The 20pdr cannon fired a range of telling projectiles and he had not yet needed to use the few HESH in his stock, the APDS round more than sufficient to defeat the T-54s on front of him.
Unlike the 17pdr, which had required men like Patterson to create special shells, the 20pdr came equipped with its own lethal canister shell, and Mecklenburg was keen to see its effects on the approaching Soviet infantry.
He had spent the earlier war serving on the Italian Front in an aufklarungs unit, where he had once seen a 234/3 armoured car smash down a British infantry attack single-handed, with the use of the 75mm L/24’s canister round, a singularly deadly shot containing nine hundred and sixty steel balls. The 20pdr canister was apparently much worse, and he relished the opportunity to flay the hated untermensch with it.
There was a problem with his gun’s stabiliser, a lovely advantage when it worked, but as he was engaging from cover in the main, the loss was not too keenly felt.
All in all he loved his new tank and, despite his relative lack of experience, controlled his portion of the battlefield with ease.
“Target tank, left two, seven hundred, engage.”
“On. Firing!”
The 20pdr shell streaked down towards the T-54 and found luck on its side.
The enemy tank dipped its nose into a small hole and opened up its vulnerable roof plates to the incoming shell.
In a flash of sparks and molten metal, the APDS ate straight through the modest top armour and exited through the floor, having travelled through some of the underfloor ammunition and the loader’s right foot.
The man barely had time to scream before the propellant charges surrendered to the energy of the passing shell and exploded.
Pieces of tank flew in all directions, causing havoc with nearby infantry.
Still the 7th Guards Tanks pressed forward for, even though they continued to suffer, the fire was steadily lessening as, bit by bit, their persecutors grew fewer in number.
On the Legion’s left flank, Lohengrin was holding her own but Köster understood it was only a matter of time.
“Scheisse! Target tank, left eight, six hundred, fire when on!”
He had missed the approach completely, and his mind was already working back over things to establish how the enemy could have got so close without being observed.
“Firing!”
Jarome hit, but the shell angled off into the sky, the angling of the thick turret armour saving the vehicle and crew.
“Make sure of the bastard, Hans… we’re gonna have to move shortly! Driver, stand by!”
Jarome concentrated by some sense made him hold his fire.
Köster dropped his head down into the fighting compartment to see what was going on just as the breech leapt back and the gunner’s fire warning reached his ears.
The enemy tank had stopped to fire and Jarome seized the moment, slotting a solid shot into the join between turret and hull immediately underneath the main gun.
Whatever it did inside was anyone’s guess, but the driver pushed himself up and out of vehicle and staggered away before collapsing onto the damp grass.
Köster decided that now was the time.
“Driver, reverse and back left… move!”
Two more tanks came out of a defile, clearly how the first had come so close without being observed.
One put a shell on target, a fantastic shot from the moving tank, and the 100mm shell banged into the turret front but the angle saved them and it ricocheted off.
As the Tiger I reversed, Köster called the gunner in on the new targets and had a grandstand view as the lead tank ran straight over the survivor of their last kill.
Köster grimaced as he fancied he heard the man’s scream, but concentrated on looking backwards and correcting Meier’s reversing angle slightly.
“And halt. Forward and right… behind that wall.”
The driver changed gears with ease and Lohengrin was back behind some cover in an instant.
“Are you on, Hans?”
“And waiting…”
“Fire!”
“Firing!”
Again the 88mm hit its target and swiped straight down the nearside running gear, making a huge mess of tracks and wheels alike.
“What the fuck?”
“Report.”
“No way I aimed there… that hit must have done something.”
“Can you fix it, Hans?”
“Maybe… but no time, Rudi. I’ll have to judge it.”
An inaccurate gun was all that Köster needed, especially in the gutter fight around him.
“You have the tank, Hans. Commander out!”
He grabbed the MP-40 and pushed himself up and out in the blink of an eye.
Köster dropped behind the turret, rolled across the engine gratings and off the rear, careful not to burn himself on the hot exhausts.
As he scuttled down the offside, half-crawling, half-kneeling, the 88mm cracked again and he knew the gunner had scored a kill, the secondary explosion and fireball both noticeable, even in the growing sound of the battle.
From a position just in front of his tank, he could see the new scar on the turret front, and it ran through the area where the gunner’s sight lay.
‘Verdammt!’
He retraced his steps to the rear of the Tiger and pulled himself back onto the vehicle engine deck.
A shell casing flew out of the loader’s hatch in the rear of the turret, followed by a blackened face.
“Hans reckons we’ve gotta go as soon as you’re in, Hauptscharführer!”
“Ok!”
A quick look revealed the reason for the move and he dropped back inside the turret and ordered Meier to reverse once more.
The positions on the right were almost overrun and Lohengrin was out on a limb.
The tirailleurs of the 7e had put down scores of the advancing infantry, but still they came, driven on by anything from courage to fear of the consequences of failure.
Around them came the surviving T-54s, firing as they came.
The Soviet barrage arrived on cue, held back until the final moment for its fullest effect.
Zilinski knew he had one shot with the hidden unit and expected no more as, as recent history showed, surviving the battle was the priority for the rocket barrage troops, rather than actually firing the a second salvo.
Katyusha units had learned to relocate to avoid the counter-battery fire and roving ground attack aircraft.
The Katyusha rockets arrived along the ridgeline and the northern edge of Sulisɫawice and brought death and destruction at a critical time.
More of the 3e’s precious tanks were destroyed or immobilised, and the tirailleurs suffered horrendous casualties.
Zilinski had gambled and succeeded.
Some of the 7e RTA gave way and ran, leaving the surviving tanks exposed and with precious little support.
Here and there, a few braver men stayed close and kept the enemy anti-tank hunters at bay, but the Soviets, armed with a mixture of LANs and RPGs started to score hits.
Von Mecklenburg dithered for a moment, caught between no retreat and understanding his predicament.
“All Fuchs, all Fuchs. Pull back to the edge of the village. Repeat, leave the ridgeline and fall back to the village. Ende.”
He gave his own driver the order to reverse and the Centurion moved back smoothly.
Exposing himself as little as possible, he observed a pitiful few vehicles moving back as per his orders.
The last Wolf used its superior speed to roar backwards and away from the advancing terrors, passing the retreating Wirbelwind, the quadruple AA tank having not yet fired a shot.
A single M26, smoking like a factory chimney, reversed away from the ridgeline, both crew and observer unsure if the damaged tank would make it.