For a relatively small man, Michael Knispel displayed a remarkable strength. His large hands worked quickly and, when an extra burst of muscle was required, the former boxer was able to deliver the necessary power. The job was progressing well, but von Schroif knew it was only a matter of moments before the barrage would fall.
Flecks of snow now came in on the cold Easterly wind, freezing not just their faces but spreading throughout their bodies and hurting hands and feet, but there was absolutely no time to rub their hands or stamp their feet in an effort to get warm, nor was there any point in thinking of the massed T-34s in the forest or the units of Siberian Devils that would surely follow them.
Just then von Schroif heard the clanking of T-34 tracks. “Hurry boys, the Popovs will be opening up any second now!”
Then it started, the familiar moan and then the earsplitting roar as the first Katyusha barrage landed behind them, the ground shaking, the trees splitting, mud and rock shooting across the pale, white landscape.
“Keep going, boys, keep going!” von Schroif shouted. “Stay on the job!”
And then came wave after wave, each one sounding louder than the previous, a roar from the very depths of Hell itself, the ground rippling and rolling under them as the shock waves spread out across the land.
Every neuron of the brain sent the message, “Take cover! Take cover!” But each man knew that they had to stick to the job at hand, every natural impulse towards self-preservation had to be resisted. Then suddenly the barrage halted, to be replaced by an eerie silence which was soon broken by the screeching of disturbed birds.
“Had the other panzers survived?” thought von Schroif. No time to look. Nearly there!
“Come on boys, one last heave!” ordered von Schroif, but the crew involuntarily halted as they heard the roar of thousands of human voices. “Hurrah!” It was the deep-throated war cry of what sounded like a whole army of Russians, charging through the trees.
“No point in looking, no point in thinking, just get that track back on and get back into the tank.”
Then came another roar, a deeper roar, the sound of a force of twenty T-34s revving up and rumbling through the trees. Von Schroif dared not glance up. Even if he did, he would have seen nothing. The smokescreen from the smoke shells blew down from the opening of the forest and engulfed him and his men. There was no time to cough, no time to rub smarting eyes. All that mattered was, “Track! Track! Track!”
“Grenadiers!” shouted Von Schroif, without taking his eyes away from his main preoccupation.
The smoke would clear soon and they would be stranded and out in the open. Hopefully, God willing, the Russian tanks would engage with the main group of panzers and they would only be of interest to the Russian infantry. The grenadiers took up positions around the Panzer IV and still the crew worked on.
Then came the sound of main guns opening up and he could hear both enemy and friendly fire. Suddenly an explosion followed, a huge explosion, the unmistakable sound of a tank being hit then blown apart by its own ammunition exploding. The question for von Schroif was now “Ours or theirs?”
“No time to look… Sounded distant, so likely to be theirs… Bet it was Bolter in Greta… Good man, Bolter. Not long now…”
At that moment there was suddenly something else to occupy the mind. With a further blood-chilling cry of “Hurrah!” which echoed around the valley, the first wave of Russians came running out of the forest and down the hill towards them.
As he worked with his crew von Schroif could hear the Unterscharführer in charge of the grenadiers intoning quietly: “Hold… Hold… Hold… Fire!”
There was the familiar ripping sound as the MG 34 barked into life. The other grenadiers opened up with rifles and automatic weapons. A deadly hail of steel cut the Russians down, screaming and falling like rag dolls as the grenadiers let loose. The fusillade lasted for about thirty seconds, then silence, but for the howling and plaintive cries of the wounded.
Suddenly it was done! The track was back on! No time for congratulations, no relief, just the simple order, “Get back in the bus!”
Even as the crew began to scramble into their tank, there came another great cheer and a second wave of Russian infantry came charging out of the forest. Again, the order was given: “Hold… Hold… Hold… Fire!” The grenadiers opened up, and again scores of men were wiped from the face of the earth.
“Now!” ordered Von Schroif.
Otto Wohl kissed the hatch as he jumped back in, shouting, “No home could be finer!”
At last the crew were able to settle back into the welcoming interior of Magda.
Gazing from the turret, the smoke clearing, von Schroif could make out the rest of his panzers just south of the hamlet, perfectly positioned for the emergence of the T-34s as they came forward from the forest. But where were they?
Just then he saw a flash from out of one of the panje huts and a split second later his heart sank as he saw SS-Panzerstandartenjunker von Mausberg’s Helga explode into flames, the turret careering up into the air like a giant flaming frying pan. A second later came the noise of the explosion. There was no time for reflection. Another experienced and capable crew gone.
Karl Wendorff, with one eye alert for targets for his bow machine gun, listened intently as the FU7 radio receiver burst into life with directions, ranges and locations. The panzers swivelled their turrets in the direction of the hamlet, but not before another flash from the same building and another tank, Greta, was hit. A fire took hold immediately, thick black smoke billowing out of the crippled vehicle. Despite the distance, they could hear the unmistakable sound of men trapped, screaming and burning to death.
“Anti-tank gun in the panje hut far right!” barked Knispel over the intercom.
Wendorff swiftly conveyed the target information and the four surviving panzers instantly opened up on the target building with high-explosive rounds, blowing the flimsy wooden panje hut apart and revealing the source of the danger. Knispel had been mistaken. It was not an anti-tank gun as he had predicted, but the hulking shape of a concealed Soviet KV-1, lying in the perfect ambush position.
They were now faced with 45 tonnes of nigh on impenetrable steel. There was only one sure way of destroying this mobile fortress of iron and that was with a point-blank hit to the rear. That would be impossible for the other panzers; they were out in the open and fully in sight and range. They were returning fire with well-aimed AP rounds, von Schroif could see the hits, but the shells were ricocheting harmlessly off the monster’s 70 mm thick hide.
“Junge,” barked von Schroif to his driver. “Take us in by the forest and come in at him from behind.”
Bobby Junge immediately shifted the gears, turning Magda on the spot before spinning off the track and heading up to the edge of the forest, and in the process turning to mincemeat the fallen Soviet infantry who lay in their way. This was a highly risky strategy and von Schroif knew it. There were T-34s in the forest that could come roaring out at any minute and attack from the rear, and an adversary up ahead with a combination of armour and armament which made it the undisputed master of the battlefield. What if he saw them coming up from behind?
The KV-1 was picking off his panzers at will. He was expertly positioned and he still hadn’t called in for support. Who was this Russian commander?
The battle-scarred Panzer IV raced up on the firmer ground leading to the edge of the forest. As Bobby Junge spun her around, almost as if she were a figure skater, von Schroif turned and looked back up the track, and there they were! A score of T-34s on the muddy rollbahn, pressing slowly up the hill towards the German rear.