Faulty reconnaissance work had failed to spot that the ground, whilst capable of supporting the Humber armoured cars of 10th Mounted Rifles advance element, would not take the medium tanks of ‘B’ Squadron, 1st Armoured Regiment.
There was no opportunity to chastise the officer responsible, as ‘A’ Squadron of the Rifles Reconnaissance Regiment had taken casualties and ground to a halt within Habecksfeld, its commander’s vehicle gently burning on the main road.
His own ‘A’ and ‘HQ’ companies were badly strung out between the two villages and under fire from Soviet mortars.
Whilst the German Paratrooper unit was in the woods behind Postmoor, and could have been sent to stimulate the southernmost prong, he decided to sort out the main attack first. Prejudice and hate had played their part in his positioning of Perlmann’s unit, and both continued to do so, excluding the experienced unit from his thinking.
The company commanders of the Highland Infantry’s ‘A’ and ‘HQ’ companies received forceful reminders to push forward in support of the tanks and he ordered more artillery to suppress Nottensdorf again.
‘B’ Squadron’s tanks were getting nowhere fast, and Major Pomorski decided to switch back to firmer ground, moving his command’s axis of advance to the rail track.
Immediately they made better progress, despite Soviet anti-tank guns bringing them under fire.
The lead tank was a relatively new M4 Sherman Firefly with a 17 pounder high-velocity gun, flanked by two 75mm equipped versions of the famous American medium tank. The nature of the terrain, boggy on one side with a small stream to the south, ensured that the armoured triangle was tight.
Pomorski’s ‘C’ Company pushed up with the tanks, successfully swatting aside Soviet infantry who had pushed out in advance of the main positions, losing only one vehicle as the combined force pushed on.
The force was made swift progress and quickly found itself level with Nottensdorf, screened from the town by trees.
The southernmost 75mm boomed, and a small hut disappeared, complete with whomever it was that had been stupid enough to show themselves as the tanks approached. The Sherman’s hull machine gun rapped out small bursts, lashing each clump of bushes or section of hedge with .30cal bullets.
The lead tank stopped and its turret moved almost imperceptibly. The gunner had responded to the commander’s orders and sought out the target that had been called. He found the squat shape immediately.
“On target!”
The commander, a battle-hardened old Sergeant, wasted not a moment.
“Fire!”
The tank bucked and the breech threw itself backwards.
“Driver forward and right…,” the smoke of his own gun obscured his view, so he quickly tried to remember the terrain ahead, “In behind the hedge to our right front, Jan!”
The tracks rode over the rails, bouncing the tank, as the driver located the spot he had been directed to.
The gunner rotated his gun to try and keep it pointing in the direction of the enemy tank. Another shell was already waiting in the weapon.
Sergeant Grybowski did not like what he saw through his periscope.
“Shit! There are three of the bastards!”
The gunner, Lance-Corporal Nowicki, had eyes solely for the one in his sight.
“On target!”
Grybowski gave the order as his periscope filled with light.
The 17 pounder shell grazed the gun mantlet of the Soviet tank, distorting the end of the co-axial machine gun before rocketing skywards without penetrating.
The armour-piercing shell from the IS-III’s 122mm gun struck on the base of the Sherman’s turret, instantly tossing the huge lump of steel and its human contents upwards and backwards. The two hull crew members, shocked, stunned, disoriented, looked back into unaccustomed daylight, albeit slightly blurry with smoke, and marred by fresh red stains, and a pair of trousers still containing the lower half of Lance-Corporal Nowicki.
Captain Evanin had split his small force, sending the group commanded by Stelmakh north, whilst pushing his own group of four tanks into the woods at Fischerhof, and it was Stelmakh who had destroyed the Firefly with his first shot.
The other two tanks fired at the accompanying Shermans, achieving one first time hit that transformed the notorious ‘Ronson’ into a fireball, from which the crew were lucky to escape.
The other Sherman dove to the right, spotting a track in the woods heading south.
Two minutes later, it ran headlong into one of Evanin’s group, and died.
Back on the assault route, ‘B’ Squadron tried hard to press home the attack, and accompanying infantry debussed into the woods, charging forward to threaten a flanking movement on the monster Soviet tanks.
Evanin may have been relatively new to combat himself but he was nothing if not efficient, and Stelmakh’s group profited from the close support of a full platoon of sub-machine gunners and a section of engineers.
Casualties amongst the Polish infantry were modest but enough to halt their efforts to get around the IS-III’s.
Understanding the problem’s, Stelmakh ordered his unit to move forward slowly, not wishing to find himself under artillery fire, orders which he passed on by hand signal to the accompanying infantry. The tremors in his hand went unnoticed.
A number of small and extremely bitter combats broke out in the woods as the Poles were slowly rolled backwards.
More Shermans were transformed into scrap metal for no loss, the enormous armour protection of the IS-III’s being impervious to anything the 75mm and 76mm guns could throw. The 17 pounders might have had a chance but, for reasons known only to the commander of ‘C’ Squadron, the remaining Fireflies were at the back of the advance. In truth, he had preserved his main gun tanks, as he expected solely infantry and anti-tank guns in defence, and had been supported in his view by reconnaissance photos taken that morning, photos that had singularly failed to spot any of the tanks of 47th Mechanised or 6th Guards Tank.
There was nothing the IS’s could not kill, and their heavy guns fired repeatedly, claiming hit after hit.
Stelmakh’s tank, ‘Krasny Suka’, was leading the advance, and therefore was the most vulnerable and vulnerable.
Spotting enemy infantry close by on the left, Stelmakh ordered his gunner to traverse the turret and spray the woods.
The weapon immediately malfunctioned as the first two bullets jammed hard in the distorted barrel.
Vladimir squealed in fear as an enemy shell struck below his hatch, the shaped charge PIAT round failing to explode, skipping off to drop beside the heavy tank.
Driven by self-preservation, he hauled himself up through the hatch and swivelled the heavy 12.7mm DShK machine-gun mount.
A second PIAT round whistled past him and he sent a stream of heavy calibre bullets into the group of Polish anti-tank soldiers, killing and wounding all six men.
A number of bullets pinged off the turret armour as both riflemen and machine-gunners attempted to cut down the foolish Soviet tank crewman.
He ducked back down inside the relative safety of the IS-III, his neck wet with blood from a metal splinter hit and his trousers again damp with the product of his bladder.
Fear ate at his insides as he tried to remember his training, a fear he overcame, pressing his eyes to the periscope again.
Regaining his composure, he once more started to direct the crew of ‘Krasny Suka’ in the fine art of killing.
Evanin’s IS-III’s had engaged the lead elements of the reconnaissance unit from their hidden position in the edge of the wood at Fischerhof.