The seventh rocket to land dropped at the rear of the ruined truck in which the two snipers were hiding.
After the battle was over, and Tostedt was in Soviet hands, comrades searched long and hard for the pair. Of Yarit, there was simply no trace. The sniper unit’s senior Non-com was finally persuaded to climb a tree and knock down an indescribable something that was hanging in its branches. Lacking head, arms and legs, the destroyed body was beyond identification, save for the obvious shapely right breast.
The only female missing was Lena Panfilova, so her grieving comrades swiftly buried the corpse, on the assumption that it was their prettiest and youngest killer.
Allied forces – Carleton & York Regiment, 4th Platoon, Saskatoon Light Infantry [MG] all of 3rd Canadian Infantry Brigade, 3rd Field Regiment RCHA, 2nd Platoon, 4th Canadian Field Company RCE, B Battery, 1st Anti-Tank Regiment RCHA, all of 1st Canadian Infantry Division, Canadian I Corps, Canadian First Army, British 21st Army Group. Kommando Tostedt, Kommando Bucholz.
Soviet Forces – 4th Guards Tank Brigade, 1st Company, 79th Motorcycle Battalion, 2nd Company, 1st Battalion, 1695th AA Regiment, all of 2nd Guards Tank Corps, 1195th Rifle Regiment, 1197th Rifle Regiment, 920th Artillery Regiment all of 360th Rifle Division, Army sniper section, 1st Battalion, 2nd Guards Assault Engineer Sapper Brigade, all of 11th Guards Army, 1st Baltic Front.
Colonel Yarishlov was extremely satisfied. The lead formations had initially walked through the enemy front line, so effective had been the artillery strike. In fact, the main issue slowing the initial advance had been the destruction to roads and tracks ravaged by shells from Soviet artillery pieces.
2nd Guards Tank Corps was one of a number of fresh units temporarily assigned to the 11th Guards Army, to bolster the attacking force in its drive south-west towards Bremen.
The infantry of 360th Rifle Division had leap-frogged his armour, and their attacks had eventually cleared out the town ahead, at the cost of decimating the 1193rd Rifle Regiment, only for the Division to grind to a halt when the Germans and Canadian forces stopped the assault just short of the bridges over the Oste and Wümme. They then counter-attacked and drove the survivors back through Rotenburg and Wistedt all the way into Tostedt. 1193rd with the assistance of relatively fresh 1197th tried at once to renew the advance, but heavy casualties took their toll, and they were unable to progress alone. Yarishlov’s 4th Guards Tank Brigade was ordered to support a second attempt to dislodge the enemy, and to open the route to Stemmen, Lauenbruck and Scheeβel for the rest of the Corps.
Already the timetable was falling well behind, and so there was no time for the niceties of complex planning, even though his men were more understanding and proficient than most. But neither did that mean that the tank Colonel was going to just hammer in, regardless of casualties.
A cursory look at the map was sufficient for Yarishlov to appreciate the risks of his attack, and to plan accordingly.
According to reports from the competent commander of the 360th, the only bridge intact on his right flank seemed to be that just east of Everstorfermoor, the defenders having brought down all but one of the bridges west and south-west of Rotenburg. The man believed that the water barrier was easily enough forded by infantry in places, but had not tested the possibility as yet. He was now on his way to the rear, his war cut short by a simple stumble that left the man with a painfully dislocated right knee. Yarishlov assumed command of all forces in the area and assembled his officers for a swift and simple briefing.
Unable to take a chance that the Oste River might be fordable and not having the time to do proper reconnaissance, Yarishlov looked to a more southerly approach for his main drive, hooking around through the hamlets of Riepshof and Tiefenbruch and following the rail line through Dreihausen, crossing over the Wümme River by the rail bridge that was apparently still standing.
He described the line of march with his hands, examining each officer’s reaction as he looked for a sign of weakness or doubt. None was forthcoming, and the tank Colonel was encouraged as good questions were asked, confirming that the men of his command understood their business.
The area between the rivers, centred on Tostedt Land, was of great interest to him and he drew his men in closer to the map, outlining a possible change of plan, should circumstances proved favourable.
The young Major now commanding the roughly-handled 1197th Regiment moved closer and examined the map, suggesting a small modification to Yarishlov’s move westwards through Tostedt Land, leaving a smear of blood on the Wümme river line between Wümme and Dreihausen. The modification was a good one, and the artillery commander confirmed the change was an improvement. Devoid of ego, Yarishlov always encouraged and welcomed the input of his officers, and he openly commended the man, which went a long way to overcoming the pain of the Major’s wound.
When he had finished his briefing, watches were synchronised, and then the officers were dismissed to their commands, but not before he ordered the wounded Major to get some attention to his damaged forearm.
Suddenly finding himself alone in the school room that presently served as his headquarters, Yarishlov stretched and lazily searched his pockets for a cigarette.
A knock on the door startled the Colonel out of his daydream, the more so as the knocker didn’t wait for permission to enter and just kicked the door open.
Starshina Stefan Yurievich Kriks almost ran through the doorway, his hands full of huge enamel mugs brimming with obviously scalding hot liquid, his cries of distress growing in volume with every step.
“Ay-yay-yay-yay-yay!”
The mugs hit the table, each spilling a quantity of the dark brown liquid. The NCO was more interested in his hands, licking each in turn, feeling the heat on his tongue.
Colonel Yarishlov drew himself up to his full height and adopted a formal voice.
“Starshina Kriks. Look at my door, you thug! What have you got to say for yourself?”
Kriks noted the displaced hinge and cocked an eyebrow. Maybe he had kicked it a bit hard after all.
“Comrade Colonel, I was bringing you tea and I could not delay. Had I waited for you to answer the door, then I would now be on the way to hospital with burned fingers, and I would be risking a charge of self-inflicted injury from our revolutionary brothers in the NKVD.”
Yarishlov sniggered.
“Good answer, Starshina, good answer.”
The two men shared a grin, the sort that men who have endured hell together exchange; one that requires no words.
Kriks popped out some English Players cigarettes and the two relaxed in each other’s company, away from the rigours of military formality.
Smoking and sipping alternately, there was no need for words until an ambulance passing by the window ground its gears noisily, breaking the reverie, and making both look up, its woeful cargo immediately apparent.
Kriks pointed his mug at the vehicle.
“The 360th boys did their best today, Comrade. They took a beating, but they are still up for a fight. I’ve seen nothing but an excellent spirit from them. I’m surprised they aren’t Guards yet.”
Yarishlov nodded in acknowledgement, both of the wounded men and of his NCO’s words, and raised the drink to his lips again. Kriks, the man with the asbestos throat, finished his, exposing the maple leaf on the bottom of his mug.