‘Clear.’
‘Good luck.’ They saluted and Dover left.
‘Theo.’ Frost cupped his eyes to the setting sun. ‘I hate to leave C Company like this, especially without proper radio contact, but we’ve only a couple of hours’ daylight left and must get on. So I want you to stay here, observe what happens then catch up and report.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And be careful.’ Frost folded his map. ‘Something about this feels all wrong.’
As the battalion moved off, Theo waited, watching through his binoculars as C Company began its approach to the rail bridge. Still mostly comprised of Scotsmen, he couldn’t help but recall its advance on the airfield at Depienne nearly two years previously. This time there were no bagpipes and no brazen marching; stealth was needed, and extreme caution, for with no cover save the occasional hedge or ditch, their progress was worryingly easy to follow. Worse still, to gain the railway itself required climbing a steep embankment, atop which there was no cover at all. Breath held, he saw Dover lead them steadily forward, then pause in a ditch short of the embankment, before sending one platoon ahead to reconnoitre. All went well as they scrambled up, but the moment they reached the top long bursts of machine-gun fire opened up from across the river, flinging a hail of bullets and lethal stone shards in all directions, injuring two men and sending the rest scurrying for cover. C Company immediately replied, furiously firing Vickers, Bren and two-inch mortar shells across the river, while laying down a smokescreen with grenades. As the smoke thickened the shooting stopped, and the recce platoon tried again, swiftly deploying up the embankment and along the rail tracks towards the bridge. Through the smoke Theo glimpsed tiny figures darting forward, using the girders for cover, until they gained the main structure itself. Then, just as they were setting out to cross it, a monstrous flash lit the sky, explosions boomed out like thunder and the entire bridge disappeared into clouds of black smoke. He fumbled his glasses, peering in disbelief as, to the tortured screech of twisting steel, the whole central span broke free and sank into the wide waters of the Rhine.
‘One man dead, sir, four injured and two missing,’ he reported breathlessly to Frost an hour later. ‘And the bridge is completely out.’
‘We heard the explosion. Where’s Dover now?’
‘Making for the town centre as ordered. He had to retrace his steps to the church at Oosterbeek. He’s now trying to enter by one of the main roads.’
‘And that won’t be easy, judging from the shooting back there.’
‘No, sir. And there’s more. Major Dover and I met one of Brigadier Lathbury’s runners while C Company was regrouping. He told us that 1st Battalion’s making little headway against growing opposition, 3rd Battalion is being attacked from the rear and has laagered for the night, Brigadier Lathbury’s held up with them, and no one’s heard anything from Division.’
‘No General Urquhart?’
‘He hasn’t been seen, and can’t be reached.’ Theo hesitated. ‘Apparently their radios aren’t working either.’
‘Christ, what a cock-up. And we’re not doing much better here.’
Still a mile short of their objective, 2nd Battalion, minus Dover’s C Company, was pinned down at a bottleneck between the railway and the river. Sniper fire, mortars and machine guns were increasingly in evidence on high ground to their left, which provided a commanding field of fire for an enemy growing stronger by the minute. While the rest of the battalion sought cover where it could, the ever resourceful A Company was doing its best to mouse-hole a way forward through alleys, houses and gardens. Meanwhile, the light was fading.
‘Might that not favour us?’ Theo offered.
‘As so often in the past, you mean.’ Frost smiled. ‘Let’s hope so.’
Sure enough, as full darkness descended, the sniping died down. At the same time Digby’s A Company reported a breakthrough, and the column began moving again. Advancing in silent order, they stole the final mile unseen, swiftly filing along narrow streets of tall houses, keeping to the shadows, pausing in doorways and ducking behind walls, until suddenly a towering semi-circle of steel loomed out of the night above them. 2nd Battalion had reached the bridge.
*
Frost wasted no time. The bridge was accessed via an approach road rising from the town on concrete columns. Deploying teams beneath and beside this ramp, he hurried back along it, noting that vehicles and cyclists still occasionally crossed over, suggesting 2nd Battalion’s arrival was undetected. Positioning the rest of his men in buildings surrounding the approach, he selected a tall house with windows and balcony overlooking it, knocked on the door and politely requisitioned it from its bewildered owner. Battalion HQ was soon up and running, with men posted at every window, the roof and balcony set up as observation posts, and a mass of weapons, ammunition and stores swiftly manhandled upstairs. A bedroom was appropriated for a command post and Theo found himself setting up trestles and draping lengths of aerial out of the window in the hope of getting the radios to work. Brigade HQ arrived – albeit without Lathbury, who was stuck with 3rd Battalion – and moved into a building nearby, also sundry Reconnaissance Squadron, Royal Engineer, Royal Artillery and Service Corps units, who were all swiftly dragooned into service and deployed around the perimeter with the rest. With that, ‘Bridge Force’ was in place, the northern end of Arnhem road bridge secured, and barely a shot fired. The time was 10 p.m.; a while later Theo attended a rooftop conference at Frost’s HQ.
Digby Tatham-Warter was adamant that A Company be allowed to attack the southern end of the bridge right away. Frost was tempted, but cautious. His plan was to send Doug Crawley’s B Company back along the riverbank to where an old pontoon bridge was supposed to lie, send them across it under cover of darkness, then take the southern end from both directions at once.
‘But that’ll take hours!’ Digby protested, waving his umbrella. ‘Right now we’ve the element of surprise. I mean, Jerry doesn’t even know we’re here!’
‘And we don’t know what Jerry’s got over there! Could be a few Home Guard on bicycles, or it could be half an armoured brigade!’
In the end a compromise was reached. The length and curvature of the bridge meant the German end couldn’t be seen, but also meant a few men might advance unobserved to reconnoitre the situation. If it looked promising, a full-scale attack could then be organized. Meanwhile, B Company was despatched to investigate the pontoon bridge. Only one detail remained.
‘Keep a close eye on that, Digby.’ Frost pointed at the bridge. Squatting at the nearer end was a concrete pillbox, complete with camouflage paint and slit windows.
Digby studied it. ‘Looks unmanned to me.’
He was wrong. Barely had his patrol gained the ramp when machine guns opened up from the pillbox, tearing into the road, injuring two men and sending the rest hurrying back. Cursing, Digby waited thirty minutes and then sent a two-man flame-thrower team up via an iron stairwell. Frost’s party watched from the roof as the pair stole up on to the bridge, then ignited the thrower, spraying arcs of molten flame at the pillbox, to the audible cries of its occupants. But they also set fire to a wooden hut behind it which suddenly and spectacularly exploded, bathing the entire scene with yellow light. Fireworks followed as bullets, grenades and mortar shells blew up, flinging lead and shrapnel in all directions.
‘They’ve hit a bloody ammo dump,’ Frost said, his face lit by the glare. ‘That’ll shake things up all right.’
Theo pointed. ‘What’s that coming across the bridge?’
Four lorries packed with German troops were lumbering slowly over the rise.
‘What are they doing?’ Wallis said.
‘Perhaps they don’t realize we’re here.’
‘Then they’re about to find out.’
It was quickly over. Illuminated by the blazing ammunition store, the lorries made ponderous and unmissable targets, and before even reaching halfway were engulfed in a storm of gunfire and flung grenades from th
e Paras. The drivers, panicking, had no time to accelerate, no space to turn and no chance to reverse their vehicles, and, trapped in the maelstrom, they were destroyed where they stood. Not one man made it across the bridge; only a few managed to scramble back into cover. Within minutes all that remained were four blazing wrecks and a dismal litter of dead and dying men.
‘Think they got the message?’ Digby said above the crackle of flames.
‘Yes, the bloody idiots,’ Wallis replied.
But Frost was scowling. ‘Far too much ammunition expended. At this rate we’ll run out in hours. See the word gets round.’
And with that he clumped inside. A few minutes later he stood Bridge Force down for the night. The men had achieved much in the ten hours since landing, and enough was enough. Despite unforeseen difficulties and a dire shortage of manpower, they’d advanced eight miles through enemy territory, reached, taken and secured their objective, and already repelled an attack on it. All without serious loss. But with no news from B Company at the pontoon, nor from the still-missing C Company, he didn’t want to push his luck. What he wanted was everyone settled, fed and rested ready for whatever the morrow might bring.
Theo spent the night in the ops bedroom, dozing on the floor while radio operators tried in vain to make contact with the outside world. Apart from occasional bursts of shooting and the popping of flares and star shells overhead, all remained quiet and he was able to snatch sleep. Then at dawn he was shaken awake.
‘Trickey, the colonel wants you.’
Hurriedly donning boots and beret he clattered downstairs past the humped shapes of sleeping Paras to the basement, where he found a stony-faced Frost glaring at two German prisoners.
‘Patrol caught these two snooping about the perimeter,’ Frost murmured. ‘Surly buggers too – they put up quite a fight. And take a look at the uniforms, Theo, that’s not Home Guard or Hitler Youth. That’s SS. So find out what the hell they’re doing here in Arnhem.’
It took a while. Both men had taken a bruising from their captors and were hostile and reluctant to converse, even with a German speaker. But then one, as he’d learned with the SS, couldn’t resist bragging.
‘You stupid Tommy fools!’ he spat contemptuously. ‘You have no idea who you’re dealing with!’
‘So tell me.’
‘9th SS Panzer! And we’re going to wipe the floor with you!’
‘9th…’ Theo could barely hide his shock. ‘No, you’re lying, 9th SS was caught at Falaise. Everyone knows that.’
‘A few of us maybe, but most got away, thanks to the Oberführer.’
Harzer. Piercing blue eyes scrutinizing him in Rommel’s car. Good luck, he’d said, before walking away. Now he was here, in Arnhem, with a whole battle-hardened Panzer division, where no such force was supposed to be.
‘So much for boys and old men,’ Frost sighed when Theo reported.
‘They said they were pulled back here after France. To rest and re-equip. It’s just bad luck they were still here when we arrived.’
‘I’ll say! And since we can’t raise anyone on the radio, we must assume nobody else knows.’
‘Would it change anything if they did?’
‘Christ knows.’ Frost shook his head. ‘And you say you’ve met him. This Colonel Harzer.’
‘Just once, sir, briefly.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘He seemed very competent, and, well, sure of himself. Determined.’
A while later the day’s first attack began.
*
To everyone’s surprise it came from the town, not the bridge, a column of men and vehicles nosing its way warily up the road, as if unsure what it might find. What it found was half of 2nd Battalion, plus several brigade and support elements who had made it during the night, in all some five hundred men, well placed, well concealed and, for the moment, well armed and supplied. All were under strict instructions to stay hidden and hold fire until ordered. Crouching at the ops room window, Theo watched through his binoculars as the convoy drew near, while Frost’s section waited above on the roof. A tense minute passed. Down in the road all was quiet save for boots crunching on cobbles, the jangle of kit and the grumble of motors as the Germans crept onward. Then came the blast on the hunting horn and a torrent of shouting.
‘FIRE! Open fire! Shoot shoot shoot!’
Gunfire erupted like thunder, a withering hail of lead streaming at the Germans from all directions: rooftops, windows, doorways, behind walls and barricades, and upwards from foxholes in the ground. Rifles and Stens, Brens and Vickers, pistols, grenades, even the flame-thrower put in an appearance. The barrage was merciless, the crossfire deadly; with no cover and no chance to retaliate, the advance was swiftly routed, the besieged Germans throwing their engines into reverse and sprinting back for safety. A minute more and it was over, and the scene fell into an uneasy, smoke-drifting silence of burning vehicles and groaning victims, scattered about the road like dolls.
Then, as so often before, the jubilant Paras fell quiet and khaki-clad men wearing red cross armbands appeared among the casualties, kneeling beside them, tending and treating, and loading them on stretchers to carry them away.
The debrief was far from celebratory.
‘Too much ammo expended,’ Wallis declared. ‘Again.’
‘More to the point,’ Digby demanded, ‘where the hell did they come from?’
‘North’s my guess. Or west.’
‘West? Then they’re between us and Division!’
‘And between us and C Company, don’t forget.’
‘Could you see anything, Theo?’ Frost asked quietly.
‘Not really, sir, although they seemed to pull out to the north.’
‘Indeed. So my guess is, that was Harzer’s way of sounding us out. Which means he’ll be back, and in strength.’
But the next encounter was not from the town. A lull followed during which defences were fortified, and food and ammunition distributed. Morale was high, with coarse jokes and ribald shouts echoing round the perimeter, further boosted by the return of B Company, or half of it, from its abortive pontoon expedition. Whistles and insults welcomed them into the fold; then a triumphant yell was heard from a lookout.
‘30 Corps! Look, 30 Corps is coming!’
All turned towards the bridge. Still obscured by smoke drifting from the night’s burned-out lorries, at first nothing was seen. Then, picking its way carefully through the wreckage, emerged the squat profile of a Humber armoured car, closely followed by several others, including an armoured Bren carrier. Cheers rang out and berets flew; some men even ran out to greet the arrivals. Then they saw the black crosses on the trucks, and the grey uniforms of their occupants, and the Humber turned into a Daimler and the Bren carrier began shooting at everyone. The Paras dived for cover, yet even as they snatched up their weapons the leading vehicles accelerated down the ramp and sped away into town. Six disappeared unscathed in this way, including the Bren carrier or Panzerkampfwagen as it really was. Only the two rearmost trucks were caught and angrily despatched, adding their burned-out shells to the accumulating wreckage on the road.
‘What was that about?’ someone asked sheepishly.
‘Who knows? Fucking tossers.’
Noon came and went, and with it another lull, which waned steadily as German infantry began closing in from the town. Squatting in the ops room, Theo allowed himself some of Eleni’s fruit and biscuits, chewing methodically as the first mortars began thumping in, randomly at first, then more accurately as the gunners found range. Soon they were smashing walls and punching through roofs, pocking the perimeter’s streets and alleyways with craters. Casualties inevitably followed: a Vickers section was killed by direct hit, two more men by a falling wall, several others wounded by flying shrapnel. Then the sniping began, and the casualties quickly mounted. Stealthily infiltrating nearby buildings, the Germans began picking off men where they stood, firing from a window and then swiftly moving to fire from a
nother. The Paras replied, shooting back as best they could, but by late afternoon, with ammunition dwindling and opposition mounting, the perimeter had begun to shrink, and moving about in the open became a lethal lottery. Digby’s A Company caught the brunt; holed up beneath the bridge with only a few houses for cover, they were repeatedly beset, and being furthest from the aid post had to manage their wounded too. Time and again Digby was seen scurrying between positions, his umbrella up, offering comfort and encouragement to his men.
‘That brolly won’t do you much good!’ one joked as he arrived.
‘But what if it rains?’ he replied in all seriousness.
And despite the deteriorating situation, the shortages and the casualties, the Paras remained cheerful and steadfast, drawing on inbuilt reserves of strength and doggedness as so often before. Aggressive too – any enemy foolish enough to show himself or venture too close was ruthlessly despatched. And should they approach the bridge, or worse still attempt to gain it, the response was furious and deadly.
At dusk Frost made a tour of the perimeter, hurrying between positions checking his men and supplies. He found them in good spirits but low on supplies. Then he visited Brigade headquarters for a situation update, before returning to his own HQ to brief his team.
‘Brigade managed to raise 30 Corps on the radio,’ he began encouragingly.
Murmurs of approval. ‘So where are they?’
‘Held up south of Nijmegen, so it’ll be another twenty-four hours at least before leading elements get here.’
‘Ah.’ Doug Crawley nodded. ‘And, er, Division?’
Frost shook his head. ‘Buggers’ muddle. And General Urquhart’s still missing.’
The second drop had taken place that afternoon, he explained, as planned, but late due to fog in England. However, it had immediately run into opposition on the DZ, and now its three battalions – 10th, 11th and 156th – were struggling to fight their way into town. All three were currently stalled for the night with several miles still to go.
The Bridge Page 22
