by Alan David
He had not received any mail from home since they moved from Italy and guessed that the letters were following them around. But it was as if contact with that other life had been broken off completely. Their daily existence of being continuously raided from the air and of going in to attack the enemy was the only stark reality, and it seemed endless. There could be no hope for any of them.
He slept uneasily, dreaming he was trapped in a burning Panzer and there was no way out; twice he came to his senses, sweating in the coolness of the night. He did not feel refreshed when it was time to go to Reinhalt’s tank for orders, and the new day was already greying the sky to the east.
Their orders sent them forward at first light to attack the British line, and they managed to get into close contact with the enemy before the hated aircraft appeared. They engaged some Shermans and set four blazing with as many shots, proving their superiority once again, but the fighter-bombers appeared almost immediately and the hellish raids recommenced, following the pattern of the day before.
The British were maintaining the pressure all the time, trying to push forward to take Caen, drawing most of the German armour upon their front, and the battles raged without let-up. Smoke billowed across the countryside. Buildings were destroyed and men disappeared without trace in the conflagrations, but still the pressure mounted. The British did not seem to care about losses, and any equipment destroyed by the Germans was quickly replaced. No matter how many Shermans were knocked out there were always more to come nosing forward, and the intensity of the fighting increased.
But the Germans could ill afford their losses, for their reserves had not yet been committed, and Kurt wondered how much longer they could go on. They were stretched to their limit, and despite all their efforts they were being overwhelmed by the sheer ferocity of the battle.
They opened their hatches to get rid of the fumes and the heat that had built up, then threw out the spent shell-cases and reloaded the lockers and clips. Niehaus was excited because he had done well in the action, his machine-gun accounting for many of the enemy, including a number of tank crews who had baled out.
Kurt, studying the youngster, who had not yet been in action a week, discovered that Niehaus was now a veteran, and it was no shock at all to realize that modern warfare could change a man so quickly. The only thing that was surprising about the whole operation was the fact that they survived. Day after day they emerged from the fighting and wondered what miracle of fate had saved them. But there was always tomorrow, and Kurt dared not think of that.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Day after day SS Division Vaterland attacked the British without respite, suffering heavy losses, always in the forefront of the battle where the fighting was heaviest. They were given the most suicidal tasks and performed them without complaint, their loyalty to the Führer unshaken. But their numbers decreased as the fighting took its toll. They were obdurate fighters, determined to hold, and despite the gains made by the Allies on the American front, in which the Cherbourg peninsula was cut off, the British and Canadians around Caen were held resolutely back.
The Second Company of SS Division Vaterland crouched in their positions and held on in much the same way they had at Cassino in Italy, although this type of fighting was vastly different from anything they had experienced in the South. The British were worthy opponents and the battles intensified even when they seemed to have reached their climax.
Smoke blotted out whole regions, and it was impossible to move because of air attacks. Unless a man had been through a fighter-bomber attack he could not know what the invasion meant. A sense of helplessness gripped those under aerial fire, lying motionless in a weapon pit, a roadside ditch, in a furrow in a field or under a hedge, pressed into the ground, faces in the dirt, while the aircraft roared down firing all weapons and dropping bombs.
Once troops had been committed to the line and engaged in fighting it was almost impossible to withdraw any formations without seriously jeopardizing the security of the front as a whole. Those Panzer units which were highly trained and whose role was to launch incisive and lightning attacks were sucked into the line in a defensive role, and could not be extricated to be formed into a properly coordinated force. They were wasted in plugging holes in the German lines and were permanently kept off balance.
SS Division Vaterland received orders to fight and die where they stood. They were under constant pressure in thick country, and gave a good account of themselves, forcing the British to abandon their attempt to thrust eastwards to the city of Caen. They were fighting British veterans of the Western Desert, who made very little progress. The German hold upon Caen could not be weakened.
There was a respite for the Germans when a severe gale struck the Normandy coast and raged for three days. It prevented the Allies bringing ashore their flow of supplies and destroyed some of the harbour installations they had built. But immediately after the storm the Americans on their front launched an offensive intended to roll up the German positions in the Cotentin Peninsula, and after stiff fighting on the outskirts of Cherbourg, the town fell to the Allies. By the end of the month all German resistance ceased in that region of Normandy.
Eckhardt and his men met each day with stoical determination. They knew the British had to capture Caen before they could move forward, but all approaches to the city had been carefully surveyed long before the invasion. The more obvious strong points on the outskirts, such as Lebisey Wood and the large Carpiquet aerodrome, had been incorporated into the German West Wall, which was formidable. There were also commanding views obtainable from the Colombelles steel works. Caen had been turned into a stronghold before D-Day. Now it was proving its worth, and efforts were redoubled, as the British approached, to improve all fortifications around the city. Caen was virtually a fortress, and became a symbol in Normandy.
When the British slammed home another attack intended to capture Caen, Second Company was manning forward trenches and ready for action. They had Sent out patrols during the night to keep the British on edge, and when the assault came in they were waiting for it. The MG42s began chattering and blazing rapidly, and they saw Shermans and other types of enemy tanks waddling and trundling towards them, being engaged by artillery and anti-tank guns. The noise was overwhelming, and Eckhardt had to convey orders by signs for it was impossible to shout loud enough to be heard.
A different type of tank appeared almost immediately in front of Eckhardt’s Company, and he saw Sieber firing at it in order to force the crew to close their hatches. Suddenly a long, thin jet of flame, which fanned out as it shot along low to the ground, sprayed towards the forward trenches and struck the ground in front of them in a great blazing cloud. Bushes caught fire everywhere. Smoke billowed upwards. Eckhardt had seen flame-throwers in action, but only those carried by a man. These were monster flame-throwers, their jets about one hundred metres long. For a moment Eckhardt was paralysed with shock. He saw a second flame roar towards his positions, and then the spandaus ceased firing and some men got up and ran, their uniforms on fire.
He yelled for Leun, who was moving forward with an ammunition party, and signalled towards the enemy armoured vehicle. Leun had spotted the flame-thrower and quickly armed himself with a supply of grenades. But there was nothing he could do against the monster, and they crouched dumbly, waiting to be swept by the fearsome flame. In a matter of moments stiff German resistance had been smashed and the British infantry came storming forward to take advantage of the situation. Eckhardt rallied his men, for the enemy flame-thrower could not fire with British troops in the area. The SS recollected themselves, got down resolutely and recommenced firing. The battle raged on.
But despite their tenacity the Germans were forced back, and by the end of that fearsome day they had retreated to leave their enemies with a salient about three miles deep and two miles wide. That night the SS men crouched in their weapon pits and waited for food to come up. Leun took around ammunition and grenades, and they talked about the fir
e-breathing monsters the Allies had used. They needed anti-tank guns immediately, for there was no other way of stopping the enemy.
Colonel Dantine sent for his Company Commanders after dark. He praised them, for the salient the enemy had snatched was not on their immediate front. They held despite all the horrors that had been hurled at them, and as soon as darkness fell some of their number, acting as snipers, crept through their positions to cross no-man’s-land and penetrate the enemy’s forward positions. In the morning, before the main attack started, Eckhardt could hear rifle fire and machine-guns rattling as those suicidal snipers opened up on parties moving forward from the enemy rear. They created chaos and confusion far out of proportion to their numbers. Eckhardt was proud of them. They were all SS men who did not give or expect mercy.
Despite their dogged resistance it was impossible to hold back the British, and the salient was enlarged during the second day’s fighting. Colonel Dantine gave orders for his battalion to attack and they struck at the flank of the British thrust. But the British resisted stubbornly, their infantry proving that they were worthy opponents of SS Division Vaterland .
Ceaseless counter-attacks combined with non-stop shelling and mortaring caused terrible losses to the British infantry. They had been trying to move forward in scattered groups accompanied by tanks, and smoke blinded them as fountains of shells ripped upwards in black gouts. Tanks were hit and burned fiercely. The infantry seemed to ignore the hell about them, but they met the SS and were halted in their tracks. Neither side was prepared to withdraw.
German machine-guns cut at all British movement, stopping attacks before they could gain momentum, and mines exploded under enemy feet as they sought cover. In turn the Germans ran into angry resistance and were also halted. It was stalemate, and yet men continued to die, and fierce little battles exploded among the hedgerows and the sunken roads.
There seemed to be no cover from the shelling and mortaring. Air bursts showered fiery shrapnel everywhere, and even men crouching in weapon pits were cut, slashed and decapitated by the whirling shards of merciless steel.
The British continued to push forward despite their losses.
They had objectives to take and advanced resolutely. Small groups of them sneaked forward, taking advantage of hollows and folds in the ground, lying in ditches and inching forward with a patience born of intensive training. Eckhardt’s men were at the top of a rise, weary, gaunt, battle-shocked, but they kept shooting whenever an attack materialized. Sieber was using his MG42 with the utmost efficiency, and when British riflemen tried to rush his position he triggered his weapon steadily, cutting them to pieces. Several times the British attempted to get up the slope but the heavy, accurate fire minced them as thoroughly as a meat grinder. When they realized that they were not going to succeed they crouched in cover and waited for support to arrive.
Aircraft were active everywhere over the smoking battlefield, devastating whole areas of the German front line in an attempt to carve access for Allied troops. Yet no matter how many bombs were dropped or how many attacks were made by rocket-firing Typhoons, when the British tried to advance there were some surviving Germans waiting for them, breaking cover to fire their weapons with grim determination.
A particularly heavy attack was mounted on the sector to the left of Second Company, and Eckhardt saw khaki-clad figures ruining forward. He studied his own front but saw no activity, although shells and mortar bombs were crashing down in great profusion, heralding the build-up to yet another attack. Grey and black smoke drifted across the battlefield and the sun was blotted out.
A co-ordinated attack came in against Second Company, and Eckhardt watched his troops open fire from their narrow pits in the hedgerows. Smoke drifted away, marking their positions, and shells came crashing down to obliterate some of them. It was sheer hell, but the British were not concerned about losses. They pushed forward indomitably, winning a few yards here, snatching a few yards there, capturing a hedgerow and getting down to hold it against the inevitable German counter-attack.
Eckhardt moved forward behind his reserve platoon to bolster the men with his own example and presence. Sieber was changing the barrel of his MG, and for a moment the man looked across at his commanding officer. Eckhardt saw the grey pallor of exhaustion in Sieber’s gaunt features, the glazed quality in the staring eyes, and realized that his men were reaching breaking-point. But they would fight on until they died.
Leun was crawling forward, dragging a box of grenades, and he grinned tiredly when Eckhardt paused in a ditch and waited for him to arrive. But there was too much noise for them to converse and Eckhardt merely raised an enquiring eyebrow, to which Leun nodded quickly. The ammo party following Leun looked as if they were in the last stages of exhaustion, and most of them had been wounded, some wearing bandages around heads, arms or legs while others had not bothered to get treatment.
Eckhardt moved forward, intent upon getting to Leutnant Hoess’s platoon which was under heavy pressure from British troops attempting to move in from the front and left flank. The sound of tank tracks reached Eckhardt’s ears and he peered around quickly, aware that none of their Panzers was in the immediate area. He saw one of the British flame-throwing vehicles and gritted his teeth when it began to hose fiery lances at the German positions. No troops could stand up to such action, and Eckhardt looked around for a Panzerfaust. There were men in each platoon who had been trained to operate the anti-tank weapon, and he could see one man using the PZ6o.
The range of the Panzerfaust 6o was sixty yards, and the man with the weapon eased out of his trench and began to sneak forward with the steel tube. Eckhardt saw the Crocodile squirt another jet of fire at his forward trenches. Immediately an SS man emerged from a weapon pit, his uniform blazing, his hair burning, and started running back. He passed Eckhardt at a distance of ten yards, his eyes wide and sightless with shock, his uniform charred and smouldering. Eckhardt cursed when he saw other men looking back to watch their fleeing comrade.
‘Halt,’ Eckhardt yelled. He wanted to throw the man down and roll him on the ground to put out the flames, but the man was too panic-stricken to hear or see anything. He was one of the younger recruits who had joined them at Gutersbrucke, and Eckhardt clamped his teeth together as the man continued running towards the rear.
Reaching for his pistol, Eckhardt drew the weapon and cocked it, aware that many pairs of eyes were watching him. He raised the pistol, centred the front sight between the fleeing man’s shoulder blades, and fired a single shot. The P-38 kicked against his palm, its muzzle jerking, the sound of the shot lost amidst the roar of the battle. The fleeing SS man flung wide his arms, staggered drunkenly, then flopped down upon his face, his heart split by the 9mm bullet.
Eckhardt could not see for a moment. A black mist seemed to slip down before his eyes. He turned away with a harsh sigh and looked ahead, picking up the figure of the Panzerfaust operator still sneaking forward, although a British light machine-gun was firing at him and bullets were kicking up earth all around him. Eckhardt turned and yelled to his nearest machine-gunner, ordering him to cover the anti-tank weapon. The Crocodile was still nosing forward like some monster out of a nightmare, and great gouts of flame were spurting from its ominous muzzle. The spandau cut loose and the Bren ceased firing. The next instant the man with the Panzerfaust judged himself to be within range of the tank and prepared to fire.
Eckhardt waited stolidly, his teeth clenched, his eyes slitted. He knew the penetration performance of the anti-tank weapon, and prayed that the man operating it would not make any mistakes. But he was within sixty yards of the enemy tank, which would look as big as a house to him, and fired the weapon. Eckhardt blinked, and when he looked again the Crocodile had ceased firing its hideous weapon and was swinging away with smoke rising out of its turret. Another SS man fired a second Panzerfaust and the Crocodile exploded with a terrific crash, sending long darts of liquid fire in all directions.
Going back towards his HQ,
Eckhardt passed the man he had shot down. Smoke was still rising from the scorched body, and he paused to check the man’s identity. It was a youngster, and Eckhardt’s face hardened as he gazed down at the remains. He could not blame any man for running from such a fate, and turned to look at the burning tank which was giving off great broiling swirls of black smoke.
Colonel Dantine was on the radio when Eckhardt reached his position. His superior wanted a situation report. Eckhardt peered around grimly, aware that this was the heaviest fighting he had witnessed in a long time. The British were going all out to capture Caen. But it seemed to him that they could hold, although the defences on the left had been breached and the Allies were moving forward to consolidate their gains.
‘We’re holding, Colonel,’ he said harshly. ‘They have not broken through here.’
‘You’re going to have to give a little ground in order to protect your left flank,’ Dantine said. ‘I’ve been playing up hell with the infantry in that sector for giving way, but it seems the tide is against us. Pull your troops back to that position we marked on your map last night. I was hoping we would not need to yield ground, but there’s no sense remaining there and getting wiped out for nothing. Our duty is clear. We must make the Allies contest every yard of ground.’
‘Yes, sir. But we are in close contact with the enemy at the moment. We will have to wait until the attack is beaten off before attempting to withdraw.’
