After a radio exchange with the Alma’s commander, St.Clair, he understood that things were out of control. The units of ‘Normandie’ were all stretched beyond their normal limits, and finding well organised and aggressive defence turned into counter-attacks, almost in the old SS style.
Radio messages from hard-pressed units brought more and more contact reports, building a picture of a growing Soviet presence on the field; certainly one well in excess of the intelligence reports.
Again, leaving the crew of ‘Lohengrin’ to fight the enemy to his front, Knocke concentrated on the bigger picture, pencilling marks on his map and rattling out an order here and there.
The tank moved unbidden, forward and left, angling itself behind a ramshackle wall.
The 88m roared; the crew celebrated another kill.
Knocke heard all and gathered everything in the background of his mind as he concentrated on the radio messages; one message in particular, that spoke of a disaster in the making.
‘Schiesse verdamnt!’
One of his units was in dire need and Knocke acted immediately.
“Gun, cease fire. Driver, reverse back to the track and then swing north-west. Best speed, Meier, best speed.”
Köster took up his seat, blowing out his cheeks and rubbing his aching arms, sparing the Legend a quizzical look.
The Tiger surged forward up the track, Meier coaxing the very best out of the Maybach engines that propelled the fifty-six ton tank according to his will.
“Part of Martha’s about to be overrun, and we’re all that can stop it, Sergeant. Ammo?”
“Mostly HE now, Oberfuhrer. Nine AP shells only… and we don’t have a logistics train with us.”
Tannenberg was away to the south, and neither Camerone nor Alma had any Tigers on their strength.
Knocke, in a way that only Knocke could carry off to perfection, spoke with conviction.
“Nine will do the job nicely.”
‘Lohengrin’ did not let them down.
“Martha-Two-Two, Anton-One, nearly with you. Hold on. Over.”
One of Camerone’s flak units had moved up with the Alma, and it was their cry for help that Knocke had heard.
“Driver, turn right fifty metres. See that clump? In behind that, left side.”
The Tiger took the turn, and Meier skilfully dropped Lohengrin in on the left side of the clump of trees.
‘Not a moment too soon!’
“Numerous enemy to front. Gunner, target tank, left eight, four hundred.”
The electrics whirred, bringing the 88m online and filling the gunner’s sight with the green metal side of an IS-II.
“Target tank, four hundred.”
“Fire!”
The solid shot struck home fatally.
“Gunner, target tank, right three, four hundred.”
“Target tank, four hundred.”
“Fire!”
Like automatons they worked, smashing the IS-II’s in turn. The fifth shot was a total miss, and two targets needed a second AP shell to ensure the kill.
The solid shot came and went, and then HE was used, with no chance of penetration, not that the Soviet tankers knew that.
Having lost six of their number to the single enemy tank, the tank unit lost heart and started to fall back, hastened along by the spectacular impacts of 88mm high-explosive shells.
Blagoslavov’s command had been reinforced and Knocke had fallen upon the flank of a heavy tank company, just in time to save his Flak unit.
“Well done, Kameraden, damned well done.”
The crew of Lohengrin had added another chapter to the tale of their exploits, and it would spread and grow, the more so because the commander of Camerone had fought the tank for most of the battle.
“Eighteen HE shells left, Oberfuhrer.”
“Then I’ll ask no more of you and your men today, Sergeant.”
Knocke had spotted an infantry command vehicle behind a barn two hundred metres away.
“Your tank, Sergeant Köster… and thank you.”
Making sure the crew could all hear him, he continued.
“Gentlemen, it’s been a privilege. Get yourselves back and sorted. When this is over, we’ll speak again.”
“Now,” Knocke braced himself on the cupola to address Köster and prepared to pull himself out, “Get your tank fit for action and your men rested.”
“Zu befehl, Oberfuhrer.”
Knocke found himself at the command vehicle of the 2nd Battalion, 1st RDM, being briefed on the unfolding disaster by a wounded Commandant Emmercy.
Clearly, there were more Soviet formations, tank heavy ones at that, than they had expected.
The Red Army had counter-attacked in strength from the north, and Alma was being forced out of Brumath, electing to withdraw through choice, and with control, rather than risk being driven out in a disorganised fashion.
Knocke, presented with a full size map properly annotated, acted immediately, issuing orders to get his command out of the growing disaster around Brumath.
The Legion would retreat in a controlled fashion, and regroup south and southwest of Brumath, shortening the line.
Braun’s force had already moved back over the river while it could, orienting defensively to halt any attempt to cross, as well as protect the approach from Hœrdt.
Elsewhere, the Legion assaults had been blunted in a bloody and expensive fashion, the cost in men and materiel high on both sides.
However, it was at Brumath, and to the east, that the greatest sacrifices had been made.
The 412nd Mechanised Brigade lost all but seven of its tanks, and a quarter of its infantry lay dead upon the field.
One in ten of the Alma lay dead, other units that had been in support equally savaged.
Losses in Legion equipment were huge, worst in tanks and SP guns.
And Uhlmann was missing.
It had been an extremely difficult night.
Rest did not come for many at the French First Army Headquarters.
Throughout the night, the Legionnaires and GIs of the Corps D’Assault laboured against growing odds, mostly without gain, and always at cost.
Each and every assault had been stopped in its tracks, although the Soviet strength grew as that of the Corps D’Assault declined, the hospitals and dressing station full to overflowing with the injured legionnaires and GIs of the US supporting forces.
Command Group Normandie had taken the brunt of the serious fighting and remained the heaviest engaged of the three groups. The 16th US Armored Brigade was in reasonably good shape, despite the fact that it had tangled with some very serious Red Army tank formations. Alma was mauled, as was Camerone.
Command Group Lorraine had fared much better. Tannenberg was relatively intact, but was spread thin in an effort to relieve the pressure on its comrades from Normandie.
Sevastopol was moving to take over some of Tannenberg’s ground, so her sister unit could close up again.
Command Group Aquitaine had the lightest load, and it was presently being manoeuvred into positions where it could take over from Camerone’s decimated units, supported by the arrival of the 7th Regiment Tirailleurs Algerie from Corps reserve.
Général d’Armée De Lattre received an extremely difficult phone call, the more so as despised the man who had made it.
‘Molyneux.’
Reports from Plummer had suggested that the man was actually acquiring some competence. A private conversation with De Walle had revealed the contents of yet another such exchange, when Lavalle had expressed his surprise at the contribution Molyneux had made in the planning of Spectrum Black.
‘Perhaps we are all wrong about him?’
De Lattre snorted openly.