He quickly debated his next order.
“Cassino-six, all Cassino call signs. Engage the transports first, repeat, engage the transports first. Stand by…”
Most of the Soviet vehicles were American in origin, either lend-lease or captured since the new war started, carrying a dozen or so soldiers in each.
On the slope, a Soviet artillery shell found a target, and pieces of Sherman cartwheeled in all directions.
Haines grimaced, wondering who it was, but without the luxury of time to find out.
Familiar with the distances involved, he waited patiently, ignoring the final flurry of Soviet artillery.
The lead vehicles surged through the remains of the village of Rivoli, where a week of fighting had reduced its buildings to nothing but piles of rubble.
Focusing on the few tree stumps that marked the start of his fire zone, Haines patiently waited, controlling his breathing, judging the moment.
“FIRE!”
16th/5th had been brought up to full strength and now, including the four HQ vehicles, consisted of twenty vehicles in four troops, each of four tanks.
Even the two close support howitzer tanks joined in the first volley, and hi-speed metal flew from the hillside.
Thirteen of the shells fired found a target, although three struck the same vehicle, clearly selected because of its proliferation of aerials.
The M3A1 scout car, lagging behind the first wave, disintegrated in an instant, removing the lead infantry battalion’s commander and his staff from the equation in a permanent fashion.
Two of the vehicles burst into flames, incinerating both the already dead and severely wounded who could not escape the ruined tracks.
The others disgorged some of their contents, disoriented and wounded men desperately seeking cover from the machine-guns that chattered as the infantrymen of 2nd Btn, The Rifle Brigade, joined the fight.
A second volley took out another three of the jinking vehicles, all of them turning to funeral pyres in the blink of an eye.
Soviet infantry on foot flooded out from Rivoli, a tidal wave of men desperate to get close to the British positions.
‘Fucking hell, but there’s a lot of the bastards!’
Haines dropped back inside the tank and spoke rapidly to the air-liaison officer. Satisfied that the man, an unknown quantity recently allocated to the Rifle Brigade unit, was on the job, he turned to fighting his tank.
“Gunner?”
“Target command tank, range fifteen hundred, on.”
“FIRE!”
The AP shell missed by a whisker and the enemy command tank, whatever it was, moved in behind some vegetation, disappearing from sight.
Most of the tanks now closing rapidly on the infantry positions were T-34s, and the Lancers had started to take them on, trying to keep the tanks away from the infantry.
A large squat tank with a rounded frying pan-like turret emerged from the British artillery zone.
“Fucking hell! Target, tank, left four, range sixteen hundred, aitch-vap.”
The turret traverse hummed briefly as Trooper Cooke, the new gunner, found the IS-III.
“On!”
“FIRE!”
It was a superb shot but totally wasted, as the Stalin tank’s armour deflected the shell without any noticeable damage.
“Again!”
“Try again.”
Even as Kozlov gave the order, he knew that the man commanding his motorised battalion would not answer, and that his was one of the vehicles burning on the battlefield in front of him.
24th Rifle Regiment had been handed a double edged sword, firstly being chosen for full reinforcement, following its excellent performance in the Italian campaign, which then meant that it was selected personally by Marshal Chuikov to lead this attack, intended to flank Allied forces in Udine.
The normal exhortations, even promising Guards’ status with the inevitable success, made little impression on Colonel Kozlov, newly-fledged hero of the Soviet Union.
“No reply, Comrade Polkovnik.”
Acting quickly, Kozlov waved to his second in command, bringing the man sprinting forward.
“Comrade Polkovnik?”
“Ivan, first battalion is leaderless. You need to get up there and push them forward,” both men dropped lower automatically as two British shells bracketed Kozlov’s position, “Stay with the plan and get them through to the heights. Clear?”
“As you order, Comrade.”
Lieutenant Colonel Koranin was not a man for small talk, so was swiftly on his feet, calling his own group around him.
His GAZ jeep soon sped forward.
Kozlov watched the man surge forward into the frenzy of activity to his front before slapping the radio officer on the shoulder.
“Contact Second and Third… tell then to push on faster. I want those bridges intact.”
“Yes, Comrade Polkovnik.”
Three Shermans were destroyed, including that of the RSM and one of the troop commanders.
Nine T-34s added their metal to the growing toll of scrap, and one of the IS-IIIs was burning fiercely, victim of an artillery shell.
The situation had become critical, as Soviet soldiers reached the Rifle Brigade positions in places, and close quarter fighting ensued.
The Lancers had their own problems, as a second surge of tanks came into view and enemy troops bailed out of their vehicles, having driven straight through the infantry positions and across the engineer bridges.
One look revealed a terrible new threat.
“Cassino-six, all Cassino call signs, infantry action front, enemy anti-tank weapons.”
He had spotted at least four panzerfausts amongst the Soviet soldiers and immediately witnessed the use of one on a Firefly that was relocating to a new firing position.
The tank’s hatches were thrown open and three surviving crew men flung themselves out, only to be mown down by PPSh’s.
“Stumpy, move back to our first position, quickly.”
The Sherman backed and angled before surging forward, moving down and across to their first firing position.
The hull MG immediately chattered, sending a stream of bullets in the direction of another Sherman that was overrun with enemy infantry.
There was a deafening clang and the tank filled with the smell of singed electrics and tortured metal, but still it moved forward.
“Everyone ok?”
The crew, stunned by the direct hit, eventually shouted back variations on ‘I’m fine’.
Haines started checking for damage.
“Intercom’s out.”
Automatically, Haines checked the main radio.
It was also dead, and suggested itself as the main source of the electrical burning smell.
“Main radio is out. Anything else?”
Cooke shouted.
“Electric traverse out, Manual ok.”
Everything else seemed fine and the tank slotted back into its first position.
“Fuck! Infantry, coax traverse left, quickly!”
The turret slewed as the handle was spun, bringing the .30cal coax to bear.
A group of infantry were bearing down on ‘Biffo’s Bus’, intent on getting in panzerfaust range.
The coax stuttered and immediately died.
“Jam!”
Cooke was correct but incorrect, in as much as, the hit on the turret had bent the coax barrel, meaning that the first shots stayed in the barrel, jamming it with metal and rendering it totally useless.
“Shit! Commander out!”
Haines grabbed the Thompson sub-machine gun and two extra magazines, and was up and out of the turret before anyone could ask.