The infantry company had suffered badly too, and the Major chose to withdraw further, sending a runner to the tank with the order.
The runner took a rifle bullet in the thigh before he relayed the instructions, bleeding out from his destroyed artery before he could take his own life with a grenade.
It was the driver who first spotted the danger.
“Enemy infantry in close! Left side!”
The gunner screamed at his officer.
“Keep them off the tank!”
Sazuki, strangely comprehending the man’s words, extended his head out of the turret, noting men in close.
The turret crew heard him shout at the figures scaling the side, ordering them off his tank like they were soldiers caught on a prank.
His brain seemed to comprehend what was happening, and the loader saw the ruined hand trying to free his Nambu pistol.
A dull thud overcame the other sounds of battle, and the young officer dropped back into the tank, his nose and jaw broken, front teeth removed by the powerful swipe of a rifle butt.
The loader had his own pistol out, shooting the first Chinese face that peered down the hatch.
“Move the tank!” He shouted, wondering why it hadn’t already reversed away.
The driver was already dead, shot in the face at point blank range.
In an attempt to swat the unwanted passengers off, the gunner traversed the main gun.
A disembodied Thompson sub-machine gun hovered over the hatch, discharging two bursts of bullets.
The turret stopped turning, the hull machine-gun stopped firing.
Only Sazuki remained alive, unharmed by the bullets that claimed the other three crew members.
An accented voice spoke in Japanese.
“Come out now or you die. Speak.”
Mori pulled himself upright as best he could but, his face swollen from the blow, was unable to speak.
His silence condemned him.
Rain descended through the hatch, falling on top of him and the dead loader.
He raised his face, appreciating its freshness, before realising that it was not rain and that death was about to visit him.
“Mother!”
A burning rag was dropped through the hatch and the inside of ‘Zuikaku’ became an instant and deadly inferno.
Chapter 75 – THE TRAITOR?
The betrayal of trust carries a heavy taboo.
The efforts outside Stuttgart had salvaged the Algerian Division, but only that, Soviet forces continuing their advances elsewhere and forcing back most of the French First Army.
De Lattre was already well into the process of moving headquarters, quitting the quaint town of Baden-Baden for the baronial surroundings of the Château de Craon, often referred to as the Palais d’Haroué. The relocation back to the Nancy area was considered appropriate by some, excessive by others.
However, for the Headquarters of the Legion Corps, it meant that buildings fit for purpose were becoming available and legionnaires now started to occupy rooms as the First Army personnel departed Baden-Baden.
‘Camerone’ had been pulled back, now floating around behind the front line ready to act as a fire brigade, should there be an issue. Its commander, Ernst-August Knocke, was also using the time to integrate the new units allocated to him according to the new order of battle, the former Alma unit. The 5th RdM was now permanently a part of ‘Camerone’, bringing it up to divisional strength.
‘Alma’ and ‘Amilakvari were in the front line, but remained untested as yet. ‘Tannenberg’, the motorised-infantry brigade, had given up some of its armour and equipment to reconstitute Knocke’s unit, so remained in the Rastatt area, its own headquarters now inhabiting those buildings in Waldprechtsweier previously used by ‘Camerone’.
A further Legion brigade and division were in the making at Sassy, although heavy equipment was becoming scarcer to find. Ex-Wehrmacht engineers and civilian personnel were presently inspecting factories in the Ruhr area in order to see what production could be accomplished, and some vehicles had been constructed by Allied military engineers already, although they were swallowed up by Guderian’s larger force already in the Ruhr.
Rumours of Speer’s efforts abounded, but Knocke preferred to see hard evidence.
In the main operations room, Lavalle and Bittrich discussed the military situation over coffee.
Knocke arrived at the front entrance and was immediately taken aside by Colonel Paul Desmarais, commander of ‘Tannenberg’, desperate to retain as much of his own resources as possible.
Knocke, sympathetic to the man’s woes, listened with good grace, although his own unit had needs and was prioritised over ‘Tannenberg’.
Two vehicles drew up together at the front of Hotel Stephanie, attracting the attention of the two Legion officers.
One was a military beast, muddy and bent, a kubelwagen that had seen better days. In the front seat was Lange, the newly appointed commander of ‘Alma’. On seeing Knocke, he smiled widely, but the smile was heavily laced with the pain of his ankle injury. He gingerly slid out of the passenger seat of the battered staff car before attempting the two steps to the main entrance.
Both Knocke and Desmarais offered their hands by way of assistance, and Lange accepted thankfully.
The kerfuffle behind drew all three’s attention.
The other vehicle was the first of six, all relatively pristine, as were the officers who dismounted from them. Some tugged tunics in place, others rushed to open doors, so that more important personages could dismount.
Knocke and Desmarais shook hands with Lange, none of the three taking their eyes off the growing sea of gold braid.
Eventually, the leader stepped forward, followed in order of seniority by the entourage.
The three Legion officers saluted as the unknown three-star General swept past; or rather tried to.
The two legionnaires on duty at the entrance challenged him immediately, barring the way, requesting his identification.
“Idiots! Step aside and let me pass. I am …”
Both legionnaires were from ‘Tannenberg’, and both were old desert hands.
Neither intended to budge an inch.
The senior, a Caporal, took the lead and interrupted the bluster.
“Sir, my standing orders do not permit me to allow you entry without identification. Now, your papers please, sir.”
“I will not give you my papers but you will give me your name, rank and number,” the furious General eyed the obviously younger man, “And you too!”
The Caporal stood his ground.
“Sir, first I must request of you that you permit me to inspect your papers. Please, sir.”
The crowd of French officers behind the General smiled openly, having witnessed their man destroy lesser beasts at will over the last few years.
The General’s moustache trembled, either in his anger or in delicious anticipation of what was to come.
“Stand aside now, or I will have you both court-martialled and shot for interfering with my duties!”
Another man stepped forward and both sentries snapped to attention in deference, but remained placed so as to obstruct the General’s progress.
“Sir, Colonel Knocke, Camerone Brigade.”
The salute was magnificent, as was the figure that now made the human barricade into a strength of three.
The General touched his cane to his cap, angry and curious in equal measure, the more so as the figure in front of him sported more medals than an army, and medals of the enemy to boot.
“Order these men to remove themselves ‘Colonel’, or I shall be forced to act.”