His foot was screaming blue murder but he ignored it as best he could.
Looking straight down Kampstrasse, two T-34s were revving up ready to dash forward, and a company of engineers were moving along the road, ready to support them.
The failing light was of little help as his eyes strained at three lorries set well back from the point of attack.
He fumbled for his binoculars.
“Mein Gott!”
Turning back to Schneider, he spoke with a calm he didn’t feel.
“Alles klar?”
“Just about to try it again, Herr Oberleutnant. The capacitor seemed to have come adrift a little.”
Schneider worked his magic, and the radio burst into life.
“…ive-three come in please!”
“Koenig-five-three receiving, over.”
“Scharf! Thank god! Situation report, over.”
“Herr Oberstleutnant, we’re bottled up, but they can’t get us out of here. Sturmgruppe has seven casualties. Ammunition low. Ready to spot for artillery, over.”
“Received. The artillery support is online and ready, 32.2, call sign Surfer. Latest assessment is that the entire engineer brigade has moved forward. Surfer’s available just for you. Use it to keep them off that fucking bridge or you’ll be cut off and we won’t be able to get to you. Out.”
Consulting the map already laid out on the floor and weighted down with rubble, part of Von Scharf’s brain processed target information, whilst part wondered what sort of unit ‘Surfer’ was.
“Schneider, get Surfer up on 32.2.”
He listened as an American accent acknowledged the message.
Passing Schneider the coordinates, Von Scharf decided that the three lorries with the red explosives flags were worth the effort.
A single large-calibre shell arrived, sending pieces of engineers flying in all directions.
“Tell them left two hundred. salvo fire!”
Twenty-three seconds later, twelve M-101 HE shells, each containing just under ninety-five pounds of high-explosive, arrived in and around three lorries carrying roughly two thousand pounds of captured American manufacture TNT demolition charges.
The result was spectacular for onlookers, much less so for anyone within the burst radius of shells and charges.
A substantial part of Kampstrasse and Freiheit disappeared in one monumental surge of energy.
Of the line of waiting engineers, half simply evaporated, half were knocked senseless by the blast.
Von Scharf had thrown himself on the radio with the first flash, understanding what might be about to happen.
Bits of the belfry flew off as the shockwave washed over the church.
“Fucking hell!”
Schneider blinked his eyes free of dust and rammed his fingers in his ears.
“What the hell are they firing?”
Von Scharf grinned.
“Trucks carrying explosives… they hit trucks carrying… a lot of explosives!”
He risked a quick look and saw utter devastation, added to by another salvo landing on the money.
“Tell Surfer to cease fire and await further instructions.”
He looked at Schneider and waited for the order to be relayed.
“Mind you, someone should have their arse kicked for putting that lot so near the danger area. They must be desperate to bring the bridge down, but still… dumb move.”
The man responsible for the ‘dumb’ move had been pressured beyond measure by his commanders. Tasked with blowing the bridge at all costs, he had brought up his explosive to reduce the delays involved, as the infantry commander held little hope that the bridge would be retaken and held for long.
In any case, the engineer officer had been among the first casualties vapourised by the explosions.
The Soviet infantry commander immediately halted his attack, set his men into some sort of defensive positions, Setting one of his more trusted officers to get the engineers into some sort of order, he sent a message for more explosive, and then turned his eye on the group of Germans in his rear.
“Panzer!”
The T-34 rumbled around the corner of Südstrasse, into the Markt, where it abruptly stopped.
The 85mm gun adjusted slowly and fired an HE shell at the church.
It struck the mid-point underneath a small window on the north-east corner, overlooking the square.
The MG34 and crew were not directly struck, but the blast and spalding stonework destroyed them equally as well.
Scharf pulled the OP group off the roof and down to the next level, away from any windows or openings.
Quickly checking his map, despite the cascade of dust and stone caused by a direct hit on the position he had just vacated, Scharf passed coordinates to his radio man.
“And tell them not to undershoot. Danger close, tell them danger close.”
The German officer’s plan was simple but dangerous.
Get the artillery dropped to the east of Südstrasse, preventing any reinforcements moving up. If he got lucky and speared the tank, then great, but Scharf couldn’t count on it, so made his way to the ground floor to set another plan in motion.
The US artillery was superb, dropping accurately amongst the Soviet infantry who had formed up in the built-up area, east of Südstrasse.
The tank, and another that emerged from the fire zone, remained alive, pounding the church and surroundings with direct fire.
Behind the German front line, the situation was suddenly considered dire, as more Soviet forces than expected were present.
Additional units were requested and approved, creating a growing focal point at Ahlen.
The German command seized the opportunity immediately and turned the reserve of the 1st Panzer-Grenadiere Division back, to head north-west, and into the rear of the Ahlen defences, anticipating the destruction of a good portion of the defenders, as well as relieving the under-pressure infantry division.
Whilst the forces of both sides gathered themselves, the soldiers and civilians in Ahlen continued to suffer under heavy mortar and artillery fire.
Having narrowly escaped the destruction that befell his headquarters facility at Barntrup, Malinovsky had, on nothing more than a gut feeling, declined his alternate set-up at Gross Berkel, settling for a swiftly organised additional site at the notorious jail in Hamelin, where, amongst a German civilian population, he felt safer from further Allied air attacks.
Reports of the destructive raid at Gross Berkel reached him as he pondered the recently updated situation.
“What’s that swine doing?”
Savvushkin, his second in command, was equally exasperated.
“I don’t think the idiot knows to be honest, Comrade Marshal.”
They were referring to the newly frocked Major General Inutin, commander of the 4th Motorised Army, one of Stalin’s new formations.
“And he’s definitely been given the order to withdraw?”
Savvushkin checked his notes.
“On three occasions, Comrade Marshal, and each time acknowledged.”
“Fucking swine.”
The situation for 4th Motorised Army was nothing short of dire.
Faced with German forces to its front and southern flank, pressed by an American Corps to the north, it would take only a change of axis by the German forces attacking Beckum to seal a good part of the Army in a pocket from which there would be no escape.
“Beckum will hold.”
It was not a question.
“The reinforcements we sent have stopped the enemy advance in its tracks but…” Savvushkin described a single line from Beckum to Ahlen, “That might be because they have moved to take advantage of Inutin’s lack of movement.”