Killing the Beast

(Source)

This night was darker than the one before, inside the damaged KV-1 tank, it was darker still. Serzhánt Nikodim Yanovich Borisyuk stood in the turret hatch as he kept an eye on his surroundings. Yesterday's attack had started so well, then those damned Fascists with the flamethrower had fried some of the infantry and spooked the rest. The mine going off under the right track, which blew Comrade Lieutenant Usilov into the next world, if there was one, had broken the attack completely.

The subsequent Fascist attack from the Russian left rear had completely unnerved the infantry, most of whom had fled back to the ruins of the kolkhoz. Only the old Czarist sergeant and three men had stayed behind to cover the tank. For which Borisyuk had thanked the Almighty.

Borisyuk was not a Communist, though he pretended to believe whatever the Politruk wanted him to believe, he had his doubts. His mother's mother, his beloved babushka,¹ had dragged him to church whenever she went, which was often. She felt it was important for her only grandson to believe as she did. Which he did, but only to a point. He still prayed, he still believed in a power greater than himself, a power he knew was not the damned Party. But as going to church was frowned upon, he didn't.

He was on watch at the moment, his crew and the four infantrymen were all catching some much needed sleep. It had taken some convincing to get Stárshiy Serzhánt Filipov to let him take the watch. The old sergeant had insisted that Borisyuk take his PPD-40.

"If the Fascists come in the night, better to have a submachine gun than a pistol, Niko. This one is a good boy and has killed many Fascists, including that damned flamethrower boy yesterday. If you fire it, my boys will be awake in an instant to help."

The gun was lying on the turret roof at the moment, he figured that he could reach it easily, should he need it.

He felt someone tug on his foot. "Hey Comrade Sergeant, let me up, I need to stretch my legs and take a piss."

He recognized the voice of his driver, Efréĭtor Yaroslav Vitalievich Pashin.

"All right Slava, all right, hold your water, I'm a bit stiff myself." Borisyuk laughed at his own little joke as he climbed out of the hatch. The KV-1 only had two, one over the machine gunner's position in the bow, and his own hatch in the turret. Getting in and out of the tank could be a cumbersome process.

He sat atop the hatch, no point in getting back in while Slava did his business. He heard his driver a moment later give a loud sigh then he heard the sound of the man letting his stream flow.

"By all the saints Slava, you sound like a horse pissing on a flat rock!"

"Been holding it a while Comrade Sergeant, feels good to let it out."

Borisyuk chuckled, Slava was a good man, and an even better tank driver. As the driver clambered back up onto the turret roof he accidently nudged the PPD-40 over the side.

"Damn, sorry Comrade, let me fetch that for you." Pashin began to climb back down.

"No, I'll get it, I should piss too. I promised the old sergeant I'd wake him around now anyway."

"All right, suit yourself Comrade, I'm going back to sleep!"

Not far from the Russian tank, Fahnenjunker-Feldwebel Jürgen von Lüttwitz and his squad had worked their way forward. The lieutenant had told him to get close, but not too close. The company had gathered the three mortar teams, one from each platoon, in one place. They would start the party on the firing of a flare.

Von Lüttwitz looked up and back towards his own lines, he was expecting a green flare at any moment. Then he saw a trail of sparks arching skyward, a pop, then the bright light appeared over the Russian position. A green light.

Borisyuk froze as the artificial light illuminated the area. He could see Filipov just getting up from where he had slept, fitfully. He too froze.

But the tank was all too obvious even in the fading light of the dying flare. In the distance, both men heard the sharp barks as someone began firing mortars. German mortars.

Borisyuk ran for the KV and climbed aboard just as the first mortar bomb landed some twenty meters short of his position. He could hear the hissing of fragments passing close by as he slammed his hatch shut.

His crew were looking at him with looks of fear. The gunner, Krasnoarmeyets Vitomir Victorovich Karzhov, licked his lips and said, "No sweat comrades, those are 81s, they'd have to drop one through an open hatch to hurt us."

The loader and the bow gunner/radioman, Krasnoarmeyets Lavrentiy Alesnarovich Rabrenovich and Krasnoarmeyets Bogdan Germanovich Tolstokozhev looked at each other, then at their sergeant.

Borisyuk started to speak, then a round landed practically next to the tank, the noise was stupendous. He yelled, "Slava is right, but it's not us they're after!"

Tolstokozhev crawled down into his seat and manned his machine gun. He was as ready as he could be.

When the mortar fire stopped, the silence was eerie.

"Turn on the engine Slava, headlights, everything, Lavrentiy Alesnarovich, load high explosive and keep loading until I say stop, or you're dead!"

"Da, tovarishch Serzhánt!"

Tolstokozhev thought he saw movement to his front, he fired a burst from his machine gun, but nothing was there. Borisyuk swore he heard something on the back deck of the KV. He pressed his face to the rear-facing periscope, nothing, he could see nothing. Then it struck him, his periscope was blocked!

Leutnant Acker was on top of the Soviet Panzer, he had had the idea of firing his pistol into the tank, but in the dark he could find nothing to fire through. He was startled when the hatch on the turret began to open, he reached for a grenade but didn't make it in time. The vehicle commander sprayed a burst from a submachine gun which swept Acker off the tank.

He was on the ground, hit in both legs. He managed to crawl away from the Panzer, one of the men dragged him back farther.

"What now?!" the man, who he didn't recognize, yelled at him.

Acker had no idea.

Hauptmann Busch could feel the attack starting to stall, it seemed to be a stalemate. The tank was now unsupported, they had driven off or killed the supporting infantry, but they had nothing to hurt the tank with.

One man darted forward, Busch thought him insane. Then he recognized the man, it was von Lüttwitz! Had the man lost his mind?

From some dark recess of memory, von Lüttwitz remembered the diameter of the M39 Eihandgranate² was only 6 centimeters, the cannon on the Russian tank had to be at least 7.6 centimeters. He armed the grenade as he ran forward.

Miraculously he managed to stuff the grenade in the barrel, with any luck he could at least disable the main gun. He dove for cover as the bow machine gun fired, missing him by a hair's breadth.

As he rolled farther into the dark, he could hear someone screaming inside the tank.

The gunner, Karzhov, saw something moving in front of the tank, he yelled out, "Target! Front! Firing!" then he stomped the trigger.

In the next instant the interior of the tank was filled with an unbearably bright light and immense heat.

The German grenade had detonated the tank round's warhead. None of the Russian crew had a chance.

Von Lüttwitz's ears were ringing, he had been very close to the explosion when the grenade had gone off. The front of his greatcoat was singed, his helmet was off in the dark somewhere, and his eyebrows were gone.

The Sani was examining him and saying something, but Jürgen had no idea what the man was saying. The Sani patted him on the shoulder and nodded at him, he thought he could make out the man saying that he was all right.

His hearing was gradually coming back, though the ringing continued. He found his canteen with shaking hands and managed to get the cap off, he then took a swig, swirled it around in his mouth, then spat it out. Then he took a long drink.

"Dummer Gottverdammte Held.³ Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Von Lüttwitz was startled, he looked up at his company commander who was smiling, yet rather angry. "Do you think I have so many sergeants in the company that I can let them sacrifice themselves? Damn it, what if you'd been killed man?! We already lost a platoon leader!"

Jürgen looked at his captain, "Leutnant Acker? Is he ...?"

"No, he's alive but he won't be walking for quite some time. If you can stop with the idiotic heroics, I'd like you to take over 3rd Platoon until we get a replacement, or battalion let's you keep the job, or you get yourself killed pulling another asinine stunt like that."

"Herr Hauptmann, I saw an opportunity and took a chance ..."

"Yes, a rather large chance. We would have killed the tank eventually without your heroics. But we might have lost more men doing so, so for now, well done!" Busch clapped von Lüttwitz roughly on the shoulder, then continued.

"Who should take your squad, Wittman? Or should I bring in another sergeant?"

"Sepp is ready, Sir."

"Very well. Now go find your f**king helmet."

When the sun arose, a column of trucks from an anti-tank unit passed by the knocked out KV-1. A number of the Germans noted the small size of their AT guns compared to the big Russian Panzer.

Another indication that this war with Russia was not going to be as easy as Herr Goebbels and his ilk preached.

Not by a long shot.

¹ бабушка, grandmother (Russian)

² Literally "egg hand grenade" (German)

³ Stupid Goddamned hero.