“Rudi?”
“Yes, Caporal-Chef Meier?”
Köster went formal to try and focus his driver on the present ‘unusual’ situation.
The effort was wasted.
"Can we keep our kamerad Ernst here? He seems to know his business, unlike you. Maybe he… can… go… in… charge. Right, that’s it."
The laugh was genuine.
Meier emerged and started using a piece of waste linen to clean up, failing to notice much about the man next to him.
“I’ve done the fucking best I can for now. Suggest we keep the revs down ’til I can get new bolts. Five are stripped badly, well fucked. Precious little thread to tighten on.”
"Good knowledge there, Ernst," he turned to his helper, his mouth automatically speaking the words he intended before he realised that Köster was not being the playful arse he had thought earlier, “Can I trade you in for this useless piece of… oh scheisse!”
His mouth fell open, but his automatic reactions took over.
Springing to attention, an oily hand marked his forehead in a salute.
“Zu befehl, Oberfuhrer. Temporary repair has been completed. Tank will be ready for combat once the oil level has been restored, Sir.”
As Knocke received his report, his thoughts grabbed at the memories of what he had said in the last few minutes and whether a firing squad was out of the question.
Knocke slapped Meier on the shoulder.
“Then get it done, kamerad, and let’s start killing some Russians.”
Meier, anxious to avoid Knocke’s further attention, swung into immediate action.
Knocke found himself staring at the man, searching his memory for information but his excellent memory presently deserted him, failing to recall anything of note. He would speak to Köster later. Very few drivers or corporals were so honoured, so there had to be a good story behind why the dirty man with the grubby ripped panzer overall sported the Knight’s Cross at his neck.
Addressing Köster, the commander of Camerone was more formal.
“I need your radio and your tank, in that order, Sergeant.”
Köster dropped inside the tank and brought out the headset.
He waited for Knocke to establish contact with Braun and Durand before informing his commander of the full nature of the crew problem.
“You can load then, Köster. Get your man back to the aid post. My crew are up by my disabled command tank, Send him up there and they will sort him out. Now, if our driver has finished, let’s go and rescue our Kameraden.”
The loader slipped off the tank and made his way towards the disabled command vehicle. He paused to watch the Tiger I move out from behind the stand of trees, take position behind a wall, and start to work the battlefield.
For a moment, he wished he was safely tucked up inside the huge metal box but a shell clanging off the turret mantlet told him he was safer where he was going, so he set off, reversing the route Knocke had used.
He was never seen again.
The fight had halted for a moment, the Soviets drawing back, leaving a number of their vehicles and men on the field.
The legionnaires north of the river had been savaged, but had clung on.
Braun had four Panthers and one Panzer IV still intact, whilst Durand had lost forty good men keeping the Soviet infantry away from the tanks.
Both AVREs had succumbed, as had ‘London’, the Churchill IV, but not before its bridge was properly in place.
Knocke judged that the moment was right to withdraw the trapped force but paused, sensing an alternative.
He swept the battlefield with his binoculars.
What was it?
‘Something is happening here.’
“Switch channels. Command please.”
Once on the main command channel, Knocke got a surprise.
His previous attempt to get hold of Alma had failed, his communications confined to other members of the relief force, and those across the water.
His ears deciphered the messages of the lead Alma units and Uhlmann’s tanks organising themselves for the assault on the north-western edge of Brumath.
‘I knew it.’
He waited for a gap in transmissions, drinking in the details of what Alma and Uhlmann intended.
“Anton One, Anton One to all units on this channel. Proceed as you have just stated. I’ll move in support. Watch for friendlies to your front advancing from the river line. Do not move out of objective zweiundzwanzig. Acknowledge. Anton One over.”
He moved on to brief his small force, Braun and Durand, realising that fate had placed an opportunity in front of him.
Plan Two had become Plan One.
He transmitted a brief message.
“Anton One to all units. Initiate Plan One, Initiate Plan One. Vorwärts.”
Alma, supported by Uhlmann’s armour, threw themselves upon Brumath.
Braun’s force was suddenly relieved of pressure as his opposition became aware of the greater threat posed by Alma.
Accepting the casualties of a swift attack, the main Legion assault smashed into the Alsatian town, and overran the enemy defensive line, scattering units in all directions.
Some withdrew down Route 47, immediately coming into contact with vehicles from the 412th Mechanised units that had been split off and sent to bolster Brumath.
The traffic jam became a bloodbath as Uhlmann, then Knocke, ordered an artillery attack on the disorganised Soviets.
The Legionnaires of Alma pressed close, so close that a handful of casualties were caused by friendly fire, but the net result was the Brumath fell in less than half an hour.
Consulting the map, Knocke ordered Alma to take Route 140 to the north-east, aimed at Weitbruch, but always watching for an opportunity to fall upon the force that had given Braun such a hard time.
Knocke’s own force was ordered to advance and hold position on Braun’s units, although Knocke expected that he would move his men on quickly.
As per plan, one platoon of tanks and two of infantry moved to the south of the river, acting as a covering force.
The Allied artillery was called off, its work of butchery near complete, and Alma pushed forward again.
Senior Sergeant Ivan Balyan could not believe his bad luck.
This was not his fight. He’d just taken the opportunity offered by his recent wounding to travel south to visit his brother, Igor.
His own unit, 1st Guards [Motorised] Sapper Brigade, was part of 1st Red Banner and had seen extensive action in recent weeks.
Wounded during an air raid near the Hunte River, Balyan was patched up and took advantage of eight days leave to visit his younger brother’s anti-tank unit in Alsace.
The Legion’s whirlwind attack, and the frenzied defensive efforts of the Soviet commanders, saw him temporarily assigned to the AT company salvaged from 3rd Guards Tank Corps and absorbed by the Cavalry Corps until, as the NKVD Lieutenant had shouted as he waved his pistol in all directions, Balyan was otherwise ordered.
Sat to the left of the deadly anti-tank gun, Balyan operated a covering DP machine-gun, his job to ensure that enemy infantry did not overrun the gun and crew. It also provided him with an excellent view of his brother, who would act as one of the loaders on the BS-3.
A few had been salvaged from the destruction of the Corps; others had been acquired from units similarly savaged.
The 100mm BS-3 had been acquired by accident, the weapon, prime mover, and ammo carrier, all found in perfect condition at Dingsheim, north-west of Strasbourg.
Igor Balyan’s ‘new’ officer had no hesitation in acquiring the killer weapon and, as one of his best men, the younger Balyan found himself assigned to its crew.