Looking at the heavy self-propelled guns, he worked the problem.
‘The ISU’s can’t engage the enemy light tanks but it is the infantry that is more of a threat.’
In that he was wrong but didn’t realise it at that moment.
‘Obviously the enemy wants the bridge intact too or mortars and artillery would be falling on their heads.’
‘Can’t radio the ISU’s to fire at the enemy positions on the west bank and they obviously won’t fire unless they have a recognised target.’
A soaked engineer Kaporal interrupted his thought process.
“Comrade Lieutenant Colonel, the enemy have been driven back once more but we are very low on ammunition. Leytenant Munin has stripped our dead and that of the enemy for weapons and ammunition but he says it is unlikely that we can hold another attack.”
There was little to be said by way of positive response.
Gripping the Kaporal’s shoulder, he responded with all he had to give.
“Tell Leytenant Munin that the rest of our battalion is on its way. We have but to hold for another quarter of an hour clear?”
“Yes Comrade Lieutenant Colonel, clear.”
“Go back now and thank you Comrade.”
The Kaporal rushed back to the river and dived headlong into it, returning to pass on the news of impending relief.
Chekov hated himself for it, for he doubted that the rest of his unit would arrive within that time scale. As it happened, they were already over the river and had been sent into the fighting south-west of Trendelburg, where the Americans had been more than holding their own.
Returning to his thoughts, he concluded that, barring a miracle, there was little to prevent the loss of his command and the bridge.
‘If only the radio had not been lost in the river, maybe…’
Standing upright, he tugged down his tunic, ending such self-pitying thoughts.
Speaking aloud he summoned his inner-strength.
“You are a Lieutenant Colonel in the Red Army. Now act like one.”
He laughed and summoned a nearby Yefreytor, instructing the man to get a section together to strip arms and ammunition from friend and enemy alike, ready for the next assault.
Colonel Serov had moved forward from Stammen, too far forward for his staff’s liking, and was now perched on the edge of the heights some two hundred metres north-west of Stammer.
From there he could add visual images to the flow of reports that were bombarding his staff, or more precisely add visual images ruined by the heavy rain, which was still descending unabated.
Behind him, to the southeast, lay the detritus of a destroyed enemy AA unit, all done with the silent edged weapons carried by his Siberian troops.
Clearly a lot was going wrong on the west bank and he had spent a few heated minutes on the radio to the commander of the bridging engineers near Seilen to ensure the tanks could get across very soon. The Kapitan of Engineers understood what was at stake for the army, and was now under no illusions as to what was at stake for him personally.
Sweeping the battlefield, Serov was appalled to see American tanks on the Deiselberg Rise taking his troops under fire in the valley below, although he appreciated the fact that they were not deploying to Trendelburg, which might have caused serious problems.
None the less, it was hard on the Guards and Penal troops, who had already suffered greatly at the hands of enemy AA weapons in the valley.
He had been able to help with removing that force and the destruction of a nearby enemy anti-tank unit by use of some well placed artillery.
Soon he hoped to have some airpower to back up his under-pressure force.
Moving his glasses and scanning Trendelburg his eyes were drawn to its most noticeable landmark, the Rapunzel Tower, which was aflame after receiving the attention of one of his ISU gunners.
He could not see the bridge, obscured as it was by smoke, but that smoke meant that someone was still fighting and he knew that Chekov would not let him down.
The infantry of 1st Battalion, 1323rd Rifles had taken murderous casualties from enemy mortars and then dug-in infantry south-east of the bridge.
The mortars seemed to have switched their fire elsewhere for now and the enemy infantry had been driven back but 1st Battalion was a spent force.
One unit of SP’s from 2nd/399th had been ordered to take the American armour west of the river under fire, the other to proceed on orders to cover the approaches from the east.
That latter unit had recently reported that they had crushed an American counter-attack on the heights to his northeast.
Guards motorcycle troops and the 3rd Battalion of Siberians had overrun American units on the heights and joined battle with another enemy infantry group in the woods on the northern edge of the heights.
They had been attacked on their eastern flank by American light tanks and half-tracks, which were repulsed.
Serov assumed this was the same attack driven off as reported by the SP’s of 2nd/399th.
He had edged his reserves forwards, but had already committed the Engineer-Sappers to get over the river and help drive into Trendelburg.
That left him with 3rd/399th’s ISU-152’s and the infantry of 2nd Btn/1323rd Rifles.
He hated not having anything left in his bag but there was no choice as 1st Battalion simply did not have the strength any more.
“Order the 2nd Rifle Battalion to advance at top speed into Trendelburg to support the bridge defenders, keeping to the east bank at all times. Order C Company of the 11th Guards Tanks to drive at high speed to support 3rd Battalion. Warn both about the enemy tanks at Deiselberg.”
He waited as the Kapitan finished taking his notes.
“Order 3rd/399th to move up to….” Serov stepped back under the rough shelter his staff had erected and camouflaged, grabbing the edge of the map table, his finger prescribing the river shape, ending up at the bulge two hundred metres south of Trendelburg, “Here, and engage the Amerikanisti at Deiselberg.”
Pausing for a second, he added.
“Tell them also to be aware of friendly tanks from 11th Guards coming up on the east bank. No accidents.”
The Kapitan saluted and moved to the radio operator. The messages were relayed in good time and Serov received a report that all units were moving as he stood desperately probing the smoke with his binoculars.
‘Where is Chekov?’
Major Brennan and the survivors of A Company had collectively held their breath as enemy infantry and armour moved past them on all sides.
The huge SP guns, although they come closest of all, failed to realise they had driven through the hiding place of a large number of desperate men.
Forty-eight desperate men to be precise.
Holding a quick meeting with Brown, Finch, and Collins, the matter was laid out in easily understood terms.
There would be no surrender.
Equally, it was pointless to stay and fight for a position already behind enemy lines.
It was swiftly decided that safety lay the other side of the Diemel River.
Mortar Platoon had the means after all and three usable dinghies were ready to be dragged from under their camouflage.
The half-tracks would be left in place after being wrecked, an escape on foot being most likely to succeed.
A heated exchange on the perimeter behind them interrupted their conversation.
Collins stepped off smartly to sort it out whilst the officers continued.
Brown was finger tracing his suggested route to the river when he became aware of the look on his Major’s face. Following the direction of Brennan’s gaze he saw Caesar, or rather Caesar looking like he had never looked before.
For once, the man seemed lost for words.