As soon as the big gun barked, Stepanov hit the ignition button and the diesel roared into life; ‘Krasniy Suka’ lurched forward immediately.
Stelmakh had agreed the route with Stepanov so he could concentrate on other matters, such as the 12.7mm machine-gun, with which he discouraged the enemy infantry from becoming bold.
Not for the first time, the IS-III’s co-axial weapon had been knocked out, the hit on the mantlet having damaged the barrel.
He remembered the last time it had happened.
Stelmakh dropped into the tank to get another box of ammunition as an enemy shell noisily carried away the 12.7mm. A moment of terror washed over him, and translated itself into a weakening of his bladder and, for the first time for a long time, he wet his trousers.
A few bullets spanged off the armour, as some more resilient members of the sturm-grenadiers took on the huge tank, but Stepanov was already moving as fast as he could towards Deisel, and the turret was turned to the rear.
An enemy weapon fired at them from ‘Sem’, but the shell missed by some distance, Stepanov’s manoeuvring proving successful.
Stelmakh spared a quick look at the targeted Panther and was happy that it was out of the fight.
He ignored the men running towards it, preferring to keep his limited ammunition for any direct threat.
Ferensky shouted into the intercom.
“After his next shot, stop the tank.”
“Fuck off.”
“I know where the bastard is. I just need a couple of seconds to put one in his lap.”
“Fuck off.”
“Do it, or the bastard’ll fetch us.”
“You better not fucking mis…”
The enemy shell streaked past the IS-III and Stepanov hit the brakes.
‘Krasniy Suka’ slid a little in the rapid manoeuvre, causing Ferensky to adjust more than he planned, but the target was firmly fixed in his sight.
Smokeless ammunition did not save the Pak 43 on Height 299 and the HE shell, even though it missed its target, was close enough to send bits of the crew in all directions.
The tank leapt forward again, some small arms fire earning the sturm soldiers an HE shell by return.
The IS-III dropped into a rut, causing Stelmakh’s binoculars to bounce up into his jaw.
He squealed as best he could through his dressing, nearly fainting with the surge of pain that followed.
Kalinov emerged and threw the final smoke grenade, quickly dropping back in as the grenadiers renewed their efforts.
A bullet whipped past his head as he disappeared inside.
He produced a bottle of German apple schnapps from the empty ammunition racks, and offered it up to his commander.
“It’ll help with the pain, Comrade Kapitan.”
He understood what the man was about to say, and held the bottle closer.
“We’ve got the last round in the gun, we got the tank and the thing on the hill, the green toads can’t hurt us with their pop guns… and you need a fucking drink, Comrade.”
Stepanov offered up the clincher.
“Nearly there, and you were fucking right, Comrade Kapitan!”
The IS-III was close to the riverbank, where Stelmakh had hoped to find cover enough for a safer withdrawal.
He took the offered bottle, pressed it to what remained of his lips, and passed out as the alcohol hit his wounds.
Kalinov caught both bottle and man; the former was passed to a very thirsty Ferensky, the latter was lowered to the turret floor with due reverence.
‘Krasniy Suka’ carried the four men away from Trendelburg, the sole surviving vehicle of the 6th Guards Independent Breakthrough Tank Regiment, and the only Soviet soldiers to escape the defence of Trendelburg.
“So, we are agreed, gentlemen.”
Churchill posed it as a statement deliberately, knowing that some present would find the terms of their position wholly unacceptable, but were presented with no choice but to accede to the majority position.
“Firstly, as stated by President Truman, we reserve the right to reply in kind to the despicable use of chemical weapons against Allied forces, but will not yet do so, pending the results of the independent investigations into the matter.”
He nodded to Truman and continued.
“We will do this as a sign of good faith in the peace negotiations as a whole, and as an expression of our wish to believe that the Soviet Government would not have knowingly undertaken this attack, and in the hope that the veracity of the explanation offered is confirmed independently.”
That was the easy part over with.
“We now confirm to the negotiators that our unequivocal position is that Europe will see a full return to the political boundaries in force on 1st January 1938, but that, and I add, only if negotiations seem to be floundering, they have some room to manoeuvre in order to bring about a speedy ceasefire on favourable terms for the entire Allied cause, in as much as we would be prepared to negotiate a temporary alteration to some of those political boundaries, and or lines of military demarcation, in order to bring about an end to hostilities.”
Both Speer and Raczkiewicz sneered, knowing the extent that the Allies were prepared to negotiate back to, albeit in the first instance.
Churchill had argued that even a partial return of Polish territory would, in the first instance, be a bonus for the Polish nation, and that further negotiations would undoubtedly see the entire country returned to Polish rule, a point not accepted by Raczkiewicz, and the matter of the restoration of Prussia similarly caused problems for Speer.
None the less, that was the Allied negotiating position, and it was communicated to the team in Sweden.
When the negotiators returned to the table, the Allied response was put by US Secretary of State James Byrnes.
The qualified acceptance of the Soviet explanation regarding the Hofbieber affair was greeted with a gracious nod; less so the reservation of the right to similar retaliation should the stated facts be found to be less than the truth.
Byrnes laid out the 1938 return proposal as the Allies only acceptable position, given the aggressive war that the USSR had inflicted upon a Europe still suffering from the previous conflict.
Molotov listened and immediately rejected the Allies’ starting position.
The negotiations started in earnest.
“Mister President, sir.”
Truman wiped his mouth with the delicate silk serviette, removing any hint of the delicious stroganoff sauce.
“Yes, Colonel?”
“Mister President, there is a call for you, from the States.”
Truman eyed the delicious beef stroganoff.
“Who is it? Can’t it wait?”
“Sir, its Governor Dewey. I tried to put him off but he’s very insistent. Says it’s an emergency and that you should come to the phone straightaway.”
Truman’s jaw set in pugnacious fashion, the Missourian immediately roused by the comment.
Churchill raised an enquiring eyebrow, to which Truman could only offer a small shrug.
“Lead the way, Colonel.”
“Truman.”
He settled himself in the superbly comfortable grand chair, its red upholstery almost embracing him in its soft cushioning.
“Mister President, this is Governor Dewey here.”
“Yes, so I was told. So, where’s the fire, Thomas?”
“In your office, Mister President.”
“Say that again.”
“Mister President, I represent a large number of very important and powerful politicians, and I’m here to tell you that we are preparing your impeachment for failing to protect our soldiers to the best of your ability, for failing to fully prosecute the war, and for failing to properly discharge the duties of your office.”