He nods his thanks before running across the courtyard, the PIAT crew close behind him with McClair, Jenkinson, and me providing covering fire. They quickly reach the broken wall, lying down once in position and lining up the PIAT.
‘C’mon, c’mon,’ I mutter under my breath, firing my rifle again and again at any target until the PIAT finally fires. The projector launches its explosive round and it detonates against the side of the Tiger tank.
‘No,’ I utter in disbelief, seeing that the only damage done was a large scar across the Tiger’s hull.
‘Fire again!’ I hear the captain yell at the PIAT crew as the Tiger advances towards the badly beaten Allied tanks.
Before it is beyond their range, the PIAT crew fire another round, this one straight into the right set of tracks. The explosive round blows the tracks completely apart, immobilizing the Tiger. I hear Jenkinson cheer but my own elation is cut short as the Tiger’s turret rotates and aims straight at the captain and the PIAT crew.
‘Get out of there!’ I shout but it is too late and the Tiger fires at them. When the smoke clears only one body is moving: Captain Grayburn. The captain staggers to his feet and, with revolver in hand, charges the Tiger. The turret fires again but its shell flies high over the captain’s head.
‘Grenades?’ I ask Jenkinson.
‘Two,’ he replies.
‘Use them,’ I reply, dragging him towards the monstrous Tiger.
The top hatch of the tank opens and its commanding officer rises up with German Luger pistol in hand. Before he can fire, he is thrown back and tumbles down as rounds from Captain Grayburn’s revolver tear through him.
The Tiger’s turret tries to turn on us but we are already too close. Ducking beneath the mounted machine gun I ram the muzzle of my rifle through the tank driver’s viewport and pull the trigger three times. Jenkinson then throws his grenades inside. We hear the tank crew panic, the hatch opening as they try to escape. The grenades explode and the Tiger is slain.
‘That was the craziest and bravest thing I’ve ever seen, Sir,’ I tell the captain as all three of us are panting for breath and taking cover behind the beaten Tiger.
‘Agreed,’ Grayburn replies. ‘You have my permission to slap me if I ever do anything so foolish again. Well done, lads. Well done.’
‘Never make me do anything like that again, Corporal,’ Jenkinson tells me.
‘Gladly,’ I say, relieved to see the remaining Churchill and Sherman tanks, some of them heavily damaged, advance and drive back the remaining German forces.
‘We lost a lot of good lads today,’ the captain says. ‘Too many and it was all for what? One square mile. One square mile now covered in blood. The bloodiest square mile in this whole damned war.’
37
ADAM—In the depths of a mountain on no map, hunting stolen nazi gold, Germany
The tunnel seems to go on forever. The darkness is unending. We discover the train tracks and we follow them deeper into the mountain. The tunnel is easily twenty metres high and about the same in width; easily enough to hide a train or two.
‘What’s the plan, Dave?’ I ask quietly.
‘We go along with them until we see an opening,’ he replies under his breath before nodding towards Cecylia. ‘We cannot risk anything with the civilian with us.’
‘You sound like we are at war,’ I reply.
‘Soldiers are all around us,’ he says before he is shoved roughly by the man behind him.
‘Shut your mouth and keep moving,’ the grunt mutters.
I see the dark look in Dave’s eyes, the one that says he will pay back every taunt, shove, and embarrassment.
‘Would you look at that,’ Follia calls from the front of the group.
We look to what has amazed her. The main tunnel has been blocked by a monster of war. It sits with its turret aiming straight at us. Across the hull and turret are the skull and flames of SS Totenkopf Division.
‘That is a King Tiger Tank,’ Professor Veitnar explains. ‘Barely any of their kind survive today.’
‘Seventy tonnes of awesome,’ Leon sniggers, tapping a hand on the massive barrel of the turret’s gun.
‘We are on the right path.’ Follia whistles, pointing to the skull and flames.
‘It looks in perfect condition,’ Dave remarks. ‘Not a mark on it from the war. It could run straight out of here.’
‘The recon team were here,’ Bishop says, noticing the footprints beneath us.
‘Then we keep moving,’ Professor Veitnar declares. ‘Onwards.’
Less than twenty minutes later, we find the recon team, or rather what is left of them. Their scattered remains rest in pieces across the width of the tunnel and cover around a hundred metres. Blood coats the walls, floor, and ceiling. It is a scene from a horror movie.
‘What the hell happened here?’ I ask, the words escaping me.
‘Looks like an animal attack,’ says Follia as she inspects the bodies. ‘There’s claw and tooth marks on all of them.’
‘Not killed for food,’ Doctor Zajak says. ‘The bodies were left here.’
‘All accounted for?’ Professor Veitnar asks.
‘No,’ Follia replies. ‘There are only four here.’
‘Seems more by the number of body parts,’ Leon replies.
‘Leaving eight missing,’ Professor Veitnar surmises.
‘They were taken farther into the tunnel,’ Bishop says. ‘The footprints stop but you can see drag marks.’
‘What could have done this to twelve armed men and women?’ Cecylia says, barely able to look at the carnage at our feet.
‘Something that came at them in all directions,’ Dave remarks.
‘What?’ Leon mutters.
‘Look at the shell casings and the marks on the walls,’ Dave replies. ‘They fired ahead, behind, and down each of those other tunnels. They were surrounded.’
‘Their weapons are all gone too,’ I observe. ’What kind of animals would take weapons?’
‘We were warned not to find this place and I’m starting to see why,’ I say.
‘It’s just as the village rumours said,’ Doctor Zajak says as she inspects the bodies of the recon team. ‘Beasts did this.’
‘Enough,’ Professor Veitnar snaps. ‘Onwards. Always onwards!’
‘Take their ammunition and supplies,’ Bishop advises. ‘We need it more than they do now.’
‘Our guests can lead,’ Follia says.
‘As bait,’ Dave sneers.
‘Chop, chop, we don’t have all…’
A noise sounds in the darkness ahead of us, a chirping almost like a grasshopper. It sounds for a few seconds before stopping.
‘You hear that?’ Cecylia asks.
‘Quiet!’ Bishop snaps.
We hear the chirping again, but this time from a tunnel that branches off to our right. The sound intensifies, becoming like the cracking of bones. Shadows flicker past in the darkness. From behind us there is a deep, monstrous wail.
‘Here we go,’ Follia says with a widening grin as she draws her Katana blade from its scabbard.
They all brace themselves to fight, but Dave, Cecylia, and I are defenceless with hands still bound.
‘Come on! Come out and fight us!’ Bishop yells, but suddenly the noises stop and we’re left standing in silence. No one moves a muscle.
‘Now what?’ I whisper.
Time passes and we still cannot hear or see anything.
‘We must keep moving,’ Professor Veitnar says, breaking the silence.
‘Agreed,’ Bishop says, but as he takes a step, the generator and lighting kit mounted on his back, begins to flicker and fail.
‘What’s wrong?’ Leon asks, gun raised and frantically pointing it in all directions. ‘What the hell’s happening with the lights?’
‘The generator has cycled through its first charge,’ Bishop grunts as he unshoulders the large generator. ‘It just needs to restart.’
‘Hurry up,’ Follia warns
.
When the generator dies the only light is from the torches carried by our captors. Dread creeps through each of us; magnified when the wailing returns.
‘You need to free our hands,’ Dave says.
‘Shut up!’ Bishop mutters as everyone peers into the darkness. I pull at the bonds on my wrists but they don’t budge. As the wails grow around us, I twist and pull more frantically, hating how defenceless I feel.
‘What the hell is this!’ one soldier yells, whilst another fires his weapon into the darkness in panic.
‘Order,’ Dave yells at our captors, falling back on his former life in the army. ‘Get in tight formation and hold your fire until you see clear targets.’
The wails grow closer, becoming cries and screams of terror but we still cannot see anything. Another Winterbourne operative fires wildly into the darkness, the woman roaring in defiance but hitting nothing.
‘Stay behind me,’ I tell Cecylia.
‘Why?’ she replies, fear in her voice. ‘You’re as unarmed as I am!’
‘I can’t see a thing!’
‘It’s all around us.’
‘Switch to night vision, you fools,’ Professor Veitnar orders as he stays well behind the other Winterbourne operatives for safety.
‘Night vision doesn’t show anything either,’ mutters Leon, his handgun shaking in his hand.
‘Damn it, come out and face us!’ roars Bishop.
Only Follia remains silent with a grin firmly fixed on her lips.
A man suddenly cries out from the rear, thrown onto his back and dragged away screaming into the darkness. Two of our group fire their weapons in the direction he was taken, caring nothing for their comrade’s safety but trying desperately to hit our hunter. Another cry sounds as one more Winterbourne operative is attacked.
The wailing continues until it is all around us. An icy grip takes hold of my ankle and pulls me down on to the hard rock floor of the tunnel. I am dragged away towards the darkness.
‘Help me!’ I yell out, and to my surprise, it is Follia who leaps to my defence. With one swing of her blade the grip on me is gone and I frantically scramble back towards the group. Before I can reach them, a face emerges above me. It is something that only belongs in nightmares.
With thin pale grey skin that barely conceals the skull, and white haunting eyes, black blood seeps out of its jaws, which is lined with fangs. Hands rise to reveal curled claws, and in the dim light, I can see the rest of its thin, distorted body. It looks deep into my eyes and I see sheer rage before it unleashes another ear-piercing scream that is only silenced by a single bullet between the eyes from Leon.
A hum grows in volume, building to a crescendo.
‘Aw, hell,’ mutters Dave, as slowly we see white eyes opening all around us.
‘Open fire!’ yells Follia.
In an instant, a dozen firearms burst into life, firing in all directions. Several hellish creatures leap from the darkness to attack, dragging another member of our group away whilst tearing two others apart with claws and fangs.
Follia cuts down everything in her path, her Katana slick with dark blood. Dave, Cecylia, and I back away, helpless. All we can do is watch the carnage around us in the dim light of the tunnel.
One of the creatures emerges and crashes into Leon. The mercenary tumbles, dropping his handgun and barely fending it off. Dave strikes out with his bound hands and kicks the fiend, but is forced back by another, screaming at him and threatening with raised, bloody claws.
I scrabble for Leon’s fallen handgun, raise it, and fire three times at the demon. Two bullets soar over its head, my aim seriously hampered by my bonds. The third is wide, striking the cavern floor with a spark. The gun clicks empty as Leon is dragged away screaming into the darkness along with one other soldier.
Just as suddenly as it began, the rest of the creatures retreat and the white eyes extinguish. They’re gone for the time being.
‘Cease fire!’ Professor Veitnar orders. ‘They’re gone.’
The soldiers of Winterbourne eventually stop and keep watch as two of their group work on Bishop’s generator and lighting.
Follia knocks the handgun from my hands. ‘Jeez, you’re an awful shot.’
‘What are our losses?’ Professor Veitnar demands.
‘Two dead, three missing, and a couple of injuries,’ Follia says as she looks over the group. ‘And somehow, our bait is unscathed.’
‘Only just,’ I reply.
‘What the hell are they?’ Dave asks, peering closer at one of the twisted corpses. Professor Veitnar and Doctor Zajak join him, kneeling to inspect the body.
‘This is a predator; a pack predator. I have never seen anything like it.’
‘There are human features, too,’ says Doctor Zajak. ‘The bones and bodies are broken and deformed but the chest, major organs, and basic structure is no different to ours.’
‘What about this?’ Dave says, lifting a chain from the neck of another of the creature’s deceased bodies. ‘These are British second world war ID tags. Lieutenant Clarke, F Company Suffolk Regiment.’
‘That’s Thomas Myhill’s regiment,’ I say in shock.
‘These were… people,’ Doctor Zajak states with horror.
‘Fascinating,’ Professor Veitnar says. ‘These tunnels hold more than lost gold, I believe.’
‘Enough talk,’ Bishop mutters, kicking aside the dead body of one of the creatures. ‘They took Leon. We’re going after them.’
‘Why would they take them?’ Cecylia asks between laboured breaths.
‘Shut up,’ Bishop snaps as he reloads his weapons. ‘Why doesn’t matter.’
‘Cee, are you okay?’ I ask, worried that her asthma is triggered.
‘I need an in…haler.’
‘Leon had it,’ I reply, scanning the floor and seeing where it fell alongside my headset. I reach for both and pull on the glasses. I expect a readout across the lenses, a switch to night-mode and Abbey’s voice, but there’s nothing.
‘In…haler!’ Cecylia gasps and I quickly give her the medicine, watching until her breathing starts to settle.
‘Any luck?’ Dave whispers, nodding to the headset.
‘It’s dead,’ I say, placing the glasses in a pocket of my overalls.
‘Then we’re on our own,’ Dave says, before turning on Follia.
‘You need to release us,’ he tells her. ‘And you know it. You need our help if you’re to rescue your men and survive.’
‘Not a chance.’ Follia smiles as she wipes her blade clean. ‘The rest of you, clean any wounds you have and prepare to move out.’
‘Are you sure about this?’ one of Winterbourne’s soldiers asks. ‘You saw what those creatures did, right?’
‘There could be more of them in this tunnel,’ another says. ‘No amount of Nazi gold is worth my life.’
‘This little girl,’ Follia replies, pointing to Cecylia, ‘is unarmed and tied up yet she has more balls than the rest of you. If any of you want to leave, you know the penalty.’
‘The generator took a hit,’ says the man working on it. ‘It’s dead and I don’t have the parts on me to fix it.’
‘No matter. We must go on,’ Professor Veitnar demands.
38
CORPORAL ANDREW COOPER—Chateau de la Londe, Normandy, France 12TH July 1944
‘I don’t believe it.’ Lathbury chuckles.
‘I swear it’s the truth,’ Thompson replies innocently. ‘A Private of A Company covered his trench in petrol to keep away the mosquitos. Surely you’ve heard the story?’
‘And it worked?’ Myhill asks, swatting away one of the pesky insects. ‘The petrol I mean? Did it keep the mosquitos away?’
‘Definitely since he forgot about his lit pipe and accidently set his trench and himself alight!’ Thompson declares.
The lads laugh, all of them, including McClair. I have been worried about the Bren gunner since Woods died. He has barely talked with me or any of the other lads,
but it is good to see him laughing tonight with the rest of us. To be fair, none of us have been in high spirits since taking the chateau. Losing Wilson and Woods was a hell of a blow for us all. Even the laughter now is not what it once was. Going through all we have has taken a toll. We’re exhausted.
Two days ago was the 10th July. It was the first day no enemy shells fell towards our position since we first landed in France. It was the first proper night’s sleep, too. We badly needed it.
Today, our section is given the day to rest up and recover. Getting some decent food in our bellies is the first priority, before Thompson unearths a few bottles of French wine he procured. There’s not enough to get the lads drunk but enough to help them relax and forget the horrors they faced capturing the chateau, if only for a little while. I keep a close eye on my section regardless, making sure the bottles of wine are not seen by any of our officers.
Watching the lads joking and laughing as they clean weapons and kit between swigs of the wine, I realise gone is the innocence they once had. Now, they are all veterans.
Smithy is the only one missing, still recovering at the aid station back near the beaches. We don’t know if he will be returning any time soon, if at all. It’s a miracle he survived, all thanks to Doc Baird and the other medics. Wilson and Woods were not so lucky.
I feel their losses immensely. They are the first men under my command to lose their lives and I’d known Wilson since I’d enlisted. He survived the Battle for Belgium and France in 1940, the evacuation from Dunkirk, and the landings in Normandy. He may have been a thief and scoundrel, quick to moan and complain, but he was my friend.
‘You hear about what happened to Captain Brown of C Company while we were taking the chateau?’ Thompson asks.
‘No, what?’ I ask.
‘Apparently he went running up to one of our tanks to get them to support his company under heavy fire,’ Thompson explains. ‘The captain was hammering his rifle against the turret, trying to get the crew’s attention. Only, it weren’t British or American voices that replied.’
‘German?’ Jenkinson asks.
‘Yep.’ Thompson laughs. ‘The hatch of this tank opens up and there’s the German officer, shouting and shooting his pistol as Captain Brown legs it.’
War of the Damned (Relic Hunters) Page 21
