The Tiger’s guns roared with frightening accuracy, Sherman’s were knocked out with ease’ some of their crews managed to escape but many did not. A Sherman fired on the move but the tank was hopelessly inaccurate when on the move and shells flew wide of the mark, time after time.
A Sherman slightly behind commander Jim Parker had its track blow off, it started to spin, driving on circles on the spot. The next shell put it out of action completely as it penetrated the side and the tank caught fire; cooking all inside alive.
The battle was not going well the bombers had not knocked out enough German armor and the superior Tiger II’s were proving deadly at this range. The Sherman crews had to keep pushing forward and use their greater number to overwhelm the enemy; they could not afford to get into a prolonged battle with the threat of the Russian Army looming in the shadows.
The battle of Owl Mountain
The U.S infantry had to move forward, Staff Sergeant Tom Smith started to drive his nervous men into the fight. They all had experienced the D-Day landings and were understandably not too keen to put their heads above the parapet, also the SS troops they were facing had a fearsome reputation, which they were so far living up to.
The men sprinted from explosion crater to explosion crater and used any cover they could, including the wreckages of Sherman tanks and in one case the wreckage of a downed B-17. As the troops advanced a Me 262 streaked overhead on a staffing run, the group of men caught in the open were cut to ribbons. The P-51 trailing in the wake of the jet fighter could do nothing but curse and try to keep on the tail of his target.
The American fighter force outnumbered their Luftwaffe counterparts nearly two to one. Brooklyn Johnson behind the controls of his P-51 knew they were on to something big as normally the Luftwaffe would have bugged out of the fight by now but they were still here protecting the ground troops. Brooklyn steadied himself; he knew they were in a fight to the death.
Brooklyn and his wingman noticed below them a P-51 with a Me 109 on his tail opening up on him, slightly behind him the Mustangs wingman was blazing his cannons on the Me 109 and even further behind an Me 262 moving in for the Kill on the trailing Mustang.
“Fucking Hell Brookie, it’s FUBAR up here.” Jimmy was in disbelief.
“You said it mate, cover me we are going to nose over and open up on that son ova bitch!”
Brooklyn nosed over into a fast dive and as soon as the piper was slightly in front of the Me 262 he opened up a burst, tracer rounds shot out in a menacing red stream towards the fighter, which immediately hit the throttle and shot up to safety as the two Mustangs dove passed.
“Shit!” Brooklyn swore, “That son ova bitch knows what he’s doing.”
Jimmy watched over his shoulder as the first Mustang was hit badly and started to billow black smoke. The pilot was hit on his left side and unable to control his plane it started to spin. The young pilot tried desperately to eject but was engulfed in the encroaching flames, as the plane spiraled to the earth, he pulled out a pistol and ended it all; he could not take the terrible pain from the fire.
The Mustang on the Me 109’s tail avenged his fallen friend and blew the German out of the sky, pieces of his fighter rained debris over the empty cattle field below.
“Fuck one for one.” Jimmy whispered, “We’ll win at this rate but is it worth it?”
“No time for that now Jimmy boy, get your head back in the fight. We have a juicy Me 109 climbing nine o’clock.”
“Roger that Brookie, let’s give him hell!”
Commander Jim ‘Pete’ Parker’s Sherman medium tank continued forward, the veteran tank commander had closed the distance and had begun to fire on the move. His 76 mm gun was notoriously inaccurate at this range but his experience and that of his crew meant that while not ideal, they could at least fight on the move.
“Fire.” Pete roared.
The gun let off a boom and the shell arced forward, he missed the dug in Tiger II but it flew true and detonated on a German anti-tank gun that was tracking them across the field, the gun went up in a fireball as the shells exploded.
A Tiger I fired, the high-velocity shell from its 8.8 cm gun flew through the air, impacting through the front of a Sherman who had the misfortune of stopping to fire at a Panther medium tank. The shell thrust through the lower plate and disabled the tank. The crew flew out of the hatch but as soon as they did the crack of sniper fire rang out, the commander was hit through the head, while the gunner made it off of the tank but was struck through the chest twice; he bled out quickly.
Pete’s Sherman continued to advance, he fired on a Tiger II but they shell missed and all he managed to do was cover the monster in a coat of soil. The Tiger retaliated and fired a quick shell in their direction; it missed by millimeters and detonated into the wreckage of a downed Me 109.
“Fire.” Pete shouted again.
The shot from the Sherman flew true and with exceptional luck, it struck the commander’s cupola and killed the Tiger’s commander instantly. The Tiger was out of action for now.
Pete could barely believe it. “God must be on our side today boys.” He took another swing from his flask.
A few troops to the left Staff Sergeant Tom Smith bolted from the crater they were taking shelter in; no sooner had the left then the dug-in machine gun nests opened fire.
“Cover fire!” Smith ordered.
It was too late, the men were shredded and lay dead or dying only a few feet away from their position.
“Medic!” someone cried. Smith was about to stop the order but a crazy son of bitch jumped from the crater and sprinted towards the fallen men.
“Ray, get back here your dumb son of a bitch before you get yourself…”
It was too late, the machine guns roared up again and Ray was hit in the chest, he fell to the floor and gasped desperately for air, he could not breathe, his lungs were cut to pieces and he lay there drowning in oxygen.
“Right boys, I want two of you to gingerly pop your heads up and lay down some cover fire. The rest of us will advance to that Sherman and cover you, got it?”
Nobody answered.
“I said you got it boys?” Smith growled.
“Yes, Sir.” Was the cry back.
On the count of three, two men propped up on the edge of the crater and began to open fire with their semi-automatic M1 Carbine rifles; the cartridge pinged out when it was empty and they quickly shoved in a fresh clip. The lads sprinted from cover and dove towards the destroyed Sherman, the Machine guns opened up but this time the rounds impacted into the turf around the crater, the two men putting down the cover fire jumped back into the crater, unhurt.
The few remaining Me 109’s and a group of P-51 Mustangs bugged out of the fight, their ammunition spent. There had been heavy losses on both sides but four of the Luftwaffe fighters survived to fight another day.
Nine Mustangs were left against five of the brilliantly flown Me 262 Swallows. Brooklyn Johnson ordered the Mustangs into three groups of two planes each & a single group of three planes.
“Don’t let the bastards behind you, single them out then destroy them one by one.” Brooklyn said. Brooklyn was the senior man now and the other pilots respected him; Brooklyn had become a fighter ace in the Pacific at the battle of Midway.
The Flak guns had started to let up with one running out of ammunition completely, one of the others had been destroyed by a P-51’s strafing run. The Me 262’s split from their formation and pushed into a steep climb that the Mustangs could not hope to match, in fact they did not even try to compete.