His pencil made the notations.
“Here, arrange your 85s… keep a platoon undeployed… around here… Gervėnai.”
Yuri Nazarbayev made his own notes.
“I agree with the deployment of your SMG company… we’ll strengthen the front and the right flank… here and… here.”
Zvorykin thought for a moment.
“Tank hunter group into the town. One SMG platoon to be held in reserve… plus your own headquarters units… right here. I’ll organise a field telephone to them.”
He drew Nazarbayev down to the map with his gaze.
“I need to counter-attack here.”
He used his pencil to circle the modest hillock that oversaw Routes 132, 180, 2512, and 2507.
‘Senis Nosis.’
“It’s a vital point… and whoever controls it holds the town and the whole area in the palm of their hand. Tanks and mechanised infantry assault displaced my own force… far too easily… there are only a few of the bastards up there and I want them shifted back off before they reinforce. I’ve some mortars for support, but my rocket barrage unit has been dispersed by enemy counter-battery fire. No contact with any artillery, I’m afraid to say, Comrade Kapitan. We hold here.”
A jumble of names and numbers indicated Zvorykin’s forward positions.
“The shitty Poles are also to the south, and my men are falling back there too.”
Nazarbayev understood the Colonel’s dilemma perfectly. The height in question was raised enough to dominate the routes in and out of Seirijai.
“I’ll lead the attack myself, Comrade Polkovnik. One full company… plus a platoon of tanks and the engineers. I’ll take a signals group to lay a line so we can communicate. What can you give me?”
“Three platoons of infantry… also I can add a machine-gun platoon.”
“I’ll attack with my boys first. I’ll bring your men up later to hold the hill while I redeploy to form your mobile reserve. Satisfactory, Comrade Polkovnik?”
“Excellent, Comrade Kapitan… Nazarbayev, you say. Any relation to…”
“No, Comrade Polkovnik.”
“Fine… it’s now seven-thirty-six. Time of attack?”
Nazarbayev considered everything he had to do, and knew his men would carry out their orders swiftly.
“0815, Comrade Polkovnik?”
“Excellent.”
Things became even better as the signals officer announced that contact had been re-established with both Katyusha units.
0750 hrs, Tuesday, 25th March 1947, Old Man’s Nose, Route 2507, 500 metres southwest of Seirijai, Lithuania.
Czernin watched as the badly burned men were loaded onto one of the jeeps.
They were a pitiful sight and their cries of pain and suffering were almost too much to bear.
One moment the Centurion had been lazily picking off targets to the southeast, the next moment fire was licking out of the cupola as burning men pushed themselves out of the furnace and into the morning’s light.
Whatever it was had been an accident; it certainly hadn’t been enemy action.
One of the piteous casualties would know and be able to tell, unless it was the fault of the man who still remained in the burning tank, long since past help and meaningful rescue.
The remaining four tanks were conserving their ammunition, although a supply truck was rumoured to be on its way.
Czernin’s Chaffees were concealed towards the rear of Old Man’s Nose, ready to rush forward if needed.
Men of the Highland infantry were concealed, some in shell holes, others in former Soviet positions, near enough to watch over the Centurions in case the enemy grew bold and stalked them down.
The engineers took over the Soviet headquarters bunker that had cost them four men to overrun during the swift attack on the height.
The assault had seen Czernin’s light tanks and the mounted engineers and infantry wash over the defensive positions at lightning speed, and the majority of the defenders retreated as fast as their legs could carry them.
It was only at the small headquarters that any real resistance was met, and the four dead engineers and disabled halftrack served as testament to the short but bitter fight.
The headquarters now also served as an aid post, where another four engineers were tended by an overworked medic.
Major Visnevski, the commander of the Highland Battalion’s A Company, had accompanied his part-company and assumed command of the hill’s defence.
Having organised evacuation for the wounded and resupply for all units, he called an orders group together to discuss defence of the vital height.
The engineer unit was represented by an aging sergeant, their officer amongst the wounded.
A captain commanded the tanks and Czernin was now senior amongst the light tank troop commanders present.
Visnevski used a hand drawn diagram of the hill to support the main map, part of which bore the blood of his orderly, who also lay close by, being tended by the solitary medic.
“The tanks are already arranged on the leading slope, with infantry in support… here… here… here… and here… the engineers are holding the area round the bunker here… you…,” Czernin suddenly realised he was the focus of the Major’s words, “I need your tanks moved to here and here… two in each place… ready to push forward and support the infantry if the enemy gets numbers forward. Your fifth tank will place itself… err… here, with my reserve infantry section. That’ll be yourself, Sergeant Major. If there’s a gap, you and the infantry will plug it… understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. I’m assured we’ll get an artillery FOO here very soon. Until then we’ve the normal channels for artillery… and purple for any air assets that come our way. Any questions?”
“Ammunition, Sir?”
“Still on its way as previously stated. No further news. Experience tells me we need to conserve but if you’ve a target, put it down… tank or rifle… put the bastard down. Clear?”
They all agreed with that and mumbled their understanding.
“I’m not sure how long we’ll be here, but it’ll be at least until our forces have taken Seirijai and Okta. Figure midday at the earliest. Anything else?”
He waited a second or two before continuing.
“Excellent. Sergeant Major, make your moves as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Now, back to your units and the very best of luck, boys.”
Eighteen minutes later, Major Sebastian Visnevski’s head was parted from his shoulders by shrapnel from the second salvo of Katyusha rockets to descend upon the Old Man’s Nose.
0815 hrs, Tuesday, 25th March 1947, 500 metres northeast of Senis Nosis, Seirijai, Lithuania.
“Advance! Speed, comrades! Speed!”
The BTR-152s and mixed tanks leapt forward as one, making good ground as the defenders of Senis Nosis recovered from the effects of two Katyusha strikes.
The BTR-mounted 12.7mm DShK blasted away above his head, and was quickly joined by the two flanking smaller SGMB machine-guns, the three weapons spitting a combined rate of up to 1600 rounds per minute in the direction of the hill.
The platoon of T34/100s took the right flank and scaled the secondary level without taking any fire of note.
Centrally, four T-54s made a dash straight for the crown of Senis Nosis.
On the left flank a single T34/85 nervously pushed forward behind Nazarbayev’s advancing mechanised infantry.
He would have liked to put some smoke on the hill but that was denied him.
Not even the tanks possessed smoke.