He was the offensive coach, calling the plays from the sideline, and ensuring they were executed against the enemy’s defense facing his team.
He turned back to the table where Lieutenant Clay was giving the latest weather report to Captain Peters.
“We’ve got another recce flight in the air now. The weather’ll be clearing late morning.”
“Good,” Peters replied. “Sir, please come over to comms, we’ve got a status report coming in from the hill.”
They went into a large room adjacent to the bank manager’s office, and gathered around one of the signalers sitting at a radio.
The operator rotated a dial to change frequency and then flicked a switch and asked in plain, “Quarterback this is Coach, what’s your status? Over.”
∞
Passau, Germany
Town Center
March 25th, 1946
Thunderclap concussions deafened their unprotected ears, and flying metal zipped above the helmets of a huddle of combat engineers. Pinned down by a machine-gun, the assault group was waiting for a pause in the enemy fire before making their move.
In the town, the fighting had bogged down to house to house, as the battle for Passau had gotten closer to the main bridge over the Danube leading to the castle.
Across the river from the fighting in the town, Lieutenant Deming watched through his binoculars as the assault group left cover, dashed around the corner of a house and stormed inside. One more house taken.
The reverberation of the 400hp Wright Continental engine that powered his M18 Hellcat helped to soothe his anxiety. Changing his focus to the hilltop to his left, the walled fortress of Veste Oberhaus dominated the summit. He thought it could be mistaken for the villain’s castle from a medieval fairy tale.
At the battalion’s current rate of progress, we should be raising the portcullis by dusk.
He searched down to his left flank, where a troop of 10th Division’s T32s were firing on the dug-in defenders ahead of them. Great eruptions of flame and smoke lifted stone blocks, timber and broken bodies into the air.
The Bolsheviks responded with anti-tank gun fire, but many of their rounds ricocheted off the 200mm frontal armor of the heavy tanks.
A puff of smoke from an anti-tank gun revealed its position as it opened fire, and rounds of 90mm HE from the T32 Grizzlies quickly silenced it.
As he watched the 50-ton giants roll on, Deming heard the voice of Corporal Ellis below him inside the turret of the tank destroyer.
“Sir, it’s the Colonel. …”
A hiss of static in his headset followed, as the call from HQ was patched through.
“Lieutenant … how’s the view over there?” asked Corday in his gruff but fatherly tone.
“Like hell sir … for the Reds!”
Deming could picture Corday’s expression, one he’d only allow for a second before hardening his focus to what lay ahead.
The colonel replied, “Well done son, keep it rolling … I want you in the end zone before nightfall.”
“You’ve got it sir; we’re just running another play now.”
While talking, he was also following the progress of the Grizzlies as they demolished another enemy position.
“We’re going to push through an opening the offensive line just created.”
Colonel Corday looked down at his map and frowned, “Watch your flanks … my gut says they have armor in reserve waiting for a thrust up the center, and will try a counter-attack.”
Deming grinned, “That’s what we’re hoping for sir …”
The tank destroyer troop commander finished his status report with an update on the morning’s casualties. He looked up. Clear skies … going to be a cold night.
The castle looked even more appealing with the prospect of a warm fireplace and perhaps an intact wine cellar.
Not likely … the Reds never leave anything behind.
“Let’s get the camo net down … we’ll be moving out in five minutes,” he called out to his crew.
That should give the Grizzlies enough time to regroup … and the Reds enough time to decide where they’re going to commit their tanks and counter-attack.
The tree-lined road leading up the slope would provide some cover for the troop of Hellcats. They might not be spotted until coming right up behind the Grizzlies. Surprise would be critical if they were to catch the enemy tanks at an angle.
The gunner and loader dismounted and started pulling down the camouflage netting. More hands were added to the task as several combat engineers shouldered their weapons and joined in. They’d been resting under the trees nearby, and looked as though they’d been fighting their way through hedgerows, as their uniforms and equipment were festooned with leaves and foliage.
“That’ll earn you a ride for part of the way… but not right up to the top,” Deming called down to the soldiers.
“That’s okay,” a corporal replied. “Just drop us off at a hotel before you get there … we’ll keep watching you over the froth of our steins as you finish up!”
More soldiers back along the road took the lead of the Corporal’s men, and helped uncover the other M18s in Deming’s troop.
Loaded with infantry, the five Hellcats roared out from cover to exploit the breach in the Soviet defenses.
Across the Danube to the south, Colonel Corday examined the situation on the planning table before him. His tank destroyer battalion was working with Combat Command B of the 10th Armored Division. They faced units of the experienced 72nd Guards Rifle Division … a veteran unit of the Battle of Kursk and a recipient of the Order of the Red Banner.
Although softened up by artillery and air bombardment, the enemy was giving ground slowly – too slowly for Corday’s liking. He thought about his game plan. It needed momentum to succeed, just like an offensive drive in football – keep the other side off-balance. He got Captain Peters’ attention.
The colonel’s finger hovered over a point on the map, near the River Ilz, a tributary flowing into the Danube adjacent to Veste Oberhaus. “Here … they’ll come from here.”
Captain Peters scrutinized the area. A road along the river dotted with buildings, cut through the forest. Visualizing the terrain, he worked out their possible line of approach.
“It makes sense …” Captain Peters said. “Using the Ilz to shield their right flank. At least they’ll need to come across our field of fire to get to the T32s.”
“I’ll make sure the spotter plane has a look along there,” Lieutenant Clay added, and left for the comms room.
Corday sighed, the weight of an important decision adding gravity to his voice, “Move the TDs away from behind our medium tanks … toward the east.”
“You sure sir?” he asked respectfully. “If we’re wrong, they’ll be exposed and vulnerable to an attack from another vector.”
Peters swept a hand over the black chess piece in the middle of the map, then along the River Ilz, “Do you think they’ll try to move armor up through those trees? How can you know they won’t come from another direction?”
“It’s my damned job to know,” said Corday, “and that area of the forest is mostly poplar and aspen … not very thick trunks.”
Lieutenant Clay returned. “Recon flight won’t be over the area for another ten minutes … they have to take a wide flight-path to avoid the ack-ack over the castle.”
Corday huffed, “Never mind … it may be too late by then.”
He continued with his speculation. “If we hold off the Reds’ counter-attack I want a plan in place for the final push to the summit.”
“Yes sir.”
“We’ll have done our part, and will just need to provide direct fire support for the infantry.”
“Got it … the red-zone play will be ready shortly.”
Captain Peters didn’t think twice about having to adjust his tactics on short notice. He’d been training with Colonel Corday for the past six months. He knew everyone on the Colonel’s staff was highly
motivated, and on-board whenever changes in their roles were required. He started relaying new orders, and the officers around him switched to their new tasks without question. Just like a football team, he thought, no one questions the coach’s wisdom … just give him the information he needs about the team, or your opinion if he asks you for it.
∞
Mojave City
2265 CE
Arjon sat back and read the newspaper headline on the screen, “Russian Spy Steals Rocket Plans.”
This wasn’t part of Hesta’s simulation … it had really happened. He read the date on the front page of the Washington Post; January 10th, 1946. He’d been researching the corresponding timeline immediately after General Patton’s accident. This story had caught his eye, so he continued reading in-depth:
“A Russian agent was arrested yesterday by the FBI. Grigori Semey, a diplomat posted to the Soviet embassy in Washington, was found to be in possession of blueprints and other design documents for weapons captured from the Nazis by the US Army.
The stolen weapon plans included those for the dreaded V2 rocket, and for a new super-heavy tank which the German Army never got into production.”
Arjon browsed through the newspapers for the following days … protests were held around the country, largely venting anger at the Truman administration for being too soft. The Russians were getting away with huge land-grabs in Eastern Europe and in Asia. They were vocally opposed to the formation of the new United Nations, and now they were trying to steal weapons from the United States.
Hmmm … interesting. Curious that this didn’t happen in Hesta’s sim.
He kept reading.
∞
Passau, Germany
March 25th, 1946
Captain Peters handed Corday the briefing notes. The colonel glanced over them quickly, as though he already knew their contents.
“Good … consider these signed off and the new orders ready to give to Quarterback as soon the current drive plays out.”
“Sir!” Peters snapped an unnecessary salute, and headed toward the comms section.
Corday removed his garrison cap and wiped his brow. These were the times he felt the heaviness of his decisions. The minutes just after he’d issued a command, were when there was time for doubt to worm itself into his thinking. Second guessing … had they missed anything?
Too late now … then it was back to dealing with the situation; to managing the drive; to reaching the next objective.
He wished he were back in command of his tank, directing his own part of the battle from there … but those days were gone.
Since day one of the hostilities, this outfit had been morphing into something uniquely aggressive. That’s why they had been given this job, cleaning out the most important salient on a line that stretched from the Baltic to Austria.
The Soviets had no significant defenses to fall back to. If they had to retreat here, they would be rolled back deep into Poland – maybe even back into Russia.
Just like the 3rdArmy rolled the Nazis back into Germany from France, he thought.
Lieutenant Clay entered from comms holding a scribbled message, “We’ve got a sighting of armor … moving up along the Ilz.”
Corday nodded, “This is it … let’s hope the boys are ready.”
∞
Passau, Germany
Town Center
March 25th, 1946
Black smoke, sooty and acrid from burning rubber, filled Lieutenant Deming’s nostrils. While he wiped the lenses of his field glasses to remove the stringy, black particles, he glanced over his right shoulder at the source of the smoke. A store-room twenty yards away containing truck tires, was burning intensely.
From behind the cover of the smoke, he scanned the road ahead for a couple of hundred yards. Five hundred yards away, he could see Soviet infantry moving around behind a hastily prepared barricade as they set up an anti-tank gun.
So far so good, looks like they’re expecting the Grizzlies to come their way.
He looked away from the road and into the bright green, spring foliage of the forest to his left.
If they’re armor is coming along-side the Ilz river, they’ll be hoping to outflank their tanks … but instead we’ll be …
He held his breath. Did that tree just move?
Out of the corner of his eye he then saw the top of another tree waver, then crash forward.
“Load AP!”
Another tree was flattened, this time it crashed down onto the road.
“Target front! Three hundred!”
A dark green shape lumbered out on to the road, branches and shattered greenery splayed all around it.
“FIRE!”
The 90mm tungsten core shell slammed into the Soviet tank’s soft side armor and it exploded into flame.
More T34s spilled out onto the road.
Deming ducked down into the open-topped turret of the Hellcat, knowing what was coming next. A cannonade blasted through the air as the other four M18s lined up along the road behind them opened fire.
The tank-destroyers lived up to their name. Two more burning wrecks didn’t make it across the road. Two of the T34s did, and several more stopped short and stayed in the trees.
The lead Hellcat’s crew let out a whoop, allowing themselves to celebrate a well-executed ambush. The smoke had provided a perfect cover … all they’d had to do while lying in wait, was fix their sights along the road so as not to rely on clear visibility when firing at their targets.
“Let’s move!” Deming called over the radio to his troop. There were too many Soviet tanks for them to handle without support. At least the ambush would have slowed them down, and made them think twice about continuing toward the exposed flank of the main body of US armor.
They left the main road and turned down a dirt track to the right, back toward the last known position of the Grizzlies.
Deming kept glancing back over his shoulder to see if any of the enemy tanks were following, but he knew they wouldn’t be able to keep up with the M18s. With a top speed of fifty miles per hour, the Hellcat was the fastest armored vehicle around.
The troop slowed up after a couple of miles. As they idled slowly through a group of houses scattered along either side of the dirt road, Deming crouched down lower into his seat. The crews had to be watchful of second floor windows. A concealed machine-gun could wreak havoc on the men inside the open turrets of the M18s.
Passing slowly out of the houses, the forest returned. Through the trees, Deming could see the tops of the stone ramparts of the castle.
Better get moving … if I can see them, they can see me.
As though on cue, the loud crack of a 40mm shell screamed through the air over their heads. It exploded behind them, demolishing the front porch of one of the houses.
The lead M18 halted, while the four behind split off to both sides of the track and sought cover in the trees. Deming spied a puff of smoke curling out of the doorway on the side of an old brick building.
“Load HE!”
“Target – two o’clock!”
His heartbeat pounded in his ears … the enemy would need fifteen seconds to reload. Below him, the barrel of the 90mm gun swung in an agonizingly slow arc, “House – ground floor …”
Six … five … four …
The barrel stopped moving. “Fire!”
The house collapsed in a maelstrom of high explosive, turning it into a waterfall of smoking flame and dust. The sounds of crumbling masonry and splintered wood reached the ears of the M18’s crew.
No celebration this time … that had been too close. They would need to be more careful moving through the forest to join up with Combat Command B.
Deming waved the troop on.
Fifteen minutes later, they sighted the Grizzlies, now at the base of the slope leading up to Veste Oberhaus. Deming called a halt, needing to appraise the situation and determine where to deploy his tank destroyers to provide the best support. He waved directions
to his troop, spreading them out along a low rise in hull down position.
Deming put in a call to HQ and confirmed their orders.
The battle for the lower slopes continued in earnest, with heavy casualties being suffered on both sides. From the northwest, another troop of Hellcats approached – the rest of Deming’s platoon.
“Get the troop to switch to the platoon frequency,” he ordered the radio operator. He waited a moment for the others to switch, then picked up his radio handset.
“We wait here until those T34s show up,” he called to the other M18 commanders. The eight tank destroyers would need to protect the main force’s left. Within minutes, a company of combat engineers arrived to support them.
The column of half-tracks, some towing guns, raced up and spread out between the M18s. The engineers jumped out and quickly set up their anti-tank weapons.
They didn’t have to wait long.
The Soviet tanks, now followed by massed infantry, swarmed through the trees, heading for the US forces attacking the castle.
Deming watched patiently. They would hold their fire until each M18 was certain of its target. A haggard looking captain commanding the combat engineers called up to him, wanting to know when they should open fire.
“What happens next?” the engineer Captain asked.
Deming answered in his mid-western drawl. “Those are tanks … these are tank-destroyers … what do you think’s going to happen?”
Artillery rounds and rockets started landing across the battlefield. It was being fired from the vicinity of the castle. The Allied artillery stayed silent – the Americans wouldn’t risk hitting their own men. The Bolsheviks weren’t so discriminating.
The Free World War Page 8
