Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series)

by Gee, Colin

  Setting himself against the dead body of an unknown paratrooper he started his repertoire, ‘Scotland the Brave’ building in volume as he set about his task.

  The effect upon Ramsey’s Jocks was electric and they renewed themselves to greater efforts, especially as their Major had rejoined them, unharmed and in fighting mood.

  Ramsey could sense the difference and, for that matter, so could Perlmann twenty yards away to his left.

  Turning around to shout at the Piper, the very English Ramsey drew a number of grins from his men for behaviour less than that expected of a gentleman.

  “Piper Sinclair!”

  The piper played on.

  “Sinclair!”

  Affecting his finest Scottish accent Ramsey tried again.

  “Sinclair ye deaf bas!”

  Picking up a piece of brick, Ramsey tossed it at his piper who thought that it was a grenade and rolled over the body of the German with the speed of a gazelle.

  Sheepishly looking over the corpse he noted his Major grinning and shouting in his direction.

  Ramsey, confident he now had the undivided attention of his piper issued his orders.

  “Black Bear Sinclair, give the lads Black Bear!”

  Putting wind in his instrument once more, the pipes started to belt out Ramsey’s choice, which the company always played when they went on the attack.

  The Scots braced themselves and waited on Ramsey’s order.

  That order came and the Watch rose up, charging forward, screaming like banshees, closely followed by the strangely yet equally inspired Fallschirmjager.

  The Soviet force also chose to attack at the same time and the two groups met in the middle area, clashing at the charge.

  A hideously ugly Russian leapt in the air, intent on staving Ramsey’s skull with his rifle butt. As he descended he changed direction in mid-air, the force of bullets from a paratroopers MP40 sending him flying into the Soviet rifleman to his left.

  There was no time for thanks as that man, regaining his balance, threw himself at the Black Watch commander, bayonet surging towards his unprotected belly.

  Ramsey fell, his feet tangled in the straps of a discarded Soviet rifle. The thrust missed its target and skidded off Ramsey’s canteen.

  Winded by the force of his fall, Ramsey twisted as best he could, narrowly avoiding a second thrust which hit the road and snapped the bayonet of his enemy.

  The Russian stupidly looked at the broken blade and Ramsey took advantage, swinging his Enfield round and slamming it into the side of the man’s head sending him flying, the impression of the front sight clear on the side of his forehead.

  Ramsey moved quickly, as he sensed rather than saw another threat, and felt heavy pressure as his rifle was almost forced from his hands. As he had turned, the bayonet had become a spike onto which the attacking Soviet officer had propelled himself with his own momentum.

  The dead body slid easily off Ramsey’s steel, and he turned and quickly shot the other unconscious man in the head before taking a moment to assess the situation.

  Many of the Russians were down, over half their number had perished in the ferocious counter-attack, but there were also a large number of his own men who would never see the glens again.

  The Fallschirmjager had fared better, possibly because they had run in slightly behind the Scots.

  ‘Black Bear’ had stopped, Piper Sinclair having been sought out by a rifleman and shot in the head.

  Over a hundred more Soviets flooded out of the ruins and into the fight, throwing everything into the balance again, and Ramsey knew the moment had come.

  Shouting encouragement to his men, he waded into a group of Soviets, angling in from their left side. He ran the first through with his bayonet, screaming with pain as a rifle butt hammered against his wounded shoulder, dropping him to his knees. A Soviet soldier loomed over him, raising his entrenching tool to maximum height and then falling away as a line of crimson flowers appeared out of his chest.

  Recovering his own rifle, Ramsey suddenly found himself isolated and the sole target for three enemy soldiers.

  A moment’s pause was all he needed, triggering the Enfield and dropping the centre man with a round to the stomach. Rushing left, he caught the next man by surprise and bundled straight into him, sending him flying. Turning to the third man, he felt the sear of pain as a bullet flicked his thigh. The man worked the bolt on his rifle quickly but Ramsey ended his life with a powerful thrust through the throat.

  Turning to the second man, he saw that no further action was needed. The force of Ramsey’s impact had propelled the Russian onto a wicked wooden spike that stuck out from the rubble. The man was face down on it, twitching and mumbling incoherently as his life drained out of him.

  Re-chambering his own rifle, Ramsey shot down a Soviet Officer who was exhorting his men forward. The man was the III/215th’s Commander and the sight of their leader screaming his last few seconds away proved to be a turning point and the fight went out of the Russian troops in an instant.

  Turning and running, they lost a number of soldiers shot in the back as they tried to regain friendly cover.

  The Fallschirmjager pursued them relentlessly, recovering most of the ground previously lost in the process.

  Ramsey organised his men, aghast at how few could still stand. He had led the sixty men forward and only twenty-eight could answer the call. Not all the rest were dead and some could fight again that day but precisely half would never move again.

  At his feet lay a young Scot, James Munro, his belly ripped open by some unknown blade and a bayonet wound in his shoulder, in excruciating pain but resolutely silent, despite his approaching death.

  Ramsey knelt at the young soldier’s side knowing that all he could do was share the boy’s final moments. Holding his right hand tightly he placed his left hand on Munro’s forehead, stroking the boy’s head and encouraging eye contact. The medic rammed home three doses of morphine and James Munro died pain free.

  More Fallschirmjager arrived, released from their defence of Jungfernsteig after they and the Yeomanry had drubbed the attacking force. These set about evacuating their injured comrades and the wounded jocks, as well as setting a strong defensive position in place.

  Four of the paratroopers reverently removed the insensible body of their commander, Perlmann having fallen unnoticed amongst a pile of dead, alive but bleeding from a dozen wounds.

  The arrival of Russian small calibre mortar rounds ended the brief lull and Ramsey determined to reform his reserve and to find out what was going on across the front of Llewellyn Force.

  In essence, Llewellyn Force was holding but only just.

  The Rathaus was again more Soviet than British as extra troops pressed forward, exhorted by their officers.

  The Soviet diversionary effort had run into an allied counter-attack to the south as 71st Infantry brigade sought to throw the Soviet moves off-balance. 1st Battalion, Highland Light Infantry, supported by more of the Yorkshire Yeomanry’s armour had struck back, threatening the Holzbrücke and Beloborodov had been forced to switch one of his reserve battalions to assist. This left solely the III/938th Rifles uncommitted.

  II/259th Rifles had been ordered to probe the positions in front of them, not by the Army Commander but by the Regimental Commander who just couldn’t believe the British could be strong everywhere.

  This was a huge mistake and his pinning force suffered huge casualties charging A Coy/RWF and the support platoon. He was only saved from the vengeance of his General by a Welsh bullet. It also meant that the dead Lieutenant Colonel would be an excellent scapegoat for what was to come.

  ‘A’ Company’s commander realised the tactical situation had changed in his favour and released the support platoon and one section from each of his own platoons, creating a reserve force, which he immediately sent to the aid of his Battalion Commander in the Rathaus.

  ‘C’ Company had held their own at great loss of life, helped by the ar
rival of armoured support in the shape of the rest of the Yeomanry’s headquarters troop which had forced into the Soviet flank at a crucial time. Not without loss, as was attested to by Acting Major Brown’s body half in, half out of his command tank, slowly being consumed by the lazy fire inside.

  In the Rathaus there was a stalemate. Scelerov and his men had burned everything and everyone they could and had run out of usable flamethrowers. A fuming Scelerov has sent ten men back for more and contented himself with throwing phosphorous grenades as he waited to be rearmed. He was unaware that he would wait in vain, as the party had been vaporised by a 25-pdr HE shell as they were returned laden with cylinders.

  The situation in the Rathaus was unclear to the Russians, and so the Commander of 1st Rifle Corps committed his final reserve where he could see there was an opportunity, and where they could be directly supported with tanks.

  Banging out his orders with his fist on the map table and gesticulating wildly, the General got his officers moving.

  There were only seven running tanks left in 2nd Btn after fierce exchanges with British tanks and anti-tank guns but they were ordered to go forward once more.

  Ordering the 106th Pontoon Engineers to be ready, the Rifle Corps commander sent his men forward.

  A number of things happened at once.

  Ramsey reconstituted his reserve force at the rear of the Markt, bolstering the numbers with a stiffening of Fallschirmjager and a handful of Manchesters.

  Llewellyn’s ‘A’ Company reserve force arrived at the Rathaus.

  The Yeomanry’s D Sqdn lost its last tank to a mortar round which started an engine fire.

  Adolphesbrucke dropped into the canal, victim of Soviet artillery fire.

  Losing no time, Major Llewellyn organised a counter-attack that started to push back the Soviets on the ground floor of the Rathaus again.

  Charging forward, the Welsh threw the Russians back all the way to the main lobby before they turned and held their ground.

  Sub-machine guns and grenades did their deadly work and Llewellyn’s life was saved when one of his young fusiliers threw himself on a grenade that had landed at his side. The young man died, the officer lived. Llewellyn promised himself and the boy that he would record the brave act appropriately.

  Another grenade landed close and was plucked up and thrown in an instant, returned from whence it had come to good effect, screams of pain marking its effectiveness.

  Sensing the need to push hard again, Llewellyn shouted his troops forward and charged, dropping an enemy rifleman with a burst of Sten.

  An enemy officer rose and fired his pistol, missing with his first two shots but hitting soft flesh with his third and fourth. Llewellyn, dropped to the ground by the impacts, pressed the trigger of his Sten and put a burst into the disfigured man.

  Scelerov was thrown backwards by the impact of five bullets, losing his pistol as he hit the wall hard.

  A group of fusiliers ran past him, intent on mischief further down the hallway.

  Bleeding and in pain, Scelerov pulled himself onto his knees, extracted a fragmentation grenade and pulled the pin, intending to toss it into the middle of the fusiliers who had gone to ground fifteen yards away.

  As he raised his arm a huge weight descended upon him, rugby tackling him and pinning him to the ground with the deadly charge still in his grip under his body.

  In the last second of his life, Scelerov screamed not in fear but in anger, his revenge incomplete, and all those months of pain borne for nothing.

  The grenade exploded eviscerating the Russian instantly.

  Llewellyn received a fragment through his right wrist which damaged his tendons. The blast lifted him off the distorted body of Scelerov, throwing him to the left and stunning him as he hit his head on a lump of stone.

  Carried forward by the momentum of the charge, the Welch continued to drive the Soviet engineers and riflemen before them, reclaiming most of the Rathaus.

  Combined with the reclaiming of their old defensive positions by the Fallschirmjager, this created a shallow U-shaped area into which the 1st Rifle Corps was inadvertently committing its last force of note.

  Without orders, the Hauptmann now commanding the Fallschirmjager secured the southernmost corner of his position and deployed two MG42’s on the right flank of the Soviet attack.

  Simultaneously the Captain who found himself temporarily in charge in the Rathaus stiffened the southern wall defences and then organised a firing line in the Rathaus, looking across into the Markt. Three Vickers .303’s, two from RWF and one from the Manchesters bolstered the defence.

  In the Markt itself were the Black Watch, with their own Vickers and three more from the Manchesters.

  The T34’s of 39th Guards Tank Brigade pushed forward, firing wildly as they advanced. One lucky shell reduced a Welch Vickers to scrap metal in short order.

  The Russian tanks opened their formation as they moved into the southern edge of Markt and were brought under fire by C Sqdn of the Yeomanry and the last 71st 6-pdr at the end of Reesendamm.

  Fig#31 - Hamburg - Finale

  At A - Location of hand to hand fighting by Perlmann’s Fallschirmjager and the Black Watch.

  At B - Point from which the Yeomanry’s two headquarters tanks engaged the Soviet tanks and where the CS tank was destroyed.

  At C - Deployment zone for T34’s supporting the Markt attack.

  At D - II/259th’s probing attack that failed.

  At E - Adolphesbrücke struck by Soviet artillery and drops into the canal.

  At F - Last ‘D’ Sqdn Sherman knocked out by Soviet mortar fire.

  .

  Light mortars sought out and killed the anti-tank gun but the tanks still died as the Yeomanry Firefly opened up, killing three in quick succession.

  A T34 shell struck the 17-pdr gun barrel and deformed it, forcing the crew to evacuate their vehicle.

  Four T34’s now remained, spitting death from their machine-guns, bullets flying in all directions, keeping the enemy’s heads down as their own infantry reached the Markt and plunged forward.

  The Russian ‘Urrah’ leapt from five hundred and fifty throats as they charged headlong into the Markt.

  Fire erupted from the Rathaus and a huge audible sigh went up from the Soviet ranks as metal met flesh and bone, sending man after man to the ground.

  Instinctively the waves of Russians moved to their right, away from the withering fire that claimed more lives every second.

  Again the collective anguished gasp as two MG42’s and other weapons spat death from the right hand side of the Markt.

  1st Lieutenant Ames, Royal Artillery, was not to be outdone and dropped his shoot on the money, wiping out a score of Russians with every burst.

  It was the nearest thing to mass murder Ramsey had ever seen.

  In less than five minutes, an assault force of over five hundred men had been reduced to a few witless survivors trying to scrape holes in the ruined road or sitting glassy eyed amongst the bloody wreckage that used to be their comrades and friends.

  Some Soviets closed with Black Watch and Manchester firing positions in the Markt, more for the protection offered by getting close than for aggressive intent.

  Swiftly the battered and shocked men were either shot or bayoneted, even those surrendering, for this was no time to be encumbered with prisoners. Once dealt with, the Scots and Mancunians went back to the business of killing at range.

  The slaughter was soon over and the infantry withdrew leaving piles of corpses behind.

  The 39th Tanks had been wiped out in all but name, one running tank withdrawing, its crew taking the young wounded Colonel back to the aid post to be either saved or to die in peace.

  1930 hrs Sunday 12th August 1945, Altstad, Hamburg, Germany.

  The Battle of the Rathaus ended at roughly 7.30pm, although there was sporadic firing and men died from then until night descended and the area became quiet.

  The Allied camp licked its wounds an
d took stock of whom and what had been lost.

  Young 1st Lieutenant Ramsey’s body was recovered as best could be done and wrapped in a canvas for evacuation. His battery of the 71st had suffered appallingly and would contribute very little on the morrow.

  Brown of the Yeomanry still hung from his turret, it being too dangerous to do any more than watch the glowing hull grow cooler in the late evening air. Half the tanks had been lost but they had given a fine account of themselves and were still high on morale.

  555th Engineers had nil effectives now, those who were not dead on the field having been evacuated over the Bride, now the sole means of communication, rearming and reinforcing left open to Llewellyn Force. CSM Richardson’s burnt body had been recovered and was removed to the west bank with those of his dead men.

  The Manchesters had done well, very well. Captain Arthurs could not be found and the credit for the defence went to his second in command.

  Fallschirm Batallione Perlmann had suffered modest casualties in comparison, those units that had been situated on the Jungfernsteig relatively unscathed whilst those adjacent to the Markt had been savaged badly. Perlmann has refused to be evacuated, remaining in his command post to be fussed over by the battalion doctor.

  For the Royal Welch Fusiliers, it was a mixed day. Support and Admin platoons illustrated this well. Support platoon had done fine work, moving on to counter-attack within the Rathaus, sustaining surprisingly few casualties. Admin platoon had three men left standing, the rest either on stretchers or in the lines of dead arranged at the Alterwall, adjacent to the Bride.

  ‘A’ Coy had sustained the fewest casualties, mainly because of the Russian tactics, but the dead company commander had been very popular and would be missed.

  ‘C’ Coy had lost 50% of its effectives, but with a high proportion of wounded men.

  ‘D’ Coy had suffered the most, now with only thirty-four effectives, and too many of those absent lying dead.

  The Black Watch had arrived the day before with one hundred and twenty-seven men.