Encouraged, the Soviet infantry forged forwards but 3 Company was not pulling back another inch, and the ground did not allow the full weight of the enemy to fall on them at once. Most of the infantry were still on the steep slope below the position.
The close quarter’s sound of steel upon steel rang out, and only the occasional shot told those who were only within earshot that it was not the ghosts of Germanic tribesmen battling the shades of Publius Quinctilius Varus’s legions.
“Hello 3, this is 9, fetch Sunray, over.”
“3, negative, Sunray 39 has gone forward to support 32, over.”
“Ops!” Pat Reed shouted, reaching for an SLR. This was the crunch, and his battalion would live or die depending on the events of the next half hour. He had been told to expect reinforcement from 44 Commando but they had not appeared, and had probably been isolated from the Guards position by the Soviet barrage.
There was nothing more he could do that the next most experienced officer present could not.
“Sir?”
“The battalion is yours for a while. I am going to take a stroll across to 3 Company.”
His driver, orderly and radio operator pulled on webbing and came across to join him.
His ‘Rover Group’ was a little on the light side now. Sergeant Higgins and the half section from Defence Platoon, aka the Corps of Drums in peacetime, were dead and Arnie Moore had been missing for several hours.
The RSM and Rodriguez entered the CP at that moment and Pat paused to take in the muddy duo.
“I don’t know whether to quip ‘Look what the cat dragged in’ or ‘Someone has been in the wars’?” Pat grumbled as he had half expected to discover that the American paratrooper had become a casualty of the shelling. Despite his tone he was in fact warmed to see the RSM safe and well.
“Grab a rifle and bayonet sarn’t major, you too young man.” He added for PFC Rodriguez benefit
As Arnie crossed the bunker for one of the British rifles and bayonets he looked for new filters while he was at it.
“Any fresh respirator filters?” Arnie asked. “Mines about done in.”
The Operations officer held out two, one for Arnie and one for Rodriguez.
“Watch him carefully RSM.” The Ops officer said just loud enough not to be overheard, and nodding towards the commanding officer.
“His boy was killed.”
Arnie had met Julian Reed during the advance to contact with the Soviet airborne forces. A very likeable young man and one who was clearly respected by his troops. Arnie thanked God that he and his wife had started their family late, and all were well below military age.
The first hint of dawn, muted by the cloud and rain, an almost imperceptible lightening of the horizon at their backs as they headed toward 3 Company.
The sound of fighting came to the small group as they worked their way along the muddy tracks and Pat picked up the pace. The dark crater where the original 3 Company headquarters had died was on the right; Tim Gilchrist had first occupied it with a single radio operator for want of anything better being available when assuming command, but that was before the rain had come in earnest. It was more pond than protection now. They had co-located in the 9 Platoon HQ trench as the platoon commander had been a casualty earlier. The wrecked and burnt out Defence Platoon Warrior was on its side on the track beside another crater, where Sgt Higgins and the four Drummers had been killed.
The fighting masked their approach and Pat almost walked into a kneeling group of men at the side of the track preparing grenades. By the outline of their helmets they were Soviet, not British or American. They had managed to work their way around to the rear of 9 Platoon and were about to tilt the odds even more in the attackers favour.
Pat thumbed off the safety catch, and one head turned on hearing the metallic click. Lighting flashed and Pat looked upon his enemy, then shot the man in the face.
It was Arnie’s place to bring up the rear, to chivvy along and ensure the tail-end-Charlie’s kept up, but his offer to lead this time had been refused and so he had slotted himself behind the CO instead.
Lt Col Pat Reed shot the first man and then a second and third, but he had not moved his position, he was stood upright and illuminated by his own weapon’s muzzle flash.
A hand grasped the yoke at the back of the CO’s webbing, and yanked him roughly backwards, a burst of fire narrowly missing him. By the time Pat regained his feet the enemy squad, all six of them, were dead.
Arnie Moore made no apology, but gave no clue that he was responsible for the CO’s tumble either. He shouted to the nearest 9 Platoon trench, identifying himself and the rest as the CO’s Rover Group and warning them to watch their rear.
“Now.” Pat shouted to his radio operator. “Tell Jim Popham to go now!”
Jim Popham’s small force of Warrior IFVs moved into view and opened fire from the flank.
In order to engage the IFVs the tanks left the cover of the hillside, moving back into the churned mud soup that was the valley floor where they were again ‘in-play’ from fire from the Highlanders Milan teams and C Squadron.
The infantry attack slowed, faltered, and only the officers were keeping the men from withdrawing.
Bill allowed the rifle to point naturally at the target, the sight rising and falling with his breathing. At the bottom of the breath he squeezed, the butt kicked back and he followed through.
“Next one” Stef muttered. “Three clicks left, he’s got no rank tabs but he’s got a radio operator dogging his heels.”
This one was canny, he didn’t stay still even when he was stationary, his head and torso were in constant motion and Bill spent a while trying to predict his next movement. It was like trying to hit a balloon tethered in a gusty wind, his head would not stay still.
“Sod this, it’s boring.” He grumbled at last, raising himself on his toes to alter his position fractionally before relaxing once more. He fired, and the radio operator fell on top of the wily officer, pinning him to the ground. A second’s pause as another minor realignment of position took place and Bill shot the officer in the head.
“Who’s next?”
“A guy who just realised he is now the battalion commander…go six clicks right, the one with the big grin on his mug.”
Bill shot him too.
The two leading Warriors blew up, hit by tank fire and an RPG respectively; the latter struck the turret and set off the stored HE and APDS clips. The wrecks blocked the way for the remainder and Pat’s planned Hammer and Anvil withered and died. Only Jim Popham’s Warrior was able to fire into the flank, aiming between the burning vehicles.
“With me!” Pat Reed shouted, and ran past Arnie Moore towards the trench fight.
“God give me strength!” the RSM grumbled. “Someone break the CO’s legs before he gets himself killed, f’christ sakes!” Arnie added with an oath.
The enemy had the skeletal 8 Platoon’s two trenches and one of 7 Platoon’s. Stabbing down with bayonets, clubbing brutally with rifle butts at the defenders in the remaining trenches.
Voice muffled by his respirator Pat screamed hatred at these men who had killed his son and were now killing his battalion. He charged forwards without waiting to see if anyone followed.
A big sergeant rammed his bayonet through a respirator and into the face of a young American paratrooper, firing a shot to release the blade now wedged in a cheekbone, he grinned at the effects. Pat’s bayonet took him straight through the sternum and the force of the charge knocked him from his feet. The man to the sergeant’s right turned and raised his rifle and bayonet high. Pat’s side was unguarded but Arnie Moore’s blade took the man in the throat. Arnie’s helmet took most, but not all, of the force of a rifle butt and he fell to his knees. He looked up and saw the weapon reversed and dawn’s first rays upon the blade. Another rifle butt took his attacker in the throat and Arnie felt the ground vibrate as pounding boots thudded past him, driving into the Czech infantry, driving the men in front back into those behind.