Bob Carruthers - Tiger Command!

“No concern of mine? I think you are badly mistaken. We are here on the direct orders of the Führer, to carry out a mission vital to the future of the Reich, and this man is pivotal to that task. But please, don’t take my word for it.” Von Schroif turned to his driver. “Junge, I want you to go with Doctor Arnholdt to make immediate contact with three men. One, Obergruppenführer Sepp Dietrich. Two, Albert Speer, Minister for Armaments. And three, the Führer himself.”

Hans then gave Bobby a look which, although powerful, was indecipherable, until he added: “We are doing this for Elvira. Bring her here.” At that, Bobby and a still-shaken Kurt Arnholdt headed off to the rear entrance of shop 4.

Refusing to let up, Hans then continued his tirade against Bremer. The thing now was to hammer a wedge between Bremer and his men.

“If, as I suspect, there has been a mistake here, then, however unfortunate that mistake, there will be consequences. For all of you.”

“Good,” thought Hans. A quick look at the faces of Bremer’s men revealed flickering glimpses of doubt and the crumbling of resolve.

Bremer, however, was not going to give up that easily.

“SS-Haupsturmführer von Schroif, you were present when this man referred to the Führer in terms that are completely unrepeatable and seditious. Were you not?”

“Damn!” thought Hans to himself. “He has me on the back foot. If I admit to this, his colleagues will be re-energised.” But von Schroif knew that excusing Otto’s “gangster” comment would only lead to the same outcome. He needed to try a different tack to buy time.

“Herr…?”

“Bremer, Heinrich Bremer.”

“Can I see your papers please?”

Two grown men were now reduced to sorting out their differences by displaying stupid bits of paper, but it was a request Bremer could not refuse. He flashed his credentials and pressed home his advantage.

“Answer the question please, SS-Haupsturmführer.”

Hans von Schroif changed tack again and adopted the voice of reason. “Of course I’ll answer the question, but may I study your papers first, please?”

Bremer could not refuse that request. However, von Schroif knew that his stalling could only work for so long. “Where was Junge?”

Bremer reluctantly showed von Schroif his papers. Hans took as much time as he could verifying them, but he couldn’t take forever.

“Now, SS-Hauptsturmführer, answer the question.”

Then, just at the right time, Karl Wendorff intervened.

“I am SS-Panzeroberschütze Karl Wendorff. If your memory serves you correctly, I was also present when the alleged comment was made. I have known Otto Wohl for over ten years, I have fought side by side with him in some of the most vicious combat situations imaginable, and he has never been anything other than a loyal and patriotic German soldier.”

“I am SS-Hauptscharführer Michael Knispel. I have nothing to add to my comrade’s comments, other than that they are entirely correct, and I am willing to stand by them with my honour and my life,” added Michael, stepping menacingly close to Bremer.

“Fine words,” answered Bremer. “No less than one would expect from loyal comrades. However, the question remains. SS-Hauptsturmführer, you are a man of honour and you cannot lie. One final time, did you hear what your loader called our Führer?”

Hans knew he that could not lie, and that time was running out. “Where on earth was Junge?” From the corner of his eye, he noticed a group of workers gathering behind Bremer. These men looked hungry, and angry, and had bitter retribution in their eyes.

Michael looked at Bremer and said quietly: “I think we have a situation.”

However, Bremer refused to look behind him. He raised his gun and pointed it directly at von Schroif. The crowd was growing and continued to move quietly upon Bremer, who continued to fix his gaze on Hans von Schroif.

“This is your last chance, von Schroif. Tell the truth, or else.”

Then one of Bremer’s men noticed one of the workers lunging at Bremer from behind with a tank road wheel above his head.

“Sir! Behind you!”

Bremer turned immediately and shot the worker through the face, igniting a tinderbox. The rest of the workers charged him and his men with whatever tool or component they had at hand.

Hans knew they could be next and that, outnumbered, they stood little chance against this crazed, blood-scenting mob. Just at that moment, out of nowhere, came the huge roar of a tank engine. Hans turned and saw a Tiger roar through the gates of shop 4. Here was Junge at last!

“Quick, into the tank!”

All four of them dashed for the safety of the Tiger 1, clambering up over its frontal armour and into the turret. Arnholdt fired some rounds to frighten off the baying crowd. From the commander’s hatch, Hans could make out the pitiful sight of Heinrich Bremer being pulverised by a massive Tiger suspension arm, his bloodied hands outstretched, begging for help.

The small security garrison was running into the factory and shots were already being fired. The situation would soon be under control.

“Leave them, Junge. Reverse gear, and let’s get out of here!”

Dimitri Korsak half-dozed as the KV-1 made its way back to the Russian lines. The full moon lighted their way and it was simply a matter of following the tracks they had left on their outward journey.

The marshy forests outside Leningrad had a marked influence on German strategy. Such roads and railroads as existed in the wilderness were not first-class. Moreover, a demolition which would be merely a nuisance on dry terrain would be disastrous in a region where any detour from a roadbed meant becoming hopelessly bogged down in bogs and swamps. The marshes could not be effectively penetrated by the narrow tracks of the fascist tanks and they were now safe from pursuit.

The German axis of advance was determined by the disposition of highways and railroads. The fascists had no tank capable of following in their wake. So, for once, Korsak could relax and allow his tired brain to taste the sleep it craved. As he dozed off, he took confidence from the fact that brave men like Boris Stankov were in these woods and marshes in considerable force, and were beginning to seriously harass the German flanks and rear.

The situation in the woods and marshy flanks could not be ignored. At every crossroad or junction, a German task force had to be constituted to cope with a possible Russian attack which, if neglected, might threaten the flank or cut off communications.

Korsak drifted off in satisfaction at the knowledge that the fascists were becoming irked by the cost of the operations, knowing that a full-scale battle had to be fought for each miserable forest village, which was tactically, operationally, and strategically worthless in the first instance, and a useless pile of charred wood and rubble when captured.

Hans von Schroif listened intently as a still-shaken Kurt Arnholdt paced up and down his office.

“Spies, saboteurs, shootings, executions, and the murder of four agents of the Gestapo… This does not look good, Hans. Where were our factory guards? What will Berlin make of our security arrangements? Production has been held up… This does us no favours at all…”

“There are various factors, some of which you have no control over, Herr Arnholdt. Major Rondorf told me of the labour shortages and the calibre of men now being forced to work for you. This does you no favours. Neither do the working conditions, which are obviously going to be a breeding ground for resentment. I understand your concerns.

“However, that does not take away from the magnificent work you and your team have done on this tank. It is my firm belief that this is where the final judgement shall fall. If this tank lives up to expectations, then I believe all other considerations will slowly fade. Trust me, once good German crews get their hands on this wonderful Tiger, Ivan will not know what has hit him, and there will be dancing in the halls and corridors of the Reichschancellery!”