Bob Carruthers - Tiger Command!

It crossed Wendorff’s mind at that time to mention the unusual radio signal he had picked up again yesterday. There was a familiar ring to it. He was sure it used the same code he had intercepted during the engagement outside Rostov, but two things prevented him from discussing it with von Schroif: firstly, his commander obviously had enough on his plate today, and secondly, he was still puzzled himself and needed to give it further thought. He planned to leave the subject fallow as the crew were due to meet with Henschel’s chief engineer, Kurt Arnholdt, straight after breakfast.

As the crippled KV-1 pulled into the workshop, Dimitri Korsak thanked his lucky stars. By claiming the half-track and the recovery vehicles, he’d done just enough to claim a result. After all, the Russians held the field, and the engineers would be burrowing like demented badgers and wouldn’t be disgorged from their positions without a new assault. Sure, there had been losses, but they were replaceable (by Soviet standards). What mattered was that the fascists were being ground down. One day Russia would be free of them, and perhaps one day Germany, too, would be free.

As he prepared to make his report, Korsak reflected on how close he had come to a reckoning with von Schroif. The intelligence had been good and accurate, but it hadn’t been enough. Next time, there could be no mistakes. Radios were becoming standard, but the Germans still held the advantage over the Soviets. There was too much opportunity for his foe to manoeuvre.

Korsak calculated that what he really needed was to be able to draw von Schroif onto marshy, wooded terrain, where the German’s ability to manoeuvre would be curtailed, and perhaps a screen of anti-tank guns could do their work. Woods were what he thought were needed. He thought of the trackless forests outside his native Leningrad; difficult going with plenty of tree cover. Surely there had to be a way to level the playing field and draw von Schroif northwards.

“Heil… and good morning, Herr Arnholdt,” Von Schroif said to a rather dishevelled looking Kurt Arnholdt.

The engineer returned the German greeting, shooting out his right arm with the enthusiasm of one who has fully subscribed to the National Socialist vision.

“Heil Hitler… Heil von Schroif! It’s really you!”

“Astonishing… haven’t seen you since KAMA,” said von Schroif. “You’ve obviously been eating well!”

“You haven’t changed a bit… thank God you are here!” replied Arnholdt.

“That’s the question I’ve been asking… why me?”

“That’s down to me, I’m afraid. I’ve been agitating for you to have this assignment. It’s been the devil’s own job. In the end I had to get old Sepp to pull a few strings and have a word in the ear of the Führer. Things don’t look good, Hans. I’ve heard he’s going to cancel the whole Mark VI contract and project, and stick with Krupp for everything.”

“We can’t allow that to happen,” said von Schroif anxiously. “I can’t blame him though. Seven kilometres from the railhead to here and the damn thing broke down 15 times. Junge had to drive pins into the final drive mechanism just to keep her going. Mind you, Dr Porsche’s effort was even worse… I did offer to give it a tow, on the most polite of terms, you understand.”

Arnholdt gave a wry smile. “It’s a good design, but its engine is too over-engineered. A hybrid petrol/electric he calls it. Great on paper, but it eats copper and you just can’t get components like that these days. Ours is much better… Maybach will never let you down.”

“You would say that,” replied von Schroif with a friendly grin. “You’ve put enough in their pockets.”

“It’s not just that, its professional pride… and a genuine concern for my racial comrades at the front. She’s still a prototype Hans, it’s a work in progress. If we can have two years, the Mark VI will be the finest fighting vehicle in the world.”

“Two years! You want us to hold out there for another two years while you tinker around back here? How about we swap jobs? You fight the Ivans in Krupp’s tin can, and I’ll hang around in Kassel with the fräuleins!”

“No thanks, Hans… You wouldn’t want me at the front… unless you want the Russians to win the war! Seriously though, I am glad you are here.”

“And I am glad to be here, Herr Arnholdt. It is vital that we bring something a little more robust to the front line. We are losing too many fine crews. If I can do my bit to rectify that, then you can count on me.”

Given von Schroif’s description of the shambolic nature of the journey from the railhead, a panzermann could be forgiven for having some anger at the raw state of the machine, but Hans von Schroif had known Kurt Arnholdt for many a year, and Arnholdt was quick to make him aware of the short time frame involved.

The order for the Mark VI heavy tank had only been received on the 26th of May the previous year, and the engineers and designers had worked every hour God sent to meet their obligations, but von Schroif knew and trusted the fact that Arnholdt was a tanker’s designer and that he had their best interests at heart.

“You’re right, we’ve got to have it. The Acht-acht is essential,” said von Schroif.

“Exactly! I think it is vital to the interests of the Reich that we win this trial today. I say that not through professional pride or, God forbid, for… er… commercial reasons, but for the sake of our men at the front. I believe in my heart of hearts that you will be driving Germany’s best option today, but it is important that you know the machine and its capabilities. It has many strengths, but unfortunately some weaknesses too, although nothing that a good crew will find too daunting.

“You, young man,” Arnholdt continued, gesturing at Bobby, “your role cannot be overestimated today. This exercise will not be about gunnery, or bravery, or steadfastness on the field of battle◦– this will be about engines, about speed, reliability and manoeuvrability. It’s about you, SS-Panzerschütze Bobby Junge.”

“Don’t worry, Herr Arnholdt,” interrupted the incorrigible Otto Wohl. “Bobby ate all the technical manuals for dinner last night, and he’s been regurgitating this stuff all day.”

This seemed to put Kurt Arnholdt in a better mood, and he said in an almost conspiratorial tone to Junge, “So, you’ll remember, it’s all about the regenerative steering final drive gearbox…” at which he tapped his nose and smiled. From the blank looks on four faces it was obvious that this meant nothing to anyone, except Bobby Junge, who nodded and smiled appreciatively.

Korsak was not a man to be thwarted by a tank in need of repair. As the workshop platoon sucked in air through their teeth, like mechanics everywhere, and calculated the time needed to find and fit a replacement of the barrel, he bluntly refused the offer of a replacement T-34.

Captain Androv, the officer in charge of the repair platoon, was visibly nervous when suddenly confronted by Comrade Kommissar Korsak. He stood by, ready to take a roasting over his failure to immediately get the tank back in fighting shape. To his huge relief, the request from Korsak was an innocuous one.

“Can you please arrange for three cavalry horses and a Protivo-Tankovoye Ruzhyo Degtyarev anti-tank rifle with two hundred and forty rounds to be at my disposal tonight?”

“Why certainly, kommissar. I am on good terms with Major Demjinski over at the cavalry HQ, and I am sure he will oblige.”

“I know, that’s why I asked you, and please make sure that two are equipped for riding, and a third pack horse is equipped as shown. I require them at 10 o’clock tonight.”