The Parthian Shot

PzKw III - North Africa
(Source)

Hoffmeister stared in disbelief at Schumacher. Somehow, in the middle of nowhere, the man had found alcohol, enough to get himself blind drunk.

At morning roll call the man had been absent. After they'd refueled and rearmed Panzer 413, Hoffmeister went looking for his errant crewmember. He'd found the man sleeping it off with some rear area men.

Hoffmeister drew his sidearm, then kicked Schumacher, hard.

The drunken soldier stirred, muttering, "Who the Hell ...?" Schumacher opened his eyes and found himself staring down the barrel of Hoffmeister's pistol.

"Uffz, what's going on, I was just spending some time with my friends here and ..."

Shaking with anger Hoffmeister hissed at Schumacher, "What did I tell you Schumacher? I warned you about this shit, didn't I?"

Schumacher stood up, adjusting his clothing as he did so, "Sorry Uffz, but these two guys are buddies of mine from the old ..."

"I don't give a damn who they are, get your arse back to 413 before I shoot you. I should shoot you, you drunken bastard."

"Hey Uffz ..."

"It's Herr Unteroffizier to you, now move!"

"Lads, this is our new man, Alan Caddick, late of the 11th Hussars. Been here in Africa since ...?"

"February of 1940, Sar'nt. Drove armoured cars before this." Caddick had a pronounced Welsh accent which immediately gave Fitzhugh a smile.

"Where are ye from boyo?" Fitzhugh asked.

"Abergwyngregyn in Caernarvonshire, the seat of ..." Caddick began to explain before Fitzhugh cut him off.

"A Welshman, no doubt Fred McTavish would be laughing his arse off if he knew this."

O'Connell gave Fitzhugh a look, which stopped any further comment. "Don't mind the lads Alan, why did you leave your regiment?"

"Wasn't my idea Sar'nt, the Army needed drivers in the 3rd Royal Tanks, I'm a driver, a damned good one at that."

"Wot, no more holding onto our hats when Fitzie slams the brakes on, or takes a hard corner?" Bill O'Shea laughed as he threw Fitzhugh a look.

Fitzhugh looked surprised, "If I'm not the driver ..."

"You're my new gunner Fitzie. I know you can handle it. Also, you're now a Lance Corporal, get that stripe on as soon as you can." O'Connell tossed Fitzhugh a pair of stripes he'd cadged from the supply men.

"Be still my beating heart ..." Fitzhugh grinned as he caught the stripes.

Oberfeldwebel Kurt Weber signaled for the platoon to advance, the Tommies were falling back after hitting the Afrika Korps' anti-tank gun line.

From his hatch, Hoffmeister could see the smoke plumes from numerous burning vehicles. An involuntary shiver ran up his spine as they passed close to a knocked out British tank, the remains of its commander lay atop the turret, burned beyond recognition. Not the first time Hoffmeister had seen that, probably not the last time either.

Looking to his front again, Hoffmeister could see the beginning blossoms of artillery explosions on the next rise in the ground. No doubt the British were there, waiting, hull down, to strike back. Time to button up and prepare for battle.

"Looks like a Mark Three coming over that rise, Teddy." Fitzhugh's eye had been drawn to barely perceived motion which soon grew into the turret of a German tank. "I make the range to be a thousand yards."

O'Connell was watching through his own field glasses, "Agreed, take him when the hull is exposed."

Fitzhugh was watching and waiting, the German was within the effective range of the tank's 2-pounder gun, but before giving away his position, Fitzhugh wanted to be certain of a kill. His eyebrows arched up in surprise as the German crested the rise, then began to pivot to its right, exposing the weaker side armor.

"Firing!" Fitzhugh called as he stomped on the trigger.

Within a heartbeat, O'Shea called out, "Up!" meaning that another round was in the gun, and it was ready to fire.

"Firing!" Fitzhugh called out again.

His first round had stopped the German tank, but its turret was rotating in their direction, indicating that the vehicle was still in the fight. Fitzhugh's second round went in near the driver's position.

Oberfeldwebel Kurt Weber felt intense heat on his legs, as if a red-hot poker had been drawn across his calves. Things were happening far too fast.

First an unseen Tommy had put a round into his tank's engine compartment, causing the tank to abruptly pull up short. Then ...

"Fritz, what the Hell is ..." As he had been calling his driver on the intercom, a second round had come in through Fritz Mannerheim's side vision slit. Mannerheim had opened it to let some air into the crew's cabin.

The round had hit the inside of the hull just in front of the driver then shattered into fragments. Some of those fragments killed Mannerheim instantly and mortally wounded the bow gunner, Hans Wunsche.

Another fragment cut Weber across both legs, breaking his right tibia in the process. The loader, Herbert Zeitz, was wounded by the same fragment. He fell unconscious to the turret floor.

Gunner Max Schulte was frantically opening his hatch in the turret wall, he could smell something burning. As he crawled out of his hatch, one of the high explosive rounds in the ready rack detonated, throwing him clear of the vehicle, but he died within seconds of hitting the ground.

Weber was trying to pull himself up and out of his commander's cupola when the round detonated. What remained of his body sank back into the burning turret. He died as his tank burned.

"Jesus, 411 has had it." Hoffmeister had watched as the flames had burst from the open hatches as Weber's tank brewed up. He saw a man thrown from a hatch but couldn't see what had happened to him. It struck him that he was now the senior man in the platoon with Weber out of action.

"First platoon, this is 413, Oberfeldwebel Weber is down. I'm taking command. All tanks, reverse back over the rise, we'll try and maneuver to our right after that. Execute!"

Fitzhugh fired another round at the retreating Germans, it hit but glanced off the turret armor of the target. That tank kept reversing until it was out of sight. As he searched for another target, O'Connell ordered a cease fire. The Germans had pulled back over the rise.

"Caddick, start reversing, slowly laddie. Everyone else keep your eyes peeled to your front, we've stopped Jerry for now, but he'll be back, probably in a foul mood as well. Nice shooting Fitzie, you killed at least one Hun."

After thirty minutes of reversing, stopping to watch, then reversing again, it was clear that it would be some time before the Germans continued their pursuit. Battalion ordered a full retreat back to where they had started the offensive.

Operation Battleaxe¹ was a bust.

¹ You can read more about Battleaxe here.