by Milly Adams
Saul watched as they all heard Morris raising his voice over by the barn, and saw him stabbing his finger at Border’s chest.
Tom raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s Morris’s promotion out the window.’
As the rest of their platoon watched, Morris called across 2nd Lieutenant Green, who was checking a map near Corporal Jones. Green was a stuck-up twerp from Chelsea who hadn’t thought a world existed outside his nice little London niche. That was until he arrived out here but his post was temporary, and no one really knew why they had been landed with him. They heard an order being issued at the barn, and the guards were doubled while others spread far out in suitable cover. Sergeant Williams returned shaking his head, saying to Corporal Jones, ‘Not enough, the pillock. Still others left in the bleedin’ barn. Gawd, talk about wet behind the ears.’
They watched as Morris strutted across to the track to scan the hamlet with his binoculars. He swept the top floor windows, then doubled back to one in particular, before striding across to Border and stopping so close they almost touched noses. Again, there was shouting, and Morris gripped Border’s arm and showed him the windows. At last the bloody idiot nodded, and swung back to his NCOs, changing the order. They sprang into action and soon all the men filed out to disperse in the woodland further south, to the left of the village. Patrols would be formed to check the houses – that was clear from the words that reached them – but they’d go out as the sun went down, and therefore wouldn’t be sitting targets.
Williams and Jones nodded to one another and then allocated duties, emphasising that there must be no pilfering or fraternising. Williams looked at Saul. ‘A word, Saul ‘Opkins.’
Saul stood, and followed Williams to the nearby fire that some were ready to light up when there was an all-clear. Corporal Jones posted more men, some facing outwards from the clearing and others sent deeper into the woods. ‘Nice bit of woodland,’ Sergeant Williams said. ‘Fancy yer’ve already been for a stroll with yer poacher’s eye. So off yer go, lad. No chickens, mind, but bound to be a few rabbits, maybe a bird or two caught in ’em traps, now the sun’s going down. Reckon the lieutenant could do with a bit of meat to chew on, instead of Border. Take that lump of no good grumbling sidekick Tom with yer to watch yer back. Password, cockerel call, that cackling one you do, and then the reply will be “hen”, so yer don’t get your ’ead blown off. Geordie, if you get separated you’ll just use “beak” and the reply will be same. I reckon this lot o’ Nazis ’ere aren’t as quiet as they make out. The lieutenant spotted a weapon o’ sorts at the window. Jones verified it.’ Tom said, ‘Do I have to, Sarge? Can’t Geordie? Me feet hurt.’
The sarge just looked at him, then nodded. ‘Geordie, yer go on point for Saul, then, while chummy joins the latrine dig instead o’ yer.’
Tom groaned, ‘Sarge?’
Saul and Geordie laughed, heading for the fringes of the clearing and hearing the sergeant call, ‘Look-outs extend to fifty feet, Saul. After that, they’re not friendly.’
Saul listened for footfalls as well as the rustle of wildlife as he followed the string, trusting Geordie, on point to his left, to watch out for him.
They travelled away from the noise, and as the canopy grew denser beneath conifers which were mixed with leafless deciduous trees and the darkness grew, he picked up an empty trap. Never mind, there were others. He didn’t speak, and neither did Geordie. They just listened, because they had a long way to go before they reached Berlin, or until Germany surrendered, and they were determined to get home alive. Further on Saul gathered booty from the traps, putting the rabbits in one bag, the traps in the other.
He heard the noise at the same time as Geordie. They both froze. They were too far out for patrols, surely, but Saul made his cockerel call.
There was no response. Saul slashed the string, rammed the scrambled ball of it into his pocket as they doubled over and edged away. Was someone heading towards them? They’d known it before.
Saul could travel silently, and Geordie, almost, since he had also supplemented his parents’ larder between pit shifts. They edged back towards a large oak, dropping to one knee, back to back, and letting their eyes and ears become accustomed to the area. An owl hooted, the wind moved the branches, some of the weaker ones rubbing together. There were no leaves to rustle, as they were still in bud. Small mercy, but a useful one. There was indistinct noise. They breathed through their mouths. Saul withdrew a Luger he’d ‘found’ as they fought their way to the Rhine, and kept the knife in his left hand. Geordie had done the same. Was it a German fellow poacher, or a rearguard Nazi platoon, or villagers out for retribution? Or their own outpost guards?
Off towards the hamlet they heard an explosion. Saul covered his ears. He didn’t care what that was, he needed his hearing. He flashed a look at Geordie, who was doing the same. Again they listened, and the rustling was more distinct, and now they heard the snapping twigs, a guttural voice, quickly hushed. Geordie lifted his gun. Saul shook his head and gestured towards the clearing. They had to prepare the men for a flanking attack, though Morris and Green would suspect the explosion was a diversion cos it was the same old ploy. They were up now, but still doubled over, racing silently, heading to the clearing, just as poaching had taught them. The rabbits were bouncing in the bag, and Saul held the traps tight against his body, so that they didn’t clang. He cackled a cockerel call. ‘Hen.’ A loud whisper.
Saul whispered, ‘Attack be approaching be’ind us. Attack, approaching.’
They ran on, and burst into the clearing. Morris had already positioned his men well into the brush, with some facing the hamlet, some the woods. Border’s men were emerging from the woods, dashing towards the burning truck and the end of the imploding barn. Sergeant Williams muttered, ‘Bloody idiots. Sitting bloody targets.’
But even as they watched, Border suddenly stood still, as though some sense had at last filtered through, and started issuing the right orders. His men disappeared into the shadows, behind buildings and trees, seeking out the attackers, who had started firing from the houses, and behind them. ‘Thank Gawd for that,’ muttered Sergeant Williams, again to himself. ‘Corporal Jones, are the men ready?’
Morris was nowhere to be seen until he emerged from the woods to their left, clearly positioning his men; 2nd Lieutenant Green had been doing the same to the north. Morris said to those few who remained in the clearing, ‘Get that fire lit. Let’s have a bit of talk, laughter, as though you’re not taking it seriously, eh? You’re the bait, lads, we’ve got your backs. Get ready to dive out of sight once the messiness starts.’
Saul nodded to himself. Morris always made them dig in for just this manoeuvre, and so far it’d worked.
Morris was hurrying to Saul and Geordie now, who had hunkered down with Tom behind a fallen trunk of rotten tree, facing east the way they had come. Tom had their rifles ready for them; Saul placed his Luger on the trunk, his knife was back in his belt. ‘How many, Saul?’ Morris whispered as he came to crouch beside Saul.
‘From t’sounds, it’d be a platoon, sir.’
Geordie nodded. ‘Aye, but what’s coming from the other direction, sir?’
Morris patted his shoulder. ‘Just been out there. I’d say the same again.’
Saul raised an eyebrow at Tom as the lieutenant melted into the shadows, on the opposite side of the clearing to Williams, Saul whispered, ‘I does reckon he likes it.’
Tom grunted, ‘I don’t care whether he likes it or not, I just want him to be the best there is, and he bloody well is.’
Geordie’s lips were pursed in a soundless whistle, as always before a set-to, as he called it. But this time he un-pursed them enough to say, ‘Aye, I always says, there’s good bosses, and bad ’uns, and he’s the bloody best, man.’
The firing began then, at the outer ring, and Sergeant Williams shouted, ‘Steady now. Rifles, and Stens at the ready. Fire at will but don’t waste your bloody time firing at shadows.’
Saul wondered wha
t they’d do without that voice, always there, always steady. Didn’t the man know fear? There were shouts, the crashing of bushes, the hurling of grenades which exploded behind them, throwing up earth and stones that cut through Saul’s uniform. He swore, waiting, waiting. There was the sound of men rushing, a yelled challenge: ‘Hen.’ But no answering ‘hen’.
They held fire and the lookouts leapt the fallen trunks of trees, taking position behind stacked wood. Germans were firing, and some of the fools hurled themselves into the clearing. 2nd Lieutenant Green’s group took them out. The Sten guns were firing over the piled trunks, only for their fire to be reciprocated and now there was bloody chaos and they fired blindly at the oncoming attackers.
Over the noise they heard the revving and rumbling of their tanks, and the roar of their guns which were firing beyond the barn. Well, Saul hoped them were theirs but no one paused, they just kept firing until their barrels were red hot. Some of the buggers broke through, and they comprised both troops and civilians. Geordie was now whistling, which meant he was getting angry. Well, too bloody right, Saul thought, and as always, for some strange reason, whenever Geordie whistled Saul thought of Leon, and how he’d beaten Joe and had been happy to think he’d killed Maudie. P’raps it were because Geordie’s rage was Saul’s rage for that bugger. He pulled his finger even tighter on the trigger, and each bullet was for Leon, because until they knew where he was there’d be no peace for the Hopkins family.
‘It’s a bloody German Tiger,’ the sarge called. Saul snatched a look. The Tiger was in the hamlet, roaring through, shelling the woods where the other company was, then swinging round, and now it was targeting them. A shell burst to the left. Trees shattered, men screamed and groaned. Saul was struggling hand to hand with a bloody great farmer, and all he could see was Leon, kicking him outside the pub, beating him with a club, and he fought back, clubbing the German with his Luger until he crashed to the ground, out for the count, but not dead. Saul swung round in time to see Border out in the open with an anti-tank weapon, firing at the Tiger. The men bailed out, hands up. Lieutenant Border drew his pistol and ushered them into the barn. God, he wasn’t going to shoot them, was he?
The lieutenant came out and positioned his men inside the barn as guards.
Saul was relieved, and fought on, until suddenly it was over. The men surrendered. Sergeant Williams issued orders and the prisoners were marched to the barn and kept under an even heavier armed guard. Surely any renegades wouldn’t attack a barn that contained their own people? Or would they? The actions of these bastards were beyond anyone’s imagination because the Allied troops were beginning to hear about the concentration camps that had been discovered the length and breadth of Europe as it was attacked from east and west.
Patrols marched on the village, checking the houses, carrying out weapons while the radio operator hunched over his set. Sergeant Williams came from the woods, helping Lieutenant Morris into the clearing. Morris’s blood was staining the front of his tunic. Williams was yelling for a medic. One looked up and rushed across, leaving others to tend the German and British wounded. The sarge issued orders. A German doctor was dragged from a house at gunpoint. The gun stayed fixed on him as he was rushed to the clearing. Border came with him, pale, drawn and shaking. Sergeant Williams looked up at him and said, ‘Yer did a good job there, son.’
The lieutenant nodded, his smile brief, relief in his voice. ‘About time, eh, Sergeant Williams. How’s the boss?’
All the men waited. No one spoke as the doctor poked and prodded, and the medic hovered, watching carefully. Morris was stretchered to the doctor’s house. The doctor’s wife was a nurse, and she knew of one more. The medic stood over her while she worked on Morris, and her friend aided the medics tending all the others. Three of these were triaged and taken to the doctor’s house as well.
Corporal Jones supervised the men, who hunkered down into groups within the clearings; those that weren’t on watch, anyway. They watched and they waited. Saul skinned and cooked the rabbits. They caught some of the chickens, too. If someone complained they’d bloody sort them, so they would, because their lieutenant was hurt bad.
Reinforcements arrived, some stayed, some marched away the prisoners. The houses were searched more thoroughly now and more weapons were found in the attics and basements, some even in the crypt of the church. They were all destroyed. And still the men waited, but they ate the rabbit and chicken. Lieutenant Border posted guards, and kept the men dispersed until dawn broke. A couple of ambulance transports arrived, their red cross glaring in the early morning sun, and the wounded were loaded by stretcher, including the Germans.
‘What about Lieutenant Morris, Sarge?’
‘Still with us. Going off in the ambulance. We’ll be under Border, but he’s come good. You all just stay at your posts, and that’s an order.’
Their boss was taken from the doctor’s house, the company medic walking beside the stretcher, holding a drip high in the air. Saul, Tom and Geordie looked at one another, grabbed their weapons and headed towards Morris along with the rest of the company. Sergeant Williams was heard to say, as they passed him, ‘Stay at yer posts, I said. Talking to me bloody self, eh?’ But within seconds he was leading the way, along with Corporal Jones, shouting, ‘In full marching order, if you please. We don’t want the lieutenant to become annoyed, and cause his blood pressure to boil, now, do we?’
The men shouldered arms and stood to attention in a line behind the ambulance with Sergeant Williams, Corporal Jones, 2nd Lieutenant Green and Lieutenant Border, as their boss was carried the final yards. They waited at attention until he was on board, though the doors were still open. There was a pause, and Sergeant Williams was gestured by a medic to the back of the transport. They watched as he ducked into the ambulance, and heard Williams bark, ‘Yes, sir.’
He jumped down, about-turned, and spoke to the two officers. Lieutenant Border laughed. ‘Give the order, Sergeant Williams, in those precise words, if you would.’
Sergeant Williams raised his voice. ‘Get yourselves back to work, or the boss’ll want to know the reason why. Keep your bloody heads down, clean your weapons, and get those latrines finished, and good show, the lot of you. You’re men to be proud of.’
They set off the next day, leaving the remaining chickens in place, and the civilians to what was left of their lives, but they spared them no sympathy. The war had lasted for six years as these people fought tooth and nail for a madman who, not content with destroying country after country, had indulged in obscene crimes in his people’s name.
They caught up with their own tanks a week later, and the fighting continued. Lieutenant Morris died, though, as their platoon was entering a large village. Still they had to fight on step by step in an almost monotonous way. There was some things that they would remember, Saul thought as they captured a boy of fifteen or so, who was dressed in a ragtag uniform, his rifle barrel hot from firing from his bedroom window and who was riddled with lice. They gestured that he go outside for delousing, but his mother held him back.
Tom had learned some German, and said that she must let him go. She wept. ‘Töte ihn nicht.’
Tom shook his head. ‘She thinks we’re going to kill him.’ He told her, ‘Wir werden nicht.’
Geordie muttered, ‘You should tell her we’re not bloody Nazis.’
Lieutenant Border, who was passing, said, ‘Enough of that, Geordie. He’s only a boy, without the sense he was born with.’
‘Aye, sir, but she ain’t.’
Tom said to the woman, ‘Es ist Typhus zu stoppen.’ They stripped him of his clothes, dusted him with DDT to prevent him, and the village, dying of typhus, and sent him back in.
They moved on, and on. To the east the Russians were advancing fast and resistance to the Allies faded as refugees started heading towards the west, desperate to escape the Russians bent on revenge for the treatment and execution of so many thousands, probably millions, of their countrymen by the Nazis
.
Saul, Tom and Geordie marched on, putting one foot in front of the other, still alert for rearguard lunatics. They stuck to the side of the road, not wanting to make any form of contact with Germans; not now, not after all they were hearing about the Jews. Somehow they had to keep hold of their humanity. On they marched, deeper and deeper into Germany, further from England, but nearer peace. But not quite yet; there were ‘miles to go before they slept’, or so Lieutenant Border said, as he walked amongst his men. ‘That’s almost a line in a poem by Robert Frost,’ he told them.
They just smiled. He had a funny way with him, did Border, but as they couldn’t have Morris, they’d have him. Saul thought of the cut, as he marched on. He already knew t’feeling of there being miles to go before he slept, but he’d been on water then. He said to Tom, as Border moved on, ‘I reckon our lasses know t’feeling an’ all. They be pat-pattering up the cut, and we’d ’ave ’eard if they’d been caught in a rocket in the mail that gets through from home. Wonder how Joe be? Wonder too if Maudie be well enough to see ’im? Seems years since she were found, but it’s not.’
Tom shrugged. ‘It is years, you daft old boater. Years, and bloody years.’
Geordie muttered, ‘Oh Gawd, I hope we have a billet tonight. Sick I am of digging a bloody latrine.’
Tom said what he always said: ‘Thought you’d be used to digging. After all, you’re a pitman.’
