“The enemy’s artillery is very effective, so we can’t bunch up, Colonel.”
Haines thought that the rate of tank losses would ensure that all his assets were up front soon enough, but kept the thought to himself.
“These tanks at Stossau, Capitano. Why not move them up closer?”
Pappalardo had spotted the six tanks from A-17/21, set back as a reserve.
“Nötsch is the short answer, Colonel.”
For the first time, Haines realised that the major issue was even clearer on the Italian Army map.
“Our maps were inferior, so we initially missed this possibility,” his finger described the road that bypassed the front line and led straight from Villach to Nötsch.
“Ah, this is why your Generale di Brigata needed my battalion. And your tanks too?”
Haines kept a straight face.
“Yes, Colonnello, we’ve sent a group of five heavy tanks from the Royal Armoured Corps to back up your men.”
He took a quick look at his watch and smiled.
“They should be arriving any time now, Sir.”
‘If they know what’s sodding good for them!’
“Excellente, Capitano, excellente.”
The Italian screwed up his eyes, examining a notation more closely.
“What is Inniskilling?”
“Irishmen, Colonel. Survivors from a battle up north. Enough escaped to form two platoons, which are sat there as a reserve. Of limited use, I’m afraid. The men are knackered, Sir, totally knackered.”
“Nakered?”
“Tired, exhausted and fought out, Colonel.”
“Ah, I understand. Then we will leave them alone for now, Captain.”
The Inniskillings that had escaped Puch were taken out of the 1st Royal Irish where they had taken refuge and sent back to the rear, where reinforcements were intended to marry up and make the unit an effective fighting force once more.
However, the requirements of war overtook the idea in short order.
The Colonel cast his cap to one side and selected a thin cigarette from his case, lit it and pored over the details of his force.
“Now, what can we do to annoy our red friends?”
“You mean attack them, Colonel?”
“Yes, of course. I have spent too long running alongside the Germans not to know the value of a good counter-attack when it is least expected.”
‘Now you’re my sort of fucking Colonel.’
Much as the Italian really did want to have a go, there was simply not enough information to make any informed judgement on a possible counter-attack, so he reluctantly let the idea slide… if only for a moment.
One of the other staff members suggested that the bridge at Furnitz might need some attention and Colonel Pappalardo jumped at the possibility.
“Do we have the ammunition for such fire? Without affecting our defence?”
Without needing to check, the staff Lieutenant spoke with certainty.
“Most certainly, Sir. There’s absolutely no problem with our ammunition supply for artillery. The RA boys are sat on top of an ammo depot.”
“Then let us send the Communists at the bridge a few shells, Lieutenant. As soon as possible.”
Pappalardo was a belligerent man who had learnt much of his soldiering in Russia with the Alpini Division ‘Guilia’
The artillery, resting after its efforts in halting the previous attack, did not welcome another call to arms so soon but set about the task and soon dropped their shells on the bridge and environs.
The Allied commander had no idea whether the shells did good work, but it was enough for him to know that he was hitting back for now.
As the shells passed overhead, Pappalardo and Haines set about planning a more pro-active defence.
Their efforts were to prove in vain as two events made all the difference and condemned Ambrose Force to destruction.
Pappalardo, ever aggressive, got a little creative with his artillery and mortars and, seeing that there was no shortage of ammunition, it seemed wholly reasonable.
The Sextons switched their fire randomly between the different bridges and areas that he and Haines had identified.
At 1434 hrs, after a ten-minute breather, the 25 pounder Sextons started up again and dropped on the crossing point at Unterfederaun.
After two salvoes, they quickly swapped to the Furnitz road junction, hoping to catch the Soviets unawares.
The second shell to arrive at Unterfederaun took the life of the commander of 115th Rifle Regiment, the assault formation of the 75th Rifle Division. It also took the legs of the divisional commander, Colonel Ryzhov.
Two lorry loads of nurses were passing by and they stopped to attend to the wounded and dying.
The last but one shell of the final salvo struck the raised stone block on the north end of the bridge, transforming it into a thousand pieces of life-taking natural shrapnel.
Some of the nurses were literally torn apart by the deluge. All twenty-seven were hit and none were spared awful injury. Fourteen were killed outright.
Ryzhov had sustained one further hit. A piece of rock the size of an egg destroyed most of his neck, leaving his partially severed head dangling by a crimson thread.
The screams of the wounded women penetrated even the most resilient of minds and Soviet infantry from the 115th Regiment moved quickly to help. Sometimes they found someone who could be saved; more often, they just helped to ease suffering or ensured that some young girl did not die alone.
The 75th had spent most of its war in Iran, so such horrors were new to them.
Their thirst for a reckoning would have a profound effect upon the battle to come.
The 142nd RAC had moved their tanks into rough cover, facing north-west, with Notsch immediately at their backs. In front of them, some three hundred metres, was the first defensive line of the Italian battalion. In between the two forces, but nearer the tanks, the mortars positioned themselves to the flanks and out of the line of fire.
The Italian infantry found themselves covered in mortar shells, arriving unexpectedly from no one knew where.
The tankers of the 142nd RAC tensed ready, their guns loaded, eyes glued to episcopes and periscopes, seeking out the enemy force that would inevitably emerge into view.
On the orders of the Italian battalion commander, the mortar unit started throwing its own shells in the direction of the pass situated between Notsch and St Georgen, the previously unsuspected and unprotected route through the Alps and into Northern Italy.
The pass carried Route 35 from Villach to join with the 27 at Feistritz an der Gail or, in terms of this battle, offered a superb access route for a sizeable all-arms Soviet force to move into a position behind the main Allied defensive line.
For the want of decent maps, many men would die.
The lead recon element of the Soviet force had been tremendously unlucky.
It had tucked itself away to observe, taking up a position away from anything that could be credibly targeted by the enemy, only to fall foul of the happenstance of war, as the first Italian mortar salvo went off target and neatly dropped on and amongst the four vehicles, causing enough death and destruction to knock the unit out of the fight for some time to come.
The lead Soviet battalion commander suddenly lost his ‘eyes’, but felt he had received enough information to order his men into the assault.
His leading two infantry companies, equipped with lend-lease universal carries, swept into Labientschach and found it undefended.
Covered by this forward force, a small group of SP’s and infantry made a turn to the north-west with the intention of taking St Georgen and creating a defensive block, should any Allied threat appear from the direction of Semering or beyond.