Tiger Command!

by Bob Carruthers

  The crew piled back into the tank and, under Korsak’s eagle eye, were soon pressing along the road to the front, his new driver responding swiftly to every command.

  “Now pull off the highway and aim straight across country,” ordered Korsak.

  “But, Comrade Korsak, it’s swamp. We’ll never get through.”

  “Has anyone tried? Mother Russia demands courage in her hour of need. If you want to learn to fight with me, you have to learn what is possible. I know the hunter’s route to the Leningrad main road. Every tank man should make it his business to learn what’s possible. Our wide tracks will take us where the fascist machines cannot hope to go.”

  To the amazement of the crew, the terrain did indeed prove passable, but the journey was not without its difficulties. Eventually, the KV-1 managed to reach the main Leningrad road, known to the Germans as the Rollbahn Nord, the only supply route of the German force located in the northern wilderness.

  Korsak intended to blood his new crew and block that lifeline. He had chosen his spot with extreme care, the KV-1 emerging from the forest at the bottom of a natural dip, the Rollbahn Nord rising straight and true in either direction for a distance of 1,000 metres, which afforded a clear view in either direction.

  To their left, at a distance of 700 metres, was a small wooden bridge. A column of trucks was waiting to cross. Through his binoculars, Korsak could see that papers were being checked. To their right, in the distance, Korsak could discern a column of ambulances, halted to allow the supply column heading north to pass. Hugging the tree line, Korsak ordered the font of the tank to be swung south to face the bridge. He was careful to maintain an angle so that the front of the tank did not face directly down the road. The rear and side of the tank was protected by the thick trunks of massive mature trees.

  They now waited in tense silence. Soon, the first unsuspecting trucks began to cross the bridge. At last, Korsak gave the order to his anxious crew. “Fire!”

  A high-explosive round hurtled into the first truck, which immediately exploded in a violent eruption.

  “Ammunition truck. Our lucky day!” exclaimed Korsak.

  The rest of the column was soon shot afire by the accurate fire of the KV-1. The few escapees from truck crews were ruthlessly machine-gunned. By swivelling the turret, Korsak was able to take the ambulances under fire, and he had no qualms in sending a stream of high-explosive shells crashing into the column.

  As Korsak had expected, the noise of combat and the resulting explosions soon drew an infantry detachment. Korsak calmly directed his crew to engage the infantry with the machine guns. Without heavy weapons, there was simply no possibility of the infantry eliminating the monster. The infantry detachment blazed away at the KV-1, aiming for the vision ports.

  Korsak ordered his crew to stop firing, as if the tank had been knocked out. Eventually his ruse worked and, assuming that the tank had been disabled, a landser ran at the tank, carrying a flaming bottle. Korsak calmly allowed him to approach, then cut him down in a flurry of machine gun bullets. The body provided an interesting diversion as it burned brightly, lit by its own Molotov cocktail.

  Soon there was a long jam of vehicles stretching in either direction. Korsak knew it was impossible for the Germans to bypass his KV-1 because of the swampy surrounding terrain. Neither supplies nor ammunition could be brought up, and the severely wounded could not be removed to the hospital.

  Korsak’s crew felt they had achieved a success, and were understandably anxious to leave the scene. Their none-too-subtle hints mounted, but their attitude changed as a Panzer III began to cross the bridge. They obviously felt themselves equal to the next attempt to put the KV-1 out of action. The Panzer III, returning to the front, now attempted to engage the KV-1 with its 50 mm cannon. Knowing he held all the aces, Korsak calmly allowed the Panzer III to close to a range of 600 metres.

  “Do you want me to open fire, Comrade Korsak?” asked the gunner.

  “No, let him come nearer.”

  The Panzer III rumbled over the bridge and halted at 500 metres before opening fire and sending a stream of accurate armour-piercing rounds crashing against the steel hide of the KV-1. The Russian tank remained undamaged, in spite of the fact that the crew inside the KV-1 felt the impact of nineteen direct hits. Between shots, Korsak calmly dismounted and took his gunner on a tour of the impacts. The gunner was amazed, but gratified, to see that all of these violent strikes had merely produced blue spots on the impermeable armour of the KV-1.

  To the terror of the gunner, Korsak did not allow him to climb back into the tank, but instead drew him aside, into the trees, where they watched as an armour-piercing round flew from the German tank, hit the sloped armour of the KV-1, and ricocheted skywards. Despite the violence of the impact and the shock wave which flooded over them, the gunner seemed to grow in confidence under Korsak’s calming influence.

  “Now you see why you should have confidence, comrade,” said Korsak.

  “I understand, Comrade Korsak, but should we not destroy the fascist?”

  “The time will come... but we must first let our comrades see that there is nothing to fear.”

  Each of the crew in turn was required to dismount and observe the effect of the German gunner’s efforts. Eventually, Korsak decided that his men had learned the lesson that the KV-1 was a veritable fortress compared to the puny fascist tanks. At last he gave the order to fire, and the armour-piercing round which flew from the KV-1 blew the Panzer III apart. Its armour, at such a murderously short range, seemed to offer little more protection than the thin metal of the trucks which lay smoking on the Rollbahn Nord.

  Eventually, common sense prevailed in the disorientated German forces, and, amidst a screen of leaves and branches, what was obviously a camouflaged 88 mm gun was trundled up towards the stationary tank.

  To the terror of his crew, Korsak calmly permitted it to be put into position at a distance of 1,000 metres. “Load with high-explosive. Fire when ready,” was his only command.

  Growing in confidence in the presence of the icy Korsak, the KV-1 gunner took the proper time to allow for careful aim, and, with a single high-explosive round, smashed the gun to pieces before its crew was even ready to fire.

  For the rest of the long summer’s day, all was quiet. By cover of night came the anticipated attempt by German engineers to blow up the KV-1 by the light of the full moon. The crew watched in horror as Korsak allowed two German combat engineers to approach right up to the tank.

  “Patience, comrades. They will require a far bigger charge to cause us discomfort... Have courage and learn.”

  In the midst of their terrified silence, the crew could discern soft voices talking in German as the engineers laid the prescribed demolition charge on the caterpillar tracks.

  The engineers sprinted for cover in the opposite ditch, and the charge exploded according to plan. To the surprise of the crew, a series of shots rang out from the trees opposite and the two German engineers slumped lifelessly to the ground.

  “Ah, that must be our visitors,” said Korsak, opening his hatch. “Come, comrades, let’s meet our guests.”

  As the bemused crew dismounted from the KV-1, they could see that the charge laid by the German engineers was insufficient for the oversized tracks. Pieces were broken off the tracks, but the tank remained mobile and could expect to make the journey home.

  It was now that the crew was able to discern a series of shadowy figures in civilian clothing emerging from the trees opposite.

  “Comrade Korsak? Everything OK?” came an inquisitive voice.

  “Never better. Comrade Stankov, I presume?”

  “The very same. We brought you some dinner.”

  Boiled eggs and hard sausage were handed round, and Korsak’s crew watched in amazement as Korsak and Stankov smoked and talked casually, as if they were in a Leningrad cafe.

  “So, you are a new group?” asked Korsak.

  “Yes, Comrade Korsak. It’s our first mission
.”

  “Then you have done well – two fascists killed, and a significant contribution to our mission. I’ll make it my business to ensure that Moscow gets to hear about this,” replied Korsak.

  “Thank you, Comrade Korsak. Do you have any further orders for us?”

  “You must act on your own initiative, Comrade Stankov... but that bridge looks like a target which would be worthy of your next effort...”

  “Consider it done, Comrade Korsak.”

  “Good! I wish you success. Our work here is over, for now.”

  To the delight of his crew, Korsak ordered the driver to start up the engine and follow their tracks back to the Russian lines. Soon the KV-1 was gone, and Stankov and his team quietly slipped back into the trees.

  CHAPTER 9

  WERK 3

  The Henschel und Sonne engineering works at Kassel had begun as a locomotive manufacturing business, but had long since diversified into supporting the German war effort, and had played a key role in providing heavy armaments in both wars.

  As the train pulled into the railhead, the weather had still not lifted, and it was not possible to fully appreciate the size of this massive operation. There were three huge complexes: Werk 1, which was devoted to locomotive work, the giant foundry which comprised Werk 2, and, finally, Werk 3, the panzer plant, to which they were now headed. It dominated the entire area.

  The crew looked on in awe at the activity around them as they strode through the plant, led by Doctor Kurt Arnholdt and a group of other representatives of the Henschel Company. Amongst the party was the familiar figure of Major Jurgen Rondorf. As they passed a wall covered in propaganda posters, Otto Wohl paused before a yellowing placard for the Winter Relief Fund and began to read.

  “No one will be allowed to go hungry!” screamed the poster.

  “So, we’re not even allowed to do that now!” said Wohl mischievously.

  A glance from Knispel conveyed the message to Wohl that he was on thin ice, and the loader wisely decided that it was best if he didn’t criticise Knispel’s beloved party, for now at least.

  Eventually the party came to a hospitality area where bottles of beer and wine were being opened by pretty waitresses. Glasses were soon filled all round.

  “Gentlemen! My good friend, Major Rondorf here, tells me that the term ‘flying colours’ is too inadequate a description to describe your achievements in passing all the tests at Paderborn! Congratulations, and proscht!” exclaimed Kurt Arnholdt.

  “Proscht!” bellowed the Tiger men, draining their glasses, and, by their body language, indicating that they would happily engage in a further toast.

  “Major Rondorf is too kind and generous a man to admit to the extent of our daily struggles. He is also too modest to admit to his invaluable efforts at cajoling and educating us Tiger novices!” said Hans von Schroif.

  “Come now, Haupsturmführer,” replied Rondorf, “it is you who are being too modest. Good teachers could not exist without willing and able pupils. How was your journey?”

  Hans von Schroif could have elaborated on the unfortunate incident on the train, but he chose not to. Instead, he opted to be positive.

  “The journey was slow, but it may yet prove invaluable, Herr Major. Wendorff here has hit upon an ingenious plan to create a new manual, which the Tiger men hope will be interesting and accessible... Without going into too much detail, it involves an ‘assistant’ who, we could say, troops at the front may find rather... how shall we say... ‘fetching’.”

  Major Rondorf accepted the new illustrated Tiger manual and, with Arnholdt looking on, began to flick through the pages with interest.

  “My dear von Schroif, anything that helps our men memorise the vital information in that manual is to be welcomed,” said Arnholdt.

  “Let’s just hope your ‘assistant’ is not so well drawn as to be distracting!” noted Major Jurgen. “But this is a good idea. I’ll pass it on to Guderian’s office with a recommendation that it be published.”

  “Thank you, Herr Major. The idea is that it should be small enough to fit into a battle dress pocket.”

  “Rather the Tigerfibel than Die Wundertüte, eh, Wohl?” said Major Rondorf.

  As they laughed and joked, the small group moved on to the first part of the factory. Thousands of workers found employment here. The all-pervasive hum and buzz, and the unremitting crash of metal upon metal, indicated an industry and effort which could only give comfort to those who served at the front. Places like these were indeed the engines which helped the German army move forward and on!

  “Now I shall pass you over to Herr Arnholdt, who has arranged a brief tour of the facilities here, which will hopefully add to your appreciation and knowledge of the vehicles which are about to pass into your care.”

  As Kurt Arnholdt led the group off to the giant doors at Werk 3 to begin their tour, Hans received a gentle dig in the ribs from Bobby, who motioned to another group of men some way off, one of whom was the very Heinrich Bremer that they had encountered only an hour ago on the train.

  Hans fell into line beside Major Rendorf and discreetly enquired about the group.

  “Our friends from RHSA,” replied Rendorf.

  “But why are the Gestapo here?” asked von Schroif.

  “It’s a delicate matter, but there have been rumours of plans to sabotage production,” interjected Arnholdt.

  “Sabotage?” replied von Schroif incredulously. “Take them out and have them shot! What kind of German worker...? That’s treason!”

  “As I said,” continued Jurgen, “it is a delicate matter, and not all the workers here are of good German stock and foundation. There is a shortage of labour. Production must be maintained. So, workers are drawn from what might be termed less ‘patriotic’ pools.”

  “You mean you have foreign workers here? In the name of God, you are not telling me that Soviet prisoners have been entrusted with the job of building tanks which they know are being sent out to kill their comrades? That’s insane!”

  “Soviet prisoners, hopefully, I would doubt. I think the vast majority are from Germany, or our allies, but I fear – and this goes no further – that there may be a large measure of malcontents: social democrats, communists, religious extremists... and the situation is not helped by their working conditions.”

  Hans von Schroif was outraged. He had heard rumours of forced labour, but there was a war on, which allowed for a slight relaxation of civilised norms. There would be time enough for considerations of an ethical nature. It was the practical aspect that perturbed him the most at that moment. The lives of his men depended on these machines. At each and every moment, he and his crew had the right to expect that everything possible was being done to make them as reliable as possible. They had to trust every gear wheel, every weld, and every join. It reminded him of the old saying: “Would you accept a meal served up by a bitter cook?”

  “I can sense your anger, Hauptsturmführer. The situation is not ideal. Circumstances dictate. Let us just be confident that these arrangements do not end in tragedy.”

  Kurt Arnholdt then called them together to commence the tour. He seemed full of pride, so von Schroif decided that it was best to put his concerns to one side and let Arnholdt take centre stage.

  “Gentlemen, this is where the hulls arrive. We do not have the correct facilities here for construction of the hulls, or the turrets for that matter, so they are prefabricated at Krupp’s and Dortmund-Hoerder Huettenverein, the turrets by Wegmann and Company, and delivered here to be precision-tooled and transformed into fighting machines worthy of the Wehrmacht. The assembly line consists of nine discrete stages which we refer to as takt. At the moment, each takt involves around six hours per tank – a time which we can hopefully reduce in order to meet, and exceed, our production targets.”

  Kurt Arnholdt was in his element as he led the group along the line, pointing out all the functions and roles of the workers, the piles of stacked components, and the special tools and pres
ses needed to assemble one single tank. Granted, he was having to shout to be heard over the din, but here was a man who had found a role he obviously relished!

  “Takt 1, gentlemen. After taking delivery of the prefabricated hulls by rail, we carry out the great endeavour of unloading. As you can see by this hull here, there is almost everything still to do. Notice that the only post-fabrication work before it arrives is the boring of a few holes; everything else is carried out in these works.

  “Next, we move on to takt 2, where we prepare the hulls by boring holes for the suspension arms. This is done by this six-spindle borer. The next stage of takt 2 is carried out by a four-spindle borer, which finishes the holes for the final drives and idler arms.”

  Hans von Schroif found the whole thing fascinating, and was pleasantly surprised to see Bobby Junge paying close attention and engaging Arnholdt in conversation with intelligent and informed questions. Michael Knispel too, seemed transported. He also noticed Heinrich Bremer and his associates peering closely at the group and talking together. Surely they were not under scrutiny?

  “Takt 3,” continued Arnholdt, “is mainly concerned with fixing the turret, as you can determine by the presence of that lathe. Which leads us, gentlemen, out of this shop and on to the next where, and I am sure this is the part of the process which will interest young Herr Junge, the Maybach engine makes its first appearance!”

  As they left takt 3 and headed on to takt 4, Hans turned round to check if they were still being followed by their friends from the Gestapo. Sure enough, the little gang was still on their trail.

  “Shouldn’t they be out catching traitors and subversives?” thought von Schroif.