Haefali’s attempt to close the gap had failed, but an air attack by, of all things, French-manned Thunderbolts, had struck the Legion lines instead of its intended target, ensuring that the force intent on restoring the line suffered casualties and disruption before it moved, and allowing the enemy to move through relatively unhindered.
On Route 9, T-54s and APCs of the 1st GMRD gathered themselves and drove towards their primary objective.
The breakthrough at Beszyce was complete and elements of the 171st Guards Rifle Regiment and the 6th GIBTR were moving forward unchallenged towards their new objective.
Knocke’s imagined convergence would be a reality in the shortest of times, not that he yet knew it.
Sulisɫawice.
0600 hrs, Tuesday. 1st April 1947, the Soviet positions on the Koprzywianka River near Route 79, Poland.
“The SS bastards’re up to no fucking good, Comrade Colonel”
Chekov was inclined to agree but was too busy to do anything but grunt at the infantryman’s comment.
“Can’t see a damn thing except the guns on the heights there.”
Legion artillery had put down a smoke screen at one stage, seemingly to mask a surge down Route 79, but it had come to naught, a sharp downpour making a nonsense of the artillerymen’s efforts.
Across the way, the enemy guns still sent shells across the divide, but it was almost like both sides were holding their collective breath for what came next.
The trouble was that Chekov had no idea what was next, and he didn’t like it one little bit.
He had no capacity to advance, at least not at this point, although to the south, his forces were progressing remarkably well against the enemy’s efforts. The air force report of a mixed force heading at full tilt towards his penetration point was unwelcome, if not a surprise.
‘Chinese whispers’ had denied him knowledge of the situation in and around Skotniki, where his understanding of the casualties caused by enemy fire suggested enemy artillery, not the presence of enemy tanks in his rear, as the reporters had tried to convey before their lives were extinguished.
The enemy artillery and mortars ceased as if by magic, leaving the battlefield suddenly silent, except for a strange whining sound to his back.
The first Chekov knew of Braun’s arrival in his rear was the explosion of one of his vehicle back at the road junction, followed by the briefest of exchanges of fire as the men he had left there were overcome by something… a something that caused a sensation of fear to turn his stomach to water.
Tank engines, the source of the whining that had first distracted him, grew in volume and a number of enemy armoured vehicles burst into view.
Braun had caught his enemy napping and he was determined to punish them.
“Dora-one-one, all Dora, pop red smoke now, repeat… pop red smoke now and spread out… line abreast… kill everything but keep moving… we’ll swing back if necessary. Out.”
The Schwarzpanthers, surrounded by a haze of red, poured 88mm fire into anything they could see, and machine-guns added to the killing frenzy.
Across the river, the trapped forces of Uhlmann’s ill-fated assault force started to travel south, conscious that their period of freedom of movement was probably limited.
Back in the Camerone headquarters, a modest izba on the southeastern outskirts of Sulisɫawice, Knocke received Durand’s radio message, reporting news of the ongoing attempt to relive the assault group, with visible relief.
Some engineer ATGs engaged the moving mass successfully, but brought retribution upon themselves as Braun’s attack meant the Legion gunners on the heights could operate more freely and concentrate their fire, carefully avoiding the red smoke and anything immersed in it.
“Driver, alarm! Right quarter turn!”
The reactions of the tank driver saved their lives as the MACE clipped the nearside edge of the front glacis and bounced away, exploding above an engineer squad’s trench and destroying the four men within.
“Gunner, gun, target to front, one hundred metres, low, straight ahead!”
The bow gunner pulled his trigger and sent a stream of bullets into whatever it was.
Men fell away from it and then disappeared as an 88mm shell easily smashed the GAZ and launcher.
The tank next to Braun’s blossomed into an orange and red plume as one of the Hungarian gunners evened the score.
“Scheisse! Driver, keep manoeuvring, gunners engage on sight.”
He propelled himself up through the cupola and found his eyes reacting to the growing light and increasing amount of acrid smoke.
Grabbing the MG-34 mount, he scanned the area and immediately found a target.
Cocking the weapon, he raked a group of soldiers who seemed to have ideas involving anti-tank grenades, ideas they lost interest in quickly, preferring self-preservation.
A bullet pinged off the side of the cupola and clipped his right elbow, bringing a squeal of pain.
Traversing the weapon, he put a burst into the sandbagged area from where the shots had come and was rewarded with a red mist.
He chose another target as one of the support halftracks dropped into the position, disgorging men in search of prey.
Chekov pulled himself out from underneath the dying Sárközi, the man’s blood filling his eyes, nostrils, and mouth.
Braun’s burst had destroyed the Hungarian’s physical features and opened his chest, from which the last vestiges of his life’s blood was pouring.
Aware of the sound of an approaching engine, he wiped his eyes and grabbed for the SKS rifle, at the same time throwing himself to one side as a heavy vehicle dropped down into the position and smashed through a number of his soldiers.
The first legionnaire who dropped off the side got two shots and went down screaming.
The next got similar.
Iska rose groggily to his feet, having been side swiped by the fender of the halftrack, holding his shattered ribs as best he could with a broken wrist.
“Untermensch!”
A German legionnaire rammed the butt of his ST45 into Iska’s jaw and drove the bone backwards.
Iska died instantly, his neck broken and his brain penetrated by shattered bone.
Chekov screamed in anger and pulled the trigger, completely missing the killer and doing no more than attracting his attention.
Perhaps it was the uniform of a senior officer that made the difference, but the legionnaire did not shoot Chekov down.
Instead he rushed forward and cannoned into the engineer colonel, smashing him to the floor by body weight alone.
Winded and disoriented, Chekov was manhandled and found himself in the back of the halftrack with the two legion soldiers he had shot, before someone thought it wiser to knock him out.
The halftrack reversed back out of the hole and moved across the area in search of further threats.
The bulk of the assault force had moved past the choke point, but still Durand hesitated to send the green star flares of success into the sky.
Leaving some of the AT company to cover Braun’s battle with their SP guns, he ordered the anti-tank guns on the heights to prepare to move back.
In the Soviet positions, the loss of commanders had been deeply felt, and most of those capable of rational thought plumbed for remaining in cover, rather than actively interfering in the withdrawal of Camerone’s prime attack group.