Jorgensen hummed his acknowledgement and considered relocating, but immediately rejected the idea.
All around him were men of the 5e RdM and he didn’t want any accidents.
Besides, whatever it was would have to move forward sooner or later.
His Schwarzjagdpanther was perfectly positioned, another reason he was loathe to move out.
It covered the main road that rose from the valley below, and there were already two tanks lazily burning to demonstrate the superiority of his position.
They had both been easy kills, upgunned T34/100s that had offered no resistance to the brutal power of his 128mm.
But he knew that the Soviet heavy tanks were beneath the ridgeline, and that they would prove a more difficult nut to crack, his efforts so far having brought only one kill, and that was shooting down with the height advantage.
Normally SP guns were at a disadvantage in such circumstances, but the ruins of Sulisɫawice channelled the enemy down excellent lines of fire, and the odds seemed to be in their favour… for now.
“It’s moving, Hauptsturmfuhrer. Heading left.”
‘So it is.’
Jorgensen pictured the tactical situation and understood that the enemy vehicle had made a bad choice.
A very bad choice.
The IS-IV, for that was what it was, moved away from the road that Jorgensen covered, seeking an alternate on the right flank of the 6th GIBTR.
It chose a modest alleyway that just about accommodated the large tank’s bulk.
Nosing carefully forward, its accompanying infantry moved through the ruins on either side, seeking lurking AT soldiers, or looking further forward to find other threats.
The leading scouts simply missed the lurking killer until it was too late, although the IS-IV’s commander blurted out a warning as his instincts lit off.
“Blyad! Reverse, comrades! Reverse!”
The ‘pile of rubble’ fired and the 128mm shell simply opened up the IS-IV like it was a child’s plaything, sending metal and burning fuel in all directions, often with fatal results for the accompanying infantry.
Putting another shot into the area, this time a HE shell, the Einhorn slowly backed out of its position and relocated, ready for another attempt.
Knocke observed the second shot and decided not to be near to the potent tank destroyer in case it attracted artillery or mortars in retaliation.
Moving away from the slowly manoeuvring Einhorn, he and his party found themselves close by a Jagdpanther and its accompanying Legionnaires.
The MPs spread out as Knocke, Hässelbach, and Ett climbed over some rubble and dropped down into a position crammed with exhausted legionnaires.
“Stillgestanden!”
“No, no… as you were, Kameraden.”
The soldiers relaxed as Knocke approached the NCO in charge, who was giving the evil eye to the young inexperienced soldier who had called them to attention.
The sergeant did not salute; veterans simply didn’t attract that sort of attention to themselves or senior ranks.
“Oberführer, Oberscharführer Sperl and seven men… now commanding 8th Zug, 3rd Kompagnie, 3rd Battalion, 5th Regiment. On tank protection duties. Two men dead and three wounded removed to the aid post, including Zugführer, Lieutenant Malfoix.”
“Relax, Oberscharfuhrer.”
Sperl did so quite openly, and flopped back onto the damaged chair that had been his resting place before the commanding officer arrived.
Knocke made great play of checking out the position, and looking out into the area beyond, but was really appreciating the men and their capacity to endure.
His assessment was worrying.
Returning to Sperl, he settled himself on some rubble and extracted his cigarettes.
All eyes focussed on the pack.
“Are you all out?”
“Think we smoked the last of poor Willi’s cigarettes over an hour ago. Our billet burned out and we got through what we had quite quickly, Oberführer.”
“Here… have these.”
Knocke turned over the pack and also pulled a full one out of his trouser pocket.
“Danke, Oberführer, danke!”
Hässelbach interpreted his leader’s eye contact, and moved forward, liberating his other ‘water’ bottle, proffering it to the exhausted NCO.
“Here, kamerad… but take it easy… it’s potent stuff.”
“Danke, kamerad.”
Sperl took a slug and thought he was about to cough his intestines up through his throat.”
“Fucking hell but that’s savage stuff, kamerad. What’s that so I know to avoid it in future?”
“Potato peelings and pork…mixed and fermented… local speciality so I’m told… that’s why the Poles are all fucking mad!”
The outburst encouraged laughter from tired men, and the bottle did the rounds, with each man adding his own unfavourable comments on the contents.
Knocke refused the drink when it arrived in his hands.
“No, I think I’ll pass this time.”
He stood and the men around him automatically braced, despite his hand gently waving them to remain as they were.
“You’re doing a great job, boys. We’ve just got to hold for a little while longer and the rest of the Corps will be up and relieve us. Just keep at it and don’t let the bastards knock you out of here. Look after yourselves and see you after the war!”
The men semi-cheered and semi-laughed as he clambered back out, pausing only to turn and issue the normal words between soldiers.
“Hals- und beinbruch, Kameraden!”
Pausing to exchange greetings and get an update from Jorgensen through the Schwarzjagdpanthers squawk box, the party moved on until they were back where they started, on the west side of the defence.
Knocke dismissed the MPs to get some rest, and went to investigate the positions occupied by the specialist rocket troops of 4e RACE.
“Achtung!”
The experienced troopers did not stand or salute, but braced themselves, ready for orders or whatever else might come their way.
Again Knocke waved the men to relax and stopped the NCO reporting with a quick gesture.
He reached to his tunic pocket and then stopped himself.
“I find myself without, Hässelbach.”
A packet magically appeared and flew across the small space to Knocke.
He lit two, and passed one to the waiting NCO.
“Danke, Oberführer.”
The pack headed around the group and returned to Hässelbach in a much lighter state.
“Peters, isn’t it?”
The man nodded wearily.
“I’ve heard many good things about you and your wonder rockets.”
“Thank you, Oberführer. We’ve only got two left now, and just the one launcher.”
They smoked as Peters went on to detail the state and responsibilities of his unit, his flow interrupted twice by the burst of nearby mortar shells.
“Well, we’ll make sure we find some more. If they’re to be had, we’ll get them, Peters.”
Knocke stopped to cough as more dust fell from the rickety ceiling.
“Thank you, Oberführer. For now, we’ll use what we have to hand.”
The man keeping watch fired a controlled burst with his ST-45.
He spat and spoke to no one in particular.
“Think that was their breakfast arriving. Lucky bastards.”
‘Scheisse… the men haven’t eaten… how could I forget?’
Knocke stood up and dusted himself off.
“I’ll see what rations I can get sent round, Peters. Meanwhile, keep your men here and hold them back. This is the lightest point of our defence… at least from what I can see. I’ll send some extra men to bolster this side… and I hope they’ll come bearing some hot food.