Bob Carruthers - Tiger Command!

On the previous day, the Volkhov Front offensive had started, and Ivan had punched a 3 km hole in the German line. Catching the Germans by surprise, the Russian 8th Army had enjoyed initial success. Army Group North had been preparing for its own offensive, the Nordlicht Offensive, aimed at breaking Leningrad’s spirit once and for all. Army Group North, however, had rallied, and the newly-arrived 170th Infantry Division, many of whom were still at Mga, had helped shore up positions, along with the redeployment of the 5th Mountain and 28th Light Infantry.

For his part, Otto Wohl was itching to get into a fight, and kept asking every five minutes if they had their orders yet. Hans von Schroif was a bit more circumspect. He was to rendezvous with Major List from the army. He was pleased that someone else would take the lead, with responsibility for the Kampfgruppe, and leave him to command his tanks. The sheer scale of the troop movements around the railhead was daunting. “How many trains were arriving and leaving?”

Hans noticed a tall figure striding toward him, a figure who bore all the hallmarks of a man who knew his mission.

“Good morning! Hauptsturmführer von Schroif, I presume. Welcome to Army Group North,” said the tall officer, giving the regular army salute. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am, not only to meet you, but to get acquainted with those magnificent new machines of yours.”

Instinctively, von Schroif clicked his heels and gave the German greeting. “Heil Hitler! SS-Hauptsturmführer von Schroif, reporting for duty, sir!”

“Yes, yes, that’s all very good,” continued the officer. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself… Major List.”

“Despite his obvious lack of enthusiasm for the National Socialist cause, List seems an agreeable fellow,” thought von Schroif. The kind of man one could have confidence in. He would not have been selected otherwise. The feeling of confidence deepened as the new orders were quickly outlined by List.

They seemed straightforward. Join Kampfgruppe List at Mga, then drive north to the assembly and supply point. From there, the four Tigers were to take part in an attack on the southern flank of the Soviet advance. With simultaneous attacks from the north and centre, it was hoped to nip the Soviet attack in the bud. The Führer expected hourly updates on their progress and was informally reported to be “on thorns” to hear how the Tigers performed in their first combat.

“So, all we have to do is single-handedly conquer Leningrad, and then on Tuesday we can turn our attention to Moscow, Herr Hauptsturmführer.” Von Schroif made no immediate reply, and List continued. “Then, finally, on Friday, we head south to Georgia and decapitate the monster in his lair.”

List spoke with a tone not so much of irony, but from the viewpoint of a battle-hardened veteran who had long given up notions of the strategically grandiose. In this, he shared an opinion with many who, since Barbarossa, over a year ago, had come to the opinion that, however brightly it had started, this war was going to go the course and be fought river by river, hill by hill, and inch by bloody inch.

“I’m sorry to correct you, Herr Major, but we do not use the term Herr in the Waffen SS.”

“I stand corrected, Herr Haupsturmführer, but let’s leave the politics aside and fight the Russians first, eh?”

Even von Schroif had to smile.

List continued. “As instructed, we have carried out a thorough reconnaissance of the route to the front, including checking every bridge for its ability to bear a combined vehicle weight of sixty tonnes.”

“Sorry to have to correct you again, sir, but it’s not combined weight… its individual weight.”

“A single vehicle?” came the surprised response from Major List.

“That’s right, sir. I suggest it might be best if we check the route again. We don’t want any bridges collapsing on us.”

“Of course not. I’ll get the Kübelwagen ready. We can go together and get to know each other.”

As the Kübelwagen carrying von Schroif and List travelled across the wooded and undulating terrain of the rollbahn, the two men began to realise that, politics apart, the other was not such a bad egg after all. After what seemed, to von Schroif anyway, a wary start, they gradually relaxed and began to enjoy each other’s company.

As experienced East Front veterans, they kept an eye open for anything untoward. Fortunately, there were few bridges, and the dry weather meant there were no culverts or water courses to concern them.

“The next bridge is about five kilometres ahead. It was just past there that we had the business with the White Devil in the KV-1,” offered List.

“Are you sure, sir?” replied von Schroif.

“Sure as can be. I lost two of my best combat engineers…”

“It’s just that I thought he was on the southern sector. I have had brushes with him in the past.”

“Well, if you have any old scores to settle, now’s your chance. I’ll show you where the bastard destroyed an ambulance column… 500 wounded… burned alive… what a way to go. Horrible.”

“There are scores to settle alright, but how did he get onto the main rollbahn?”

“Came across country, though God knows how… Ours just bog down in these confounded swamps.”

This far behind the lines, there was no sign of danger. The dappled light of the sun streamed through the tree-lined route, and life seemed almost pleasant.

The brief idyll came to a crashing halt as they rounded a bend and began a long decline leading to a short wooden bridge spanning a narrow river. As they approached the bridge, the fact that there were no guards instantly alerted both men. Vital river crossings were guarded by platoon strength, but even small spans, however easily replaceable, should have at least a squad. This bridge had no one on guard.

As they approached, List slowed the Kübelwagen down, and von Schroif spotted the sight the men dreaded. Four field-grey figures lay sprawled in grotesque attitudes on the roadside. The terrifying conclusion was obvious and, for two Eastern Front veterans, it did not need verbalising◦– partisans!

Fortunately for von Schroif and List, Boris Stankov and his men were comparative novices. Emboldened by their first success the previous night, they had slavishly followed Korsak’s suggestion and had wasted no time. They had little difficulty in overcoming the unsuspecting bridge guards, but there had been too little time to plan and organise. The simple fact was that no one in all eighteen members of Stankov’s unit knew for certain how to wire a bridge for destruction.

The equipment had been air-dropped and retrieved alright, but now all the men were gathered under the bridge, attempting to help wire the last of the explosives, or to provide advice on how best to do it. A great deal of advice, not all of it useful, was being given. Suggestions and helpful hints mixed with Stankov’s urgent commands conspired to concealed the arrival of the Kübelwagen. It also masked the soft sound of two men slipping off safety-catches on automatic weapons and stealthily advancing down the bank.

Despite the relative confusion, some bickering, and more than a hint of panic, Stankov was pleased to witness the last of the explosives being wired into position and the detonator primed. All that remained was for the plunger to be rammed home. So intent were he and his crew on achieving their first independent blow against the fascists that, in their amateur enthusiasm, every one of the group felt certain that someone else was keeping a look out.

Keeping low, the grey-clad figure of Major List was now settled in prime firing position, watching as the black-clad figure of von Schroif slipped into his position on the other side of the narrow road.