War of the Damned (Relic Hunters)

by Martin Ferguson

  ‘Jenkinson, keep watch through the windows to the rear of the building,’ I order.

  ‘It’s a damned grenadier regiment,’ Thompson says as he inspects the uniform of one of the dead Germans.

  ‘So much for a company of engineers,’ Lathbury mutters.

  ‘Look at that,’ Captain Grayburn says, looking out through the broken windows towards the field. We’re momentarily stunned by the number of bodies strewn across the chateau grounds; many still with weapons in hands. They will never leave this place.

  With the chateau taken and the machine guns silenced, medics head out to the wounded. They risk their lives to help anyone they can. Doc Baird rushes to Wilson and Smithy with McClair helping the medic where he can.

  ‘E Company lost a lot of guys,’ Captain Grayburn observes just as we duck from an incoming artillery round. ‘They’re going to occupy and hold the chateau with our First Platoon. The wounded will be treated here before being taken to aid stations and surgeons in the rear. Second and Third Platoons are with me. We’ve had orders from a runner to reinforce B and C companies on the left flank.’

  ‘First Section, Second Platoon,’ I call out to my lads. ‘Check your ammunition and prepare to move out.’

  Voices cry out from the next room along with what sounds like a scuffle. The captain and I hurry into the room and discover two Germans knelt on the floor with hands raised. One of the privates from third platoon looms over them and strikes one of the prisoners hard across the jaw.

  ‘Bitte, bitte,’ cries the German, blood dribbling down his chin. ‘Bitte nicht schießen‘

  ‘Shut up, you Nazi bastard!’ the private screams at them.

  The man shoots both prisoners before the captain and I can tear the rifle from his grasp.

  ‘They were prisoners!’ Captain Grayburn yells.

  ‘They were Nazis…’ the private protests before the captain hits him hard, flooring him.

  ‘They were prisoners, and you murdered them,’ Grayburn states sternly.

  The argument is ended as we hear growing whistles from above. Artillery falls around the chateau. All we can do is take cover behind walls and doorways, peering through the gaps in the ruined roof and praying a shell doesn’t fall our way.

  ‘Corporal Cooper,’ Captain Grayburn calls to me. ‘Corporal, this is likely a precursor to a counter-attack.’

  ‘Agreed,’ I reply, ducking down as another shell strikes near the building. ‘Where’d you want us?’

  ‘I saw a farmhouse and a barn about a hundred yards out from the chateau,’ the captain explains. ‘You take the farmhouse with your section and what remains of Third Section. Corporal Phillips is dead as are half his lads so they’ll answer to you now. I’ll send Corporal Wester from First Platoon to the barn. We will use these as advanced positions. If you face strong opposition you are to fall back to here. I will get what remains of our company and E Company to reinforce the chateau.’

  ‘Yes sir,’ I reply.

  ‘Don’t take any chances, Cooper,’ he says.

  ‘No worries there, sir!’ I force a smile.

  I summon my remaining lads and find the men of Third Section who will join us. I know them well enough; Flint, Burwood, Hall, and Lambert. They look as beaten and bloody as we do and none eager to leave the relative safety of the chateau, but we have our orders.

  I look out across the orchards and gardens, seeing the bomb-craters and churned up ground, but worst of all the bodies. They were my lads, my friends.

  I force it out of my mind, fighting the rising tears as McClair hurries toward us. It is clear the Bren gunner is shaken. He’s covered in Woods’ blood. Woods had been his closest friend.

  ‘Doc Baird says Woods and Wilson are gone,’ he says, voice quiet and broken. ‘Smithy might make it though.’

  ‘Good man,’ I tell McClair, patting him on the back to reassure him and urge him on towards the rest of the section.

  We circle around the chateau and cross the courtyard to the south and rear of the building. The courtyard is empty but for a few German vehicles and trucks lying abandoned or destroyed. Beyond is the farmhouse nestled in thick trees. Ahead of us, Corporal Wester and the men of First Platoon are already advancing on the barn. We hurry, keeping low and taking advantage of any cover available. Shells and mortar rounds continue to fall.

  ‘You sure we should be out here in this?’ Thompson asks.

  ‘It’s when the shelling stops you need to worry,’ I reply.

  We reach the farmhouse, and with no signs of the Germans, we enter. It is pretty clear no one has lived in the old building in a long time. Thick cobwebs cover much of the interior and there are gaping holes in the roof. Anything not nailed down was likely taken by thieves long ago.

  ‘McClair, I want your Bren along with Thompson upstairs,’ I order. ‘Lathbury, you too, and Myhill, I want you and that rifle of yours in the roof. The rest of you are down here with me. Take firing positions at the windows. Call out anything you see.’

  ‘You want me in the roof during this shelling, Corporal?’ Myhill questions.

  ‘I need your eyes up there,’ I explain. ‘Besides, the Jerry shelling is dying down.’

  To the east and west is the unmistakable crack of rifles and rattle of machine gun fire. Our area is the only one that’s quiet. It worries me. They’d only stop shelling if they were pulling back or about to launch an attack. I doubt Jerry has had enough of us just yet.

  ‘Keep watch, lads,’ I warn the men under my command. ‘We don’t want Jerry surprising us with a knock at the door.

  ‘Corporal!’ Myhill calls from the roof above. ‘We’ve got armour moving up.’

  ‘Jerry?’

  ‘Nope, they’re friendly,’ he replies cheerfully. ‘Cracking sight it is, too.’

  I see it soon enough, a squadron of three Churchill tanks and another of four Shermans moving forward into the woods beyond our positions. They advance quickly, tracks crashing through fallen trees and ditches before several of the war-machines open fire, the barrels of their turrets blazing.

  ‘Give them hell, fellas,’ I say. ‘Keep watch, First Suffolk. Just because our tin cans are here doesn’t mean Jerry won’t slip by them.’

  ‘Corporal, I see movement,’ Thompson says. ‘It isn’t one of theirs though. I swear it’s a chap from B Company.’

  Thompson’s right. The man, a private from our regiment, is running through the woods away from the German lines. He looks like hell as he heads towards us.

  ‘Private Glen Murray, B Company,’ he says, struggling to catch his breath. ‘Am I glad to see you lot.’

  ‘What happened? I ask him.

  ‘Our position was overrun,’ Murray hurriedly explains. ‘My platoon was surrounded. We fought until their tanks were pretty much on top of us. There was nothing else we could do. They captured a dozen of us but I managed to get away when our tanks attacked. I don’t know what happened to the others.’

  ‘What about the rest of B and C Company?’ I ask.

  ‘Still holding out, last I saw,’ Murray says. ‘We were too far advanced of the rest of the line.’

  Explosions echo from amongst the woods south of us and the unmistakable rat-tat-tat of machine gun fire.

  ‘Head to the chateau and report what happened to Captain Grayburn,’ I order Private Murray. ‘Then try to regroup with your company.’

  ‘Yes, Corporal,’ he says wearily before heading off.

  ‘Myhill, what do you see?’ I call up to our sniper.

  ‘Fire and smoke,’ he yells. ‘A lot of it.’

  A sudden drone of aircraft sounds from overhead. I fear the worst, remembering the sheer terror I felt from the enemy dive-bombers four years ago. We all recognise the white and black stripes on the fuselage and wings. They are Typhoons, our fighter-bombers armed with rockets that scream down from their wings to blast among the woods south of us.

  ‘They’re sure giving Jerry hell, Corporal,’ Lathbury cheers.

  ‘
Then why are our tanks retreating?’ I murmur under my breath, seeing our armour falling back towards the chateau.

  I hurry up the stairs to the roof where Myhill is peering down into the woods ahead of us. Just as I thought, the Churchill and Sherman tanks that had stormed past us just moments ago are retreating west. Thick smoke pours from one of the Churchills and one of the Shermans is on fire. Another of the tanks is hit and it explodes.

  ‘Infantry,’ Myhill warns.

  ‘Damn, your eyes are good,’ I reply. Deep in the trees I see the movement, but only thanks to Myhill’s warning. There must be at least a hundred men headed towards us.

  ‘Aim for any officers you see first,’ I order before hurrying back down the stairs of the farmhouse. ‘Enemy infantry incoming from the woods. Hold your fire until I give the command. You hear me?’

  ‘We hear you, Corporal,’ Lathbury replies. ‘No one fires before the order.’

  ‘Pick your targets,’ I say. Don’t waste ammunition firing at trees. That goes double for you, Thompson.’

  Some of the lads laugh at that, mocking Thompson even more as we all try to calm our nerves.

  ‘You Third Section boys, just hold your positions and fire when I say.’

  ‘Yes, Corporal,’ they reply in unison. I see fear in the eyes of a couple of them and I don’t blame them, especially after what they faced taking the chateau.

  ‘You’ll do fine.’ I try to reassure them. ‘All of you, we hold this position, that’s all I ask. Hold this position.’

  Among the trees, dozens of German uniforms slowly advance. The barn is as silent as the farmhouse. Corporal Wester has had the same thought; waiting until just the right moment.

  ‘Steady,’ I say. ‘Steady. Almost there…almost…NOW LET THEM HAVE IT!’

  A dozen rifles and the Bren light machine gun open fire at my command. We cut down the nearest to the farmhouse, leaving many more to take cover behind trees. McClair’s Bren drives off many from the upper floor of the building as Myhill’s rifle picks off anyone giving orders. The barn to our left erupts with fire too; Corporal Wester’s lads giving as good as mine.

  A few of my command have to dive for cover to avoid the return fire, but we hold our position, unrelenting in the face of superior numbers.

  ‘You’re doing good lads,’ I encourage. ‘Keep it up. Jerry won’t stick around for…’

  My words are ended by a sudden blast from the barn where Corporal Wester’s men are positioned, one of the walls half destroyed.

  ‘Artillery?’ Lathbury asks from the upper floor.

  I know he is wrong as soon as I hear the sound of armoured tracks. From amongst the trees emerges the sixty ton steel monster that easily dwarfs our own tanks.

  ‘Tiger!’ one of the Third Section lads cries. ‘Tiger tank! We’ve got to get out of here!’

  I grab the man by his jacket as he tries to flee.

  ‘That thing will murder us all!’ the lad says, eyes wide with panic. ‘You saw what it did to the South Lancashires.’

  ‘You will stand your ground,’ I order him, throwing him back towards his position. ‘All of you, stand your ground until I order! Focus on their infantry! Drive them back!’

  My lads continue to fire on our attackers as the barn takes another hit, the roof collapsing in on the inhabitants. What’s left of Wester’s command abandon their posts and flee back towards the chateau. The Tiger advances behind them, its machine gun tearing those poor lads apart as they run for safety.

  ‘Lathbury, get your lads down here!’ I shout up to him. ‘Myhill, you too.’

  ‘Hell of a fight we picked,’ Lathbury says as he and the others take positions on the ground floor. ‘What next, Corp…’

  Lathbury suddenly calls out in pain, staggering back and landing hard on the floor. I hurry over to him, seeing a bullet has torn through between his shoulder and neck. He’s bleeding heavily.

  ‘It’s all right,’ the brute mutters, trying to push me away and pick up his rifle. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Right, that settles it,’ I say, seeing the Tiger advance towards our position and the infantry beginning to circle the farmhouse.

  ‘McClair, Jenkinson, you’re with me,’ I shout. ‘The rest of you, get back to the chateau as fast as you can. Use any cover available and don’t take any chances.’

  ‘You know where you can stick that order,’ Lathbury says, wincing in pain from his wound.

  ‘Get the lads out of here now, Lance Corporal,’ I order.

  ‘You be right behind us,’ he replies.

  ‘Go now, before…’

  My words are silenced as I’m thrown back across the room by an almighty blast. The entire building tremors around me and I fear it will collapse entirely. My ears ring and my vision blurs for a moment before returning to normal. Staggering to my feet, I find the kitchen room utterly destroyed by the tank shell, the bodies of two of the Third Section lads still and unmoving.

  ‘Burwood! Lambert!’ one of their section cries, but it’s already too late for them.

  ‘Lathbury, go!’ I order him. Though reluctant, he rallies the others and leads them out through a door to the rear of the farmhouse.

  Picking up my rifle, I take a firing position and squeeze the trigger three times at the nearest targets. Jenkinson and McClair are at my sides, both blooded and filthy but still fighting on. McClair screams as he fires the Bren gun, every German hit bringing some small amount of vengeance for Woods’ death.

  ‘Tommy,’ a German sings to us. ‘Come out, Tommy.’

  I pick up a fallen Sten gun and fire a burst in the direction of the voice.

  ‘Bren’s out of ammunition, Corporal,’ McClair says.

  ‘Time we got out of here,’ I say. With no ammunition, the Germans surrounding us, and the Tiger tank, it’s definitely time to go.

  I lead Jenkinson and McClair towards the rear of the farmhouse, but before we can reach it, we’re floored by another blast from the Tiger tank. My senses are lost to me again, my vision spinning and my chest burning as I struggle to breathe. The wall behind us erupts as the Tiger drives through the half-collapsed farmhouse. I grab McClair and Jenkinson and pull us to our feet and on. Enemy infantry are all around us, bullets hissing past from all directions, but we keep running, heading straight for the chateau.

  McClair stumbles as a bullet tears through his leg just as we reach the outer wall of the chateau’s courtyard. Jenkinson and I take his arms over our shoulders and drag him on.

  ‘C’mon,’ I mutter through gritted teeth as bullets hiss past us. ‘C’mon! Nearly there! Nearly there! Keep moving! C’mon!’

  We use the abandoned German vehicles in the courtyard for cover, but before we can reach the safety of the building, shells thunder over our heads and crash into the chateau, tearing into the lower and upper floors. German infantry swarms into the courtyard, but the defenders of the main structure do not remain silent; rifles and Bren guns returning fire. We hurry behind a German halftrack, caught midway across the courtyard, trapped as the Tiger and several smaller Panzer IV tanks thunder towards us.

  ‘That’s a lot of open ground between us and the chateau,’ McClair warns and he’s right. It’s too much for us to cover with so much infantry around us and the threat of those German tanks. They fire at the chateau again, the Tiger’s eighty-eight millimetre gun tearing a great whole hole in the building.

  ‘We can’t reach them,’ I concede as I reload my rifle. Jenkinson and McClair nod, both knowing as I do that it’s just a matter of time until we are spotted. That’s when the Tiger lurches past us, its turret lowering and rotating towards us.

  Tank fire erupts from the far side of the courtyard and I almost scream for joy as I see the Churchill and Sherman tanks that had retreated in the woods return and attack the German Tiger and Panzer IVs.

  ‘You beauties!’ Jenkinson cheers.

  The Churchills drive back the enemy infantry with their flamethrowers, but the shells of their main guns ricochet harml
essly off the thick armour of the Tiger. The Shermans have no more success, one quickly destroyed by the menacing Tiger and another streaming with smoke. The Panzer IVs engage our tanks too, although our boys have more luck against them, disabling a pair in quick succession. We have to do something about that Tiger though as nothing our tanks do can penetrate its thick armour.

  ‘You lads having a fine day,’ Captain Grayburn’s voice greets as he and a dozen men reach us. Doc Baird is with them and he immediately sees to McClair’s wounded leg.

  ‘What are you doing, sir?’ I say in shock.

  ‘Hunting a Tiger,’ he replies before taking his revolver in his teeth and reloading it with his one remaining arm.

  ‘What do you need?’ I ask, seeing the Tiger destroy one of our Churchill tanks.

  ‘Cover fire,’ the captain says, handing me satchels filled with rifle and Bren ammunition. ‘The PIAT crew and I will do the rest. With the Tiger out of action, the rest of them will soon lose heart.’

  I see the PIAT, the anti-tank projectile weapon, in the hands of two men; the only defence us infantry have against such colossal beasts.

  ‘We’ll aim for that broken wall,’ Captain Grayburn explains, indicating to an area not far from the chateau itself. ‘I’d be obliged if you could keep their infantry distracted.’

  ‘You got it, Sir,’ I reply.

  Peering out from cover, I see more of the German infantry are entering the courtyard.

  ‘They really want this stronghold back,’ Jenkinson remarks.

  ‘You going to be able to stand all right?’ I ask McClair.

  He doesn’t answer, merely reloading the Bren and changing its barrels. The cold determination on his face says it all. He still wants payback for Woods. The rest of Captain Grayburn’s men spread out behind whatever cover they can, already exchanging shots with the attacking Germans. More of our lads then show up; Myhill, Thompson, and a bandaged up Lathbury among them.

  ‘Couldn’t keep you out of it for too long, Bob,’ I shout to him.

  ‘Not a chance,’ he replies back.

  ‘Ready when you are, sir,’ I tell the captain. ‘Good luck.’