“Oil pressure is very low, sir. I think we may have an engine problem,” reported Bobby Junge. “Permission to check, sir?”
“Go ahead, Junge. Everyone else, keep vigilant.”
While the others kept an all-round watch, Bobby Junge busied himself with the engine. He had only just begun to open the engine hatches when, very faintly, in the distance, came the sound of what sounded like voices singing. Slowly, the noise got louder, and gradually started to mix with the sound of tank tracks.
It was Otto Wohl who first identified the source◦– a long line of Soviet tanks, each carrying a contingent of desyanti tank riders. This far behind the front, the Russian infantrymen were in relaxed mood, and passed the journey by bellowing their way through a favourite folk melody.
Through his binoculars, von Schroif identified the first tanks◦– T-34s. The engine would have to wait. As quick as lightning, every man was back in his place. Knispel began to swivel the turret to bring it to bear on the first tank.
The Soviets rolled on, singing merrily, and didn’t take any notice of the lone tank by the roadside, assuming it was a broken-down prototype vehicle. They certainly weren’t counting on any form of enemy contact.
Wohl had an armour-piercing round loaded, and Knispel had his first target lined up. The firing couldn’t start fast enough for him. Given half a chance, he would have been happy to ask Junge to ram them, so that he could let his fists do the talking. Knispel expected the order to start firing at any moment, but von Schroif remained silent.
The tanks rolled closer and closer. 700 metres, 600 metres, 500 metres. The singing grew louder. Knispel was convinced they would be discovered, but there was still no sign of concern from the Russians. How steely was his commander◦– in nerve and resolve! At last, with the lead T-34 just 100 metres away, the order came.
“Open fire!”
The mighty Acht-acht of the Tiger barked into life for the first time in anger, and the lead T-34 was simply blown apart by the huge kinetic force of the impact. The round must have found its mark in the ammunition, as an almost simultaneous explosion hurled the maimed figures of the desyanti in all directions.
The singing stopped abruptly, and it was now that the benefit of holding their fire came into its own. The rear of the column was so close that there was no need to revolve the turret. As soon as Wohl had rammed the shell home, Knispel was able to aim and fire. Even at 600 metres, the Acht-acht simply ripped the T-34 apart. As Knispel worked his way down the column, Wendorff was busy with the hull machine gun, spraying the fugitives with fire. The surviving Russian infantry scattered to the opposite rollbahn.
None of the T-34s escaped Elvira’s wrath, and Knispel felt a surge of power. Now he was on equal terms, and there was no stopping him.
Bobby Junge had spent the entire combat waiting for the order to start the engine. He fretted about the battery which powered the firing button of the Acht-acht and traversed the turret. He thought hard about the likely source of the oil pressure drop, and the danger of fire if the oil was collecting in the sump. He wanted this action to be over quickly, and his prayers were soon answered. The main gun stopped firing. There were no more targets left. Eighteen T-34s lay smouldering on the rollbahn, and the few survivors from among the desyanti were keeping their heads well down.
“Can you take us home, SS-Panzerschütze Junge?”
“It might be a slow journey, and we may have to stop a few times to top up with oil… but I think we can do it.”
“Well, Elvira has had her baptism of fire… so her well-wishers must be entitled to a beer,” added von Schroif.
“I’ll drink to that, sir,” laughed Wohl.
“OK then, let’s roll!” said von Schroif.
“So, now you are even.” said Major List. “That’s the kind of report to warm the cockles of the heart.”
“Well, not quite even, because there was no sign of the Weisse Teufel. It will only be when he dies that we are even. However, I do not think that moment is too far off. I get the feeling he’ll be waiting for us when we make the main attack.”
“Which I am ordered is to be a mission to take an unoccupied and exposed village,” replied the Major, at which the two men exchanged meaningful glances.
An exposed target like this village was not the easy picking it was at the start of the campaign. The Soviets had learned, and so had the German soldier, the hard way. In 1941 there had been some easy targets, sometimes too easy, but as the war had progressed, so had Soviet tactics. Red Army fanatics sometimes stayed behind deliberately, so that their positions could be overrun and they could then launch attacks into the German rear and other devilish snares. It was this possibility which both commanders wordlessly exchanged with that knowing glance. The village had been deliberately left exposed as a trap.
“I will take all possibilities into account and approach with great caution,” offered von Schroif.
“I think that would be the wisest course of action,” replied List.
“We know the Tiger packs a punch, but we haven’t seen one take a punch yet. Now, with regard to conditions… Don’t be fooled. This may look like the kind of dry and firm ground that is ideal for heavy vehicles, but believe me, the whole area is a morass of peat bogs, the largest of which you are going to have to traverse to reach your target. Don’t be taken in by the clement weather either, these things retain their moisture and sponginess all year round. I presume you were able to put the new tank through its paces in conditions at Paderborn which simulated terrain like this?”
Von Schroif hesitated, not wishing to denigrate the training course or its instructors. Exhaustive though it was, the course at Paderborn had not covered every eventuality.
“I can tell by your hesitation that you are not going to answer in the affirmative, Hauptsturmführer. Still, the role of any commander is to adapt to new conditions and circumstances, is it not?” asked Major List, trying to finalise the conversation on as positive note as possible.
From his vantage point high above the hamlet, Dimitri Korsak could see through his binoculars the column snaking slowly through the woods. He was sure his identification was correct, but he rechecked the drawings in front of him just in case◦– and then a feeling of jubilation came upon him! Yes, the four lead tanks were definitely the Tigers. They were supported by six Panzerkampfwagen IIIs, a couple of companies of infantry, and some other trucks… probably support personnel.
He smelled fruition. However, this last phase had to be meticulous. He knew never to underestimate his foe. No point in sending in the T-34s now. Save them for later, use the artillery now. Let them reach the soft ground, pin them down.
“How stupid,” he thought. If he, Dimitri Korsak, could spot weaknesses in the design drawings of these new tanks, how could the engineers who built them not spot them too? Imagine thinking that Mother Russia, with all her features and stature, could be contained and tamed within the scribblings of some fascist engineers?
It reminded him of 1939 and the German liaison officer in Moscow gifting the Soviets a Panzer Mk III. Boasting about its prowess! “What did we do? We sent it to the GABTU proving ground and laughed at it! The arrogance of these people!”
Hans von Schroif was nervous. He didn’t quite know why. This should be the crowning point of his career. The prestige of leading out the pride of German armour should have left him feeling invincible, but strangely he felt a little vulnerable. That wasn’t because of the terrain, which would suit any attacker who held the high ground off and up to his right. Nor was it because he was exposed◦– Hans von Schroif kept the hatch open, only occasionally buttoning up when a battle was at its fiercest. No, it was neither of these◦– it was intuition, and, however wonderful a quality, it lacked the certainty of other forms of knowledge. It never announced what was going to happen and when. It was far too vague for that. All one knew was that something was going to happen, and all one could do was be prepared.