Heroes Without Honour

by Alan David

  ‘I noticed you hanging back when you should have been out in front leading your section, Corporal,’ Eckhardt snapped. ‘It is possible your example gave Schwarz the idea that he could slacken.’

  ‘Sir, I was only concerned for my men,’ Steine replied, stiffening. ‘A little discretion saved lives.’

  ‘We are not here to save lives,’ Eckhardt retorted. ‘Tell Sergeant Meyer I want him.’ He went on to his command HQ and leaned against a tree, the Bergmann gripped in his hands. Leun followed him, and Eckhardt looked up, his blue eyes glittering. ‘Get the firing squad organised, please,’ he said quietly, and Leun saluted and departed. Moments later Sergeant Meyer appeared with Steine. ‘What about Schwarz, Sergeant?’ Eckhardt demanded.

  ‘I think he has deserted. I have men looking for him, sir.’

  Eckhardt shook his head in disbelief, and anger struck through him. The SS were an organisation apart from the Wehrmacht. They were specially chosen for their unfaltering loyalty, but this first day of war had exposed unexpected weaknesses in their ranks.

  ‘I want the whole platoon out looking for Schwarz,’ he rapped. ‘We’re supplying an execution squad in thirty minutes, and I don’t want to have to shoot Schwarz in front of the whole Company. Two of our platoon are already numbered amongst the traitors. My platoon is going to be the most efficient in the battalion, Sergeant. This Company is the best, and we are going to be the apex of the pinnacle. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ Meyer’s back was like a ramrod. ‘But it is possible that Schwarz is just having a look around the area.’

  ‘The men were ordered to remain where they were. Let us go and find him.’

  They left some men in the platoon position, but the rest quickly spread out, and Eckhardt accompanied Meyer as they supervised the search. It was when they approached a burning farmhouse half a mile from their position that Schwarz broke cover and began to flee. Corporal Steine called a challenge but Schwarz continued to run. Sergeant Meyer fired a shot into the air, causing Schwarz to halt immediately and turn with his hands raised. Men hurried forward and dragged him back before Eckhardt, who gazed at his subordinate with loathing in his pale eyes.

  ‘What are you doing here, Schwarz?’ Eckhardt demanded.

  ‘I was running away, Herr Leutnant.’ Schwarz’s voice quivered. ‘I can’t take any more. I didn’t think it would be like it was today.’

  ‘Remove your equipment,’ Eckhardt ordered, ‘and take off your tunic. You are a disgrace to your Vaterland cuff.’

  Rough hands helped Schwarz divest himself of his equipment and tunic. The deserter’s face was ashen, his eyes almost glazed with terror. He stared at Eckhardt, who slowly opened the flap of his holster and drew his P38 Walther.

  ‘Kneel down, Schwarz,’ he commanded.

  The young SS man gazed into Eckhardt’s face, unable to move, and Sergeant Meyer motioned for two men to grasp him. Schwarz began to cry hysterically as he was forced to his knees, his arms held outstretched. Eckhardt stepped forward, his face mask-like, his voice betraying anger and contempt as he spoke.

  ‘Schwarz, I obey the orders of my superior in carrying out the sentence of death upon you for dereliction of duty. You have deserted your post, disobeyed orders and showed cowardice in the face of the enemy.’

  Schwarz tried to speak but his throat was constricted. He looked like an ox in a slaughterhouse. Eckhardt aimed his pistol at the centre of the man’s forehead and squeezed the trigger. The flat crack of the shot sounded insignificant, but a round hole appeared between Schwarz’s staring eyes and the back of his head exploded like an overripe melon as the 9mm bullet tore through his brain and shattered his skull. The two men holding Schwarz released their grip and the body slumped to the ground, twitching for a moment.

  ‘Bury him,’ Eckhardt ordered. ‘I’ll make a report. Get the men back to the platoon position as quickly as possible and get ready to move out. We are going to take part in the assault on Przedz this afternoon, and any man who fails to do his duty will be shot.’

  He walked back to the platoon area, his mind seething with a righteous anger that was laced with disbelief. Two men remained with Sergeant Meyer to take care of the burial, and Corporal Steine marched the rest of the platoon along the dusty road. Eckhardt stomped his boots, furious because his men were betraying him. He clenched his teeth in frustration. A deserter in his own command! It proved that their training had not been rigorous enough.

  He remembered what his father had said on the subject. Germany had to be cleansed of the weaklings who would not face up to their duty, and the traitors had to be disposed of before they could think of dealing with the foreign enemies of the Third Reich. The Führer was doing all he could to weed out the second-class material in their ranks, and it was the duty of every loyal German to play his part in purifying the life blood of the nation ...

  Eckhardt gripped the hilt of the dagger of honour which he wore and grappled with his frustration. The dagger had been handed to him personally by Reichsführer Himmler upon his graduation from the SS Leadership School. He had been drilled to accept without question the orders of his superiors and to be prepared to die for the greater glory of the German Reich. He could not understand these men in the Death’s Head SS Divisions who were not ready to give their all.

  His frustrations eased slightly when he took command of the firing squad mustered by Leun and marched them to the Company Command Post. The entire Company was drawn up and the seven prisoners emerged under guard from a dug-out. Eckhardt was filled with a strange sense of exultation as he went through the routine of the execution. Afterwards he marched the men back to the platoon area and halted them on the road. He saw that Corporal Steine was slightly green around the lips; and smiled grimly.

  ‘Remember what you have just witnessed,’ he said harshly, ‘and bear in mind that when we go back into action the same fate awaits any man who hangs back and does not throw himself into the battle with enthusiasm.’

  He felt better when they boarded half-tracks and were carried towards the fighting. They rattled and jolted along narrow roads that were jammed with the flotsam of war. Wounded were coming back, and there were some refugees, but a great deal of traffic was going forward, and they joined the long files that poured in a never-ending stream across the stricken countryside. They clattered through a burning village, where black smoke coiled skywards, and soon reached the front line. Heavy attacks were being mounted, and Panzers were lumbering forward in waves.

  The first wave was concentrating upon Polish artillery and strong points, and Eckhardt’s battalion moved in behind the second wave, which had the task of engaging enemy infantry and anti-tank guns. A third wave of tanks and Panzer-grenadiers was concentrated upon mopping up and engaging any remaining pockets of resistance, while in their rear, motorised infantry advanced to relieve the Panzer-grenadiers in order that the point of the attack could maintain its momentum.

  The shock of battle was deafening, and smoke obscured vision, but they pushed on fast, rattling across fields towards the distant town, which was already being pounded by dive bombers and artillery. But the farther they advanced the tougher became the opposition, and Eckhardt realised that they were in for a tough fight. This was the first organised resistance they had met since crossing the border.

  But the tanks seemed invincible, rolling through obstacles and crashing against barricades and strong points. The Poles defended stubbornly but could not halt the attack. Smoke blotted out the sun, leaving the countryside in a queer half-light, an angry twilight that seemed nightmarish.

  Then they reached the outskirts of the town and machine-gun posts chattered incessantly, firing vainly at the heavily armoured fighting vehicles. The Panzers were blasting away rapidly, destroying each strong point, and then the half-tracks halted and the men began to debus to take on the isolated pockets of infantry which had been bypassed by the tanks. But the Panzers were brought to a halt in the streets, where fire bombs were used against the
m from first-floor windows. The Poles were fighting heroically, and Eckhardt felt strangely relieved as he led his men forward into action. They went at a run to attack the first row of burning houses.

  It was good to get back into action, to hurl oneself against the strong resistance that had been set up. The sections began house-clearing while the tanks remained in the background, blasting with their 75s, knocking down walls and houses, co-operating with the grenadiers, and the struggle for supremacy raged back and forth. The Poles were stoically fanatical, the Germans stubbornly fearless.

  Fire spread through the suburbs as the attacks were pressed home. Tramlines were ripped up and telephone wires brought down, while over all the chattering machine-guns were masters of the situation.

  Eckhardt led an attack across a small square in the centre of the town. The church was ablaze, its tower leaning drunkenly, and houses were erupting in great clouds of dust and smoke as demolition charges were set off by the Poles. Whole platoons of Germans were blown up, but the battle did not diminish. Wounded fell and lay in the open, and the dead piled up in the gutters with blood streaming round them. Rubble littered the pavements. Grenades blasted continuously, and each house had to be fought for, with the tide of the German attack creeping relentlessly forward.

  Eckhardt slipped on bloodstained cobbles and skidded on the ground. He was sweating. The battle seemed to be endless although there was a definite forward movement of German troops through the blazing town. The tanks followed slowly, firing over their heads, and the concussion of each shot seemed to go right through him. He eased back his helmet slightly and wiped his eyes. He could see Corporal Steine leading a suicidal charge towards the houses on the far side of the square, a 50-round belt of MG34 ammunition around his neck, a potato masher in his right hand, and his rifle, a Kar 98K, gripped in his left hand. He nodded grimly, for this was what he expected from his men.

  He arose and glanced around, motioning for Sergeant Meyer to take the reserve section forward, and they stormed through rifle and machine-gun fire to gain the opposite houses. A Mark III tank nosed into the square and a Polish 37-pounder blasted at it from four hundred yards. The anti-tank gun was perfectly sighted, and had been holding its fire until its target was impossible to miss at point blank range. The tank lost a track and became immobile, and before others could come to its assistance the anti-tank gun fired again, this time causing a sheet of flame to sear from the stricken vehicle.

  Eckhardt covered a door while one of the men smashed it in with his rifle butt. A Pole leaned out of an upstairs window and fired at them, the bullet striking the grenadier in the top of his shoulder and blasting outwards through the back of his neck. He fell screaming as Eckhardt looked up and riddled the window with a burst of fire then sidestepped the body which came tumbling to the ground. Two more of his men hurried forward to assist him, and at their backs the Mark III brewed up with a terrific explosion, spewing out burning fuel, fiery and bubbling, that flickered on the pavement. The bodies of the crew lay around the tank, riddled by machine-gun fire even as they had sought cover.

  The entire Company was endeavouring to cross the square, but the defensive fire was too intense and bodies littered the open space. Orders came through to attack the houses on the sides of the square, although it would take longer to push forward, and when the tanks trundled out of their cover to demolish the strong points opposite, more anti-tank guns blasted, hitting two tanks and damaging three others. The Panzers were discovering to their cost that when they met well positioned and bravely-served anti-tank guns their seemingly invincible vehicles suffered heavy casualties, and they would either have to destroy the guns with their own fire or work round a flank and bypass the resistance.

  The battle developed into a situation where the tanks had to wait for the infantry to deliver a formal attack covered by tank-fire and artillery. Speed had been the decisive factor of the German successes of the morning, but that speed was blunted when the tanks had to wait for infantry to clear a way for them.

  Eckhardt, concerned only with the role of his platoon in the general plan, exhorted his NCOs to greater effort, and recklessly led attacks against the houses holding them up. They entered the buildings one by one, throwing grenades into rooms before dashing in to shoot the occupants, and, house by house, street by street, they advanced, inflicting appalling casualties while they, in turn, suffered great losses. Bodies were sprawled everywhere in the shattered houses, but the Poles were cracking under the ruthless pressure, and farther back from the square Eckhardt, peering from an upper window, could see khaki-clad men running from the town. He nodded in satisfaction. Tanks would have gone around the flanks to take up cut-off positions in the rear. Very few of the Poles would escape and none would be taken prisoner by the SS.

  Now the afternoon was almost past, and the smoke rising from the devastated town cast gloom everywhere. The noises of war expressed the horror which had been unleashed, and Eckhardt did not fail to comprehend the atmosphere which surrounded him. But his thoughts were entirely military as he prepared his sections to push on. Sergeant Meyer led half the platoon in a rush towards another row of houses while Eckhardt and the survivors of the other half crouched amidst the ruins to give covering fire.

  The battle for the town of Przedz was going according to plan, although the price for taking it was high. But casualties did not matter when it came to gaining the ground that was needed for lebensraum. The enemy was being put into full flight, proving once more, to Eckhardt’s mind, that they were inferior, and Eckhardt was entirely happy as he led his half of the platoon into further action. At this rate Poland would fall into the Führer’s hand like a ripe plum, and then the attention of the armed forces could be turned elsewhere. This was only the beginning. The spoils were going to the victor and there was everything to fight for.

  Chapter Four

  Kurt knew that the task of taking a well-defended river crossing would be an arduous one. He attended the tank commanders’ briefing and learned the details. The tanks would engage the main defences while Panzer-grenadiers rushed the flanks and concentrated upon seizing the bridge intact. If the bridge was destroyed by the Poles before it could be captured then the tanks and the infantry gun company would give strong covering fire while the assault engineers, who were organised as specialist infantry, made the crossing in their rubber assault boats. Whichever way the attack went, it would be a bloody battle.

  ‘Just a few personal words now,’ Captain Zimmermann said quietly, his tired eyes narrowed as he looked around at the intent faces of his tank commanders. ‘We all lack experience under fire, so it is to be expected that we are “green”. Don’t panic at minor opposition and pay no heed to rumours. We are winning this war easily. Our advances prove it. But at the moment we are taking far too long to overcome even the most trivial opposition. We all know what we have to do so let us go and check our tanks to ensure that everything is ready. Don’t forget to leave your wireless on receive, and follow orders implicitly. Are there any questions?’

  He paused for a few moments but there was no sound from the NCOs and he nodded.

  ‘Very well. Then I expect you all to proceed as ordered. Be ready to move out.’

  Kurt went back to his tank and busied himself checking that everything was ready, answering the questions of his crew in a quiet, determined voice, and fighting down the panic which threatened to freeze him completely. He wondered if the others were as scared as he. But he kept busy until they received the order to move off, and they clattered down from the ridge where they had fought that morning. Artillery and dive bombers were plastering targets ahead, and they roared on at top speed.

  The Poles were holding the near side of the river and the bridge was intact for the withdrawal of their troops. Kurt knew they had to take the area with the bridge still intact if the German advance was to go ahead smoothly. They came under Polish shellfire, and he was relieved to find that though his stomach was fluttering and his heart was beating fast
er he was not unduly afraid. Having his duties to perform seemed to take his mind from his innermost fears.

  Enemy guns were shelling them from behind a high ridge, and Kurt knew from the maps he had studied that once they crossed that ridge they would be in the wide valley containing the river. They pushed forward as fast as possible, skirting strong points, leaving them to the following waves of Panzers. Their supporting artillery and air cover were good, and the countryside showed visible signs of the war that was raging.

  It pained Kurt to see farm animals lying dead in the fields, but, strangely enough, the sight of Polish and German casualties did not move him at all. Some of them did not look as if they were dead, merely resting, lying in odd corners of the fields or huddled in small groups. But he had no time to let his thoughts dwell upon them. They were reaching the crest of the final ridge now, and he knew that when they crossed the skyline they could expect anti-tank guns to start blasting. His information was that the bridge was heavily defended, and his nerves began to tighten, although his face was impassive and his voice steady when he gave orders. But a sensation of dread put sickness in the pit of his stomach, and he felt cold despite the fact that sweat was running down his face.

  Then the leading tanks ran into a minefield and terrific explosions followed. Two tanks were enveloped by fire and smoke, and he was surprised, when the smoke cleared, to see the crews baling out and waving them on. He shook his head in disbelief because everyone seemed to be acting normally, without fear, while he felt he was on the verge of panic.

  Before they reached the crest they lost another tank to the land mines, and enemy artillery began firing over the ridge at them, although high-explosive did not worry them too much apart from the fact that they had to close all hatches. But the skyline was very near now and Kurt clenched his teeth in anticipation.