“I’ve seen it. Shit happens. Maintain silence. Out.”
The man had been with the 6th for less than a week, and already they knew that his combat experience was considerably more limited than his decorations indicated, and that the main contributions he brought to the unit were bluster and bullying.
“Cherepakha-krasniy-odin, Chorniy-odin, urgent situation report over.”
“Spit it out man, Krasniy-odin, over.”
“Chorniy-Odin, enemy force heading location Vosem has halted,” he gave the code for Trendelburg itself as he took another quick look at the new movement, “And another enemy force is flanking to the west, heading north to pass close to location Sem,” he swivelled to check the prominent height and seek out its defenders, but there was nothing to be seen.
And then, suddenly, there was.
“One moment… enemy force is definitely driving at location Sem… tanks and infantry, possibly battalion strength, Chorniy-Odin over.”
“Maintain fire discipline. Fire only on my order. Don’t panic, man. Krasniy-Odin, out.”
If the handset was not a vital piece of his equipment, Stelmakh might well have thrown it in the general direction of his commanding officer.
“Ukol!”
The chuckling gunner, Oleg Ferensky exchanged looks with his loader, before commenting on his commander’s language.
“Young ears, Kapitan, the Comrade Loader is blushing.”
Stelmakh dropped into the turret and silenced ‘Yuri’ Ferensky with a single look, sparing a second look for the tank’s oldest crewman, who appeared older than any two of them combined.
Lev Kalinov was a quiet and withdrawn man who claimed to be somewhere around thirty years of age, but who looked closer to fifty, as if life’s experiences had weighed heavily on his face, a face that sometimes seemed strangely familiar to Stelmakh, and a face that remained straight as he offered an observation to his tank commander.
“I agree, Comrade Kapitan. The man’s a total prick.”
Ferensky chuckled again, this time from behind his sights as he followed the leading enemy vehicles.
“Comrade Kapitan.”
The tone alone was enough, and Stelmakh emerged from the turret with his binoculars already on the way up.
The enemy were charging at Sem, the height west of Trendelburg.
‘Ukol.’
He had the thought before he picked up the handset once more and spoke to the ‘ukol’ in question. Stelmakh’s report to his commander was often interrupted and broken, as his words were punctuated by medium artillery dropping on Sem and in the valley beneath.
Taking Height 299, or location Sem as the Soviets called it, had always been part of the plan, which is why two companies of Europa’s panzer-grenadier battalion were set aside to storm it and secure it, backed up by anti-tank guns from the brigade’s panzer-jager company.
Another part of the plan was the artillery that lashed the height with high-explosives, and that now also dropped smoke along the right flank of the hurrying halftracks, completely obscuring them from Stelmakh’s gaze.
The small Soviet-held hill, completely stripped of its trees and bushes by man’s combative efforts, was quickly overrun, placing a German force immediately to Stelmakh’s right.
Von Hardegen split off two platoons from the main body and brought them up to support his small force, holding back the grenadier attack on Height 233 until they could move up and support.
Soviet mortars were hitting back at Height 299, but there was no sign of any other resistance to the west of the Diemel River.
On the east bank, things were different, as the sharp crack of tank cannon revealed.
Reports indicated that a handful of tanks and anti-tank guns on Stammen heights, overlooking Route 83, had opened fire from concealed positions, causing casualties amongst the leading elements.
Europa’s commander dismounted from his tank and left his Panther at the bottom of the slop, von Hardegen moved up a shallow trench and took up a position next to a rusting M-16 halftrack, long since stripped of anything remotely of use or value.
The commander of the grenadier force joined him in surveying the ground ahead of them.
No smoke screen obscured them now, and they examined the route to Trendelburg. Von Hardegen listened intently to the infantryman’s report that secondary explosions had been seen when the smoke shells descended.
“Mines?”
“I think so, Herr Oberst. Not large ones, but large enough to take a tyre or a track, I think.”
Von Hardegen hummed his response, and switched his attention to the German town that was the object of his attack, wherein, intelligence reported, the commanding officer and staff of the 1st Mechanised Corps were trapped.
Part of Plan Otto was constructed to ensure the enemy headquarters group remained trapped; the part that was now suppressing the Stammen Heights.
He could see one Jaguar burning brightly, and what might be a halftrack in a similar state, but apart from that, there seemed little price paid for the Stammen advance so far.
“We’ll stick to the plan as far as you are concerned, Hauptmann. Once the other kompagnie’s established on Height 299, with some of my tanks as baby sitters, I might reconsider… but for now, we stick with the plan. Klar?”
“Alles klar, Herr Oberst.”
The infantryman scuttled away to make sure his defences were organised, and that the AT guns were properly protected.
A whistle attracted von Hardegen’s attention, accompanied by frantic waving from his Panther turret.
He half tumbled, half ran back down the slope, and climbed back aboard his command tank.
“Herr Oberst, Walküre-six, urgent.”
He pulled on the throat mike and made contact with Fürth.
“Walküre-six, Wotan-six, come in, over.”
“Wotan-six, Walküre-six, phase three complete. Request permission to proceed with next phase, over.”
“Walküre-six, Wotan-six. Walküre-two will remain under my command. Proceed as planned. Wotan will support from 299. I will advise if moving. Confirm. Over.”
Lieutenant Colonel Fürth acknowledged the change and was gone, already initiating the next artillery barrage planned for ‘Otto’.
Von Hardegen watched as the elements on the east bank pushed hard up the valley, mirrored by forces to the west, both thrusts surging towards Trendelburg.
His ears heard more firing to the north and he ordered his command tank repositioned so as to observe the attack on Height 233, where some resistance was being encountered.
Even as he watched, he observed a handful of old T34s armed with 76mm guns try and fail to halt the advance, the venerable tanks simply swept aside in a volley of 75mm and 88mm high velocity shells.
Stelmakh was silently pondering the command and control problems of a tank unit with less than half an issue of fuel in their tanks, less than full ammunition stocks, operating under the umbrella of a powerful enemy air force, and overseen by an officer of dubious worth.
His mind could find no light in the darkness of his thoughts.
The enemy force that had halted before Trendelburg was now moving again, and more of the bastards were knocking away at the heights on his right.
He looked, and looked again.
The enemy forces had exposed flanks, their attempted smoke cover next to useless in the growing breeze.
‘We have an opportunity…’
“Cherepakha-krasniy-odin, Chorniy-Odin, urgent situation report over.”
“What is it about fucking radio silence that you don’t understand, Stelmakh?”
‘What a fucking idiot.’
“Cherepakha-krasniy-odin, Chorniy-Odin, urgent situation report, enemy flanks exposed to our front, and on location Sem, over.”