Grabbing for the machine-gun, he became aware of ‘insects’ buzzing round him, deadly insects fired from a Bren gun supporting the small group of infantry.
He cocked the 12.7mm machine-gun, feeling a tug at his collar as a bullet passed close.
Again he conquered his bladder’s desire, controlling his fear and focussing on the task he had set himself.
The heavy DShK machine gun hammered out its bullets, throwing up earth and stones as he directed his first burst wide of the target.
Stelmakh adjusted, but felt the sting of pain before he fired again, a bullet clipping a lump of flesh out of his left forearm.
His fear left in an instant, replaced by a professional anger and his finger pulled the trigger again.
The Bren gunner, waiting whilst his number two set a new magazine in place, was the first to die, three of the heavy calibre bullets striking him and claiming his life instantly.
The loader was struck in the wrist as he placed the new magazine on the machine-gun, both hand and magazine flying away, leaving him screaming in pain.
Next to die was the radio operator, four bullets making a perfect line across his back as he turned to run.
The artillery observation officer was next. One bullet was enough.
Two of the supporting infantry were the last to die, one instantly, one eventually, as he had both femurs smashed by the heavy calibre rounds.
The remaining three men went to ground and decided to stay there indefinitely.
Stelmakh ducked back down to grab more ammunition as the main gun barked once more, smashing into a Firefly distant on the bend but flying off acutely, the angle of both the armour and the vehicle positioning defeating the heavy shell.
Another whoosh, and a metal clang told the crew that one more enemy shell had come close.
Quickly wrapping a cloth around his bleeding arm, he pulled the ammunition pannier up and rose up once more, only to find the DShK gone, the only sign of its presence being a small sheered metal bracket where it had once stood.
‘Govno!’
“Machine gun has gone,” he announced, matter of factly, as he dropped back down again, a sudden trembling present in his hands.
The loader finished ramming home a shell.
“Comrade Commander, we are low on ammunition.”
The IS-III had been born low on ammunition, being provided with twenty-eight rounds at best.
“How many, Viss?”
“Eleven, and only three armour-piercing.”
‘Oh fucking hell!’ thought Stelmakh.
“That’s enough to do the job,” said Stelmakh, portraying a confidence he did not wholly feel.
The gunner called a warning, and the big gun fired again.
Another Sherman burned.
“There are more targets than I have ammunition for, Comrade Starshy Leytenant,” said Yuri the gunner, the edge in h is voice showing that he was also just in control of himself.
“Maybe, but they don’t know that do they, Yuri?”
Stelmakh was coming of age.
“Pile on the pressure, Yuri. Save the armour piercing for the big gun tanks but I’m sure our HE will do the job on their Shermans.”
“What’s in the gun now?”
“AP.” The loader had the last AP round ready to load following the next shot.
“Give me HE from now on, Viss.”
The loader slid the component parts of an AP shell back into the rack. The 122mm was a powerful beast but had its drawbacks, split ammunition being but one of them.
“Firing!” came the warning and the IS-III dealt out death once more, although the shell missed it’s intended target it struck a bren gun carrier behind, wounding every man aboard.
More WP shells arrived bathing the area in a dense cloud of white smoke.
“Driver, relocate to previous position.”
The big tank was reversing within two seconds, the skills of Stepanov now apparent as he moved the vehicle backwards using solely his memory, before stopping and driving forward into the prime position again.
“Nice work, Ovy!”
The IS-III crew were doing extremely well, products of the training programme that Stelmakh had conducted.
But, despite intensive training, costly mistakes can still be made and such a mistake nearly cost the loader his life.
“Firing!” was the warning from the gunner, as he sent another shell on its way.
The breech crashed back but this time found something soft in its path. Flesh and bone stood no chance against steel propelled by explosive force.
Mercifully, the impact had also smashed Vissarion Gushko’s head against the wall of the turret, knocking him out at the same time as his shoulder and upper left arm were shattered by the unforgiving breech.
Stelmakh could only pull the injured man out of the way and stand in his stead, loading the two parts of the HE shell as quickly as he could.
The gunner had missed his previous shot and was determined to make up for his error.
He took the track off a Sherman and was pleased to spot the crew abandon immediately, fearful of sitting in an immobilised tank in front of the IS-III’s awesome gun.
The tank next to it suddenly blossomed into flame as a shell penetrated it and set it alight, roasting the crew alive.
One of the surviving T-34’s had made it up to support, even though the crew were still a little shocked from their near-death experiences.
Their first two shots had missed, and Stelmakh and crew weren’t even aware that they had help on hand until the T-34’s third shell struck home so spectacularly.
Another HE shell was rammed home and the last light tank in view came apart with the explosive force of the huge shell.
The fight went out of the Poles and they started to melt away, still laying smoke to cover their withdrawal.
Soviet artillery had started up a few minutes beforehand, called in by Onipchenko from his positions in Jork.
‘Polotsk’ had survived the encounter intact, albeit scarred by hits and near misses. Six enemy tanks lay in front of their position, testament to their solid defence.
An engineer Corporal scaled the tank glacis plate to offer shares in his personal vodka stash, so impressed was he with the tanker’s performance.
Three men from the Maxim crew had become casualties, one of which was fatal.
In Westerladekop, Stelmakh, Stepanov and Ferensky had pulled their beast back into cover and carefully extricated their wounded comrade, laying him on the engine deck until an ambulance came to take casualties away.
Stelmakh found himself still unable to make radio contact with anyone, so contented himself by talking with the infantry officer, gleaning as much information as he could about the wider battle.
Perversely, the Red Army had undoubtedly won the ground exchange, stopping each Polish advance in turn, causing more casualties than they sustained at each point.
None the less, the advantage gained had been lost by the badly timed arrival of the Royal Naval air squadrons, and the success of their attack.
It would have been no comfort to the soldiers on the ground to know that the RN aircraft had suffered 30% casualties in their attacks, falling foul of Soviet anti-aircraft guns in numbers.
A – Rumyantsev’s last position.
B – ‘Krasny Suka’ blunts Pomorski’s attack.
C – Czernin’s tank hits the mine.
D – ‘Polotsk’ has engine failure?
E – ‘Polotsk’s’ defensive positions.
F – ‘Krasny Suka’s’ defensive positions.