“Good. We hit them, and we hit them goddamned hard… and we don’t stop hitting them until they raise their hands… and then only maybe.”
George Patton chuckled at his own humour, in concert with most of the officers present.
“The bombs’ll be dropped… I can’t tell you where and why… but they will be dropped… but they may not be enough.”
He turned to the huge map and put his hands on his hips like a dictator examining his empire, the markings of the immense coordinated attack loud and clear for all to see.
“We’ll hit the bastards everywhere… no respite… no stopping… won’t know what’s hit ‘em.”
Turning back round, Patton leant on the table.
“We know we’ll lose men, but I want as much done now as we can. What we don’t do now will fall to the generations to come, cos communism is a resilient enemy.”
There were mumbles of agreement from pretty much every mouth.
“When they give up, I want our front line as close to Moscow as it can be… because we, you and I, won’t have another chance like this… and if, sometime in the future, we and the Commies come to blows once more, we won’t have the advantages that we have now.”
He came erect and set his jaw.
“So, when we attack… in Norway… in Iran… in Siberia… and in Europe… give the bastards hell and don’t let up… keep attacking… push them back… and back… and back… otherwise it’ll be your grandkids that gotta pay the price of our failure.”
The Allies intended to end the war, one way or another….
…commencing at 0500 hrs on the morning of Tuesday, 1st April 1947.
2351 hrs, Sunday, 30th March 1947, headquarters of 1st GMRD, Polanów, Poland.
The commanders remained ramrod straight as Colonel General of Armoured Troops Pavel Rybalko delivered the final orders personally.
Rybalko was a brilliant armoured warfare specialist and his reputation ensured that 3rd Guards Tank Army got the very best men and equipment available.
That best was well represented by the units dedicated to the task of destroying the hated SS legionnaires, a grouping of quality formations temporarily known as Special Combat Group Rybalko.
Its contents were the very finest that Mother Russia could now field.
His own soldiers were from 91st Tank Battalion, soon to be awarded Guards status, and tankers and infantrymen from the 6th Guards Tank Corps, whose trail of honour ran through most important and bloody battles that the Red Army had fought since Kursk.
His other units were elite in name and in reputation.
Deniken and his superbly equipped 1st Guards Mechanised Rifle Division.
Chekov and the experienced and steadfast men and women of the 1st Guards Mechanised Assault Engineer Brigade.
Artem’yev and his veteran soldiers of the 116th Guards Rifle Division.
The Hungarian Major Sárközi, whose appearance amongst the elite group had been the subject of unspoken contempt until his soldiers had demonstrated what they could do with their deadly weapons of war.
The youngest and perhaps least experienced of them all, Major Stelmakh, commander of the newly reformed and re-equipped 6th Guards Independent Breakthrough Tank Regiment, not yet a full-size formation but still packing a terrible punch for its size.
The leadership of his units sported more decorations than an assembly of Soviet Marshals and politicians, and, Rybalko thought with no little smugness, his commanders wore honours earned upon the field of battle, not at some party seminar.
Only the Hungarian Sárközi lacked the Hero Award, but he wore his country’s own highest award, the Gold Medal for Bravery.
‘If courage alone were enough, these men would take me to the beaches of France by themselves!’
He spoke with renewed pride.
“Comrades, the eyes of the Rodina are upon us… upon you! In the years to come, when victories are spoken of in every corner of our lands, it will be this battle… this battle… that is spoken of with greatest reverence. You’re all old soldiers here… you need no words to drive you on to victory. Just look after yourselves, use the lives of your soldiers wisely, and victory will be ours!”
“Urrah!”
The operation would commence with Artem’yev’s attack at 0200 hrs on Tuesday morning.
2351 hrs, Sunday, 30th March 1947, headquarters, Legion Corps D’Assaut, Grzybów, Poland.
“Then that’s all we need, gentlemen.”
Knocke and Lavalle relaxed noticeably, the final results of aerial reconnaissance factored into their planning.
The Guards Motorised unit was a problem, but it seemed small in size and not located on the planned route of advance.
Those strange vehicles with the small cylinders on were likely flamethrowers, and would need watching, but were not considered a big problem because of their low numbers.
However, the new enemy heavy tanks, although relatively few in number, required careful thought, some movement of resources, and additional taskings for their air cover.
Their presence had previously been unsuspected and they would prove to be a problem unless the air support could neutralize them early in the battle.
The task given to the Corps D’Assaut had been great, but if the Gods of War played things fair and square then they would achieve their aims and broach the Vistula defences by securing two major crossing points at Tarnobrzeg and Sandomierz, the latter of which still had an operating and decently-sized bridge, contrary to the original intelligence estimate.
Camerone would take the lead, with Alma relegated to support and flank duties, with the 1er Infanterie tasked to make a diversionary attack south of the main assault, and slightly earlier, in order to try and lure any response forces away from the Vistula opposite Camerone, and other units moving along the Vistula keeping pace with Uhlmann’s lead group.
Once Sandomierz had fallen then Alma would concentrate upon Tarnobrzeg, with the Legion corps’ reserve troops in support.
Undoubtedly Lavalle had relied heavily on his senior commanders, from the tried and trusted tankers such as Uhlmann to the mud pounding infantrymen like St.Clair.
He felt confident that the Corps would do its job, but less confident about the cost.
“Gentlemen, our work is done. I’ll inform you of any late changes as soon as I can, but failing a second ice age or biblical visitation, we go at 0500 on the 1st. Any further questions?”
There were none.
“Good luck to you all. I’ve every confidence in you. Dismissed.”
Lavalle watched as they filed out, the combination of French/American uniform and German Knight’s Cross and other decorations still difficult to fully grasp, no matter how many times he met his senior commanders.
By prior arrangement, Knocke and St.Clair remained behind.
The three relaxed into seats next to the fire, deliberately away from the table that carried the paperwork of their hopes and fears.
Speaking directly to the flames, Lavalle opened his heart.
“We’ve all the information we need to make an effective plan… we‘ve made an effective plan… and yet…”
Knocke snorted in amusement, albeit amusement tinged with the anticipation of battle and the horrors it inevitably held.
“We’ve done the best we can with what we have, Christophe. Camerone can do the job and if we run into difficulties, then Celestin will come and help us out. The river crossing will be hard, but if the paratroopers do their job properly, Sandomierz will fall. It’s Tarnobrzeg that worries me more, but we’ve put plenty of Alma’s infantry nearby just in case we need to force passage with more weight.”