Wild and Patterson moved forward, not to the children, but to the parents, knowing where they could best help.
Charles stuck his head over the earthen edge and saw the legions of the enemy approaching .
“Enemy to front! Man the tank!”
Wild and Patterson looked at him like he was a mad man.
“Man the tank!”
“But…”
Charles took a step forward and grabbed Patterson’s shoulder, the blood splattered over his face making him seem to be ‘not of this world’.
“Pats, there’s nothing we can do for them, any of them. Now, let’s avenge them. C’mon man, move!”
Wild stood up.
“She’s gone, Sarnt-Major, just gone.”
The wife and mother had simply expired on the spot.
“Mount up, Laz, c’mon now. We’re going to make the bastards pay, so come on!”
The two moved forward, passing the farmer who seemed to have recovered something worth cradling.
Patterson and Beefy were already working on the netting, whilst Roberts, the radio operator, contributed his own warning to the contact reports filling the radio net.
Tossing the last of the net aside, the rest of the crew dropped inside and brought the Centurion up to readiness.
Charles was spoilt for choice when it came to targets.
“Gunner, target tank, range 1300, dead ahead.”
“Searching.”
Charles ducked inside the tank in response to a tugging on his trouser leg.
Roberts shouted above the noise of battle.
“My intercom’s fucked, Sarnt Major. Radio’s full of contact reports. Squadron orders are to hold.”
Charles nodded.
“Rightho, wingnut. Get your intercom sorted.”
“On!”
Charles leant back and gave the order.
The 17pdr sent a shell towards the force that had caught them on the hop.
The shot struck the IS-II’s offside track, sending it running off the wheels like a dying snake.
“Again!”
Enemy artillery now started to drop on the British positions, previously kept quiet to mask the stealthy approach of a tank-heavy formation intent on smashing through to the coast.
Everything from 76mm to 203mm rained down, and some found targets amongst the tanks and vehicles of the 1st and 2nd Battalions Grenadier Guards, recuperating on the British flank.
And then the Katyushas arrived, the rockets streaming down in huge numbers, as the 1st Guards Mortar Brigade applied itself to the task.
One rocket landed close to Lady Godiva II, and administered mercy to the mad Herr Förster, stopping his suicidal attempts to dash his head in on the Centurion’s wheels.
Charles, caught between fighting his tank and trying to establish the tactical situation, remained surprisingly calm, even though his attempts to raise his leadership fell on deaf ears.
The British fought back, knocking out enemy T-34s and IS-IIs, cutting down infantry, but not without loss.
The British infantry colonel was carried from the field, shattered by a bursting shell, and Guards’ officers rallied their men by example, one that often cost them their well-being.
The artillery FOO did superb work, directing available Corps artillery onto the advancing Soviet force.
The Grenadier’s tankers lost heavily, although the ratio of loss to kill was greatly in the Centurion’s favour.
It was the artillery and the IS-IIs that proved most capable against the new British tank.
Both Captain White and Lieutenant Percival were already out of the fight, the former smashed with his crew by a 122mm artillery shell that arrived through the turret top plate. The badly injured young subaltern clung to life still, the sole survivor dragged from his destroyed Centurion by brave infantrymen from the Grenadier’s Mechanised 1st Battalion.
If Charles did but know it, the opening exchanges had broken the nerve of two young replacement officers, and they and the valuable tanks they commanded were already heading to the rear at speed.
The rest of the leadership of ‘C’ Squadron were out of action, either wounded or removed from command in a more permanent way.
Which meant that the newly-frocked CSM Andrew Charles commanded what was lef….
“On!”
“Fire!”
Patterson was rapidly becoming the best gunner Charles had ever seen, bar none.
He had just put an APDS round right on the spot, causing the targeted IS-II to lose interest in proceedings.
“Pats, all yours for the while.”
That was music to Patterson’s ears.
He pressed his forehead to the sight and sought another target, a none too difficult matter in the sea of enemy vehicles and infantry approaching… not approaching….
‘What the fuck?’
Patterson did a double take.
‘What the…’
“Sarnt-Major… the bastards have stopped…”
Charles was already aware.
“Cease fire. Keep a close eye on them.”
He took a quick look at his watch.
‘1335… God… is it only twenty minutes since… since…’
He looked around and saw a number of clearly destroyed tanks in a landscape that bore no resemblance to that he had sat down in for lunch.
“Driver… move to alternate two.”
“Roger.”
The Centurion’s engine went quickly from idle to power, and the vehicle slowly edged backwards out of the scrape, heading for the second back-up position they had created when the Grenadiers had arrived the day beforehand.
A burning Centurion exploded, sending a spider’s web of smoke lines into the air and across the ground surrounding it. Its surviving crew had long evacuated.
Alternate Two was adjacent to the wood line on raised ground and Wild skilfully dropped down behind the skyline and negotiated the small distance, unobserved, and in good time.
As the Centurion was moving, Charles again tried the radio.
“Alma-Charlie-three to all Alma, report.”
By the end of the exchanges, Charles understood that he now commanded six running tanks out of twelve that had been runners before the enemy arrived.
Switching to the regimental net, the CSM made contact with Scipio-six, the Grenadier’s commanding officer.
After reporting the state of ‘C’ Squadron, Charles mainly listened, checking things off on his map, as the radio spewed instructions.
The upshot of it all was that, as ever, ‘C’ should hold their ground, along with the adjacent ‘B’ Squadron, buying time for division to establish a meaningful line to the rear. The Colonel had decided against telling Charles that another enemy attack was in progress to the west, which, if successful, would ensure that all their efforts were in vain.
Charles eased the headphones off and wiped his brow.
“We stay and hold… for at least two hours.”
The crew knew a death sentence when they heard one, but only Patterson gave voice to his opinion.
“Tell the old man, he can come and take my fucking place.”
Patterson’s comment was then echoed by the rest of the crew.
“Steady, lads. We’ve got a job to do for…”
He stuck his head out of the turret in search of the source of the growing engine sounds.
“Aircraft… our brylcreams are taking a hand!”
Relief spread through the tank, and on through the remains of ‘B’ and ‘C’ Squadrons, and finally into the mechanised infantry.
Relief faded in an instant as aircraft with red stars appeared overhead, shedding munitions that rained down upon the British positions.
Nothing of note came near Lady Godiva II, the air attack concentrated around Route 104 and the positions to the south-east of Lützow. The enemy approach came in from Renzow, permitting the Soviet aircraft to drop and then make a starboard turn, sending them back to relative safety.