“Yes, Sergent.”
A growing engine sound marked the closeness of the enemy tank and both men settled into the firing position, ready to send the deadly Lans warheads to deal with the threat.
“Keep your head down, man!”
In his keenness, and in his fear, Patrice Evreaux had risen up too far.
He dropped quickly, cursing himself for his foolishness.
“Sorry, Sergent.”
“Minimum exposure… remember… small target… check the area behind… slow breathing… steady trigger finger… remember your training, Patrice.”
“Sorry… yes, Sergent.”
The approaching tank engine stopped abruptly.
“Really? Call yourself a driver?”
“I didn’t stall it. The fucking thing just stopped.”
“Restart the engine.”
The starter motor turned over but the V-12 diesel stubbornly refused to fire up.
“You’re fucking shitting me… get it started, Onufriy!”
Despite the perfect tone of the starter motor, there was no throaty roar in reply.
Nothing.
“Right. Let’s get this sorted. Commander and driver out!”
The two BA-64 commanders were confused.
Having expected the IS-III to lead the charge, they now found themselves positioned either side of a lame duck.
With either too much courage, or insufficient wisdom, they pressed ahead.
The lead armoured car reached the bend and tentatively nosed around it before slipping across the road and in behind a pile of rubble where six guardsmen had secreted themselves.
The infantry leader spoke briefly with the BA-64’s commander, gesticulating up the road and agreeing a plan.
Within seconds, the machine-gun on the armoured car was working, spraying bullets all over the place, but concentrating where they had seen an enemy soldier with a panzerfaust.
The second vehicle joined in as it rounded the bend.
Evreaux span away screaming as two bullets smashed into his shoulder and neck.
“Verdammt!”
Peters ducked as brick particles bit into his face.
The armoured cars were on the very edge of his range, and he was there for the enemy tank, but he had no choice.
Peters edged off to one side to give himself a chance and glanced carefully through gap in the rubble.
The bullets struck all around the hole as the second armoured car rounded the bend and opened fire.
He moved over to the other side and got the same result, although he glimpsed the enemy infantry group moving in the buildings closer to him.
He looked at the damaged staircase more closely, having previously rejected the idea.
Before he thought it through, Peters grabbed the second Lans and was moving up the rickety construction in a crouching crawl cum run.
‘Perfect’.
He settled his breathing and calculated his aiming point.
The missile sped away and impacted directly on the bottom edge of the driver’s hatch.
The armoured car kept moving forward and impacted with a pile of rubble, which impact rolled the vehicle onto its side.
Smoke and flame started to rise immediately and no one got out.
Before the enemy could recover, Peters had the second Lans up and aimed.
The BA-64 slipped into reverse and the missile struck the road in front of it.
But the fates were not kind to the Russian crew.
The warhead skipped off the roadway and smashed into the lower front, destroying the vehicle just as well as a direct hit.
The brave commander pulled his wounded driver clear as the vehicle started to lazily burn.
‘Now to get the fuck out of here!’
A grenade sailed into the downstairs area and exploded.
There was a low rumble and the stairs collapsed.
“Scheisse!”
The floor shifted and he almost lost his grip, but it held and he recovered his ST-44.
The enemy infantry group was one building away and he decided to return the favour.
A fragmentation grenade brought shouts of consternation from the building and then screams as its metal fragments found refuge in soft flesh.
He raised himself up for a quick look and fear froze him in place.
“Firing!”
The IS-III’s gun sent an HE shell at the target and the explosion sent pieces of brick, wood, and something softer in all directions.
The tank’s blocked fuel filter had been fixed and Stepanov exonerated, at least in his own eyes.
On rounding the bend, Stelmakh and Ferensky had spotted the enemy AT position, and witnessed the infantry’s difficulties.
Pushing the burning BA-64 out of the way, ‘Krasny Suka’ had taken an angled position and targeted the ruined building.
As the last pieces of rubble bounced away, the small infantry group rose up and charged forward, simultaneously with a surge from the main group to Stelmakh’s right side.
“Driver, advance.”
The IS-III moved slowly forward, remaining slightly behind the infantrymen.
“Driver, halt. Gunner, target, building, right two, green and yellow shutters, fire when on.”
The turret traversed slightly and the gun flew backwards as Ferensky put lead on target.
It only needed one shell and the whole structure imploded.
The infantrymen rose up and charged the still collapsing rubble, confident the enemy defenders were in no state to resist.
They were wrong, and two of their number fell as a burst of automatic fire came from one relatively intact corner.
Vengeful men closed in on the firer and a brief struggle ensued before he was beaten down and killed.
“Driver, advance.”
Stepanov accelerated forward, moving quicker than before as the infantry gained distance.
Inside, Kalinov served the weapon and struggled with the new shell as the vehicle bumped over the masonry and obstructions, and he alone was spared the sight that froze the blood in the others’ veins.
“Holy Mother!”
“Fire!”
The 88mm shell covered the one hundred and fifty metres in the blink of an eye and hammered into the hull adjacent to the track guard.
The IS-III returned fire and also hit its target, but the Tiger had been angled perfectly and the HE shell flew off the front glacis leaving a silver reminder of its passage.
Even when it found refuge in the side of a shop, the dud shell failed to explode.
Lohengrin’s own shell had not penetrated the thick angled armour, but had destroyed much of the nearside front track and wheel assembly.
Köster went for a second shot.
“Hit him again! Driver, standby to reverse!”
The Tiger commander was counting on the legendary slow reload speed and his driver’s skill to avoid a second hit on his tank.
He was right on both counts.
Jarome spent an extra half a second with his aim and put his AP shell into the gap between the mantlet and the hull top.
The Tiger jerked back immediately and out of sight, denying the enemy tank the opportunity to return the shot.
Not that it could.
The Tiger’s shell had wrought great damage without actually knocking out the IS-III.
The blow on the mantlet had sent a shockwave through the whole gun mount, which disrupted the optical system and, much to Ferensky’s discomfort, gave him a depressed fracture of the orbit where he had been pressed firmly up against the gun sight.
“Blyad… that fucking hurts… I think the gun’s fucked, Comrade Mayor.”