To the right of the wood, in front of the ridge but beyond the planned route of 3rd Platoon, a marsh spread out. On the other wing, the left wing on the other side of the road, the height continued until it disappeared in a forest edge. On that side of the road Lieutenant Shasta now deployed in line abreast. Shasta would take the height on his side of the road, Arno at the same time would take it on his side, the right side.
The mortar prep fire got started, the six pieces of Dion’s unit opening up. You heard popping sounds, whistles and finally detonations on the hill where the shells landed to soften the target and make it storm ripe. They knew the height had already been laid under artillery fire, the one heard during the motor march, but this wasn’t enough to knock out the position. Therefore, this additional garnish, to make Ivan keep his head down.
Arno looked at his watch. The mortar fire would last five minutes. On H Hour minus 3 minutes 3rd Platoon would begin advancing towards the ridge so that they could storm it just as the fire ceased.
The explosions were constant, shells landing all the time, right along the ridge. You could hear a whistle in a falling tone, then complete silence for a second, followed by the detonation. And so it went.
“Ready for battle!” Arno cried out over the line. The soldiers began to prepare themselves where they lay in their positions. They would rush ahead through the thickets in two columns. 1st Squad under Bauer to the right and 2nd Squad under Karnow leading the way to the left. Karnow would be closely followed by Arno and the MG Squad under Deschner. This was, you might note, the usual triangle formation.
Where he lay Arno exchanged a glance with Bauer. The other man, lying some fifteen metres away, was completely relaxed. The look under the helmet rim was solid, the expression somewhat amused. Arno winked in response. Whatever happens, this is the elite, he thought. In the whole wide world there are no better soldiers than the ones I have under my command.
Arno looked at the second hand of his watch.
Six seconds left.
He checked his equipment: Sturmgepäck with a hand grenade tucked ready, on the back the platoon radio, magazine pouches and a water bottle. And lastly the dear carbine.
Mortar shells whistled over their heads and landed with prolonged detonations on the ridge in front of them. The terrain was lit by the explosions.
Four seconds left.
Arno raised his hand, all the time with his eyes on the watch.
Three.
Two.
One.
He slashed his hand down and shouted “forward” with his best order voice, a stirring cry in the gathering dusk.
The soldiers rushed up in double column formation. The shells whistled. The terrain was rocky and brushy enough, even here on the flat. All ran quickly, there was no need for reminders to keep the pace, taking the advantage of the mortar fire as cover for the advance.
Arno glanced sideways and caught a glimpse of Bauer in the forefront of his group between the thickets. It was evening and again the ghostly glow in the sky started to show, the German specialty in this war: the clouds’ undersides highlighted by AA searchlights, casting a ghostly shimmer over the whole battlefield. The Russians, as we have seen, for their part used magnesium flares and illumination rounds to light up the darkness.
Mortar rounds were still crashing onto the ridge, which loomed as a dark silhouette before them.
They reached the point where the advance patrol of Panzer Grenadiers had been mown down. Dead and wounded soldiers in grey-green tunics covered the ground. Hands grabbed at ankles of the advancing soldiers. Heartbreaking cries.
They should of course have stayed and helped them. But there was no time for this. The battle task came first. This was the iron law of the combat zone. In this case it was to storm the ridge and cleanse it of anti-tank guns so that the Army could break out of the motti and reach Tarnopol.
The soldiers ran on, avoiding stepping on their wounded comrades. Once past this obstacle 3rd Platoon reached the foot of the hill. Arno told the men to keep going, not stop and rest.
They went about ten metres up the slope. The last detonation on the ridge rang out, echoing over the moors. There was a silence across the line, apart from the desperate cry of a wounded man. The Sergeant shouted to his right:
“Bauer!”
Out of the twilight some distance away came the response: “Aye!”
“We support! You advance!”
“Got it!”
To the MG team kneeling next to a tree stump Arno said:
“MG fire towards the ridge! Fire!”
And they opened up: with weapons at the hips the MG crew sent a stream of tracer bullets up to the crest. Carbine shooters joined in the firing.
Ten seconds later Arno ordered cease-fire. Then he cried for Bauer who now was some way up the slope. Bauer replied; Arno asked for covering fire and got it, leaping up and forward with his MG team on his heels. He hurled himself down in the cover of a small rocky shelf on the slope. He saw a detachment of StG-men stumbling by in the twilight, shouted “cover,” saw them hitting the dirt, heard more troops struggling up the hill behind him and saw a face in the darkness, Corporal Karnow. He also went into position with his StG.
The small-arms fire was like a wall of lead before them; the MG muzzle flashes illuminating the terrain of impact craters and shattered trees.
And cease fire and forward. Closely along with Arno were Corporal Karnow and soldiers Escher and Venlo.
They paused in a shell hole. Arno called Wistinghausen on the radio. The fore field reached without loss. The Captain ordered storming of the height.
Bauer had a hard time going forward on his wing. Arno saw him struggling up the hill on the right with some soldiers in tow. Arno shouted at him to hold the flank. The terrain was too steep in front of Bauer for him to continue straight ahead. “Be prepared to follow me!” Arno added. Bauer acknowledged.
Further forward. Arno’s team passed a dip in the slope. The speed of the advance was slowed down, Arno nearly tripped over a pile of stones. Inexorably they neared the enemy position. How far away was it? Arno wondered. How high? It felt close now, and the closer they got, the better the target they themselves became for the defenders.
A sharp bang was heard from the ridge, followed by a whizz over their heads. So the anti-tank stand up there wasn’t eliminated, despite the aerial bombardment, artillery and mortar. What were they firing at now? The waiting Panzers?
An MG Team arrived. It wasn’t much help now. But maybe it could provide some shock effect. Arno ordered it to fire towards the height. At the same time hostile gunfire lashed down towards them. They pressed themselves against the ground and let it pass.
Arno and his men dashed up a further stretch of slope to the fresh cover of a bomb crater. Now for hand grenades, Arno thought. Maybe it was 50 metres to the top. It had to succeed at once. If they didn’t break through here they were finished. And in the queue stood tanks with cold barrels and boiling engines.
Arno looked at the men he had with him: Karnow, Escher and Venlo, all crammed into this shallow shelter just below the target. The ridge.