Not enough to preserve some of the targets.
One King Tiger shrugged off a glancing frontal hit, its crew unharmed, but suddenly petrified beyond words.
Another one, a Henschel version, was struck on the flat turret plate.
Everyone died as the metalwork simply disintegrated and flew in all directions.
Similarly, the nearest Panther took a turret hit and came apart in a violent explosion.
The rear turret hatch cartwheeled away, the heavy piece of metal covering the short distance to the command Panther tank in the blink of an eye, where it wiped through the head and shoulders of the unit commander.
The foremost King Tiger lost its nearside track and half the drive sprocket, which halted its forward movement in the blink of an eye.
The second volley of missiles were already in the air and the disabled King Tiger was struck again. It burst into flames, knocked out whilst the crew were still working out what had happened in the first instance.
The leading King Tiger, spared when the ‘Mace’ targeted at it struck a tree trunk, had turned to present an angled front, but lurched down into a hole at precisely the worst possible moment, enabling the second rocket to strike its armour at the perfect angle.
The 215mm hollow charge warhead ignited and focussed its penetrative force on a spot precisely forty centimetres below the driver’s episcope, easily cutting through the thick armour, and similarly through the chest cavity of the panzer crewman next in line.
The huge tank started to burn lazily, and the crew quickly evacuated, only to fall foul of vengeful guards infantrymen, who mowed them down with unconcealed relish.
With all four King Tigers and two panthers knocked out, Vesnin was elated.
“One more volley and you’ll have wiped out the lot, Comrade Mayor!”
“No time for that, Comrade. We’re moving.”
“What? You’ve got them beaten. Fire again!”
“No.”
‘The man knows his trade remember!’
Sárközi shouted at his men, winding his right arm in a circular motion,
Each launcher had a crew of three, and was set on an old Maxim machine gun mount.
The entire set-up was manhandled away at breakneck speed; the Hungarians understood the urgency of the situation.
“I suggest you move swiftly, Comrade Alezredes. There’ll be a barrage shortly.”
Vesnin knew why they had relocated, but still wondered if the Hungarians should have taken another shot.
‘The man knows his trade remember!’
He followed Sárközi and his senior NCO as they sprinted away with arms full of equipment, trailing wires as they ran for safer ground.
Behind them, the Panzer unit’s Speiss, the senior NCO and all that was left of the command structure, howled into the radio, firing off coordinates at the same time as he tried to direct his driver on how best to get his Panther into cover.
The veteran of many a battle did both admirably, and saved himself and his crew, and also provided accurate details to the waiting artillery.
Shells crashed down on the ground that Vesnin and the Mace launchers had occupied a few minutes beforehand, and he knew that the Hungarian had been right.
He was also man enough to say so.
“Good call, Comrade Sárközi. You live to fight another day, whereas I would have killed the rest of them, and my corpse would have been decorated with the Red Star.”
The wiry Major turned away from watching his men set up their launchers again and nodded curtly, accepting the statement for what it was.
“We bloodied the fascist’s nose for them. There was no sense in throwing away my men and rockets in a gesture, Comrade Alezredes.”
In the valley, 45th Guards Tanks rallied and drove hard at the surviving Panthers, but overextended themselves, and found the rest of Von Hardegen’s Panzer Brigaden Europa waiting for them.
The surviving T34s streamed back through Weenzen, and didn’t bother to stop at Marienhagen.
It was not until Dunsen that the Guards Tank Brigade Commander managed to bring order to the chaos and halt what could only be described as the total rout of his unit.
Vesnin left the Hungarian special anti-tank company to its own devices, understanding that, no matter what he thought of fighting beside turncoat troops, they knew their trade and were solid soldiers.
He arrived in Marienhagen, where chaos reigned supreme.
Wiping his eyes clean of the dirt of battle, Vesnin reread the radio message script, the general retreat order almost unbelievable in the light of the successes of the Mace unit, and the heroics and sacrifices of his men on Height 462.
He screwed up the paper and closed his eyes.
Overhead, the sound of aircraft made him open them again, and the reports of exploding bombs and the whoosh of rockets seemed almost to taunt him, to remind him of his impotence and his inability to resist, against both the enemy air force and the General’s order.
‘Blyad!’
“Mayor Dushkin!”
His staff all looked at him, but only the Praporshchik spoke.
“Comrade Mayor Dushkin died on the hill, Sir.”
‘Blyad! I’m losing my mind!’
“Yes… he did. Right, get me second battalion immediately. We’re pulling back to another position.”
No matter how he said it, they all knew it was an ignominious retreat.
265th Guards Mortar Regiment received its own orders, which were twofold.
The second part relocated them some kilometres to the east, where they would set up and get ready to support the defence of Hildesheim.
The first part involved firing its BM-8-36 weapons at a relatively small area nearly five thousand five hundred metres away.
The Regiment was not at full strength, few Soviet units were, but it still possessed enough power to make life distinctively uncomfortable at any point in the line that it brought its weapons to bear.
Twenty-nine launchers, mounted on Zis-6 trucks, discharged thirty-six rockets each, the whole firing process over in less than thirty seconds.
One thousand and forty-four rockets were in the air at the same time.
The Regiment was well skilled at relocating, a skill much needed by the Soviets since the Allies had totally perfected their counter-battery fire techniques.
The grenadiers of Third Battalion had relaxed, the unexpected setback of the loss of the panzers at Weenzen the only negative in sight.
From their lofty perch, it was clear that the German Army had sundered the enemy lines, in spite of the unexpected presence of some prime Soviet formations.
The Saale had been forced and troops flowed over three bridges, not now to bait the enemy into staying, but to pursue a force in total retreat.
The jaws of the pincer were working hard to close around 1st Guards Tank Army and its supporting cohorts, but the retreat of the forces that faced 3rd Korps meant a change in the situation.
Ordered now to press hard on the units to their front, 3rd Korps moved on rapidly, staying as close in contact as possible, not giving the Soviet soldiers a chance to stand and fight.
Meanwhile the jaws were redirected, ordered now to take a much larger bite out of the Soviet frontline forces.
The 266th Infanterie Division was allocated to the second echelon, all but the 899th Regiment, which was, as had been promised, left to police the newly won ground.
By Bremer’s order, Third Battalion were left alone, without any orders, save to rest and recuperate on their hard-won ground.
The same hard-won ground that interested the 265th Guards Mortar Regiment.