Now, on the morning of the second day, the Soviets threw two more javelins at the stalwart SS shield. The first was General Volsky’s 4th Mech Corps. (No relation to the Admiral we have all come to know so well.) This powerful formation was also reinforced by three heavy tank brigades, and it was trying to pierce the defensive arc at its apex, which was centered right on the main road to Oblivskaya. Two more rifle divisions and supporting units also pressured the line between that point and the Kirov Gap to the east, so Totenkopf was now facing the weight of over six enemy divisions, an entire army by Soviet standards, or a force that would be the equivalent of a typical German Panzer Korps.
It could not hold, nor did Eicke think it wise to even try to hold in the face of that attack. He knew he had to be stubborn, buy as much time as he could, but he also knew that his only defense would be to trade space for that time, and slowly fight a withdrawal back towards the River Chir. The next possible defensive line was seven kilometers south at the village of Alekseyevskiy, where another stream ran east to west. It had two hills anchoring either flank, and the main road ran right through that town. He gave the order to fall back to that line at 10 AM, his Panzergrenadiers withdrawing behind a light screen of AT guns. Everything got back safely, except the pioneers, which were too heavily engaged.
Eicke was on the radio to that unit, listening to the sound of heavy fighting. He could hear the armor, the sound of the metal treads grinding, the harsh crack of their main guns. The shouts of his men fighting clawed at him. He heard a Panzerfaust fire, an explosion, the growl of some massive unseen engine, then the sharp report of a submachinegun before the line went dead, the command post overrun and radio ground to pulp beneath the tracks of a 45-ton tank. No one in that company of the Pioneer Battalion would return. He handed the headset to the radio man, and pulled on his gloves. They had a hard morning’s work ahead of them, and there would be no breakfast.
By noon he had one regiment on Hill 469 about 8 kilometers east of the road, a second regiment at Alekseyevskiy, and only on the left did he have a concern, for his Panzer Regiment had taken too long to extricate itself from the three rifle division assault being mounted by 3rd Shock Army. That offensive stretched much further west, all along the front of the 46th Infantry Division, but the Soviets were only masking the line there, and not pressing hard.
The drama of the morning again saw Hauptmann Beck on the stage. He had reached the hamlet of Kirov late the previous night, but he did not get much sleep. The Soviets continued to press a night attack, which is to say they kept the tanks and vehicles of 1st Guard Tank Corps moving on that road in spite of the darkness. They reached the village, and Beck was pushed out easily enough by 24 T-34s and numerous lighter T-70s in the lead brigade of the corps. He fell back two kilometers, in the shadow of Hill 495 that overlooked the road, and there he heard the growl of armor, but it was already behind him.
“Zuber!” he called to a Lieutenant. “Take your platoon back to see what’s going on. If they’ve already got round our flank, then we move to Osinovka.”
But the noise was not from Russian tanks. Beck was most gratified when Zuber reported he had come up on a small column of Stug-III assault guns. “And they have three Marders!” he called on the radio.
“Alright then,” said Beck. “We’ll try to delay here for a few hours more. Get those Marders up to block the road!”
Beck had blown the bridge over the shallow river at the village, but the tanks were able to ford easily enough, though with some delay. One of his 234s knocked out the lead T-34 with a good side shot, but then his troops began to take heavy fire as that brigade deployed. Behind it he could see a long column of heavy tanks, 18 KV-IIs and six more T-34s on their right, with a few SU-76 assault guns. There were still two more brigades behind that, and one by one they thundered up that road, forcing him to fall back east of a balka that fed the river. His men fought a losing duel for ninety minutes, but by 2PM the Russians had pushed right on through, and were half way down the road to Osinovka, which was only another seven kilometers to Steiner’s HQ at Surovinko.
The General could hear the fighting, and he knew that single Sturm Battalion he had sent up would not hold long. The entire headquarters staff was already packing everything up, the trucks being hastily loaded to move east. He had already decided that if the Russians got through, he was going east to join the main body of his Panzer Korps. Then a Kubelwagon came racing up the street, halting quickly. A man stepped out that Steiner immediately recognized, General Hansen of the 11th Army. There was another main road about five kilometers east of the one running through Osinovka, and Hansen had his headquarters up that road in a bunker the Army engineers had built for him near a small makeshift airstrip at Lobakin.
“Steiner!” he called. “I’ve been all morning on the road. The Russians overran our HQ site last night and I only just escaped in time. They have tanks south of Lobakin by now. They are pushing right through the 299th. 87th and 129th Divisions are still holding their original positions, but I’ve ordered them to get ready to move. This is going to get very messy.”
Steiner kept looking at his watch. Where was Gille with his Wiking Division? The lead elements were still 20 kilometers to the east, with the division column strung out on the road all the way back to Kalach. They would get there soon, but would the Russians reach Surovinko first?
Like bad news, good news can also arrive when least expected. That day it came on the whistle of a train, which prompted both men to turn their heads west. They could see the white smoke of the locomotive puffing up into the grey sky, and soon the squeal of the wheels cut through the mid-morning cold in greeting. It was a nice little gift from Eric Manstein. The moment he learned of the enemy counterattack, he gave orders that the Army reserve should sent up anything they had and get it on the rail line east to Steiner.
What they had was the 501st Schwerepanzer Brigade, with 24 of the new Lions equipped with an 88mm gun. Eight more of the new heavy assault AT guns, known as the Elephant, and making an early debut in this history. Those plus six light Leopards, three Brumbars and three more Grille SPGs made for a very powerful right hand punch. These were special armored vehicles, all new designs that had been reserved for the heavy brigades. This one had been regrouping to the rear with the arrival of these new tanks, and was returning in the nick of time, the transport engineers already working at the mounting chains and getting the steel rails placed to disembark the heavy tanks.
“Thank God for small favors,” Steiner breathed to Hansen. “Those tanks will hold until the Wiking Division gets here.”
General Gille arrived within the hour, at the head of his long column, a motorcycle infantry company rattling in right behind him. General Koch of the 299th Division straggled in a few minutes later.
“Well,” said Steiner with a wry grin. “When the Generals all come for lunch, you know things are either very good, or very bad. Koch?”
“My entire division is disintegrating,” said the sallow faced General. He had been hit hard by the three divisions of the 2nd Guard Rifle Corps, and had both 24th and 25th Tank Corps enveloping his right, with the big push through the Kirov gap enveloping his left. Now his division sagged like a deflating Zepplin, and it was coming crashing down on the road between Surovinko and Kalach. The General himself was the first burning remnant. Behind him the division artillery and one battalion of the 527th Grenadier Regiment had reached Osinovka just seven klicks north.