Sabres in the Snow

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There was a thunderous roar as the shell from the Russian 45 hit the ground. The snow covered earth shook for long seconds and one of the SS men crouched over the detonator box slipped.

“Come on, hurry,” yelled Captain Josef Kleiser, slamming a fresh magazine into the MP40 which he had picked up from one of the men lying beside him. Kleiser’s shouts were swamped by another tidal wave of sound as the entire Russian battery opened up again. From such close range, shells powered into the rock hard earth, some skidding on the icy surface. One skittered for a few yards then exploded, showering those nearby with lumps of red hot metal. One piece, the size of a football, slammed into the side of a stationary krupp and carved a path right through the cab, slicing the driver in two and decapitating the other man in the cab. The ten-ton lorry teetered on two of its mighty wheels for interminable seconds then keeled over with a loud crash. Men who had been using it for cover hastily scattered.

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