It was not without risk, especially as it placed the Soviet troops on the same side of the Wümme River as their quarry. Normally a modest waterway, the recent rains had swollen the Wümme to twice the size, and defensive work on the banks, both from the previous conflict and more recent additions, had created an obstacle of note.
At Scheeßel, the newly promoted Major Deniken, now commander of the much depleted 49th Regiment, sought out the 4th Guards Tanks’ commander, and requested support from the man. Despite having ground to a halt with fuel supply issues, the Tank Colonel understood the situation perfectly and made arrangements for fuel to be siphoned from a number of vehicles, providing a back up force of ten T-34’s and two SPAA vehicles for Deniken’s advance.
The concussion he had received at Heilingenthal was almost past, but his arm wound still ached, and the healing process was constantly disrupted by his inability to rest.
Taking leave of the Tank officer, he brought together his command group and organised the move, so that he would be ready the moment the tanks were provisioned.
Kriks saluted and stepped to one side as the infantry Major left the room, watching the man depart before he entered the HQ and offered his commander a German canteen without announcing its contents.
Yarishlov sniffed cautiously and was greeted with the sweet smell of peach schnapps. He took a small sip before handing it back to his senior NCO.
Lighting up two cigarettes, the Starshina gestured in the direction of the departing Major.
“That man looks like he knows his business, Comrade Polkovnik.”
Taking the cigarette, Yarishlov could only agree.
“He has the look for sure, and he wears the Gold Star, so he has seen his combat time, and done well it seems. We just discussed his mission, and I am going to give him a helping hand.”
Yarishlov extended his hand to illustrate the point, which Kriks also interpreted as an opportunity to press the canteen into his Colonel’s palm again.
With a shake of his head, the offer was refused.
“A clear head is needed. Maybe later, if you manage to leave any, Comrade.”
In mock subservience, Kriks crashed to attention.
“It shall be as the Comrade Polkovnik directs, Comrade Polkovnik.”
“Hmmm,” was all Yarishlov could muster by way of reply, as he was concentrating on the map in his hand.
Outside, there was a hive of activity, as officers moved to obey the order and directed the siphoning of fuel from vehicles, but only after ensuring the non-runners were well hidden and properly positioned in the event of an enemy counter-attack.
Kriks stubbed out his cigarette on the window sill as he took in the scene.
“Comrade Polkovnik. I notice your tank is being fuelled. Are you planning to go on this outing too?”
Folding the paper carefully, and sliding it into his map case, Yarishlov considered his reply carefully.
“Starshina Kriks. I have been entrusted with a brand new vehicle and have yet to use it. The Corps commander might accuse me of avoiding the action if I don’t give him a report soon. And that could mean you end up with a new Polkovnik, who might be less tolerant of your little ways!”
The senior NCO smiled broadly.
“Then I will go and hurry matters along, in order to save you from such accusations, Comrade Polkovnik”, and punctuated his departure with a final swig from his liberated flask, “Your health, and long may you remain our understanding commander.”
The Soviet force set off south, preceded by Deniken’s depleted reconnaissance unit, and flanked by special platoons thrown together for the purpose. Immediately behind came the mixed force of armour, flak and mortars that could immediately swing into the support of the forward infantry units.
The recon troopers disappeared from view quite quickly, absorbed by the woods into which they drove at high speed.
3rd Battalion, under the trustworthy Grabin, was oriented to the east of the main road, accepting slower progress south in exchange for increased protection to the flank of the main force. A battalion in name only, 3rd comprised no more than one hundred and sixty fit soldiers, taken from all parts of the regiment.
1st Battalion had been butchered during the attack on Westergellersen and its survivors were moved into the 2nd Battalion, which had fared better during its own assault on neighbouring Südergellersen and now provided the main force of the 49th Guards Rifle Regiment.
Deniken’s HQ group consisted of a handful of staff officers, an automatic weapons laden headquarters infantry company, and the relatively unblooded mortar platoon, all other elements having been destroyed, or their remnants absorbed into 3rd Battalion.
From what Deniken could gather, his division would not be called upon further once this mission was out of the way, and a time of recuperation and reinforcement would follow. Not before time, as 36th Guards Rifle Corps had suffered horrendous casualties since the start of hostilities.
The sudden crack of a high-velocity weapon reached their ears over the drone of vehicle engines, telling Deniken that the dying was not yet over. Deeper explosions and the rattling of automatic fire followed.
Lead elements of the 2nd Battalion had reached the main body of the woods and immediately deployed from their vehicles, securing the edge, and ensuring the units behind could safely advance.
Deniken’s arrival with the 2nd coincided with the erratic return of one of his remaining BA-64 armoured cars.
The Lieutenant commanding the recon troop pointed out that his radio had been destroyed, lifting a bloodied arm as best he could to indicate the entry hole of solid shot in the hull front. He dropped to one knee and spread out the map he was holding, rapidly relating what had happened to the lead unit.
Deniken overhead it all as he strode up, the wounded officer’s voice loud, accentuated with pain and the excitement of battle.
The upshot of it was that the other armoured car had run over a mine and that the infantry had gone to ground either side of the road, receiving casualties from enemy machine-guns as they deployed.
The surviving BA-64 had manoeuvred quickly, but an anti-tank gun had made a hit, destroying their radio and wounding the driver, who was being retrieved from his vehicle even as the young officer passed on his information.
Not wishing to interrupt, Deniken stood back and let the Captain from 2nd glean all he could.
Consulting his own map, he listened in, making his own notes on likely anti-tank positions and machine-gun nests.
Without doubt, the enemy were sat astride the bridge in some strength, and had no intention of moving.
Walking away to his own command group, the growing racket of an armoured vehicle distracted him and he looked up to see the Tank Colonel approaching.
The tank, he wasn’t sure exactly what type it was, halted and the officer dropped swiftly to the ground, followed by a submachine gun toting NCO who adopted the position of bodyguard.
Exchanging casual salutes, Deniken briefed Yarishlov in on the latest developments.
A moment’s silence passed as each looked at the alternatives.
“The rail bridge, Comrade Polkovnik?”
Yarishlov could only agree with a nod.
“Get your other infantry element mounted up on my tanks and I will rush it. I take it you will do a set-piece holding action against the bridge here, Mayor?”
“Yes, I think so, Comrade Polkovnik. I will get my men in position as quickly as possible, get some mortar rounds on them, and pin them in place. Command have been very specific about the time we are to have secured Rotenburg by”, and with more than a hint of sarcasm, “Although less specific about the enemy sat in our way.”