His thigh protesting loudly, Von Arnesen got to his chosen position and signalled the attack with a simple nod.
Both man and boy pulled the pins on the grenades and threw them into the enemy position.
Both bounced into the trench, just as the defending DP started firing again after a reload.
The two Soviet soldiers who had covered that reload darted back into the trench and found themselves staring at death on the floor.
One threw himself back around the corner, falling in front of his machine-gun team who were busy firing at nothing in particular, just denying the French the trench on front of them.
The man died messily, and also blocked the DP’s fire.
Both grenades exploded, sufficiently apart to be individual, and to do their own specific killing.
The Soviet officer was first, thrown up out of the trench.
Three of his men were killed or wounded by the same grenade.
Von Arnesen’s grenade killed the DP gunner and badly wounded the loader, and spread its shrapnel equally between the remaining guardsmen.
Both attackers jumped into the trench and went about their grisly work, pistols barking in unison.
None of the defenders were in much state to put up any resistance, and so the two worked swiftly.
The main group arrived, less the medic, who remained to tend to the French NCO.
Quickly reloading his pistol as he moved, Von Arnesen found himself looking at the wooden structure rising out of the groun. Inside, the sounds of a huge fire fight broke out.
He halted his men, in order to understand what was happening.
‘Durand?’
Rushing into such a position, when there is an uncoordinated friendly attack going on was a stupidity, and so Von Arnesen’s group took cover and waited whilst their leader made an assessment.
Where the trench butted up to the bunker, a camouflage net hung, obscuring a doorway.
The netting ripped apart as a squealing Soviet officer threw himself through it, pursued by a bloodied Legionnaire.
The Soviet officer’s scream was cut short as a bayonet sliced into his throat and trashed the base of his skull.
The Irish Legionnaire, one of the old 13th DBLE men, recovered his rifle and made to defend himself against the new enemy, not realising they were friends.
Von Arnesen leapt up and shouted as loud as he could, as the blood-crazed man seemed intent on killing his whole party.
“A moi la Légion!”
Words that burned through the legionnaire’s bloodlust and brought him back to reality, which was just as well as Fischer was about to drop him dead.
With a slap on the shoulder and a gesture, the calmed man turned back to the fight and Von Arnesen led his men into the bunker.
Durand was using a rifle to deadly effect, his own submachine gun discarded for the moment in favour of the new weapon’s longer reach and accuracy.
Soviet soldiers were in view through the bunkers openings, retreating as fast as they could towards Grafenau, some dropping as Durand’s force opened more fire upon them.
The hedgehog had been taken.
Von Arnesen looked at his watch as he beckoned the radioman forward.
‘0958. Time flies.’
He watched as Durand dropped another running figure, silently impressed with the Frenchman’s skill.
Taking up the handset, he broadcast his success to Knocke, happily noticing more of his men popping up in positions to his left.
Turning to his right, he spotted more and, continuing his report, looked further on and saw the tanks of 1st and 4th Company in their defensive positions.
Some of them fired, and he looked to see what they were firing at.
“Mein Gott! Julius-zero-one to Anton. Russische panzers, at least two regiment’s worth, heavy and medium types, moving south from Magstadt towards Dagersheim, straight at our panzers over.”
“Roger Julius, Anton to Berta receiving over.”
Saluting an arriving USMC Lieutenant Colonel, Kowalski strolled casually out of the Hotel Stephanie and, as was his habit, turned to the right and walked up Schillerstraβe.
That was precisely what had been expected, but that didn’t mean that other eyes weren’t ready to follow him, had he turned the other way.
No chances were being taken with ‘Leopard’.
Crossing the road near the junction, Kowalski took a left into Bertholdstraβe, appreciating the fine lines of a classic Rolls-Royce that swept past.
He stopped to light a cigarette, turning back to the bin to deposit the spent match.
Kowalski had a lighter of course, but the walk past the bin and back permitted him to reverse direction quickly, just in case he was being followed.
He wasn’t.
Satisfied he was not under surveillance, he drew in the rich smoke and watched a convoy of Military Police drive slowly by.
But he was, and numerous eyes feigned disinterest in his presence, but were keenly aware of his every move.
He passed the newspaper seller and repeated his u-turn exercise, again seeing nothing untoward.
Paying for the newspaper, more of a local news pamphlet in reality, he folded it neatly and resumed his stroll.
An obvious suspect for ‘Deux’, investigations had discovered that the newspaper seller had some interesting sexual preferences, something that they would revisit in less fraught times. But other than that, he was clean.
He crossed the junction of Ludwig-Wilhelm-Straβe, increasing his pace, before turning right into Maria-Viktoria-Straβe. He entered a small bakery.
Uhlmann dispatched an IS-II that had slewed sideways, a single shell smashing the huge tank’s engine.
He keyed the mike as his gunner sought another victim.
“Berta engaging eighty plus tanks, IS-II and T-34 type, to front. Approaching due south from Magstadt, over.”
The crack of 75mm and 88mm guns could be heard all over the battlefield, rising in frequency and urgency, punctuated by the replying 85mm and 122mm weapons of the fast approaching enemy.
“Anton to Berta. You must hold, repeat, you must hold. Help is on its way, over and out.”
Uhlmann already knew he had nowhere to go, for to withdraw would leave the hedgehog outflanked, and the rest of ‘Camerone’ exposed.
The first part of Knocke’s assistance became apparent as shells from the Brigade’s artillery started to fall.
“Anton to Berta over.”
The response was not immediate, Uhlmann having more pressing concerns as two T-34’s drove hard straight at him.
‘Schiesse, you brave bastards!’
The first one was stopped dead by a direct hit, smoke swiftly building and pushing out of the sprung hatches before being replaced by urgent orange flames.
The second tank died within seconds, one of 4th Company’s Hetzer’s joining the action late.
Knocke understood his Tank Regiment commander was under pressure and so waited patiently.
“Berta to Anton receiving over.”
“Anton here. Passing Artillery to you. Further, over.”
Uhlmann looked at the shells landing and determined to alter the barrage a little, although Knocke had made a good attempt from distance.
“Berta here, roger, go ahead with further, over.”
“Anton here, deploying part of Emil to your right flank, securing against ‘Minsk’, remainder of Caesar to your position, further, over.”
Uhlmann processed that information. The rest of his First Company was coming to his rescue, and part of Third Company would seal any gap between his positions and Dagersheim.