Janjowski’s small unit arrived at the perfect time and in the perfect place.
They crashed straight into the back of the Guardsmen preparing to storm along Aschmann’s trench line, intent on rolling it up from one end to the other.
Leading the way, Janjowski used his Gewehr 43 to good effect, dropping three men with bullets before he slammed the butt into the throat of a confused NCO.
The rest of his men crashed into the backs of the Soviet troopers, dealing out death and wounds without reply.
Major Dushkin, caught in the act of writing a message for his commander, was knocked to the ground by a falling body, and then pinned to it by two bayonets.
He screamed his life away until his lungs filled with blood and he screamed no more.
It took less than five minutes for Janjowski’s force to rout the Soviet flankers, five minutes in which Aschmann’s line waivered, bent, and suffered, but held fast.
Grenades flew in both directions, and the sharp cracks of the deadly little missiles were often accompanied by cries of anguish from wounded men.
Janjowski established a part of his force and moved on, intent on finding Aschmann and understanding what was going on.
He found the Oberleutnant in the centre of his line, surrounded by dead and wounded enemy, issuing orders, and occasionally pausing to shoot a target that presented itself amongst the retreating enemy, and doing so in a way that immediately impressed the headquarters officer.
“Aschmann! Thank God you’re alive! What happened here?” he gestured at the pile of Soviet dead, at least a score of which had penetrated the large depression in which Aschmann had established his forward command post.
“It was fucking close I can tell you!”
Although clearly pumped up and running on adrenalin, Aschmann retained enough composure to quietly chat with the men around him, asking after a wound here, offering encouragement there.
“Are you ok?”
Aschmann patted himself down, seeking a wound.
“Seems so, though God only knows how, Kasper. It was only Feldwebel Spatz, my signaller, and myself in here when these bastards charged in.”
Aschmann bent over and touched the shoulder of the dead NCO, lying face down in a huge puddle of his own blood.
“God, but Spatz fought like a mad dog… so did Fischer… I swear he bit one man’s throat open.”
There was such a wound on one corpse, but Fischer was long past confessing to inflicting it.
“And you, Hubert?”
“They are untermensch… vermin… so I treated them as same…”
At Aschmann’s feet was an MP-40 and its spent casings.
In his right hand was a Luger, and in his left, a Hitler Youth dagger.
Both had a smattering of blood and matted hair smeared over them.
He realised what Janjowski was looking at, and examined the contents of his hands.
“I killed my share of the bastards, Kasper.”
Suddenly, Aschmann started to shudder and shake, as shock set in and dropped him to his knees as instantly as a rifle bullet.
Jankowski sent his Corporal to check further along the line, squatted next to Aschmann and lit a cigarette, forcing it between the shaking man’s quivering lips.
Nearby, one of his men started rummaging through the Soviet bodies, throwing items of military interest onto a growing pile, until he found what he was looking for, and handed it across to Janjowski.
Nodding in appreciation, the Leutnant undid the flask and poured some of whatever it was down Aschmann’s throat, causing a violent reaction of coughing and spluttering.
“And again, Hubert. Get some more down you, man.”
Moving across to the field telephone, Janjowksi spun the handle.
“Janjowksi here. I must to speak to the Hauptmann.”
“He’s not here, Herr Leutnant. He’s gone to Seven Kompagnie. The bastards’ve broken through on that side, Herr Leutnant. He said if you contacted, to use your judgement. Stay there if you are needed, or get back fast and reinforce Seven Kompagnie if not.”
“OK…”
His words trailed away.
He stood carefully, with the handset still to his ear, and looked around, listening for the sounds of renewed combat, only just appreciating that the enemy artillery and mortars had all but ceased.
He felt happy that the situation was restored but for Aschmann…
“…if the Herr Hauptmann contacts you, let him know I ‘m sending my force back to him with orders to support Seven Kompagnie. I am staying here to assist Nine Kompagnie until I’m not needed. Alles klar?”
“Alles klar, Herr Leutnant.”
Tossing the handset on to the ground, Janjowski summoned two men to him.
“Gefreiter, take the men back, fast as you can. Seven are in trouble… go straight there. Leave me five men. Klar?”
The man acknowledged and disappeared, summoning his group to him.
The other man, a wounded Unteroffizier, waited patiently for his orders.
“Can you walk, man?”
“Jawohl, Herr Leutnant.”
“Right, come with me, and let’s put our defences back together.”
Whilst the two toured Ninth Company’s positions…
…Whilst the pioneers withdrew over the Saale…
…Whilst Grenadieres of the 897th clung to the slopes of Heights 397 and 420…
…Whilst reinforcements sent by Oberstleutnant Bremer were bogged down under artillery fire at Ockensen…
…Seven Company was fighting for its life.
Keller moaned and pressed his fingers to the sticky hole in his arm.
The bullet had passed straight through without hitting the bone, but it bled like a burst dam, and hurt like hell.
The man who fired it had been almost cut in half by a torrent of fire from a friendly weapon down the slope.
Schneider, his Mauser across his knees, tied a dressing to Keller’s arm, inducing a squeal and a threat to remove part of the signaller’s anatomy.
“Calm yourself, Stabsfeldwebel. Unless I miss my guess, this’ll mean the Wound Badge in Gold for you.”
The sounds of fighting were not abating, and the dressing was hastily done.
Rising up, Keller immediately bundled Schneider to one side.
“Granate!”
The explosion threw earth and stones over the pair, but no more than that.
Keller was up and moving instantly, his MP-40 sweeping two running Guardsmen off their feet and sending both tumbling back down the slope.
He paused and looked over his lines, and it was immediately obvious that the enemy were almost on top of his men, with only a few places where the assault had withered away in front of the trenches, those mainly being where the 34s and 42s had plied their trade.
An egg grenade loomed large before his eyes and he swung his weapon two handed, deflecting the charge away far enough that it was of no concern.
More Soviet infantrymen rushed up the slope, and he dropped low, steadied his weapon, and emptied his magazine.
Two still came on, one leaking vital red fluid, and Keller instantly knew he had no time to reload.
One of the two went down hard before he heard the rifle shot in his ear.
Schneider worked the bolt to chamber another round.
“Fuck! Watch out!”
Schneider rolled away as two more Russians loomed out of the trench to their right, and a burst of fire did nothing more than disturb the earth where he had been kneeling the moment before.
The Kar-98k spat another bullet, clipping the enemy submachine gunner, but the second man was on Schneider before he could reload.
The signaller screamed in pain and terror as the bayonet lunge tore through the material of his tunic, slicing the flesh down to his collarbone.
He shoved with both hands, and his rifle struck the enemy’s weapon, giving him enough leverage to separate himself from his assailant.