No organised fire opposed them as they swept over the sky above the remaining lorries, from which tumbled scores of bewildered Soviet combat engineers.
Each aircraft dropped its load, each adding two aerodynamically shaped containers to fall erratically but unerringly to earth amongst the Soviet troops.
Twelve containers discharged their awful contents and turned the sky yellow in an instant, as fire flew in all directions, consuming everything in its path.
Napalm.
The casualties were horrendous; the lucky ones killed instantly, those for whom luck played no saviour’s role ran amongst their comrades screaming, the sticky napalm ensuring that fire destroyed them despite their efforts to escape it.
It was war at its most horrible.
The Fleet Air Arm aircraft went on their way, satisfied that their intervention had helped their ground colleagues, and knowing that they had given Ivan a bloody nose.
In reality, 3rd Battalion of the 66th Engineer-Sapper Brigade was wiped out, save the few men that Onichenko had with him in Jork. The survivors on the road were either wounded or so shocked as to be out of the war for some time to come.
Surprisingly, four of the 517th’s T-34’s were still runners, although their crews were similarly in shock.
The lone IS-III did not survive; its turret lay blackened some hundred yards from its smashed and twisted hull.
Stelmakh was distracted by the events to the south, firstly by the explosions, and secondly by the wall of flame that sprang up so awfully.
He suspected that the reinforcements were having a hard time but had no time to consider it further as he reached the corner at the same time as an M5 Stuart tank of the Polish Mounted Rifles.
The enemy tank fired first, the range a ridiculous thirty yards at the most.
The puny 37mm hard shot hit the turret of the IS-III and flew off into an adjacent building, one of the few left undamaged by the passage of the previous war.
The recon tank threw itself into reverse in an effort to survive, the driver skilfully performing the task without losing a track or fouling the debris lining the road.
A second shell missed the Soviet leviathan but struck one of the infantry group as they were jumping off their mount.
The distorted body was thrown back, coming to rest hanging upside down from a small balcony on a ruined house behind the IS-III.
The 122mm gun boomed out and the Stuart virtually disintegrated as the heavy high-explosive shell detonated on its front plate, killing the whole crew instantly.
Pulling into cover behind a pile of building debris, Stelmakh keyed his radio, intending to inform Evanin that half the Allied Army was coming down the road towards him. The message was not received as his commander had been forced to evacuate his tank when it was immobilised by enemy fire.
One of the infantry section sprinted up the side of the road, bent double, in an effort to be as small as possible. He disappeared thru a battered doorway, re-emerging ten seconds later without the satchel charge he had been carrying.
His sharp-eyed Sergeant had spotted another US light tank hiding behind the building, and sent the soldier on a mission to destroy it.
An explosion threw a mixed load of debris up and out from behind the building, some of which was clearly identifiable as parts of a vehicle, indicating a successful kill.
Stelmakh had no time to do anything but fight his tank, his vision filled with a force of enemy tanks strung out on the road in front of him. Approximately five hundred metres to his front the road curved, exposing the side armour of the Allied vehicles, but also permitting more than the front tanks to bring their guns to bear.
He selected a tank with a bigger looking gun and ordered the killing to start.
The shell streaked past the stationary vehicle, its own 17-pounder returning fire instantly.
The APDS shell clipped the side of the turret close by where the first hit had been sustained, again ricocheting off.
The IS-III fired again and was rewarded with an immediate explosion and fire in the target vehicle, a Sherman Firefly of the Polish Armoured Regiment’s ‘A’ Squadron.
Flashes from the roadway indicated more enemy shots but none struck the heavy tank, although infantry that had been close by in support decided to exercise discretion, moving further away from the object that was attracting so much attention.
Selecting another target, Stelmakh yelped with fear as a shell clanged heavily off the turret, again failing to penetrate the thick armour.
His bladder held and he ordered the shot, being rewarded with yet another ‘kill’ as the armour-piercing shell easily bit through the hull armour of a Sherman to their front.
Smoke started to thicken in his line of sight and he swiftly popped his head out of the open hatch, noting that the Allied troops were either throwing smoke grenades or small calibre mortars were putting down a screen.
In fact, both things were happening, as Krol tried hard to get his men to keep pushing.
The smoke was a good idea, as it screened the Poles from the deadly 122mm, but it also did the reverse, and Stelmakh swiftly ordered Stepanov to relocate forward.
The IS-III slid into the newly selected firing position and waited for the smoke to disperse.
It didn’t, seeming to continue to grow rather than dissipate.
An unearthly squeal marked the arrival of artillery shells, hammering the corner of Westerladekop where the IS-III had just moved from.
The Soviet tank crew appreciated that their youthful commander had acted quickly and saved them from the dangers of the artillery.
However, the Polish artillery claimed four of the infantry section, one shell bursting within the huddled group and leaving no identifiable trace of their existence.
Out through the smoke came two Shermans, side by side, charging like Napoleonic lancers.
Both 75mm’s fired together and their shells landed commendably close to where their gunners intended.
White phosphorous shells burn but also produce smoke and the two shells landed near the IS-III, one to the front and one to its left side.
Both tanks disappeared in the new cloud almost immediately.
“I can’t see!”
The gunner was strangely calm, perhaps because he was in one of the most heavily armoured tanks of the time, or perhaps because he had faith in his commander.
“Shift your aim to the bend, right of the smoke, see it?”
“Yes, Comrade Commander.”
The turret moved until the long gun was pointed at the spot Stelmakh had selected.
“If you have a target and can hit it, fire without my command. Clear?”
No answer came for two seconds, and then the breech flew backwards as the 122m lashed out again.
One of the Shermans lay askew, its offside running gear in ruins, track in pieces.
Bravely the crew stayed with the vehicle and got off another WP shell.
“Are you still sighted, Yuri?”
The gunner noted the use of his name.
“Yes, Comrade Commander.”
“Then kill him.”
Again the monster gun boomed and a shell streaked off into the smoke, disappearing quickly from view. The other side of the screen of chemical smoke, the heavy shell drove into the base of the tanks turret, killing the commander and gun crew. The hull crew abandoned immediately.
Off to the right edge of his vision, Stelmakh noticed a small movement.
“Gunner, machine gun, target right, infantry on foot.”
“Comrade, the machine gun is useless.”
In the heat of the moment, Stelmakh had forgotten.
“Govno! I forgot! Engage any tank you see on the road without my order.”
He popped his head up through the hatch, exchanging the smoky, propellant tainted air of the interior for the phosphorous smoke outside the tank.