Opening Moves

The forest around the site had been incinerated, along with over 75% of the 10th Tank Corps fuel supply and a modest 25% chunk of the corps ammunition. Losses in service manpower were extreme and Sakhno had yet to find any officer from his supply units above the rank of Lieutenant, except for the burnt and shocked man shot dead by his incandescent Chief of Staff.

It was also reported that most of the protecting AA battalion from 1701st AA Regiment had also been ravaged.

Valuable assets that had been equipped with the highly effective German 20mm Quad weapons mounted on trucks, one of the few German weapons that had not disappeared so completely and strangely from the Soviet order of battle in Europe that summer.

Mikhail Gordeevich Sakhno sat down on a fallen tree and ran his hands through his hair, or more accurately where his hair had once been, the balding patch emphasised by the bushier growths on either side of his crown.

As he sat, Davydov strode up muttering oath after oath.

Sakhno indicted a space on the fallen trunk next to him.

“Let us sit and take stock Nikanor Karpovich. I must think how best to present this disaster to Savelev or the pair of us will be counting trees.”

Davydov looked at his superior surprised.

“The Army Commander is aware of the situation Comrade General. His Supplies section is working on how to get us moving again as we speak.”

It was Sakhno’s turn to look at his companion with surprise.

Indicating a truck drawn up on the edge of the devastated zone, the NKVD officer spat smoky oily phlegm and rummaged for his cigarettes to freshen his mouth.

“Our valiant Comrade Colonel Rassov from Army Command with a radio truck, reporting back as we speak Mikhail Gordeevich.”

Both men spat on cue for the same reason, a disgust and fear of Rassov both shared.

Polkovnik Rassov was an asshole but, unfortunately a powerful one who had the Army Commander’s ear. Throughout the Red Army he was known as the weasel.

Both men lit up and inhaled, coinciding with the first drops of rain dropping on the General’s balding pate.

“Well that’s just fucking great. Now it simply can’t get any worse,” chuckling in the way that people who have had a sense of humour failure chuckle in the face of great adversity.

“There is more Comrade.”

Reluctantly Davydov drew his commander’s attention to a previously anonymous set of wrecks lined up on a woodland path, deliberately parked close together and hidden from aerial view, until such time as the fireballs consumed vehicles, occupants, and protective forest canopy.

“According to Rassov, that is apparently the illustrious 2nd Battalion of the 8th Pontoon Brigade, sent here last night to fuel up before moving forward behind the attack we have just failed to make because of our lack of fuel.”

Sakhno screwed his face up, concentrating on the numerous wrecks that were now apparent to his gaze, making out the remains of vital bridging equipment as he moved his eyes up and down the charred lines.

“Well that’s just fucking great.”

Davydov could do no more than nod at that. Going through the options in his mind, the General was unaware of the approaching figure until his companion stiffened at his side.

Casting a swift look, he saw the diminutive figure of Rassov marching with purpose in their direction.

The two comrades exchanged a knowing look.

As the NKVD officer stood, he leaned naturally, allowing him to whisper in his general’s ear.

“I’d love to shoot the little bastard but I think it would only make matters worse my friend.”

Sakhno, remaining seated, spoke his thought rather more openly.

“Well if it looks like going bad for us, the fucking weasel will be the first to bite a bullet.”

Davydov gestured to the approaching Rassov and spoke with a lightness he did not feel.

“Comrade Colonel Rassov. Please join us.”

1748 hrs Friday 10th August 1945, Ainauwald, Germany.

Rassov had insisted on accompanying Sakhno back to his mobile headquarters at Starzhausen, just over a mile north of Wolnzach.

The five-vehicle convoy was led by a BA64 armoured car as advance screen, with the security section in an American Studebaker truck leading the main group of the 10th Tank Corps Commander’s GAZ staff car, Rassov’s Jeep and finally with the Signal vehicle from which Rassov had sent his damning reports bringing up the rear.

The BA64 driver, anxious to be back to his unit by mealtime, moved his vehicle forward above the agreed speed, his vehicle commander failing to notice the error as he examined in detail some interesting photos liberated from a ladies salon in Straubling.

Quite often in life, where there exists one error, another arrives to make matters worse.

The driver of the security section vehicle, having lost sight of the armoured car made an assumption and, instead of carrying on down the same road, turned his lorry left just past Ainau, heading down a woodland track to nowhere.