Fomin would have been dejected to realise that in any event it made little difference whether the fortress continued to broadcast or not. The panzer divisions were striking ever deeper into Soviet territory, the fortress had already been bypassed, divisional HQ had been captured, and there was no one left within 50 kilometres to respond to the fortress’ calls. Fomin’s actions, however, had galvanised the defenders, who had retaken the Terespol tower. As a result, the grenadiers of the 45th Infantry Division, who should have been pressing into the citadel, were now held up and pinned down by the Terespol gate.
A few hundred metres back from the bridge lay von Schroif and his StuG battalion, awaiting the call to action. Suddenly the radio of the cramped interior of von Schroif’s command half-track crackled into life as the infantry commander made his report which was only just about audible above the rattle of gunfire and the noise of ricochets hitting masonry.
“We are encountering fierce resistance and heavy machine-gun fire. The assault group reinforcements are pinned down in the buildings leading to the Terespol gate bridge. Request assistance from the assault guns!”
“Are there any anti-tank weapons in the vicinity?” came the reply from inside the Beobachtungskraftwagen.
”Negative,” replied the Wehrmacht officer. “We have conducted thorough reconnaissance, as much as the enemy fire has permitted, and have seen no sign of any anti-tank weapons.”
“Very well. Assault guns are on their way to you. Hold your position. Sturmgeschütze vor!” cried von Schroif and the column set off in the direction of the fortress.
Huge columns of smoke and a relentless rolling cacophony of explosions marked their destination which was illuminated by countless fires that raged unchecked. As they reached the last of the buildings which stood next to the bridge leading to the Terespol gate and the formidable fortification known as the Terespol tower it soon became clear that the liaison officer from the 45th Infantry Division was not exaggerating the seriousness of the situation. The landsers were hopelessly pinned down and were powerless to advance. They desperately needed the intervention of von Schroif and the StuGs. With so much lead flying around, the advance to contact in his half-track made von Schroif extremely nervous, but he had to remain visible and exposed in the commander’s hatch of his Beobachtungskraftwagen in order to get a feel for the situation and to communicate with the grenadiers, who were hunkered behind a wall.
Eventually a young infantry lieutenant plucked up courage and sprinted over to the vehicle. As he raced over he began to set out the situation. “There’s a machine gun nest on either side of the gate. It’s…”
The young man did not get the chance to complete his sentence. A stream of bullets thudded into him, bowling him over and spraying blood over von Schroif, who quickly slid down into the relative safety of the packed interior.
“Machine gun nest in the wall, two o’ clock,” barked von Schroif and the details of the target were immediately relayed to the number 1 gun.
Inside assault gun number 1 Wohl had heard the message and responded in the affirmative. He had already selected a high-explosive round and slammed it into the breach. Junge expertly swung the StuG round to the required facing and Knispel spotted the tell-tale flicker of flame as the machine gun spat its message of death. The round hit home and there was a satisfying explosion, but as the smoke cleared Knispel could discern the tongue of flame as the machine gun continued to fire. A second round had no more effect on the tough concrete structure.
“Scheisse! Load with armour-piercing,” barked SS-Untersturmführer Steiner, who commanded the gun.
“It’s no use, sir,” said Knispel, his eyes locked on to the aiming device, “there’s too much of a heat haze from the fires. I can’t get a clear aim on the target.”
“Let me take a look,” said Steiner, abandoning his viewing apparatus and opening the command hatch. These were the last words ever spoken by the young man from the Ruhr valley. No sooner had he surfaced from the relative safety of the inside of the vehicle than two machine guns were trained upon him. The result was horrific. Blood and innards were sprayed over the vehicle and spattered over the remaining crew members in the hot interior.
“Christ! Reload with high-explosive!” barked Knispel to Wohl as he assumed control of the vehicle. No sooner had the words left his mouth when an almighty explosion rocked the StuG.
From his limited viewpoint Junge could see that number 2 gun had burst into flames. He could hear screaming coming from inside the stricken StuG and watched anxiously for signs of life but none came. The escape hatches remained closed and the screaming ceased as those inside died the death that Junge most feared◦— to be trapped and immolated in a burning vehicle.
“Number 2 gun has been hit,” said Junge, who had the view of the stricken machine.
“Anyone see what happened?” queried Knispel.
The radio inside von Schroif’s command half-track blared into life with a babble of voices, all confirming that the source of the destruction was an anti-tank gun to the right of number 1 gun.
“Order them out of there,” was von Schroif’s instant response.
The message was swiftly relayed and the bulk of the battalion withdrew. The pace of the retreat was not fast enough for number 3 gun from the second abteilung. The rubble from a wall which had collapsed behind the Sturmgeschütz during the combat now made it impossible for the gun to reverse. In desperation the driver made a ninety degree turn, hoping to free the vehicle from its predicament. It was the worst possible decision. The powerful forces exerted by the sharp turn were too strong and the thin metal pins holding the track together split under the pressure, causing the StuG to throw its track and skid to a halt. As it did so, it presented a perfect side-on shot to the waiting anti-tank gun, which made it difficult for the gunners to miss. The crew were aware of their danger. The other guns had by now all withdrawn, except for the number 1 gun, which now attracted von Schroif’s attention.
“What’s he doing?” asked von Schroif rhetorically. Through his binoculars he could see Steiner’s lifeless body hanging limply in the commander’s hatch. Bullets were still intermittently striking the corpse, which was being mangled into an unrecognisable bloody pulp.
“Relay the order again,” barked von Schroif.
The radio operator did as ordered but still there was still no movement from the number 1 gun.
“Are they alive?” asked von Schroif.
“Yes, Hauptsturmführer, I can hear them,” said the radio operator. “I fear the radio is locked on transmit.”
Inside number 1 gun there was no sound from the radio, which was indeed still switched to transmit mode.
“It’s on fire. Looks like an anti-tank round,” confirmed Junge as number 2 gun continued to blaze.
The corroboration of Junge’s estimate of the source of the destruction came instantly. There was a tremendous blow on the front armour of the vehicle that sent shards of hot metal flying around the confined and stiflingly hot interior, now coated in the blood of its commander.