“He’s there… down in the valley… cautious tank commander this one…not just coming in with all guns firing… we must be careful with this fellow, Klaus.”
“Did you see the bastard, Rudi?”
“No… it’s hidden behind a farm building… but I saw the tank commander out having a recon… he’ll be coming up this way shortly. We need to reposition.”
Köster hauled himself up onto the turret and quickly dropped inside, where he slipped on his headset, connected up, and growled a few orders to Lohengrin’s crew.
The Tiger I backed up and then swung off to the right, seeking a position of cover.
Having selected a convenient patch of trees and undergrowth. Köster was taken aback when the chosen lump of greenery spouted streams of heavy calibre bullets.
The hidden ZSUs burst from cover and charged, seeking to get close enough to find some way of disabling the Legion tank and flee the field.
“FIRE!”
Jarome shouted automatically, acting without orders, simply needing to kill the thing that filled his sights. The shell slammed straight into the hull front of the rushing KV based AA tank.
No one was more surprised than Jarome himself when the shell ricocheted downwards into the earth, failing to stop the tank’s rush.
Schultz slammed another shell home.
Köster called the target.
Jarome fired the gun.
The ZSU staggered under the impact and slowed perceptibly, but did not stop.
Soviet crew men appeared, smoke issuing from the tank’s innards as they popped their hatches.
They rolled off the moving tank and sought cover, leaving the dead driver to ride his tank forward, until the impact with a reasonably sized tree was enough to stall the engine and let the lazy fire slowly consume vehicle and undergrowth at leisure.
The other ZSU took a different course, one that spelt danger for Lohengrin and her crew.
The driver pressed his accelerator to the floor and drove hard at the Tiger, intent on ramming the vehicle, as his uncle had done at Prokhorovka in 1943, although, unlike his uncle, he intended to live.
Jarome lost the target, Köster didn’t realise what was happening, only Wintzinger and Meier could really see the intentions.
Wintzinger was speechless and could only manage to fire his machine-gun, hoping to ward off the approaching ZSU.
Meier shouted into the intercom.
“Traverse the gun full right now! Brace yourselves!”
The Tiger swung to the right as the KV bore down on it.
The manoeuvre saved Lohengrin from substantial damage, the call to move the gun preserved the tube from harm.
Instead of hammering into the offside leading edge and shattering the track and sprocket as the Soviet tanker had hoped, Meier’s move had presented the flat front of Lohengrin to the flat front of the KV chassis.
The impact was still tremendous and, despite the warning, the crew were flung around.
The squeal from Wintzinger was drowned out by the awful shattering of his radius and ulnas in both arms, as the braced limbs failed to halt his forward momentum, disintegrating simultaneously in the mid-forearm area.
His scream was cut short as his head smashed against the metal, rendering him insensible, and unable to feel anything when the KV rose up onto the Tiger’s front plate and drove the machine-gun into his throat with deadly force.
Meier, shaken but in charge of himself, gunned the engine and continued pushing forward.
Köster, Schultz, and Jarome all had matching nosebleeds, plus Schultz had the makings of the darkest and widest of black eyes, following a coming together with Jarome’s elbow.
The graunching of metal was incredible, but quickly stopped, as the Tiger stalled and the KV stuck fast.
Meier restarted the engine as Köster decided to risk a look.
He immediately saw three shaky figures rolling off the ZSU, all seemingly intoxicated.
Grabbing his pistol, he fired at them, putting one down hard, and adding extra speed to the wobbly withdrawal of the others.
“Back her up, Klaus. Quick as you can.”
Supervising the manoeuvre, Köster spared a look in other directions, praying not to see a dark shape in the undergrowth.
The graunching started again, and the KV chassis slid off for the briefest of moments before clinging to Lohengrin like a child to its mother.
“Stop! Whoa!”
Köster waited until the motion ceased and then rose up out of the cupola, sliding across the turret roof to have a closer look at the problem.
It was easy to see what was causing the Soviet tank to hang up.
The impact had displaced one of the bottom plates, and the lip was now sat proud of the rest, and had hooked onto the top of Lohengrin’s glacis.
He had left his comms attached, so whispered into his microphone.
“Klaus, I’m still on the turret, so nice and steady. Ease forward about six inches.”
The engine note changed and the vibrations showed that Meier was gently slipping the clutch.
The weight held the KV in place for the briefest of moments until the engine overcame the resistance and Lohengrin pushed gently under the hull.
“Good… whoa… enough.”
The Tiger stopped and the engine tone dropped off…
…and another engine tone reached Köster’s ears.
“Scheisse! Engine off!”
His instincts, honed to a razor edge in combat all over Europe, understood the situation immediately.
He slid quickly backwards and held his hand over the top of the gunner’s hatch, demanding that it be filled as quickly as possible.
“Smoke grenade… quick… no one moves, no one fucking breathes.”
The grenade hit his palm, and was up and primed in the blink of an eye.
He dropped it underneath the KV’s hull and those inside heard it roll and bounce down the front of the Tiger, before the silence indicated it had hit the ground.
No one dared move… they hardly dared breathe…
The sound of the heavy growling transformed into the distinctive sound of heavy diesel engines labouring to propel something large at high speed.
Cursing his head position, Köster used every ounce of his self-control to avoid moving for a look at whatever it was, although, in his heart, he knew it was the enemy tank.
The chemical smoke was intrusive, making his eyes smart and disturbing his attempts to breathe softly.
Fuel leaking from the damaged ZSU was ignited by the grenade’s heat, adding burning fuel to the list of worries.
On reflection, it probably saved them, as the smoke grenade petered out very quickly, and a light breeze sprang up, shifting the product of its labours away.
Köster staved off a cough with the greatest of difficultly, all the time feeling fear test his bladder and bowel control… knowing how exposed he was… how vulnerable he was… how they all were…
“Slow down… gunner… mark your target… enemy tank right four degrees… close range… hold your fire…”
The IS-IV slowed and Kon stuck his head out of the hatch, straight into the line of sight of the infantry NCO, who waited for orders.
“Wait a moment, Comrade. I need you up there.”
He shouted into the tank.
“Tank halt!”
The IS-IV came to a swift halt and Kon made a decision.
“Comrade Starshina… two of your men… quickly run up there and toss a grenade inside the fucking thing. I’d put a shell in it, but I’ve none to waste.”
Ammunition stowage on the IS-IV, like all IS series vehicles, was at a premium, and Kon was not prepared to waste one on a dead tank.
Two soldiers dropped off the tank and sprinted to the destroyed Tiger, light smoke bathing the front of the vehicle, and a darker, more pungent variety, wafting slowly from the open turret hatches.