Stalemate (The Red Gambit Series) (81 page)

“They’re there for sure. The Yanks have got two Bazookas. Get a runner over to them
, and let them know the Stalins are their problem for now.”

‘Until they become our problem!’

“I need you to hold here, and keep the boys at it. I’m off to see the engineers and chivvy them along with the good news.”

They shared a laugh, unforced, two professionals doing their jobs as best they could.

“Let Grayson know about the Stalin’s. He might persuade our Derbyshire friends to have a crack at them.”

“Aye, that I will, Sah. But they’
ll run in the other direction if they have any sense!”

Ramsey was up and out of the trench once more.

Bullets lashed the ground around his feet, and he realised that the fire came from three Soviet infantrymen who were nearly at the underpass, having crawled on their bellies, unobserved.

His run had taken him directly at them, and they fired
instinctively, believing that he had spotted them.

Throwing himself behind a fallen tree truck, he landed heavily, increasing his chest and stomach pain.

‘Grenade? No, too close to the Yanks.’

In confirmation of his decision, one of the US Engineers risked a peek around the corner
, and was shot dead immediately.

‘Too close.’

One of the Russians flopped lifelessly, as others noticed the small group.

The two survivors rose up, intent on finding sanctuary in the underpass.

More of the engineers emerged, stooping low with their heavy burden.

‘Oh my lord!’

Reacting instantly, Ramsey charged and yelled, his lunacy bearing fruit, the two Soviet survivors drawn to him, rather than the struggling engineers.

Firing a burst from his
Sten, the Black Watch Major was amazed to see both men go down, blood flying from numerous wounds.

Ramsey
was unaware that RSM Robertson had seen his plight, and chopped both men down, his own burst having buried itself uselessly in the embankment.

Struggling for breath, Ramsey placed his hands on his knees, trying to conquer the
achy chest pain that was all encompassing.

The cane, slid between his webbing, proved obstructive, and Ramsey slid it out, quickly massaging his bruised torso.

Fielding emerged from the underpass and found the Black Watch officer in some discomfort. He had seen the cane before, but never expected the stuffy Englishman to actually carry it in combat.

“Major, you ok, Sir?”

“Tanks... Lieutenant... Stalin tanks... on top of... the embankment... half a mile off... need this... blown now.”

Checking the work behind him, Fielding replied
confidently.

“This is ready to go when you give the order, Major. We just need to ship out more shells for the bridge.”

“How many... more?”

“
Twenty, Major, no more’n twenty.”

“Speed it up... please... we’
re running... out of time.”

Hässler appeared.

“Hey, LT. I was coming to tell you we have enemy armour coming,” he looked at the dishevelled Black Watch officer, “But I guess you’ve got the dope already?”

“Yes, I got the dope, Master-Sergeant. What’s happening out there?”

Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, Hassler reached for his canteen, pouring some water over his face to clean away the muck of combat.

“The commie infantry
are held, LT, for now anyways. They got up real close, but they fell back after Bluebear ripped them up some.”

He spat at the memory of what he had seen.

“The Chief is sure something else when he gets up fighting close, and that’s a fact.”

He had no wish to go further than that, but
he now had more understanding of the horrors that the legendary US Cavalry must have experienced.

Fielding had an idea.

“Maybe we can speed things up, if some of your boys fall back through here, and grab a shell between pairs?”

Ramsey liked it slightly more than Hässler, but the Master Sergeant saw the sense of it, although not the desirability of carrying a lump of metal filled with
high explosive in a close-quarter fight.

Unable to speak, Ramsey nodded his agreement to Hässler, who took it as an order.

“I’ll drop a squad back through here right now, LT.”

Something that
passed for a salute quickly followed, and the NCO disappeared back from where he had come.

“So
, what’s the situation, Major?”

Taking a deep breath, Ramsey tried speaking normally.

“Not good, I’m afraid Lieutenant.”

Grasping the man by the arm to move him out of the way of two men struggling with a larger shell, Ramsey lowered his voice.

“The Reds are coming at us... from both sides now. A Regiment’s worth of tanks and infantry from Rechtern. Heavy tanks across the embankment... infantry on both sides. Mortars only at the moment... for reasons known only to themselves.”

That was a lot for a Lieutenant of Engineers to take in.

Ramsey laughed, the act increasing the stomach and chest pain.

‘Only when I laugh. Yeah, right!’

Fielding look at Ramsey as if he had just arrived from another planet.

“What’s so funny, Major?”

“I was just remembering another Lieutenant of Engineers, faced with a similar situation, Fielding.”

The memory of one Lieutenant Chard RE, commander of Rourke’s Drift
, kicked his mind down another path, and he quickly wondered how Llewellyn was doing in these dark times, before switching back to the present.

“We have no time, By hook or by crook, get what you need piled on that bridge in five minutes. Clear?

“Yes, Sir!”

Turning away, Fielding saw something that displeased him.

“Private, set that det cord out properly, knucklehead!”

Ramsey
returned to his positions, ready to ensure that Fielding would get his five minutes.

He dropped into the headquarters pit, finding Robertson in complete control of a hopeless situation.

“Sah, the buggers rushed us agin, but we stopped them the now. They’ve dropped back into the trees awa’s back there.”

The RSM spoke more softly.

“The bas had flamethrowers, Sah. They dinna get within range, thank God.”

A bullet passing through the tree overhead severed a small branch, the lump descending and striking the RSM on the shoulder.

“Perhaps you should wear your tin helmet, RSM?”

Ramsey often spoke of his RSM’s preference for the Tam-o-shanter in combat, never pushing, only cajoling.

“Where would I be wi out ma tam, Sah? The bhoys demand it of me you know.”

Soviet
mortars brought a pause to their discussion, their suddenly increased rate of fire, coinciding with growing sounds of battle from the west bank.

“The engineers are nearly done; just a few more sh
ells on the bridge, then they’ll blow the underpass.”

The noise of battle grew in an instant, the ‘Urrah’s’ of the
Soviet infantry rising as they launched themselves forward.

“We must give them
enough time, Sarnt-Major!”

The
men of the Black Watch needed no orders on who to put down first. The Soviet soldiers carrying the deadly cylinders were singled out, and fear lent them accuracy, as all six of the Soviet operators were shot down. One cylinder exploded, the deadly yellow flames grabbing out for more victims, engulfing men for yards around.

The screams were hideous, but the Scots spared the writhing figures no thought.

This was not a day for pity.

Now within grenade range, the lead
ing Guardsmen threw a number of devices into the British positions, some explosive, some smoke.

The surviving Black Watch Vickers stopped firing
immediately, water flowing from its ravaged cooling jacket, as blood dripped from its dead crew.

Ramsey prepared himself, knowing that the enemy could not be stopped before they closed
on his positions.

He became aware of some screaming and shouting, feet running past his hole, heading to his front.

Some soldiers fell, men clad in the uniform of the 1st Battalion, Black Watch, but others, led by the mad Irish CSM, charged headlong into the Guards infantry, putting them to flight with a combination of rifle butt and bayonet.

Recalling his men, CSM Green spread them out to fill the gaps in the depleted B
Company positions, and then went in search of Ramsey.

“Close call that, Sarnt-Major. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it, Sir. But if you’ll take my advice, I’d get the feck out of here, soonest.”

Turning back to point across the river, Green did a double take.

“You sneaky fucking bastards you! Major!”

Soviet
infantry were moving slowly up the riverbank, intent on making a surprise rush on the bridge.

Ramsey kept his eye on them, assessing the risk. He shouted
at Robertson, and he pointed in the direction of the river.

“RSM!”

Robertson saw them immediately, and shouted in his best parade ground voice.

“Second platoon, with me
, action to the rear!”

A handful of men rose up and followed Robertson to the back of the mound, flopping into loose cover, waiting on the word.

Ramsey was already on the field telephone to Grayson.

“Captain
Grayson, there’s at least a company of reds moving up tight to the river to your south; some in the water, some on the bank. The RSM is about to engage, but you might like to make arrangements yourself.”

On cue, Enfield rifles and 2
nd Platoon’s surviving Bren gun began their deadly harvest, the wading men horribly exposed and vulnerable.

Within seconds, the gently
flowing waters were tinted red, bodies floating, wounded men floundering and drowning.

Fielding dropped in beside Ramsey, his cheek laid open by a mortar splinter.

“We’re all ready, Major. Ignition point is just to the left of the entrance there. Two minutes of fuse. Safe point is this end of the bridge and no closer.”

“Two minutes?
I wanted the position at the end of the bridge, Lieutenant!”

“We couldn’t do it in the time, plus we had problems,
bad det cord, Sir.”

He
could not decide if that was good or bad.

“But we’re set, yes?”

“Yep, we sure are, Major. Some of the cord was unusable, but we done the best with it we could, and I guarantee it’ll do the job. Plus,” conscious of the fire fights that raged in all directions, Fielding added unnecessarily, “Two minutes seems like all we’re gonna get.”

“Fair enough. Well done, Lieutenant.”

“We’ll save that for when the fucker blows, I think, Major. Now, I’ll do it, but we have to get your boys well back. The 29th boys are already moving.”

“What?”

“The 29th boys are already moving, Major.”

“Too soon,
they’re falling back too soon!”

“But your commander ordered it. The Kraut
top kick took orders from a runner, direct from your man Dunne.”

Ramsey knew that could not be the case
, as the last information he had was that Dunne was totally incapacitated with shock.

Ramsey did not know that a GRU agent within Kommando Friedrich had acted on
instinct, and interfered with the defence in a dramatic and terminal fashion.

That the man was killed by his own mortars was just the fortunes of war, his
sacrifice forever unknown to his family, peers, and Motherland.

Six of Yarishlov’s tanks were knocked out, the others either hidden away from the demon tank, or scurrying at top speed for anything that could provide safety.

The infantry had pushed up, and it had seemed that they would carry the position
, until innocuous bushes exploded into life, and whole lines of men were swept away.

From his rear position, he was able to spot some of the vehicles responsible, and destroyed two, but the other
s continued to flay Deniken’s men as they milled around, thrown into total disarray.

“What the fuck are they firing? I want some, Sarnt!”

Griffiths was also in awe of what they were witnessing.

A number of different weapon systems had come together to halt Deniken’s men.