John Schettler - Crescendo of Doom

“No Germans will be coming out of that desert,” he said. “Take another look. That has to be Kingstone’s flying column up from Palmyra.”

It was.

The first elements of this scout force were arriving with the fast moving motorized cavalry units. Glubb Pasha had scouted the way, and was also leading in a detachment of his Arab Legion. This force would soon run afoul of the advancing companies of the 7th Machinegun Battalion south of the river, and another small action would begin there in the pre-dawn hours.

In the meantime, Ryan was rejoined by the other X-3 helo, designated X-2 for this mission, and together they applied the same deadly medicine to the oncoming truck column north of the river. The Hydra 70’s took out the lead truck, stopping the column in its tracks as all the infantry spilled out and bled onto the ground around the trucks, looking for cover. Wicks shot up two more trucks, and then the minigun took its pound of flesh out of the column, raking the snake’s back with its snarling bite.

The Germans were stunned by the attack, as it seemed that lightning was simply flashing out of the sky at them. They could hear some kind of aircraft overhead, the hard thump of the rotors and growl of the helo engines, but they could not see the beasts that were gouging them now. After those first moments of shock and awe, the Germans soon reacted by opening up with every machinegun they had, nine MG-32s in this single company, and they were raking the sky in all directions, the hot tracer rounds streaming up like a fountain of molten lead.

“That’s done it,” said Wicks.

“Good enough, Tommy,” said Ryan. “Let’s get round to the south along the river and see what’s there.” He knew that was the main axis of the German retreat from Dier ez Zour, and the helos swept across the river, overflying the budding meeting engagement between Kingstone’s men and the other two companies of the 7th Machinegun battalion. Off to the southeast, they soon saw another long line of an advancing column. A motorcycle platoon led the way, followed by what looked to be a full battalion of motorized infantry, the first arrivals of the 65th Regiment.

“How many rockets left in those pods, Wicky?”

“I fired four salvoes of three, so I’ve only got one left in each pod,” said Wicks. “Time for a reload, but we’ve still got the minigun.”

“Aye, two rockets won’t do much good here. There will be more behind this lot too, but it’ll be dawn before that column gets up north. Let’s hold what we’ve got and get back to the fight near the airfield.”

“What, and help the Russkies?”

“Our allies this time out me boyo, so see that you put those last two rockets on the Germans.”

Ramcke’s men reorganized and tried that hill while they still had at least the cover of darkness, but Troyak had more for them than they wanted. They had two RPGs, five AK-94K assault rifles, and one autogrenade launcher, and that weapon was enough to decide the issue and stop the attack. The rate of fire was almost as good as a heavy caliber machine gun, only the 30mm grenades packed a much greater wallop when they hit.

So the men of Altman’s platoon learned the same hard lesson that Wolff’s men had been taught early when they tried to storm the high fortress at Palmyra. The fight had come down to firepower and guts, and though the Germans made a brave attack, firepower trumped their hand, and they were forced back with heavy losses.

Leutnant Jung’s platoon attempted to flank the hill, moving to the south and making for the northern outskirts of the town, but Byng had been closely monitoring the fighting and had moved one of his two reserve fire teams into the town there to plug the gap. Jung’s men ran into a well laid ambush, and the Argonauts stopped the flanking attempt, forcing the Germans to take cover in any building they could get to.

Further south, Feldmann’s Brandenburgers were advancing through the suburb of Samara close by the river. A second platoon from the Schwere company, and the men from Schulte’s platoon were on their right with Ramcke’s Headquarters unit. It was not long before the Brandenburgers realized that the British were in the main town ahead, most likely guarding a small foot bridge over a canal that bounded the town on the east.

“They’ll be watching that bridge,” he said after reaching Ramcke’s HQ shack, an old, weathered barn just outside the east edge of Samara. “Shall I organize an attack while we still have darkness?”

“Don’t bother. From every report I’ve received the British seem to have night eyes! Our men can’t make a single move without being seen. No. I’ve just received word from the main column. The 65th Regiment has its first battalion just a few miles south. They’ll be here by dawn.”

“So we wait?”

“They have artillery, Feldmann. Thus far the British have bedeviled us with those fighter planes firing rockets. The game now is to get the Artillery into position and put fire on that airfield. There’s also a battle forming south of the river. Donner’s MG Battalion is there.”

“Good!” Feldmann smiled. “Things will be going our way soon enough. The more the merrier! I’ll get my men into position, and we’ll be ready to take that footbridge. If you can get us a little support fire, all the better.”

Ramcke returned the man’s salute, shaking his head at his brash bravado. He was Abwher, not regular army, and not even a member of the Brandenburgers. Those troops were the best the Germans had, and Ramcke had every cause to believe they could deliver on Feldmann’s boast. But the way the man associated himself with the commandos, as if he were one and the same, seemed just a little too much self-aggrandizement on Feldmann’s part. The man wanted to run with the big cats, but I wonder if he has any teeth or claws himself? He wants to take that footbridge? Very well, at dawn he gets his chance.

In the meantime, I’ve lost twenty more men tonight. Come daylight we may finally get a look at these British planes that have been hurting us. Yet for now, there’s no point contesting that hill. It will likely take my entire company to have any chance there given what I’ve heard from Altman and Reinhardt.

He looked at the map, seeing the town as the best possible place to get his men now. This should have been as simple as Feldmann said it would be, he thought. We were to have had surprise and cover of darkness on our side, but neither was our friend tonight. The enemy knew we were coming, and saw us plainly with little more than that sliver of a moon out there. Now daylight removes the only cover we might have near those hills. So I’m bringing Altman and Reinhardt down here. We’ll pool the entire company and try to infiltrate through that town now. It’s our only play.

Even as he thought that, he wondered what cards the British still might hold in their hand. Time was also a key element here. The morning will be our only chance, he knew. By noon the British units following the 65th will be making their appearance. Then it comes down to the real fighting. For now, I need to get one of those goddamned bridges over the river, because something tells me the 65th will be needing it soon. We won’t hold here. The enemy has the whole 10th Indian Division on the heels of our retreat. This is nothing more than a delaying action, and soon we’ll find ourselves retreating yet again. Where this time, Aleppo, or back to Turkey?

In either case, von Sponeck won’t like it, nor will Kurt Student. No, they won’t like it one bit if they have to tell the Führer we could not hold as ordered. Who’s ridiculous idea was it to fly us all the way from Cyprus to this god forsaken desert? Even as he thought that, he realized that it was the plaintive cry of every soldier who had ever found himself in a hard place. So tomorrow we fight, he steeled himself. Let’s see what the men can do.