Stalemate (The Red Gambit Series) (64 page)

“What the fuck has happened here, PodPolkovnik?”

Expecting no
thing less from his commander, Blagoslavov started drawing on the map, showing enemy lines, routes of advance, describing the attack in sufficient detail for Konovalov to understand exactly ‘what the fuck’ had happened.

“And your Regiment? How much is left?”

“At this time, I have twenty-five vehicles, Comrade General, fourteen IS and eleven Tridsat’s, with maybe another five to come after repair.”

“And the infantry?”

“I’ve no longer an SMG company of note. Perhaps a platoon of men left standing, but I don’t think they’re fit to fight at the moment, Comrade General.”

Konovalov understood.

“The 424th is reorganising for defence at this time. Mayor Din informs me that he can muster three companies of men in total, Comrade General.”

The commander of the 38th Tanks winced, understanding that each supporting battalion had been reduced to a company, and that such news represented appalling casualties.

“What else have you done?”

“The artillery is hitting the last known enemy positions. I have requested release of the mortar brigade to my control, and await the answer.”

“I have your answer, and we must do without them, for now.”

The men exchanged looks, the Lieutenant Colonel because he was disgusted not to get the support he needed, the General because he understood the man’s disgust, and also because he understood that
Blagoslavov had done the best he could, in the circumstances.

“Go on
, Panteleimon Tarasovich, what else?”

The use of the
patronymic was not wasted on Blagoslavov, and he knew he was no longer in danger.

“All units are being r
eorganised as we speak, and I’ve ordered up supplies and more medical personnel to deal with the large number of wounded.”

Words were obviously becoming more difficult, the swelling more pronounced, the pain increasing.

“Comrade PodPolkovnik, I am moving the 108th up to take over the van. Our comrades from the 419th Rifles will take over from Din’s men.”

Grabbing the map
, and twisting it round to face him, Konovalov showed the wounded tanker his next assignment.

“
Once they pass through your positions, I want you to move back here, to Barr and Eichhoffen. Get your units rested, Comrade. We need a security screen on our flanks. The valley entrances are heavily mined, and Army engineers will be coming up to open them up ready. There are light enemy defences, some guns and infantry, but nothing major in place. You shouldn’t have any problems, Comrade.”

“Yes
, Sir.”

In a softer voice, Konovalov offered his support.

“This was obviously prepared, and you were the unfortunate one that walked into it, Comrade Blagoslavov. You saved half your unit from the SS bastards, remember?”

‘I lost half, you mean!’

“Now, get your men ready for the move. The Rifle Corps has detached 424th to your command until further notice. Make sure your tank repair unit is ready to salvage what it can, after we have pushed the Germanski Legion back.”

Slapping Blagoslavov on the shoulder, Konovalov ended the meeting.

“Now, go and get your own wounds seen to, Comrade PodPolkovnik.”

Konovalov took personal charge of the next assault. A handful of men were lost to mines, a few more when the
damaged bridges disintegrated within seconds of each other, command detonated by some Legion demolition engineers.

Rokossovsky had dedicated some of his precious bridging engineers to the assault, and they made short work of erecting something to carry the IS-II’s of the 108th Guards Heavy Tank Regiment.

Launching an attack over the Aubach, the Soviet force met with no resistance.

The Legion had withdrawn
again.

Unfortunately, this earth is not a fairyland, but a struggle for life, perfectly natural and therefore extremely harsh.
 

Martin Bormann

3RD RED BANNER CENTRAL EUROPEAN FRONT - MARSHAL ROKOSSOVSKY

Rather surprisingly, the pain in his face had subsided to a constant dull ache.

The proper dressing, completed in a less pressurised en
vironment, may well have helped. Certainly the painkillers pressed into his hand by the medics did, although Blagoslavov himself suspected that the vodka had been the greater measure.

The move north-west had been done quickly
and efficiently, the ravaged units settling in at Barr and Eichoffen in record time, both villages relatively untouched by the two wars that had rolled over them.

Quickly, he directed his units into
rough defensive positions, and set his officers to the task of reorganising the shattered regiment.

His second in command returned to the small square, the smug look betraying
the man, and that his search for somewhere appropriate to house the regimental headquarters had been more than successful.

Le Manoir was an imposing manor house set in its own grounds, and the splendour and sophistication of the interior was the precise opposite of everything that the tank officer had experienced over the last two and a bit months.

Within two minutes, the exhausted Blagoslavov was snoring louder than one of his tanks at maximum revs.

Infantry from the 409th Rifle Regiment had cleared much of the woods, three kilometres north of Guémar, a handful of snipers lashing out, particularly at the officers, before melting away into the greenery and, all save one, escaping unharmed.

That one had received over two hundred puncture wounds
, as the distraught platoon members avenged their dead Lieutenant, shot by the sniper they subsequently wounded, captured and bayoneted to death.

Moving up Route D1083 behind them came the 108th Guards Tank’s, confident and self-assured, their fight so different to that of the 110th.

Elements of the 109th Tanks moved towards Heidolsheim to the east, one battalion moved westwards to secure Châtenois and Kintzheim.

132nd Rifle Corps provided the infantry strength, closely backed up by the 134th Rifle Corps, its fresh divisions being kept in hand
, ready for the assault on Colmar. Behind that came the most powerful unit of the 19th Army, namely the 3rd Guards Tank Corps.

The 3rd GTC had already seen some action, and had acquitted itself well. Now, or at least that was how it seemed to the jubilant tankers, the enemy line was nearly broken
, and one more push would be enough for the whole front to open up before them.

The reports had been filtering through to the command centre of ‘Normandie’, some routine, some not, and yet more providing vital ticks on the battle plan called ‘Thermopylae’.

Lavalle silently enjoyed his coffee.

It was not yet time.

The sleep had only been brief,
and Blagoslavov felt groggy. He pulled his tunic on, doing up the buttons, the aches and pains of such simple tasks making him feel old before his time.

Once he was presentable, he permitted the regimental clerk to bring in the papers for his signature.

Coffee was presented to him as he worked, and that also helped to bring him more into a land of consciousness.

The paperwork complete, Blagoslavov decided to visit his positions facing the Vosges, just to make sure there was no possibility of his command catching a cold.

Plus, as he had just learned, two full companies of engineers from the 12th Engineer-Sapper Brigade had been assigned to sweep the entrances of the passes under his responsibility.

Climbing gingerly out of the Gaz 4x4 he had scrounged for his command vehicle, Blagoslavov took in the sights.

Some of his T34’s and IS-II’s were in hull-down positions, not easily spotted, even from his perspective.

Others were even harder to spot, the only betraying factor being a gun barrel here, a small plume of engine exhaust there.

He made his way over to an engineer officer. The man was using an oil drum as his work desk, recording details of his engineer’s surveys.

He was startled by the appearance of the tank unit
’s commanding officer, springing to attention and dropping his pencils in the same rapid movement.

“No ceremony here, Comrade Kapitan. Blagoslavov, 110th Guards Tanks. How is your progress?”

“Comrade PodPolkovnik, Kapitan Esher, 12th Sapper Brigade. We are mapping the enemy minefields now. I have two platoons already working,” he turned the map to share the information, “On the Altenburg road here. The main road is heavily mined; very nasty.”

“Nasty, Comrade Kapitan?”

“Yes Sir. They have booby-trapped mines, placing grenades under them, linking chains of them, mixing types.”

Clearly, the Engineer officer was not content.

“There are mine types there that my men haven’t seen before. It’s all very nasty, Comrade PodPolkovnik.”

Blagoslavov was certainly glad that his
normal enemy was a large lump of self-propelled metal, and did not envy the engineer his problems.

“Are you in contact with your unit at Eichoffen, Comrade Kapitan?”

“Yes, Comrade. It is the same for them. They have lost three men on the booby traps already.”

A muddy Lieutenant arrived and saluted both officers casually, his mind clearly on other matters.

“So what have you established, Georgi?”

Junior Lieutenant Georgi Harazan spread his own map out
, next to his commanders.

“Very strange, Comrade Kapitan. As you can see, the enemy has sown everything up tight. Lots of problems throughout, until you come to here.”

Blagoslavov leant forward to see what the problem was.

‘Rue D’Altenberg?’

“There are no problems here, Comrade Kapitan.”

“None?”

“That road is open, and there is a free zone at least six metres either side of the roadway, Comrade Kapitan.”

Esher and Blagoslavov exchanged knowing looks.

The tank officer took up the running.

“Comrade Mladshy Leytenant. Are you positive that this road has been left clear by the enemy?”

“Yes Sir, positive. There are no mines, devices, nothing.”

Esher and Blagoslavov spoke at the same time.

“Job tvoyu mat!”

“Mudaks!”

The young Lieutenant was surprised at the reaction his news provoked.

“Get your men ready, Comrade Kapitan.
We’ll stop them here,” he tapped the Engineer’s map, “Or there’ll be hell for us all!”

The tank officer ran to his command vehicle and it raced away, the senior officer already shouting into the radio set.

Harazan was confused.

A clipped order brought the radio into life, the Captain issuing brief instructions to his platoon commanders.

Esher had his binoculars out as he spoke, quickly sweeping the Vosges, seeing threat in every shadow.

“Comrade Kapitan. What’
s happening?”

The radio dispensed with, Esher spared the junior man a moment.

“Georgi Illiych, if the enemy’s left a gap, it’s not by accident.”

The look on Harazan’s face showed his failure to comprehend the problem.

“The gap is there for a reason, and that can only mean something very bad.”

Now the young officer understood.

“Get back to your men and organise them with the infantry for now. If you can, get some of the lifted mines down on that route. Stay on the net, Comrade.”

The Lieutenant’s reply went unheard.

At the same time as Esher had explained to the confused young man, the final piece of the jigsaw puzzle slotted into place in the ‘Normandie’ headquarters.

Lavalle took a moment’s pause before issuing the expected order to the waiting signallers.

“All units, Spartan, repeat Spartan.”

Unlike Blagoslavov, the Legion observers on the High Vosges above Barr had noted precisely where the tanks had secreted themselves, and the information had already been passed to the waiting artillery, and other units.