The young sniper moved quickly through the mass of bodies, waking them up, before dropping by Makarenko’s side.
“Everyone is awake and ready, Comrade General.”
Even though Nikitin’s whispered words would not have woken a light sleeper next to him, the words seemed intolerably loud to Makarenko, a man who had brought his unit a long way, too far to see them fail at the final hour.
Makarenko led his men away, moving to the northwest, putting distance between them and the unknown sentry.
Nakhimov led the way, the small column moving in single file, until a raised clenched fist brought them all to an immediate halt.
Senior Sergeant Egon Nakhimov did not recognise the gaudy emblem on the wet metal, but he certainly understood that, but for the flash of Soviet artillery, he would have walked the entire group into the perimeter of a parked Tiger tank unit.
The paratroopers moved backwards slowly, moving away from the Panzers, not knowing that they had found part of ‘Tannenberg’ secreted in the valley, waiting to implement Operation Thermopylae.
Lieutenant Colonel Blagoslavov was not impressed, despite the gains his unit was making.
It was too expensive, both in consumables, and in manpower, seven of his tanks already lying behind him, five of the crews awaiting recovery by those who dealt with the menial task of extracting the shattered bodies and performing the subsequent burial.
Enemy artillery fire was ineffective, surprisingly so, an indication that his own artillery and rocket batteries had been successful above expectations.
However, as always, the German mortars made up for it. No matter what uniforms they wore, these men were Germans, and they were masters of the mortar.
Thirty minutes ago, Blagoslavov had been listening to the bitter complaints of a Starshy Lieutenant, the new senior officer in his SMG Company. The previous commander, an experienced Captain, lay bleeding in an aid post on the side of the Route de Sélestat, south of Sand, his body sundered by mortar shrapnel.
Now, that same Lieutenant was waiting for the arrival of a burial detail, his life taken by the same damned mortars that had claimed nearly half of the company he led.
Blagoslavov’s 110th Tank Regiment, of the 38th Guards Heavy Tank Brigade, was presently halted within Benfeld, whilst their comrades of the 18th Rifle Division ousted the defenders of Huttenheim ahead.
132nd Rifle Corps had the lead at this stage, supported by Blagoslavov’s 38th Brigade, and was making good going, despite the occasional solid pocket of resistance, such as was being offered in the small village of Huttenheim.
They had been promised that the defence would not stick, and, so far, the promises had held.
The radio next to him burst into life, the Brigade commander informing all his sub-units that Huttenheim had been cleared, and that the advance was to continue.
Engines roared as the T-34’s and IS-II’s moved forward once more, eating up the kilometre between them and the new front line.
The 38th was, by the simple factor of availability, mixed medium and heavy tanks, the supply of replacements limited by factors beyond Blagoslavov’s control. His protests on the additional complication to his logistics were swiftly dismissed by senior officers, who clearly knew something he didn’t.
The Soviet tanks approached Huttenheim.
The signs of a swift and desperate fight were everywhere. Buildings and vehicles burned, their flames illuminating the bodies of comrades and enemy alike, lying where they fell, the whole hellish scene mixed with the cries of those in the extremes of pain.
The deputy commander of the 424th Rifle Regiment waved the tanks through, the survivors of Blagoslavov’s SMG Company clinging to their sides, as they rattled on towards Sermersheim.
Behind them came the mobile companies of the 424th’s 1st Battalion, ready to debus, and put in an infantry assault on any obstacle.
Encountering no resistance, the column moved on through Sermersheim, and on to Kogenheim.
The night slowly gave way to the day.
Blagoslavov halted his lead tank battalion on the outskirts of Kogenheim, permitting his SMG infantry to move through the village. His second battalion shook out to the right flank, protecting the whole force. The 3rd Battalion stayed back, ready to act as a reserve force if things started to come alive again. While his men carried out their orders, the Colonel’s own gaze fell upon the shattered bridge over the Ill River, yet another example of the destruction of anything useful, carried out as the enemy force retreated.
Overhead, a flight of Shturmoviks headed south, a sign that the sky did not belong to the Allied air force that day.
His orders required him to wait in Kogenheim, allowing other units to arrive and deploy westwards, using Route 203 to protect the flank of the assault force. Their objective was the village of Blienschwiller, at the mouth of one of the passes into the Vosges.
All along the route of advance, other units were similarly tasked and some, if not all, had encountered resistance from dug-in enemy guns and infantry, supported by mines and artillery.
The Tank Colonel chose to question his orders, conscious that a delay in following the retreating enemy might permit them time to re-establish themselves.
Major General Konovalov, commander of the 38th, agreed, and sanctioned the premature advance.
110th Guards Heavy Tank Regiment moved forward again.
“Steady, mes amis, steady.”
Some of the infantry force covering the anti-tank guns seemed disturbed, and Colonel St.Clair moved among them calmly, doing what good officers do.
‘Alma’ had suffered over the weeks since the division had first been committed, but the unit had shown it was dependable, which was why Lavalle and Knocke had chosen it for the first major defensive action.
Reduced in size by losing the 5th RdM to ‘Camerone’, ‘Alma’ was more of a large brigade than a division, but had been punching above its weight since the start of the Soviet offensive.
The Alma’s new commander, Celestin St.Clair, stood with the commander of the special anti-tank company, upon whom, much depended.
The anti-tank guns were positioned one and a half kilometres behind the River Aubach, silently awaiting the order to fire.
A stand was called for in the plan, and Alma was about to make it.
Lieutenant Colonel Blagoslavov groggily dismounted from his tank, blood pouring from his mouth.
A young girl had run out from her hiding place in Ebersheim, causing the driver to brake suddenly.
As Blagoslavov hit the cupola, face first, one of the SMG troopers had shot the child down, for fear that she had a grenade in her hand.
The crew of the command tank rallied to their officer, sitting him down, and pressing a dressing to his face.
One of the infantry unit’s medics appeared and took command, the elderly man deftly removing some shattered teeth, before preparing to stitch the nasty wound.
The needle worked quickly, pulling together the split flesh. Blagoslovov winced, but held firm, the pain almost unbearable.
Major Svir, commander of the 1st Tank Battalion, quickly assumed temporary command whilst Blagoslovov was being attended to, extending the infantry cordon to the edge of the village, and pushing his tanks beyond it to the banks of the Aubach.