Aircraft of both nations arrived over the battlefield, expanding the options available to both sides.
Thunderbolts and Mustangs fell upon the Soviet ground forces, whilst Shturmoviks and PE-2’s similarly attacked the Allied defensive positions, both sides with remarkably little success, considering the amount of ordnance they expended.
Other aircraft started to arrive, some with stars, some with roundels, all with the intent on blowing up the ground trrops or shooting down the enemy’s machines. A full-blown air battle developed, even as the winter’s evening started to draw in.
402 Squadron RCAF had been disbanded in July 1945 and was one of those recently reformed and sent to Italy, training to prepare for their New Year move to the German Front.
Four of their Spitfire Mk XIV-Es arrived over the battlefield, carefully shepherding another four Spitfires, Mark IXs, each with a 500lb bomb aboard.
The ground controller, until recently decidedly redundant, was trying hard to control the air battle and losing the struggle, as more assets arrived hand in hand with more cries for help from the defenders.
“Firenze Dieci, Firenze Dieci, Robin Six over.”
Something in the man’s voice made the radio operator answer his call as a priority.
It also drew the attention of the GC and Pappalardo.
His report was a blow to the defenders.
“Firenze Dieci, tanks and infantry in company strength on Route 111, heading east,” the Robin commander paused as he checked his map and made his best guess, “Approximately one thousand yards east of Nötsch and advancing, Robin Six over.”
Again, the lack of decent maps did not help the defenders.
The RAF officer scanned the paperwork he was struggling with and offered up the Mark IX’s.
Pappalardo gave the operator an order and the harassed man keyed the mike.
“Robin Six, Robin Six, Firenze Dieci. Can you identify force on Route 111 as enemy, over.”
The silence suggested that the harassed Sherman commander was attempting to do just that.
“Firenze Dieci, Robin Six, negative at this time… but they’re not being fired on from Nötsch and have just been overflown by enemy aircraft… without being attacked, over.”
That could mean only one thing to Pappalardo so he gave the order, even then advising caution and proper identification.
The RAF controller vectored the Spitfires in on the reported position, using the main map for accuracy and passing on the need for proper recognition of any target before attacking.
The Folgore Commander switched his attention to the battle growing on the Dog line.
The flight leader recognised the type instantly, as did the rest of his pilots.
“Skipper, Blue Two, ain’t they ours?”
Flight-Lieutenant Pearce had a brother-in-law in the British Guards, and he had heard of the letter that the badly wounded man had written home.
“Blue Two from lead. Lend-lease… the Red’s have a bundle of them that they used at the start of this shite. Don’t be fooled, Doc.”
None the less, Pearce strained for the best possible view, but was interrupted by a call from the cover section.
“Blue leader, enemy fighters, ten plus, three o’clock high, break left under us… break …break.”
Blue section’s pilots were all experienced men and the four Mark IX’s reacted like the thoroughbreds they were.
The cover section drove in hard, knocking two LAGG’s from the sky in one frenzied burst of activity.
However, there were more.
“Red Leader from Blue, attacking now.”
The Red commander’s acknowledgement was brief, his own problems paramount, as three LAGGs singled him out.
“Blue section, line astern, follow me.”
Pearce took them away from the battle, slowly turning so that he could come in over Nötsch and see what was happening there.
Even under pressure, it was obviously full of Soviet soldiers and hardware, a fact reinforced by the numerous tracers that rose from the burning town.
‘That settles that.’
“Blue section attacking… armour to front… maintain intervals… acknowledge.”
Each pilot in turn reported in, making the adjustments to ensure that they were far enough behind the aircraft in front to avoid the blast of its bomb.
Red section, now ahead of them, lost an aircraft and the screams of the pilot as he nosedived into the ground unsettled everyone, even those who flicked the radio switch before the end.
Pearce selected the lead tank and drove in hard, releasing his bomb when it was impossible to miss.
‘I don’t see any plods.’
The thought was of little import as all of Pearce’s resources were concentrated on flying.
Blue Two took the second, Blue Three attacked the fourth, leaving Blue Four to take the rearmost vehicle, and only he failed to destroy his target, the five hundred pounder stubbornly refusing to release.
The Mark IX’s now became fighters, although Blue Four was greatly hindered by the unwanted load.
Blue section rose up into the melee just as a flight of US Mustangs attacked from above, ending the dogfight almost instantly, the combination of the growing evening, lack of fuel, and mounting losses forcing the Red fighters off the battlefield.
Pearce’s brother-in-law had seen combat on the first day of the new hostilities, a day when the Red Army employed many of its lend-lease vehicles to fool the defenders.
Whilst his Guards unit had dealt harshly with the Soviet-manned Churchill IV’s, the effect of the subterfuge was considerable, and the now dead Guards officer had written of it in his letters home.
142nd RAC was equipped with Churchill VIIs, although the difference, at the height and speed that Blue section was travelling at, would not have been easily noticeable, least of all to a man with a reason to want to kill them.
A combination of circumstances brought about the attack.
In the first instance, the cowardly withdrawal of the tanks, leaving the Folgore behind to fight and die. The RAC Sergeant had withdrawn his tanks as soon as the first shells started to fall on Nötsch, with no thought for those he was supposed to support.
Secondly, the Robin’s report of tanks and infantry on Route 111, heading east, although there were no ‘plods’, as Pearce put it.
Thirdly, there was no fire from Nötsch aimed at the moving armoured force, brought about by continued resistance from the Folgore infantry, a combination of low ammunition levels, and confusion between the tank unit commander and Kozlov.
Fourthly, the sudden arrival of a another Soviet fighter unit, which placed extra pressure on Pearce and his men.
Fate contrived to bring about the circumstances that meant that three of the five RAC tanks were destroyed; destroyed in the complete way that a direct hit from a 500 pound bomb achieves, without fail.
The remaining two tanks ran into a horrified ‘Robin’ troop, where they were halted and set to face the enemy in Nötsch.
Whilst the surviving RAC troopers were almost immobilised by shock, Sergeant Massala suffered from no such concerns over the tragic loss of his comrades. Openly, he set his face to the enemy. Inside, he set his mind to devising an escape.
Red section had lost two, including the leader. Blue left one burning lump of shattered metal and bone on the west bank of Gailitz, adjacent to the bridge that carried Route 111.
Six Soviet machines had fallen and others, some smoking, were still being pursued by the eager Mustangs.
As 402 Squadron returned to their base at Belluno, the unpalatable news of the friendly fire incident was received in Pappalardo’s headquarters.