John Schettler - Devil's Garden

The enemy planes wheeled away, the last one chased by a missile that could make a quick 6G turn to blow off its tail as it tried to flee north. The Germans had paid a heavy price, but the bombs they delivered had struck a hard blow.

“Fedorov to Troyak. Come in Sergeant.”

There was no reply.

* * *

Wellmanclenched his fist when the bombs struck home. “Got them!” He had watched in horror as the sky was scored by what looked like Katyushas, but they were firing in small groups of four rockets each, racing up to find the Stukas as they tipped over into their final dive. He could not see how many planes were hit, but he could hear them going down, engines still screaming with wrath as they fell. The concussion of the bombs gave him heart, though he saw that most were falling short. Another two hundred meters and they would have hit his own position! Then the last two struck home and roared into the main warehouse and depot.

He heard the whine of artillery shells joining the awful noise of the battle. Kersten’s guns were back! Good! Now was the time to get his infantry ready.

“Schmidt! Get on the radio to A Platoon. Tell them to attack through the tank farm as soon as we lift the artillery barrage! We will move in that direction and support them.”

Wellman wanted to follow up the heavy weapons with a lightning swift infantry assault along the coast supported by reinforcements coming up from II Battalion, and the terrain near the tank farm offered the only good avenue of approach. On his own front he could throw the entire weight of his two companies in an attempt to occupy the island in the center of the rail yard, a cluster of small buildings and trees. From there they could provide flanking fire for the main assault on the coast.

“Schmidt… Signal II Battalion that they are to follow our A platoon as soon as they arrive. Now we storm these damn Russian Guards and make an end of this. Rockets or no rockets-this is work for good infantry, and of that we have plenty.”

TheGermans came in force minutes later. The artillery had kept heads down, and the Marines had taken a few hard blows. Troyak himself had been knocked off his feet by the concussion of the bombs when they hit the north end of the warehouse building. He sat up, instinctively reaching for his assault rifle, and wiping the soot from his eyes, knowing he had probably lost men there. He could hear calls for the medic and was soon hastening to the scene, personally carrying one man back to the mortars for treatment and removing another who had died in the bomb blast.

The last rounds of 105 mm shells soared overhead and exploded with a roar. Then the artillery lifted and he again heard the whistles. Now he looked to see that German infantry was rushing silently from the covered woods near the oil tank farm, and other sections sprinting across the rail lines to the center island. That attack looked too weak, he thought. No. They will come at our north flank by the tank farm, and those last two tanks will probably go that direction as well. He had two squads and an RPG-7 section there, but the point of the position was a building defended by a single squad. If the Germans could take that building then it would give them an anchor to move on the next one, and break into the rear of his position. They would then have access to the narrow beach where boat 639 was still waiting, their lifeline back to the Anatoly Alexandrov .

Troyak could hear the firefight beginning and knew he had to get reinforcements up or the Germans would eventually get close enough for grenades. He took a five man section and worked his way north where the position he had set up was a triangle of three buildings. A rifle squad was at the apex facing the oncoming Germans. The left base was the RPG section covering the rail yard that had taken down the German armored cars, the right base was a second rifle squad covering a coastal road and with clear fields of fire to the water. He could not lose that vital squad.

He spoke quickly into his collar mike: “First Platoon-Move through your mortar section to the north coast and block that road! Second Platoon- displace fifty meters to your right and cover the rail yards. Get any casualties to the hovercraft.”

The Marines moved with expert efficiency. Five man sections firing and moving to new positions on the run. By the time the Germans reached the rail yard island the Marines had shifted and were again opening up strong suppressive fire there. Wellman’s B and C platoons were soon pinned down, but to the north the German attack was building in strength. Troyak decided to repay the Germans for that artillery barrage.

“Mortar teams-fire on the oil tanks. Saturation fires! Now!” His two 82mm tubes answered the call smartly, dropping a couple ranging rounds and then firing for effect. Soon the German advance there was being pounded, with mortar rounds striking the rusty oil tanks, burning residual oil there and sending fragments of twisted metal shrapnel in all directions. It was enough to stop the two platoons of Wellman’s recon company that had been leading the attack, and the Germans fell back. Troyak could see they were waiting for armor support, and he gave his troops a heads up.

“There’s still two tanks out there. Be ready!”

The Russians had taken everything the Germans had thrown at them, and the action on the inland road was equally hot and furious. There the two PT-76 tanks had engaged the oncoming half tracks, and dueled with more Panzer IIIs sent forward by Westhoven before the Russians unleashed a volley of hand held AT rockets to decide the issue. Their superior range prevented the Panzer IIIs from getting good shots on the PT-76 tanks, but Westhoven had already seen the problem and knew what he had to do. The Germans were bringing up two 88s and looking for good places to site them.

* * *

Itwas a question Commissar Molla had a very difficult time answering. How long can you breathe when I get both hands around your neck? It was very difficult to speak while you were choking, and that was what was happening to Molla now as he listened to Orlov’s last taunting rebuke.

The big Russian had moved so quickly that the Commissar could not even squeeze the trigger of his pistol! In an instant Orlov batted the weapon aside with a sweep of his arm and had a murderous hold on the other man’s neck, forcing him back on the desk where he had been sitting and tightening his big hands on the man’s throat. Molla’s pallid cheeks quickly reddened as he strained for breath.

“So you like to collect young girls, do you? You like blonds? You stupid piece of shit! See how you like them in hell!”

Molla strained to escape the hold but Orlov was just too big, his weight pressing down on the smaller man, crushing him, choking the life from him. The Commissar kicked and struggled, and then the icy light in his dark eyes wavered and he went slack. Orlov held on, sneering at the man, and then released him, spitting in his lifeless face.

“Svoloch! I came a thousand miles to do that! Rot in hell!”

Orlov was breathing hard, yet elated that he had finally found the man he had come to kill, and finished the job. Now what? He could hear gunfire, sounds of battle, artillery rounds falling. Then he heard shouting and the sound of hard booted feet in the hallway. He had to move-think what to do!

He lunged for his service jacket where it hung on the nearby coat racket, then suddenly hesitated. If I take that jacket with me they will be able to track and find me. He could distinctly hear the sound of AK-74s now, and knew that Marines must have landed here. But other voices outside were shouting about the Germans.