The Battlegroup based around the 2nd Battalion, Grenadier Guards had ground to a halt in the rough ground overlooking the ex-Luftwaffe air base at Schwerin-Parchim, just under five hundred metres to the east.
Here the Centurions found themselves with no visible enemy to stop them driving on, but with no fuel in their tanks to allow them to take advantage of the situation.
Additional pressure was unwittingly brought to bear upon the headquarters officers by the presence of Colonel Jacob ‘Bunty’ Hargreaves, recently arrived from divisional headquarters to check on progress and report back on his best view of how the attack could be pushed ahead.
The Battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Keith, and his staff, were turning the airwaves blue in their quest to find the missing fuel column, with little success.
A simple map reading error had deprived the Grenadiers of the necessary fluid of armoured warfare.
Meanwhile, the battalion adjutant was up with ‘B’ Squadron, the point unit, organising the siphoning of fuel from other vehicles in order to keep the drive going.
Acting Major Heywood passed on the Colonel’s orders to ‘A’ Squadron, who reluctantly gave up half of their petrol, leaving enough for modest manoeuvre, and the rest was greedily consumed by the Centurion IIs of ‘B’ Squadron.
2nd Grenadiers had taken further hits since the battles around Lützow, and had been withdrawn as soon as the front had been stabilised.
‘C’ Squadron, until recently removed from the battalion for recuperation and for training with the new ammunition type, was on the road somewhere to the west, carried on M19 Diamond T transporters.
The Grenadiers’ Centurion Is had all gone, and Centurion IIs now filled their ranks, as best they could, although insufficient numbers were available because of decidedly avoidable delays. Back in the home country, the decision to commence production of the new but untried Mark III had inadvertently crippled production of the Mark II, and arguments flared, which served neither the war effort nor the manufacturers, stuck in intransigence until Churchill himself stepped into the quarrel.
Eventually, the Mark II production lines were restarted and the proven vehicle, still equipped with the ubiquitous 17-pdr, started to flow from Britain to the continent in modest numbers, but never enough to satisfy the all-consuming modern battlefield.
The Mark III production line produced a few vehicles before some defects were detected, specifically with the gun stabiliser and mount, ensuring that the appearance of good numbers of the 84mm bore QF 20-pdr-equipped universal tanks were delayed.
The first versions, hurried across the English Channel, were greedily accepted into service. On Saturday 26th July, the first Mark III in action, crewed by men of the Irish Guards, destroyed five Soviet tanks outside of Ludwigslust, two of which were knocked out whilst on the move.
The stabilised 20-pdr, excellent power train, and upgraded armour protection made the Centurion III a formidable adversary.
There were just not enough of them.
‘B’ Squadron pushed on, screened by recon troopers from 2nd Welsh Guards, and supported by the mechanised companies of the 5th Battalion Coldstream Guards, leaving a disgruntled ‘A’ Squadron in hull-down positions to their rear.
Some of the Coldstreams rode on the flank tanks, providing close infantry support, should Soviet infantry try to interfere with the Guards’ advance. Their M3 halftracks had also yielded up the contents of their fuel tanks to keep the Centurions on the move.
The left flank troop took advantage of the good going offered by Route 9, and moved ahead of the main body, under orders, intent on securing a modest military bridge that aerial reconnaissance photographs had revealed.
It was set over the River Elde, which formed the northern border of the Battlegroup’s advance, but offered opportunities for opening another line of attack on Parchim itself.
The engineer bridge also marked the most forward positions of the 10th Guards Army, positions the Red Army had been ordered to hold at all costs.
As the enemy force approached, the commanding NCO steadied his men.
“Wait, comrades… wait… the leading one’s nearly to the mark.”
A seemingly innocent broken road sign marked the location of the mines.
He pulled the stock of his favourite weapon tighter into his shoulder.
“Wait, lads…”
The Staghound armoured car staggered as the ground erupted under its rear wheels, the front set having failed to set off the teller mines concealed in a diamond pattern in the dusty track.
Pulling the trigger, the Soviet NCO sent a heavy calibre bullet into the body of the officer extracting himself shakily from the turret, the signal for his unit to open fire.
The Welshman’s upper body literally flew apart as the 14.5mm round transited it.
Behind the smoking armoured car, the tanks started to manoeuvre as the Coldstreams deployed into cover and started to fire back.
The PTRS rifle cracked again, and this time the AP bullet penetrated the hull front, catastrophically wounding the driver as he attempted to lever himself out of the hatch.
The man barely had time to scream before his heart exhausted the supply of blood.
Around the Praporshchik, DPs, Mosin, and SKS rifles sought out the deploying infantry; across the river to their backs, two anti-tank guns duelled with the Centurions, and lost.
Within seconds of each other, the two D-44 85mm guns had succumbed to direct hits, despite their excellent concealment, something that was let down by poor ammunition, the smoke from which marked their hiding place as effectively as a brightly-coloured marker round.
Their only ‘success’ was to knock a track off one of the Centurions.
Across the river, a Maxim machine gun started its own contribution and sent a stream of bullets into a running group of Coldstreams, sending nearly half flying under heavy impacts.
A purple haze started flowing across Praporshchik Yuri Nazarbayev, one that presaged no good whatsoever.
‘Fuck. The bastards’ve marked us.’
“First section back! Over the bridge! Move, Comrades, move!”
The men needed no second bidding, for they also knew what would follow the purple smoke.
Twenty men virtually flew back to the water’s edge adjacent to the bridge’s end, and moved quickly across underneath the structure, where a cunning walkway had been concealed.
None of the First Section was even wounded, and they dropped into prepared positions and commenced firing again.
The Soviet plan calculated that, if the defenders clung tight to the bridge, then they would be preserved from what usually followed the purple smoke.
That problem still remained for Yuri Nazarbayev and his remaining guardsmen.
“Let’s go, Comrades! Back! Back! Quickly!”
The man next to Nazarbayev rose and immediately fell, his face ruined by something solid.
Bubbling and squirting blood from a face that was beyond repair, the young guardsman thrashed around in pain and fear.