The Junior Lieutenant watched with interest, as the column of German vehicles swept by, the Panthers and Panzer IV’s recognisable for the old adversaries they were, the halftracks mounting the large searchlight-like structures unknown to him.
“Here they come!”
The cry went up from the paratroopers, who could hear the sound of approaching armour.
The 101st’s perimeter had shrunk, still holding fast on the eastern edge of the Markt, but spread in an odd ‘in and out’ shape, centred mainly on the precincts of Stadbroek, Lahrhof, and Overhoven.
It was those in Ophoven, sat astride the road coming from Nieuwstadt, who had first sight of their saviours, although those veterans of the German War felt mixed emotions at the sight of Panzers.
Preceded by two eight-wheel armoured cars, the German tanks moved quickly through the paratroopers lines, closely followed by a range of other vehicles, numerous M4 Kangaroos, once of the disbanded 49th Armoured Personnel Carrier Regiment, eight LVT4’s of the 1st Northamptonshire Yeomanry, all shepherded by the newly formed, but under strength, 52nd Royal Tank Regiment. The British unit combined qualified volunteers from amongst the returned POW’s, and Sherman tanks relinquished by the Czech Armoured Brigade before they were repatriated.
Artem’yev first knew of the recent arrivals when HE shells started hammering into his positions in Markt.
There was no future in his units staying put, so he ordered the bulk of his men to move back fifty yards, leaving a few brave souls to observe, and warn of any counter-attack.
The glider infantry and paratroopers were ready, and started to move units back to the relief force, preparing to collapse their defensive perimeter faster than the enemy would be able to react.
The German officer leading the armoured force dismounted from his Panther tank, and approached the small command group of American officers, gathered to oversee the hastily arranged withdrawal.
Crisp recognised the man instantly.
Oberstleutnant Kuno Von Hardegen, late of Symposium Biarritz, now commander of the tank battalion in Panzer Brigaden ‘Europa’, paused to issue a quiet order to an enquiring subordinate.
“Colonel Von Hardegen.”
Hands were extended and clasped, the recognition mutual.
To save on time, Crisp did the introductions, the nod exchanged between Von der Heydte and the Panzer officer understandably warmer, the two having fought side by side on other occasions.
Von Hardegen got straight down to business, producing an annotated map.
“Meine Herren, when I last checked in, the Deutsche Fallschirmjager were still holding here,” he indicated the northern edge of Geleen.
“That is so, Kuno. There are enemy tanks, T-34’s mainly, and lots of infantry, but they have halted their attack for the moment.”
“Sehr gut, Friedrich. Herr General, now is the time I think. Berg is ready, and won’t wait for long.”
Higgins made his calculations, looking around at his men, either loading up into Kangaroos, or finding a niche onboard one of Hardegen’s panzers.
Out of sight, the LVT’s received the wounded, the open deck space more suitable for stretchers.
Artem’yev had requested artillery but, surprisingly, none was forthcoming. Instead, he turned to his regimental support units, and soon Soviet mortar shells started to fall, not on the Markt, but beyond it, where the relief force was gathered.
Men started to fall instantly.
Higgins made his decision.
“We go now. Send it.”
The headquarters radio operator had already been primed for the task, and his voice spoke rapidly on the open net, passing on the codeword inspired by the US army camp where the 101st was activated in 1942.
“All units, all units, Claiborne, all units, Claiborne.”
The hastily conceived plan envisaged each of the units withdrawing their manpower quickly, but maintaining a presence in the front line, until it was safe to pull out the rearguard out as well.
It required skill, and some units lacked the leaders with the necessary tools. Platoons of both the glider and airborne troops got it wrong, and the guardsmen, sensing something was happening, pressed home and overran a few squads.
But, as a testament to the professionalism and skills of most of the soldiers, the column started to move off within six minutes, tanks protecting the core of transport containing the 101st and Von der Heydte’s Fallschirmjager.
Moreover, the enemy mortar fire slackened, radar sets from the 31st AAA Brigade seeking out the point of origin and passing the details to waiting gunners, who brought down swift retribution.
At the point of the column was Von Hardegen’s 1st Kompagnie, its Panthers especially suited for the night combat to come.
Alongside them came the specially equipped halftracks, their huge infra red lights sweeping the battlefield.
Used with success during his defence of the Kustrin Road, at the end of the German War, Von Hardegen understood well how to use his infrared night fighting capability to best advantage.
Russian tanks, immobile and vulnerable, highlighted to the commanders of the specially equipped Panthers, the cupola fitted with an infra-red sighting system that turned night into day and betrayed the position of virtually every Soviet soldier and vehicle.
‘Europa’s’ crews started to kill; clinically and professionally.
Behind them came the ‘UHU’s’, the SDKFZ 251’s equipped with 60cm Infra-red searchlights that illuminated the battlefield, solely for Europa’s benefit.
Soviet soldiers started to die, their nemesis unseen in the dark, reaching out with incredible accuracy.
2nd Kompagnie, partially equipped with the same FG1250 sights, peeled off on cue, smashing into a Soviet infantry unit at rest, sending it flying in a whirl of bullets and unforgiving tracks.
Von der Heydte, riding on the back of the company commander’s Panther G, watched fascinated as the infrared equipment gave the armoured group total command of the battlefield.
Behind the Panthers and Uhu’s came four Falke, half-tracks carrying support troops equipped with Vampir ST-44’s, and behind them more Kangaroos, empty this time.
The Vampir panzer-grenadieres debussed, quickly clearing a channel through the dazed Soviets, permitting the small column to press on unmolested, and into the survivors of the other part of Von der Heydte’s command.
The Paratrooper officer watched with pride as his men swiftly mounted the unfamiliar Kangaroos, his pride tinged with sadness at their greatly reduced numbers.
A single Buffalo waited in vain for the stretcher cases and followed on empty, the last but one vehicle to exit Geleen’s northern suburb.
Having drained most of his tanks dry, Colonel Danskin, the 25th Guards Mechanised Brigade’s commander, had filled six tanks with enough fuel to support the night attack on the bridges at Berg.
As his wristwatch clicked inexorably to the 0400 deadline, the sound of fighting increased to his rear.
The radio had been full of sounds of consternation, of reports of phantoms, even German tanks with red eyes.
For all he cared, it could be Lucifer himself behind him. If he failed to reach the Maas today, he would never see another sunrise.
The Soviet attack commenced, or rather, it tried to, but failed immediately.
From out of the eastern darkness emerged death, dark undecipherable shapes spitting out shells and bullets in all directions.
Danskin watched helplessly as his immobilised armour fought back, the vital factor of manoeuvre absent, and contributing to the slaughter that ensued.