Buoyed by the recent arrival of some engineers, already set to work to destroy the Gail bridges, the news of the self-inflicted injury deflated the entire force.
There would be no recriminations against Pearce. Not that day; not any day.
Pilots, tired, stressed, returning from their third mission of the day, made an error of judgement on the approach to the Belluno airbase. Perhaps it was the bomb that gave the aircraft different characteristics on the approach.
Perhaps it was fatigue on both their parts.
Whatever the cause, the two thoroughbred aircraft started to occupy the same piece of Italian sky. Blue Four’s propeller shredded the tail of Pearce’s Spitfire, causing it to flip into a brief spin that offered no chance to escape the aircraft.
Blue Four performed a brief fiery cartwheel across the Italian fields, punctuated by the detonation of its bomb.
The two surviving pilots landed their planes, eyes heavy with silent tears.
Back on the Gail River, the situation was dire.
Dog line had been overwhelmed, but Haines had withdrawn his force in good order and now occupied Edward, the last tenable position before Arnoldstein.
The Italians had taken heavy casualties on the heights but, or so it seemed anyway, had stopped the Soviet infantry’s outflanking move in its tracks.
The aircraft of both sides had quit the battlefield, banished by the darkness that fell so swiftly.
Ambrose Force’s dwindling supply of flares was being carefully husbanded, the defenders more reliant on the flashes of explosions for advance warning of any more enemy attacks.
Pappalardo finished up a brief radio exchange with Haines, during which both men agreed that the Russians would come again, and come soon.
Poring over the map, the Italian officer found himself faced with an unpalatable decision.
Sliding a cheroot into his ivory holder, he weighed the situation carefully.
His concentration was disturbed by a noisy exchange between two officers and then by one of them, his aide, striding purposefully to his side.
“Colonnello, the engineers are ready now.”
The Major consulted his notepad and placed his finger on the relevant locations; the Route 111 bridge at Kraftoolstraβe, the Route 83 bridge at Kartnerstraβe, and the temporary structure at Greuth.
“One, two, three. The Primo Capitano asks for ten minutes to get back to his position. Then he can fire one and two on command, Colonnello. Three is a separate matter, for when we have all fallen back, of course.”
Pappalardo nodded and drew his cheroot down heavily, filling his lungs with the comforting smoke, making the tip glowing red enough to add more illumination to the map.
“Anything from 2nd Battalion and Maggiore Lastanza?”
“Nothing, Sir, although the nearest troops report that a fight’s still going in Nötsch.”
“Keep trying to get through to them. Let me know immediately.”
The Aide moved off to the radio, leaving Pappalardo to make a crucial decision.
‘Withdraw now?’
With the arrival of the Soviet force at Nötsch, Route 111 was compromised, the defence was compromised, as 111 was one of the key requirements of the Arnoldstein defence.
The defences at Tarvisio were not yet ready but were, at least, partially occupied by fresh forces.
‘What good will we do here?’
The sound of a renewed enemy artillery barrage broke the relative silence of the early evening.
‘If I pull back now and they attack at the same time?’
If that happened and the Soviets caught his inferior force on the move, the result would be massacre.
It was a difficult decision.
One that Pappalardo was about to make until everything changed.
The staff Major interrupted his Colonel’s thoughts.
“Colonnello, we’ve got through to Lastanza… he’s falling back, still in heavy contact. Primo Capitano ‘Aines reports enemy tanks and infantry attacking his position in regimental strength.”
Pappalardo smiled a smile that held no humour.
He spoke, more to himself than the waiting officer.
“So, it is decided then.”
“Colonnello?”
“Tell Lastanza to pull back, with all possible speed, over the bridge… here,” he indicated the one wired for demolition at Kraftoolstraβe, “Pull the rest of the covering force back over it now and,” he confirmed the details his memory had summoned up, “Get them to form a barrier, facing west… on Route 27 here… to the other side of Hohenthurn.”
The Major made the necessary note, understanding that his commander was concerned about a Soviet advance from Nötsch through Feistritz.
Pappalardo took a deep breath.
“Order Capitano Haines to hold and not, repeat, not disengage until the enemy’s beaten back. Then he must withdraw immediately over the Kartnerstraβe Bridge, which will then be blown.”
‘Just in case.’
“Maggiore, I’ll write these orders up quickly. I intend to do a fighting withdrawal down Route 55 onto the Tarvisio position. Clear?”
The Aide saluted and left Pappalardo to his thoughts once more.
The enemy artillery was dropping in intensity, partially because of orders limiting speculative fire and partially because an Allied night fighter had called in an artillery strike that caught part of the 124th Guards Artillery Regiment redeploying.
He strode to the radio in time to hear Haines’ acknowledgement.
“Are you done, Maggiore?”
“Yes, Sir, as you directed.”
“Good. Now, prepare to relocate.”
“Hold? Fucking hold?”
Haines felt like punching the radio.
“ON!”
“FIRE! We’ll be fucking lucky to survive this shit!”
The Sherman rocked back as the 76mm removed another tank from the enemy’s order of battle.
“Nellie, you’re on your own at the mo, ok?”
“Roger that, boss.”
The turret smoothly traversed as Oliphant went about his trade efficiently, no after effects of his head wound apparent.
Haines, his testicles reminding him of their ordeal with every little movement, stuck his head out of the turret to take in the battlefield.
The Edward line was alive with tracers and explosions. Whilst he could see little detail, the line seemed to be holding.
And then, it wasn’t.
In the light of a big explosion, the Lancer officer spotted a large group of Soviet infantry pushing through on the left of his tank.
“Enemy infantry left, one-fifty yards. I’m on the fifty.”
He spoke into the radio first, seeking out his small infantry reserve and calling them in to block the gap.
Two platoons of the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers moved forward quickly.
Haines grabbed the large .50 calibre machine-gun mounted on his turret and rotated the cupola to his left, bringing the weapon to bear.
The M2 Browning was equipped with API ammo, with an APIT tracer every fifth round for targeting.
The heavy bullets started to chew away at the enemy soldiers, who went to ground as one. Not lacking in courage, a number of the infantrymen began to take shots back at the Sherman, and more than one twanged off the turret or hull side of ‘Biffo’s Bus’.
Although Haines had only hit six or seven men, he distracted the force sufficiently for the first Irish platoon to rush forward and engulf the Russians in a storm of hand grenades.
The Royal Inniskillings’ second platoon moved around the fighting and sealed the breach in the lines, immediately pushing back a larger group of enemy intent on following their comrades through the hole.