By any standards, he had suffered a defeat, the loss of over thirty tanks in one engagement only surpassed by the horrendous casualties inflicted upon his SMG troops, and the infantry of the 424th.
In return, he could claim one enemy armoured vehicle and one anti-tank gun, as well as numerous infantry.
Setting up a headquarters at the Mairie, Blagoslavov liaised with the senior officer of the 424th, the wounded Major seemingly still in shock from the losses inflicted upon his battalions.
The infantry could do nothing more than hold in place for now, so shattered were they, and the tank officer doubted that they would manage that, if pressed hard by the enemy.
The pain was starting to return, his jaw working overtime issuing orders to hard-pressed tank officers, trying to pull his unit back into some kind of order.
A small column of vehicles drew up in the Rue Principale, and an irate Konovalov emerged, determined to salvage the situation.
There were no niceties or formalities.
“What the fuck has happened here, PodPolkovnik?”
Expecting nothing less from his commander, Blagoslavov started drawing on the map, showing enemy lines, routes of advance, describing the attack in sufficient detail for Konovalov to understand exactly ‘what the fuck’ had happened.
“And your Regiment? How much is left?”
“At this time, I have twenty-five vehicles, Comrade General, fourteen IS and eleven Tridsat’s, with maybe another five to come after repair.”
“And the infantry?”
“I’ve no longer an SMG company of note. Perhaps a platoon of men left standing, but I don’t think they’re fit to fight at the moment, Comrade General.”
Konovalov understood.
“The 424th is reorganising for defence at this time. Mayor Din informs me that he can muster three companies of men in total, Comrade General.”
The commander of the 38th Tanks winced, understanding that each supporting battalion had been reduced to a company, and that such news represented appalling casualties.
“What else have you done?”
“The artillery is hitting the last known enemy positions. I have requested release of the mortar brigade to my control, and await the answer.”
“I have your answer, and we must do without them, for now.”
The men exchanged looks, the Lieutenant Colonel because he was disgusted not to get the support he needed, the General because he understood the man’s disgust, and also because he understood that Blagoslavov had done the best he could, in the circumstances.
“Go on, Panteleimon Tarasovich, what else?”
The use of the patronymic was not wasted on Blagoslavov, and he knew he was no longer in danger.
“All units are being reorganised as we speak, and I’ve ordered up supplies and more medical personnel to deal with the large number of wounded.”
Words were obviously becoming more difficult, the swelling more pronounced, the pain increasing.
“Comrade PodPolkovnik, I am moving the 108th up to take over the van. Our comrades from the 419th Rifles will take over from Din’s men.”
Grabbing the map, and twisting it round to face him, Konovalov showed the wounded tanker his next assignment.
“Once they pass through your positions, I want you to move back here, to Barr and Eichhoffen. Get your units rested, Comrade. We need a security screen on our flanks. The valley entrances are heavily mined, and Army engineers will be coming up to open them up ready. There are light enemy defences, some guns and infantry, but nothing major in place. You shouldn’t have any problems, Comrade.”
“Yes, Sir.”
In a softer voice, Konovalov offered his support.
“This was obviously prepared, and you were the unfortunate one that walked into it, Comrade Blagoslavov. You saved half your unit from the SS bastards, remember?”
‘I lost half, you mean!’
“Now, get your men ready for the move. The Rifle Corps has detached 424th to your command until further notice. Make sure your tank repair unit is ready to salvage what it can, after we have pushed the Germanski Legion back.”
Slapping Blagoslavov on the shoulder, Konovalov ended the meeting.
“Now, go and get your own wounds seen to, Comrade PodPolkovnik.”
Konovalov took personal charge of the next assault. A handful of men were lost to mines, a few more when the damaged bridges disintegrated within seconds of each other, command detonated by some Legion demolition engineers.
Rokossovsky had dedicated some of his precious bridging engineers to the assault, and they made short work of erecting something to carry the IS-II’s of the 108th Guards Heavy Tank Regiment.
Launching an attack over the Aubach, the Soviet force met with no resistance.
The Legion had withdrawn again.
Chapter 96 – THE TIGERS
Unfortunately, this earth is not a fairyland, but a struggle for life, perfectly natural and therefore extremely harsh.
Rather surprisingly, the pain in his face had subsided to a constant dull ache.
The proper dressing, completed in a less pressurised environment, may well have helped. Certainly the painkillers pressed into his hand by the medics did, although Blagoslavov himself suspected that the vodka had been the greater measure.
The move north-west had been done quickly and efficiently, the ravaged units settling in at Barr and Eichoffen in record time, both villages relatively untouched by the two wars that had rolled over them.
Quickly, he directed his units into rough defensive positions, and set his officers to the task of reorganising the shattered regiment.
His second in command returned to the small square, the smug look betraying the man, and that his search for somewhere appropriate to house the regimental headquarters had been more than successful.
Le Manoir was an imposing manor house set in its own grounds, and the splendour and sophistication of the interior was the precise opposite of everything that the tank officer had experienced over the last two and a bit months.
Within two minutes, the exhausted Blagoslavov was snoring louder than one of his tanks at maximum revs.
Infantry from the 409th Rifle Regiment had cleared much of the woods, three kilometres north of Guémar, a handful of snipers lashing out, particularly at the officers, before melting away into the greenery and, all save one, escaping unharmed.
That one had received over two hundred puncture wounds, as the distraught platoon members avenged their dead Lieutenant, shot by the sniper they subsequently wounded, captured and bayoneted to death.
Moving up Route D1083 behind them came the 108th Guards Tank’s, confident and self-assured, their fight so different to that of the 110th.
Elements of the 109th Tanks moved towards Heidolsheim to the east, one battalion moved westwards to secure Châtenois and Kintzheim.
132nd Rifle Corps provided the infantry strength, closely backed up by the 134th Rifle Corps, its fresh divisions being kept in hand, ready for the assault on Colmar. Behind that came the most powerful unit of the 19th Army, namely the 3rd Guards Tank Corps.
The 3rd GTC had already seen some action, and had acquitted itself well. Now, or at least that was how it seemed to the jubilant tankers, the enemy line was nearly broken, and one more push would be enough for the whole front to open up before them.