Amazing Gun
Compass Games: Spring Prelude-2nd Kharkov 1942 (a Counterfactual)
Александр Ильич Родимцев or Major General Aleksandr Ilich Rodimtsev strode towards the shelled out building posing as a makeshift aid station, doffing his cover, straightening his blouse. He paused, surveyed the roughly set up medical station and grimaced briefly before entering, it was a smell he would never get used to. But he had a man to see.
He walked the rows of the wounded, maimed and dying. Encouraging where he could, pausing for comrades from the Spanish Civil War, making sure these heroes and veterans of the great cause were taken care of by the orderlies and doctors. Among the rows, hands waved, some tried to sit up. The men ignored their pain for a moment to acknowledge, salute, honor their leader. He was beloved.
Aleksandr, warmed to the reception, pushed his grief aside, and filled the role of the victorious leader. Timoshenko had been correct. The early launch of the assault worked. They were inside Kharkov, now fighting street to muddy street.
Aleksandr, saw who he was looking for, strode across the room, and sat down gingerly, he offered a cigarette with a wry but concerned smile. ‘Rodion, brother, comrade, you fought like a true bear of the Rodina these last 3 days. 39th Battalion will not be the same without you leading the way until you are well. Tell me how were you wounded? ‘
‘Aleksandr my dear. You humour me. It was no more or no less than you would do, or have done before. Remember the smell of the Cedars, and Pines of the Spanish highlands? The crisp exhausting thin air? Well it was nothing like that Aleksandr, no.’ He coughed as he spoke, and tried to laugh at his lame joke about the plains and swamps of Kharkov.
Bloody phlegm trickled out, his face attempted to mask the pain.
He spat, thick blood to the floor. ‘After the river crossing and the dogged fighting something changed. The Germans stopped counter attacking. Rather they fell back. At first, I thought it a trap. But then your messages spurred us on. Your information explaining how 22nd and 23rd Tank Corp had secured our northern flank, and delayed the German Panzer divisions, and the fall of Chuguyav…. You know I bedded a nice Ukraine girl from there once Aleksandr. What a beauty. ‘
He coughed again, more harshly, more blood this time. Aleksandr, waited patiently, then said. ‘I can only imagine her. Tell me how you took this area in the city Rodion.’
‘By the sodden morning of the 9th we had advanced to the outskirts of Kharkov. Three days of bloody fighting for sure. The 34th took the brunt of it, He paused for a raspy breath. ‘Then we transitioned through and there in the distance was the city.
He hacked again; more blood. He gurgled a little and spat again. ‘Let me finish the battle Alek. I grow tired.’
‘We were waiting in the deepest dark and rain, waiting for the time to go. Our brave engineers cleared the way. The damn 8th Sappers made us a veritable highway. We lay wood branches all precut, down for the light tanks, trucks and AT guns, our Infantry charged at 0300. Before the barrage was even over!
It was risky Alek, some ran too fast on foot to get to cover and we shelled our men. Others died in the sporadic enemy fire from the fucking MG 34’s. What a weapon eh?
American trucks, those GMC then carried the second wave of us forward rapidly, splaying mud, swerving, right up to them as the last shells fell. The light tanks covered us. ‘ He paused far away for a moment. Smiling.
‘The German fought but reeled, bayonets, grenade, fists, blood red mud Alek. I’ve never seen the likes of it before. But soon we were in the city. Building to shattered building we rooted them out. We lost too many. They milked the 34th Battalion,then us. But the 42nd Battalion finished them Aleksandr. Barely any survi….’ hack, hack, coughing and gasping for air. ‘ So the wounds..? I was dragging one of those young idiot replacements back to cover, I don’t know why, he was going to die anyway. That’s when the MG34 got me. Amazing gun eh Alek?’
Rodion looked down at the darkly stained bandages. With a wan sad look in his eye. ‘Amazing gun.’
Aleksandr turned to a Dr, who subtly shook his head, and pointed to the tag at the foot of the filthy cot. The Cyrillic said, DO NOT RESUSCITATE. ‘Bring me vodka, now.’ Aleksander ordered sharply.
‘Then a toast to you Rodion,’ as he took the bottle and two glasses. ‘A toast to you, to the 39th, to a warrior, to a brother, a friend. Za tebya .’ {to you} .
They downed the glass, then another to the Rodina. Rodion, relaxed a little, eased back on teh stained pillow.
‘Yes, Alek, but to you my brother also’ The glass in his hand fell away, Aleksandr caught it deftly. Rodion eyes fluttered. His heart stopped, his breath hitched, once, twice. He was gone.
Alek, gently closed his eyes, held the cooling hand. gently rubbing the back of it.
Rodion was the last of his blood brothers. The war, the Germans had taken them all.
There would be time for revenge.
There would never be time to heal.
Author note: On the table, this was the hinge, not a die roll or a dramatic combat, but a single stack fighting its way into a Kharkov city hex, and the victory-point math changing for the Germans badly, but at cost to Soviet effort.