Heroes Without Honour

by Alan David

  He swallowed to clear his ears of the thunder that seemed to be trapped inside his head, and signalled to Meyer, who was already rounding up the men, to get moving quickly. The survivors came from all directions, reloading weapons, faces streaked with dust and sweat, and Eckhardt mentally checked them off as they climbed into the half-tracks. He saw Leun with the Company HQ section, and knew the old warhorse had been in the centre of the fighting. Leun was gripping a rifle, and there was blood upon its fixed bayonet.

  Captain Dantine was issuing orders over the wireless, urging them to push on. The battle had been unexpected because the Poles were not supposed to have been there in any great force. But, having been defeated on this ground, they would not be able to make a stand farther back, and the breakthrough had to be exploited immediately. Speed was essential to this modern form of warfare, and Eckhardt wondered if they would have enough time in which to die.

  Yet he already understood that it was one thing to swear blind obedience to the Führer and be determined to die nobly upon some far-flung field of battle. But that was just the glorious ideal of tradition handed down through generations. Reality fell far short of that. What it really meant was sweating, bowel-gripping fear, a frenzy of violence and a kind of panic to get in first with rifle-shot or stab of bayonet. Luck or fate decided who would survive, and the unfortunates, each believing himself to be invincible, lay uncaringly in death, their duty done.

  Eckhardt drew a quivering breath as the half-tracks went on towards the village, which by now had been razed to the ground and threw coils of smoke into the disturbed sky. The initial wave of Panzers was still thrusting forward, striking fear into the wavering Poles, and in the rear the German infantry came forward to consolidate the ground that had been so hard-won.

  This was the pattern of war as Max Eckhardt saw it, and he was still too emotionally caught up by the events which had ensued to be able to consider it dispassionately. But he was merely doing his duty, and his only wish in wanting to live longer was to be able to continue fighting the enemies of his beloved Führer.

  Chapter Six

  It was still dark when Kurt was awakened by Schultze, who pushed a mug of coffee into his hand and greeted him with a cheerful ‘Wie geht es?’ Kurt muttered his thanks, staring around into the gloom, listening to the sounds of artillery and attuning his thoughts to the situation. All the events of the previous day should have vanished like a nightmare the moment he opened his eyes. But it was still with him — stark reality enveloped him completely. He sipped the coffee, barely tasting it, aware that he had to get up and try to survive another day’s fighting. It would be impossible to become accustomed to it, despite making an allowance for the fact that they were ‘green’. He would have to put on an act, show disregard for himself and do his duty. At least, he had been well trained and, no matter his state of mind, could go through the motions of his duty without thinking about it. Fear could not freeze him, unless the situation worsened considerably.

  He arose, filled with reluctance, wishing for the bliss of sleep, and gazed at the shapeless mass of his Mark IV. The engineers would have been working all night and, knowing their efficiency, the pontoon bridge would be there across the river, waiting for them to use it. He drew a deep breath of keen dawn air and hurried to Captain Zimmermann’s tank. There would be battle orders for the day, and then would commence the whole frightening need to survive until the next night.

  He thought of the farm and Aunt Gretel as he walked to the Company Commander’s tank. They seemed so far away now, almost as if they were in another world. The simplicity and security of life were gone. All things familiar had departed. Now his world consisted of that metal monster with its claustrophobic atmosphere, men in black tank uniforms, countless comrades in field-grey, and the enemy dressed in Khaki. A frightening drabness combined with discipline and austerity; a man’s world that was tough and frightening.

  ‘Kurt, my boy, how are you this morning?’ Captain Zimmermann was drinking coffee. ‘All ready for another good day? You did well yesterday. I’m very pleased. But we are moving out before first light. We are in the second wave today, and must be across the pontoon before the sun comes up. The bridgehead that was established on the other side of the river was extended during the night without the support of armour, so we should be able to smash on without trouble when we get to the other side.’

  Kurt felt relieved because they were not going to be in the first wave, but it was still dangerous in the second wave, for they would be expected to deal with any anti-tank guns in their path. He set his teeth into his bottom lip and fought against the flutter of nerves in his stomach. He would feel better once they were moving, but this waiting was terrifying.

  ‘Make sure your crew get enough to eat, and be ready to move off at 0530 hours,’ Zimmermann was saying when Kurt dragged himself from his thoughts. ‘I’ll have direct orders by then and they will be passed on to you by your troop commander. But come and see me whenever you feel the need to, my boy.’

  They studied each other for a moment, unable to see more than the pale oval of the other’s face. Kurt was thinking of Dettfeld and the farm, and wished he were back there now. Zimmermann’s thoughts seemed to be lying in the same direction, for he cleared his throat and heaved a long sigh.

  ‘Home is a long way off, Kurt! All the training seemed to be for nothing, didn’t it? But it was proved to us yesterday that it had a grim purpose. And there’s a nasty rumour going around at the moment. I heard from higher up that France and Britain have issued ultimatums to our government. If we don’t withdraw from Poland then they will enter the war against us. They have a pact with Poland which they say they are going to honour.’

  Kurt caught his breath at the news, his mind protesting although his face remained set in harsh lines.

  ‘Britain and France,’ he said slowly. ‘We couldn’t hope to beat them too, could we, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know, Kurt.’ Zimmermann shook his head. ‘We certainly don’t have any quarrel with Britain, although France is another matter. But, after the Great War I don’t think the French will be keen to fight. The German government has stated its intention to expand eastwards and regain the country that was taken from us in 1918, but that is the limit of our action. We have no designs in the west.’

  ‘War with Britain and France,’ Kurt repeated slowly, shaking his head. ‘It mustn’t happen. I was hoping this war would be over in a month. Then I could go back to the farm.’

  ‘Wouldn’t we all like to go home!’ Zimmermann smiled, his teeth glinting in the greying light. ‘But the decisions are not ours to make, Kurt. Go back to your tank and be ready to move out. I’m sure it won’t be long before we both see that little farm and Aunt Gretel again.’ He paused, then added, ‘I am hoping to ask Aunt Gretel to marry me when I get my next leave. How does that strike you, Kurt?’

  ‘Fine, sir!’ Kurt nodded. He had looked upon Viktor Zimmermann almost as a father during his formative years, for the ex-schoolmaster had been a constant visitor to the farm, wooing and courting Aunt Gretel fruitlessly but optimistically.

  ‘We’ll talk about it later.’ Zimmermann glanced at his watch. ‘It will soon be time to move out. Good luck today, Kurt.’

  ‘And good luck to you, sir,’ Kurt responded, turning to go back to his tank.

  The crew were eating breakfast, and Weilen handed Kurt his meal. He took it thoughtfully and sat down beside the Mark IV.

  ‘You’re quiet this morning, Sergeant,’ Schultze said cheerfully, and Kurt wondered how his driver could remain happy twenty-four hours a day, especially after their dreadful introduction to battle the previous day. But Schultze was a Berliner, chirpy as a sparrow, and his cheerful, witty tongue often helped in tense situations.

  ‘I’ve just heard some bad news from Captain Zimmermann,’ Kurt said, and repeated the rumour. There was a short silence within the small circle, then Hohner began to grumble.

  ‘Just what I expected! I didn’t think we
could contain this fighting in Poland. Everyone knew Britain and France had a treaty with Poland. Now we’re in trouble. We thought it was bad enough yesterday, but just wait until the Tommies and the Frogs come into it. We can’t hope to match them. There will be millions killed, like the last time.’

  ‘Perhaps we’ll get orders to withdraw,’ Vogel suggested in his quiet, studious voice.

  ‘I think that’s the only way out.’ Weilen, the optimist from Hanover, nodded his head quickly, swallowing a mouthful of sausage. ‘The Führer is no fool. He wouldn’t want to take on the Tommies and the French. My father told me about the Tommies in the Great War. They’re just like Hohner, always grumbling, but when they are grumbling is when you have to watch out for them. The harder you hit them the better they fight. They have some good tanks, don’t they? Not like the Poles. I didn’t see one Polish tank yesterday.’

  ‘Polish anti-tank guns are bad enough,’ Hohner grumbled. ‘Why don’t they finish this war quickly so I can go home? I was making plans to get married when I was called back for this.’

  Kurt shook his head. His food tasted like sawdust in his mouth. He thought over Zimmermann’s words, and could not see the war petering out. He sensed that it was his destiny to experience this, and wondered what his ultimate fate would be.

  ‘Eat up,’ he cut in, interrupting a discussion which started up about the merits of British and French tanks. ‘We are in the second wave today. The pontoon is ready for us and we have to be across before daylight, when the Poles will start shelling it.’

  They became silent then, and Kurt seemed to fall into a bout of depression, although he tried to combat it. But his thoughts were dismal. He was never going to see the farm again, or Aunt Gretel, and because he had failed to pluck up sufficient courage to ask Anna to marry him he would never know the joys of married life. He was doomed to die out here on the eastern plains that the Führer needed for lebensraum, and there were already a great number of dead to keep him company.

  But he felt easier as soon as they began to move, and the Panzer-grenadiers accompanying them climbed into their half-tracks and followed them to the crossing. Kurt was faintly surprised to see smoke still rising from some of the ruined buildings around the shattered bridge, but there in the growing daylight was the pontoon the engineers had slaved all night to complete. The vehicles crossed slowly, with revving engines and many gear changes, and then they pushed on eastwards, following the first wave, whose gunfire was already blasting a furious greeting to the new day.

  The Poles had massed along the far bank of the river, but their deployment was suitable for defence along a wide front. The Panzers struck like lightning in a narrow wedge, driving through the defences in three waves and ripping the line asunder. Dive bombers screeched earthwards as if intent upon crashing into the enemy positions, pulling out only at the last moment, and artillery pounded sullenly. It was a repeat of the tactics of the day before, and Kurt, peering through his periscope, realised that his head was aching intolerably. The sound of machine-gun bullets hammering against the hull aggravated his pain and he reacted slowly to some of the situations which arose. Twice he exposed the tank unnecessarily, and only Schultze’s training and quick reactions saved them from serious trouble.

  But the morning went well. The lightning thrust of the Panzers cut through the Poles and fanned out, spreading quickly to grab as much ground as possible. Motorised infantry were following up closely to consolidate, and after they had refuelled and rearmed, the Panzers pushed on, their objectives falling easily. Kurt was relieved. The war could not last long at this rate, and he began to hope that he would escape injury.

  During the afternoon they reached the approaches of a small town. The first wave bypassed it after engaging enemy artillery positions, and it was the task of the second wave to seek out the Polish infantry. Kurt was out on the right flank, watching the town through his glasses. It seemed deserted, but he could not be fooled by appearances. His orders were to advance as close as possible and to watch out for anti-tank fire. The grenadiers in their half-tracks were already fanning out to make their rush into the built-up area.

  Schultze had the tank moving at about fifteen miles per hour, and the hatches were closed because of the threat of impending action. Heat had built up inside the vehicle. Kurt’s headache had not eased. He peered around through narrowed eyes, intently studying all likely positions for anti-tank guns. A machine-gun began firing from one of the houses and he ordered high-explosive to be fired. Their first shot silenced the gun post and they continued, moving in closer, although he was aware that they dared not venture in amongst the houses. The grenadiers would go in to do the dirty work of ejecting the defenders.

  The next instant the tank seemed to rear up, and a great blast of noise enveloped them. Earth and smoke flew, broiling upwards about them, and Kurt clutched at his head, his first thought being that his eardrums had burst. Then he imagined that they had been hit by an anti-tank shell, and sprang up in the jolting vehicle to look around. There was a singing in his ears and his eyesight seemed slightly out of focus. The tank had come to a halt and the engine was silent. But he instinctively knew what had happened. They had run over a mine. He glanced out of the turret, looking back, and saw a crater in the ground. Their left-hand track was stretched out behind, with several links smashed.

  ‘Everyone all right?’ he demanded, and his voice seemed to come from a great distance.

  They were all shaken, but no one was hurt. A tank came up rapidly from behind and halted. Kurt saw Captain Zimmermann peering at the damage, then at his turret, and he waved a hand to signify that they were all right. The Company Commander’s tank slewed slightly and came abreast of them, and Zimmermann shouted above the roar of the engine and the growing noise of the developing battle.

  ‘Stay inside the tank for cover until the repair squad arrives, Kurt. We’ll go on. Be prepared to defend yourselves, and give us support if you can.’

  Kurt nodded and gave the thumbs up sign. Zimmermann waved and his tank went forward. Kurt used his binoculars to check his area of fire, but there was little they could do. The half-tracks filled with grenadiers were ahead of them now, and the supporting tanks had closed upon the outskirts of the town. Dive bombers were still plummeting down to bomb strong points, and the artillery was shelling furiously. The noise was intolerable, and Kurt was tempted to leave the cover of the tank. But he called to the crew and warned them to remain alert.

  They watched the battle, although not much could be seen because of the smoke. Civilians appeared from nowhere and were hurrying from the scene. Kurt watched them, filled with pity, although his face was expressionless. He could see an oldish woman who looked like Aunt Gretel, and he frowned. He could imagine how his aunt would have felt had she been forced to leave the farm under these harrowing circumstances. When he looked at the town again it was with a different point of view, not as an enemy target but as homes of people who were no more eager for war than he.

  ‘Sergeant, can I get out and look at the damage?’ Schultze interrupted Kurt’s thoughts.

  ‘No. We were told to sit tight. There’s nothing we can do. Our men are now between us and the town so we can’t support them with our weapons. The repair squads are never far behind and they’ll be along in a moment.’

  ‘We could get ourselves something to eat,’ Hohner ventured. ‘It’s hot in here. Why not leave a machine-gunner on guard? Vogel can do it, then he’ll be able to listen for wireless messages as well.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Vogel said gravely, smiling when Kurt looked at him. ‘Why don’t you get out, Sergeant? I’ll stay on watch. If you don’t stray from the side of the tank you can always get underneath if things start falling out of the sky.’

  ‘All right. But call me if Captain Zimmermann comes over the air.’ Kurt climbed out of the turret. He looked towards the town, feeling strangely exposed as he jumped to the ground. But it felt good to have earth under his feet after so many hours of being coop
ed up in the fume-laden turret. ‘Open all the hatches,’ he called to Vogel. ‘Get rid of that smoke in there.’

  Hohner, Schultze and Weilen joined him and they walked round the tank to survey the damage. A piece of track had been blown to pieces and a number of links were badly twisted. One of the bogie-wheels was bent, and there were lots of new gouges in the armour plating.

  ‘Well that’s really put us out of action for today,’ Schultze commented. ‘There’s nothing we can do until the repair squads get here. Shall I make some coffee, Sergeant? We’d better take advantage of the situation, eh?’

  ‘Yes.’ Kurt spoke heavily. His ears were filled with a high-pitched whine and his head still ached. What little sunlight there was came through the smoke to hurt his eyes, and he yawned and swallowed to try and relieve the pressure inside his head. ‘I’m going to sit in the shade there. I don’t feel so good. Call me if I am wanted.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Weilen demanded. ‘You look badly shaken, Sergeant.’

  ‘I had a headache before that mine exploded under us.’ Kurt pressed his fingers to his throbbing temples. ‘But don’t wander away from the tank in case there are anti-personnel mines around.’

  The warning made them cautious and they remained close to the vehicle. Schultze soon made some coffee, and Kurt felt better after drinking some. But he fetched a blanket and lay on the ground in the shelter of the tank, closing his eyes and trying to forget the ominous sounds of war that continued with ever-increasing fury in the town.

  He had actually dozed when the sound of vehicles approaching alerted him and he got to his feet. Supply transport was arriving and just behind were the repair squads. Kurt felt better, and supervised the refuelling and rearming of the tank. The repair squads lost no time in renewing their damaged track, and two hours later they were ready to move on again, apparently none the worse for their incident.