Smoke was coming from the engine. These damned Panthers had a tendency to burn all too easily. Gus swore like a madman as he bailed out of his escape hatch. The others joined to take cover in a shell hole, taking their personal weapons with them. They huddled together as the KV-1 heavy tank sent another round into the Panther, the ammunition inside going off like fireworks. Tracers raced over the sky as the Panther burst open, burning. The Germans had won the day, but were now so bled out they could do little else than hold their positions. There were no replacements for the armor and men that had been lost.
Captain Heidemann found them walking to the rear. They climbed aboard his tank to ride to their battalion HQ, what was left of it. With the dark, Langer put his crew into an abandoned bunker with orders to get some sleep. He would see what was going to happen next.
On 10 July, the allies invaded Sicily.
At Wolfshanze in East Prussia, the Fuhrer raged at Kluge and Manstein. His eyes sweaty, a noticeable tic playing on his face, he cursed the Italians for lack of spirit and leadership. He knew Sicily was lost and that the next step for the allies would be an invasion of the Italian mainland and into the Balkans.
Turning to Manstein the Fuhrer spoke in a low voice, trying to control the rage that ate at him. "If this happens, our whole southern European flank will be threatened. That I cannot let happen. It is necessary that we reinforce our units in Italy, and to do that I will have to pull divisions back from the battle for Kursk. There is no other place I can get them. It is my order then that Operation Citadel be stopped."
While the Führer conferred with his generals, Langer sat on the ground outside a Russian izba (hut), one of the few left standing. Heidemann tried to gather what remained of his unit into a cohesive force. They were scattered all over the battlefield. Of the twenty he started with, only nine tanks remained and these were in sore need of repairs and fuel.
Breaking away from his radio, he took out a bottle of cherished Calvados brandy from the happier days in France. Pulling the cork with his teeth, he took a long pull of the hot, sweet, apple- flavored brandy. Wiping his lips, he handed it to Langer.
"Look like you could use a pull."
Langer nodded wearily, his face looking as if he were getting ready for a minstrel show. Only the eyes and mouth were clear of soot and dirt. Leaning his head back, he opened his throat and let the sweet burning slide down to his stomach, where it settled in a warm glow.
"It was a bitch out there today, Captain. What's next? Do I get a new tank?"
Heidemann laughed bitterly, "New tank, new tank. There's not a new tank to be had. Until you reach Berlin, this is it. Nine fucking Panthers out of twenty and I don't know what's going to happen next. Until someone at command makes some sense out of this mess, you'll just have to tag along as best you can. There's nothing I can do for you unless you can find your own tank somewhere. You'll just have to join in with the infantry for the time being. Now go back to your crew and get some rest. Scavenge whatever weapons you can find, especially MGs. If Ivan hits us tonight, we'll need everything we have just to make it through the first attack. Now get out of here."
Langer sent Gus and Stefan off to scrounge what they could from the smoking hulks that lay around them. A belt of machine-gun ammo here, a bag of grenades there, a half-buried loaf of bread with only a little mold on one end that could easily be cut off.
Somewhere, Gus came up with three bottles of vodka. Speaking as low as he could, he said to Carl, "You did say the captain said we would have to walk unless we found our own tank didn't you?"
Langer took a pull from one of the bottles. "That's right, you great hulking ape, and the only good thing about it is at least we'll be in the open and I won't have to smell you fart all day."
Gus sucked his lower lip
Captain Heidemann found them walking to the rear. They climbed aboard his tank to ride to their battalion HQ, what was left of it. With the dark, Langer put his crew into an abandoned bunker with orders to get some sleep. He would see what was going to happen next.
On 10 July, the allies invaded Sicily.
At Wolfshanze in East Prussia, the Fuhrer raged at Kluge and Manstein. His eyes sweaty, a noticeable tic playing on his face, he cursed the Italians for lack of spirit and leadership. He knew Sicily was lost and that the next step for the allies would be an invasion of the Italian mainland and into the Balkans.
Turning to Manstein the Fuhrer spoke in a low voice, trying to control the rage that ate at him. "If this happens, our whole southern European flank will be threatened. That I cannot let happen. It is necessary that we reinforce our units in Italy, and to do that I will have to pull divisions back from the battle for Kursk. There is no other place I can get them. It is my order then that Operation Citadel be stopped."
While the Führer conferred with his generals, Langer sat on the ground outside a Russian izba (hut), one of the few left standing. Heidemann tried to gather what remained of his unit into a cohesive force. They were scattered all over the battlefield. Of the twenty he started with, only nine tanks remained and these were in sore need of repairs and fuel.
Breaking away from his radio, he took out a bottle of cherished Calvados brandy from the happier days in France. Pulling the cork with his teeth, he took a long pull of the hot, sweet, apple- flavored brandy. Wiping his lips, he handed it to Langer.
"Look like you could use a pull."
Langer nodded wearily, his face looking as if he were getting ready for a minstrel show. Only the eyes and mouth were clear of soot and dirt. Leaning his head back, he opened his throat and let the sweet burning slide down to his stomach, where it settled in a warm glow.
"It was a bitch out there today, Captain. What's next? Do I get a new tank?"
Heidemann laughed bitterly, "New tank, new tank. There's not a new tank to be had. Until you reach Berlin, this is it. Nine fucking Panthers out of twenty and I don't know what's going to happen next. Until someone at command makes some sense out of this mess, you'll just have to tag along as best you can. There's nothing I can do for you unless you can find your own tank somewhere. You'll just have to join in with the infantry for the time being. Now go back to your crew and get some rest. Scavenge whatever weapons you can find, especially MGs. If Ivan hits us tonight, we'll need everything we have just to make it through the first attack. Now get out of here."
Langer sent Gus and Stefan off to scrounge what they could from the smoking hulks that lay around them. A belt of machine-gun ammo here, a bag of grenades there, a half-buried loaf of bread with only a little mold on one end that could easily be cut off.
Somewhere, Gus came up with three bottles of vodka. Speaking as low as he could, he said to Carl, "You did say the captain said we would have to walk unless we found our own tank didn't you?"
Langer took a pull from one of the bottles. "That's right, you great hulking ape, and the only good thing about it is at least we'll be in the open and I won't have to smell you fart all day."
Gus sucked his lower lip
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