The Roar of the Maus - The Biggest and Baddest

[Lieste]

<Niggle> Maus armament was a 12.8cm PjK as in the Jagdtiger (a development of an anti-aircraft gun via AT gun) with a coaxial 7.5cm KwK </Niggle>

[heinrich55]

Major Staudt’s gunner calls out the contact at the same time that Unterfeldwebel Hagen spots the same enemy T-34/85. Up to this moment, the Major has been focusing on tactics – now he finds himself fighting for his life as well as that of his crews’.

“Hagen, do you see?” the Major radios to the commander of the giant Maus.

“Ja, Herr Major. Two o’clock; we are on him,” is the laconic reply. Ice-water for blood? thinks the Major. Or does he think himself impregnable?

The Maus commander is wrapped up in the immediate drama unfolding in his magnified sights. He could see the expression on the Soviet tank commander’s face as the man realized the threat he was facing. The enemy commander dropped from sight almost immediately, bringing a small crease of a smile to Hagen’s lips.

“Sepp, are you on him?” queries Hagen, and just as he finishes his question he feels the movement of their ponderous turret. “Any time now….I could have read a book,” he gently chides his gunner. He knows it will take a while to get on target. Everything with his land battleship is slow.

What? he thinks quickly. There was a flash from the enemy…did he just fire? Seconds later the enemy shell glances off their massive frontal armor, driven down underneath the tank and detonating into the dirt.

Instinctively he has dropped down into his own hatch, angry they didn’t get the first shot off and slightly shocked that the enemy gunner managed a hit on the first round, while moving!

“What was that?” asks Klaus, one of the loaders.

“Mother of a whore,” swears Hagen, “They hit us!” His incredulous look of surprise causes Klaus to burst into laughter.

“Of course they did,” he says completely at ease. “We are bigger than a verdammt city block. What did you expect?” He is smiling at his sergeant’s surprise.

“Unterfeldwebel, I have him,” calls out the gunner with utter calm.

“Spank the Bitch,” roars Hagen.

[heinrich55]

An ear-splitting howl deafens everyone, despite their earphones. The entire gun carriage rocks as if hit by the hammer of Thor. If Hagen hadn’t been braced against his commander seat he would have been knocked down. This has dwarfed the hit they took moments before from the enemy tank. The incredible violence of their tank gun never ceases to amaze him, and he has his breath taken away by the rapid change in air pressure.

Major Staudt has just ordered his gunner to fire on the enemy tank. The flat crack of his long 7.5 cm cannon reassures him with its familiarity as the air in front of his tank turns bright orange with the exploding gasses.

Suddenly he is buffeted by a nearby explosion and would have been blinded by a gigantic gout of flame had he been looking to his left. The Maus, he thinks with alarm – it has blown up. His Panther tank, very large by normal standards, actually rocks with the blast wave, and they are not exactly close to the Maus.

He quickly looks to his left, expecting a desperate sight, only to see in amazement that the Maus is intact, flames still boiling away from the front of the damn battleship gun.

Untersharführer Nossen is just now getting up from the floor. Every window in the building he and his squad are occupying has shattered. There are only some minor cuts from the glass, but he can’t imagine what the Russians just fired at them. And, where did it hit? He calls to his men, asking if they are okay. Everyone is stunned, but they are okay.

Nossen looks to his friend Paul, asking what hit them. Paul merely shakes his head and points out the window. The Maus, Nossen realizes, eyes wide with amazement. Of course, the battleship on treads.

All his men are at the windows, staring like little children at the gigantic steel colossus. “Back to stations,” he roars. “Playtime at the Zoo is over. Just a little Maus to see. Nothing special.” He is smiling and the men are grinning sheepishly back at him.

[heinrich55]

Major Staudt’s shell and the massive Maus shell arrive on destination at just about the same time. If there was any way to slow things down, the tie would be broken and the Major given credit for the kill. But, there is no way to distinguish this, as the unfortunate Soviet tank is shattered by the violence from both a 7.5 cm AT shell and one that is almost twice that size.

All this is simply horrifyingly academic to the Soviet tank crew. They are torn to shreds by the shells and the large pieces of their own tank that are shattered by the violence. A side of the turret is shorn off, leaving the remains canted over in mute testament of the horror of war.

The Major sees the destruction more clearly than Hagen, as he is still unbuttoned and watching with his binoculars. To his right, one of the Jagdpanzers is hunting something in the same area with a vengeance. They have fired several shells in rapid succession now, but apparently they were not firing at the same tank he was, or they would have ceased firing by now.

“Stay alert Männer,” he cautions. “More are coming.” Then he can’t resist and says, “That roar you heard was an angry Maus. Bigger, yes. But not quicker. We claim the kill. Your kill, Alfons,” he credits his gunner.

The gunner looks up for a moment, gratitude and absolute loyalty in his tired eyes. Such men, thinks the Major. He feels as if his heart will burst with pride this day, pride of his gunner and his crew, pride for his entire kampfgruppe.

[heinrich55]

Out of sight to the Major’s left, desperation overtakes the two halftracks of Untersturmführer Poe’s section. They had advanced up the highway towards Zossen, but when the Russian tanks came swarming, they rushed north and then west, looking for cover.

The Russian tankers, desperately seeking cover from relentless fire that was flaming their comrades, have now spotted the two halftracks. Both radio in to their lieutenant, letting him know their plight. He immediately orders them to rush to safety, taking whatever means to protect themselves.

Alt and Diemer order their respective drivers to race at top speed across the muddy meadow. The drivers, eyes wide with fear, understand the stakes and start racing their vehicles through the gears, seeking safety in motion
.
As they begin to accelerate, treads throwing a wall of mud behind like speedboats on a lake, the Russian shells begin to fall all around them. Large explosions cover the two halftracks in their desperate race to safety.

Diemer hears the dull crang and muffled explosion to his left and instinctively looks, just in time to see the death of his friend, Alt, and Alt’s crew.

“Faster!” he yells to his driver. Another near miss; dirt and smoke shrouding their vehicle. Come on, he silently urges his halftrack. Suddenly everything is black….

[heinrich55]

Now he is lying in the mud, uniform smoldering. He is stunned, shaking his head, not able to comprehend what has happened. His hearing is muffled, something shrill in his ears…no wait, that is screams. He gathers his wits and rolls to his hands and knees. His halftrack…yes, they must have been hit. How did he get here? He…must have…been….thrown clear.

It all comes to him now, and the screams are terrible. He is up in an instant, rushing towards the flaming halftrack. His crew, he must get his crew. The heat is terrible as he runs up to his blazing vehicle. He rushes in from the rear, seeing the driver and co-driver pinned in the wreckage. The engine is flaming away, greedily licking at his men.

The driver is pinned in crushed wreckage but his co-driver is not. The co-driver has lost an arm and is unconscious. The driver is burning and Diemer sees he cannot free the man.

The driver is out of his mind from fear and pain, screaming in agony, flames charring his flesh as he tries desperately to beat them away. Dear Gott, there is nothing to be done for him, thinks Diemer in horror and desperation.

A pistol shot rings out and the flaming wreck of a once-human being jerks and is silent, still flaming but mercifully quiet. Diemer wonders who just shot his driver, then leadenly looks down and sees the pistol in his own hand and knows he just did what he instinctively knew had to be done.

Holstering quickly, he drags his co-driver from the flaming vehicle. They are close to the woods so he keeps on dragging his crewman through the mud and towards the comparative safety of the trees, hoping the man doesn’t bleed out before he can try to stem the injury. He notices that the Russians aren’t shooting at them anymore and thanks Heaven for that.

Moments later Diemer’s section commander, Untersturmführer Poe, takes fire from relocated Soviet armor. In less than 25 seconds the Russians knock out his halftrack. Poe is more fortunate than his other section members. He and his crew all manage to bail out of their stricken halftrack and seek cover in the house they thought they were concealed behind. The SS infantry Sanitäter immediately begins working on their wounds.

[heinrich55]

Feldwebel Frenner is astonished as he watches shell after shell strike the enemy tank, barely 500 meters distant. He did hear and see the destructive power of the Maus as it tore apart the lead of two T-34/85 tanks, but apparently they could not see the tank he has been firing at.

Frenner cannot complain about his crew’s accuracy. It is incredible. His gunner and loader have been punching out shell after shell, maybe 4 seconds between firing – it is an impressive display of teamwork.

Better still, every single shell has hit the target. He cannot fault them one bit, and yet the enemy tank does not burn. The gunner and loader don’t stop or slow to ask. They simply continue their muscle memory and shell after shell tears into the Soviet tank.

Now! Yes, a violent explosion, gout of smoke, ugly wall of flames 30 meters high….

“JA! Finally!” roars Frenner. “He burns. About time. Next target.”

“Feldwebel, we are almost out of anti-tank shells,” comes the report from the loader, his face grim. “That last one almost cleaned us out.”

[heinrich55]

Frenner is very concerned with this last bit of news. He has the co-driver report this by radio to Uberfeldwebel Baedeker. Baedeker acknowledges and advises Frenner that he is moving Karn’s Jagdpanzer up to starboard of his position.

If only they could have taken a full load when they pulled out of Kummersdorf, he thinks ruefully.

[heinrich55]

Scharführer Baeder has left his second in command of their halftrack section and climbed the floors of the factory, prominent on the skyline to the outskirts of Baruth. As the staff sergeant in charge of the few remaining halftracks, he feels the need to see what is progressing on the battlefield in case he has to extract the infantry, should things go badly.

Because he is a veteran and inveterate pessimist he expects things to fall apart soon, not because of faulty leadership – he would follow Major Staudt THROUGH the gates of Hell if need be – but because there are just too many Russians and too few of them to make a difference any more. Besides, his curiosity about the “wonder weapon” has been aroused.

Baeder takes up a position on the roof of the factory. He doesn’t have field glasses but he can see well from this vantage position.
No sooner has he arrived on the roof when he sees Soviet tanks rushing across the field before him. He can see the giant turret of the Maus slowly swinging to cover the enemy tanks.

There is a huge firestorm of flame that erupts from the front of the Maus…have they been hit? he instinctively wonders. No, they are fine, but the enemy…

[heinrich55]

Baeder sees a gigantic fountain of dust and smoke as the huge shell hurled from the Maus punches into an enemy tank that was moving at full tilt.

[heinrich55]

Now there is a huge firestorm pouring from the stricken tank, climbing skyward maybe 30 or 40 meters, the red flames reflecting off the iris of his eyes, staring wide-eyed at the spectacle unfolding before him.

[heinrich55]

As he watches, the flames and smoke rise even higher over the dead tank. How can it burn so much so quickly? he thinks to himself. That tank must have been cut open like a hot knife through butter.

He sees a fan of sparks cascade off the front of the following tank. He doesn’t see where that shot comes from, but he knows there are several tanks in the near tree line. It wasn’t the Maus this time though. Their rate of reload is much slower.

[heinrich55]

The Soviet tankers are at a disadvantage as they crest the slight rise of the field just east of Baruth. They cannot see the enemy first, and silhouette themselves as they crest the rise, moving as they are, at top speed. They believe their only chance is to close quickly with the enemy and they are being urged on by their commanders...and into a killing field.

Major Staudt is again busy trying to save his crew and himself. He sights in on two T-34/85s rushing forward and just cresting the rise. His gunner was targeting the first one, but another tremendous blast from the Maus, followed by the enormous explosion of their initial target causes him to switch to the secondary target. He gives the order and the Panther rocks with the blast, the shell casing banging noisily onto the turret deck. He sees the hit as great sparks fly from the second T-34.

[heinrich55]

Major Staudt sees the Russian tankers leaping from the T-34 that he has just hit twice. In his usual running commentary he lets the crew know they have yet another kill to their record.

The sergeant on the roof of the factory does not have his field glasses with him and cannot see the small figures leaping from their torn tank, but he does see that no further shells impact that tank.

Unterfeldwebel Hagen has been busy with his Maus. He suspected that the Major might claim his first kill, so he has been eager to get his shots off before the Panther crew.

They claimed another kill moments ago, clearly getting their shot off before the Major’s Panther had a chance. The enemy tank disintegrated before the might of their 12.8 cm canon.

As he watches through the periscope he sees two more enemy tanks rushing over the gentle crest of the hill. The first veers towards his tank and lets loose a shot on the fly. Seconds later the shell caroms off their frontal armor. He can hardly feel the impact, so great is the weight of the Maus.
“The lead tank, one o’clock, that’s ours,” he calls to Sepp as the gunner makes his final adjustments. Hagen feels affronted that the Russian got the first hit and doesn’t want to take any chances on a lucky hit from the enemy.

He is slightly stunned as the giant cannon roars in anger once again. He rides the recoil and tries to track the shell as it rips through the air towards the enemy tank. Hagen cannot know that the Major’s tank has fired at almost the same time.

The sergeant sees their target stagger and appear to collapse inward as if pressed by a giant, invisible fist for just a split second…..and then flames are everywhere, giant pieces of steel flying through the air as another Soviet tank is torn to pieces.

Even as he takes in the raw violence of the exploding tank he sees the tank just to the side and slightly behind stagger from a violent hit and begins smoking. Must have been the Major, thinks Hagen. These tankers are luckier than their comrades; they were only hit with a 7.5 cm shell. Most of them are alive and jumping from their burning wreck.

[heinrich55]

Despite the best efforts of the Elefant crew, the Russians have managed to penetrate the south side of Baruth. As the numbers run down for the scout section, Unteroffizier Kiser orders his section to pull back. With the loss of Wohler, there is only Pfalz left.

Pfalz gives his driver the order to pull back, and suddenly the driver shouts an alarm. Pfalz stares wild-eyed at a Soviet tank, now less than 300 meters away from them and slipping from the heavy woods. All he can think to do is depress the triggers of his 2.0 cm cannons as an angry, defiant last gesture. The cannon shells run true, sparking off the enemy tank as he and his crew watches the blossom of flame erupt from the tank gun.

Pfalz roars a final curse at the enemy tankers and then his halftrack erupts into a giant ball of flames. They die instantly and don’t feel the flames consuming the halftrack and all in it.

Kiser sees the black cloud and knows the worst has happened. He alerts the radio net that Soviet tanks are flanking from the south. He orders his driver to back them out of harms way.

[heinrich55]

Leutnant Schmidt and his crew have been very busy. They have caused so much damage to the wave of Soviet tanks that many have bulled their way into the forest to escape his wrath. Their engagement range has been 700 meters or higher. It is a tremendous distance but his 8.8 cm gun has been wreaking havoc on the enemy.

Schmidt is aware that several have now broken through the forest and are rushing the town. He can see the pall of smoke from where his “eyes” used to be, the scout units that are now dying one by one. He will try to avenge them as well as his comrades from Kursk.

“Herr Leutnant!” shouts the driver. “The cemetery,” he warns.

Schmidt brings his field glasses to bear and sees the enemy. A Soviet tank is rushing behind the large church on the edge of town. It is churning through the cemetery, disinterring the dead in a display of arrogance that cannot be allowed.

The bastard, thinks Schmidt. No respect for the dead. “Range 760 meters, 2 0’clock, flank shot.”

His driver smoothly coaxes the giant beast into position as the gunner Max makes the fine adjustments. The loud bang is accompanied with smoke and burnt gasses as the shell launches from the gun.

“Dammit, he spooked!” shouts Schmidt. It is a miss. The enemy tank commander must have spotted them at the last minute. The T-34/85 is now backing frantically, the treads clawing at the cemetery grounds, grave markers torn and shattered as the tank tries to reverse to safety.

Max calmly makes the adjustments and the angry Elefant roars once again. There is a massive explosion as the 8.8 cm cannon shell rips through the offending tank. Flames spew from the ruptured hull as the Russian tankers join those whose graves they were moments before showing such disrespect.

“Herr Leutnant, we only have 2 more AT shells,” comes the grim report from his loader.

“Target at 800 meters, 10 o’clock,” calls the gunner. The massive assault gun begins to swing left.

[heinrich55]

Gefreiter Greiffen is urging his tank onwards. They know the enemy is close and they are seeking a good vantage to hunt them. Reports are coming in as the scout halftracks are destroyed. The enemy is forcing their right flank.

Their section leader is urging them to move faster. They rush down the main street, gears wide open. Greiffen sees the last remaining halftrack just ahead and knows they are close to their stopping point. He orders the driver to gear down and ease forward to a break between a rooming house and a store.

As they ease forward he notices that the halftrack is now frantically scrabbling backward, reversing from some obvious threat. He is distracted by this for only a moment, and as he turns his field glasses to the narrow space between the buildings he sees an odd blossom of flame….and knows with sickening realization that they are dead.

[heinrich55]

Sergeant Kiser has just yelled to his driver to reverse, as they see a Soviet tank rushing in from the flank. He has seen Greiffen’s Panzer rushing down the street and has the comforting thought that the Soviet tanker is in for a rude surprise.

The ugly clang of steel on steel snaps his head around in time to see the killing round tear into Greiffen’s turret. Smoke billows out and Kiser feels dread begin to overwhelm his momentary feeling of calm. The Panzer is dead.

He sees the slumped figure of the Panzer commander limp in the hatch, as the driver and radio man throw themselves from their hatches and roll off the tank. Two men out, he thinks. Smoke pours from the tank but it doesn’t explode in flames.

“Keep backing!” he roars viciously, hoping to survive a few more hours if possible. Things are falling apart quickly.

[heinrich55]

Corporal Rolf is justifiably proud of his crew this day. His gunner has been spectacular with accuracy and the crew a picture of calm and professionalism. He is about to congratulate them further when he catches a glimpse of movement on the far side of the crest.

He calls out a warning, and his gunner is already on the target. It is one of the tanks from the field, but moving stealthily along the back side of the crest, where it can’t be tracked by the Maus and the Major’s Panther.

“I’ve got him,” calls out the gunner. “Five forty-five meters…..”

“Fire,” shouts Rolf. The tank rocks with recoil from the exploding powder from the AT shell, the acrid cloud of smoke billowing through the vehicle interior. He senses more than sees the loader already slamming a shell into the open breech. How can he see in all that smoke wonders Rolf, yet one more time marveling at the efficiency of his crew. Instructors all, but with years of combat to temper their ability, they are deadly cool in the operation of their killing machine.

“Treffer,” calls Rolf. They have hit the enemy tank in the track and he calls this out to the gunner. Hans is immediately making a slight correction, bringing the gun up slightly to seek a better killing location. Rolf sees the enemy tank rocking slightly – their gun has not moved so they have no clue where we are, he thinks to himself. He almost feels sorry for them…..

Blam….Hans has fired the next shot and Rolf sees the impact, high-side turret- face; smoke pours from the stricken tank and two figures escape from the dead tank, diving into the tall grass.

Another kill, mein Gott! thinks Rolf, overcome with amazement. He is momentarily at a loss for words, and his crew smiles back at him over their shoulders, self-consciously as if they can read his mind and feel his pride in their achievement.

The moment expended, he gruffly orders vigilance, knowing there is still danger out there and they have not survived the day yet. The crew smile to one another and exchange knowing glances. They are equally proud of their “old Man,” even though Rolf is barely older than they are.

[heinrich55]

In the next few minutes several things happen at once. Sgt. Kiser, the last scout halftrack on the right flank is caught in the open, reversing fast. His halftrack is hit and stalls. He orders his men out fast, and they bail from the stricken vehicle, barely escaping with their lives. The enemy tank is deadly and a shell tears through the thin steel. Kiser’s quick order has saved his crew for another time.

Rolf’s crew spots an enemy tank sneaking through the woods. Once again, Hans is cool and efficient, placing the kill shot into the flank armor of the enemy. They are now out of AT shells and will have to make due with HE, a poor substitute for tank killing.

In the far field, the remaining enemy T-34/85 tanks are still milling about, looking for someone to direct them. Untersturmführer Bynum watches the enemy from his wooded hiding place. He displays no emotion as he watches the enemy.

“There,” cries out one of the men, pointing down the road. So, thinks Bynum, one of the Ivan have developed some guts after all. The enemy tanker has directed his vehicle straight down the road, heading in their direction. The officer can feel a wave of uncertainty flood over his men. Many are new recruits, never having gone toe-to-toe with armor. They only have a few panzerfaust AT weapons among them.

“Quiet, Männer, quiet,” he soothes. “They have a way to go before they deal with us. Have faith. We are the last line.” The men seem to calm with his words, again settling down.

Bynum watches as the other tanks seem to take strength from their self-appointed leader. He sees one suddenly disappear in dust and moments later, hatches open, he knows yet another enemy tank has been struck dead by a hammer blow from an unseen assailant.

Still, the one tank pushes on, menacing, determined, seeking prey. Bynum feels a sudden rush of air and sees the brilliant flash before he hears the flat, distinctive crack of the 7.5 cm cannon of a Panther tank.

One of the new men can’t control his enthusiasm and shouts “He burns!”

Indeed, the hulking hunter is torn by a high-velocity AT round, and explodes in a spectacular display of fuel and ammunition gone wild. Flames roar in untamed brilliance as they pour from the wreck that only seconds before was their nearest threat.

“The Major, he watches over us,” intones Bynum grimly. With that the SS Leutnant nods appreciatively in the direction of town, calculating the shot had to be over 850 meters, a hell of a shot. The Major has one damned fine crew.