Commando- The Complete World War II Action Collection Volume II

by Jack Badelaire

  Another Commando, a man from Peabody’s squad with a bandage wrapped around his head, carried over another silver platter, this one piled high with slices of thick, dark bread slathered liberally with butter, as well as sliced sausages and wedges of cheese. Lynch grabbed his fair share and began to devour his breakfast, heedless of the manners he should probably display in front of his troop captain and lieutenant. In situations like they were in now, where the enemy might appear at any moment, Lynch knew it was important to eat whenever food presented itself. And, looking around the small cluster of men, he saw he wasn’t alone, for even Stambridge and Eldred were eating with gusto.

  “So, lad, have ye had any trouble with your lot?” McTeague asked Lynch from around a half-eaten sausage link. “Keeping them all in line, are ye? Especially those rogues, Nelson and Herring?”

  Lynch took a sip of tea to clear his throat. “They’re all behaving themselves, so they are. I had thought Harry might fight me more, but he’s taking it all in stride, so he is. As for the others, they do as they’re told.”

  McTeague chuckled. “Soldiers doing what they’re told, eh? May wonders never cease.”

  “Well, you never know, do you now?” Lynch replied. “God only knows what that lot are up to back there without me watching over them. Like as not I’ll walk back and find them all drunk and dozing against the trees, a squad of Rip Van Winkles.”

  “Well, if that happens, I’ll be happy to help out in applying boot to arse,” McTeague said. “Seems like forever since I’ve had to crack a couple of pates together.”

  “Maybe you’re just getting soft in your old age?” Lynch teased.

  McTeague’s eyes narrowed and he gave a snarl around a slice of half-bitten bread. “Not so old as I can’t knock your pate inside out, ye tosser.”

  Lynch let out a short laugh and saw McTeague’s expression shift just enough that, if you knew him as long as Lynch did, you would understand the Scotsman was enjoying the banter and not about to knock anyone’s head inside out.

  “Gentlemen,” Captain Eldred spoke up, “if you’ve managed to have a bite to eat, Lieutenant Stambridge would like to review our defensive strategy for the next twenty-four hours.”

  The conversations among the circle of men ended, and all eyes turned to Stambridge, as the lieutenant produced a map from his satchel and unfolded it on the ground in front of them. Every man there leaned in to get a better view.

  “Alright, here we are, about a mile from the coast,” Stambridge noted, pointing to their location on the map. “And here’s the road to the east of us. We are isolated from three directions, and with everything happening in St. Nazaire, we can hope that the bulk of the German forces will be so preoccupied, we’ll be hunted by a token force, which will have to search a very large portion of the coastline in order to find us.”

  Stambridge paused for a moment, before pointing again at the road to their east. “However, if they do find us, they’ll be coming down that road first. After some discussion, we’ve decided the best strategy will be to establish a hard defensive line along the road. The Germans will be at their most vulnerable when they arrive, as men are disembarking from transports and shaking out into their squads and sections, so if they get here, we don’t wait for them to get organized, we hit them immediately, knock them flat and stomp them hard, before they have a chance to hurt us back.”

  “Lieutenant,” Sergeant King spoke up, “are you putting all of us on the line?”

  Stambridge shook his head. “Sorry Archie, but I’ve got to take the hatchet to your squad. I need a half dozen men, in three pairs, to stand picket duty along the shoreline to the north, south, and west of our position. Another three men will watch over the Ivans and the wounded, tend to their needs and make sure that if the Germans find us and things get a bit sticky, our non-combatants are moved out of harm’s way. Finally, the last three men will provide close security to one of our MG-34 machine gun teams, which will be situated to the north, anchoring our position there.”

  “Bloody hell,” Archie King muttered, scratching his brow and grimacing. “The lads won’t like being broken up like kindling, I’m sure of it.”

  “Then I suppose it’s a good thing their squad sergeant is so effective at making sure they do as they’re told, isn’t that right?” Stambridge replied.

  Several of the men in the circle chuckled at that, Archie King included.

  “As for the rest of you,” Stambridge continued, “Lynch, your squad will push north a hundred yards and take up position along the road, with the MG-34 team and security section on your left flank.”

  “Aye, will do, Lieutenant,” Lynch said, nodding.

  “Lance-Sergeant, if the Germans push you too hard, and your flank has to fall back, I need you to ensure that machine gun displaces before your men. It’s too valuable to lose, and too cumbersome if the team has to fall back after you.”

  “Understood, Lieutenant,” Lynch replied. “We’ll hold until they’re off the line, so we will.”

  “Right. Now, Sergeant Howe, your squad will hold the southern flank. The second MG-34 will be kept with the Command section in reserve, along with the anti-tank rifle and the mortar, but you’re to pick two of your riflemen who’ll trade roles with one of Archie’s two Bren teams. Your men will take their machine gun and kit, giving your squad three Bren teams, so that should make up for it a bit.”

  “You can count on us, Lieutenant,” Howe answered, his gaze shifting to Lynch for a moment, Howe’s expression unreadable.

  Stambridge looked at Sergeant Peabody. “We need to know when the Germans are moving in this direction as early as possible. I want you to send Bowen and his spotter beyond the road, to serve as a listening post.”

  “Will they be free to engage the Germans when they make contact?” Peabody asked.

  Stambridge shook his head. “We want to keep the Germans ignorant of our presence for as long as possible. They are not to engage unless they are discovered, or if discovery is imminent. Hutchins will go with them, and he’ll come back to alert us as soon as the Germans are detected. At that point, Bowen and Johnson are to gather as much intelligence as they can while remaining undiscovered, and then fall back to anchor the southern flank.”

  Peabody nodded, saying nothing. There was a moment of silence, as each of the men in the circle looked at the others.

  Lynch broke the silence. “Lieutenant, what are your orders if we are in danger of being overwhelmed?”

  “Protocol for falling back will be to break contact in half-squads,” Stambridge answered. “Movement and cover fire as usual, although given the limited vision in these woods, keep fall-back distances to fifty yards.”

  Lynch cleared his throat and looked away for a moment. “Sorry, sir, that’s not what I meant. What do we do if we are overwhelmed by superior forces? The Germans will be busy to the south, to be sure, but that doesn’t mean that if we get stuck in hard enough, they won’t rouse up a battalion of garrison troops and just push us right into the Atlantic.”

  No one said anything for a long while, but it was Captain Eldred who broke the silence.

  “Lance-Sergeant, you are one of the men who survived the mission into Calais, are you not?”

  “Aye, Captain,” Lynch replied. “That I am.”

  “When I took command of your squad, before we were deployed to North Africa, I read over the mission report written by Lieutenant Price. According to him, your actions during that mission were quite impressive.”

  Lynch felt himself blush. “Thank you, sir.”

  Eldred looked him in the eye. “Do you recall what Lieutenant Price said to you and the others in that Calais church? Do you remember the order he gave, when the SS and Heer had you surrounded?”

  Lynch swallowed, a lump in his throat. “Yes sir, I do. The lieutenant ordered us to hold until relieved, so he did.”

  Eldred smiled. “Well, there you have it, Lance-Sergeant. You are to hold until relieved.”

  Chapte
r 20

  Two Kilometres North-West Of Assérac

  1155 Hours

  Kurzmann scrubbed his hand across his face and cursed the Heer under his breath for the thousandth time that morning.

  The SS sniper leaned against the side of the Kübelwagen and watched as the Heer men bumbled about in the farmer’s field, poking bayonets into hedges and not-so-subtly eating and drinking what they’d plundered from the farm. Several of the NCOs were attempting to herd their charges back to the transports, but as it was near lunchtime, and the men had been searching the French countryside all morning, there was plenty of resistance towards a hurried embarkation.

  Oberleutnant Knopf stepped out of the farmhouse, one hand holding a piece of chicken, the other an opened bottle of wine and a cloth sack. He finished stuffing the chicken into his mouth, and gave a lazy wave to Kurzmann as he approached.

  “What a worthless piece of Scheisse that man is,” muttered Stahl, standing next to Kurzmann.

  “Worthless as a man and an officer, yes,” Kurzmann agreed. “But he comes with a reinforced platoon, which is where his worth truly lies.”

  Stahl shrugged and looked back down the road behind them. Along with the lorries that had transported the SS men and Haas’ platoon, there were a further four transports - two of them commandeered French vehicles, two others English Bedford lorries abandoned and repaired after the invasion of 1940. Altogether they carried forty men, albeit rear-echelon garrison troops, but among these men, there were two machine gun teams armed with old, but reliable, MG-08 heavy machine guns, as well as a team equipped with one French 6cm mortar. Although they would be cumbersome to move and set up, the MGs would provide an impressive degree of firepower; Kurzmann valued the pair as much as he valued the rest of Knopf’s men put together.

  However, there was one last asset that made Knopf’s presence not just tolerable, but welcome - a captured British armoured car. The vehicle, a Morris CS9, was almost laughable when compared to its German counterparts, for Kurzmann knew even the humble SdKfz 222 would tear the Morris apart with its 2cm autocannon, while the Morris’ single Vickers .50 HMG would only be dangerous to its German opponent at close range. However, against light infantry such as the British Kommandos, the Morris’ mobility, armor, and firepower would be invaluable. And, even if the Tommies were able to eventually incapacitate the Morris through volume of fire or a lucky hit, they’d be so busy killing it, Knopf’s men would be able to push ahead under far less enemy fire.

  Of course, all of that was academic if they never found the Tommies, and at the pace set by Knopf, that seemed more and more likely. Although Kurzmann believed Knopf understood the situation at hand, he was simply not particularly motivated to do anything about it. For him, the orders to sweep through the coastal countryside in search of more than fifty heavily-armed enemy soldiers really amounted to an excuse for looting food and liquor from the locals. Further, it was clear that Knopf was more than happy to avoid contact with an armed enemy force, as he had mentioned more than once that morning how preferable these duties were to heading south to St. Nazaire, where there were supposedly hundreds of Tommies running amok, blowing up buildings and setting alight anything they could, all while spraying machine gun fire at any Germans foolish enough to engage them.

  No, Knopf considered this an exercise, a manoeuvre with the added benefit of having the license to poke his nose into every barn, pantry, and root cellar in a twenty-kilometre radius. And like most garrison soldiers, Knopf’s men were taking their lead from the Oberleutnant, the result being that Kurzmann imagined they very well could have passed whole companies of hidden Kommandos over the course of the morning, but if none of the Tommies had been holding a cured ham or a bottle of brandy, the Germans would likely pass them by.

  It was going to be a long, frustrating day.

  Knopf stepped up to Kurzmann and raised his purloined wine bottle in mock salute. “Alas, no Tommies found in that farmhouse. But the inhabitants were kind enough to part with some of their provisions, so thankful they were to have brave German soldiers patrolling this area, making sure the British invaders aren’t lurking on their property.”

  “Very selfless of them, to make sure you are properly fortified while going about your duties, Oberleutnant,” Kurzmann replied, his sarcasm completely ignored by Knopf, who turned to regard Haas, the younger officer hunched over the back of the Kübelwagen as he delivered another report to their superiors over the wireless. Knopf’s features darkened as Haas’ tone became one of concern and excitement.

  Haas signed off and flicked a few switches on the wireless, then turned and gave Knopf a quick salute. The man’s face was flushed - clearly something had happened.

  “Out with it, Leutnant!” Knopf ordered.

  “Oberleutnant, there has been an enormous explosion at the St. Nazaire dry dock,” Haas reported.

  “Haven’t the blasted Tommies been blowing up the whole damn city?” Knopf asked.

  “It was a ship they rammed into the docks,” Haas answered. “It...it exploded, over an hour ago. The Tommies must have packed it full of explosives, because the dry dock has been obliterated.”

  “Mein Gott,” Kurzmann muttered. “Do they have new orders for us?”

  Haas shook his head. “Nein, they want us to continue the search. They are now worried that these Tommies might be planning another large explosion somewhere nearby.”

  Kurzmann rolled his eyes. “What valuable target do your superiors think the British are going to attack? One of these farmhouses? There isn’t a viable military target anywhere along this coastline!”

  Haas merely raised his hands in a gesture that indicated he had no answer. “They want us to push north and take the road around the peninsula, then continue over the bridge at Vieille-Roche.”

  Knopf made a sour face. “Vieille-Roche? We just came from there! We’ll just be going in circles.”

  “Those are our orders, Oberleutnant,” Haas said, apologetically. “And pardon me for saying this, but I have been told to inform you that our current pace is unacceptable. I was ordered to pass along to you the Oberst’s insistence to you that this is not a time to, as he said it, “fleece the herd”. He also said we shouldn’t return to our posts until we either find the Tommies, or firm evidence that they’ve departed the mainland.”

  Knopf’s face reddened, and he discreetly tucked the bottle of wine behind his leg. “Well then, if those are our orders, we shall pick up the pace. At least the men had a chance to eat something before we mount up and depart.”

  Haas and Knopf walked away and began shouting at the Heer men around them. Kurzmann saw Taube and Vogt pick up on the urgency in their officers’ voices, and the non-commissioned officers immediately began to harangue their charges, knocking food and drink out of the hands of the men and kicking them in the seats of their trousers, driving them towards the transports.

  “Do I want to know where Brune is?” Kurzmann asked Stahl.

  “You mean, is he raping the farmer’s daughter”? Stahl replied.

  “Or the farmer’s wife. He’s not particularly picky when the mood strikes him.”

  Stahl shook his head. “You would be surprised. He has been inspecting the MG-08s, making sure they are clean and ready to use. I’ve never seen him so focused.”

  “That’s because he doesn’t intend to let this rabble fail us when we find the Tommies,” Kurzmann said. “He wants revenge, and he’s going to make sure these fools do their jobs right when the opportunity presents itself.”

  “Have we been told what our role here is, officially?” Stahl asked.

  Kurzmann’s expression turned sour. “No. At this point, I think we are along for the ride, as they say. We were nominally under the command of the SS-Untersturmführer overseeing the Lustschloss, but as he’s dead, along with everyone else, that makes me the senior SS man present, and I am outranked by Haas and Knopf, even if they are Heer.”

  “So we are responsible for, what is the term, ‘ot
her duties as assigned’?” Stahl asked.

  “It would appear so, yes,” Kurzmann replied. “Between you and I, and Brune of course, if we encounter the Tommies, our most important job is, first, to not get killed, and second, to use Knopf and his men as best as we can influence him, in order to get our revenge.”

  A few minutes later, the convoy had embarked on their transports, and they were pushing north-west along a narrow lane, bordered on the east by the hedges of bocage, and to the west by coastal scrubland, interspersed by patches of thin woods. Fifty metres ahead of them, the Morris armoured car trundled along, it’s heavy, wide tyres digging deep into the roadbed. Kurzmann saw the helmeted head of the turret machine gunner bobbing and swaying as the car moved over bumps in the road. Kurzmann hoped the gunner was looking for any threats, because he knew the driver’s vision block was so narrow, he would never see an attack until it was too late, if at all.

  Kurzmann rode in the back seat of the Kübelwagen along with Knopf, the vehicle now driven by Knopf’s aide, a young Gefreiter missing several fingers from his right hand, whose name Kurzmann hadn’t bothered to learn. In front of Kurzmann, one of Knopf’s men manned the pintle-mounted machine gun. Kurzmann was pleased to see that the gunner was sitting up straight with his head on a swivel, scanning both sides of the road and paying attention for any threats, the weapon charged and ready. Kurzmann kept the flap of his pistol holster unbuckled, and his long-barreled Mauser was upright between his knees, loaded and ready. Looking over his shoulder as they took a slight curve in the road, Kurzmann saw each of the lorries following them, separated by only ten metres of distance apiece. He thought the transports were too close to each other, but his earlier protestations had been ignored by Knopf, who wanted all his men close at hand, instead of spread out along a greater distance of roadway. Of course, Knopf was convinced they wouldn’t find any British raiders today, never mind encounter an ambush.