‘Two brothers. One killed on Gallipoli, one killed in Flanders. I’m the last of the Dutton line.’ Shaking his water bottle, and finding it empty, Taz cast it away.
‘Why’d you join up?’
‘I couldn’t stand that they died while I was safe back at home.’ With his voice quavering, Taz changed the subject. ‘Where’s home for you, Billy?’
‘Winton,’ Blizzard replied. ‘Queensland.’
‘Is it nice there?’
‘Paradise,’ Blizzard whispered. ‘Got a fag, mate?’
‘A fag? I don’t know if that will do you much good, Billy.’
‘Just the one.’
Taz sighed. ‘I’ll see if Frankie’s got any left.’ He stepped around the bodies of German soldiers to get to Frankie, who had taken up a lookout position on the side of the hole nearest the Mephisto crater. ‘Got any cigarettes left, Frankie?’
Fishing in a tunic pocket, Frankie pulled out his tobacco pouch and peered into it. ‘Probably got enough backer left for two fags. Taken up smoking all of a sudden, have you?’
‘It’s for Billy.’
‘Ah, righto.’ With the last of his tobacco, Frankie proceeded to roll two thin cigarettes – one for Blizzard, one for himself – then gave one to Taz, along with his box of matches.
Taz went away with cigarette and matches, and bent down to Blizzard. But he returned shortly after and handed both back to Frankie.
‘Changed his mind about the fag, has he?’ Frankie asked, slipping the unused cigarette into his tobacco pouch.
‘Won’t be needing it,’ Taz replied, sinking down beside Frankie. ‘Billy’s gone.’
‘Ah.’ Frankie lit the other cigarette for himself. ‘So, it’s just you and me now, mate,’ he remarked, then took a puff. ‘The two youngest blokes in the entire platoon are the only ones still living and breathing. That’s flaming irony for you.’
‘Seems that way,’ Taz sighed.
Frankie stabbed the cigarette butt into the earth. He and Taz were straining to hear what was going on beyond their hiding place, listening for telltale sounds of German troops coming their way. In that case, the two of them would only be able to put up a fight using their bayonets and empty rifles.
‘Help! Please help me!’ A muffled voice came from behind them.
Frankie and Taz both looked around.
‘Did you hear that?’ said Frankie.
‘Someone’s still alive.’
‘Is it Billy?’
‘Please help me,’ came the voice again.
‘It’s coming from that pile of dead Germans,’ said Taz, pointing to a stack three bodies high, just metres from them.
‘I am under here,’ said the voice.
Taz, coming to his feet, went over to the pile of bodies and bent down. A pale upturned face met his eyes, owned by a fair-haired youth lying on his stomach at the bottom of the pile.
‘I cannot move. I cannot get out,’ said the young man, in accented English. ‘Please help me, sir.’
Frankie came up beside Taz. ‘You’re a flaming Jerry!’ he growled, pointing his bayonet at the young man.
‘Yes, I am German. Please, I am unarmed. I only loaded a cannon. I never personally killed a soul.’ He tried to move, without success. He was pinned down by the two bodies on top of him. ‘If you could please lift the others off me . . .’
‘Hold on,’ said Taz.
While Frankie continued to stand guard, Taz hauled the top body off the pile, then the next. Slowly, painfully, the young man sat up. His hair, face and shirt were covered with blood – but not his own, it seemed.
‘Don’t try going anywhere, mate!’ Frankie cautioned, the tip of his bayonet just centimetres from the young German’s head.
‘I will not try to escape. I am your prisoner. I never wanted to fight in this war. I was forced into the army.’
‘He’s not going anywhere, Frankie,’ said Taz. ‘Steady on.’
Frankie scowled. ‘So what do we do with him? You heard what the higher-ups said before this all began – no prisoners! And you saw what Lieutenant Blair did to those Jerries who surrendered in the first trench we took. He blew their flaming brains out! Besides, you heard this bloke say he loaded a cannon. He must have been in the crew of that tank over there, the one that’s caused us so much grief.’
‘Yes, I was in the crew of the tank,’ Richard interjected. ‘But I only loaded the cannon. I was the most junior member of the crew.’
‘What difference does it make what he did or didn’t do?’ said Frankie. ‘We owe it to Nashie and the others to kill as many Jerries as we can.’
‘Well, I’m not going to kill this bloke,’ Taz retorted. ‘He’s defenceless. We can take him back with us to Australian lines and hand him over once we’re relieved.’
‘Australian lines?’ said the young German with surprise. ‘You are from Australia?’
‘Most Australians do tend to come from Australia, mate,’ Frankie responded sarcastically. ‘Funny that.’
‘But we were told we were fighting Tommies.’
Frankie shook his head. ‘We’re not Tommies, mate. We’re Aussies. You understand? Aussies!’
‘Yes, Australians.’ The young German nodded. ‘We had heard that the Australians and the Canadians were the best troops the British had. “They stand their ground”, they say, “but the British will run.”’
‘And so the Brits flaming well did yesterday, mate,’ Frankie returned, with a hint of disgust. ‘That’s why us Aussies were sent here, to retake the ground the Tommies lost.’
‘And here we stay until we’re relieved,’ said Taz emphatically.
‘Relieved?’ Frankie scoffed. ‘Taz, mate, we’ll be lucky. Out here in the middle of nowhere, between our lines and Jerry lines, in a crater full of corpses? Who even knows we’re here? We’re as good as dead, us two. Why let this bloke live when we’re going to die anyway?’
‘Please, do not kill me, I am only sixteen!’ said their prisoner, looking up at the pair pleadingly.
Taz eyed him with surprise. ‘What’s your name?’
‘My name is Richard Rix.’
‘Richard Rix?’ said Taz. ‘That’s not a very German-sounding name.’
‘Rix is quite a common German name, in fact,’ Richard returned. Realising that Taz was more inclined to spare his life than Frankie, he made up his mind to make Taz an ally. ‘What is your name, my friend?’
‘Taz Dutton.’
Richard nodded and repeated the name. ‘Taz Dutton.’
‘You speak blooming good English for a Jerry,’ said Frankie.
‘That is because I lived with my parents for quite some years in America,’ Richard replied. ‘This is the first time I have spoken English again in a long time.’
‘America? Really?’ said Taz. ‘Where in America?’
‘New York City. In a district called Yorkville, on the Upper East Side.’
‘New York?’ Taz echoed.
‘Oh, yes, many German immigrants live in Yorkville. My father worked there in a German bakery on Broadway.’ His face lit up as he recalled better times.
‘Well, what do you know!’ said Taz. ‘I’ve always wanted to visit New York.’
‘I was sorry to leave New York. I –’
Before Richard could finish, Frankie interrupted. ‘So what are you doing in the German Army?’
‘When I was twelve my parents were killed in a ferry accident on New York’s harbour.’ A wave of sadness washed over his face. ‘So my grandparents in Bavaria had our Yorkville neighbours send me back to them. I lived with them on their pig farm until they made me join the army.’
‘Killed in a ferry accident? That’s too bad,’ said Taz.
‘But you’re still a Jerry in Jerry uniform,’ Frankie declared coldly. ‘You killed our mates in your blundering great tank.’
‘Not any more he’s not,’ said Taz. ‘He’s as bad off as we are, Frankie, just even more helpless. What’s the point of sticking a bayonet in him
?’
A look of fear came over Richard’s face. ‘Please, I am unarmed! I have surrendered to you!’ He looked from Taz to Frankie and back again to Taz. ‘Please, comrades!’
‘You can’t kill him, Frankie,’ said Taz firmly. ‘All three of us have done well to survive this long. What if the roles were reversed and two Germans were arguing about whether they should kill you or not? What decision would you want them to make?’
Frankie, seeing the logic of Taz’s argument, let out a long sigh. ‘All right, Reverend Dutton,’ he said. ‘What do you reckon we should do with him then?’
‘For the moment, we tie him up.’ Without waiting for another word from Frankie, Taz went to the body of a German machine-gun loader nearby and ripped off his braces. Returning, he bound Richard’s wrists together in front of him, then made the German youth sit facing Frankie and himself.
‘Now what?’ Frankie asked sourly.
‘Now we wait,’ said Taz, settling with his back against the wall of the shell crater. Nursing his empty rifle, he removed his helmet for the first time since the assault had begun, and ran a hand through his lank hair.
‘Wait for what?’ Frankie demanded, easing down to sit beside his friend, but keeping his bayonet pointed at their prisoner.
‘Wait for whatever fate has decided for the three of us,’ Taz returned, wearily laying his head back against the earth.
They had been sitting there in silence for half an hour when Frankie nudged Taz.
‘You hear that?’ Frankie whispered cautiously.
‘Hear what?’
‘Voices – talking – somewhere out there, behind us.’
Taz listened to the night. ‘I don’t hear . . . Yes, I hear them now.’ He tensed as he made out individual words. ‘They’re Germans!’
Richard had been sitting with his knees up into his chest and his head bowed forward, almost asleep. Now, his head came up. ‘Yes, they are speaking German,’ he confirmed.
‘You keep your trap shut, mate!’ Frankie snarled, jabbing his bayonet in Richard’s direction as a warning.
The voices grew closer. Several men were talking animatedly close by.
Richard, inclining his head so that he could hear better, took in what was being said, and to his surprise, heard a name he recognised. Leaning forward, he whispered to his two captors, ‘They are from my panzer unit.’
‘How do you know?’ Taz whispered in return.
‘Leutnant Biltz, one of the tank commanders, is leading them. It seems they are looking for Elfriede, a panzer – a tank, as you call it – which was abandoned during the fighting yesterday.’ Richard paused to listen some more. ‘They are going to blow it up.’
‘What?’ Taz responded.
A voice rang out from the darkness beyond the shell crater. Lieutenant Biltz had heard the whispering voices and was demanding to know who was in the shell crater.
‘If I don’t answer immediately,’ Richard whispered urgently to his captors, ‘they will probably throw grenades in here, killing all three of us. I must put them off.’
Taz nodded. ‘Go on then.’
‘But watch what you say,’ Frankie cautioned, motioning with his bayonet. ‘Or else!’
Richard nodded, before calling loudly in German. ‘It is Private Rix here, Leutnant Biltz, from the crew of Mephisto.’
Just a metre away, an anxious Frankie glared at Richard. A voice in Frankie’s head was telling him to jab their prisoner with his bayonet to shut him up. Another voice was telling him to hold back.
‘Young Rix?’ came the startled reply from Lieutenant Biltz. ‘What are you doing there, youngster?’
‘Oberleutnant Theunissen ordered us to remain here until his return, Herr Leutnant.’
‘You are not alone, Rix?’ Biltz asked.
‘No, not alone, Herr Leutnant.’ Richard looked at Taz and Frankie. ‘There are three of us here.’
‘My men and I are looking for Elfriede but we have lost our bearings. Do you know where the panzer is, youngster?’
Richard thought fast. He feared that if he said the wrong thing, Frankie only had to shove his bayonet a metre to kill him. He also feared that if he said Mephisto was close by, Biltz and his men might come down into this shell crater to collect what they believed to be three members of its crew. Again, that could prompt Frankie to kill him.
A plan quickly formed in the young German’s head. He reasoned that, in the dark, all A7V tanks looked alike. The front of his own tank, which bore Mephisto’s name and the painted red devil, was hard up against the wall of the crater where it was trapped, obscuring the identifying marks from view. Richard decided to tell Biltz that Mephisto was Elfriede. ‘It is just over to your right, Herr Leutnant, in a large shell crater.’
‘In a shell crater?’ Biltz responded. ‘I was informed that it was in a quarry.’
‘Shell crater or quarry, it is a big hole in the ground, Herr Leutnant.’
‘I suppose you’re right, Rix. Very well. What of you three down there? Will you return to our lines with my men and myself once our task is completed?’
Richard hesitated. He suspected that neither of his captors understood much German and would not have taken in Biltz’s offer. But, he asked himself, did he really want to go back to his unit and return to the fight? As a prisoner of the Australians, this war would be over for him. He would be sent to a prisoner-of-war camp and would live to see peacetime. ‘Thank you, Herr Leutnant,’ he called back, ‘but we have our orders from Oberleutnant Theunissen. We must remain here until he returns.’
‘Very well,’ Biltz replied. As Theunissen outranked him, Biltz could not countermand his orders. ‘Good luck to you, youngster. Remember, make a career in science for yourself after the war!’
Richard smiled to himself. ‘Thank you, Leutnant Biltz. And good luck to you too.’ Richard heard the lieutenant order the men of his demolition party to follow him, and then the night was silent again.
‘Have they gone?’ Taz asked Richard in a low whisper, after waiting a while.
‘Yes.’
‘Where are they going?’ Frankie asked.
‘To blow up Mephisto, my panzer. I’ve let them think it was Elfriede, another panzer. That was the only way to stop them coming down in here with us.’
‘They’re going to blow it up?’ Frankie came back. ‘Most of our platoon died trying to keep that tank out of German hands!’
‘Shhhhh!’ Taz cautioned. ‘Keep your voice down.’
‘But . . .’
‘Probably won’t do any harm to let them blow it up, anyway,’ Taz added.
‘Am I hearing things?’ Frankie said in astonishment, turning to Taz. ‘You’re the bloke, Taz Dutton, who said we had to stay here and fight for that blooming tank. Now you want to let them blow it sky-high?’
‘Well, think about it,’ Taz reasoned. ‘Lieutenant Blair wanted us to prevent that tank from falling into German hands so they can’t turn it against our troops. Right?’
‘Right. So . . .?’
‘If it’s blown up, the Germans won’t be able to use it against our troops, will they?’
A look of realisation came over Frankie’s face. ‘Taz, my boy, you’re a genius!’
They lapsed into silence, waiting to hear the results of Lieutenant Biltz’s handiwork. Sure enough, after several more minutes, there came the sound of an explosion from the direction of Mephisto.
‘Goodbye, Mephisto,’ said Richard. He felt strangely relieved that the tank that had been at the centre of his existence for the last four weeks had been blown up.
They waited tensely for another half hour, keeping quiet in case Lieutenant Biltz or his men returned, but finally Taz and Frankie agreed that the demolition party must have returned to German lines.
‘Can we go back to our lines now?’ Frankie asked Taz.
Taz shook his head. ‘Lieutenant Blair ordered us to stay here.’
‘Oh, not that again!’ Frankie protested. ‘The tank is cactus, mate!’<
br />
‘But we still have our orders.’
‘You make my head spin sometimes, Taz Dutton. There’s nothing left to defend.’
‘Orders are orders, Frankie. If we don’t obey them, we’re not soldiers, we’re just rabble.’
‘I’m not sure I want to be a soldier any more,’ Frankie confessed.
‘Yes, well, if we disobey orders, we could be court-martialled and shot!’
Frankie laughed to himself. ‘That’d be right – ending up being shot by my own flaming side!’
Taz looked at Richard. He’d been impressed by the German boy’s demeanour through all this. ‘Richard, you could have told those Germans that we were here, holding you prisoner,’ he said.
‘Yes, I could have,’ Richard agreed. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘And then you would have become my prisoners.’
‘Not blooming likely!’ Frankie declared. ‘Not while I had this, mate.’ He waved the end of his bayonet in front of Richard’s nose.
‘Steady on,’ said Taz, putting a hand on Frankie’s arm. ‘Why didn’t you?’ he asked Richard, intrigued. ‘Why didn’t you give us away?’
Richard shrugged.
‘Because I would’ve stuck him like a pig if he’d tried it,’ Frankie interjected.
‘If you must know,’ Richard said with a sigh, ‘I am sick of this war. All the stupid killing. Why? What have I ever done to you to make you want to fight me? What have you ever done to me?’ He glanced around at the bodies littering the crater, with his eyes coming to rest on the gaunt, bearded face of Papa Heiber. ‘Men like Feldwebel Heiber there – a kind man – what did he do to deserve such a meaningless death?’
‘I’ll have to second you there, mate,’ Frankie agreed. ‘I thought this war was going to be a great adventure, but it’s been nothing but a flaming giant sausage machine that’s eaten up people. And for what?’
‘I think I would rather be a prisoner of war,’ Richard said. ‘From what we were hearing, Germany is a mess now. I don’t really want to go back there. I would rather return to New York City to start my life over.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ said Taz jauntily. ‘I’ve always wanted to see America.’
‘And I have always wanted to see Australia,’ said Richard. ‘When I was a child my father told me all about Australia.’
Tank Boys Page 14
