Norris confirmed the order and was quickly at the radio, overseeing the transfer of the instruction to call sign ‘Butter’, the commander of the 413rd Artillery’s three batteries.
The plan required one battery to continue discouraging retreat or reinforcement, whilst the other two put their ordnance down on pre-ranged locations behind cover.
Alpha, selected in haste earlier when Painter and a security detail quickly traversed the battlefield, was a very obvious place for an ambushed column to seek cover, and so was quickly brought under fire.
Whilst the results were not known, the observing officers were content that the Japanese were having a hard time of it.
He considered using his artillery to engage the hull down Tiger, but resisted, instead ordering the 90mms to concentrate solely upon the heavier vehicle until it was destroyed.
Even inside the noisy tank, the sound of tank cannons and machine guns could be heard quite clearly.
The artillery barrage seemed to have slackened off, for a reason Hamuda could only guess at.
His guesses came down to low ammunition, or a lack of targets.
As the edge of the forest started to declare itself ahead, Hamuda halted his two tanks in cover and gestured to Kagamutsu, who understood his commander’s needs precisely.
Armed with an MP40, the Sergeant-Major dismounted his tank and moved quickly after his officer.
The two dropped and crawled the last twenty yards to the edge of the woods.
Without his binoculars, Hamuda could see enough. With them, the problem grew fourfold, although the opportunity that was presented also tantalised him.
His mind quickly worked the issue and came up with a resolution.
“Sergeant-Major, if I call it in, we’ll strike to this point and break off towards those vehicles there, having stopped to make sure we kill them.”
Kagamutsu understood his officer’s concerns; the enemy vehicles looked dangerous, the size of their guns evident even to the naked eye.
He pointed out the infantry positions.
“Keep your distance from those… and we’ll just cut straight across the enemy position. Clear?”
“Hai.”
The doubt originated from a lack of knowledge on Hirohata’s status.
A flurry of fire from the woods a mile away to their right.
Hamuda’s decision changed instantly.
“Right. The Marquis has run into enemy. If nothing else, that’s a distraction. We move now. Go!”
The two ran back to their waiting tanks, quickly briefing the infantry before they mounted up and the Panthers leapt forward.
It was Sakita’s Panther that had opened up the battle in the woods, swatting away a group of astonished GI’s.
The 20th may not have seen much fighting in Germany, but there were few in the unit’s ranks that couldn’t recognise a Panther tank, even in the colours of the Imperial Army.
Hull and turret machine guns lashed the short undergrowth, putting down a number of soldiers permanently.
Angling his tank, the driver evacuated his bowels as the trail of a bazooka shell rose towards his face.
The rocket clipped the driver’s episcope, diverted, and nicked the top of the mantlet, neither contact sufficient to cause it to explode.
The bazooka shell detonated against the bough of a tree, some thirty yards behind the Panther.
There was no chance for the crew to reload, as the driver took revenge for his embarrassment by running the pair down.
The two other Panthers shook out behind Sakita, with Hirohata in the centre.
The infantry component stayed level with the tanks, selecting anti-tank threats for special attention, leaving the armoured vehicles to enjoy the harvest.
The lead platoons of Bloomquist’s Charlie company fell back in disarray, moving back past the advancing Shermans from the 27th Tank Battalion’s A Company.
The tanks were a mixture of four M4 easy eights and two M4A3E2 Jumbos, both with 75mm guns.
War can be peverse sometimes, and a wood would never be considered as tank fighting country, but the first tank versus tank engagement of the newly-arrived US Army in Southern China occurred in the woods, west of Route 487.
Sakita growled at his gunner, talking the man onto the target that was steadily moving forwards.
“Driver. As soon as we fire, move on up to that big tree head and angle left.”
The gun roared and the Panther surged forward instantly.
“Baka! You missed!”
The accusation could not be refuted, as the chunky looking tank started to weave towards a clump of bamboo near another large tree.
Its gun belched flame and a solid shot struck the side of the Panther without penetrating.
A tree trunk prevented the Japanese tank from turning its long barrel, buying the American crew the opportunity for a second shot.
The 75mm struck the Panther’s mantlet and flew skywards.
Onboard the Sherman Jumbo, and not for the first time, voices condemned the lack of penetrative power of the 75mm gun. The commander screamed at his idiot gunner for firing at the thickest armour on the enemy tank.
The Panther edged forward, permitting its gun to bear and placed such thoughts beyond the American tankers. They died as the AP shell slammed into the Jumbo, the extra armour of the Sherman easily defeated by the close range of the battle.
Hirohata engaged an Easy-Eight to his front, and watched as his shell punched its way through the driver’s front plate.
Hatches were thrown open, and a wisp of smoke followed the bodies abandoning the damaged tank, the commander slower than the rest, his severed left leg lying in the well of the turret.
“Again.”
A second shell helped the American on his way, the explosion lifting him up and throwing him into some bushes, the thick growth offering a soft landing pad from which he crawled away, as best his wound permitted.
The third Panther, on the left end of the line, destroyed another Easy Eight with its second shot, the crew abandoning the Sherman as it transformed into a fireball.
At ranges of no more than two hundred yards, the tanks stalked each other in the undergrowth.
“What the goddamned hell? George!”
Bloomquist shouted back.
“I’m on it, Colonel.”
Edgar Painter could guess, but wanted proper information before he committed himself.
The infantry commander moved across the headquarters.
“Colonel, they ran into tanks and infantry. Your boys have already lost three and my lead platoons have fallen back.”
Painter leant past Bloomquist, enquiring about the tank unit.
The signals officer had bad news.
“Nothing, Sir. Nothing at all. Can’t raise them and there’s no command net traffic from Crowther.”
The CCA commander understood what that meant.
‘Crowther… one of the new boys… the skinny one?’
He summoned up a mental picture of the man he now considered dead, and dismissed it just as quickly.
“Right. Any more on the enemy, George?”
“Three tanks, plus at least a company of infantry.”
“Types? What sort of tanks, George.”
“No info as yet, Colonel. I’ll get my boys to hold, but they’ll need some support.”
Painter looked at the tactical map.
“The Combat Engineers. We will swing them up behind you.”
The map taunted him in a couple of places, mines indicated in areas where the enemy now would not go, courtesy of a four legged discovery.
“Hell, they can put some mines down in front of your positions. No need to dig them in, just get them lined up and stop the bastards. I’ll pull two of the TDs too, George. Backstop for now, but maybe we can move ’em up later eh?”