He said no more and dropped back onto his bed, exhausted by the small effort.
“From what we hear, RAF ground aircraft dropped fire bombs and high-explosive all over the 897th’s assault elements and the Feldersatz-Bataillon. Over four hundred killed and many, many wounded. Stopped the attack in its tra…”
“We shot down four… four of… of the bastards though…”
The bandaged man again collapsed, this time expressing blood and mucus with each convulsion.
Folstein arrived from nowhere and tended to the dying man.
They watched as an injection was administered, bringing peace to the tortured body.
Von Scharf stood gingerly.
“Anyway, Hubert. I feel the need to stretch my legs. I’ll drop back in later. Rest up and get yourself better, Kamerad.”
Janjowski also took his leave, and the two continued on their rounds of the wounded survivors of Third Battalion, a process that took a lot less time than they had hoped.
As a result of an investigation into the circumstances surrounding the battle on and around Height 462, the loss of the panzer force, and the high casualties sustained by 266th Infanterie Division, no blame was laid on any of the senior DRH officer.
The commanding officer of the typhoon wing that inflicted the horrendous casualties on the 266th, two of the squadron leaders, the ground attack sector commander, and the RAF forward liaison officer were all put before a courts-martial, where only the FLO was acquitted.
The German Council received a written apology from no lesser person than Prime Minister Winston Churchill, hand-delivered by Tedder, with endorsements by Eisenhower and himself.
The 266th Infanterie Division was disbanded, and its personnel spread between other units, preserving them in their integral company and battalion formations where possible. Von Scharf’s Third Battalion was not allocated to any new formation but, by the direct order of Guderian, was saved from disbandment, and preserved as a special purpose unit until further notice.
Oberst Bernd Freytag von Loringhoven, after a painstaking process of sifting through numerous reports, submitted a list of recommendations to Feldmarschal Guderian, which was signed off with relish.
When those named on the list were fit enough, there was a formal parade and presentation, to honour the new recipients of the Knight’s Cross, and other medals and awards.
The actions and courage of Hauptmann Werner von Scharf, 47th Recipient of the Knight’s Cross, Oberleutnants Hubert Aschmann and Erich Horstbeck, 48th and 49th recipients respectively, Leutnant Kasper Janjowski, 50th recipient, and Gefreiter Gustav Schneider, the most junior rank to receive the award in the new DRH and its 51st recipient, were honoured in the extended ceremony, where the conduct and bravery of one hundred and fourteen Third Battalion soldiers was recognised.
However, before anyone else would receive their awards, pride of place went to Stabsfeldwebel Hermann Keller, 1st recipient of the Oak leaves to the Knight’s Cross of the new German Republic, who became, as a result, the most highly decorated NCO in the DRH.
Once the ceremony was over, the officers, NCOs, and men of Third Battalion gathered together as comrades to remember lost friends, celebrate new awards, and drink to their own survival.
It was, perhaps, a sign of the undaunted fighting spirit and comradeship of the survivors of the Battle of Height 462, that the noisiest and most raucous celebrations accompanied toasts to the award of the black wound badge to Erich Horstbeck.
Chapter 164 – THE SCIENTISTS
“It’s a father’s duty to give his sons a fine chance.”
Colonel Skryabin looked on at the smoking ruins of the VNIIEF medical facility, one of the few parts of the secret complex that was above ground.
Whatever had caused the fire, and first indications were some sort of ignited gas leak, the damage was catastrophic, both to the clinic and to the staff that ran it.
All the senior medical staff were confirmed dead, either by dint of their corpses being recognisable, or, as was more the case, by items on the destroyed and charred corpses being known to those few medical workers who were not on duty at the time of the explosion.
Whilst the fire did not burn for long, the lack of an organised firefighting response meant that it consumed everything of note, even though his NKVD troopers turned their hands to the task and performed valiantly.
Three of them had excruciating burns, sustained during forlorn rescue attempts.
His deputy’s suggestion held merit.
“Very well, Comrade Durets. But have each man guarded… and each of the prisoner staff… there must be no conversation, am I clear?”
“Perfectly, Comrade Polkovnik.”
Major Durets saluted and set to the task of organising the transfer of the wounded medical staff and NKVD soldiers to the POW medical facility which, although not up to the standard of the VNIIEF clinic, would suffice in the interim.
The door flew open without warning, causing Surgeon Lieutenant Commander Dryden to leap and spill his tea.
The protestations died on his lips as he saw what the NKVD guards were carrying.
“Over here… put him here…”
The words almost stopped in his throat, as if they were avoiding being exposed to the sight that fell before his eyes.
‘Oh my God… how is this poor man still alive…’
Of course, everyone in the camp had heard the explosion but, with the apathy of those without hope, had thought little of it.
Now the after effects of it lay on the couch under Dryden’s gaze.
“Major Durets… I’ll need analgesia…”
The Russian looked blankly at him.
“Pain killers…”
The blank look remained.
Thinking quickly, Dryden fished in the medical bin, retrieving a small empty phial of some substance that he had used during an operation the night before.
The Russian language was as much a mystery to him as English was to Durets, but the label was clear.
The NKVD Major called an NCO to him and issued his orders.
As the soldier left, more casualties arrived.
Hamouda accompanied the second stretcher, and worked away at the throat of whatever it was that the rescuers had pulled from the fire.
The Egyptian tapped an item on the belt of one soldier, whose first thought was to strike the prisoner down.
Further taps made Hamouda’s needs clear, and the NKVD trooper reluctantly gave up his bayonet.
The blade opened up the casualty’s neck, and the rush of air was loud enough to be heard by all.
Hamouda grabbed a note pad and ripped the card backing from it, fashioning a large V-shape, which he inserted into the wound to keep the airway open.
As he did so, the man died, the combination of fluid loss and shock too much for life to continue.
The room was filled with guards, casualties, and the POW staff, something which was making effective work very difficult.
“Hany… triage… those with a good chance stay here… others… mess hall.”
The Egyptian Lieutenant nodded and set to work, suddenly appointed arbiter of life and death.
For every casualty retained in the main room, two were sent to the dining room.
Dryden’s eyes nearly came out of his head when the NKVD NCO returned with more pain-killing drugs than he had seen since being taken captive all those months ago.
He grabbed a handful of what were very clearly opiates of US manufacture.