Opening Moves

He dragged himself up on a sandbag position, gritted his teeth and surveyed the scene of his attack. Dead American’s were everywhere, his assault force’s only fatal casualty lying peacefully at rest, arms strangely but neatly folded where he had been dropped by a rifle bullet.

Smina nodded at the man’s corpse, acknowledging the man’s bravery in the attack and promising the stilled heart that he would recommend him for the valour award he deserved for his actions.

The sun was rising and the Kapitan turned his face upwards and smiled, half in wonder at seeing a new sunrise and half in pleasure at ensuring his men escaped.

His smile was not well received by his enemy.

“What the fuck are you smiling about you bastard?”

Smina did not speak a word of English but he didn’t need to, understanding by the tone alone that his last sunrise had come.

The 1st Lieutenant who until recently had commanded the mortar platoon of C Coy 330th Infantry had survived his men, but only just.

Dragging himself upright and with blood running freely from his shattered left arm, he unbuckled his holster and walked slowly over to the wounded Russian.

“Smile at this you murdering son of a fucking bitch.”

The first bullet was enough but he discharged all seven to assuage his anger.

0512 hrs Saturday, 11th August 1945, Exen, south of Trendelburg, Germany.

Brennan’s 1st and 3rd Platoons were rounded up by a platoon of Guardsmen from the 12th Guards Motorcycle Battalion and chivvied along at the point of a bayonet.

The Mladshy-Leytenant in command selected a brick outhouse on the west side of Exen and directed his men to secure the prisoners inside.

The space would probably have comfortably housed a dozen men but thirty-nine survivors were shoehorned into the derelict structure, the wounded, as well as the fit.

Leaving a section of twelve men to guard them, he took the rest off to perform a tragic duty.

Quickly they buried the twenty-one dead that his 3rd Company had suffered during the assault on Exen, including the company commander, an extremely popular officer, his friend, and the unit’s female radio operator, his lover.

He spoke words of farewell over the graves of his comrades and then spoke no more. Taking up a flamethrower, he strapped it on and transformed the derelict building and its human contents into a sea of fire.

As both screams and flames rose higher, his shocked men watched as he cried and, stricken with grief, blew his own brains out.

0512 hrs Saturday,11th August. Trendelburg, Germany.

Chekov was now in a desperate position, under attack from both sides. On the positive side was the fact that his infantry comrades were nearly up to his positions on the east side of the river, the SP guns firing in direct support. On the other side, the battle was obviously hotting up on the west side of the town but he was under increasing pressure from the engineer enemy and what appeared to be infantry reinforcements.

As he watched the east bank, one of the SP’s took a hit on its flank, followed by three others that transformed it into scrap metal and immolated the crew.

The SP’s oriented to face the threat from the other side of the river and the support they offered was temporarily lost.

However, some of the Siberians pressed forward and linked up with his troops on the east bank.

None the less, the situation remained grim there as the enemy launched a determined counter-attack at the same time.

Whether coordinated or not, the west side increased its rate of fire and more Americans swept forward. Small calibre mortar shells had been landing in and around the Soviet position for some time now but these stopped for fear of causing friendly casualties.

A vehicle, the like of which Chekov had previously only seen from a distance, rattled round the corner immediately opposite the bridge and the world exploded.

Such vehicles had been supplied to the Red Army under lend-lease, but he had never seen them in action and certainly never been on the receiving end.

The quad .50cal mount was being used to good effect, eating away at the edge of the rise where his men were in cover. In horror the Lieutenant Colonel watched as the heavy calibre bullet stream chewed the earth and stone apart, reducing the cover to a nothing in seconds, moving on to savage the soft flesh beyond.

Within a heartbeat, five of his men were transformed into bloodied lumps of meat by the deadly fire.

The lethal gun mount switched to the other side of the road and repeated its butcher’s work there.

Chekov’s shocked engineers recoiled from the attack, ceding the edge of the rise to the attackers and, in doing so, placing themselves in the utmost danger.

Chekov acted quickly.