Panthers and Tigers of the 47th Panzer Corps poured through, followed by the grenadiers of the Gross Deutschland Division.
Langer's unit raced on, leaving the mopping up and taking of prisoners to the infantry. They had to advance regardless of risk. Their objective— Oboyan. In one swift rush, despite the Soviet's preparation, the main defensive line was torn open and General Krishoven's mechanized corps thrown into panic as the Tigers and Panthers flanked them, firing accurate controlled shots into the sides and turrets of the T-34s and self-propelled assault guns.
The 6th Guards Army, holding the perimeters facing the Germans, began to crumble with the loss of their armor and they knew there was nothing to stop the Fascists from overrunning them. They began to withdraw, trying to get back to the next defensive ring, only to be caught in the open by German artillery, which tore them to pieces and started the panic of a disorganized retreat. They dropped their guns and ran, every man for himself. Tanks raced after them, crushing them under the treads—they weren't worth wasting bullets on.
Gus screamed in glee as Teacher took a T-34 with a single shot that blew the turret of the enemy tank in the air and left the body of the tank's commander hanging from it half in, half out as the turret landed upside down on him. Another Panther was hit and Langer pulled his alongside to give the crew cover until they could get to a trench. All he had time to see was one of the tankers smash the brains out of a Russian with a shovel, and then the radio crackled in his ears with orders from the command tank. 'On, on. Don't stop for anything again. Go, go, they're breaking.'
Stefan began to hose the mustard-yellow uniforms in front of him, firing in short calculated bursts. He didn't want to burn up the machine gun. Coolly and carefully, Teacher sighted on a staff car and with a nod sent a screaming round into it, leaving only a smoking, burning frame. There was no trace of the Russians, they had just been atomized. To the right of them, the Panthers of GD were in trouble with a mine field and were stalled until the way could be cleared or another way out found.
The surviving Russians ran breathlessly, eyes wide with fear, trying to reach Syrtsevo on the Pena River, the last stronghold before Oboyan.
General Krivoshen hid in a gully, trying to assimilate what he could from a survivor of the 75th Motorized Battalion. He learned all were dead or taken prisoner and were already being hustled back to the holding pens in the rear of the German lines.
Krishoven leaped from the gully and climbed on top of an armored car in time to see his own staff car disappear from the blast. Kicking the driver in the back of the head, he screamed for him to get out of the way and take the machine down a ravine, heading away from the killer tanks. He would organize a counterattack from Srytsevo.
Langer's tank rumbled through the side of a peasant's hut, then stopped dead in its tracks inside the shack. Leaning down, Langer cursed Gus. 'What the fuck are you doing, you moron? Get us out of here!'
Gus grinned. 'Don't get your ass in an uproar, Sarge.' Showing one gold tooth, he swung open his escape hatch and jumped out, taking two giant steps to a table surprisingly still standing in the wreckage. Grabbing an item from it, he leaped back through the hatch and into his seat. Battening the steel cover down over him, he gunned the motor and the forty-five tons of steel broke through the other side of the shack and back into the open. Teacher kicked Gus on the shoulder. 'What the hell was that all about, you maniac?'
Reaching in his coat, Gus took out a bottle of vodka. 'It might have gotten broken. . . .'
Teacher gave him a solid boot in the back. 'You mean you stopped the whole fucking war for a bottle of vodka?'
Wounded, Gus said in hurt tones, 'Well, if that's the way you feel about it, you don't have to drink any.'
Teacher shook his head wonderingly and yelled up to Langer. 'He stopped for a bottle of vodka.'
Langer laughed. 'What else? That dumb shit thinks that's the reason Hitler started this war—just for the vodka. He says it doesn't make sense to come to Russia for any other reason, so that's got to be it. Maybe he knows something we don't.'
The smell of diesel fumes and cordite left a sour taste in the mouth. SPAAAAANG. A Russian round bounced off the glacis shield in front and bounced off to explode elsewhere.
'Where is he?' Langer swung the turret using the periscope.
'Got him. Over by that field of trees. The bastard's dug in; just the turret showing. Looks like a KV-I. Can you take him, Teacher?'
The scholar sighted and corrected his azimuth readings a little.
'Fire.' The shell burst directly in front of the Russian tank. Teacher spat on the floor. Before Langer could say anything, he resighted, saying, 'Don't get in a sweat. After all, I'm not used to this thing yet. Give me a little time.'
The next round took the KV-I right at the junction of the hull and turret, exploding the tank from the inside and turning the gunner and loader into shriveled cinders.
A sense of urgency and panic drove them on. One by one, more of the group were knocked out by the Soviet Pakfronts, copied and improved from the German model. The use of up to ten antitank guns under one commander could bring tremendous firepower to bear on a single tank. The first indication you were facing one was usually when your neighbor blew up. That, and the technical problems with the new Panthers, gave Langer a lonesome feeling, as the crackle in his radio informed him he was alone with no infantry support. Upon realization of this, Gus locked the right tread and cut ass back to the rear about four miles, where he pulled into a ravine shared by a couple of Wespe self-propelled guns. The sight of their 105s gave them a feeling of security. Infantry from the GD were digging in for the night.
Had it been that long? They had made six miles. A flight of Shtormoviks droned overhead, the Mikulin engines humming as the pilot and rear gunner looked for targets on the ground.
Brush and branches were quickly thrown on top of the Panther to conceal her from the eyes above. Soon darkness would cover them. Haumpmann Heidemann called asking for his position. The remainder of the unit was digging in for the night with a bunch of Tiger Is of the 6th Company, 1st SS Panzer regiment commanded by Rudolf von Ribbentrop, son of the Reich's famed foreign minister. The crackle of Maxims on the Soviet side let them know Ivan was still there. Angling their tank into position where only the turret showed above the edge of the gully, they waited for the night. Ivan would come. He couldn't afford not to. The night was the time when their numbers gave them the greatest advantage.
The Guards regiment they had mauled would even now be creeping out, grouping together in small knots of
