement. It makes the tank a favourite of tank crews seeking comfort over fighting capability. The fascists themselves have expressed the opinion that the T-34 is the most effective tank they have encountered. It can surmount the same cross-country obstacles as the KV-1, except that its length limits the width of the trenches it can jump to about three metres.

  “The turret is the problem. I can share with you the information that a bigger turret is in design. You will recall, Comrade Ovanovich, that your previous tank was manned by a crew of four. Your commander also acted as loader. When every second is vital, and watchfulness must be maintained at all times, this is an inefficient and dangerous arrangement. Until that design flaw is overcome, the KV-1 is the deadliest predator on the battlefield, and today, comrades, I shall teach you why. Let us begin.”