by Alan David
Artillery fire found their range and began shelling heavily. They closed down the hatches and remained under cover, the din of the battle threatening to slash through Kurt’s taut nerves until he felt like throwing open the hatch and making a panic-stricken run for it. But he clenched his teeth and waited it out, certain that each passing moment would be their last.
Somehow they survived, and then the offensive broke down and the British called it off, although they maintained strong pressure all along the line. They returned to the rear areas time and again, taking on fresh ammunition and fuel before going back into action, fighting with stoical determination, watching comrades being killed and their vehicles destroyed. Kurt sometimes wished that they could get hit, for it was rumoured that crews without vehicles were being sent back to Germany to train on the new Panthers and Tigers coming off the production lines. They had seen both types of Panzer from a distance, and Kurt had been impressed by their silhouettes. They had heavier armour and a bigger gun.
Despite the ending of the offensive there was still considerable activity along the front, and Kurt reached the limit of his endurance, passed it and felt that he could no longer go on, yet continued until his exhausted nerves just refused to accept more fear. He lived and fought in a daze. Time seemed to have no meaning. His crew were as badly affected and went about their duties like automatons. They continued back and forth from the rear area to the front line, attacked by aircraft and shooting it out with enemy armour. Weilen lost count of the enemy tanks they destroyed, but the evidence of the bitter struggles was everywhere.
They crossed a railway line and attacked British positions, causing trouble among the front line troops, but anti-tank guns took them on and Reinhalt’s Panzer was hit. Kurt saw smoke broiling out of the vehicle and transferred his attention to it in the hope of seeing the crew emerge. He saw Reinhalt jump to the ground and run for cover amidst a hail of machine-gun fire, but none of his crew emerged from the Panzer, which was hit again by another armour-piercing shell and burst into flames. Black smoke coiled skywards as Kurt pictured the faces of the crew who had not got out. He directed Weilen’s fire against the anti-tank guns and they put two out of action before enemy armour appeared and they were forced to withdraw.
Leutnant Reinhalt appeared from nowhere when Kurt’s vehicle began to pull back, and the shocked officer climbed upon the hull and clung to his precarious perch while Schultze took evasive action and zig-zagged back to safety. They had some bad moments trying to negotiate the railway embankment and were skylined for perilous moments as they lurched over it. As they dropped down on the German side a fighter-bomber appeared, diving at them with cannon firing, and Kurt ducked and shut his eyes, praying as all hell broke loose about them. It was not until the attack had passed over that he remembered Leutnant Reinhalt on the outside of the vehicle, and he stood up and peered out, discovering that the Leutnant was no longer with them.
Twisting around, Kurt saw Reinhalt stretched out on the ground, and he shouted for Schultze to halt the Panzer.
‘Come with me, Hohner, and bring a machine-pistol,’ Kurt ordered. ‘Reinhalt fell off the tank during that air attack.’
He climbed out of the turret and jumped to the ground, his black tankman’s uniform soaked with sweat. Looking around, he saw the rest of the Troop retreating, and there were Mark IVs of Zimmermann’s Troop away to the left, all pulling back.
Somewhere in the vicinity there had to be Grenadiers, Kurt thought as he started back to where Reinhalt was lying, but Niehaus’s hatch flew open and the youngster popped up to call to him. Kurt paused, leaning against the side of the heavy steel monster.
‘Major Zimmermann is calling you, Sergeant-Major,’ Niehaus reported.
‘Tell him what’s happened,’ Kurt replied. ‘We’ll pull back when I’ve checked the Leutnant.’
Niehaus ducked back inside the vehicle and Hohner appeared, carrying a machine-pistol. Together they ran back the forty yards or so to where their superior was lying, and Kurt was breathing heavily as he bent over the inert figure.
Leutnant Reinhalt was dead. He had been caught by the cannon-fire that had been directed at them. One shell had struck him in the upper body, almost tearing him in half, and most of his blood had surged from his gaping wounds. His right leg was missing, shorn off above the knee, and his black suit was literally in shreds. But his face had not been marked. The eyes were open, staring into the depths of hell, and the lips were drawn back from the teeth in a snarl of either defiance or pain.
Kurt dropped to one knee and stared down at the dead man. He had known Reinhalt since before the war, and the Troop Commander had been one of the best officers he had ever met. But he could not feel grief for this shattered hulk he had once known. If anything, he felt relief that Reinhalt was at last beyond fear and the call of duty. It was going to happen to all of them before the war finished, and the sooner it came the less one had to suffer.
‘There’s nothing we can do for him, sir,’ Hohner said through his teeth. ‘We’d better get back. This isn’t a safe place to be and the rest of the Battalion is getting out of it.’
‘Do you think we’d better take his body with us?’ Kurt asked unsteadily, and when he looked around at Hohner he could not see the man’s face clearly.
‘No use, sir. He’s dead. He’s not in a fit state to be moved. I don’t think we ought to let the others see him like that. The infantry will clear up around here. I saw some of our troops over to the left. We are still in no-man’s-land, but close to our own side.’
An aircraft came diving out of the smoking sky, its guns firing, and Kurt and Hohner dropped flat. Kurt peered towards the Panzer and saw it being lashed by fire. But it withstood the attack and the aircraft continued on its way. They arose and went back towards the tank, and at that moment three Shermans came lumbering over the railway embankment only fifty yards from them.
Their 75mm blasted immediately, proof that the remainder of the crew inside were alert, and the armour-piercing shell struck the nearest Sherman, turning it instantly into a raging inferno. Hohner started running, for he was the loader, and Kurt groaned inwardly, aware that the 75 could not be reloaded in time for the Mark IV to take on the other two enemy tanks. If they had all been inside the vehicle there would have been an outside chance that Weilen might have beaten them to the shots.
But Kurt was running too, for the Panzer was their home and they felt secure within its steel interior. The 75mm blasted again, and the shock of the shell screaming only a foot or two above him almost took his breath away. He fell to the ground, dimly aware that Hohner was down and crawling, still intent upon regaining their vehicle despite its imminent destruction.
The second Sherman was hit as the third enemy tank opened fire. But its gun was loaded with high explosive! Kurt could hardly believe it when he saw the shell strike the Mark IV and explode instead of driving through the armour. He wondered who was loading for Weilen, and guessed it would be Schultze for Niehaus had no experience. There was a chance, he thought, scrabbling to his feet, his senses whirling and his mind racing with shock. The explosions seemed to strike through to his very core, and he glanced around to see the second Sherman moving backwards up the embankment, trying to get back over the gradient to safety. But it was the third enemy tank that worried Kurt. He stared at its protruding gun and waited for the killing shot. If Hohner had been inside the Mark IV it would have been a different story, for he could reload faster than any man in the Regiment.
Again the Panzer fired, the whiplash crack of its gun almost knocking Kurt flat. He saw Hohner scrambling upon the hull and hurling himself into the vehicle, and started running forward again, certain that they were leading charmed lives. Then a British light machine-gun opened fire from the rear and he saw tracers flashing past him. The gun was not firing directly at him but at the Panzer, and he went to ground, crawling determinedly towards his vehicle.
The next instant a sheet of flame blasted from the Panzer, and Kur
t staggered sideways as the shock struck him. He stared wide-eyed, filled with an unreasoning fear. Then he saw Hohner tumbling out of the turret, flames licking at his clothes. The enemy machine-gun still hammered at the vehicle, sending tracers flying in all directions. Kurt watched anxiously, trying to crawl forward while remaining in cover. There seemed to be quite a battle building up around them. He saw the front hatches open and Niehaus baled out of the tank, hitting the ground and rolling over several times before getting to his feet and running for cover.
Kurt could not see all the hatches from his position, and hoped that Weilen and Schultze had got out. The Panzer was burning now, and some ammunition inside was exploding, giving off a violent firework display. He rolled on to his back and looked towards the Shermans, surprised that all three were burning. Surely his crew had not done that! Then he saw an armour piercing shell thump into the centre Sherman and realized that other Panzers were in action. Perhaps Major Zimmermann had sent them to cover the rear.
He bypassed the burning Panzer, and was not sorry to see it flaming. Perhaps they wouldn’t be able to find him another for a very long time! He grimaced at the thought then ducked as bullets flailed his position. Recalling the time he had been shot in the chest, he dropped flat and lay still, afraid for his life, and the shooting went on and on.
He had a pistol on his belt and drew the weapon, wondering if the British were mounting an unexpected attack. He fell into a ditch and found the rest of his crew huddled there, and Hohner turned swiftly at his appearance, machine-pistol lifting ominously. The loader nodded, his face showing relief when he recognized Kurt.
Weilen was stretched out on his back on the bank of the ditch, which was flowing with water after the recent thunderstorm. There was blood on the man’s dark tank suit, and Kurt caught his breath for Weilen had only just recovered from a wound in Italy. He hurried to Weilen’s side, dropping to his knees in the water. Before looking at Weilen, whose eyes were closed, he threw a glance at Hohner.
‘Watch our position,’ he ordered. ‘There are British infantry around us.’
Hohner nodded and scrambled up the side of the bank. He peered around, and came tumbling backwards into the water when a machine-gun fired directly at him. Kurt looked around, saw that Hohner was all right, and turned his attention to Weilen. The man was unconscious.
Schultze came to Kurt’s side and bent over Weilen, looking for wounds. Kurt watched, a part of his mind seemingly detached and remote from all this, taking stock while he knelt in the water and wondered what could be done. But his long experience and initial training stood him in good stead and he seemed to know instinctively what to do.
‘Is he badly hurt, Schultze?’ Kurt demanded.
‘Both legs are in a bit of a mess,’ Schultze announced, ‘and he’s got a hole in his belly. This is an uncomfortable spot, sir. I think we’d do well to move out to somewhere safer.’
Kurt fought down his shock. He could hear ammunition exploding in the Panzer. Hohner had scrambled up the bank but he returned almost immediately, face muddy and pale, eyes semi-glazed.
‘There are some British infantry coming over the railway embankment, sir,’ he reported. ‘But our Panzers are still moving around, shooting them up. We’re in front of our line, and we’d better move back while we still can.’
‘We’re going to move out,’ Kurt replied. ‘You cover our rear. It isn’t the first time we’ve been in this kind of trouble and we’ll get out of it.’
Hohner nodded and went back up the bank. Kurt motioned for Schultze and Niehaus to take hold of Weilen and they slithered along the ditch. Kurt led the way, looking for a way out. He had the advantage of knowing the ground fairly well for they had been back and forth several times in their Panzer, and he was usually observing from his turret.
The ditch turned in the direction they needed to follow and they continued until they reached a hedge. It was one of the solid ones they had so often cursed in their Panzer, but being afoot and on the ground put a different aspect upon the situation, and they were thankful for its cover. A challenge was called as they reached the ditch and Kurt replied. The next instant they were being covered by tense Grenadiers, and moved into the security of their front line. A moment later a Mark IV came crashing over the hedge, almost flattening a German machine-gun nest. It stopped abruptly.
Kurt saw Major Zimmermann in the turret and arose, signalling to attract his commanding officer’s attention. But Zimmermann evidently knew they were here for he was already getting out of the vehicle. He came at a run towards the spot where Kurt and his crew were crouching. Hohner was attempting to staunch the flow of blood from the wound in Weilen’s belly.
‘Kurt, are you all right?’ Zimmermann’s voice was buffeted by the explosion of bursting shells, but they were in little danger now that the hedge was between them and the enemy. ‘I saw your Panzer get hit, but then you took on those three Shermans.’
‘Weilen, my gunner, is badly hurt,’ Kurt replied through taut lips. ‘Can you give us a lift to an aid station, sir?’
‘Certainly. We’re pulling back now to refuel. Get your crew aboard the tank. We’ve got to move fast. We’ve lost most of the Regiment today, Kurt. It’s been a grievous battle for us.’
Kurt nodded. He was badly shocked, but while his men were still at risk he was filled with a sense of responsibility for them and could not relax. They carried the groaning Weilen towards Zimmermann’s Panzer and laid him gently on the back. Clambering aboard, they clung to the exterior while Zimmermann entered his turret and gave orders to move out. They were jolted and hurled around as they crashed across country, but each passing minute took them farther away from the action, and Kurt slumped wearily against the obdurate steel of the tank and tried to relax.
When they reached the Regimental leaguer and dismounted from the Panzer they found that Weilen had died. Kurt watched grimly as the man was covered with a blanket and placed beside the hedge. One by one the older members of the Regiment were being killed off. Reinhalt had gone, and his entire crew, and now Weilen had died only weeks after they had lost Vogel.
Major Zimmermann came towards them while his crew prepared his vehicle for further action.
‘I’ve just got a report on Casualties in the Company, Kurt. You know Leutnant Reinhalt’s Panzer is knocked out?’
‘Yes, sir. I saw it happen.’ Kurt recounted the incident, and also reported how Reinhalt had died. Zimmermann’s deeply lined face seemed to age another ten years as he drew a bitter breath.
‘I’ve just received orders from Battalion,’ he said harshly. ‘Our Company has ceased to exist. There are only two tanks left and mine is damaged. I’m under orders to gather all the survivors of my command and move out to Falaise. All dismounted tank crews are being sent back to get replacement vehicles. I don’t know what is going on, Kurt, but there’s nothing here for us now. We’re pulling out of the battle and leaving it to those who have something with which to fight. We’ve done our best and can do no more. Have your men ready to move at short notice. I want to get clear while we still can.’
Kurt nodded. He was totally exhausted, and the shock of losing Weilen hurt like an open wound. He was not sorry to be leaving the battle, and in the back of his mind he hoped they would not be able to find replacement Panzers. As far as he was concerned the war was as good as over and he no longer wanted any part of it. But he knew they would not be able to get off so lightly. They would be regrouped, re-equipped, and thrust into the line at some other point. The writing was on the wall and nothing could remove it. No matter what they did they could not win, and all he could do in his exhaustion was pray that it would all be over before they were sent back into action.
That night they moved out, marching because there was no transport for them, keeping off the main roads because the Allies were bombing them even in the darkness. The whole countryside was under immense bombardment, and the uncertain night was like an inferno. But there was mounting relief in Kurt’s mind: th
ey were getting out of it for a spell, and any break at all was a godsend.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It came as no shock to Max Eckhardt when the Americans suddenly broke through the line across the base of the Cotentin Peninsula. July had given way to August, and the fighting, although fierce around Caen and to the south, had been fairly static. German opinion that the next attack would be launched towards Falaise caused them to concentrate all their available Panzer units on that particular sector, but the British transferred a number of their units farther east and attacked in concert with the Americans. The Germans began to lose ground, and when the enemy offensive gained momentum Eckhardt began to wonder where the next blow would fall.
On his particular front, the eastern part of the line south of Caen, the newly constituted 1st Canadian Army took command. Half the troops were Canadians and most of the rest were either British or belonged to the 1st Polish Armoured Division. During the previous four weeks they had slowly and painfully been working their way from the southern suburbs of Caen towards Falaise and became locked in the fiercest battles of the whole campaign. The bitterness and strain of the never-ending fighting was increased by the way the Germans fought. Eckhardt’s own Battalion, experienced in such tactics, went to ground in elaborate earthworks when bombs rained down, then climbed up to man their guns again when the holocaust was over. The only way the Allies could advance was by smashing every possible hiding place, although it was a tactic that did not always work.
The type of ground was conducive to defence and hell for the attackers. There were thick hedges, waist-high crops and orchard walls. Snipers sat out in the corn and it was good country for tanks. Also, 88mm guns were camouflaged in clumps of trees, hedges, orchards and bushes. The attackers, always at a disadvantage, came up against interlocking defensive fire which tore their tanks apart and smashed their infantry.
Falaise lay just over twenty miles south of Caen, and the Canadians were determined to capture it. But more and more 88mm guns were being brought into the area by the Germans. The Canadians attacked at night, moving their armour forward in darkness in an attempt to thwart the German anti-tank defences, but when daylight came the Germans reacted quickly to the threat, and their experienced tank and 88mm gun crews formed an effective screen which became the backbone of the skilfully chosen and well camouflaged defensive positions.
