Opening Moves

The grins had vanished and the awkward yet extremely respectful silence encouraged more from the old soldier.

“I was with Leytenant Dragan at the railway station, and later on I served on the Mamayev Kurgan.”

After a moment’s silence, the Serzhant ate his humble pie.

“My apologies Comrade Driver. Had I known I would not have…”, and embarrassment overtook him, “You know. Sorry.”

Against all convention, the old man slapped Iska’s arm robustly.

“Think nothing of it Comrade Serzhant. From what I saw of that mess at the bridge, you boys have been ‘there’ too.”

A hissed warning from the sniper brought everyone back to the task in hand.

“I count… eight… no… twelve… no… govno!”

He slid his eyes away from the scope and looked at a rapidly moving group of Americans well over thirty strong, a sight which everyone there, even the old guardsman, could see unaided.

Rushing across the landing to the window at the front of the house, he called down to one of the cover group, stood by the lorry with precise orders.

“Three and six Boris, three and six.”

As he moved back to the rifle group the sound of honking in the required pattern reached his ears.

“Wait for the Lieutenant Colonel to engage and make sure of what you are aiming at.”

With that he visited the other rear bedrooms to say the same to the two DP gunners and their loaders.

Chekov had moved his party speedily and when the contact report sounded he checked his party and moved up to the edge of the rise.One look told him that he was nearly in a direct path with the enemy group’s advance, having actually gone about fifty yards too far.

Taking a few seconds to shake his men into line, he ordered them up to the ridge of the riverbank and started to fire.

The first bullets took the lives of Brown and Lopez, each man taking two rounds from Chekov’s SVT. Other rifles and sub-machine guns opened up from the riverbank and more men dropped, never to rise again. Brennan immediately took his men left, away from the threat and nearer to the haven offered by the buildings.

This haven transformed into Hades as Iska ordered his men to open fire.

Two DP machine guns poured fire into the group, one into the front end, one the rear, causing the troops to bunch more.

The riflemen calmly fired and reloaded, sweeping the centre ground.

Some eighteen enemies were already lying motionless and more were moving with difficulty because of wounds.

However, enemy fire was now coming back and one DP ceased firing amid animal like screams.

Iska ran into the room and recoiled in horror. The loader was dead, shot through the centre of the forehead.

The gunner was rolling on the floor in agony, blood pouring through the fingers clutching his shattered face, pieces of which had been displaced by two bullets striking the magazine of the machine-gun causing vicious metal fragments to fly off. Sharp pieces had flayed his face open, shredding his eyes and opening his jawbone to view. Steady spurts of lifeblood from his leaking jugular drained his strength with each pulse.

The screaming was awful, a comrade in pain.

Not for the first time, a merciful bullet from a friend was preferable to the agony of wounds and Iska dispatched the poor soldier with a single shot.

There was no time to dwell on the matter and the tough Serzhant returned to the rifle room, only to be smashed in the shoulder as soon as he walked through the door. The impact dashed him against the solid door frame, causing further hurt.

His rifle dropped to the ground and all he could do was clutch his painful wound and watch on as his men fought.

Considering they had the advantage of cover over the Amerikanisti, they seemed to be taking too many casualties.

Iska suddenly realised that there was another enemy group, presently unengaged, that was firing at them unhindered.

Stepping up to the firing line again he got the attention of both the sniper and the old driver, pointing with his bloody hand, issuing his orders to engage the new enemy group through gritted teeth.

This group was also in the act of setting up a .50cal machine gun, which could well have changed the balance.

Iska’s quick thinking meant otherwise and both of his men killed their targets, the old soldier calmly directing the fire of the younger sniper.

When the firing had first started the enemy were about four hundred yards away but Iska realised that they were closing his position, being half that distance and at the full run.

Disaster had struck the Americans and there seemed little to do except fight it out and die. Brennan prepared to do just that, dropping to a knee, bringing up his Garand and taking out two enemy on the river line.

Suddenly he became aware of a drop in fire volume from the village and realised his cover force had engaged and scored hits.

“Caesar, get the fuckers moving to the village now. I will cover. Go, go, go!”

Collins’ huge voice rose above the sounds of battle and not a single member of the group failed to hear the instructions.

They ran helter-skelter for Stammen.