Matrix Games Forums

Leutnant Bessner has been lobbing shells at the enemy tanks well to the east. They have managed to catch some in the flank, knocking them out. Their section was ordered to the far left flank, a grueling trek through heavy woods, but they finally made it to a position of advantage. They are well concealed in the trees, and the Russian tankers don’t have much of a clue where they are.

Bessner is calling out ranges for his gunner. He saw the one tank start pushing down the road, but lost sight of it. Moments later the oily black cloud billowed up from the road and he knew the tank had died.

The death of their most aggressive tank has stunned the survivors in the field. Bessner can almost see their indecision. He feels his tank rock violently as one of their AT shells clears the barrel, streaking towards one of the Russians they have lined up.

A huge, fiery ball roils up from their target. “A kill!” he shouts even though all can see the destruction they have just wrought. He can see an enemy tank commander suddenly shield his eyes from the heat and flames of the tank they just hit. Still, he does not order his tank to move.

Bessner orders his gunner to target the tank that is using the flaming wreck as cover. His gunner gives a grim smile, as that was exactly what he is getting set to accomplish.

The Soviet tank commander is stunned by the violence of the nearby tank exploding. He knows the crew never had a chance – they never even had a chance to scream. He is grateful for that, having heard many friends as they screamed their lungs out while trapped in flaming coffins. He can see the paint boiling and bubbling on the surface of the inferno that is only meters away.

However, he now believes that his tank is much safer where it is, shielded by the smoke and flames of his dead fellow tank men. Desperately he searches the far off tree line. The enemy has to be at least 750 meters distant. How can they be so accurate? he wonders.

Instinctively he feels rather than sees a brilliant flash, dropping rapidly into the turret of his tank. He is bleeding from steel fragments. With this comes the shocked realization that they are still exposed. The devil is out there and hunting them now. And still they have no idea where safety lies.

“Pour it on boys,” urges Bessner. “They aren’t moving,” he declares, somewhat in amazement. He would have had his tank moving fast, in some direction, ANY direction, not waiting for the death knell.

“Low on AT rounds,” calls out his loader.

“Keep it going, no matter what,” orders Bessner. “They are daring us to hit them. They don’t think we can kill them at this range. They think their tank is stronger than our shells,” he challenges his men.

To himself he thinks ruefully that they just might be right. He has now counted no less than 7 hits, one which tore a good part of the enemy’s right tread off. They probably can’t move now.

“The last AT round,” sings out the loader. He never misses a beat as he reaches for HE rounds. They’ll keep shooting whatever they have.

“Make it count,” counsels Bessner to his gunner. The gunner never takes his eyes off his sights.

“Just a little to the left,” he mutters grimly to himself, not aware he has said this out loud. His concentration is palpable. He grips the trigger with determination….the shell explodes from the breech and is hurled some 760 meters across the field. He cannot see for the moment from the smoke crowding the muzzle brake…

“YES!” Bessner gives a triumphant shout as he sees the enemy tank erupt into flames. “What a Hell of a shot! He burns!”

The gunner accepts this praise quietly, knowing that the enemy tankers are suffering a horrible fate. He is thankful it is them and not him. Survival is the order of the day.

This is a great read Heinrich! Thanks!

Thanks
rick

Rick,
Glad you are enjoying it. More to come...

Heinrich55

The order comes through the net…”Admiral, move your ship up the road and engage remaining Soviet tanks. Try not to run over the infantry up there.”
Sergeant Hagen smiles at the order. The Major is telling him he will have support on the flanks from the SS men on foot in the woods.

“Ja Wohl, Herr Major. Setting sail now.” He allows himself a breach of radio discipline; they are old comrades in a very long war. His driver is already easing their tank into gear. Gently, he urges silently, as these babies are ponderously overweight and terribly underpowered.

His two loaders have already manhandled another gigantic shell into the maw of the cannon breech. He opens the hatch and peers out over the huge expanse of his tank. They push slowly up the road, careful to stay on the hard surface.

“Target,” reports the gunner. “Ja, I see it. Twelve o’clock, 470 meters. When you are ready,” Hagen gives the commands.

Having seen the demise of two of his fellow tankers, a Soviet commander orders his driver to get to the road. If they can get across they might be clear of the devilish hell coming from the tree line. They accelerate past broken tanks and make the road; he intends to rush right across.

Hagen sees the Russian just about the same time he is sighted. Hagen watches the Russian drop his glasses in astonishment, only to bring them up to his eyes once more, as if he cannot truly believe what he is seeing. Now the Russian commander is screaming something into his tank and pounding on the turret with his free hand.

The Russian commander is indeed screaming to his driver, ordering him to get off the road. Instinctively the driver spins the tank to his left, bringing their heaviest armor to the front against what appears to be a railway gun on a gun carriage. They see a bright spot of red-orange……

The impact is terrible. The commander has dropped into the turret at the last moment, surviving the terrible blow to his tank. Had he been exposed he might have been torn apart from air pressure alone.

“Track damage,” mumbles the driver, already in shock from the impact. The commander is also in shock, his crew bleeding from being thrown about from the hit. Consciously he realizes they are still alive but cannot figure out why. Everything is in slow motion…..

“Track hit,” calls Hagen to his crew. The right track has been torn off the target.” He is still amazed at the damage his shells are causing, even for glancing blows.

The Russian commander is crawling with effort to the gunner’s station. His men seem incapable of moving, merely moaning in pain and mumbling incoherently. Must get to the gun, he thinks. Even thoughts are painful. What kind of gun are the damn Germans using?

He slowly pulls himself up to the gunsight and focuses on the giant enemy vehicle. Things are all moving in slow motion and he sees a giant blossom of red/orange flame getting larger and larger, obscuring the entire German tank. He slumps back in resignation, not willing to watch what is about to unfold.

Hagen rides the incredible recoil of their gun. It actually shoves the huge tank backward, treads biting into the road surface and tearing it.

Cpl. Waltz’s men have moved towards the roadway, intending to advance across it when they were almost knocked down by the shockwave of air pressure racing down the road. They had slowed when they sighted yet another enemy tank making the road, but then they watched it get hit by the shell from the Maus.

As they lie in the woods, another rush of agonized air races past them, followed by a screaming howl like that of a speeding train engine as the gigantic projectile flashed past their position.

The shell from the Maus obliterates the turret and interior of the enemy tank. There are no survivors.

The SS men stare in astonishment and admiration.

As the driver begins to resume their slow advance, gunner Sepp calls out to stop. He is tracking another target, getting momentary glimpses through the woods. His deliberation is steady and silent. Hagen sees it too.

It appears the last Soviet tank in the field beyond the tree line is making a break for it. Their commander has seen everyone else torn apart and is turning his tank for a run towards Zossen, away from the Hell of Baruth.

Hagen watches as the T-34/85 begins to gain speed, racing across the field at an angle to their tank gun. He wonders with impatience what is taking Sepp so long. They will miss their window…..

Air pressure drops and the howl of the shell screaming from the breech and out the barrel disrupts his train of thought. Instantly he grips his field glasses tighter and locks onto the enemy tank, still rushing towards safety.

The enemy tank has the left side exposed at an angle and he wonders if…..Mein Gott, a HIT! For a moment he saw the steel cave in on the side as if punched in by a giant fist; then smoke obscures the unfortunate victim.

Hagen glances at his watch and notices that barely 25 seconds have expired from the first kill to the second. Three shells for two kills…that is pretty damn fine shooting. He lets his gunner know just how pleased he is with the man.

On the right flank, Oberfeldwebel Zuckermann’s section is trying to stalk several of the enemy tanks that penetrated their right flank and killed off Sgt. Kiser’s scout section. They have also claimed Cpl. Greiffen’s Panzer IV.

Unterfeldwebel Plaus is covering their left flank as his SSgt. eases forward, seeking the enemy tanks. Suddenly his driver calls out.

“Feldwebel, he is making a run for it. Look – there. Ten o’clock, side aspect.”

Plaus immediately turns to his left and sees the exhaust smoke of a T-34 rushing right to left. He feels the turret already swinging to track. The tank crew must have panicked and decided to make a run for safety.

“Range 787, left flank, fire when ready,” he gives his gunner commands.

A sharp bang follows shortly. A miss. Moments later the tank recoils again. There is a big puff of smoke and dust around the fleeing tank. Another miss. Come on, come on, Plaus thinks, willing their shots to be on target. If the enemy tank gets far enough he might flank their tanks near the road out of town.
Another round flies; another miss. Verdammt, he curses under his breath. Then things are quiet, almost as if time is standing still. Now he wonders why it is taking so long for the next shell to let loose.

The gunner is working a very difficult shot, a fast-mover flank on at an increasing angle, and nearly 800 meters. He deliberately slows things down, knowing that his commander is probably bursting with impatience. Let us do this just like the classroom, he thinks, falling back into his role as a gunnery instructor for new students at Kummersdorf Proving Grounds.

A little more lead….add another degree or so for trajectory….set the crosshairs just right…..”Now,” he shouts, gripping the trigger at the moment he felt was just right.

Plaus has a feeling of relief followed by anticipation. His gunner really lined that shot up….

“Treffer!” It is a kill, a certain kill. Flames roar up in a horrific funeral pyre as the enemy tank turns into an inferno. Plaus is already looking for another target – the enemy tanks lurk near.

Sgt. Baedeker has been gingerly dancing from hiding spot to hiding spot, knowing there is an enemy tank just ahead. He has made the long rush from left flank to right flank and now is stalking.

He cannot see anything from the small depression he presently occupies, hidden behind a large dwelling. His next part of the plan is fairly daring, but he quickly outlines it with the crew. They must all be on the same page and ready for instant action. They nod their approval, as he knew they would – they trust him implicitly.

They will race forward over the small rise, seeking cover behind the next apartment building, expecting to ease up and hopefully spot the enemy tank they know must be ahead of them.

Baedeker gives his driver the nod and the Jagdpanzer lurches forward gently as the driver nurses momentum from the clutch. They are front-heavy from the long gun and if not careful they could bury their barrel in the dirt, putting them out of action. The engine then roars as the driver eases into first and accelerates.

He feels the heady rush of their acceleration as they crest the small rise and race through the deadly killing ground to his left. No shots come their way so the enemy must not have anticipated their maneuver. As they rush to the blind spot behind the next apartment building, his eye catches the sight of a woman leaning out of the second story flat, waving frantically and pointing around the edge of the building. She is warning them of what….?

“Target dead ahead,” calls out the gunner, in an utterly calm voice devoid of any emotion. They have rushed directly into the sight of the very tank they were stalking – Baedeker feels terribly exposed. Their flank is safe as they are in the blind spot, but directly to the front they are looking straight at the enemy T-34/85.

His gunner needs no adjustments. The driver expertly brakes smoothly, avoiding any bouncing of the chassis, and as Baedeker braces himself against the hatch rim from the deceleration there is a terrific bang as his gunner lets fly with the shell they had in the cannon. He was about to call out that he thought the range was just under 200 meters, but the shell is already on the way. They are so damn close but it seems the enemy tank has incredibly not seen them.

With unerring accuracy the Jagdpanzer’s shell closes on the enemy tank. What Baedeker does not know is that they have just barely crested a slight rise in the backyard of the apartment building they are alongside. Their profile is already sleek and low, without the extra height from a turret. While he thinks they are dangerously exposed, they are in fact hugging the slope in a fine hull-down position, making them very hard to see.

The Russian crew didn’t see them until the gout of flame left their barrel, and now they cannot react fast enough to do anything except maybe scream. The killing shell is too fast for even that. The enemy tank takes a turret hit and smokes badly, a definite kill as evidenced by three of the shocked Russian crewmen leaping from their broken tank.

“A Kill,” he shouts in obvious relief. His peripheral vision catches colorful clothing and he looks up quickly, seeing in the second story window the young Fräulein with a look of fear on her face, the cloth she was waving to warn them held tightly to her mouth.

He waves gallantly his thanks to her and absently notes that she is quite pretty. He thinks she needs to get the hell out of here before the Russians come back. Then the brief moment is over and he is again stalking the remaining Russian tanks. There is at least one more out there and they just don’t know exactly where.

Leutnant Schmidt feels powerless now that they have run out of AT shells. There is no point in wasting HE shells unless the enemy comes closer, so he watches with interest the deadly scene before him.

Yet another T-34 is running for safety, attempting to dash through the gantlet of deadly fire. Perhaps they noticed that no further shells were raining death upon them from the Elefant. So many of their fellow tankers were killed by the deadly touch from the 8.8 cm cannon. They decide to take their chances with a rush.

Several Jagdpanzer have now joined the hunt and start raining shells on the hapless tank. But the real danger is Plaus as his gunner is now getting the range on the runners. In a race for the kill, Plaus wins as his gunner makes the kill at over 800 meters. One Russian crewman is seen escaping the smoldering wreck.

Plaus and his men are momentarily celebrating another long-distance kill shot as their section leader stalks forward, seeking a T-34 within the village. Zuckermann knows the tank is out there, and in fact, narrowly missed being hit when they dashed from one blind spot behind a building to another.

Now Zuckermann pushes forward, on the alert. Suddenly he sees the enemy tank, lurking behind some trees, still on the move. Before he can order the driver to stop, he sees the enemy tank take a snap shot. Dammit, he thinks, they got the first…..all goes black.

Incredibly the Russian shell hits the vulnerable front turret armor, punching into the tank and instantly setting the vehicle ablaze. Zuckermann and his loader are killed outright; only the gunner, driver, and co-driver are able to fling themselves out of their respective hatches, avoiding the worst of the flames.

From her position on the second floor of her apartment, a young woman watches the battle draw close to her home. She has only moments before risked her safety to try and warn some tank hunters on the one side of her apartment. She was successful, seeing the enemy tank blown apart.

Now she sees out the other window another German vehicle, this one with a turret, moving cautiously. Suddenly her breath is taken away, as the tank sparks brightly and smokes up immediately. It is on fire, she thinks in horror, and sees men with their uniforms smoking and streaked with blood as they tumble from the wreck.

She looks quickly in the direction the tank was driving and now sees it, the greenish paint of the enemy tank that just fired. The tank is still moving, having obviously taken a shot on the fly, its turret pointed towards the burning German tank. With a start she wonders if the tank on the far side of her building knows what just happened. She rushes to the window to lean out again and warn them.

She shouts but they can’t hear her over the roar of their engine. She sees them suddenly alert, pointing. She looks in the same direction and sees the enemy, still moving quickly as it emerges from behind the building on the far side of the street. Her tank hunters have seen it now, and appear to be readying to fire. Will they be in time she wonders? with a catch in her throat.

A brilliant flash and a sudden roar stagger her. She sees the flames pour from the broken Russian tank. One man is trying to escape, completely engulfed in the horrid fire, but he collapses back into his flaming coffin. The orange flames and oily black smoke mark the gravesite. She realizes she is trembling. The shot came from some other direction and killed the enemy.

Plaus is extremely happy with his gunner. They caught the Russian on the fly as he was moving rapidly. They don’t know that they have avenged the killer of their section leader. They do know that they have lost contact with Zuckermann, but the battle still rages and they must remain alert.

With that last spectacular kill, Sgt. Plaus has put the finishing touch on the total annihilation of the Soviet thrust. All that is left are broken and burning tanks. The Major can hardly believe his ears when the reports begin filtering in. The battle abruptly comes to a close. It is a complete victory, perhaps better described as a legendary one. The enemy has been bested to extinction. A fly-over by a scout plane provides graphic evidence of the carnage caused this day.

“Admiral” Hagen is on the far outskirts of Baruth, and can find only destruction. Bynum and Waltz are thanking their lucky stars for the crack gunnery of their tank soldiers as they push their infantry units out towards Zossen. All they can find are dazed and badly wounded Soviet tank crewmen, and very few of them as well. Most have perished in their flaming coffins.

Hagen is justifiably proud of his crew. They have hammered 5 enemy tanks into oblivion. The destruction of those tanks is staggering; his weapon system has been proven beyond all anticipation.

The central area shows a terrible killing field where the Red tanks poured through a tree line and up a small slope. As they crested this slope they were fired upon by the original positions of the Maus and the Major’s Panther. Worst was the positioning of Oberleutnant Luedner’s section. They had pushed aggressively forward and now brought flanking fire on the advancing Soviets coming up the crest.

They did lose Meyer’s Mark IV, but the third tank in Luedner’s section, commanded by a mere Corporal, exceeded all expectations. Cpl. Rolf’s tank accounted for 7 kills. His gunner Hans was the picture of cool and collected courage under fire. Many of their kills were under 400 meters, through the trees.

Elefant commander Schmidt can feel the ghosts of his fallen comrades from that ill-fated attack at Kursk all around him. They are well pleased with his stellar performance. Thanks to his gunner Max, the Leutnant has racked up a kill total of 6 enemy tanks, some of the very best the Russians have to field against them. He has carried this survivors guilt with him ever since that far-off day deep in Russia; now he feels the ghosts of his fallen comrades will let him sleep in peace.

His crew knows he fights these mental battles as well as the physical ones and they mute their demonstrations of celebration in deference to their Leutnant.

Reports from the far right flank are coming in now. They have stemmed the Soviet thrust at a high-water mark in the suburbs of Baruth. The timely intervention of one Jagdpanzer coupled with some amazing gunnery from Sgt. Plaus and his crew has broken the back of the advance in that area. Losses were high though, as Plaus lost both his fellow section tanks and Kiser’s entire scout halftrack unit was wiped out.