Yet again, the Allied tanks were no match for the leviathan’s, and the Cromwell’s of the 10th Mounted Rifles were knocked out in quick order, the last two survivors falling back between Postmoor and Schragenberg, leaving the infantry component clinging to Habecksfeld.
Captain Evanin pulled his unit back five hundred metres and set about resupplying main rounds to his greedy tanks.
The IS-III carried only twenty-eight main gun rounds, which in modern combat was a distinct disadvantage and one the 6th had practised long and hard to overcome by constant exercises with their supply element in close support.
Elements of the supply company also awaited an opportunity to restock the other group, but the intensity of the fighting prevented then getting close in safety.
Whilst the heavy tank unit had remained unscathed, that could not be said of 47th’s tank units, numerous oily columns of smoke marking the position of dead T-34’s.
The main group of IS-III’s moved back once the swift restocking had been completed, and immediately ran into problems.
Artillery started to arrive on Evanin’s position and he kicked himself for returning to a previously registered position, regret that turned to anguish when one IS-III was struck by a heavy artillery shell, transforming the tank into silent wreckage from which no-one emerged. The remaining three tanks swung south-west and skirted the edge of Nottensdorf, looking to deal death and destruction to the Poles struggling around Bliedersdorf.
Five Shturmoviks appeared, survivors from a full regiment tasked with supporting the intended Soviet attack.
Selecting the most advanced group of allied tanks and infantry, the vee of aircraft swiftly attacked and dropped their PTAB cluster munitions over the southern prong of the Polish attack with devastating effect, killing tanks and halftracks as well as men.
High explosive transformed a few acres of Northern Germany into a place of death, and flames and smoke gave credence to the thought that the very gates of hell had been opened.
The 1st Armoured Regiment retained four Crusader AA tanks in its order of battle, and these were disposed in a line between Bliesdorfer and Postmoor.
The Soviet ground attack aircraft chose to turn hard starboard, intending to reverse course and return at low level, following the Elbe, which course took them right over the waiting twin 20mm Oerlikon’s of the AA Platoon.
One Shturmovik staggered as two AA tanks successfully found their target, the heavy 20mm cannon shells destroying the port wing, knocking off the aileron and wing tip, before they progressed further, chewing lumps from the fuselage on their way to damaging the tail plane and removing the rudder.
Uncontrollable, the Ilyushin aircraft rapidly lost height and crashed into a Polish anti-gun position halfway between Horneburg and Neuenkirchen.
A second Shturmovik was badly hit, rapidly falling behind its comrades. The struggling aircraft eventually fell victim to a roving RAF Mustang fighter.
Fire from the three IS-III’s under Evanin’s command was sufficient to break the nerve of a few of the Polish soldiers, whose panic became infectious, and soon the whole southern prong was retreating back into Bliedersdorf and, in quite a few cases, well beyond.
The central force, now aware that their comrades had been badly beaten, halted, and then started to give ground, moving back to occupy and defend Habecksfeld.
Major Pugach enjoyed the sight of the withdrawing Allied forces, but lacked the strength to push forward and make use of the advantage gained in the repulsing of both the southern and central assaults. To the north, the sounds of heavy fighting now became overpowering, particularly the boom of the big tank guns, and he ordered a further company of his infantry up to support the 6th Regiment’s tanks.
His opposite number, Lieutenant-Colonel Krol, was incensed that the Polish attack had ground to a halt.
Quickly consulting the map, he summoned up a possibility that had been discussed earlier that morning, and swiftly set his men to the new task.
Pulling back two troops from ‘A’ Squadron, a Firefly-heavy troop from the stalled ‘B’ Squadron, and adding in his own HQ tank troop as well as a troop of Stuart light tanks, Krol ordered a rapid movement to the north, hooking round through Neuenkirchen and then eastwards towards Jork, the plan being to secure the latter before driving south and into the unprotected rear of Nottensdorf.
Infantry support came from the carrier platoon, as yet unblooded, and ‘A’ Company’s 3 and 4 Platoon’s, also unscathed.
Perlman, the Fallschirmjager Major, who had recovered sufficiently from his ordeal at the Hamburg Rathaus, was unsure what to think. The Poles had started badly but now seemed to be reacting well to the crisis, still planning to attack.
He waited for a break in Krol’s orders, or as he started to think, when the Pole actually decided to take a breath.
He seized his moment as the harassed Polish officer lit up a cigarette.
“Oberstleutnant Krol, may I offering my mobile platoon for some measure?”
Krol’s knee-jerk reaction was to decline, but the professional in him decided he could not refuse thirty well-armed experienced men, experienced soldiers who also carried a number of the excellent panzerfausts in their vehicles, two SDKFZ 251 Ausf C half-tracks and one of the later model Ausf D’s. The additional firepower of the vehicle mounted MG42’s would also be welcome.
Again he consulted the map, drawing the German forward.
“Get all of your men up to Guderhandviertal immediately, not just the mobile platoon, and be prepared to act as my reserve force, Perlmann.”
“As you order, Sir. I will forward Hauptmann Schuster’s mobile platoon immediate and following with the rest of mine men in the lorries.” His nod to the Hauptfeldwebel was sufficient to set the man moving to the task.
The HQ light tank troop had pressed forward swiftly, performing a standard leap-frogging advance up Route 140.
The route was less than ideal. The coastal plain was normally boggy, without the recent rains. The additional water ensured that nothing but a man on foot could move far from the roads.
‘Almost like there isn’t a war on’, thought the Sergeant in charge of the lead vehicle, right up to the time that a relic of the previous war exploded, the Stuart swinging off the road, its broken right track flopping uselessly out both behind and in front of the immobilised light tank.
The column of recon vehicles moved slowly past the stricken tank, continuing the leapfrogging style, an occasional cat-call or laugh aimed at the hapless crew as they dismounted to effect repairs.
Bazyli Czernin, an experienced NCO, dropped to the ground at the back of the tank, his feet positioned neatly on the soil disrupted by the intact track.
“Watch out, idiot!” he shouted as Kondrat, the clumsy new boy, landed heavily and nearly knocked the sergeant over. Kondrat and the other one weren’t bad soldiers. They were just new to the game and had much to learn.
“Careful boys, if the bloody cleaners missed one, they could have missed more.”
He stepped carefully around his vehicle, examining each blade of grass and stone as he went, satisfying himself that there was no further danger from mines.
Mazur, experienced driver, excellent soldier, and quite the most ugly man ever to inflict his visage upon the planet, had dismounted at the front, stepping onto the sanctuary of a fallen tree trunk. From there, he surveyed the ground at the front of the Stuart.
The other new boy, Rakowski, fed up with waiting on the glacis plate, gingerly stepped across onto the wooden refuge and slipped, his hand shooting out to steady himself.