This first taste of ground combat since they had overcome the Germans pushed their resilience to the limit, and in the case of the Sergeant, beyond.
“Pull off the road and stop! Stop the tank!”
The driver did as he was ordered, although he was puzzled at the instruction, especially as ‘Polotsk’ was still about a kilometre from the turning.
“Engine off.”
Again he obeyed, but now he understood that the Sergeant’s nerve was completely gone now.
Standing clear in the turret the frightened Sergeant had sufficient composure to wave the following vehicles past, shouting at an enquiring Lieutenant about how the engine had given up.
The lead elements of the Soviet advance ground past until Stelmakh’s IS-III drew level and dropped off the road in front of the silent T-34.
In an instant, the young officer was out and boarding the other tank, suddenly aware that something was not right.
The squad of infantrymen remained huddled on the hull of the heavy tank, watching impassively; just thankful that whatever it was would keep them from the maelstrom for a few minutes longer.
The sounds of whispered voices arguing rose to meet the tank officer as he climbed aboard the T-34.
“Stelmakh here. What’s going on lads?”
He wasn’t prepared for the response.
“Fuck off, you child. Go and play with the British.”
Taking the briefest of moment’s to decide how to proceed, he took the plunge.
“Starshy Leytenant Stelmakh here. Give me your report. Why have you stopped here?”
“Tank’s fucked Comrade. We will have a look at it shortly, Sir.”
“Let us look at it together…now, Comrade?” Vladimir’s tone not betraying his nervousness.
“Sergeant Chelpanov.”
“Comrade Sergeant Chelpanov. Now.”
The Sergeant rose from the turret, straight into the barrel of Stelmakh’s Tokarev automatic.
“Now, now, Comrade Leytenant, no need for that.”
“I will decide that, Comrade Sergeant. Now, what appears to be the problem?”
“Engine gave out, Comrade.”
“Get the grills open and we shall see.”
The moment the young officer had produced his pistol, his own crew had sprung into action, and the watching tank riders started to get more interested in events.
The IS-III gunners had stayed in place, watching to their front, in case the enemy decided to interfere, whilst Corporal Stepanov had armed himself with a PPD and moved to support Stelmakh. Three of the infantry squad dropped casually to the earth and moved to back up Stepanov.
Stood at the front of the tank, but out of the arc of the hull machine gun, Stepanov spoke loudly, so he could be heard by all.
“Problem, Comrade Starshy Leytenant?”
“It appears our comrades have an issue with their engine, Comrade Kaporal. We shall help.”
Stelmakh intended to say more but picked up on a hand signal from his driver.
Stepanov tapped on the driver’s position, the large hatch folding outwards immediately, exposing the face of a clearly worried tanker.
“Start your tank, Comrade Driver.”
The engine turned over without the merest suspicion of firing up.
“Excellent effort. Now Comrade,” his eyebrows adopted the position of a school teacher making a final attempt to deliver a vital lesson, “Let’s try it with the fuel switches on.”
The look from the driver confirmed Stepanov’s suspicions, and when the 12 cylinder diesel engine roared into life there was no more to be said.
The Sergeant and his crew knew their lives were forfeit.
Stepanov looked at his fellow tanker, maintaining a neutral expression. “These engines can be very temperamental, Comrade Driver. An air lock perhaps? Something lodged in the filter for a moment?”
A squad of heavily armed engineers drew up alongside, an old and experienced Starshina quickly stepping out.
“Comrades, can we help?”
Stelmakh straightened, his rank suddenly apparent, the Starshina saluting impressively, also now aware that the tank officer was holding his automatic.
“Comrade Mladshy Leytenant. Can we be of any assistance?”
Stelmakh slipped his pistol back into his pouch as he stared into the eyes of the tank sergeant.
“No help needed, thank you, Starshina. The Tridsat’s engine died but has now loyally rejoined us, ready for the advance.”
The Starshina did not relax his grip on the PPSh, his eyes flicking between the pistol and the white face of the tank sergeant.
As if suddenly realising he was holding a pistol, Stelmakh laughed.
“I had to threaten it of course, Comrade Starshina.”
Slipping the Tokarev back into its holster, Stelmakh dropped to the ground.
The men exchanged further salutes, the Starshina’s look informing Stelmakh that he understood only too well what had come to pass. He climbed back into the captured Opel blitz and accelerated away.
Chelpanov stepped onto the front hull, sitting on the leading edge of the turret and exchanging a look of relief with his driver.
The Lieutenant turned and spoke softly to the tank Sergeant.
“We are all afraid, Comrade, but we must go on.”
The Sergeant looked shocked, still coming to terms with the fact that he was not going to be summarily shot.
“I don’t want to die. I’ve done my share, Sir. I just want to go home.”
Stelmakh looked at his own driver, who could only shrug.
Turning back to the Sergeant, he could only speak from the heart.
“We are all soldiers of the Rodina, and she has called us to fight against aggression once more. Many have done their share, Comrade, and yet they still go forward. Can you or I hold back and hide when such men continue to do their duty?”
The sergeant replied with resignation.
“It is fine for you, brave and unblooded. You have no idea, Comrade, no idea what it is like to be so afraid!”
Stepanov had been slowly climbing up to the turret but heard the tankman’s words and bounded forward, grabbing the man by the lapels.
“You useless fucking prick! You think you are the only man who is scared on the battlefield? Fucking idiot!”
Calming himself, he let the sergeant go and adjusted the slipped strap of his submachine gun.
“I’ve been in combat since 1941, and I have never felt brave or invulnerable. I always feel scared, as does the Starshy here,” he indicated Stelmakh, climbing back up the side of the tank, who suddenly realised that he had not fooled his crew one iota.
“But he goes on, through his fear; and he fights!”
Stepanov answered Stelmakh’s unspoken question with a shrug and a half-smile before turning back to the object of his diatribe.
“We are all scared, always scared. What it is important is that our courage overcomes and we do what we can, for the Motherland and our comrades, those we know by name and those we have never heard of.”
The silence was broken by artillery falling to their south, far enough away not to cause concern but close enough to remind all of the trial ahead.
The Sergeant sighed.
“You are right of course. I am sorry. I ordered my crew to do what they did, and they are not to blame. What would you have me do, Comrade Leytenant?”
Stelmakh smiled genuinely, and slapped the man on the shoulder.
“Remember what this man just said, and look after your comrades. Now, I believe you are supposed to be up there?” he indicated the distant houses.
“Thank you, Comrade Starshy Leytenant.”
“Oh, and Serzhant. We will say no more about this unfortunate…?”
He looked at Stepanov, seeking the words.
“Filter blockage, comrade Starshy Leytenant. I have no doubt that on next maintenance, the driver will be able to produce evidence of a blockage.”
That message was received by the man in the front of the T-34.