“Hit the bastard again, Nellie!”
“He’s disappeared, Boss. Can’t see the bastard… hang on… ON!”
“FIRE!”
The 76mm cracked and sent a high-velocity shell across the battlefield, intended for a target some three hundred yards away.
The snow eddied round with the wind and made a concerted effort to obscure the Panzer IV. Had the shell missed it might have succeeded, but it struck home, and the ex-German tank blossomed into a fireball instantly.
“Good job, Nellie!”
Haines, understanding the problems posed by the heavier snowfall, changed tactics and pushed his units closer to the infantry. His own tank swept up to the forward positions in the nick of time and was the first to successfully engage.
Corporal Oliphant was already seeking out a fresh victim as Haines popped his head out of the turret for a better look.
The Rifle Brigade’s positions exploded, partially from a volley from the defenders and partially from a well-timed shoot from the enemy mortar battalion assigned for the closer support work.
Haines grimaced in horror as men and pieces of men flew skywards, the infantry positions bathed in high explosive and shrapnel.
The Soviet infantry let out a loud ‘Urrah!’ and surged forward ahead of their tanks, eager to get in close.
Haines surveyed the scene, aware that he had more responsibilities than just fighting his own unit and tank.
Assessing the battle, he quickly realised that the present positions were untenable.
The Lancer captain had first strapped on a tank in 1938, firing his first angry shot during the German Invasion of the Low Countries.
He was considered an exceptionally competent officer by those above and below him and, what was more important to his men, he was lucky.
Only once had the war touched him directly and the deep scar on his cheek and missing segment of his ear were visible reminders as to how lucky he could be.
On 22nd February 1943, an Italian mortar shell had exploded on the engine compartment of his Crusader III tank during a fight with the Centauro Tank Division, as 6th Armoured tried to relieve the pressure on the beleaguered US troops at Kasserine.
Pieces of the shell sliced through his right ear and across his right cheek, severing one of the headset wires. More pieces sliced through the headset earpiece just above his left ear, and yet another piece cut through the slack cord at throat level. One of his epaulettes was torn off and his watch face was shattered by another piece of metal.
He remained in the line, despite his injuries and, since that day, had ridden his luck, probably far too often.
Today he felt that all that was going to change.
Keying the mike as he reassessed his decision, he heard Oliphant yell a warning.
“Fuck me! Target, tank to front. ON!”
Haines could do no more than give the order.
“FIRE!”
He released the mike as his eyes went in search of whatever it was that Oliphant had killed, at least judging by the sounds of celebration in his ears.
He found it easily.
“What the bloody hell is that, Nellie?”
The huge vehicle was belching black smoke and the crew were already on the ground and running, pursued by bullets from some of the infantry.
“Fuck knows, Boss, but it’s a big soddin’ thing and it’s dead.”
Whatever it was, it was certainly bad news for Ambrose Force, as it was not alone.
“Nellie, fire at will for now. I gotta speak to the pongos.”
Keying the mike once more, he sought out the officer commanding the hard-pressed Rifle Brigade. After the initial exchange of call signs, Haines gave his orders.
“Sahara 6 from Cassino 6, I will cover your withdrawal to Baker line. Keep the swine off you until the arty comes in, then toss smoke and move immediately. Clear, over?”
“Cassino 6 from Sahara 6, it may be too late already, old bean. We’ve over a dozen tanks to our front. Can’t you engage them, over?”
Sparing a moment for a look, Haines could see nothing except the impressive white storm.
“Sahara 6 from Cassino 6, negative. Can’t engage… no visual… not a bleeding thing. Arty on way soon. Stay on the air, over.”
He assessed the position of the enemy advance as best he could and made a small notation on the edge of the tourist map before dialling into the artillery.
The tank leapt violently as Oliphant engaged something and, judging by the whoops, engaged it successfully again.
Passing coordinates based upon some hastily jotted down figures he had been given earlier, Haines waited as the gunners of the 152nd RA prepared their Sexton SPs.
A single shell arrived, its explosion barely noticeable in the flurries, but sufficient to mark a miscalculation on Haines’ part.
Cursing inwardly, he adjusted the fire, dropping two hundred and waited once more.
The hull machine gun on his tank starting sending small bursts of fire into the whiteness, as the gunner managed to recognise darker patches moving rapidly forward.
The second ranging shot arrived.
‘Close enough.’
“Fire for effect until further. Cassino 6 out.”
Switching to the Lancer’s radio net, he briefed his commanders on the plan before ensuring that Acting Captain Robinson took command of the 16th/5th.
Haines, as the overall armoured commander, could not afford to be drawn in and lose the big picture.
“Anything to front, Nellie?”
“Not a sausage, Boss.”
“Roger. Stumpy, back her up and get us into cover back there. We’re on our way to HQ.”
The Sherman moved smoothly backwards, lumps of snow falling away as the rough ground caused ‘Biffo’s Bus’ to stagger and shudder.
Haines took some time to survey the scene, feeling a sense of satisfaction as the artillery smashed down just in front of the infantry positions, or at least the positions they had occupied, the retreating men clearly visible now.
‘Clear… I can see the buggers…’
Puzzled, he looked upwards and realised that the snow had almost stopped falling on his position.
‘Bollocks!’
“Cassino 6, all Cassino elements. Rally on Baker, rally on Baker, immediate. Snow is stopping. Engage immediately.
Driver Clair, known as Stumpy for reasons that were all too obvious when he raised himself to his full height, such as it was, heard the radio call and anticipated the next command, swinging the rear of the Sherman in behind a solid stone wall that marked part of the second position, created on the edge of Erlendorf and Riegersdorf.
Oliphant took advantage of the lack of movement.
“Vehilce to front… target on… shit and bollocks… Misfire!”
Haines initiated the procedure.
A second attempt failed, as did the next attempt. After that, the breech needed to be opened and the dodgy shell removed and launched as far away from the tank as possible.
That task fell to the loader, Trooper Powell, as inoffensive looking a man as it was possible to meet, so clearly entitled to his nickname ‘Killer’.
“Opening breech!”
The noticeable tremble in the loader’s voice betrayed the nervousness of the moment.
Powell immediately saw the indentations of the firing pin and his concern increased.
At the moment his fingers touched the round, the Sherman rocked, the turret resounding like a bell. No-one needed telling they had been hit.
Haines wanted to shout at the loader but decided better of it, not wishing to break his concentration.
Oliphant was not so shy.
“Those big bastards have seen us now, Killer, so speed your fucking self up or I’ll come back and fucking haunt you!”