With Sergei on bow MG, and myself on coax and main gun, the Cherubim and Seraphim didn’t stand a chance. We cut down maybe 300 of them before Tomas, getting nervous, decided it was time to leave the sunken lane. Wise old Tomas! As ‘Hellhound’ wiggled her way back through the gap in the farmyard wall, the shellcase-strewn position we’d just abandoned was scarified by a salvo of ground-heaving trumpet blasts. “Gabriel’s about! Stay sharp, lads!” The lieutenant’s warning had barely escaped his lips when a second salvo demolished the barn we were scraping past. I must have clouted my head on the breech because the next thing I remember is waking up in a medical Ju-52 somewhere over Náströnd. (more…)