That the Panther was not engaging them, but the US tanks to their west, was missed by the panicky soldiers.
A rout commenced, as men left vehicles still running and threw themselves into water that offered an illusion of safety. So confused were the soldiers of the CCA’s supply train that they failed to comprehend the arrival of more enemy tanks on the other bank.
The combined US tank-infantry force was now outgunned and outmanoeuvred, Hamuda’s gunner claiming a third kill in as many shots.
The surviving Shermans and half-tracks made off to the south-east as fast as they could, leaving Hirohata to turn part of his force in towards the river bridge.
The slaughter of the logistical train stepped up a gear.
Whilst the bloodletting behind him grew, Kagamutsu spotted the anti-tank guns moving to new positions.
“Gunner, target, vehicle, right five, eight hundred metres.”
The electric traverse moved the heavy turret the small distance required.
“On.”
“Fire.”
The gunner had slowly traversed back, leading the M5 tractor and was confident of a hit. The shell missed the fully tracked prime mover and ploughed into the 3” anti-tank gun it was towing.
Kagamutsu slapped the gunner’s shoulder.
“You lucky bastard.”
“The ancestors smiled upon me, Sergeant Major.”
“They can do it again then. Zero, eight fifty metres.”
Another shell sped across the battlefield, missing its intended target by some distance.
“Again.”
The jittery gun crew were bailing out of their vehicle when the HE hit the front plate. The tractor was destroyed and one of the crew was stripped of every appendage and hurled onto the roof of a small hut. He died before a medic could reach him.
Hirohata’s force had also split, the Marquis himself standing back, overwatching his tanks and infantry as the remaining two Panthers drove hard into the few units that had crossed the bridge unharmed.
Gradually, the slaughter abated as the three Panthers started to run out of viable targets, the main guns falling silent, leaving the machine guns to pick up off a morsel here and there.
Perversely, it was Kagamutsu who spotted the new danger.
“Ashita to all units. Enemy tanks coming out of Dasong. Type unknown. Over.”
Every tank commander looked south but, with the extra height of his position, it was Hirohata that could see best.
“Masumi from Takushi. Four enemy tanks on the railway line, coming north. Pershing type, over.”
Hamuda, always aggressive and equipped with a tank that supported his idea of modern combat, debated quickly.
The temptation to stay and slug it out with the monster enemy tanks was clear, and very tempting.
But, where there were four, there could be more, and all of his tanks had taken punishment already.
His head won the day.
“Takushi from Masami, over.”
Hirohata obviously expected the order, which momentarily reassured Hamuda that it was the right one.
He polished up the finer details.
“Takushi, stay in the woods but keep an eye on us as we move up through 2nd. Over.”
Clear on his orders, Lieutenant, the Marquis Ito Hirohata, ordered his two lead Panthers back into cover and melted away before the Pershings could engage.
The last but one shell had landed inch perfect.
The Japanese guns had been relocated to the river bridge but some shells were already on their way when the order came.
Colonel Bloomquist, 343rd Infantry, had left two minutes beforehand, intent on rallying the men and guns to the south.
The decision spared his life.
Those of the 343rd’s staff that had remained behind were less fortunate, although none of them suffered.
The blast had ripped through the headquarters position, and few men escaped without some injury.
Three of CCA’s personnel were dead, with another five badly wounded, including the Chinese Battalion commander.
The radios were smashed, and the whole headquarters was a shambles.
Edgar Painter had sustained a most unusual injury. Not one that overly incapacitated him, but it was painful for sure.
Halfway between his wrist and elbow, a pair of scissors protruded from his flash. The blast had picked them up from one of the field desks and sent them flying like a knife, striking the Colonel in the right arm.
It didn’t reduce his movement, but every change in posture brought a stab of excruciating pain, and he had no grip worth a damn.
Through the fire of his wound, a sound broke through, one new to his experience, but one that registered with him because of stories he had heard from men who had been on the receiving end.
“Banzai! Banzai! Banzai!”
In relocating some of his force, Painter had thinned out the men in between him and 2nd Group. Two Chinese platoons had run away as soon as the opportunity presented itself, leaving AT positions, and precious little else, between the CP and the enemy.
The shell, in destroying his radios, had deprived him of the means to plug the gap.
Infantry from the 2nd/3rd rose up and charged forward, closing upon a brace of 3” AT weapons and their infantry support.
“Banzai!”
Painter had to admit that it was frightening.
One of the 343rd’s piss-ant 37mm guns, weapons that had been universally mocked when discussed in conjunction with the possibility of enemy Panther and Tiger tanks, spat out a hail of shot, its canister round proving extremely effective at wiping away groups of charging Japanese soldiers.
“Banzai!”
A .30cal crew worked feverishly to unjam a weapon that had fired but a single bullet before falling silent; the approaching screaming, the glistening bayonets, the growing covering fire from enemy guns, all combining to reduce their calmness to a nothingness of fear. The gun would not fire again this day.
“Banzai!”
The 37mm coughed once more and a dozen enemy soldiers were thrown over in disarray. The screams of the charging men mingled with the screams of the hideously wounded.
The AT gunners started throwing grenades, and looking to their small arms as the ‘medieval horde’ grew closer.
“Banzai!”
The Japanese commander, waving his pistol and sword in encouragement, ran straight onto an exploding grenade, which gave him more forward momentum, but robbed him of his life in an instant.
Another canister round was fired and more men were wiped away by the stream of steel balls.
An armoured car dashed forward on the flank and its German machine-gun lashed the 37mm’s servers, silencing the weapon.
“Banzai!”
The headquarters officers and soldiers had come into action, picking off men here and there, careful to avoid hitting their own.
A running Japanese threw aside his rifle and slammed his hand against his helmet, immediately throwing himself into the first anti-tank gun position.
More experienced soldiers would have realised that the man was arming a grenade by striking the primer on the metal protecting his head.
The grenade went off, killing or incapacitating the whole gun crew.
The next three Japanese soldiers into the position used their rifles and bayonets to finish the job.
“Banzai!”
The surviving Japanese officer, 2nd Lieutenant Tanji, leapt the shallow trench and dropped beside the two men at the .30cal; both were paralysed with fear.
Their hands were half raised but the officer’s sword was unforgiving and he swept the blade into them, two blows each.
Behind Tanji, the rest of his unit was either on or over the defensive line.
“Banzai!”
A knot of enemy formed behind some small rocks and started to pick off his soldiers.