Looking across at his old comrade, he appreciated the man’s professional examination of his brain wave sniper trap.
The old fire hose secured to the door at head height, with the wooden shelf jammed in behind it on which the helmet had proudly sat before the second shot sent it spinning away.
“You are one perverted soul, Jochen Müller. I have to hand it to you on that one. The Devil will welcome you to his domain with open arms, you do know that?”
Müller guffawed loudly.
“Oh, what a comfort! Danke, Kamerad. At least I won’t be alone.”
Schultz acknowledged the point with an accepting nod and a grin.
The light moment evaporated as professionalism established itself once more.
“Same position or do you need to move?”
Schultz gave it a moment’s thought.
“I can go from here again I think. It was only the one sniper, wasn’t it?”
“Yes it was. So, when you’re ready, we shall see whether we will get any more customers for our contraption, although I think the Russians will be coming in larger numbers soon.”
As they had started their deadly game, the artillery and mortars had picked up their firing rates, a reasonable signpost for an imminent attack.
‘C’ Company had been very badly mauled in their defence of Tostedt, which was why Lascelles had shuffled the pack and dropped them back into Dreihausen, where they could quickly sort themselves out.
Only eighty-seven men had made it out of Tostedt, and then, only by the skin of their teeth. Behind them lay numerous dead and wounded, accompanied by a few volunteers to tend them. Many Canadians had been summarily executed before Zvorykin brought order.
Those eighty-seven survivors suddenly found themselves in a maelstrom of fire, as Soviet T-34’s and rider infantry charged down the road from Otter and crashed into their hastily prepared positions. Some 2” mortars coughed defiantly, a few rifles, and one Bren, got off a few shots before the position was overrun by dismounted submachine gunners.
The young 2nd Lieutenant who now commanded the unit was beaten to the ground as the company command post was overrun.
In less than ten minutes, ‘C’ Company had been wiped out, over half its survivors surrendering without a fight, too exhausted by their previous exertions to offer resistance.
Through the gap, Zvorykin led his own tired men, but victory has a habit of giving soldiers energy, and they were on top of the Carleton & York engineers before they could do more than manage a few desultory shots.
Dreihausen Bridge was intact and secure, and Major Zvorykin set about the second part of his orders.
It was ‘B’ Company who got the warning out, suddenly aware of enemy attacking from their south, as more Russian infantry and tanks pressed in on Tiefenbruch and Riepshof from the east.
The carrier soldiers and the dozen men from the ‘Bucholz’ found themselves attacked by tanks coming from Dreihausen.
Panzerfausts taught the tanks a harsh lesson and four T-34’s flamed in as many minutes. The Soviet infantry again dismounted and charged.
Some carriers were destroyed by tank shells, but five were captured as a brief close combat ended with the defenders overpowered. The Canadians, for the Russians now knew who they faced, were organised into a party and marched off to the rear at speed.
The five surviving members of the Kommando Bucholz’s Panzerfaust group were summarily executed as partisans.
Part of Yarishlov’s force was drawn into the fighting with ‘B’ Company, the Canadian perimeter swiftly became a circle as the unit was surrounded, along with the greater part of the Support platoon.
Radio messages screaming for support arrived in the battalion command post but the pot was empty.
‘A’ Company reported enemy infantry in Vaerlon and also in Burgsittensen.
Some good news came from the Admin Platoon stationed in the woods south-west of Avensermoor. They had spotted tanks to the south, probably coming from Stemmen, which had to make them friendly but that bright spot was tempered with the fact that efforts to make contact with the new force had failed, and so they were of limited value at the moment.
Enemy troops were pushing hard at Everstorfermoor and still the bridge was standing.
“Where is Roberts? Get him on the radio. I need him to sort that bloody mess out!”
The strain was beginning to tell as it became obvious that the Carleton & York’s were in big trouble.
“Any response from Brigade? I must have tanks and artillery support. Where’s my artillery support? The Russians are coming. Where is air eh? Where is my air?” The cigar rotated fiercely in his hand; a hand trembling with the strain.
In truth, a calm and rational officer could not have saved the battalion from the fate Yarishlov had prepared for it, but Lascelles’ obvious decline affected everyone, a feeling of near-panic spreading through the entire battalion headquarters.
Brigade Headquarters had heard the reports and had responded, both by radio and by dispatching physical support, but nothing they could do would salvage the situation.
Looking at the cigar, his psychological prop, he snorted and threw it onto the map table.
Lascelles slipped under the waves of despair and was engulfed by panic and terror in equal measure.
Through the mists of desperation he heard a voice shouting outside the command tent.
“Tanks! Fucking tanks!”
These were obviously the tanks Admin Platoon had seen, and a wild-eyed Lascelles dashed outside to make contact. Inside the tent, a shocked 1st Lieutenant tried hard to bring order to the chaos caused by his commanding officer’s rapid breakdown.
Lascelles’ mad dash caught the attention of the tank commander and he gave the contact report, his hull gunner easily locating the running figure and dropping him with a short burst. Lascalles died without understanding Admin Platoon’s error.
The majority of 4th Guards’ 1st Battalion swept up and into Wümme, fanning out to the north-west and enjoying the target laden environment laid out before them.
The Carleton & York’s mortar platoon had been pumping shell after shell across the Oste in an attempt to stop that assault and had no time to reorient before direct fire from a dozen T-34’s swept their position, killing one in five of the men in a few seconds.
From Burgsittensen in the north-west through to Dreihausen in the south-east, the Canadians were being slaughtered.
Some 6-pounder anti-tank guns from the 1st AT Regiment had been turned to face westwards, and they lashed out at the tanks in and around Wümme. The others started to seek targets in the area around Tostedt Land, finding it hard to distinguish between friend and foe in the failing light.
Zvorykin had under-estimated the distance and it had taken him longer than he had expected to move silently up the south bank of the Wümme River.
To his dismay, he witnessed one enemy gun find a target and spared a horrified, yet fascinated moment to watch the destroyed vehicle burn.
Checking his map he consulted his pre-noted coordinates and called for his radio.
“Sem’ya-Two-Zero, Sem’ya-Two-Zero, this is Brat-Three-Krasnyi over.”
The radio crackled with a response.
Rechecking his map, Zvorykin looked at the scene in front of him and satisfied himself that he was calling it in correctly.
“Sem’ya-Two-Zero, Sem’ya-Two-Zero, target koza, repeat target koza. Brat-Three-Krasnyi over.”
The operator on the other end repeated the order and waited.
Zvorykin waited too.
The sound of approaching shells gained precedence over the other sounds of battle, and Zvorykin was rewarded with a grandstand view of a regimental artillery strike on a position one kilometre in length.