Commando- The Complete World War II Action Collection Volume II

by Jack Badelaire

  As the Commandos milled about in the street, unsure of what to do, Finch waved his hands overhead, shouting, “Fall back! Fall back!”. Lynch knelt in the street and raked several second-story windows with a long burst from his Thompson, then motioned to Larsen, urging him to run. With a last pat on the shoulder of his dead captain, Larsen pushed himself away from the wall of the hotel and ran back across the street, Lynch and Nelson providing covering fire. In seconds, the Commandos had regrouped.

  Back in cover once more, Lynch let out a vivid curse and watched as several Commandos tended to their wounded comrades. Across the alleyway, he saw Finch slam his gloved fist into the side of the building, swearing repeatedly. After a long moment, Finch turned and slumped against the building, looking at Lynch and shaking his head, tears visible on his face. Next to Finch, Sergeant Larson sat in the snow, leaning against the building, his face in his hands, the blood of his captain visible on his battledress. All around them, Commandos sat on the ground, exhausted, dirty, and worst of all, visibly defeated.

  Forrester, Giles, Linge, Price, Lloyd, Komrower, McTeague...so many good men had been killed or wounded that morning, Who was left to lead? Lynch wondered. Looking at Finch, he saw a man at the edge of giving up, a man who’d seen his captain, his hero, shot down and blown apart.

  Next to Lynch, Bowen shook his head. “This isn’t working. We need a better plan, or we’re just going to keep leaving bodies in the street.”

  Lynch nodded. “We’ve got to break this defensive line, and the hotel is the hardpoint holding it all together. If we take it, the rest of the line folds.”

  But who among us is willing to step forward and lead the next charge?

  Someone jabbed Lynch hard in the shoulder, and he turned to see Nelson, who pointed south, past the other squads. Approaching their position was another group of Commandos, and when Lynch saw what they were carrying, he smiled.

  “If we can’t attack from the front…” he said.

  “We attack from above,” Nelson finished, giving his squadmate a malicious grin.

  Lynch stepped forward.

  Chapter 20

  The Ulvesund Hotel

  1045 Hours

  Metz took a five-round clip from the ammunition box on the table next to him and pushed it into the magazine well of the Kar 98k in his hands. Once the cartridges were loaded, he tossed aside the metal stripper clip and worked the bolt, chambering the first round. Metz leaned the rifle against the window in front of him, then checked the MP-38 on the table. His second-to-last magazine was full and seated in the weapon, the bolt cocked back and ready to fire. In addition, there was a cloth satchel with three Stielhandgranaten hanging from the back of a chair next to the table.

  All in all, Metz felt nervous, but more confident in their situation than he’d been an hour ago. They’d fought off three waves of British attackers, and several tan-uniformed corpses were visible below his window, along with multiple blood trails in the snow leading back across the street. Inside the hotel, some two dozen defenders stood ready, a man at every window or doorway, weapons at the ready. Two men had been killed, and three others wounded, but it was clear that the British invaders had lost their momentum, and that was exactly what Stabsfeldwebel Lebrenz had hoped would happen.

  Downstairs, Metz could hear Leutnant zur See Sebelin giving a report over the wireless, alerting the nearest airfields of the situation and trying to get an idea of when more than just a pair of Luftwaffe fighters might arrive and drive away the Tommies. So far, as best as Metz could gather from overhearing Sebelin’s side of previous transmissions, the gravity of the situation wasn’t being taken seriously. Whoever Sebelin was reporting to, they seemed to believe this was only a harassing attack to sink a few trawlers and perhaps silence some shore batteries. No one wanted to accept that the British had landed a force hundreds strong on German-occupied territory.

  A roar of profanity from Sebelin came up the staircase, and Egger, positioned near the hotel room’s other window, let out a low whistle.

  “The Leutnant does not sound pleased,” Egger whispered.

  Metz shook his head. “No one wants to believe the Tommies would be this bold.”

  Egger fed single nine-millimetre cartridges into the magazine of his P-38, topping it off before sliding it back into the pistol’s butt. He holstered the sidearm and picked up the Mauser rifle next to him, slipping open the rifle’s bolt to check its load. Metz had seen Egger hit the British officer leading the third attack as the man had stepped out from behind the building across from them.

  “I think you make a better rifleman than you do an assistant machine-gunner,” Metz said.

  The young man chuckled, his breath whistling through his battered nose. “If we had that MG-34, you could cross the street by stepping from one English corpse to the next.”

  Metz nodded. There wasn’t a single machine gun left in the defensive line. If another unit had gotten their hands on one, they were too far away to engage, because he’d not heard the distinctive sound of an MG-34 firing since just after the attack had occurred.

  Suddenly a thought came to Metz, and he turned to Egger. “That old sardine can parked in the garage down the street. It has a machine gun.”

  Egger frowned. “The Panzerbefelswagen? Does its engine even turn over?”

  “We don’t need the damn engine to turn over,” Metz replied. “We need the machine gun mounted on it, and the ammunition it carries.”

  Egger shrugged, keeping watch out the window. Blood had clotted along his hairline where a bit of broken glass had sliced him, but he seemed to pay the injury no mind. Suddenly Egger leaned forward and brought up his Mauser, firing a shot and leaning back immediately. Metz stepped to the side, away from his window, as a burst of automatic weapon fire - it sounded like a Tommy machine pistol - rattled against the outer stone wall. Several slugs zipped through the room, impacting against the rear wall amongst a dozen other bullet holes.

  “You’re wasting ammunition,” Metz said.

  Egger shrugged again, opening the bolt of his rifle and slipping a single round back into the chamber. “I missed, but I think it keeps them unfocused. A man doesn’t think right when he’s hunched over in fear. You taught us that.”

  Metz smiled. It was one of the lessons he’d drilled into the men who manned their squad’s machine gun. While the weapon was very good at killing, it was even better at keeping the enemy frightened, pinned down, and helpless, which meant that not only were they ineffective, they made easier targets for one’s own mortars, artillery, and attack aircraft.

  That last thought caused Metz to peek out of his window. Across the wide expansive of South Vaagso’s main street, he caught a glimpse of Tommies running from one building to another. Angling his view, he looked towards the south, trying to see if any more attackers were arriving. He did not see any movement, but there was a steady background of gunfire, punctuated with the occasional grenade burst. Looking up into the sky, Metz realized the pair of Messerschmitts were now gone, either shot down or returning to their airfield. Unless more Luftwaffe reinforcements arrived soon, the Tommies would continue to push forward, and eventually they’d try another—

  Thoomp!

  The distinctive sound of a firing mortar registered in Metz’s ears, and before he realized what he was doing, he grabbed Egger and pulled him to the floor. A moment later there was a loud crump somewhere above them, and the entire hotel shook, despite its heavy stone and timber construction.

  “They hit us with a mortar bomb!” Egger cried.

  “Get to the window,” Metz grunted, “but keep your head down. They may be softening us up for another attack.”

  Metz got to his feet and grabbed his machine pistol from the table. He started moving towards the doorway as a second explosion rocked the hotel, followed moments later by a third. A man above him started screaming in agony, and as Metz stepped out into the hallway, he saw the air was filled with a haze of dust, and his nose caught the scent
of detonated explosives and smoke.

  “They’re going to bring the roof down on us!” Metz hollered down the staircase.

  Sebelin’s aide, a Matrosengefreiter, or Seaman of the Kriegsmarine, poked his head around a corner and looked up at him.

  “The Leutnant says to hold our positions as long as we can,” the young man shouted over the sound of another explosion, “but order the men on the third floor to evacuate down to your level. We’ll use the third floor as cover from the mortar.”

  Metz nodded and turned, slinging his MP-38 as he climbed up the flight of stairs to the third floor. Halfway down the hall, he saw a shattered door hanging by a single hinge, a dead man sprawled in the doorway. Another soldier leaned against a wall clutching a bleeding arm. He looked up as Metz appeared in the stairwell.

  “Get down to the second story!” Metz shouted.

  The soldier nodded and staggered past, heading down the stairs. Metz turned towards the other end of the hallway, just as a mortar bomb landed several meters away, blowing a hole in the ceiling and spraying plaster dust everywhere. Metz coughed, then pushed forward through the haze, banging on every closed door and shouting at the men inside.

  “Downstairs! The Leutnant orders you to the second floor!” Metz cried out, choking on the dust and pulverized debris in the air.

  Another bomb landed with a crash, and a wall burst into the hallway. Metz saw a severed arm amidst the rubble and gagged. Doors opened and soldiers stumbled out of the rooms, coughing and holding their arms over their heads, expecting the ceiling above to fall in on them at any moment. Metz waved them towards the staircase, cursing at them to move faster. Once the last man descended, Metz followed, unslinging his weapon.

  The sound of machine gun fire and exploding grenades outside the hotel signalled another attack from the Tommies, and this time, Metz had a feeling the hotel’s defenders wouldn’t be able to stop them in the street.

  Chapter 21

  The Ulvesund Hotel

  1050 Hours

  Lynch pressed his back against the outer wall of the hotel, then flipped the armed grenade through the shattered remnants of the front door. Over the roar of gunfire all around him, Lynch heard someone cry out inside a moment before the Mills Bomb detonated, spraying debris out the doorway. Nodding to Nelson standing on the other side of the opening, Lynch ducked into a crouch and charged inside, his Thompson scything through the air on full auto. Nelson was right behind him, taking the high position and hammering out bursts from the shoulder at anything that moved.

  A bullet snapped past Lynch’s ear and out through the doorway. The German responsible died an instant later, as two slugs from Nelson’s Thompson reduced the man’s head to a shattered ruin. Lynch shoved past the toppling corpse and kept moving into the hotel foyer, throwing another grenade down a hallway to his left, while White, coming in behind Nelson and Lynch, threw a grenade up the staircase off to the right. More explosions rocked the building as Commandos reached the outer wall of the hotel unharmed and flung grenades through every window.

  Further back inside the hotel, a German voice shouted something with an officer’s authority, and Lynch moved through the lobby, trying to find where the defenders were regrouping. Nelson, White, and the rest his men moved to follow him, as the other squads poured through windows and doorways, firing at any German foolish to show his face. After all the casualties they'd suffered trying to capture the hotel, the Commandos were in a bloodthirsty mood, unwilling to accept quarter from men who, moments ago, had tried their best to kill them.

  None of the men had been eager to make another frontal assault, but with the arrival of Sergeant Ramsay and the firepower of his section’s three-inch mortars, Lynch had convinced Finch and the other squad leaders that they could take the hotel. Finch had been dubious at first, but when Lynch volunteered to lead the assault, the other man finally accepted the plan.

  “I won’t lead the lads on this mad scheme of yours, Tom,” Finch had said. “But, if this is what you’re set on, I’ll sure as hell follow you.”

  Once Ramsay’s mortar section had wrecked the third floor of the hotel, Lynch had all the Bren teams concentrate fire on the second floor windows, while the men carrying Thompsons used them to suppress the defenders on the ground floor. As a result, the Germans offered up a poor defence against the Commandos’ assault.

  Now, Lynch moved through the service portion of the hotel and approached a doorway leading into the hotel kitchen and the rear service entrance. He heard German voices ahead of him and he looked back, making sure Nelson and the rest of the squad was following. Lynch unclipped his last hand grenade, pulled the pin, and threw it around the corner and into the room.

  There was a cry of alarm just before the grenade exploded, but as Lynch pivoted around the doorway and into the room, he was forced to duck back as a burst of gunfire hammered a set of copper pots and pans hanging along the wall to his right. Lynch stuck his Thompson around the corner and fired off a burst, while a German responded by firing several pistol shots, one of which blew apart a glass jar containing flour, spraying it everywhere.

  Lynch peeked around the corner, and through the cloud of flour swirling in the room, he saw several Germans dashing out through the doorway and into the small courtyard behind the hotel. Raising his Thompson, Lynch fired a long burst after the Germans, and saw one of their number stumble, only to be caught by two others and dragged around the corner of another building. The last man turned and emptied the magazine of his MP-38 through the doorway before following his comrades. The nine-millimetre slugs clanged and pinged off the side of an immense cast-iron stove, sending ricochets and bullet fragments everywhere.

  Lynch moved to pursue the Germans, but as he stepped outside, there was gunfire to his left. He turned to see several other Germans climbing out a first-floor hotel window and firing back behind them. One of the Germans saw Lynch and raised his Mauser, but before he could bring the weapon to bear, the muzzle of a Lee-Enfield appeared in the window and fired, the bullet blowing out the side of the German’s head and spraying blood and brain matter for yards. The two other Germans threw down their rifles and raised their hands over their heads, but whoever the Commandos were inside that room, they didn’t feel like taking prisoners. Two more gunshots echoed across the yard, and the surrendering Germans collapsed in the snow.

  Nelson stepped out into the courtyard next to Lynch, snapping a fresh magazine into his Thompson’s receiver.

  “Should we follow them?” he asked.

  Lynch shook his head. “We need to gather the men and send word to an officer, if there be any left. If we give chase now, we’ll be spread out in penny packets, easy targets for any Jerry with a rifle.”

  The sound of gunfire along the German defensive line continued, but it was clear that with the loss of the hotel, the Commandos were beginning to break through. Lynch heard fighting further north, both to the east and west of the hotel, and he knew the Germans were disappearing into the town, creating more strongpoints to hold out against the British as they advanced. Part of him did want to pursue the Germans, but he knew if they did it without coordination, even more Commandos would be dead and wounded in the streets.

  Lynch turned and addressed the rest of the squad. “Alright lads, we’re stopping here for a breather. Higgins, Herring, you two set up the Bren and cover the back courtyard. White, come with me, we’re going to see if we can find anything worth saving, in case this bloody ruin begins to fall apart. Nelson, I want you and Bowen to push ahead just far enough to ensure we’ve got warning if the Germans attempt a counterattack.”

  The men around him nodded and spoke a few words of agreement, then went about their tasks. Lynch looked around the kitchen, seeing debris from his grenade and the exchange of gunfire, but he also spotted a loaf of bread, a sausage, and a hunk of hard cheese on a countertop nearby. Drawing his Fairbairn-Sykes dagger, Lynch brushed away a few bits of pottery and splintered wood, then hacked apart the food and passed it a
round to the men nearby, saving himself one end of the loaf and a bit of cheese.

  Over the next few minutes, Lynch and White moved through the hotel, looking for any signs of German documents or other worthy intelligence. Several offices were searched, but it was clear the Germans had already burned what sensitive papers or code books they’d kept at the hotel. Lynch found several piles of smouldering ashes, thoroughly stirred and spread around to make any attempts at recovering scraps of information impossible. A wireless was also found, but someone had taken a rifle butt and smashed the set into uselessness. White, the squad’s signals expert, dug through the shattered remains, pulling out a few pieces and examining them.

  “Nothing left worth a fig,” White muttered, then threw the items back into the broken housing. “Bloody Jerries know how to muck up a delicate instrument like this good and proper-like.”

  Just then, Corporal Finch stepped into the wireless room. “Ah, there you are, Tom. The lieutenant-colonel’s arrived, and he wants us to brief him on what’s happened.”

  It was an odd feeling, being asked to perform a duty that either Price or McTeague would normally handle, but both of those men were now out of the picture, perhaps for good. It was down to Lynch to lead the squad, both in battle, and in dealing with senior officers. Lynch knew such was the fate of men in war - you were rarely given a choice as to whether to lead your men or not. It was a matter of life or death, victory or defeat.

  With this in mind, Lynch slung his Thompson over his shoulder and nodded to White. “Keep looking around. Maybe you’ll find something.”

  Then he followed Finch out the door and went to give his report.

  Chapter 22

  South Vaagso

  1100 Hours

  Metz followed a few paces behind the others, constantly turning around and covering their rear to make sure the British weren’t following. For now, at least, it appeared the invaders were going to be content with consolidating and holding what was left of the hotel, allowing the Germans to flee unmolested.