Their presence remained completely unknown to Hans von Schroif, who had not the faintest inkling that they were there. “This is an improvement on the Terespol side,” he commented to Knispel from his uncovered position in the open commander’s hatch of gun number 1. He then raised his binoculars and turned to survey the surrounding parkland. “We have more space to operate as a battalion here,” he said, indicating his qualified satisfaction to the commander of the advancing grenadiers.
There was certainly more room to deploy the assault guns on a wider front, but as the guns rolled forward the anti-tank detachments sprang into action. Fortunately, the first shells struck the heavily armoured fronts of the advancing Sturmgeschütze and there were no immediate casualties, but it was enough to halt the advance.
“Find cover, lay down smoke!” commanded von Schroif.
The guns responded by rolling to a halt and firing the smoke shells carried by all of them. The anti-tank gunners, from their concealed positions, fought off all attacks by the Sturmgeschütze. A series of difficult skirmishes along the entire line of the defence were fought between the assault guns and the anti-tank guns.
There were no further casualties on either side, but the supply of anti-tank shells was running out for the Russians. An ammunition supply depot was nearby◦— only a few dozen metres away in no man’s land◦— but it was impossible to reach because of a solid wall of high-explosive fire that the Sturmgeschütze were able to bring down. Finally, as the rate of fire slackened dangerously, Private Levsky took the initiative. He was the driver of the last intact towing vehicle remaining. Despite the best efforts of those ranged against him, he succeeded in making several runs to the depot and brought hundreds of shells back to the fighting positions.
Several hours passed. An anti-tank gun, commanded by Volokitin, that occupied an all-round defence position in the rubble stopped and burned another Sturmgeschütz. Number 2 gun from the third abteilung was the fifth gun to be completely destroyed that morning. Worse still, the gun crew dispersed the supporting enemy infantry column and their accurate stream of high-explosive shells eliminated the possibility of all further infantry attacks.
Eventually von Schroif decided that the only solution was to deploy a pair of assault guns to deal with the troublesome anti-tank gun. He ordered the rest of the battalion to give supporting fire while his own number 1 gun, with number 3 gun in support, moved against the troublesome nest of resistance.
Volokitin was alert to the danger. Despite the flurry of shells from the supporting Sturmgeschütze, he managed a direct hit on the side of number 3 gun which penetrated the fuel tank and set the Sturmgeschütz on fire. To Volokitin’s discomfiture the remaining assault guns continued to advance. The deadly accurate eye of Michael Knispel guided the high-explosive rounds home and the entire Russian gun crew died in this unequal battle.
The remaining anti-tank gunners remained resolute and continued to beat off the enemy attacks from the direction of the Moscow highway and the Volhyn fortification in their position at the crest of the earthworks. Assault guns advanced on the embankment from several sides and the last of the grenadiers approached on foot. From up on top of the crest bursts of machine-gun fire and solitary shell-bursts rang out. Grigory Derevyanko, the assistant political officer, met the enemy assault units with machine-gun fire.
Wohl was quick to relay the message and immediately the engines of the other guns could be heard, revving up as their crews took them backwards, out of the action. However, there was no corresponding movement from number 1 gun.
“We’ve thrown a track,” Junge stated calmly.
“Oh, no, shit, no… not here, not now,” thought Wohl to himself, but he wisely kept his own counsel.
The mishap that had befallen number 1 gun was exactly the type of opportunity Commissar Korsak and Private Borodin had been waiting for. “Now’s your time, Comrade Borodin,” exhorted Korsak. Borodin held a bottle full of petrol in one hand. A length of fuel-soaked cloth protruded from the neck of the bottle. Korsak put down his anti-tank rifle and held his lighter under the cloth, which immediately took flame.
“Death to the fascists!” Private Borodin shouted as he began to sprint towards the stranded vehicle. At the same time as Borodin made his move, a second group of defenders attempted to rush the vehicle from the side.
“Enemy infantry approaching the vehicle, eight o’ clock, 150 metres!” screamed von Schroif, who was now firing his machine pistol through the pistol port.
“Watch out! Enemy with fire bomb, 11 o’ clock, 100 metres,” called Junge. “Why is there no damn MG on this thing?”
Across the rubble-strewn street brown-clad figures could be seen rushing from the gate.
“Bale out, abandon the vehicle,” von Schroif ordered, but as Wohl threw open the first of the hatches a stream of machine gun bullets forced him to close it just as quickly.
“So this is it… we die here,” thought Junge as Borodin closed in on his target.
Just when it appeared as if all was lost the noise of an aircraft siren pierced the noise of battle. A huge explosion engulfed Borodin and his Molotov cocktail was consumed by the blast.
Leutnant Rossheim pulled his aircraft out of its dive and swooped back over the stranded StuG, machine-gunning the advancing Russians. When the first bodies fell the others made their way back to the fortification. The other aircraft in the squadron joined in and the attacking Soviets scattered in all directions.
Seizing the opportunity, Knispel and Wohl leapt out of the StuG and began the terrifying task of replacing the track while the Stukas circled menacingly overhead.
- CHAPTER 7 -
Gefoltert durch den Durst
FORTUNATELY FOR Wohl and Knispel, the Soviet machine-gunners kept their heads low and sought to conserve their precious stocks of ammunition. Nonetheless, it was a nerve-wracking and frantic experience and Wohl was delighted when Knispel finally declared the job done and both men hopped back into the vehicle in record time.
“Take us home Junge,” came the welcome command and the StuG began to reverse once more out of the danger zone. The crew were elated to be alive but also deflated by a sense of defeat. This certainly did not feel like a battle that would be won anytime soon. Some other intervention would obviously be required.
Wendorff threw himself down among his erstwhile comrades. His brain was becoming addled through lack of water and his thoughts travelled down strange paths. He was not a religious man. Nietzsche was his mentor, his tutor, his guiding light. For some arbitrary reason it was these thoughts of the great philosopher that now flooded his dehydrated brain.
“I teach you the overman. Man is something that shall be overcome. What have you done to overcome him?
“All beings so far have created something beyond themselves; and do you want to be the ebb of this great flood and even go back to the beasts rather than overcome man? What is the ape to man? A laughingstock or a painful embarrassment. And man shall be just that for the overman: a laughingstock or a painful embarrassment…
“Behold, I teach you the overman. The overman is the meaning of the earth. Let your will say: the overman shall be the meaning of the earth! Man is a rope, tied between beast and overman, a rope over an abyss… What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not an end: what can be loved in man is that he is an overture and a going under…”
Was he, Wendorff, an overman? Were these Soviets the beast? Was this conflict the bridge over the abyss, the meaning of the earth?