“We’ve no place… no time for them, Comrade. Are we clear?”
“Gelbkopf-two-one, Gelbkopf-one, don’t stop… whatever you do… keep going, out.”
Haefali’s second battalion had crashed into the Soviet lines at Beszyce and taken the defenders by surprise, greatly assisted by the subterfuge of leading with a captured T34m46/100.
Behind it came the surviving Jaguars of 3e/1er RCDA, and behind them the majority of the combined forces of Haefali’s and Uhlmann’s assault groups.
Elsewhere, on the road to Łoniów, a small force under Durand and Braun, was making noisy demonstrations against the Soviet blocking units, desperately trying to seem a lot more powerful than they were.
The legion artillery and mortars helped in creating that illusion, an illusion that successfully hid the true axis of their advance and fooled men like Deniken and Lunin until the last moments.
The lead elements smashed through the Soviet line and the rest of the joint force poured through, opening up the gap.
Haefali’s command group moved up, positioned in the middle of the swarm of Legion vehicles.
“Gelbkopf-one, Fisch-three-one, over…”
The recon force commander, now in charge of the combined remnants of both 1st and 3rd companies of the reconnaissance battalion and 3rd company of the engineers, sounded calm and business-like.
“Fisch-three-one, Gelbkopf-one, go ahead, over.”
“Gelbkopf-one, Fisch-three-one, conditions favourable, request permission to execute Plan one, over.”
‘Yes! Our ploy’s worked!’
“Fisch-three-one, Gelbkopf-one, execute plan one. Out!”
There was actually only one plan, and the gap opened up by the infantry and tanks was quickly filled with the fast-moving vehicles and light tanks of the 1er REC and the 1er Genie.
‘Don’t stop… whatever you do… keep going!’
A mixed group of AFVs from the RDCA and Blindé were to follow on with all speed.
‘Don’t stop… whatever you do, men… keep going!’
Haefali was jubilant but still understood there was so much more that needed to go right for their operation to be a success.
‘Now… it depends on…’
The radio burst into life once more, both making his heart race and calming his nerves in the same instant.
It was the Air liaison officer.
“Gelbkopf-one, Gelbkopf-one, Adler, over.”
He acknowledged and waited for the all-important words.
“Gelbkopf-one, Gelbkopf-one, Adler… waiting, over.”
‘Yes! Now for Braun and Durand…’
“Adler, Adler, Gelbkopf-one, execute, over.”
Haefali hardly heard the response as his plans came together.
He could imagine the lined-up aircraft streaming down upon the Soviet forces on the road to Łoniów, hammering the enemy troops, all to provide breathing space for the diversionary force to disengage and return to the main body for the march on Sulisɫawice.
Soviet resistance to his front was growing, so he applied himself to the business of defeating the force to his front and keeping the Floriańska open.
0848 hrs, Tuesday. 1st April 1947, the hell that was Sulisɫawice, Poland.
The warning message from Lunin to Zilinski did not arrive.
The radio, operator, and half of Zilinski’s headquarters group had been obliterated by an 88mm shell, one of a number that were fired into the Soviet incursion by the redeployed ‘Lohengrin’.
In truth, Köster had made a huge error and overrun his own positions, ending up inside a cordon of angry Russians, but he fought his way out, and in the process removed the commander of the encircling Soviet forces.
Zilinski had not expected to see an enemy soldier, let alone five encased in a battle tank a few metres away from his position.
Stunned by the bursting shell, he simply walked like a zombie into a stream of bullets from Wildenauer.
Further back, the Russian Guards Lieutenant-Colonel who was left in charge was battered and shell-shocked.
Uniform smoking and covered with blood, not all his own, the officer struggled to control his twitching hands as he listened to the requests for orders.
Unable to think clearly, he simply ordered a full out frontal assault all around the Legion positions.
Lohengrin’s machine-guns stuttered and swept the area in front of the tank, claiming victims with every burst.
The guardsmen were like ants swarming over larger prey, intent on submersing the Tiger in a sea of bodies.
They nearly succeeded, and one man got an RPG shot in, one that hit the large pannier on the rear of the turret and destroyed most of their reserve MG ammunition.
The final reserves were committed, led by Knocke himself, and the Soviet thrust was beaten back.
And then they came again.
0853 hrs, Tuesday. 1st April 1947, the hell that was Sulisɫawice, Poland.
“Alarm! Here they come again!”
There were less of them now, but they had recovered weapons and ammunition from the wounded and the dead of both sides, so the defensive fire from the shrinking perimeter was still heavy, as the attacking Guards soldiers found out.
Knocke had reformed a small reserve and it sat in the middle of an area that was no more than three hundred and fifty metres wide in any direction.
The enemy surge was immense, almost as if the devil himself were behind the Russian soldiers, whipping them forward with promises of unspeakable horrors should they fail again.
The Legion lines recoiled as the surge bought the enemy the first line.
A second effort mainly fell away in the face of withering fire, but not on the eastern side, where infantry got in close and killed two of the last Panzerjager, leaving solely the Einhorn as a runner.
“Go, Köster, go!”
Knocke waved his hand to the east as a runner gasped out his report on the crisis point.
Looking around him, and listening to the details of the situation, Knocke decided that he could not hold his reserve back.
He clapped the exhausted runner on the upper arm.
“Right. Take a breather here. When you’re ready, return to your unit. Klar?”
“Oui, mon Général. Merci… bon chance.”
Knocke waved his arm and led the reserve off to the eastern side.
The roar of Lohengrin’s 88mm drew them off to the main road.
Hässelbach still insisted on staying close to his leader, making sure he walked in front at all times.
It was his warning that saved them.
“Cover!”
The veteran soldiers disappeared from view in an instant as the source of Hässelbach’s warning drove past.
An IS-VII, not that they knew what it was exactly, rattled past, its crew seeking a position from which to outflank the two Legion vehicles.
“Kameraden, let’s go tank-hunting!”
The three men with the AT weapons found themselves the focus of attention, and were up and following Knocke and Hässelbach round the bend, as the others provided security for the stalking teams.
Four Soviet soldiers were jogging up the road in the wake of the huge tank, and they were surprised to find enemy soldiers where they thought there were none.
One went to bring his AK-47 up, but a burst of fire smashed him to the ground.
For a moment there was hesitation, but the remaining three soldiers threw down their weapons and raised their hands.
“Scheisse… no time for this… sorry.”
An old NCO shot all three down and moved his group on in support of Knocke and the AT soldiers.