Travers had some of his 105mm guns set ready to bring down smoke to permit the tracks to close; the others maintained a steady fire on the outskirts of the German town.
The smoke shells started up on cue, restricting Artem’yev’s vision almost immediately.
He spoke in grudging respect.
“This one knows his business, Comrade.”
The Major next to him grunted, examining the advance, as best he could, through his own binoculars.
Artem’yev placed his own prized German set on the brick wall, his arms suddenly weary, the impending combat already weighing heavily upon him.
Bailianov looked at his commander and smiled.
“Yes, he knows his business, but so do we, Comrade Polkovnik.”
“That we do, Boris Ivanovich… although Comrade Karamyshev might offer a different opinion.”
General Karamyshev had attempted to relieve Artem’yev prior to the final assault on Sittard. Both Artem’yev and his second in command had refused to accept suicidal orders, and used their experience to achieve the same results in a different way, albeit at the cost of the latter’s life.
The General received promotion and a new command as a result, preventing him from following through with his threats.
None the less, in a private meeting, Karamyshev had made sure that the Colonel understood he was permanently on the shit list.
Bailianov checked to make sure that the Communications officer was poised ready, before returning to survey the battlefield; the static enemy force was still sat astride the main road, and the new force, only occasionally visible through the smoke, moving up on the right flank, behind the hedges and trees heavily laden with snow.
Artem’yev waited.
Bailianov waited.
The Communications officer waited.
Seconds seemed like minutes.
Artem’yev nodded.
Bailianov slapped the Communications officer on the arm.
The Communications officer spoke one word.
“Fire!”
Even with the cover of hedgerows and small copses, Towers’ men had taken casualties when the Soviet gunners opened up.
76.2mm and 85mm guns engaged the half-tracks direct, and heavy DSHK machine guns lashed out at the soldiers abandoning knocked out or damaged vehicles.
Travers got the divisional artillery responding and at least two of the defensive AT guns were knocked out.
Henderson had the Heavy Weapons platoon working hard on supporting the attack.
A dozen Sherman tanks from the 746th Tank Battalion had arrived, sent forward by Colonel Bell in response to Towers’ plea. Bell was a competent commander and, contrary to Towers’ belief, fully understood the predicament that Love Company now found itself in. He even added some combat engineers for good measure.
Henderson retained one Sherman platoon, and directed the remainding seven tanks to follow in Towers’ wake, up the left flank.
The infantry Captain threw the handset away in disgust.
On the back of the Sherman was an EE8A telephone system, put there as a means to communicate with the tank commander. In this instance, the means simply refused to communicate.
Climbing on the back of the tank exposed him to enemy fire, but he needed to talk to the man in charge.
He rapped on the hatch three times and shouted his name, rank, and unit.
The hatch moved upwards cautiously, revealing a white face and the muzzle of an M1911A.
“Say again, pal.”
“Towers, William S. 359th Infantry.”
The grip on the pistol visibly relaxed, and the hatch opened a few more inches.
“Ayres, 746th.”
“Your squawk box is bust, Captain.”
It was not an admonishment, just a statement of fact.
“Noted.”
Captain Ayres spoke rapidly into his microphone before giving Towers his full attention.
“What’s the buzz then, Captain? Whatta we got ahead here?”
“Bunch of anti-tank guns for certain, spread along the front in front of Dahlem there. We got reasonable cover all the way, but the bastards’ve still picked off a few of my tracks. Arty’s slackened off some; probably counter fire has knocked ’em back”
Ayres lit two cigarettes and passed one to Towers.
“Thanks. We gotta pick up the pace again. Dahlem’s an important piece of real estate, and we’ll get chewed out if we don’t get it soon. So, here’s the deal.”
Towers quickly moved his finger around the map, indicating a couple of tracks, central to the advance of the Shermans.
Ayres ventured a small alteration and the plan, such as it was, became set in stone.
Looking at his watch, Towers worked out the time he would need to brief in his leadership and get the company online for another surge.
Taking a deep draw, he savoured the unfamiliar taste of the British Players cigarette.
“I might have to take up with these. Easy to come by?”
“Easy enough when you have lots of shit that the Limeys wanna trade for.”
Flicking the butt to one side, Towers returned to business.
“I’ve got 1254. You?”
“Same as. How long do you need? I can be done in three.”
“Longer… 1310… say… 1315.”
Towers nodded in confirmation of his calculation.
“OK… 1315 we kick off straight down the tracks. I’ll get my men to your tanks in good time. The rest of my outfit’ll be in the tracks. Good luck, tanks.”
“Break a leg, infantry.”
Colonel Bell had scared up as much artillery support as was humanly possible in the short period of time available.
Shells from 75mm to 8″ fell upon the Soviet positions in and around Dahlem.
Towers ordered the assault in, and the lead tanks slowly moved forward, each with a knot of infantry in its wake.
Behind them came the remaining halftracks, ready to surge forward once the tanks had beaten a gap in the defences.
Last of all came the combat engineers, acting as a reserve, mixed in with two ambulance tracks and Towers’ newly commandeered command halftrack.
As the assault force moved forward, it almost seemed like parts of the German town were rising hundreds of feet into the air before returning to ground level, only to be propelled skyward again by some new explosion.
The supporting US artillery was right on the money, and the Soviet defenders were taking casualties.
Henderson’s heavy weapons group was silent at the moment; their own mortars would do little to add to the shock and destruction of the main barrage, and Towers’ concerns about the airfield had increased.
A shell emerged from the wreckage of Dahlem, streaking past the lead Sherman by a comfortable distance.
The sole noticeable response was a small increase in speed from its intended victim, but the men inside the tank were sweeping the ground to their front, seeking out the danger.
Soviet mortar rounds started to drop around the two lead elements, causing the infantry groups to stoop more, their crouching advance would have seemed almost like a comedy act if it wasn’t being played out on such a deadly stage.
Casualties were remarkably light as only three men were plucked from the groups, none of which was hit fatally.
But there was a problem.
‘Slow… too goddamned slow!’
Towers was conscious of the fact that the Katyushas had already been used, and it was part of his plan to get as tight to the enemy as possible whilst they reloaded, where the notoriously inaccurate rockets could not be fired.
“Healthy-two-six, Healthy-two-six from Tombstone-four-six over.”