Gustavus prayed, Driest bit his nails, Schiller made a bet with himself that this was the biggest barrage they had ever encountered. No one dared lift their heads for fear of having them blown off, so, consequently, no one saw the Russian planes until they were flying over. The fighters swooped on the German positions sending a stream of tracer spattering across the ground. The anti-aircraft gunners swung the guns round and round in an effort to bring down the Jabos but they wheeled about as if they hadn’t a care in the world. The first one loosed its bomb-load and two gleaming objects streaked towards the ground, destroying part of the stockade. Bodies were catapulted into the air by the blast and Herzog thought what a waste of time the bloody thing had been anyway.
The anti-aircraft gunners kept up a stolid fire and their perseverance finally paid off as a Jabo burst into flames, broke up and plummeted to earth in a shower of sparks. The gunners cheered happily and swung the guns round again but a stray bomb exploded near them and the blast was sufficient to upend the half-track. The thing stood up like a dog begging for food, then nose dived to the ground. The gunners were thrown clear, but they hastily clambered back aboard and got back to work, pumping shot after shot into the sky.
“We haven’t got a chance,” babbled Driest as a shell exploded near them.
Foss crawled across to Ganz and pulled his arm. “Get through to the lookouts and see what’s happening. The Russians are keeping us pinned down for a reason.” He waited while Ganz got through, shouting to make himself heard above the continual roar of cannons and aeroplane engines.
“Well?” snapped the sergeant.
“Tanks,” said Ganz, quivering, “hundreds of them.”
All down the line the word spread. ‘Tanks!’ Men shook with fear and, if they had dared peer over the lip of the trench, they would have seen ample justification for that fear. Rumbling across no-man’s-land was what looked like a solid wall of steel. KV-Is, KV-2s and, deadliest of the lot, T-34s. The scream of their tracks began to drown out even the roaring of the artillery and behind them, yelling like maniacs, swarmed hordes of Russian infantry.
The tanks smashed through the ruins of Turek and bore down on the German left flank, smoke and flames belching from their gun-muzzles.
“That’s all we fucking need,” groaned Vogel, “if they get behind us it’s curtains.”
Driest had bitten his nails to the quick.
The tanks ploughed on, crushing down barbed wire, blasting a path for the infantry. The German gunners sent shells ploughing into the advancing masses and, from such close range, even the tanks weren’t safe. A number were hit and exploded, splitting open like ripe fruit. Great mushroom clouds of smoke spiralled from the stricken monsters and burning petrol showered those nearby, turning men into living torches.
The Russian artillery slackened off and the Germans in the trenches were able to take up firing positions. Almost gratefully, they stood up and sent a withering salvo into the onrushing infantry. Bullets sang off hulls of tanks but many found their mark and piles of Russian dead began to form but the others ran on seeking cover behind the tanks which were rapidly reaching their target.
Foss gave the order to pull back as the tanks reached the breastwork of the trench. The Germans streaked for the second line of defence, behind which they had already set up two 88s and a row of machine-guns. The tanks nosedived into the trench, crushing those who had been foolish enough to remain where they were. Pieces of human debris dripped from the tracks as the monsters rolled forward, on towards the waiting Germans. The 88s roared and two more tanks disappeared in a consuming ball of orange flame. The Russian infantry scurried up the slopes and met a solid wall of rifle and machine-gun fire. They fell in ranks and those following slipped in the blood and mud but got up and ran on, screaming oaths and brandishing their bayonets. Kahn carefully drew his sword.
The first of the Russians leapt at the wall of sandbags and drove his bayonet into a German private. Kahn swung his sword and beheaded the man, watching as the body slumped down. The rest of the Russians swarmed over the wall and the men forgot about tanks and concentrated on the enemy before them. All along the line men fought with anything they could lay their hands on. Bayonets, spades, axes, rifle-butts and, if there were none about, they throttled each other.
There was a high-pitched whoosh and four Russians disappeared under a blanket of flame.
The engineers were using flamethrowers.
Faced with two Russians, Driest emptied his pistol into one and flung the empty weapon at the second man. He crumpled up and Driest leapt upon him, grinding the heel of his boot into the man’s shattered face, stamping on him until the head split open.
Moller pressed his knee into the back of a Russian sergeant and expertly broke the man’s neck, the snapping of bone clearly audible above the clash of weapons. Moller dropped the corpse, giggling.
Herzog jerked his finger around the trigger of the MP 40, cutting down a dozen of the enemy; he stepped back a few paces to reload, using the empty weapon as a club on the Russian who attacked him. He heard the death-rattle and slamming a fresh magazine into the breech, scuttled back into the fighting.
A group of Tiger tanks appeared behind the Germans and it was the turn of the Russians to recoil. But, as the Tigers rolled forward, more of the brown-clad men began to pour across no-man’s-land until the whole battlefield began to resemble a gigantic, moving mudflat. Tigers and T-34s fought like prehistoric monsters while the infantry milled around them. But, powerful though they were, the Tigers were vastly outnumbered and the Russian tanks quickly obliterated them. All around, the dismembered wrecks of German tanks lay like stricken elephants.
“Fall back,” shouted Foss.
The Germans needed no prompting. Many merely dropped their weapons and fled, but the tanks mowed them down and rolled on over the bodies. Foss grabbed Sergeant Bern by the arm and pulled him back.
“You and your section stand with us,” he shouted.
Bern had been about to protest when a bullet tore off half his face. Foss looked around angrily and caught sight of Herzog. He called him over. “Take over Bern’s section, we’ve got to reach the woods.”
Herzog nodded and called a group of men to him. This is more like it, he thought, back in command again. Fuck the court-martial.
Back to back they retreated, men dying all around them. The cover of the woods beckoned and they finally reached it, throwing themselves down behind shattered tree-trunks. The Russians wavered before the wood, seeking their own cover behind the wrecks of tanks and there were plenty of those. Over on the right, three T-34s pulverised a battery of 88s grinding the heavy guns into scrap and crushing the gunners into mush.
Herzog scrambled across to Foss. “You get the men out, we’ll cover you.”
Foss frowned. “No. You go, and quickly. Make for the railhead.” The corporal started to protest but Foss cut him sort. “That’s an order.”
In groups of three and four at a time, the three remaining sections slipped through the wood until they reached the bottom of the hill. The Krupps which had been parked there had either been taken or destroyed.