Heroes in Normandy

by Alan David

  Kurt received his orders from Leutnant Reinhalt. All available Panzers were to be mustered and used in a thrust for a bridge over the Odon which the German Engineers had failed to demolish. A counter-attack would be put in, using the bridge, and once across it the Panzers would make a rush for the invasion beaches while the Panzer Grenadiers mopped up the area.

  Reinhalt sounded enthusiastic and optimistic but Kurt remained expressionless.

  ‘Have you any idea how many tanks will be taking part in the operation, Herr Leutnant?’ he enquired.

  ‘Fifty.’ Reinhalt smiled tightly.

  ‘Two hundred and fifty wouldn’t be enough!’ Kurt shook his head. ‘We are going to move out during daylight, I assume. What about enemy air activity?’

  ‘We’ll worry about that when the time comes.’

  ‘Now is the time to worry about it,’ Kurt responded. ‘We can’t move during daylight without attracting attention.’

  ‘Some of us will get through. We’ll carry out our orders whatever the cost.’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ Kurt returned to his tank, his face sober, his thoughts harsh. It sounded like a suicide mission to him, and he had no wish to throw his life away on a useless gamble. But orders had to be obeyed, and in the cold light of approaching dawn the crew ate breakfast and prepared to move out. They were ready before the first rays of sunlight peered at them from the east.

  Kurt was taut-faced and sombre as he stood in the turret and awaited orders to move. Tank engines were rumbling and warming up, and the supporting infantry were ready, some in armoured half-tracks. Glancing at the empty sky, Kurt wondered how long it would be before the fighters and fighter-bombers received word of their movements. He guessed they would be under air attack all day, if they lasted that long, and dragged his thoughts back to duty as they checked out the vehicle and the crew.

  ‘It’s going to be rough, isn’t it, sir?’ demanded Niehaus, when Schultze switched off the engine and comparative silence returned.

  ‘It’s always rough, Ɉunge,’ Hohner retorted. ‘But you just sit there in your nice comfortable seat and shoot any Tommies you see. There’ll be plenty of them.’

  Kurt checked his maps. He had the bridge across the Odon well marked, and knew it had not been blown by the British because they were planning to use it. He wondered just how many Shermans the British had managed to land on their front. But Shermans were the least of his worries now. Enemy air activity had reached such proportions that it was suicidal to try and move during daylight.

  However the order to advance came and they swung to the east and started following the line of the hedges. The troop carriers kept up with them, and they, in turn, were followed by their soft transport, carrying fuel and ammunition. When they reached the main road which led to the bridge they turned on to it and began to advance at speed, roaring recklessly forward. Kurt stood in the turret watching the sky. Normally he watched for targets for the 75mm, but they had all learned through bitter experience to watch for Jabos, and the minute enemy air activity was spotted they had to hunt what cover they could.

  Reinhalt came over the air, reporting that enemy tanks were also moving towards the bridge from the Allied side of the river, and it looked like being a race between them to get there first. Kurt narrowed his eyes. The Shermans did not have fighter-bombers to contend with. He tried to relax slightly in order to free his mind of anticipation, but he knew enemy aircraft would be over shortly, and when they were reported the news came as a sense of relief, although it meant that all hell would be loosed upon them.

  He spotted three dots in the sky, coming from the north, the direction in which the Panzers were heading, and a sickness seemed to strike at the pit of his stomach. He spoke to Schultze, who immediately took the Panzer off the road and rammed it into the nearest hedge. They were fairly well covered but their 75mm stuck out like a sore thumb, and Kurt crouched in the turret and watched the aircraft coming on swiftly. They were the kings of the battlefield. With no Luftwaffe fighters up to contest the area they were at liberty to hammer any target which took their fancy. There was some ack-ack fire but the aircraft ignored it and came zooming in to attack German armour.

  The first pass was over so quickly that Kurt blinked and missed the sight of the aircraft. But he heard its cannon hammering and saw the hedge in which they were sheltered flying skywards under the flailing weapons. A bomb burst only yards away from a tank in another Troop, and Kurt saw the heavy vehicle lift off the ground and turn completely over, landing upon its turret and bursting into flame as fuel ran over the hot engine. It was like a tortoise that had fallen upon its back and could not right itself. The power of the bomb burst shook Kurt, and he peered around anxiously, helplessly, as the aircraft wheeled and dived again, all weapons hammering.

  Trucks and armoured troop carriers went up in flames, and Kurt was appalled at the extent of the damage caused by only three aircraft which flew around shooting at everything looking remotely like a target. When they finally departed they left the small battlefield smoking and burning furiously.

  Reinfeld spoke over the radio, ordering the advance to continue, and Kurt looked around at the shambles of their column and gave the order to move out. They followed the road, but had not travelled three hundred yards before he spotted three more aircraft coming towards them. The formation was high but already peeling off and diving, and it was obvious that their first targets had already been selected.

  Kurt felt like a sitting duck as he reported to Reinfeld, who advised him to pull into cover immediately. The sides of the road were already littered with the wreckage of other columns that had received air attention on previous days, and their Mark IV pushed the charred remains of a truck out of the way as they climbed into the hedge on their right. The next instant a black shadow swept over them like a vulture of doom and cannon-fire raked them. Kurt ducked in the turret, aware that they were never going to make it to the bridge. He kept peering up at the sky, ready to warn his crew to bale out if there was any danger of being bombed. But these aircraft either had no bombs or were merely content to use cannon and machine-guns.

  Trucks were exploding along the road and Kurt gritted his teeth as he looked back and saw the damage. The noise of the aircraft almost drowned out the chatter of their angry guns, and he cursed uselessly, wondering why they had to make such a suicidal bid. He could have told anyone who wanted to know that it would be useless trying to get over the Odon bridge during daylight. But they had to try, and if they lost all their armour in the attempt they would carry out their orders.

  But the order came through for them to go on the defensive. The bridge was securely in Allied hands despite some German rearguards trying to get back across it. A battle was developing and they were to do what they could to assist their rear elements to get to safety. But air attacks pinned them down and they lost vehicle after vehicle to the lightning attacks that were pressed home with great ruthlessness. Anything that moved was attacked, and the raids were maintained until it was almost certain that anyone in the target area was killed.

  They spotted the bridge in the distance, which had been demolished now. By whom Kurt did not know or care. He saw Shermans on the near bank and the Panzers were ordered to engage them. At least they could meet the Shermans on better terms, and went on quickly, 75s firing rapidly. There were also a lot of soft vehicles along the river bank, for the British were attempting to enlarge their foothold. The Panzers opened fire and began blasting, and they were so close to the enemy that the aircraft could not attack.

  The interior of the tank became filled with overpowering fumes, and Kurt blinked rapidly, his eyes watering. Weilen was firing as fast as Hohner could reload, and Niehaus was using the machine-gun like a veteran. The Shermans were no match for the heavier Panzers and soon began blazing furiously. Kurt counted seven of them afire and out of the battle, and then they were running short of ammunition and received orders to withdraw. On their way back to the rear area they were again attacked by fi
ghter-bombers, and Kurt ducked as a bomb exploded some fifty yards ahead of them, tearing a great crater in the road and hurling shrapnel and pieces of debris in all directions. Bullets crackled against their hull like lethal rain, and Kurt could only pray that there were no cannon shells. But the aircraft had so many targets to fire at that they went on along the road, hammering everything that would take a beating, and soft trucks began to burn and flame.

  When they reached their forming up area, Kurt felt drained of all energy. They pulled off the road and concealed the vehicle under some trees, pulling loose branches around them to break up their outline. He sat down beside the vehicle as Hohner threw open his hatch and began to toss out empty shell cases. The loader’s face was dirty from explosives and his eyes were glazed. Kurt was aware that the noises of battle were worse inside the tank. It was bad enough for him in the turret but ten times more hellish for those deep in the interior.

  Major Zimmermann came over the radio and Niehaus called to Kurt, telling him to report to the Company Commander’s vehicle. Kurt sighed as he got to his feet, and on his way to the rendezvous he passed Leutnant Reinhalt’s Panzer. It bore marks of machine-gun fire, and there was a deep scar where a heavier object had struck it. Reinhalt was wearing a bandage around his forehead and Kurt asked if his superior was badly hurt.

  ‘I don’t know what hit me,’ Reinhalt replied. ‘It came from the bomb that almost got you. I was on your right at the time. I think it was a piece of rubble from the road.’

  ‘We didn’t do so well today, sir,’ Kurt remarked as they walked along a hedgerow towards Company HQ. Zimmermann’s Panzer was beside a straw stack and had been camouflaged with straw to look like an extension of the stack. Kurt spoke dully, his headache throbbing, his eyes sated, for the sun seemed too bright. He wanted to lie down and sleep but all the noises of battle which had resounded throughout the long day were still hammering in his ears and there was a great deal of pressure against his eardrums. ‘Any idea what the Major wants, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘A pep talk, no doubt.’ Reinhalt did not seem in a very good mood. ‘We didn’t do anything right today.’

  ‘That wasn’t our fault.’ Kurt shook his head, recalling the ominous shapes of the diving aircraft that had attacked them repeatedly. ‘There’s no way we can get by those air attacks. God knows how many aircraft the Allies have, and they are all medium and light machines. The heavy bombers are destroying most of our large cities.’

  ‘Cut that out!’ Reinhalt glanced at Kurt. ‘Don’t let me hear that kind of talk.’

  ‘I was merely making an observation,’ Kurt responded dully.

  ‘You’re a good tank commander — the best I’ve got. I don’t want to lose you to careless talk, Sergeant-Major.’ Reinhalt pressed a hand to his bandaged head. In the distance shells and bombs were bursting furiously and small arms fire was never-ending. The whole front was still ablaze with action.

  Kurt spotted Company HQ and they moved along a hedgerow towards it. A guard challenged them, remaining in the cover of a bush, and they were passed on without incident. When they reached the command tank they found a dozen tank commanders there, and Major Zimmermann was studying a map that two of them were holding spread out against the side of his vehicle. The Major looked ten years older than the last time Kurt had seen him, but he managed a wry smile as his gaze met Kurt’s, and he raised an eyebrow in a silent question of Kurt’s well-being. Kurt forced a thin smile and nodded almost imperceptibly. Zimmermann nodded in reply, then cleared his throat.

  ‘I know all your crews need to rest,’ he began, ‘but I’m afraid the situation is such that we cannot break off our attempts to beat back the British and Canadians. The strategy of the Allies is to take Caen and grab the open plains beyond. Once they succeed they will have space to prepare airfields, and you know what that means. All the aircraft attacking us now are coming from England. If they had bases here in France then it would be a whole lot worse. I don’t have to tell you what it is like now. Those air raids have reached such proportions that nothing can move safely during the day.’

  ‘But we can’t attack at night, sir,’ one of the men said tiredly.

  ‘That’s true, so you realize the importance of the battles that face us. However the main divisions of our armour have not yet been committed. It is still thought that these Normandy landings are merely a feint, a diversion from the real thing, which is expected to come in the Pas de Calais area. But here in Normandy the threat is on this British front. We have to stop the British capturing Caen and the countryside beyond. The Americans are having trouble with their advances, but what they are doing is merely to try and draw our strength towards them. We are resisting that ploy and concentrating upon the British.

  ‘I know it seems that we are taking a terrific beating here, but, as I’ve already said, none of our reserves have been thrown into the battle yet. When they do strike, the Allies will be hurled back into the sea. What we are doing is maintaining pressure against the line to keep it static. Then we’ll strike hard when we are ready.’

  ‘If this is merely a diversion action, Major, then God help us when the real thing comes,’ Reinhalt observed, and Zimmermann smiled wryly.

  ‘I agree with you, Leutnant. It’s not going to be an easy fight for us, but we will win eventually.’

  ‘If something isn’t done about the enemy air attacks there will be no future for us,’ Reinhalt observed. ‘If the Allies did not have so many aircraft we could take on their armour and pulverize it. We smash their Shermans wherever we come up against them. But those damned aircraft!’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Zimmermann looked grim. ‘But we must stick it out. We are fighting for Germany, for the Fatherland, and we can only do our duty. Soon there will be help for us, and then you’ll all see the difference. Now let us go on to tomorrow’s action. The British are thrusting towards Caen and we must take up defensive positions to stop them. The longer we hold them back the easier it will get. They are being compressed in their beach-head now and are experiencing difficulties. They need to get on to the plains south of Caen, and while we deny them we are winning.’

  ‘It didn’t seem as if we were winning today,’ one of the other tank commanders observed. ‘As Leutnant Reinhalt said, when we hit those Shermans near the bridge we took them apart, but their verdammt aircraft are always flying around. There is no end to them. Where is the Luftwaffe? If our fighters were up there we might get a respite.’

  ‘I understand that our fighter defences are mobilized to defend German cities against the heavy British and American bombers,’ Zimmermann replied. ‘Would you rather our people at home took all the weight of those air attacks? At least, we are soldiers, and we can survive this temporary set-back.’

  Silence followed his words. Kurt shook his head slowly. It was obvious that no one believed the Major’s words, and the expression on Zimmermann’s face seemed to indicate that he, himself, did not believe what he was saying. He was merely passing on what he had been told by his superiors.

  ‘I’ll see the Troop Commanders at 0330 hours,’ Zimmermann said shortly. ‘Then I’ll issue orders for the day. But, whatever happens, be assured that we are winning this fight. The British are not advancing on Caen. We are holding them.’

  Kurt walked back to his Panzer in silence, and Reinhalt had nothing to say until they reached his heavily camouflaged vehicle. Shelling was extensive from the British, who were plastering all the areas immediately behind the German front line. Shells were exploding in the vicinity, but Kurt hardly noticed them.

  ‘I’ll see you in the morning at 0400 hours, Sergeant-Major,’ Reinhalt said. ‘Try and get some rest tonight. It will obviously be another hard day tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Kurt went on to his own vehicle and sat down to eat the food Schultze had prepared. His crew demanded to know what the situation was and he explained what Major Zimmermann had told him.

  ‘That’s a load of bull,’ Schultze commented, sipping his coffe
e. ‘We are not holding the British, it seems to me. They are just not trying very hard to advance, and do you want to know why?’

  ‘You tell us, Herr General Schultze,’ Weilen retorted with a chuckle.

  ‘Because they are still pouring men and equipment ashore,’ Schultze announced. ‘They’re not ready to attack us yet.’

  ‘What the hell do you think they were doing today then?’ demanded Weilen. ‘All that stuff they were throwing around, and the way they came across the Odon without the bridge to help them! Thank God the bridge was blown eventually. I’d hate to think how much stuff they would have pushed across otherwise.’

  ‘It’s their damned aircraft!’ Hohner said gloomily. ‘How in hell can they expect us to fight under such conditions? Anyone in his right mind knows you can’t even ride a bicycle along any of these French roads without getting attacked from the air. How in hell do they expect us to take the Panzers along without trouble?’

  ‘We got through today and came back,’ Kurt pointed out. ‘It’s no use grumbling about it, men. We’re holding the British, and the brasshats seem to think that they are the greatest threat. The Americans are doing nothing in their sector. They are pushing on towards Cherbourg, but I’ve heard the port isn’t worth having since our demolition experts have been working on it. This is the vital area. We must prevent the British breaking through here at Caen and grabbing suitable ground for airfields. Can’t you imagine what it must be like in that beachhead with all that equipment piling up?’

  ‘I’d rather be over on their side than here,’ Hohn.er retorted.

  Kurt settled down after the meal and tried to sleep. His head ached, his temples throbbed painfully, and he lay with his eyes closed while pictures of the day’s fighting flashed upon the screen of his mind with all the attendant noises. He tried to think of his family, but Anna and Aunt Gretel and the children seemed to be living in a different world from him, except that they were in Germany and probably being bombed. He did not like that thought and tried to expunge it, but the harder he tried the more he imagined those huge four-engined bombers moving inexorably over Dettfeld and dropping their massive bombs upon the defenceless houses.