by Alan David
Heroes in Normany
Alan David
Copyright © Alan David 1980
The right of Alan David to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
First published in the United Kingdom in 1980 by Magread Limited,
This edition published in 2015 by Endeavour Press Ltd.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
Extract from Both Feet in Hell by Alan David
CHAPTER ONE
MAY 1944. The survivors of SS Division Vaterland were scattered along the sides of ravines and gullies, lying like corpses as they rested; dirty, lice-ridden and exhausted by months of continuous action. To the south lay Monte Cassino and the positions they had so zealously denied the enemy. The sounds of war still reached them as Allied fighter-bombers zoomed overhead through the clear blue sky, but they were uncaring, now remote from the battle. They had been taken out of the line to which they had withdrawn when the Poles put in the final assault to capture the monastery and were no longer involved. Rumour already had it that they were leaving Italy completely, but they did not care. All they wanted was rest; to recoup their strength and nerve.
The ground and air shook with heavy explosions as Allied aircraft dived upon targets, and smoke and dust flew skywards, but the men of Vaterland paid no heed. They were accustomed to this grim way of life and had long since accepted it.
Captain Max Eckhardt, commanding Second Company, looked up as he dived into cover. The shadow of a fighter-bomber roared low overhead, cannon firing, bombs falling upon the retreating German armies. The night had passed all too quickly for his liking and sunlight was proving to be the greatest enemy they had. Out of sight of enemy infantry and artillery, they were beset by swarms of aircraft, and the never-ending pounding of these back-areas made organized movement difficult.
Tall and athletically built, with blue eyes that gleamed fanatically and blond hair showing beneath his coal-scuttle helmet, Eckhardt, who was thirty years old, brushed dust and dirt from his uniform and raised himself up to look around. The battalion commander, Colonel Franz Dantine, had been screaming himself hoarse over the radio, ordering the surviving companies to keep on the move, but even the slightest movement attracted the ever-present Allied aircraft, and they were losing almost as many casualties now as they had in the front line itself. It was suicide to move during daylight. The smallest and most insignificant target received attention if it was spotted.
Sergeant-Major Fritz Leun appeared from the cover of an overhanging rock, a machine-pistol in his big hands, and grinned tiredly as he saluted Eckhardt, who arose and straightened his helmet. Leun was a stocky Berliner, aged forty-one, and he stifled a sigh as he studied his superior’s taut face.
‘We’re losing men to these air attacks, sir,’ he reported.
‘Ignore casualties, Leun,’ Eckhardt rapped. ‘We’ve got to get back to our rendezvous. Keep the men moving. This is urgent.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Leun stared into Eckhardt’s pale eyes and saw the exhaustion that showed plainly in their depths. He knew his own features showed similar signs, and everywhere he looked he saw men who were on the brink of cracking. But the SS did not break, no matter what the pressures. They had all sworn personal loyalty to the Führer, and their belt buckles were inscribed with the legend ‘loyalty is my honour’. They knew that sometimes they were deliberately sacrificed, but took pride in the fact that they could stand with unfaltering courage when the Wehrmacht broke and ran. There was a strong sense of comradeship among SS men, who realized that it was in their loyalty to each other that their strength lay.
Eckhardt and Leun had been with Vaterland since before the war and fought in Poland and Russia with the Division. They had been among the few survivors to escape from Stalingrad. Since being reformed, the Division had been in the Italian mountains, denying the Allies a swift advance on Rome. But the Gustav Line was finally breached and Cassino had fallen. Now fresh orders had arrived from SS Main Office, and the weary survivors of the proud Division were moving northwards to regroup.
Leun had been Eckhardt’s father’s servant in the Great War, and during the years between the two wars had lived in a Berlin flat with the Eckhardts. When Eckhardt senior had been killed in a street battle against Communists, Leun had become almost a father to the younger man, to the extent that he had joined the SS when Max Eckhardt did. Their years in battle had forged a strong bond between them, Eckhardt was a fanatical Nazi while Leun merely did his duty unquestioningly, although he knew in his heart that Germany could not now win the war and he wished the carnage would end. But they had orders to fight on and no one questioned the wisdom of their superiors.
‘It’s not us holding up the withdrawal, sir,’ Leun said. ‘We can only move along this ravine and the men ahead are pinned down by air attacks. Also there are partisans moving in around their flanks.’
‘Let’s get forward and check with the platoon commanders,’ Eckhardt rapped. ‘The Colonel has ordered us to smash through anything holding us up. Come with me, Leun.’
They moved forward, passing resting men who still clutched their weapons despite being asleep, and when they reached the head of Second Company, Eckhardt faced Leutnant Klaus Reinfeld, one of his four platoon commanders.
‘What’s the trouble, Reinfeld?’ Eckhardt demanded, dropping into cover and peering forward. The gully widened just ahead, flattening out to give access to a wide valley, and rocky slopes leaned over them.
‘The infantry Company ahead of us is pinned down by air attack, sir,’ Reinfeld replied. ‘They’re out in the open. And there is some partisan activity. We can’t get past them.’
‘Go through them then!’ Eckhardt looked around, catching a glimpse of Sergeant Steine and Corporal Sieber. This was the platoon he had commanded before being promoted to the rank of Captain, and some of the veterans were still in it; men with whom he had started the war. ‘On your feet,’ he called. ‘Come on, we’re going forward. We’ve got a rendezvous to make and it’s as important as taking an enemy position.’
He began to move forward, accompanied by Leun and Reinfeld, and the men arose slowly and followed, keeping their distance without being told. They reached the position of the infantry ahead of them and kept moving, ignoring the small arms fire which cut at them from left and right, coming down the long slopes of the valley. Eckhardt glanced back and saw his Company following by platoons; the remnants of the Division were beginning to move again.
A Wehrmacht major emerged from cover and confronted Eckhardt, his face dirty and unshaven, his uniform torn and filthy. His eyes showed that he had looked into the mouth of hell and remembered what he had seen. His lips twitched almost uncontrollably as he peered harshly at his subordinate.
‘Why don’t you get down and take cover?’ he demanded. ‘You’re drawing fire upon us.’
‘Are you withdrawing from the front?’ Eckhardt asked harshly.
‘No. We have been ordered out.’
’So have we, and we are in a hurry to make our rendezvous. If you wish to stay put then that is your choice, Herr Oberst. But we have b
een ordered to move on and nothing short of death will stop us. As for the fire being directed at you, I suggest you send some men out on the flanks and take the partisans. That’s the only way to handle them.’
Eckhardt moved on before his superior had a chance to reply, and his men followed, moving steadily. There was the sudden snarl of aircraft and they all dropped flat as giant shadows flashed overhead while a storm of fire flailed about them. They lay still, enduring the onslaught stoically, eyes closed and hands covering their ears. Gouts of smoke arose about them and earth and rocks tore through space. Some men were obliterated; others merely wounded by the hell. Air attacks were over so quickly. For just a few fleeting seconds they had to withstand the frightful fury which dropped upon them. When it was past, like a summer storm, they arose and continued.
Eckhardt ducked when a machine-gun suddenly opened up at his leading party. The fire came from a commanding knoll some three hundred yards up the right-hand slope. Two men in the leading section fell riddled while the rest sought cover, and they immediately began to return fire. Sieber got his spandau into action, and Eckhardt, twisting to check the situation, nodded to himself when he saw Sieber’s weapon chattering, for he knew he could rely implicitly upon the man.
Eckhardt’s radio operator was sneaking forward, moving from cover to cover, and Eckhardt lay with Leun at his side, waiting for the man to reach him. He saw dust flying in all directions as bullets struck about the operator’s position, marking his progress, and Eckhardt turned to the impassive Leun, looking into the man’s steady brown eyes.
‘Leun, take the platoon and make a right-flanking attack on those partisans. I want them wiped out. We’ve got to keep moving. Make it quick.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Leun turned and shouted orders to the sections hugging the ground, and men arose and began to advance to the flank, covered by their machine-guns. Tracers flew through the air, curling lazily until they reached the partisan positions, when they hammered into the hard ground like giant flails. The enemy machine-gun cut out, restarted for a few seconds, then fell silent.
Eckhardt lay watching the attack going in. Leun knew his job. He took the platoon forward easily, but figures fell from their ranks as they came under effective fire from higher up the slopes. More supporting machine-guns joined in, firing over the heads of the attacking platoon, and the fight swelled until the entire Company was involved.
‘Sir!’ The radio operator arrived, crawling forward slowly. His left leg was bleeding and there was a tear in his trousers just above the knee. ‘Orders from the Colonel, sir. Keep the column moving. We’re behind the front line now so nothing should hold us up. End of message, sir!’
Eckhardt smiled grimly. Colonel Dantine had brought the survivors of the battalion out of Stalingrad, leading them from the encirclement and bringing them back from certain death. There wasn’t a man in the battalion who would not willingly die for Dantine.
‘Send back a situation report,’ Eckhardt said crisply. ‘Tell the Colonel what’s happening here and explain that I’m handling it. If we don’t take care of these partisans we’ll lose men the whole time we’re moving out of the area. They’re like wolves snapping at our heels.’
He returned his attention to the battle, ready to send in a second platoon if necessary, and at his side the operator relayed the message. He got a reply and looked towards Eckhardt again.
‘Orders from the Colonel, sir! Carry on. Wipe out the partisans. The Battalion will continue to move towards the rendezvous while you are dealing with the trouble here.’
They ducked as three fighter-bombers bearing white stars swooped down the valley, firing weapons and dropping bombs. They did not attack the moving figures on the slopes, and Eckhardt guessed that the Allies knew there were partisans operating around here, harassing the Germans. But the centre of the valley was a fair target for the enemy airforce, and bombs exploded among nose-to-tail vehicles that lined the route north. Fires erupted and spread, and men began running away from the growing conflagration.
Eckhardt shook his head in disgust. These were Wehrmacht troops, and he felt contemptuous of them. Nobody liked air attacks, but they had become a fact of life, something to be endured. He looked around to check his own men, nodding when he saw Leun still leading the forward elements right into the heart of the partisan position. Some of the Italians had already withdrawn, and now their machine-guns were firing from much farther back. But that was what Eckhardt wanted. The fire was not so effective now, and the rest of the Company were already moving forward. They were leading the Battalion, which was in the van of the Regiment, and the whole Division began to flow northwards once more, moving towards the rendezvous.
They passed columns of German infantry lying in cover waiting for nightfall. Possibly they had been ordered to remain where they were, and Eckhardt looked around keenly as he went on, passing these exhausted units. He saw his assault platoon returning from the slope, and minutes later Leun was reporting that he had chased off the partisans.
‘Keep the men moving,’ Eckhardt ordered. ‘When we get to the rendezvous we’ll have transport to take us farther back.’
‘Any chance of getting leave in Rome?’ Leun asked, wiping sweat from his forehead. There was a gleam in his dark eyes as he gazed at Eckhardt.
‘We’ll be lucky to hold Rome now,’ Eckhardt replied harshly. ‘I don’t know where we’re going, but the front line is fluid at the moment, and if the Allies break out of the Anzio beachhead then they’ll sweep right across Italy. It could be the beginning of the end for us here.’
‘That’s defeatist talk, sir,’ Leun said harshly, although his eyes were filled with a mocking expression, for Eckhardt was constantly taking him to task for his utterances on the war. Anyone found guilty of defeatism received the death penalty, and there were many in the ranks of Wehrmacht who had suffered the ultimate fate for voicing an unwise opinion on the state of the war.
‘Not defeatism!’ Eckhardt retorted sharply. ‘An intelligent appreciation of the situation, Leun. Now let us get on or we’ll have Colonel Dantine breathing fire down our necks. Be ready to hit any partisans who try to stop us. We have to get through.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Leun saluted, and Eckhardt gazed after his father’s old friend as the sergeant-major departed. Leun had been a tower of strength during their interminable weeks of defence in the line on the flank of Cassino. He had performed miracles to get their supplies forward, and Eckhardt could not imagine life without his reassuring presence.
They passed through the valley and entered another. Eckhardt knew the German armies would form yet another strong line upon which the Allies would waste their manpower and material. The war in Italy was a slogging match, and the cost of fighting it was high on both sides.
The radio operator informed Eckhardt that he was wanted at Battalion HQ, and Eckhardt, followed by two men acting as his escort, went back along the column until he reached Dantine’s position. Several times he and his escort were forced to dive for cover as fighter-bombers roared overhead, and there were no German aircraft available to combat the ever-increasing menace of enemy air supremacy. Bombs were bursting upon some unlucky troops who had not sought cover quickly enough, dust and smoke erupting to mark the areas receiving their furious attention. The SS lay unmoving among the rocks, aware that the slightest movement was an invitation for death to strike, as streams of tracers and wailing bombs churned up the area.
The attack passed on quickly; a lightning war, fearsome and overwhelming. Stretcher bearers hurried around, wanting to collect the wounded and get back under cover before the next aerial onslaught. There was no respite from air attack, but the men had become inured to the frightening sorties that overtook them, resigned to the fact that they could suddenly disappear in a column of smoke and flame.
When he reached Battalion HQ, Eckhardt found Colonel Dantine crouching under an overhanging rock. His superior was of medium height, with fanatical brown eyes and small features. His face was dusty
, but he had shaved recently and his uniform was fairly clean. Seeing Dantine made Eckhardt realize that he was filthy and crumpled, but he had been living rough for months. Dantine regarded him fixedly for a moment, then his set face broke into a smile, his thin lips stretching slightly as he eased his expression.
‘Your Company is the most efficient in the Battalion, Captain. Thank you for getting us on the move again. We have to reach our rendezvous as quickly as possible.’
‘We’re doing our best, sir,’ Eckhardt responded. ‘Have you any idea what our next task will be?’ He had a high regard for this ardent Nazi. They had served together for many years and knew each other very well. There was trust between them, and mutual respect.
‘I’m afraid that information has not been passed on to me, Captain, but you may be sure that whatever they give us, it will be important. We have just lost a battle, but it was always the intention of our superiors to fight a delaying action at Cassino. The capture of the town and the monastery has cost the Allies dearly. We have worn them down. Now this front is no longer our concern.’
‘Does that mean we are pulling out of Italy completely, sir?’
Dantine shook his head, and for a moment a tight smile touched his lips. ‘I’ve heard the rumours also, Captain, but we both know better than to heed them, hein? Let us just obey our orders and concentrate upon what we have to do. There are a lot of partisans in this area and we must try and knock them out. We have had experience of fighting partisans in Poland and Russia, and the orders we were given then still apply. You will counter any partisan attack. I’m sure that we shall be given more specific orders shortly. In the meantime we will continue to move to our rendezvous. When we reach it we shall reform, take the opportunity to clean ourselves, and be ready for whatever task is given us. Relay my thanks to the men for the way they conducted themselves at Cassino. We enhanced our reputation there. Once again we’ve shown the Wehrmacht how to fight.’
