Darkest Hour sjt-2

by James Holland

  'What kind of field guns?'

  'Quite big. Like the ones they had in Norway when we were outside Lillehammer.'

  '105s,' said Tanner. 'There are two big anti-tank guns at the edge of the copse and a smaller one.' The rest of the platoon were now hurrying, a line of ants, towards the cover of the barn.

  'No one saw me, Sarge,' said Sykes. 'They're just gunners, I reckon, and bloody busy they seem too. They're firing at an 'ell of a rate.'

  'There's an MG team somewhere. The far side of the copse, maybe.'

  Peploe joined them. 'What was going on?'

  'Just waiting for the coast to clear, sir,' said Tanner.

  'Have you got a plan, Sergeant?'

  'Yes, sir.' Tanner felt hot, suddenly, and wiped his brow, then tried unsuccessfully to suppress a cough - the cordite was irritating his throat. Peploe beckoned the section commanders to gather round.

  'Sergeant Tanner's got a plan of attack,' he said to them. 'Sergeant?'

  Briefly, Tanner explained the layout of the farm and copse. 'Rosso,' he said to Corporal Ross, 'you head out first and put your section in the bushes in front of the farm. Make sure your Bren has a really clear line of fire. Stan, I'll come with your lads round the back. Hopefully we can cross the gap without being spotted, but if we are, Rosso's section can keep them busy. At the same time, sir, you lead Cooper's section around the other side.'

  'Like Hannibal at Cannae,' said Peploe. Seeing Tanner's puzzled expression, he said, 'A pincer movement. Hit hard at the front and envelop either side.'

  'Exactly, sir. But, Rosso, it's important your boys don't open fire until Stan and I have got past. Sir, your lot must move under the cover of Rosso's fire - but you can use the bushes and there are some outbuildings that'll give cover. Speed and weight of fire is the key to this.'

  'Good,' said Peploe. He was pale, his eyes darting from one to another. 'Brief your men and then let's go. Corporal Ross, as soon as you're ready.'

  'One minute, sir,' said Tanner. His heart was hammering again. Shaky hands undid the clips on his ammunition pouches. From his respirator bag he produced half a dozen hand grenades, which he stuffed into his deep trouser pockets for ease of access. 'Then he walked down the line of men. Knuckles showed white around rifles, eyes stared at him. Men bit their lips. 'You'll be fine, lads,' said Tanner. 'Now iggery, all right? Once the shooting starts, keep moving. They're only bloody gunners so they'll all be deaf as posts and won't hear you coming.'

  It was nearly six o'clock. He looked at the lieutenant, who nodded to him, then patted Ross's shoulder. He watched the corporal breathe in deeply, then turn the corner of the barn and sprint across the yard to the edge of the house, the rest of his section following. Tanner winked at Corporal Cooper, then said to Sykes, 'Right, Stan, let's go.'

  Clutching his rifle in his right hand, he ran across the open yard, the dust kicked up from Ross's section catching in his mouth. As he rounded the end of the house he was relieved to see Ross's men already diving for cover among the bushes that perched on the lip of the hollow. He could now see the route into the quarry. Sykes had been right - it was quite a drop, some ten or twelve feet deep, and they'd have to scramble down and up the other bank. He breathed out, then waved at the rest of the section to hurry.

  A glance at Ross, who raised his thumb. Good, thought Tanner. Bren in position. He motioned to McAllister to move beside him - he needed that Bren at the van of their movement. 'Mac, I'm going to count to three,' he said. 'Then we're going to make a dash for it.'

  McAllister nodded, and gripped his Bren with both hands.

  'One, two - three!' They were up and running down the shallow grass bank. Tanner scanned the hollow - glimpses of men gathered round the guns in a web of shadows. The big howitzers fired in turn, the recoil sending them lurching back on their wheels. Tanner gasped as he scrambled up the other slope. A shout - German - Damn, we've been spotted - and Ross's Bren opened fire. Tanner was conscious, from the corner of his eye, of men falling.

  Rifles cracked - a yell - then Tanner urged his men on. Past several trees and then another gap, giving a view down into the pit of the hollow. Keep going, keep going. He was now on the other side of the hollow. The chatter of Bren fire behind, snapping rifle fire, bullets zipping, leaves and branches sliced by their passage. McAllister was still with him - good - and then, up ahead, across a narrow pasture, he saw men crouch-running among a further clump of bushes. A second later he heard the burp of a machine-gun and bullets penetrating the branches behind.

  He raised his rifle, saw one two-man team through his scope, pulled back the bolt and fired. A head jerked backwards. More bullets spat and this time their height was better. Where were they coming from? Someone cried out, and Tanner flung himself to the ground, conscious of McAllister dropping onto the grass too, the bipod on his Bren already pulled out into place beforehand. Good lad. Bullets tore over his head - long bursts that were supposed to rake the ground but were firing high. Barrel's overheating. Gingerly he lifted his head.

  Another burst of fire and this time he saw them, the dark shapes of the men manning them, a faint muzzle, from the direction of some bushes dead ahead, by the track that ran in front of the whole position. He brought his cheek to the butt of his rifle and peered through the scope, drew back the bolt and fired. Another man jerked backwards, and for a moment the splutter of bullets stopped.

  Tanner leaped to his feet again, and hurtled across the grass towards the bushes. Grabbing a grenade, he pulled the pin and hurled it at the enemy machine-gun, then drew his rifle to his shoulder once more. Movement - a man crouch-hurrying ahead - another trying desperately to get behind the momentarily abandoned MG. Bolt back, fire - the grenade exploded - a man screamed and Tanner fired again. He sprinted to the MG, saw another man stretching for the weapon, kicked him out of the way, then dived into the shallow pit, lifted the machine- gun and, unable to hold the barrel because of the heat, let it plunge to the ground, drew back the bolt and fired towards the big anti-tank guns.

  Bullets pinged off the metal but he was aware that none of the guns was firing now. Had they done it? He could still hear Bren and rifle fire but he couldn't see any enemy troops.

  Sykes was beside him now. 'I think we've got 'em all, Sarge,' he said, between gasps for breath.

  'Maybe,' muttered Tanner. Pushing himself to his feet, he said, 'Cover me,' then dashed forward to the first of the big anti-tank guns. Ten yards from it he hurled another grenade. As it landed, a terrified gunner stood up and ran for cover in the trees. Tanner raised his rifle and fired, the man falling forwards and tumbling down the sides of the hollow with a scream. He ran to the next gun and there saw Lieutenant Peploe, a stunned expression on his face. They had encircled the position.

  'Hold your fire!' Tanner shouted, then turned to the lieutenant. 'Are you all right, sir?'

  'I think so, Sergeant.' He laughed. 'Christ, I don't believe it - we've bloody done it! We've bloody well gone and done it!'

  Tanner grinned, then wished he hadn't as his lip cracked again. 'They'll be coming up from the vehicles, sir, and maybe even the village. We need to be quick.'

  'Why don't we use those vehicles?' suggested Peploe.

  'Good idea, sir. Perhaps you should do that while Sykes and I make sure no one uses these guns again.'

  'Yes. I'll come back straight up this track here. Meet you by the farmhouse.' He loped off, shouting to Cooper and Ross. When Tanner turned, he saw that, without prompting, the corporal was taking out a cartridge of Nobel's, sticking in a small stretch of fuse, then lighting it and placing it in the muzzle of the first big gun. Thirty seconds later, it exploded amid a cloud of smoke and a hollow, tinny clang.

  More Bren and rifle fire a short distance behind. The lieutenant's attempt to capture some transport. But Tanner now had his rifle slung on his shoulder and his binoculars to his eyes. Heart plummeting, he saw that the British tanks were no longer advancing. A number had ground to a halt, some burning, others less obviously
disabled. Two stood smoking on the ridge a short way to his right. Heavy firing was still coming from the village behind and to the right, but he could see now that other tanks were pulling back, weaving slowly across the open farmland between the two ridges.

  'Damn it all,' muttered Tanner. They had silenced the guns but too late. No wonder that general had buggered off. He must have known he'd halted the attack. Damn, damn, damn. Then movement to his left caught his eye. He swung round with his binoculars and saw, heading north to the west of Berneville, a long column of enemy troops. He looked at the second of the big guns. How hard could it be to fire one of those things? He hurried over to it.

  Three men lay sprawled around it, one staring up at him with wide, lifeless eyes. Large wooden shell boxes stood a short distance away. Could they really fire at that column?

  'Boys!' he called. 'Here - quick!' He peered through his binoculars again. Some panzers and several halftracks were advancing over the rolling fields towards Berneville. He looked for their own transport, but they had done a good job: they were hidden from view. Christ, not only had they silenced the guns too late, they were in danger of being cut off, stuck behind enemy lines.

  'Sarge?' said McAllister.

  Tanner looked at them. McAllister, Verity, Bell, Chambers and Kershaw. 'Where's Hepworth?'

  'Helping the corp,' said Kershaw. A moment later there came another explosion as one of the howitzers was blown.

  'Denning and Rhodes?'

  'Both dead, Sarge,' said McAllister. 'Stupid idiots didn't get down quick enough when that second Spandau opened up.'

  Two young men gone. Tanner sighed. And for what? He picked up a stone and hurled it angrily. 'We're going to try and fire this bastard.'

  'How do we do that, Sarge?'

  'Dunno,' said Tanner. He went over to the box, took out a long, heavy, twenty-pound shell and pushed it into the open breech.

  'Shouldn't there be a door or something to hold it in place, Sarge?' said McAllister.

  'Can you bloody well see one?'

  McAllister shrugged.

  'It must be a sliding breech. We need to turn it somehow. Those wheels at the side must do something.' He turned one to the right and discovered the barrel moved downwards. He reversed the action and the barrel rose. Another wheel turned the entire gun on its central column. 'See?' he said. 'Told you it couldn't be that hard.'

  'That must be the firing mechanism, Sarge,' said McAllister, pointing to a lever to the right of the breech.

  Tanner swivelled the gun so that it was pointing towards the enemy column, raised the barrel a few inches, said, 'There's only one way to find out,' and pressed down on the lever. In a deafening blast and a puff of choking smoke, the breech hurtled backwards in recoil, spitting out the smoking brass casing as it did so. Tanner stumbled backwards and fell over as the shell hurtled through the air and detonated a moment later in a field some distance short of the target.

  'You need to elevate it a bit, Sarge,' said McAllister, lugging another shell to the breech. Tanner's ears rang shrilly as he got to his feet, raised the barrel and fired again. Another ear-splitting blast. The men spluttered and coughed, but this time the shell landed close to the target.

  'Blimey, Sarge,' said Sykes, now emerging from the hollow with Hepworth, his hands over his ears.

  'Grab some shells, lads, iggery,' said Tanner. 'Watch this, Stan.'

  McAllister flung the next shell into the breech as Tanner raised the barrel an inch more. 'Keep out the way, Stan.' Tanner grinned. 'This thing's got a hell of a kick.' He pressed down on the lever, the great gun thundered, and this time they saw the shell explode almost on top of the enemy column some two miles to the north-west. A cheer went up, but Tanner barked at them to put another shell into the breech. He fired again, and once more found their target, then again. 'Right, Stan, time to silence her. We need to go.'

  As Sykes prepared his demolition, Tanner peered through his binoculars again. He could see vehicles on fire, and others wheeling crazily around the mayhem he and his men had unleashed. Two of the panzers heading for Berneville had stopped, he now saw, uncertain, he guessed, as to what was happening and what they should be doing. He smiled grimly.

  The sound of vehicles. Tanner turned towards the farmhouse and saw Peploe wave from one of the Krupps he had seen earlier outside the cemetery.

  'Come on, lads,' he said. 'Time to get going.'

  He ran along the track, leaving behind a mist of pungent, acrid smoke, more than twenty dead and, as the gelignite in the big gun exploded, the useless wrecks of five enemy guns. But as he clambered into the Krupp beside the lieutenant he brought his binoculars to his eyes and saw Stukas diving on Berneville and the ridge beyond. One after another, relentlessly, they screamed down, their bombs exploding amid clouds of dust, smoke and grit so that soon the entire view was shrouded in a thick pall.

  Then he saw more enemy troops hurrying down the main Doullens-Arras road. Two armoured cars, motorcycles and, following behind, a half-track.

  This is going to be a close-run thing. A very close thing indeed.

  The last of the men was now aboard. 'Let's get out of here,' said Peploe.

  'Hold on, sir,' said Tanner. He was looking again at the enemy vehicles speeding along the Doullens-Arras road. 'I've just had a bit of an idea.'

  Chapter 17

  Sturmbannfuhrer Timpke had managed to assemble most of his battalion to the east of Beaumetz as planned, if somewhat later than he had hoped. Once again, the narrowness and lack of roads had been the problem: his motorcycles and armoured cars - even his half-tracks - couldn't cross the soft, rich clay of the open fields. Metalled roads and firm tracks were the limit of their capabilities - and this was the case for most of the division. He had been thankful that neither the French nor the Tommy bombers had spotted their long columns on the march.

  He had, however, identified three passable approaches to Berneville from the south. One track ran diagonally from Beaumetz, while a few kilometres along the Doullens-Arras road, a further track and a metalled road led off at ninety degrees directly into the south of the village. He sent Company 1 from Beaumetz and his P38 tanks off across the fields beside them, then led his remaining two companies along the main road to Arras.

  And thank goodness he had, because no sooner had they got going than shells were hurtling over from the ridge to the south-east. From his position in the turret of his scout car, Timpke had been startled by the unexpected explosion a few hundred yards to the north. If that had been a ranging shot, the shells that followed had soon found their mark, hitting part of Regiment 3's column pushing north from Beaumetz.

  Timpke had soon spotted the source of the shellfire: a big 88mm flak gun stuck in a copse a couple of miles away. Typical wooden-headed Wehrmacht gunners getting carried away. The shelling didn't last long: someone had obviously pointed out the error of their ways, but to the north of Beaumetz a number of vehicles were burning, thick black smoke pitching into the air.

  Wearing a wireless headset, he heard Schultz's voice crackle in his headphones from below. 'Boss, Company One are nearing the western end of Berneville. They're not drawing enemy fire.'

  'Good. Order them to keep going. Where are Totenkopf Regiment Two?'

  There was a pause. 'They're advancing from Simencourt, boss, along the ridge to the north of Berneville. At least six vehicles were hit by that gun.'

  'Those gunners should be shot.'

  As they had reached the first track into the village from the main road, he had ordered Company 2 to break from their column and advance along it. No sooner had he done so than he had heard the sound of aero-engines and, scanning the sky, spotted two dozen Stukas approaching from the east. They were flying low, one swarm of twelve aircraft stacked above another, only a few thousand feet high. For a brief moment Timpke had felt a stab of panic that they might attack their columns, but then, one by one, sirens screaming, the planes peeled off, dropping their bombs on Berneville and the ridge behind it.
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  'Schultz,' said Timpke, 'we'll halt until the dive- bombers have done their work. Relay the order.'

  'Yes, boss,' Schultz replied. 'Company One and the panzers want to wait where they are too.'

  'Agreed. But as soon as the Stukas go, get them into the village.'

  When the dive-bombers finally left, smoke hid the village and the ridge. To the west, however, Timpke could see infantry pressing towards the village - men from Totenkopf Regiment 2. Mortar shells were exploding, machine-gun and small arms cracked, their tinny reports echoing across the open fields. Timpke sniffed - burned wood and rubber - as though to confirm the acrid stench of battle. He ordered his men forward once more, and a few hundred metres further on his small lead column of Company 3 turned off the Doullens-Arras road and sped towards the village.

  Ahead, his motorcycles had stopped. A man had raised his hand, beckoning them on. Two others were getting out of their sidecars. Then Timpke saw them: two Opel trucks with white paint daubed across the bonnets. He knew instantly what they were — there could be no doubt.