“I think I have some unfinished business, Leonid. You go… I’ll be along as soon as I can.”
The driver nodded and rolled off the turret, slid onto the track and was immediately lost from sight.
Which left Kon with a dislocated shoulder and probably more, stood in the turret of a disabled tank, and facing a Tiger tank without a working gun to his name.
‘Hardly fucking ideal.’
He laughed, and again the blood came.
“It won’t fire!”
Köster looked at Jarome’s hasty repair and it still looked intact.
“Again!”
The frustration was tangible on both their parts.
“It won’t fucking fire!”
“Scheisse!”
Köster pushed himself up and out, again cradling the MP-40 for protection.
The driver climbed out of the enemy tank and spoke to the figure in the turret, before rolling off and disappearing into the woods.
Clearly, the big Russian tank was crippled, its gun clearly destroyed and the crew abandoning her.
The possibility of capturing the prize suggested itself to Köster.
“Get the gun working as soon as. I’m going to have a look at that bastard over there. Klaus, cover me.”
He was up and out before the surviving crew could raise any objections, although the decision seemed rather foolish as mortars shells started to drop nearby.
Running in a crouched position, Lohengrin’s commander reached the IS-IV and scrambled up the same front armour his tank had risen up on a few minutes beforehand.
The marks of its presence were clear to see.
The enemy tank commander had dropped out of sight as soon as he saw the Legion NCO approaching, but popped up just as quickly, almost earning himself a face full of 9mm parabellum.
A blank face greeted Köster’s request for ‘hands up.’
“Ruki Verkh! Ruki Verkh!”
His time on the Russian Front gave him enough experience to remember the Russian words.
The Soviet tank commander raised one arm, pointing at the other and grimacing, his mind full of the knowledge that this was one of the hated SS, masquerading in the uniform of France.
Köster nodded his understanding, whilst he wondered how the man could still smile with his tank smashed around him and dead soldiers all over it.
There was something in the man’s eyes…
Something fatalistic…
Something that spoke of duty done…
Something that gave him a moment’s concern…
The smell hit him, the slightest waft of some sort of burni…
Kon’s smile turned to alarm, as he understood that the German legionnaire had recognised it for what it was.
“You fucking bastard!”
Köster threw himself backwards, not caring where he might land, desperate to get away from the demolition charge the Russian had set.
He failed.
The IS-IV exploded before Meier’s eyes, his vision shot by the bright colours as the internal charge wrecked the big tank.
He retained enough sight to see the heavy turret rise into the air and crash back down onto the burning hull.
Meier and Jarome were up and out of ‘Lohengrin’ in an instant and hit the track almost at the same time, moving forward in search of their commander.
They found him quickly and, in some ways, wished they hadn’t.
Naked as the day he was born, save for his boots, Köster was bleeding from a number of wounds, and burnt all down his left side, the side that was nearest the tank as he had twisted in mid-air.
“Oh fuck… Rudi… Rudi… can you hear me…”
Jarome felt for a pulse as Meier slid his hands under Köster and took a hold.
“We’ve got to move away from that thing,” he nodded at the burning tank, the fire growing more intense by the second.
The wounded man groaned as they dragged him further away from danger.
“Don’t stop. Let’s get him up on the tank while he’s out.”
Although both men were almost exhausted themselves, they managed to get their commander up on the Tiger’s rear.
“Right… you do what you can. I’m gonna back out quickly. We’ve got to get him to a sani quickly.”
Meier moved up and into his position as Jarome did what little he could with the already depleted first aid kit.
The engine roared and Lohengrin started the journey back, Meier steering by memory, and occasionally feeding the two men on the rear into thicker over hanging branches.
Lohengrin got the three of them to the main road, Route 3233, and then stubbornly refused to go any further, both transmission and the Olvar gearbox deciding that enough was enough for one day.
They flagged down the first vehicle that passed.
It belonged to Commandant Emmercy, OC of 3e Battalion, 1er RDM, and he immediately ordered his medical team forward and, once Meier had pointed out the correct spot on a map, sent a party off to retrieve the two wounded from the barn on the outskirts of Knickhagen.
The three tankers were whisked off to the temporary aid station, quickly established in Wilhelshausen, where the wounded of both sides were being brought, to live or to die, depending upon the skill of the surgeons or the fickle finger of fate.
Emmercy came himself and gave them the bad news, as both Schultz and Wintzinger were gone by the time his men reached the old barn.
It was a sombre pair that received the news of Köster’s survival, albeit in the short term.
Time would tell… risk of infection… shock… the non-committal explanations seemed endless.
Their own wounds treated, the two lay down and were asleep in seconds.
Around them, the ex-SS legionnaires of the Camerone Division, Legion Corps D’Assaut, bled and died, or survived, as the surgeons or fate dictated.
Whilst the battle was technically won, the cream of the Camerone had been blooded, much equipment had been lost, and the impetus of the advance spent and lost in a disorganised and hasty repelling of the Soviet counter-attack.
Molyneux’s interference, combined with the loss of Knocke and Bittrich early on, were certainly problems, but not so much that what happened subsequently could not have been… or as the investigation stated, ‘should have been avoided’.
Whilst superior skill at arms had been a factor in holding the tide, not one of the senior Legion officers doubted that they had been lucky to come away with the division basically intact, and that there were lessons to be learnt across the board.
It had been a sobering experience for all, not the least for Uhlmann.
His efforts had borne fruit, and he received many plaudits for his quick thinking. In the continued absence of Knocke, he continued as temporary divisional commander, and now faced the difficult task of stitching Camerone back together.
Chapter 159 – THE HAPPENINGS
Although, personally, I am quite content with existing explosives, I feel we must not stand in the path of improvement.
“Thank you all for coming.”
Eisenhower stubbed out his cigarette and took a deep breath.
“Gentlemen, yesterday I was handed a report from Intelligence. A copy of that report is on the desk in front of you.”
Some of the assembled generals went to pick up the folder but Ike raised his hand to stop them.
“Please… look later. For now, I’ll give you the bare bones.”
He nodded at Hood, who lifted the cover off a display board, whose figures lay stark and unequivocal, supporting Eisenhower’s next words.
“The Red Army and Air Force are deliberately targeting US troops.”