Breakthrough (The Red Gambit Series) (21 page)

Support C
ompany reported their bridge ready for destruction and Lascelles immediately gave the instruction to drop it into the water, especially
as
Soviet
infantry had appeared on the road from Rotenburg.

His strongest unit, ‘B’ Company, had already dispatched some
Soviet
recon troops
,
but
now they were coming under increasing pressure in Tiefenbruch and Riepshof.

The presence of
Soviet
armour to back up the infantry caused him concern
,
so he ordered the carrier platoon to move across to assist. That would give them an opportunity to employ their newly acquired knowledge. Ex-soldiers in the Bucholz Kommando had shown the carrier platoon how to use the Panzerfaust, and each carrier had a load of six weapons. As a sensible measure
,
Lascelles had also agreed with the Bucholz KommandoFührer to release a dozen men to the carrier platoon, in exchange for
one of the Vicker
s machine-guns, ammunition and
two boxes of grenades. Lascalles now smugly
felt
it
had been
a fair swap.

Artillery fire was
being
mainly directed at the enemy forces opposite Everstorfermoor
,
and Lascelles was loathe to switch it to support ‘B’ Company until the Oste bridge was blown.

He rolled the unlit
Cuban
cigar between his fingers rapidly, a sure sign to his staff that all was not well.

Lascelles, not raising his eyes from the map
,
spoke to no-one in particular.

“Get on the line to Charteris and tell him to get that flaming bridge blown!”

The radio burst into life immediately as the operator requested acknowledgement from
the engineer platoon.

“Sunray, Sunray, Forest-two-six receiving.”

Nothing but static returned.

The operator repeated the message, with the same result.

“Keep trying
Barrington
. Kevin.”

Lieutenant Barrington turned back in to his operator and placed an encouraging hand on his shoulder as Acting Major Kevin Roberts
, temporary OC
of ‘D’ Company,
stepped forward.

Making sure that the reliable Roberts was paying attention,
Lascelles pointed at Everstorfermoor.

“Grab the RSM and his merry men. Get over to here and get it sorted please Kevin.”

The pristinely turned out young officer saluted as if on a parade ground.

“Sah!”

Lascelles found the
moment of humour lighten
ed
his feeling, which was the Major’s intention, for Roberts was no parade ground warrior. Immaculate he may be but his chest
showed
that he was a fighting soldier, sporting the DSO and MC, won
in hard fighting o
n
Sicily
and
in
Europe
.

The moment of humour passed as the radio
burst into life.

“Forest-two-six to Sunray
,
come in.”

“Sunray, go ahead
Forest
.”

“Lieutenant Cha
r
teris dead. Sergeant Parks dead. Under enemy sniper fire. Charges not
complete
. Need support. Over.”

Every face in the room swivelled to Lascelles.

“Who is that?”

The operator made the request for information.

“F
orest-two-six to Sunray. Corporal Harris
,
over.”

“Tell him help is on its way
,
Barrington
. Tell him the bridge must come down. It must come down.”

The message was sent.

“Acknowledge Forest-two-six, acknowledge.”

A few moments of static, then nothing.

“Acknowledge Forest-two-six, acknowledge.”

Silence.

Corporal Harris knew very little except that the pain was extreme. The bullet had taken him in the upper chest as he raised his head over the sandbags
, the heavy impact
throwing him backwards. Unfortun
at
ely for him
,
he now lay on top of Parks, his platoon sergeant
, the extra height raising him
subtly
above the cover line provided by the sandbagged firing position. Another bullet thudded into his left side
,
but there was little pain of note, a strange coldness and numbness being the worst of it.

His head lolled over to the left side and he could see no enemy the
other side of the river
. The body of Charteris lay strangely posed, knees on the ground, backside in the air and what was left of
his
face
flat to
the road surface, the corpse almos
t perfectly
reflecting
a
n
Arab
at prayer
. By the Lieutenant
’
s side lay the firing cables he
had been
trying to mend when he had been shot.

All around
him lay two dozen still forms fro
m the engineer platoon and the G
erman
K
ommando, men who had tried their best and died.

The radio continued to call him but he was past caring.

‘
Cold, so cold.
’

Starshy Serzhant Olga Maleeva was
also
cold, but her coldness was within her mind. So far
,
her spotter tallied her at nineteen confirmed kills
for the day,
and it was
extremely
satisfying. The British deserved it of course
,
but she felt more joy when a German died, enjoying the
vision
thru her
PU scope.

Sergei stirred her to greater efforts.

“He’s still alive. You’re slipping
,
sweetheart.”

That would have earned him a
playful
blow, and might
still
do later, but concealed
as they were, it would
not pay to make quick movements
and
attract the enemy’s gaze.

Admitting to herself that she had hurried the last shot, Olga took more care, ignoring Sergei’s jibe.

The sights settled on the face of a man in pain but she felt no sympathy for the wounded corporal
.

Steadying herself on target, she released her breath slowly and pulled the trigger at the optimum moment.

The instantly ruined head jerked
, Maleeva grunted in satisfaction
,
and Sergei searched for other targets.

The leader of Kommando Bucholz watched as the man he had summoned dashed in an ungainly fashion across the open space between buildings
and fell headlong into the old G
asthaus on the edg
e of Everstorfermoor.

He moved to the top of the stairs and looked down upon the panting figure.

Never a man to beat about the bush
,
the impatient ex-Captain of
Armoured-
Infantry hollered at the man who had
just
dived into his position in
response
to
his Kommandof
ü
hrer
’
s
urgent
summons.

“Erwin, get up here
, first floor,
and bring your secret weapon!”

Despite his disability, t
he
new arrival
took the stairs two at a time and formally presented himself, saluting at the attention, resplendent in his German army uniform.

“Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann. What can I do for the Herr Hauptmann this evening?”

Choosing to ignore his old friend’s mock formality and the huge grin on Schultz’s face, he
pointed
the man towards the rocking chair in the corner of the room. Once Schultz was seated
,
he spoke quickly but softly.

“The pion
i
er
e
’s have had a hard time of it. We spotte
d two of the sniper’s, and they’
re dead
,
but it cost us too.”

Schultz had noticed the five bodies
placed
reverently outside
,
at the rear of the old
gasthaus
.

“So you need Irma and
me
to sort the problem out?”

Balancing on his good leg
,
Müller kicked a broken stirrup pump
that
lay
amongst the rubble
on the
bed
room
floor.

“Indeed I do
,
Feldwebel Schultz, but only if you are up to it obviously.”

“Depends if you are going to play the damned hero part whilst I work
,
Herr Hauptmann.”

Nearby
members of Kommando Bucholz were unsurprised by the exchange, for the two were old comrades, members of the ‘Grossdeutschland’ from its early days until they were both seriously wounded during the Battle of
Michurin-Rog
. Each had lost a leg in the action
, Hauptmann Müller in the act of destroying two tanks
that
threatened to overrun his company headquarters
,
and
Feldwebel
Schultz in re
flecting the same achievement
,
and
also
in
rescuing his wounded officer
,
whose leg had been blown off by a mortar shell. However, Schultz had also used an MG34, M
ü
ller’s Walther
,
and a bag of hand grenades to drive off the Russian infantry comp
any accompanying the four tanks, leaving over forty dead as they retired from the field.

Equipped with prosthetic limbs
,
neither had been fit to return to active duties and had trained replacements until dismissed
from service
in late April to return to their homes.

Both men wore their field uniforms, each man’s decorations mirroring the other’s, save
for the
Knights Cross dangling lazily at the throat of the junior man, courtesy of the senior’s recommendation
for his actions at Michurin Rog that bloody day.

“There is no cure for throat ache now
,
Herr Hauptmann, so keep your head down and pull whatever stunt you have to pull.”

Müller laughed
,
but it died quickly, for the throat ache he felt was the absence of the Knight’s Cross, which most in his
old machine-gun
unit felt he had earned a score of times on the Russian steppes.

“Just make sure that you and Irma do the job first time clear?”

Placing his ST-44
assault rifle carefully
in the corner of the room
,
Schultz pulled the secret weapon off his back and
removed
the blanket in which he always lovingly wrapped it.

The light playing on g
listening wood and metal
, Schultz
unveiled an object
of deadly bea
uty.
‘Irma’ had
formerly
been
part of
a
Soviet
Guards infantry unit that Grossdeutschland destroyed in 1942. H
aving been ripped from the frozen hands of its former owner
,
‘she’
became the personal weapon of choice for Feldwebel Schultz. Indeed, Müller had provided him with a
signed
document confirming his permission to bear the weapon and preventing
any overzealous officer from taking it away.

Over time
,
Schultz had
acquired and
hoarded ammunition for the Mosin-Nagant sniper’s rifle
. He
doted on it, oiling metal and wood, keeping the weapon in pristine shape and
prime
killing condition.