“Lieutenant Durand, here is the gap,” the original plan made a gap in the woods to the rear of the hedgehog a focal point.
“Here is the log bunker,” he made a hole with the stick and drew the road in behind it, running from left to right.
“Here we are,” a very deliberate thrust of the stick generated a suitable marker.
“Take your platoon around to the right and get behind the bunker to this point,” he emphasised the location with another, deeper hole, “Take anyone who retreats from the bunker and prevent its reinforcement, but do not cross the road. Move now, but stay in that position until we come up to you.”
Lieutenant Durand, once of the Vichy 6th REI, captured in Syria in 1941, understood his orders and sped away to get his men together.
Von Arnesen turned to his own group, and the stragglers who had joined it, briefing them in their part in the push, namely the trench assault on the bunker.
A quick radio conversation informed Knocke of his intent, and a second ordered two more companies of legionnaires into the hedgehog defensive system.
The group of twenty men moved off into the left-hand trench as the last of Durand’s men disappeared down the larger right-hand trench.
Elsewhere in the hedgehog, submachine guns were at work, assisted by grenades. The more grisly and close work made little identifiable noise.
At the front of Von Arnesen’s group there was a sudden commotion, and he could see men scattering.
An explosion and cries of pain followed, the point man having been wounded by a Soviet grenade.
The bleeding man was dragged backwards and young legionnaire took his place, dropping his Kar98k and picking up the wounded corporal’s ST44 and spare magazines.
Checking behind him, the legionnaire took a quick look over the parapet. Satisfied he dropped down again and then stole a look round the corner. He shouted a warning but stood his ground, pausing to catch the thrown grenade before returning it down the trench.
A solid crump followed, followed by more screams. The legionnaire ran forwards, the assault rifle spitting bullets in short bursts.
Support quickly followed, and another section of trench was wrenched from Soviet hands.
Three Soviet guardsmen lay wounded on the ground, obstructing the way forward with their damaged bodies.
Two legionnaires dragged them backwards swiftly, immune to the extra screams from the most wounded one, his entrails catching on an ammunition box as he was moved.
Ex-Hauptscharfuhrer Höffman cocked his Colt pistol and dispatched each in turn, killing with a single shot to the forehead, his eyes cold and clinical.
“Schiesse untermensch.”
The Colt was replaced and he thought no more about it.
Time was against them, so Von Arnesen pushed them on again.
At ‘Minsk’, it was mayhem.
More T-70’s had declared themselves, harrying the infantry, whilst trying not to expose themselves to the Panthers and Panzer IV’s of Uhlmann’s command.
The battle with the ISU’s had distracted him momentarily, but he saw the fight going in the Allies favour and returned to his own more immediate issues.
It was easy to see what was happening, house to house fighting going on in front of his eyes.
He pushed the Panzer IV platoons closer up, with orders to support the infantry using high-explosives and machine-guns, retaining his Panther units on the flanks to increase their killing zones.
The Panzer IV’s were shelling furiously, some directed by infantrymen, NCO’s and officers sheltering behind their turrets, pointing out a tough pocket here, a suspected position there.
Dagersheim seemed to be slowly melting before his eyes, the edge of the town crumbling under the assault.
To avoid artillery, Uhlmann moved his command group once more, favouring the southern side again.
His gunner spotted an ISU and sought permission to engage, but the SP gun was knocked out by another tank before he could fire.
Uhlmann spared another look at the ‘Alma’ units and saw them closing, much as his own infantry force, closer combat taking place in the woods and outskirts of Boblingen.
Numerous ISU’s were knocked out within his field of vision, yet more marked only by a pall of smoke from somewhere in the distance.
He grunted with satisfaction as he dwelt on one of his Bergepanther’s, rushing up to a disabled JagdPanther, the self-propelled guns’ heavy track unravelled after a direct hit.
His ears became aware of the distinctive crack of a Panther’s 75mm, and then the reports from his 2nd Company commander positioned on the North side, reporting a sally by Soviet tanks.
Between the Hedgehog and Dagersheim, the ground had been shorn of trees by the artillery of both sides, both from this conflict and the last. Uhlmann’s Panthers used the field of fire to its fullest extent.
A second report quickly followed.
“Dora-zero-one to Berta over.”
Uhlmann faced north, watching his Panthers urgently redeploying.
“Berta receiving. Go ahead.”
“Dora-zero-one, we have numerous IS heavy tanks to our front, supported by…”
The transmission cut short, coinciding with the appearance of an immense fireball topped by a slowly-rolling tank turret, tons of metal thrown skywards by the force of the explosion.
Uhlmann could imagine Schneider’s baby face as the turret tumbled back to earth.
“Berta to Dora-one-one, report.”
The first platoon’s second in line responded professionally.
“Dora-one-one to Berta, zero-one is destroyed. Heavy and medium tanks in brigade strength to our front, range two thousand metres. Dora is engaging, over.”
“Berta acknowledged. I will order Friedrich to support. Take care. Ende.”
Braun, call sign Dora-one-one, now the commander of first platoon, switched quickly to his own net, more to encourage his troopers than to issue orders, his eyes glued to the command sight.
“Target, heavy tank at 12 o’clock.”
“On.” The gunner had anticipated Braun’s selection and was tracking the leviathan’s progress.
“Feuer!”
The 75mm spat its high-velocity shell as the IS-II fired back.
The moving IS had little chance of success, and its shell passed the 75mm and disappeared beyond the target.
The Panther’s shell struck the front armour and ricocheted skywards in a shower of sparks.
Braun could comfortably expect to fire off three shells to every one from the IS-II.
Their second shell totally missed the Soviet vehicle, much to the surprise of commander and gunner, although not so much as a grunt passed between them.
The loader rammed home a third shell and the gunner sent it on its way, striking the enemy tank on the join between turret and hull, jamming the turret in place but not penetrating.
Another 75mm struck the IS, fired from a different angle, the solid shot penetrating between the front idler and the hull.
Hatches flew open, and the tank crew fled in all directions.
Braun ordered another target as the other Panther finished the tank off.
The T-70’s were buzzing around like flies but had no place in the tank engagement, their guns and armour insignificant in the confrontation between main battle tanks.
It was almost as if the Soviet commander had left them on the battlefield to distract the legion gunners, and to soak up shells that could have taken out the battle tanks.
If so, the tactic was successful.
Many of them were destroyed.
The T-34’s understood that their best chance of survival lay with closing, and they split into two wedges, flanking the heavy tanks and driving hard for the legion tank line.