The next three days were spent in frantic preparations. Through intermittent rains, they familiarized themselves with their new home on tracks and its idiosyncrasies, painting the tank an off yellow and green camouflage pattern that would blend in well with the surrounding countryside. Extra tracks were placed on the turret sides and the ammo holders filled to capacity with extra 75 mms stacked by the driver along with their personal weapons, ready in case they had to unass the Panther in a hurry.
The steel leviathan weighed in at forty-five and one-half tons with a range of 110 road miles or half that cross country. It carried a long 75 with 79 rounds of ammo and 4,500 rounds of machine-gun ammo for the two MG-34s. Gus fell in love with the engine, a Maybach HL 230 twelve-cylinder diesel with 700 hp.
"This fucker's a beauty!" he cried out joyfully, slapping the side of the tank.
"At last we have something we can chew those damned T-34s up with. This little toy could take Moscow all by itself."
The night of the fourth they moved to their jump-off positions while a flight of Ju-88s and ME-109s buzzed the front in order to cover the track and engine noises. Quickly they camouflaged their tanks with brush and netting, waiting for the dawn while their officers received their battle orders and made last-minute changes. Midnight passed. It was 5 July, and the nearest thing to Armageddon the world had ever known was about to be born. . . .
First light broke hot and clear, a portent of the hell to come. The Soviet 17th Air Army was already crossing the lines separating the protagonists, heading to make a preemptive strike on the German air bases to the rear and destroy the bulk of the Luftwaffe aircraft while still on the ground, but the gods of war smiled on the Germans and one in particular screwed up the Russian plan.
FREYA, the name for the radar units stationed at the German airfields, picked up the incoming Soviets in time to alert their fighters. From General Siedeman's headquarters, the order went out to forget the planned scheduling and take off immediately. Scramble now and get everything that could fly in the air and off the vulnerable fields. Fighter engines screamed, their special whines like German eagles, airborne, climbing high to get above the confident Soviet squadrons who thought they were approaching sleeping bases. The Russian bombers were flying at 10,000 feet as the first wave of German fighters fell on them like hunting falcons from the heights, striking through the formations and breaking them up in panic, sending plane after plane crashing in flames to the earth. The MIG and Yak fighters did their best to protect their lumbering bigger brothers, but the altitude of the bombers left them at a disadvantage in dealing with the Fw-190s and ME-109s that raced around them, blasting them from the sky. In the first hour, the Soviets lost 120 aircraft and their even more precious crews as hundreds of German fighters hurled themselves with reckless abandon at everything that wore a red star. Before the day was over, another 300 would be added to the tally of Soviet losses, first blood to the Iron Cross.
Freya, the Nordic goddess of love and beauty, who also claimed half of those who fell on the field of battle for her own, served her people well this day.
The battle of Kursk was on; from all fronts came the order to attack. As volleys of artillery and mortar fire laid down barrages that made the earth erupt, trying to blast open a path for the armored beasts to race through.
CHAPTER THREE
Into the maelstrom of smoke, dust and flames, the tanks rumbled, engines straining, following the lines prepared by the engineers that night when they crept in to clear paths through the mine fields. The monstrous symphony of modern warfare had begun with an overture to death.
Gus laughed as he gunned the engine and ground a slit trench full of Russians into pulp. Locking one tread, the Panther pivoted, grinding the men beneath the threads into the dirt. A Tiger tank to the left exploded in a gout of black oily smoke as it hit an antitank mine. The sappers had missed this one. The crew bailed out of the hatches, only to be cut down by machine-gun fire, the Panzer grenadiers following in their wake, spread out, several falling to their faces as Ivan fought back with the tenacity of the Russian bear.
Teacher called for targets and Langer swung the turret, checking the ring dial on the traverse indicator which showed him the relationship of the turret to the hull, bunker four hundred meters, load with HE. Teacher sighted. "Got it."
The recoil of the 75 rocked the Panther back on its suspension system. The front of the Soviet bunker erupted and several Russians ran from the back entrance followed by the stitching tracks of the MG-34 hull gun. The tracks overran two of the Russians and walked back and forth over their bodies. Even from this distance the dust puffing up from their uniforms where the bullets struck was easily visible. A gap in the Russian lines was made and the Panthers and Tigers of the 47th Panzer Corps poured through, followed by the grenadiers of the Gross Deutschland Division.
Langer's unit raced on, leaving the mopping up and taking of prisoners to the infantry. They had to advance regardless of risk. Their objective— Oboyan. In one swift rush, despite the Soviet's preparation, the main defensive line was torn open and General Krishoven's mechanized corps thrown into panic as the Tigers and Panthers flanked them, firing accurate controlled shots into the sides and turrets of the T-34s and self-propelled assault guns.
The 6th Guards Army, holding the perimeters facing the Germans, began to crumble with the loss of their armor and they knew there was nothing to stop the Fascists from overrunning them. They began to withdraw, trying to get back to the next defensive ring, only to be caught in the open by German artillery, which tore them to pieces and started the panic of a disorganized retreat. They dropped their guns and ran, every man for himself. Tanks raced after them, crushing them under the treads—they weren't worth wasting bullets on.
Gus screamed in glee as Teacher took a T-34 with a single shot that blew the turret of the enemy tank in the air and left the body of the tank's commander hanging from it half in, half out as the turret landed upside down on him. Another Panther was hit and Langer pulled his alongside to give the crew cover until they could get to a trench. All he had time to see was one of the tankers smash the brains out of a Russian with a shovel, and then the radio crackled in his ears with orders from the command tank. "On, on. Don't stop for anything again. Go, go, they're breaking."
Stefan began to hose the mustard-yellow uniforms in front of him, firing in short calculated bursts. He didn't want to burn up the machine gun. Coolly and carefully, Teacher sighted on a staff car and with a nod sent a screaming round into it, leaving only a smoking, burning frame. There was no trace of the Russians, they had just been atomized. To the right of them, the Panthers of GD were in trouble with a mine field and were stalled until the way could be cleared or another way out found.