Peters dropped back into cover, hoping the hedge would save his life. Despite the hopelessness of the task, he took a firm hold of his Walther pistol and waited to see what the IS-IV did.
What it did was surprise him by staying put.
The act was forced upon the leviathan as a Legion AP shell struck the front idler and separated the track in a spectacular display of sparks and flying pieces of metal.
Peters looked around him as best he could, and saw evidence of friendly armour on the field of battle, albeit the nearest of which was a smoking Panzer IV chassis, whose unrecognisable upper works lay behind it, where the impact of a 122mm shell had deposited it, by weight of shell alone.
The sound of tank cannon rolled over the battlefield, as Legion armour arrived to blunt the Soviet advance.
Uhlmann had dispatched part of his own 1er CDA back to come into the northern flank of the thrust, and sent seven AFVs from the 1st Bataillon Anti-chars Lourde to protect the direct route to the important road.
It was the first major combat for the new SPATs, and great hopes rested on the three Schwarzjagdpanthers, the upgunned production version of the Jagdpanther, kitted out with the lethal 128mm gun and increased armour protection.
It differed from the Einhorn because it possessed the new drive train, whereas the Einhorn used the older Maybach engine and had no transmission revisions. The Einhorn’s engine was placed under greater stress, with the additional weight of the heavier gun and applique armour, potentially increasing reliability issues and reducing speed. However, the payoff of survivability and greater killing power had tantalised the Legion, and the handful of Einhorns were considered to be amongst its most potent weapons.
However, the brand new Schwarzjagdpanthers were a cut above even them, outperforming the old but excellent field conversion Jagdpanther in all departments.
The surviving two Alligators engaged the T34s immediately, scoring hit after hit, although not every hit resulted in a kill.
The Schwarzjagdpanthers took on the IS-IIs and halted the heavy tanks in their tracks, sometimes literally.
The 128mm shells were more than capable of penetrating the thickest of the IS-IIs defensive armour, and the attacking Soviet tanks started to fall back as more of their number were smashed to a halt.
Some crews even abandoned their vehicles without attempting to withdraw, their morale suddenly broken by the new arrivals and the sights of battle around them.
Peters screamed and screamed at the nearest tank, or more accurately the commander of the Schwarzjagdpanther, who had his head out to survey the battlefield, but who was unable to hear the words of warning.
The IS-IV stopped and made the minutest of adjustments, before sending a 130mm shell smashing into the side of the SPAT.
The impact scattered the road wheels and severed the track at top and bottom points, rendering the vehicle immovable.
Abandoning their crippled vehicle, the slowness of the IS-IVs reload saved the panzerjager crew further wounds, although the turret machine gun sped them on their way as they quickly sought cover.
A Legion shell struck the IS-IV.
Peters held his breath, waiting to see what happened, but the Soviet tank merely moved off, seeking a different position from which to enfilade the Legion flank.
The IS took up a text book angled position and fired, or at least Peters thought it did, although the shot, if it happened, was lost in the most violent explosion he had ever witnessed.
The fire took hold of the experimental tank in the briefest of moments, and no one escaped the brewing vehicle.
Fascinated by the sight and sound of the jet of flame that rose from the blasted open hatches, he was distracted by a movement beyond the smoke and flame.
Although he didn’t recognise the type, he knew it was a friendly vehicle by the colour scheme and markings.
Peters moved quickly away from his hiding place to help the wounded members of his rocket crew, leaving the victorious Einhorn to find a position from where it could visit more mayhem upon the retreating Soviet tanks.
The battlefield started to quieten, with only the occasional whoosh of an X-7 or crack of a tank gun to mark the end of the Soviet attempt to cut Route 40.
Whilst the battle had raged on the banks of the Fulda River, a smaller but equally deadly game of hide and seek had been played out in the lanes in and round Knickhagen.
A deadly game in which there could be only one winner… or two losers.
Kon called for the driver to pull in behind a small barn, the brick and wood structure probably slightly smaller than the tank that attempted to hide behind it.
Whilst he intended to run his tank into the flank of the Legion hillside positions, Kon did not intend to fall foul of any forces in Knickhagen.
He slipped out of the turret and clambered onto the roof of the dilapidated barn, gaining a little extra height.
Had he seen anything in and around Knickhagen, then his options would have been greatly reduced, as would his area of operations.
A fleeting glimpse of an enemy vehicle moving back towards Allied lines made him feel that the forces opposite him had quit the village and that the way was clear.
But he had not got to survive the battles on the Russian Front by making assumptions, so he planned accordingly.
Kon decided to drive further up Route 40 and take a right before the village, far enough away as to not risk tangling with any anti-tank soldiers or armour that might be present.
The arrival of his infantry grape, panting and wheezing, brought a smile to his face. The man had jumped off when the tank engagement first started, which he could not blame them for.
However, he needed them now and he beckoned the commanding NCO to join him on the roof. Pointing out the outskirts of Knickhagen, describing what he expected of the NCO and his men, Kon detailed the initial plan to the red-faced Starshina commanding the ten man group.
The infantry NCO dropped back down onto the deck of the IS-IV and encouraged his men to climb aboard.
They broke out cigarettes as they waited for Kon to finish his reconnaissance, hands emerging from the turret hatches to share in the looted US tobacco.
Kon had nearly finished his sweep when something caught his eye… ‘what’s that?’… he stared hard… ‘I swear there’s something there’… but there was nothing there… his eyes burned through the lenses of the binoculars, seeking an answer to the question… but there was nothing… ‘Are you sure?’… had been nothing… “Really sure?’… nothing at all… ‘Nothing at all. Shit but I’m getting jumpy’…
He slid off the roof and dropped into the cupola, all in one graceful movement.
“Driver, move up, turning right onto the track.”
Köster held his breath, not daring to risk the slightest of movements of his chest, resisting even the urge to blink as he braced himself against the small tree trunk in order to reduce the possibility of movement to nothing.
He could sense the unknown enemy’s eyes seeking him out, boring into the lush green undergrowth around him.
Time stood still, and seemingly an age passed before the man disappeared from sight, and the process of respiration could resume in safely.
Through his own binoculars, Köster had seen the very distinctive headwear of a Soviet tanker, and he knew that the ramshackle building hid the object of his search; the enemy tank.
Slipping back into the small copse, he turned and ran as fast as he could, to where Lohengrin sat waiting, purring like the pedigree cat she was.
Climbing on the front glacis, he paused to brief Meier.