Bullets found them with ease, and both dropped lifelessly to the ground.
There were external fuel tanks mounted on the rear sides of the IS-II, metal containers that Antonov had insisted were topped up, given the rumours about supply problems.
These were struck many times by the fusillade, and diesel fuel started to leak. The engine decking became awash, and fuel spilled down the sides of the tank.
Still the metal leviathan crawled forward.
Mearns dragged himself in behind a tree root, trying to extract his pistol, something he could not accomplish with his chest wound.
In H Company’s position, it seemed clear that the tank intended to run down their Sergeant, and the bazooka team risked themselves in order to prevent that.
The shell missed, and then it hit.
At first, the rocket passed between the 2nd and 3rd rollers, touching nothing on the way through.
Three feet beyond it kissed the ground and flipped upwards, striking the 4th roller on the other side of the tank, wrecking its axle, the roller itself, and fracturing the heavy track.
The impact did not dislodge the dead driver, who continued to discharge his duty. The offside track parted, and within seconds, all drive came from the nearside, slewing the tank into a broken tree stump, sending rivers of fuel across its hull plate and onto the earth all around.
The IS-II stalled.
Over the water, the disconsolate bazooka crew saw that they had another opportunity and took the shot.
Inside the heavy tank, Antonov was in agony, his efforts totally focused on keeping his stomach inside his body.
Outside, Mearns was counting his blessings, although the now leaning tree stump had trapped his good leg, leaving him stuck close to the front of the knocked-out tank.
The second rocket struck, penetrating the hull side adjacent to the huge twelve-cylinder diesel engine.
The IS-II caught fire.
The flames spread, feasting on the free fuel vapour from the two ruptured tanks, greedily moving on to find welcoming diesel fuel in all directions.
Burning fuel dropped around the tree stump.
“What the hell?”
Mearns pushed and scrabbled, his limited strength of no use against the inexorable downward pressure of the tank on the tree truck.
He exerted his strength, dug with his good hand, pushed with his good leg, all to no avail, all the time growing weaker.
More burning fuel dropped around him, catching his trousers alight
In a moment of clarity, he had a last rational thought.
‘I don’t deserve to die like this!’
And then the moment was gone, and Master Sergeant Winchester Mearns became a mental wreck, howling and screaming his last few moments away.
Inside the tank, Antonov knew what lay in store.
As he reached around to his side, his thoughts turned to his wife and his three fine sons.
The heat was unbearable and he did not prolong the moment unnecessarily.
The barrel of the Tokarev was against the side of his forehead, the act of pulling the trigger granting him one final second of life.
‘I don’t want to die like this!’
The sound of the shot was lost on Mearns, his legs engulfed in flames, his animal panic having robbed him of every vestige of humanity.
The sounds of his screams were truly awful, and rose above most sounds of the battle.
Across the river, a young man’s mind found resolve and his Garand put a bullet into the suffering man.
Pfc Oberon Reynolds dropped the rifle from his shoulder.
‘You were right Sarge, you were right. No-one deserves to die like that.’
The M36 tank destroyers died within a second of each other, their tender rears fatally exposed to the new arrivals.
To the north, Allied forces had repulsed a Soviet attack aimed at Tettnang, so Berzarin had sent a considerable force southwards to help out on the Argen River, ready to turn westwards and undercut Tettnang.
It was this battlegroup, elements of the 11th Tank Corps, which now took to the field, surprising the US defenders on the hillock, codenamed ‘Chetvyerg’ by the now-dead Antonov.
Communications between the two attacking groups was non-existent, but both exhibited excellent control and restraint, with no friendly casualties resulting in their coming together on the west bank of the Argen.
T-34’s of the 65th Tank Brigade supported by motorized infantry from the 12th [Motorized] Rifle Brigade hammered into the rear of the US positions, sweeping all before them.
From the height, they were able to control all of the area west of the Argen through which the American forces had to withdraw.
The Soviet tanks knocked out vehicle after vehicle, aided by the survivors of Antonov’s force.
One anti-tank gun was repositioned, and managed single shot before it was trashed by a wave of HE from the 65th’s armour.
On the Argen, the Soviet engineers finally managed to push through the booby-traps and barbed wire, achieving the 7776 bridge.
The assault elements of the 2nd Company 185th Guards pushed over the other bridge at the same time.
The final phase of the US defensive plan was to destroy both of these bridges, and the surviving NCO of the 305th US Engineers discharged his responsibilities, electronically detonating first the nearest bridge carrying Route 467, then that carrying Route 7776 to the north.
The lead platoon of the 185th Guards was killed outright. First, the soldiers were thrown skywards, as the huge charge propelled body and the 467 bridge into the air. The jumbled mass of men and concrete fell back, either to earth or water, and none survived.
The shock wave claimed more casualties from both sides, the US troops unable to fall back as planned because of the arrival of the northern force.
The delay in switching to the second bridge circuit gave the Soviet sappers hope for survival, hope that died with them, as a second huge charge brought about a repeat performance.
The 116th Engineers did have inflatable boats at the rear, but command and control was shot to pieces, so they remained there, unused.
Soviet mortars, freed by the loss of the bridges, brought down a furious attack on the defensive positions, pinning the US infantrymen in their shallow scrapes in the ground, or killing them with blast and shrapnel.
Some men tried to move away down the river line, but they were seen by the survivors of Antonov’s tank unit, who enjoyed the turkey shoot, mowing down the defenceless men as they struggled in the water.
There was no escape, and hands started to rise, as first, individuals, and then groups, surrendered.
Hardegen’s unit pulled back successfully, crossing over the Argen at Oberdorf, and marrying up with their covering infantry force from the 53rd.
The military situation dictated that they had to withdraw again, and the composite unit withdrew further back to Eriskirch, but not before Hardegen had called in a priority mission on the intact bridges around Oberdorf.
As he settled into the new line at Eriskirch, fighter-bombers of the USAAF took out both bridges, losing three aircraft in the process.
Positioning his tanks to defend the river crossing, west of Eriskirch, Major John Hardegen was frustrated to find no supply vehicles waiting to replenish his low stocks of ammunition and fuel.
Taking time out to eat the rations cooked up by his crew, Hardegen reflected on the day.
‘Some damn good boys died today.’
Task Force Hardegen had certainly lost some good men, but it was intact, although depleted. The 53rd Infantry had lost a handful of doughs, the 37th Tanks left four of their vehicles on the field, whereas 25th Cavalry had escaped casualties. Their positions, covering the rear of Hardegen’s force, had not been tested. The relatively fresh unit was presently out providing a security screen, whilst the rest of his task force rested.