The retreating enemy stopped at another sandbagged defence line, roughly dead centre of the fountain’s pool, and ruggedly decided to go no further.
As they dropped back, Barkmann, his mind now less hazy, acted swiftly and decisively.
“Follow me!”
He led the survivors of his squad across the top of the wall, staking their safety in speed of movement against the disorientation of the retreating defenders.
Below the wall, the covering BAR team understood instinctively and put down fire on the fallen tree trunk, stopping only when their commander descended the wall, dropped onto the large trunk, and started to sweep the enemy beyond with bursts of fire.
The squad followed suit, and they caught the enemy below by surprise.
Carrera jumped down first and was immediately thrown back up as a grenade exploded between his feet.
He hung from the fallen trunk like a shattered scarecrow and screamed his last few moments out before blood loss overtook him.
The grenade thrower turned to run but was put down by Carrera’s vengeful men.
The Rangers jumped down and ran on, past dead and dying enemy, pausing only occasionally to put a bullet in a writhing body, or bayonet something that looked suspicious.
The BAR team moved up behind them, and occasionally added a bullet of their own to the mess of humanity.
They were joined by a full squad from Charlie Company, and soon Barkmann’s attack had some real momentum.
The positions in front of the main statues of the fountain were more prepared for the Ranger’s arrival, and more of Barkmann’s men were hit, forcing the Americans to ground.
Behind them, the Charlie squad pressed forward, through and then beyond the Baker Company survivors, rushing into the barrels of the defenders.
“Fall back, for fuck’s sake! Fall back!”
Half a dozen men were already down and the momentum was totally lost.
In a handful of seconds, the newly arrived squad had lost half its strength, and another man was killed as the survivors fell back.
“Stupid… fucking stupid!”
Barkmann raged at himself, but all could hear is words clearly.
The surviving defenders had repositioned another 12.7mm machine-gun and its heavy bullets were chewing away at the sandbags and tree trunks in which Barkmann and his men had taken refuge.
“Smoke grenades!”
He watched as those who had them brandished them.
“In their positions… I want them in their positions. We move right… fast and low, then hook back in the front. Ready!”
He yelled the order and the little missiles flew through the air, most landing close to the defensive line. Three landed the other side of it and gave the defenders next to them heart attacks before they realised what they were.
The Soviet officer in charge of the position yelled at his men and they fired everything they had down the line towards the American soldiers.
He even added a few of his last grenades for good measure, and imagined the enemy assault force being slaughtered in the storm of metal.
That same force smashed into the corner of his positions, on the edge of the smoke cloud, and started dealing out death and destruction in all directions.
Despite the close range, the Garands proved extremely effective, as the Rangers were far enough away to be able to pick off their enemy with roughly aimed shots, two per target, which normally resulted in a display of blood and pain, before moving on to find another victim.
The dispersing smoke did nothing to save the defenders, and more than one man received a double dose of lead from two or three Rangers at a time.
An SKS took some revenge, dropping two men before its owner’s stomach came apart under the simultaneous impact of four .30-06 and a triplet set of Thompson bullets.
Barkmann pulled the trigger on an empty magazine and dived to his left as a bloodied figure let fly with an automatic weapon, one bullet neatly removing the helmet strap and stinging his ear.
One of the Rangers loomed over the man and sent two shots flying through his head.
The Russians, undernourished and tired, broke and ran, the retreating gaggle disappearing into the growing gloom and smoke.
Barkmann set his surviving men to watch their side of the wall and organised the survivors of Charlie’s squad, plus the BAR team, with a view to seeing what was happening on the other side of the fountain.
He stopped in his tracks and picked up the weapon that had nearly claimed his life.
It had all the looks of the German assault rifle, but it wasn’t, and Barkmann knew its appearance was important.
He stowed it away under a tree trunk and resumed his intended plan.
On the other side of the fountain, Ford and his men had been stopped dead between the centre of the pond and the wall where he and Barkmann had split up.
Neither side seemed to have any grenades left, which was a mercy and a problem, depending which way they looked at it.
The ground in between the two factions was less than five metres across, but it was covered with the detritus of war, and the remains of those who had been unlucky this day.
Ford wondered if the area had been a designated latrine, the smell of urine and faeces was so overpowering.
The two sides gathered themselves, but considered the occasional unaimed shot as enough effort for the moment.
The stalemate would be expensive to break for whichever side decided to try.
Ford considered the alternatives and found none suitable.
He needed more men, more grenades, more time…
A crack behind him made him whirl round, but the bullet went high over his head and claimed the life of one of the more inquisitive Russians.
Irlam, from his new perch on the wall, close to where Barkmann had first lain, was high enough to start picking off the defenders.
He drew fire, but in doing so, the defenders exposed enough of themselves for Ford’s men to have a shot, and soon the defenders found that anything but hugging the ground was likely to prove fatal.
A BAR started up and caused havoc amongst the defence, as Barkmann and his men, perched amongst the statues, fired down into the defenceless men.
Hands started to go up, accompanied by the sound of weapons being discarded, and the demoralised soldiers rose to their feet.
Ford seized the moment and ordered his men to surge forward.
On the wall above, Lukas Barkmann gave the order and the guns fell silent. Other defenders, seeing the raised hands, started to surrender, and more of the new weapons were dropped to the floor.
Flares erupted into the night once more, and the shadows of Ranger and Red Army soldiers alike danced across the frozen mush of the pond.
Suddenly more machine-gun fire erupted, this time from Soviet positions closer to the Palace, and a storm of bullets ripped into bodies indiscriminately. Rangers and Russians were bowled over as the defenders of the palace were ordered to fire upon their surrendering comrades.
The casualties amongst the fountain’s defenders were awful, and the majority of those struck died under two or more impacts.
Ford and four of his men went down bloodily, a single 12.7mm bullet ploughing its way through the NCO’s shoulders from side to side.
Another bullet knocked Charlie’s BAR gunner out of his hiding place, leaving his lower jaw clinging to the dorsal fin of the exquisitely craved but battle damaged horse-cum-mermaid behind which he had taken cover.
Barkmann’s group tumbled off the statues, some backwards to drop the other side, near the BAR group, who were presently unengaged.
The Ranger officer and three others went forward, dropping quickly into the pond area and ducked behind anything that would stop a bullet.
He found Ford, struggling for breath, with each attempt bringing more bubbly blood to his lips.