The radio hummed with exchanges between the mortar companies and the lead element.
Mortar shells started to arrive on the concentration of Russians, causing casualties and a change of thinking.
The defenders spread out more, reducing casualties, but also reducing effectiveness.
First Battalion gathered itself for an assault.
Sounds of air combat drew upward looks from both sides and, to the horror of the Germans, and wonderment of the Soviets, two smoking Shturmoviks appeared, flying down the same line the Mitchells had used a few minutes previously.
The FW-190s swarmed around them, but both seemed indestructible, right up to the moment that the rearmost exploded in mid-air, sending pieces flying in all directions.
The lead Ilyushin jiggled out of one attack and dropped two large packages that seem to come apart in mid-air.
The FW-190s, wishing to avoid the burst of whatever had been dropped, pulled away sharply, granting the Shturmovik a moment’s grace, which it took advantage of and drove hard for the ground and the route home.
The Ilyushin was a superb ground attack aircraft, but its efficiency and accuracy depended greatly on the skill of the pilot, and this pilot had a great deal else on his mind other than accurate bombing.
He tossed his two AB-250-3 bombs into the woods to the west of the leading German units, completely missing his intended target.
Not that Third Battalion celebrated as the ex-Luftwaffe cluster munitions came apart, each sending one hundred and eighty two-pound bomblets into the woods on and around them.
Many burst above ground level, adding wooden splinters to the terrible metal pieces that flew through the Teutobergerwald.
Others dropped to ground, some exploding on contact, the rest delaying their ignition to catch the unwary, unhinged, or dazed.
More than one disoriented soldier set off a waiting charge as he stumbled around.
Tree charges and mines added to the confusion, some set off by the cluster munitions, others by the feet of frightened men.
Collapsing trees often found more unexploded bomblets, starting the process of killing all over again.
For the men of Third Battalion, it was nothing short of hell on earth.
Eight and Nine Companies came off worst, losing over seventy men between them. Counting the wounded, both companies had been rendered almost combat-ineffective by one single aircraft.
Von Scharf’s Seven Company lost only one man slightly wounded.
His men were in awe of the events that unfolded in front of them and, in truth, most were unnerved by the scale of the destruction and death.
The radio crackled into life with demands for a report from Battalion Headquarters.
Scharf did his best to describe what had just happened to Bremer’s second wave.
It almost seemed that Bremer was shouting so loud that a radio was superfluous.
“Attack… you must press home the attack! Von Scharf! I make you personally responsible! Attack… take that fucking ridge and push the swine back. That’s an order! Att…”
Hauptmann Von Scharf tossed the headset back to Schneider in disgust, understanding that Bremer was losing his mind under the pressure.
‘Attack with what, you arse!’
“Unteroffizier Keller!”
Within seconds, the NCO appeared.
“We continue with the attack, Keller,” he held his hand up as the objections formed on Keller’s lips, “No… a different attack.”
Keller looked unconvinced, even though Seven Company was still fighting fit.
“We’re going to go round the left flank… move in that direction,” he tossed a careless hand to the north, “Two hundred metres should do… and then we go over the hill top and sweep along their line.”
Scharf took a swig from his canteen and then offered it up to Keller, who refused.
“A simple move, that’s all. The Communists have got to be shattered by the bombing.”
Keller shrugged as all NCOs shrug when faced with orders that sound like death sentences, but he knew Von Scharf, and knew the officer would do his best, although it seemed that this time he was offering nothing but a suicide mission.
“Runner!”
A rifleman stepped forward as Von Scharf scribbled on his order pad, repeating his written word to the shocked young grenadier.
“Find Oberleutnant Rieke, Leutnant Grüber, Hauptfeldwebel Riedler…whoever is in charge over there… tell them we’ll be moving around the flank now… attacking left to right across their front. Form up what they can and stand ready to come to our support. Secure the right flank. Von Scharf”
He ripped the page off the pad.
“Now… be careful of mines and trip wires. Go!”
The boy scuttled away as fast as his legs could carry him, his eyes glued to the ground on which he stepped.
“Move them out now, Keller.”
Seventh Company moved to the left.
It was Iska’s company that first engaged the new attack.
A pair of machine guns opened up from the ridge, causing the engineers to dive for cover, distracting them as Von Scharf slid around the flank with the bulk of the Seventh.
However, Iska had a blocking force on the end of his line, just in case the enemy tried such a manoeuvre, and it was this group that spotted the men slinking through the trees.
A DP-28 opened up, bowling over a handful of green clad soldiers.
Keller yelled at his men and they dropped into cover in an instant. Using hand signals, he communicated his plan to the NCOs around him, and the three men prepared their smoke grenades, ready to throw on order.
“Now!”
The four grenades landed, spewing their chemical smoke instantly.
Keller cut the air with his left hand, sending the leading group even wider, a wise precaution, as the defenders commenced putting bullets into the smoke.
Two grenades exploded, the defenders expecting to reap benefits amongst the attacking troops.
No screams greeted the explosions, and Iska immediately understood.
“Right… Tartasky! Your section to cover right… now!”
His hand shot down the path that he wanted Corporal Tartasky’s section to cover, only to see dark shapes emerging from the edge of the smoke cloud.
In an instant, Iska snatched out a grenade and primed it, running down the line towards the end of Tartasky’s line.
He flung the charge and it exploded in mid-air, some three feet from the face of a German soldier.
Pieces flew from the man, and two more soldiers running nearby, all three dropping to the earth as if poleaxed.
Bringing up his SKS, Iska hastily discharged his magazine as he rushed to the support.
As he leant down to speak to Tartasky, the man’s face was obliterated by a pair of bullets, throwing blood and human matter over Iska.
The horrible mess gave Iska a demonic look, and more than one of Tartasky’s men shuddered at the sight as he called them to hold the line.
Slipping a ten round charging clip into the carbine, Iska engaged the looming shapes, suddenly realising that the smoke was drifting towards them.
He looked behind him.
“Back… behind that tree trunk, Now! Move!”
He almost threw a couple of reluctant soldiers in the direction of the fallen trunk, grabbing a third by his straps and dragging him along.
As he flopped behind the trunk, the defensive position that the eight men had occupied a moment before exploded as stick grenades arrived.
“Now, Comrades! Kill the fascist bastards!”
The German infantry swept confidently over the position, expecting to have to finish off some wounded, only to be hit by accurate fire from the displaced defenders.