Stalemate (The Red Gambit Series) (52 page)

“Mon Général, two of my companies are on the river at Urmond. I have one at Heksenberg
, adjacent to Route 294, behind the Von der Heydte positions.”

Wiping an imaginary speck of dust off the map in front of him, Verier concluded.

“My remaining unit is around Einighausen, guarding the medical and supply facilities, Sir.”

When the F
usiliers had first been assigned, not one officer in the 101st felt they could be trusted, despite their previous good efforts during ‘The Bulge’, but Verier’s unit had shown fighting spirit and, with the addition of some heavy machine-guns and bazookas, was proving to be stubborn in defence.

“Thank you
, Colonel. Lieutenant Colonel?”

The recently promoted Marion Crisp stepped forward and adjusted the position of two of the wooden blocks.

“I pulled back from this position outside of Wehr. Soviet infantry had taken Broeksittard and had some of my units outflanked.”

No criticism was forthcoming
, as it was the only possible move.

“That actually freed up Fox
Company, and we put in a counter-attack, pushing up the Tüddernderweg, and we halted the advance here,” he moved the Fox marker to a position one kilometre short of Tüddern.

“Easy Company
is here. Lieutenant Colonel Heydte’s defence of Munstergeleen deflected the Soviets our way, but Easy stopped them dead, and we hold this zone solidly.”

“The rest of 2nd Battalion is strung out to the north of Munstergeleen to the Wehr road. 1st Battalion takes over on the road, and round to Limbricht,” he indicated a small hamlet to the north-west of Sittard.

“3rd Battalion has suffered badly.”

He picked up the marker for King Company and
, respectfully, placed it off to one side.

The whole company had fallen in the defence of Nieuwstadt and Isenbruch in the early stages, the extent of the loss only recently apparent to the temporary commander of the 501st Regiment.

“Part of the 3rd is outside the pocket, here at Born, and they are holding. I suspect the commies ain’t interested in it any more, since they took the bridge down themselves yesterday.”

To the others, that seemed a fair conclusion.

“I’ve managed to form a group from the remnants of 3rd, and they are holding from the canal here, at Graetheide,” his finger ran southeast, one and a bit kilometres to Guttecoven, “To here, where they link up with 1st Battalion.”

“The route over the canal at Berg is still open, but the
Soviets are constantly artillerying the approaches, although they are careful not to drop near the bridges themselves.”

As an after-though, he added.

“My frontline is sound, but I have no real reserve until I recover Fox. At this time, I have a group of approximately sixty men, postmen, bakers, musicians, and signallers uncommitted. They have tracks and the Chaffee,” he referred to an M24 light tank, which had mysteriously come into the possession of George Company, the day beforehand.

Marion Crisp stepped back.

“Thank you. And now, the Air Force. Major?”

The USAAF officer looked dejected, his contribution to the proceedings little more than confirming the obvious.

“Sir, Air is unavailable until this storm moves on.”

The statement was punctuated emphatically by the smash of a
lightning bolt striking nearby.

“According to met reports, this could be set in all day. Some indications are that we may also have problems tomorrow
, Sir.”

Above the sound of the storm, the screech of a vehicle was heard outside
. The door flew open, permitting a disgruntled and extremely wet Colonel to enter.

“Hot damn, but you’re a sight for sore eyes
, Bud!”

Joseph H. Harper, Colonel of the 327th Glider Infantry, was not pleasantly disposed, but still managed a dry comment.

“Well don’t get too excited, Joe, it’s pretty much only me that’s here.”

The Colonel threw off his wet jacket
, and accepted a towel offered by one of the staff officers hovering on the fringes of the briefing.

Higgins quickly
brought Harper up to speed.

“So, where are you
, and what have you got Bud?”

Moving around to the northern edge of the map, Harper dripped water as he illustrated his words with movements over the map.

“I’ve brought two companies and some heavy weapons platoons with me, presently inside the 501st’s lines, here at the woods,” the position was west of Tüddern, and on the flank of the area attacked by Fox Company earlier.

“The rest of my Regim
ent is either at Born, Holtum, or Echt, outside the encirclement.”

“Thank you
, Bud. What sort of shape you in?”

“Mad as hell, General. The boys are spoiling for a brawl
, and that’s no error.”

Higgins pondered for a moment
, and then went with his gut decision.

“OK, Colonel Harper, your companies will take over responsibility for this northern area from,” he squinted at the writing, “Guttecoven into North Sittard here.”

Harper nodded, understanding and already working on the movement.

“Crisp, that means you can use your relieved units as a reserve. Added to Fox, that should give you three companies in total.”

Fig #61
- Soviet Assault developments, Sittard-Geleen, Holland.

Crisp did not bother to remind the General that a company was only a company in name, as battle had taken its toll on the numbers.

“I want one of these under my command
as my personal reserve, as soon as possible.”

“Yes Sir,” Crisp’s eyes already transmitting his order to the commander of Able Company. The man nodded his understanding.

“Right then, Gentlemen. We can do nothing fancy, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t take advantage when the opportunity presents itself. Be aggressive when you can, try and keep them on guard and worrying about what we are going to do.”

He accepted the general low mumbling as agreement and understanding.

“We have no room to trade here, so we must stand where we are now. Every man that can hold a gun, or throw a grenade, must be in the field.”

Almost as if suddenly realising the predicament the force was in, Higgins wearily ran his hand over his forehead, taking a moment’s pause.

“The Dutch authorities have already offered to help where they can. I have agreed that their people can help move our supplies where they can, and take our seriously wounded back to the aid stations.”

“Some
have military experience and will even fight.”

Von der Heydte sneezed.

“Gesundheit!”

“Danke
, Herr Oberst.”

Crisp returned the
German’s grin, although part of him felt he shouldn’t.

‘Carentan.’

“Return to your units, and get the changes done immediately, Report in constantly. I want no surprises like we had at Gangelt ok? No retreat. Questions?”

There were none.

In the end, it was quite straightforward.

They would hold at all costs, or they would go under.

“Mon dieu!”

The artillery barrage swept up and over the defenders, tra
nsforming the already battered Dutch village into a moonscape of holes and rubble, shattered wood and piled earth, all liberally decorated with the body parts of the Belgian and German defenders, and their civilian Dutch helpers.

Captain Alain
Cirisse, the commander of the Belgian Battalion’s 3rd Compagnie, was an interested observer, undistracted by his present predicament. His men worked swiftly in the area around him, not realising that he still lived. Some recovered and repositioned the machine gun, knocked over by the force of the shell that had demolished the building, dropping tons of brick and cement on top of the position in which Cirisse sheltered.

Attempting to escape
the collapse, the Belgian Army officer, and former resistance fighter, had nearly made it, until a large chunk of wall smashed him down, crushing his legs, and pinning him to the roadway.

His
Sten gun lay next to him, pristine, untouched by the passage of tons of building.

The
damaged machine-gun opened up again, its tracers probing the sodden air, the downpour the same, if not slightly increasing.

Soviet
tanks moved carefully forward, wary of the Panzerfaust that had already claimed a number of their comrades.

Stopping to fire at a safe distance, they put shell after shell into the defending positions.

A 90mm anti-aircraft gun, emplaced across the canal in Urmond, took up the challenge, smashing one of the T34’s with its first shot.

The tanks moved forward, into the lee of a large building, from where they continued to put accurate rounds into the Allied lines
, whilst their flank was protected from the fire of the big American gun.

A
German paratrooper took his chance and popped out of a manhole, putting his Panzerfaust on target, knocking the Soviet tank battalion’s commander out of the fight, along with the entire crew.

A hull machine-gun lashed out at the tank killer, bullets striking home and sending him tumbling down into the sewer below.

Cirisse felt nothing below the waist now, his legs completely crushed and numb, the anaesthetic nature of the cold rain helping to kill the pain.

The machine-gun crew next to him were taken out by a mortar shell, the three men badly wounded and out of the fight.

Soviet mortars increased their rate of fire as the infantry moved in front of the T34’s, pushing forward to protect their armoured colleagues from the deadly anti-tank weapons.

The mix of Belgian f
usiliers and German paratroopers stood their ground, pouring fire into the advancing Russians.

The guardsmen crouched lower
, and continued to move forward, the downpour helping to obscure much of their movement, although many of their number were shot down.

Again
, the T34’s moved forward, tucking in behind the knots of infantry.

The mortars halted their fire, fearing friendly casualties, pushing the barrage up to concentrate on preventing
enemy reinforcements from getting forward.

Cirisse now started to feel the pain
again, the numbing effect of the cool water overcome by the severity of his injuries.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to pull himself from under the wreckage, almost screaming as his exertions produced some forward movement
, and he felt his flesh tear on the rough edges.

A
Soviet guardsman, wounded and scared, saw the struggling Belgian officer and went for the easy kill.

The bullet struck the road in front of Cirisse and clipped his ear on its way past.

Despite his pain, Cirisse swept up his Sten and was more accurate in returning fire. The wounded Russian was thrown back into a deep puddle, the escaping blood creating a swirl of colour in the brown water.

He quickly drowned.

The front line was a mess of orange and red, brown and black, as sub-machine guns and grenades threw up mud and blood, the Russians trying their best to close with the defenders, the Belgians and Germans trying equally hard to keep the enemy at arm’s length.

A DP team dropped to the road, oblivious to the presence of the wounded
Cirisse, so intent were they on firing into the flank of the defenders.

Again, the Sten gun chattered away, and the two men were hit. The machine-gunner died face down in the gutter, the single bullet having smashed into the back of his neck.

The loader, howling with pain, his ankle shattered, got off a hasty shot with his Mosin rifle.