Opening Moves

They moved forward into a sandbagged position to assume a cover position up the Mönckebergstraße and immediately destroyed another T-34 manoeuvring its way past its dead comrade. This time the Firefly gunner was rewarded with the sight of flames and a satisfactory imitation of CS tank behind him.

In Ramsey’s position it was total chaos. Some of the Scottish and Germans soldiers exchanged fire with the majority of the Russians, who had temporarily dropped back to regroup for another attack, satisfying themselves with grenades and bullets over the thirty yards that separated the two forces. The remainder were engaged in close quarter fighting with the score or so enemy who had not fallen back with the others.

The sudden squawk of the pipes being winded penetrated the sounds of fighting.

B Company’s piper had taken a bullet on the leg as he ran across the Markt and had only just managed to crawl to his instrument to contribute as best he could to the fight.

Setting himself against the dead body of an unknown paratrooper he started his repertoire, ‘Scotland the Brave’ building in volume as he set about his task.

The effect upon Ramsey’s Jocks was electric and they renewed themselves to greater efforts, especially as their Major had rejoined them, unharmed and in fighting mood.

Ramsey could sense the difference and, for that matter, so could Perlmann twenty yards away to his left.

Turning around to shout at the Piper, the very English Ramsey drew a number of grins from his men for behaviour less than that expected of a gentleman.

“Piper Sinclair!”

The piper played on.

“Sinclair!”

Affecting his finest Scottish accent Ramsey tried again.

“Sinclair ye deaf bas!”

Picking up a piece of brick, Ramsey tossed it at his piper who thought that it was a grenade and rolled over the body of the German with the speed of a gazelle.

Sheepishly looking over the corpse he noted his Major grinning and shouting in his direction.

Ramsey, confident he now had the undivided attention of his piper issued his orders.

“Black Bear Sinclair, give the lads Black Bear!”

Putting wind in his instrument once more, the pipes started to belt out Ramsey’s choice, which the company always played when they went on the attack.

The Scots braced themselves and waited on Ramsey’s order.

That order came and the Watch rose up, charging forward, screaming like banshees, closely followed by the strangely yet equally inspired Fallschirmjager.

The Soviet force also chose to attack at the same time and the two groups met in the middle area, clashing at the charge.

A hideously ugly Russian leapt in the air, intent on staving Ramsey’s skull with his rifle butt. As he descended he changed direction in mid-air, the force of bullets from a paratroopers MP40 sending him flying into the Soviet rifleman to his left.

There was no time for thanks as that man, regaining his balance, threw himself at the Black Watch commander, bayonet surging towards his unprotected belly.

Ramsey fell, his feet tangled in the straps of a discarded Soviet rifle. The thrust missed its target and skidded off Ramsey’s canteen.

Winded by the force of his fall, Ramsey twisted as best he could, narrowly avoiding a second thrust which hit the road and snapped the bayonet of his enemy.

The Russian stupidly looked at the broken blade and Ramsey took advantage, swinging his Enfield round and slamming it into the side of the man’s head sending him flying, the impression of the front sight clear on the side of his forehead.

Ramsey moved quickly, as he sensed rather than saw another threat, and felt heavy pressure as his rifle was almost forced from his hands. As he had turned, the bayonet had become a spike onto which the attacking Soviet officer had propelled himself with his own momentum.

The dead body slid easily off Ramsey’s steel, and he turned and quickly shot the other unconscious man in the head before taking a moment to assess the situation.

Many of the Russians were down, over half their number had perished in the ferocious counter-attack, but there were also a large number of his own men who would never see the glens again.

The Fallschirmjager had fared better, possibly because they had run in slightly behind the Scots.

‘Black Bear’ had stopped, Piper Sinclair having been sought out by a rifleman and shot in the head.

Over a hundred more Soviets flooded out of the ruins and into the fight, throwing everything into the balance again, and Ramsey knew the moment had come.

Shouting encouragement to his men, he waded into a group of Soviets, angling in from their left side. He ran the first through with his bayonet, screaming with pain as a rifle butt hammered against his wounded shoulder, dropping him to his knees. A Soviet soldier loomed over him, raising his entrenching tool to maximum height and then falling away as a line of crimson flowers appeared out of his chest.

Recovering his own rifle, Ramsey suddenly found himself isolated and the sole target for three enemy soldiers.