“Menschen, the mortars will put down smoke to cover this end of the bridge, but we will move to the right… here.”
He drew his thoughts in the earth, the leadership craning to see how their commander was going to crack the target.
The previous attack had run into a machine-gun nest and concrete bunker network sat on the edge of the Stadtpark, a solid position that covered the approach to the bridge and dominated Weststrasse.
The first assault had been bloodily repulsed.
“The smoke will be between us and the bunker complex, but we will actually be beyond the killing zone at the end of the bridge, and so should avoid the bastard’s fire.”
The nodding around him showed that the men approved the plan so far.
“The panzerjager kompagnie is not available, so the two STUGs will move up and cover the bridge, bringing the bunkers under fire, and generally supporting our assault.”
He looked up at an old Lieutenant, recently promoted from the ranks.
“Otto, you will keep two platoons here. No-one comes over that bridge and gets on our flank, Klar?”
“Jawohl, Herr Oberleutnant.”
The newly promoted Hauptfeldwebel who had filled Otto Pausch’s shoes was next.
“Riedler, I want you to take one platoon and sit out here,” he stabbed the earth to the right of the assault groups intended position, “To secure our right flank.”
By way of explanation, he pointed further off on the right flank.
“At the moment, we still have contact with the left flank of 2nd Batallion, but that may not last. You’re there to make sure we have no surprises. Klar?”
“Jawohl, Herr Oberleutnant.”
“Right, get your men in order. Two grenades a man minimum, full ammo load. No back packs. Two fausts a platoon, just in case.”
He looked at his watch.
“We attack at 1645. Dismissed.”
The werfers threw their smoke shells onto the right spot, concealing the end of the bridge.
“Vorwaerts!”
The assault group leapt forward as the Soviet defences lashed the gathering smoke with hails of bullets and high-explosive.
Pausch’s force commenced their own fire, just in case the Russians tried any funny business.
Rielder pushed his platoon out to the right flank immediately, but encountered no problems.
Moving forward in leapfrog bursts, the assault group ate up the ground to the river in short order, with only one casualty sustained, claimed by a stray bullet from the smoke.
Until the two lead men were chopped down, sending the whole group scattering.
“Scheisse!”
Von Scharf drew heavily on the cold air as he rubbed his bruised knee, knowing that some of the bullets had passed dangerously close to him.
“Obergefreiter Grun!”
He got the attention of the NCO lying in the rubble across the pathway.
“Cover fire. I’m going left through that building. Keep the fire up, just enough to keep his head down. Watch for us on target, klar?”
Even though bullets were pinging off the concrete and brick all around them, the NCO understood his task and got his men into position.
Von Scharf called to the men around him.
“Ready, menschen! When Grun starts firing, we go in pairs!”
He chopped a palm in the direction he wanted the group to assault and gave Obergefreiter Grun the nod.
A desultory fire halted the enemy light machine gun and gave its own signal to the waiting assault force.
“Raus!”
The first two soldiers were up and away before the word had died on Von Scarf’s lips, the next two before he could give the second command.
In spite of himself, he found a wave of pride surge over him.
“Gute männer!”
Fourth up was himself and the radio operator, and they made the ground floor without issues, although his old leg wound nearly made him lose balance at one crucial stage.
The fifth pair tumbled in, having tripped each other up in the threshold.
The last two men came under fire and one man had his rifle sent flying from his grasp as a bullet clipped his wrist.
Despite the pain, he dropped to the ground and slid back to retrieve the weapon.
“Köhler… Köhler… nein!”
The wounded man understood and hunkered down whilst Von Scharf led the assault forward.
Finding a set of stairs, the officer sent four men along the ground floor, accompanying the other six upwards to where the enemy machine gun was now firing more steadily.
The lead man fired a shot and a lifeless enemy body stumbled over the balustrade, falling onto the ground floor below.
Von Scharf gestured at a soldier with an MP-40, who nodded and pushed past to take the lead.
Another SMG armed NCO split to the left.
A Soviet soldier opened the door directly in front of the man, and took a burst in the chest and neck.
The body was propelled back into the room behind, in which the Unteroffizier glimpsed at least three men.
“Granate!”
He tossed a British-issue Mills bomb inside and turned to cover his face.
The bang and the screams combined in one awful sound.
Bursting in through the door, each of the bodies, moving or not, received attention from the MP-40.
A quick appreciation of the situation told the NCO that this group, complete with a Maxim machine-gun, were set up to shoot up the flank of any assault made directly against the bridge.
He picked up one curious looking weapon and made his way back out into the corridor.
“Herr Oberleutnant. A new one, I think.”
“Looks like it, Keller. Hang on to it for intelligence. Try not to cut yourself.”
The new weapon had an integral bayonet folded back under the barrel, which left a cutting edge exposed. Intelligence would eventually identify it as an SKS semi-automatic carbine.
Guttural shouts and a burst of fire brought both men back to reality.
“Keller, go and back them up. Send back to me if you need any more.”
The Unteroffizier dashed down the stairs in the direction of the growing firefight.
Ahead, the cry of ‘Granate’ cut through the smoke and dust that was now becoming a problem.
The building shook as one, and then a second grenade exploded.
The tell-tale sound of a PPSh letting rip followed, and brought squeals of pain from some unfortunate along the hall.
Von Scharf moved on.
“Granate!”
Instinctively, the officer threw himself backwards through the open door, understanding that this grenade was incoming.
The door was thrown fully open in the blast and pain speared through his exposed foot as fragments clipped flesh and bone on the way through his boot.
Rolling back over himself, to clear away from the door quickly, Werner Von Scharf narrowly missed being hurt by the second enemy grenade that arrived without warning.
“Grenate!”
A splash of blood was thrown against the open door, marking the passage of metal through unfortunate flesh.
Bringing up his Gewehr-43, Von Scharf instinctively put two bullets into the first shape, the shriek of horror in Russian confirming his suspicion.
A rifle cracked and a second Soviet soldier dropped.
Von Scharf moved to the doorway again and risked a look towards the Soviet end of the corridor.
“Scheisse!”
He shouted instinctively, as fear prompted his survival instincts.
The Gewehr quickly emptied its magazine into the group of enemy that had been moving forward.