from his belt. His whole attitude was intimidating and this reflected in the frightened faces of the two young people.
‘Good afternoon, Miss. Oh Christ...do you speak English?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Of course you do. All the bloody Dutch do, don’t they? And German and Serbo-Croat too, I shouldn’t wonder. You have to, I suppose. After all, who speaks bloody Dutch? Look, are your parents or any other adults around? Who owns this house? Is the owner here?’ Almost without pause he turned on his heel and shouted across the road. ‘Sergeant, over here, and bring those maps.’
‘Sir.’
‘Well, girl, I asked you a question. Who lives here? You boy, go and find the owner of this house and bring him to me.’
‘Where are they, Drush?’
‘They must be in the garden otherwise they would have heard all this noise.’
The second soldier had walked up and stood just behind the first. The girl looked at him and he could see she was very afraid. His face softened with just the trace of a smile and he gave her a little wink.
‘The maps, Colonel.’
‘What? Oh, thank you, Sergeant. I’m going back to meet the rest of the men and get them deployed. I’ve sent for the owner of this house. When he comes, stay with him and don’t let him move until I get back.’
‘Sir.’
He turned and looked at the girl. She was still staring at the sergeant, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, transfixed. He shook his head, smiling. ‘Careful, Sergeant, I think you have an admirer.’
‘Sir?’
The Colonel ran back down the path and, climbing into the jeep, drove off at high speed. The sergeant looked at the girl.
‘Don’t mind him, love...Miss?’
She just stared at him, unmoving.
‘Miss? Hullo? Anybody there?’ He leant forward slightly and waved his hand in her face. ‘Miss?’
She blinked and appeared to gather herself. ‘Yes?’
‘Ah, you’re back. Wonderful. Look, is the owner coming, love?’
‘Yes. Per has gone to fetch them.’
‘Them?’
‘Yes. My parents. This is our house. Per has gone for them.’
‘And who’s Per, your brother? The boy I saw at the window?’
‘He’s not my brother, he’s just a friend.’
‘Boyfriend, is he?’
‘No he isn’t. He’s a neighbour. Ah, here are Mummy and Papa. Papa, the Sergeant wants to talk to you.’
‘Ah, Sergeant, welcome to our house. Come in, come in. I am Dr Doorn and this is my wife, Marie. You’ve met my daughter, Druschke. We call her Drush for short. And this is Per, Pieter Van Der Aar, a neighbour.’
The boy was still animated with the excitement of it all. ‘Is that a Jeep, Sergeant?’
‘Well, the English version of a Jeep, yes.’
‘Why is the steering wheel on the wrong side?’
‘It’s because they drive on the wrong side of the road in England, Per.’
‘No, Doctor, it’s because we drive on the left side of the road.’
The doctor laughed. ‘My apologies, Sergeant, I knew it was the opposite of right. Now, what can we do to help?’
‘Thank you, Sir. My C.O. has asked if you will kindly wait, he’ll be back directly. He wants to set up his HQ here.’
‘What, in my house?’
‘Yes Sir. It’s ideal for us, you see, being so close to the bridge.’
‘The bridge?’
‘That’s why we’re here. To secure the bridge for the army.’
‘Army? What army?’
‘The British Second Army. They’re coming up from Nijmegen and we’ve got to hold the bridge.’
A huge smile spread across the doctor’s face. ‘You see, Marie? I told you so! You wouldn’t believe me. These brave boys are going to stop the Panzers getting away back to Germany. They are going to trap them here and the army are going to destroy the bastards. Right, Sergeant?’
The sergeant looked intently at the doctor.
‘What do you mean, stop the Panzers getting away? Getting away from where?’
‘From here, of course. Good God, surely you knew there were two Panzer divisions resting and refitting at Elst. The underground told your people weeks ago.’
‘Elst? Where’s Elst?’
The doctor crossed to the door and pointed. ‘Over there, about eight kilometres.’
‘You mean there are two Panzer divisions between us and Nijmegen?’
The doctor looked into the sergeant’s face. He could see the fear begin to reflect in his eyes. He nodded slowly.
‘Jesus H. Christ. I’ve got to tell the C.O. You lot, don’t move.’
He ran from the house.
3
She lay awake, the anxiety heavy in her chest. It was very quiet in spite of all the British paras who had been deployed around the bridge and throughout the village. She could not shake this feeling of apprehension, she knew something terrible was about to befall them all. The Germans could not allow the British to deny them access to the bridge and they would come to destroy them. The sergeant had confided to Jan the fact that the presence of the Panzers had been unknown to them and that it would not be possible for the lightly armed paratroops to hold out for more than a couple of days against an armoured attack. She eased herself up and leaned back against the headboard. Her husband woke with a start.
‘What is it Marie? Can’t you sleep?’
‘I’m afraid, Jan, terribly afraid. The Germans are going to tear into those wretched boys soon and I believe there is going to be the most awful bloodshed. Those are not Italians down there, they’re British paratroops and listening to them talking I don’t think they understand that they might be beaten. They have been conditioned to believe in their own invincibility and the possibility does not occur to them. The only one who seems to appreciate the danger they are in is the sergeant. I think that colonel is a medal-chasing idiot.’
‘Oh come on, Marie, that’s a bit hard. He is a British officer and according to the sergeant a professional soldier, not just a wartime conscript.’
‘Which proves my point exactly. Jan, can’t you see they’re all the same? Whether they are British, German, French, they have been at each other’s throats for centuries and it’s small countries like ours who get dragged into their madness.’
‘But they’ve come to liberate us, Marie.’
‘Yes, Jan, I know. They will wreck our house, raze our village and kill most of our neighbours, and then we shall be free.’
‘You might be right. I know you have no love for any of them, but there’s nothing we can do about that now. Get some sleep. We might not get much chance soon.’
The explosion blew the windows in. Had the heavy curtains not been drawn, the girl would have been lacerated by flying glass. She bolted upright and began to scream uncontrollably. The doctor rushed into the room and gathered her in his arms, trying to calm her terror.
‘Alright, darling, shush now. Papa is here. Come now, stop crying. We must all go down to the cellar. It was foolish to go to our beds as if everything was normal. Come, sweetheart, come.’
There was pandemonium outside and he knew he must get them all to where they would be safe from stray fire and small ordnance. He tried to raise his daughter but she had begun to whimper softly. His wife entered the room. He could see she was making every effort to compose herself but she was obviously terrified. She crossed to the window and drew back what was left of the curtains. A cry came up from the pit of her stomach.
‘Oh God. Oh sweet Jesus. Jan, they’re on fire. These men are on fire, oh God, oh God...’
She repeated the words over and over, not crying now, but almost to herself. She had clutched the lapels of her dressing gown together and held them tightly under her chin as if to offer protection, and as she moaned she moved up and down on her toes, rising and falling in rhythm with the words. The doctor released his daughter and crossed the room to his wife.
‘Marie, for God’s sake come away from the window, you’ll be killed.’
He looked at the horror below. The Germans had attempted to cross the bridge and the paras had hit them when they had little room for manoeuvre. The leading vehicle, a light armoured car, had been hit by some sort of anti-tank weapon, its cargo of ammunition had exploded and it was on fire. Following was an assortment of armoured personnel carriers and other vehicles. The bridge was blocked and the column backed up into the darkness beyond. The leading personnel carrier had also been hit and was ablaze, its human cargo already dead or burning to death as he watched. The paratroops, concealed behind the parapets and newels of the bridge, were raking the column with machine gun and rifle fire. It was a massacre. His attention was drawn by some activity immediately below, just outside the house. Two paratroopers were lying in the road operating what appeared to be a length of guttering with a bipod at the front and a shoulder stock and trigger guard at the back. One pulled the stock close into his shoulder whilst the other loaded a kind of small bomb into it. He then gave his comrade a pat on the head. There was a loud report from the weapon and immediately a second personnel carrier exploded in flames. He felt his wife suffer a small spasm and, looking at her, he saw that she had vomit running down her chin and over her hands and clothes. Her eyes were staring, glazed over, expressionless, and he knew that if he didn’t get her away and sedated quickly she might suffer catatonic withdrawal. Moving her back, he sat her down on his daughter’s bed. She was also in severe shock and was rocking back and forth, her arms wrapped in a self embrace, like an insecure child. He picked up the corner of the sheet and wiped the dribble from her mouth.
‘Drush, listen to me, darling. I want you to take your mother to the cellar quickly. I have to go to see if I can help the injured. I have no one else I can rely on. Please, Drush, come on now.’
He knew that if he could get her to do something she might avoid the more serious consequences of shock. She turned to face him then smiled.
‘All right, Papa. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.’
She moved over to her mother and embraced her. But he knew that she also was very close to the edge.
The sergeant and the girl were together in the pantry arranging medical supplies. The jars of bottled fruit and other assorted comestibles had been piled in the corner of the small room and the shelves were now full of bandages, dressings, ointments and all the other pathetic paraphernalia of the field hospital. He wondered how long this would last against the rising tide of casualties which the battle was inflicting. The ferocity of the conflict was increasing by the hour.
‘Another MO bought it today. If we lose many more medics your dad will be overwhelmed. We still have plenty of morphine though, which is something.’
‘Are you a medic, Sergeant?’
‘No Miss, I’m what’s called the Orderly Room Sergeant.’
‘What’s the Orderly Room?’
‘It’s the administrative office of a military unit. It’s where the colonel runs the battalion. Like your front room right now, Miss. It’s the room where a lot of people who have no idea what they are doing make a bloody mess. That’s why it’s called the Orderly Room, as opposed to the Mess which is a bright, shiny, well-ordered sort of canteen, usually run by people who know exactly what they are doing.’
They both began to laugh. He looked at her and saw her differently now. It was the first time he had seen her smile and he was touched as it lighted her lovely young face, framed now by her unbraided flaxen hair.
‘What’s your name, Sergeant? You’ve been here nearly a week now and all we’ve called you is Sergeant. You must have a name.’
Still smiling at her, he shook his head slightly.
‘Tommy Atkins, Miss. It’s Tommy Atkins. But you may call me Tommy.’
‘Tommy. That’s what the Germans call the British soldiers, isn’t it, Tommy?’
‘Among other things, Miss.’
‘Tommy Atkins. That’s a nice name.’
‘And
The Bridge: A short story Page 2
