the Valhalla Exchange (v5) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Jack Higgins
ground.
There was no reality to it at all - none. And then Howard realized why. He couldn't hear a damn thing. Something to do with the explosion probably. Things seemed to be happening in slow motion, as if under water, no noise, not even the whisper of a sound. There was blood on his hands, but he got his field-glasses up to his eyes and traversed the trees on the hillside on the other side of the road. Almost immediately a Tiger tank jumped into view, a young man with pale face in the black uniform of a Sturmbannfuhrer of SS-Panzer Troops, standing in the gun turret, quite exposed. As Howard watched helplessly he saw the microphone raised. The lips moved and then the Tiger's 88 belched flame and smoke.
The man whom Howard had seen in the turret of the lead Tiger was SS-Major Karl Ritter of the 3rd Company, 502nd SS Heavy Tank Battalion, and what was to take place during the ensuing five minutes was probably the single most devastating Tiger action of the Second World War.
Ritter was a Tiger ace with 120 claimed victories on the Russian Front, a man who had learned his business the hard way and knew exactly what he was doing. With only two operational Tigers on the hillside with him, he was hopelessly outnumbered, a fact which a reconnaissance on foot had indicated to him that morning and it was obvious that Denning would expect trouble at the junction with the Salzburg road. Therefore an earlier attack had seemed essential - indeed there was no alternative.
It succeeded magnificently, for on the particular stretch of forest track he had chosen there was no room for any vehicle to reverse or change direction. The first shell from his Tiger's 88 narrowly missed direct contact with the lead jeep, turning it over and putting Howard and his men into the ditch. The second shell, seconds later, brewed up the leading Cromwell tank. Ritter was already transmitting orders to his gunner, Sergeant-Major Erich Hoffer. The 88 traversed again and, a moment later, scored a direct hit on a Bren-gun carrier bringing up the rear.
The entire column was now at a standstill, hopelessly trapped, unable to move forward or back. Ritter made a hand signal, the other two Tigers moved out of the woods on either side and the carnage began.
In the five minutes which followed, their three 88s and six machine guns left thirty armoured vehicles, including eight Cromwell tanks, ablaze.
The front reconnaissance jeep was out of sight among the trees at the junction with the road to Salzburg. O'Grady was sitting behind the wheel, with Hoover beside him lighting a cigarette. Finebaum was a few yards away, directly above the road, squatting against a tree, his M1 across his knees, eating beans from a can with a knife.
O'Grady was eighteen and a replacement of only a few weeks' standing. He said, 'He's disgusting, you know that, Sarge? He not only acts like a pig, he eats like one. And the way he goes on, never stopping talking - making out everything's some kind of bad joke.'
'Maybe it is as far as he's concerned,' Hoover said. 'When we landed at Omaha there were 123 guys in the outfit. Now there are six including you, and you don't count worth a shit. And don't ever let Finebaum fool you. He's got a pocket full of medals somewhere, just for the dead men he's left around.'
There was the sudden dull thunder of heavy gunfire down in the valley below, the rattle of a machine gun.
Finebaum hurried towards the jeep, rifle in hand. 'Hey, Harry, that don't sound too good to me. What you make of it?'
'I think maybe somebody just made a bad mistake.' Hoover slapped O'Grady on the shoulder. 'Okay, kid, let's get the hell out of here.'
Finebaum scrambled into the rear and positioned himself behind the Browning heavy machine gun as O'Grady reversed quickly and started back down the track to the valley road. The sound of firing was continuous now, interspersed with one heavy explosion after another, and then they rounded a bend and found a Tiger tank moving up
There was no reality to it at all - none. And then Howard realized why. He couldn't hear a damn thing. Something to do with the explosion probably. Things seemed to be happening in slow motion, as if under water, no noise, not even the whisper of a sound. There was blood on his hands, but he got his field-glasses up to his eyes and traversed the trees on the hillside on the other side of the road. Almost immediately a Tiger tank jumped into view, a young man with pale face in the black uniform of a Sturmbannfuhrer of SS-Panzer Troops, standing in the gun turret, quite exposed. As Howard watched helplessly he saw the microphone raised. The lips moved and then the Tiger's 88 belched flame and smoke.
The man whom Howard had seen in the turret of the lead Tiger was SS-Major Karl Ritter of the 3rd Company, 502nd SS Heavy Tank Battalion, and what was to take place during the ensuing five minutes was probably the single most devastating Tiger action of the Second World War.
Ritter was a Tiger ace with 120 claimed victories on the Russian Front, a man who had learned his business the hard way and knew exactly what he was doing. With only two operational Tigers on the hillside with him, he was hopelessly outnumbered, a fact which a reconnaissance on foot had indicated to him that morning and it was obvious that Denning would expect trouble at the junction with the Salzburg road. Therefore an earlier attack had seemed essential - indeed there was no alternative.
It succeeded magnificently, for on the particular stretch of forest track he had chosen there was no room for any vehicle to reverse or change direction. The first shell from his Tiger's 88 narrowly missed direct contact with the lead jeep, turning it over and putting Howard and his men into the ditch. The second shell, seconds later, brewed up the leading Cromwell tank. Ritter was already transmitting orders to his gunner, Sergeant-Major Erich Hoffer. The 88 traversed again and, a moment later, scored a direct hit on a Bren-gun carrier bringing up the rear.
The entire column was now at a standstill, hopelessly trapped, unable to move forward or back. Ritter made a hand signal, the other two Tigers moved out of the woods on either side and the carnage began.
In the five minutes which followed, their three 88s and six machine guns left thirty armoured vehicles, including eight Cromwell tanks, ablaze.
The front reconnaissance jeep was out of sight among the trees at the junction with the road to Salzburg. O'Grady was sitting behind the wheel, with Hoover beside him lighting a cigarette. Finebaum was a few yards away, directly above the road, squatting against a tree, his M1 across his knees, eating beans from a can with a knife.
O'Grady was eighteen and a replacement of only a few weeks' standing. He said, 'He's disgusting, you know that, Sarge? He not only acts like a pig, he eats like one. And the way he goes on, never stopping talking - making out everything's some kind of bad joke.'
'Maybe it is as far as he's concerned,' Hoover said. 'When we landed at Omaha there were 123 guys in the outfit. Now there are six including you, and you don't count worth a shit. And don't ever let Finebaum fool you. He's got a pocket full of medals somewhere, just for the dead men he's left around.'
There was the sudden dull thunder of heavy gunfire down in the valley below, the rattle of a machine gun.
Finebaum hurried towards the jeep, rifle in hand. 'Hey, Harry, that don't sound too good to me. What you make of it?'
'I think maybe somebody just made a bad mistake.' Hoover slapped O'Grady on the shoulder. 'Okay, kid, let's get the hell out of here.'
Finebaum scrambled into the rear and positioned himself behind the Browning heavy machine gun as O'Grady reversed quickly and started back down the track to the valley road. The sound of firing was continuous now, interspersed with one heavy explosion after another, and then they rounded a bend and found a Tiger tank moving up
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