‘Until they become our problem!’
“I need you to hold here, and keep the boys at it. I’m off to see the engineers and chivvy them along with the good news.”
They shared a laugh, unforced, two professionals doing their jobs as best they could.
“Let Grayson know about the Stalin’s. He might persuade our Derbyshire friends to have a crack at them.”
“Aye, that I will, Sah. But they’ll run in the other direction if they have any sense!”
Ramsey was up and out of the trench once more.
Bullets lashed the ground around his feet, and he realised that the fire came from three Soviet infantrymen who were nearly at the underpass, having crawled on their bellies, unobserved.
His run had taken him directly at them, and they fired instinctively, believing that he had spotted them.
Throwing himself behind a fallen tree truck, he landed heavily, increasing his chest and stomach pain.
‘Grenade? No, too close to the Yanks.’
In confirmation of his decision, one of the US Engineers risked a peek around the corner, and was shot dead immediately.
‘Too close.’
One of the Russians flopped lifelessly, as others noticed the small group.
The two survivors rose up, intent on finding sanctuary in the underpass.
More of the engineers emerged, stooping low with their heavy burden.
‘Oh my lord!’
Reacting instantly, Ramsey charged and yelled, his lunacy bearing fruit, the two Soviet survivors drawn to him, rather than the struggling engineers.
Firing a burst from his Sten, the Black Watch Major was amazed to see both men go down, blood flying from numerous wounds.
Ramsey was unaware that RSM Robertson had seen his plight, and chopped both men down, his own burst having buried itself uselessly in the embankment.
Struggling for breath, Ramsey placed his hands on his knees, trying to conquer the achy chest pain that was all encompassing.
The cane, slid between his webbing, proved obstructive, and Ramsey slid it out, quickly massaging his bruised torso.
Fielding emerged from the underpass and found the Black Watch officer in some discomfort. He had seen the cane before, but never expected the stuffy Englishman to actually carry it in combat.
“Major, you ok, Sir?”
“Tanks… Lieutenant… Stalin tanks… on top of… the embankment… half a mile off… need this… blown now.”
Checking the work behind him, Fielding replied confidently.
“This is ready to go when you give the order, Major. We just need to ship out more shells for the bridge.”
“How many… more?”
“Twenty, Major, no more’n twenty.”
“Speed it up… please… we’re running… out of time.”
Hässler appeared.
“Hey, LT. I was coming to tell you we have enemy armour coming,” he looked at the dishevelled Black Watch officer, “But I guess you’ve got the dope already?”
“Yes, I got the dope, Master-Sergeant. What’s happening out there?”
Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, Hassler reached for his canteen, pouring some water over his face to clean away the muck of combat.
“The commie infantry are held, LT, for now anyways. They got up real close, but they fell back after Bluebear ripped them up some.”
He spat at the memory of what he had seen.
“The Chief is sure something else when he gets up fighting close, and that’s a fact.”
He had no wish to go further than that, but he now had more understanding of the horrors that the legendary US Cavalry must have experienced.
Fielding had an idea.
“Maybe we can speed things up, if some of your boys fall back through here, and grab a shell between pairs?”
Ramsey liked it slightly more than Hässler, but the Master Sergeant saw the sense of it, although not the desirability of carrying a lump of metal filled with high explosive in a close-quarter fight.
Unable to speak, Ramsey nodded his agreement to Hässler, who took it as an order.
“I’ll drop a squad back through here right now, LT.”
Something that passed for a salute quickly followed, and the NCO disappeared back from where he had come.
“So, what’s the situation, Major?”
Taking a deep breath, Ramsey tried speaking normally.
“Not good, I’m afraid Lieutenant.”
Grasping the man by the arm to move him out of the way of two men struggling with a larger shell, Ramsey lowered his voice.
“The Reds are coming at us… from both sides now. A Regiment’s worth of tanks and infantry from Rechtern. Heavy tanks across the embankment… infantry on both sides. Mortars only at the moment… for reasons known only to themselves.”
That was a lot for a Lieutenant of Engineers to take in.
Ramsey laughed, the act increasing the stomach and chest pain.
‘Only when I laugh. Yeah, right!’
Fielding look at Ramsey as if he had just arrived from another planet.
“What’s so funny, Major?”
“I was just remembering another Lieutenant of Engineers, faced with a similar situation, Fielding.”
The memory of one Lieutenant Chard RE, commander of Rourke’s Drift, kicked his mind down another path, and he quickly wondered how Llewellyn was doing in these dark times, before switching back to the present.
“We have no time, By hook or by crook, get what you need piled on that bridge in five minutes. Clear?
“Yes, Sir!”
Turning away, Fielding saw something that displeased him.
“Private, set that det cord out properly, knucklehead!”
Ramsey returned to his positions, ready to ensure that Fielding would get his five minutes.
He dropped into the headquarters pit, finding Robertson in complete control of a hopeless situation.
“Sah, the buggers rushed us agin, but we stopped them the now. They’ve dropped back into the trees awa’s back there.”
The RSM spoke more softly.
“The bas had flamethrowers, Sah. They dinna get within range, thank God.”
A bullet passing through the tree overhead severed a small branch, the lump descending and striking the RSM on the shoulder.
“Perhaps you should wear your tin helmet, RSM?”
Ramsey often spoke of his RSM’s preference for the Tam-o-shanter in combat, never pushing, only cajoling.
“Where would I be wi out ma tam, Sah? The bhoys demand it of me you know.”
Soviet mortars brought a pause to their discussion, their suddenly increased rate of fire, coinciding with growing sounds of battle from the west bank.
“The engineers are nearly done; just a few more shells on the bridge, then they’ll blow the underpass.”
The noise of battle grew in an instant, the ‘Urrah’s’ of the Soviet infantry rising as they launched themselves forward.
“We must give them enough time, Sarnt-Major!”
The men of the Black Watch needed no orders on who to put down first. The Soviet soldiers carrying the deadly cylinders were singled out, and fear lent them accuracy, as all six of the Soviet operators were shot down. One cylinder exploded, the deadly yellow flames grabbing out for more victims, engulfing men for yards around.
The screams were hideous, but the Scots spared the writhing figures no thought.
This was not a day for pity.
Now within grenade range, the leading Guardsmen threw a number of devices into the British positions, some explosive, some smoke.
The surviving Black Watch Vickers stopped firing immediately, water flowing from its ravaged cooling jacket, as blood dripped from its dead crew.