The second Tiger lost both tracks but momentum took it the short distance to a patch of boggy ground where it sank deep into the mud, providing it with an excellent hull-down position.
Haro turned back to see what his unit commander was doing, only to see a shattered piece of metal and rubber burning fiercely where the Marmon-Herrington had stood a moment before.
Something that resembled a man was crawling across the muddy road, leaving a trail of smoke behind it.
The gunner questioned Haro without words and accepted the nod. He pulled the trigger, sending a few merciful bullets into their unknown comrade.
Haro slid into the vehicle, ordering a reverse into cover as the MG34 burst brought unwelcome attention.
A shell exploded on the terracing, rocking the vehicle violently.
The Sergeant was halfway through a report to the tank unit commander when he realised his words were going nowhere and the radio was dead.
Risking a look out of the turret, he found that the aerial had been carried away by something, most likely the anti-tank round that had struck the terracing.
Haro gave the driver reversing instructions, and the armoured car chopped down a number of small trees, coming to a halt in a depression behind the terraced hill.
“New aerial.”
With little more than that, Haro was out of the vehicle and straight into the repair.
He worked quickly, all to a backdrop of death and destruction, as the ambushing anti-tank guns worked their way through the 2nd/3rd Company tank force.
Machine guns now also added their load of life-taking metal to the valley, as enemy heavy calibre weapons punched out bullets at the infantry force trying to deploy for an assault.
By the time Hamuda and Yamagiri had questioned the competence of the infantry Major Kuso, the man was already spectacularly dead, caught simultaneously by three bursts of .50cal shells.
Japanese battlefield intelligence was never brilliant and, as the Pacific War had come closer to the home islands, and Japan was more and more isolated, its intelligence services could only search for crumbs with which to feed the machine of war.
Ships had been seen at Fangcheng and Zhenzhu Harbours, yet more at Beihei, ships that spewed forth men and equipment in large numbers.
A few men and women survived close encounters with vigilant Chinese secret police, at least long enough to get a message down the line.
None made it through, the last messenger, a ten year old girl delivering a letter for her ‘uncle’, had a confession beaten out of her and was then left to drown in a shallow gully alongside the Suixi–Zhanjiang road.
So, the 2nd/3rd Group of the Rainbow Brigade walked right into a prepared defensive position manned by some very serious men with big guns.
Colonel Edgar J. Painter, commander of the 20th US Armored’s Combat Command A, and senior man on the field that day, had no choice but to let the guns loose ahead of time.
‘Damn that goddamned fucking goat!’
He found some small satisfaction that the beast that had blown his ambush was already with its maker; he would ensure the carcass would serve as a square meal for his headquarters that evening.
‘A goddamned fucking goat of all things!’
CCA had brought very little of its firepower forward, logistics proving difficult in a country firmly rooted in the 18th Century, but it brought some extra force to the field, in the shape of part of the 343rd RCT, quickly sent up to make up for the absence of infantry in CCA, its own regular armored-infantry battalion diverted away from the Southern Chinese ports by submarine warnings.
Both the 20th and 343rd had some action in Europe at the end of the German War, but both came to it late, and their experiences were relatively untraumatic, pushing against a beaten enemy, and so the men were unusually eager to get to grips with the enemy.
Both partial units were augmented by a special tank-destroyer group with three distinct elements. The first two consisted of two platoons of 3” AT guns and one extended platoon of 90mm AA guns respectively, the latter the modified version capable of engaging ground targets. The third element, slated to be part of the 86th Infantry Division’s order of battle, was a Headquarters and 1st platoon from the 656th Tank-Destroyer Battalion, sporting four M36 Jacksons, and an equal number of M20 utility cars.
It was one of the 90mm AA guns that had destroyed the lead Tiger with its first shot.
The M36’s sat on the right flank of the Chinese-American force, waiting their moment.
To complete the firepower available to Painter, the 413rd Armored Field Artillery Battalion was already lobbing its 105mm high-explosive shells to the rear of the 2nd Group, equally interfering with either reinforcement or retreat.
The 413rd was one of the few units in the US Army that had been converted to the M37 HMC, and this was their first time using it in action.
Painter nodded in satisfaction at their work, the shells constantly arriving on the money, denying the enemy the road and everything for two hundred yards west and east of it.
“George. “
Immediately, Colonel Bloomquist of the 343rd Infantry moved closer.
“George, I think we need to push your boys up on the left there, through the woods. Don’t think they’ve got tanks in there, so push them up hard and get ’em flanking the sons of bitches. “
The planning had anticipated an infantry advance up the left flank, using the relative safety of the trees. There were huge gaps between some of the trunks, some wide enough to drive two vehicles side by side through, but it seemed the entire Imperial Army armoured group was on or near the road. None the less, George Bloomquist had made sure his lead formation sported extra bazookas, just in case.
“I’m gonna commit my tanks with your boys. Tuck ’em in behind until they can cut loose into the flank of these sons of bitches. Clear, George?”
“Sure thing, Colonel. “
Even though they were both the same rank, it was Painter that held command.
Bloomquist moved off to his portion of the headquarters bunker, calling his CoS to him to issue the orders.
Major Norris, Painter’s equivalent, took the opportunity presented and spoke softly to his commander.
“Sir, should we move the TD’s across into the flank now. Maybe push up some infantry as a screen to the right flank?”
Edgar Painter was the sort of officer who encouraged free expression amongst his officers, so such a suggestion was of no surprise to him.
“I think not, Willie. Leave the doughs where they are for now. They’ve prepared positions and we still don’t know the strength of this lot. Get… err… Crowther’s tanks moving up the left, acting in support of the infantry. He knows the plan.”
The man’s name had nearly escaped him.
Had the six Shermans arrived earlier then he would have pushed them up to make a firmer left side to his position.
But they hadn’t.
He gestured at the rapidly declining enemy force spread across the gap at the exit from the forest,
The pain on his face was very real as he witnessed an enemy shell wipe out one of his 3” guns, complete with its crew.
Swift retribution did not ease his pain at the loss of his men, the disintegrating Chi-Ha barely registering as he looked for survivors amongst his men, his knuckles white as he gripped the binoculars.
Some of the enemy tanks, and most of their infantry, had now disappeared from sight, taking cover in the small folds in the ground, or behind the unusual terrain features, oddly shaped areas of higher ground, that marred what would otherwise have been a perfect ambush site.
Still, he had a plan.
“Major Norris, order Butter to commence preset fire, commencing with Alpha.”