Opening Moves

Makarenko ordered a charge and his men surged forward. The front runners dropped immediately, struck down as more grenades burst to their front. However, more men drove forward and through the gate, seeking refuge in the shattered doorway of the Alsatian House.

Two French commandos leant out of the gatehouse windows from the portcullis room, intent on shooting into the rear of the assault force but were smashed back into the building by an accurate PPS burst from a watchful paratrooper.

The .50cal started up, its heavy calibre shells knocking lumps off the Alsatian House and anything softer unfortunate enough to get in the way.

The small assault force charged deeper into the officers accommodation to evade the .50’s deadly stings, finding dead and dying men in various states of dress. Some officers offered up resistance but were swiftly killed, the final deaths caused by a grenade thrown into a side room.

Makarenko sought refuge inside the tower’s shadow, his mind working the military problem. His ability to control his unit had been reduced when the radio operator had been smashed by a burst of fire from the Château above, wrecking the precious equipment at the same time.

He had many men gathered behind him, most still outside the Château, but numbers did not matter when the approach was as narrow as the one that now challenged his professionalism and courage. Just over a metre wide, the gap between the stone building and the Alsatian House restricted his options and provided the defenders with a deadly choke point.

A further surge of men had gained the house to support the first party, at the cost of half their number.

Dropping to one knee, Makarenko wrestled with the problem, noticing with horror that the stone pathway was running red with the blood of brave men from both sides. Gravity was bringing gentle streams down the slope, seeking out the gaps between the stone and passing out into the charnel yard behind him, adding to the scarlet effusions from the many Soviet dead lying there.

Momentarily distracted, he missed the initial sounds of more firing but quickly focussed on the new sounds and realised his north wall party must have come at the defenders from behind.

On his feet in an instant, he ordered his men forward and charged off up the path with gritted teeth.

Shouting “No grenades!” as he ran, he immediately shot down a wounded commando who was bringing his rifle up to fire.

A bullet tugged at his map case and severed the strap, carrying on to plant itself in the upper arm of one of his self-appointed bodyguards.

Looking up, he saw a figure on the battlements between the two towers and brought up his weapon, even though in the same moment his brain told him to hold his fire. He recognised the Soviet uniform first and the bark of an SVT rifle second, as the two platoons who had scaled the north wall caught the defenders looking the wrong way.

The heavy machine gun team were already dead, as were most of the defenders of the Lower Courtyard. The dog pens were smashed and broken, two of their occupants red and bleeding inside the splintered cages.

Makarenko’s troops had invested the Alsatian House and were lining up on the stone path, ready for the next attack. The north wall platoons assaulted the forge building, losing a handful of men on the run across the yard before demonstrating their superior close-fighting skills, killing the defending commandos.

The Senior Lieutenant leading the attack decided to launch a further assault, in the hope of carrying the stone staircase leading up to the Inner Courtyard.

He charged into the area at the bottom of the stairs and dove immediately to his left, as fire ripped down into his force. A wounded commando Petty Officer lay in what was obviously a administrative section, clutching an empty handgun, shot through both thighs and blinded by rock splinters in the eyes. Two shots from his Nagant ended the Frenchman’s life.

Behind him, one of his junior NCO’s had got a DP light machine-gun positioned and was sending accurate bursts up the stairway, scoring the occasional hit, but mainly denying the defenders the ability to fire down.

A grenade skipped down from above, its metallic bounce heard by all who were immediately threatened. It flopped in behind the corpse of a body in civilian clothes before exploding and distributing portions of the unfortunate ‘Deux’ agent all over the stairwell.

A shout attracted the attention of the Soviet officer, and he understood his Sergeant’s intent immediately.

Nodding to authorise the attempt and using his head to indicate the working DP, the Senior Lieutenant gathered himself for the lunge.

The Sergeant shouted instructions to the DP gunner, and the man flayed the stairwell with every bullet left in his weapon, raising a haze of stone dust as angry wasps ricocheted in all directions, two finding targets amongst the defenders clustered in cover all up the stairs and in the rooms leading off the north side.