by Alan David
‘Anna! We’re home. Where are you?’
Aunt Gretel came into the house, and Max clenched his teeth as he looked at her in the instant before she saw him. She, too, was heavily laden, and looked vivacious and very happy. Kurt had his back towards Max, looking expectantly at the parlour door, where Anna slowly appeared, but Aunt Gretel sensed Max’s presence and turned her head quickly to gaze at him, her smile vanishing and surprise spreading across her features.
‘Max!’ She dropped her parcels and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck, and he was overwhelmed by the fervour of her greeting. She kissed him repeatedly, and he hugged her impulsively while he gazed at Kurt over her head.
Kurt had turned quickly. He was gazing with wide eyes, but a smile appeared immediately upon his lips and he set down his burden and came crowding forward, slapping Max’s shoulder.
‘This is all I needed to make my day complete,’ he said, shaking hands when Max managed to extricate himself from Aunt Gretel’s arms. ‘When you didn’t reply to my letter I thought you couldn’t get away.’
‘I decided to surprise you,’ Max replied, smiling.
‘And it’s the best surprise we could have,’ Aunt Gretel responded. She turned to the front door as a tall figure appeared. ‘Viktor, I want you to meet my other nephew, Max. Max, this is Captain Viktor Zimmermann, my future husband.’
Zimmermann advanced with outstretched hand and Max grasped it firmly.
‘I am very pleased to meet you, Max,’ the older man said. ‘I have heard so much about you, and I was really concerned that you would not be able to get here for the wedding. It is going to be quite an event.’
‘I’m happy I was able to come,’ Max responded, ‘and I am very pleased for you, Aunt Gretel. You deserve some pleasure out of life, and I hope you and Captain Zimmermann will be very happy.’
‘Don’t let us stand upon ceremony in this house,’ Zimmermann said. ‘Forget about rank, for Heaven’s sake.’
‘Rank!’ Kurt exclaimed. ‘Look, Aunt Gretel. Max has been promoted. When I saw him in Warsaw he was a Leutnant. Now he is an Oberleutnant. And he’s wearing the Iron Cross First Class! Did you receive that from the Führer himself, Max?’
‘I did.’ Max nodded, feeling more at ease now, although he noted that Zimmermann was watching him closely, as if trying to gauge him. But Aunt Gretel wiped tears from her eyes, and Max put an arm around her shoulder. ‘I have seven days leave,’ he said, ‘although I don’t suppose any of you will want me around after the wedding ceremony.’
‘Nonsense,’ Zimmermann countered. ‘Kurt and I have only a few days. We have to return to our unit two days after the wedding. We were fortunate to get away even for a short time. Training is very intensive.’
‘Let’s go into the parlour,’ Kurt suggested. ‘I will get the schnapps. Then we can talk. I still say there won’t be a full-scale war with the Allies. They would have attacked by now if they intended to fight.’
‘I don’t know what to think,’ Zimmermann remarked, glancing at Max. ‘What do you say? Have you any inside information? What is the situation? I know the British are sinking about three of our U-boats each week in the Atlantic, and there is patrol activity and artillery duels on the Western Front. But nothing else has happened. Do you think the Allies are merely contenting themselves with a token show of aggression?’
‘I wouldn’t care to comment upon that,’ Max replied. ‘I suggest that we forget all about the war while we are here. There is no reason why world affairs should intrude.’
‘Well spoken,’ Aunt Gretel said, coming to him again and putting her arms around his neck. ‘My dearest Max. You don’t know how happy the sight of you has made me. It was my dearest wish that you would come. Now I can’t believe my eyes. But I thank you from the bottom of my heart for making everything so perfect.’
‘I came because I wanted to share your happiness,’ Max said. He smiled ruefully and a pang tugged at his insides. ‘I can clearly remember the last time we went into Dettfeld church together. It was the day Mother was buried.’
‘So it was!’ Aunt Gretel kissed his cheek. ‘I wish she had lived, Max. She would have been very proud of her two sons.’
Max nodded and they went into the parlour. He was thoughtful despite the fact that he joined in the general conversation. A part of him seemed to be detached, as always when he was in company. No matter how large a crowd surrounded him, he always seemed to be alone. But he was pleased with his reception here and glad that he had come. It was like reaching an oasis in a desert after a particularly harrowing trek across burning sands.
During the next few days he relaxed considerably more, and, when the marriage ceremony was over, half the village attended the wedding party at the farmhouse. Aunt Gretel wore a smart, tailored grey suit, but Anna was wearing a satin gown and a lace headdress. She looked radiant, and Max felt slightly disappointed with himself when he saw how happy his brother was. If he had spent more time seeking enjoyment for himself instead of working for the National Socialists perhaps he would have had a different attitude towards life. He smiled as he fought down the thought, for his feet were planted firmly upon his destined path and he knew there was nothing he could do to change that.
The days passed all too quickly, and Kurt and Zimmermann had to return to Sennelager. Kurt shook hands warmly, and there was a forced grin on his face as he got into Zimmermann’s car. Max had accompanied him down the path.
‘I’ll take a bet with you, Max,’ Kurt said quietly. ‘There won’t be a war. When Spring comes I shall be back here for good, working on the farm, and all the tanks and guns will be melted down.’
‘I won’t take any bets,’ Max responded. ‘Just take care of yourself, that’s all.’ He stepped back to let Anna get close to Kurt and turned to shake hands with Zimmermann. Aunt Gretel was standing by the Captain’s side, her face pale, her eyes bright with unshed tears, but she was accustomed to loneliness and was fatalistic in her attitude towards life.
When the car had gone Max found himself in the company of two emotional women, and had to fight down his own emotions. Usually they were safely under control, and he began to think that he had made a mistake in coming here after all, for mixing with people had caused a deterioration in his general defences. But his time was limited and soon it was his turn to depart. He kissed Anna and hugged Aunt Gretel.
‘Please write to me once in a while, Max,’ Aunt Gretel pleaded. ‘I’ll pray for you each night, and I pray there won’t be a war with the Allies. If there is a God in Heaven then he will hear my plea. I don’t ask for myself but for everyone who will be called upon to pay the price.’
‘Praying won’t help,’ Max said softly, ‘but do it if you get comfort from it. I will try to see you again soon but the future is so uncertain. Goodbye now. I will write to you regularly after this.’
He left quickly, his face set in harsh lines, and he did not look back. It was as if he knew that he had made a mistake in coming to renew old ties. In war there was no room for sentiment, and he could almost hate Kurt for looking him up in Warsaw. But that was behind him now. The year was still young and the fate of the world was being plotted behind closed doors in the headquarters of the High Command. The Führer was already laying his plans.
Chapter Sixteen
Kurt would have lost the bet on there not being a large-scale war, Max told himself, when he learned on 9 April that German forces had invaded Denmark and Norway. Denmark was unable to do more than protest at this flagrant violation of her territory, but the Führer justified his invasion by claiming that Britain and France were about to invade Scandinavia themselves. Norway was stunned by the attack, and there was little initial resistance. Max followed the news of the war with avid interest. British and French troops landed in Norway to help the Norwegians, but in three weeks the fighting was over, with the Allies withdrawing their troops by 2 May.
Max was aware that other plans were about to be put into action. All German force
s were on alert, and the first week of May saw an end to training and preparation. The terror which had struck Poland months earlier was about to fall upon the Low Countries and, when he attended top-secret briefings, he learned something of the strategy to be employed. The campaign was to take the form of a deep armoured penetration of the Allied front where the Maginot Line petered out south of the Ardennes forest, coupled with a diversionary offensive into Holland and Belgium, the object being to reach the sea between Calais and Le Havre, cutting the Allied armies in two and subsequently destroying each.
On 10 May, shortly after 4 a.m., the first hostile action commenced. The peace of Holland’s countryside was broken by the drone of aircraft and the skies were filled with white objects floating earthwards, the first of Germany’s army of paratroops. Throughout the day parachutists landed at strategic points all over the country. Luxembourg, sandwiched precariously between France, Belgium and Germany, with a nominal army of some 250 men, was overrun, and German troops surged forward to meet the French troops which had gone to the assistance of the Grand Duchy. The Belgian border was crossed at four points at dawn, but the Belgians managed to hold up the Nazi advance by demolishing bridges and railway lines.
As soon as the news of Germany’s violation of Dutch and Belgian neutrality became known to the Allies a joint announcement was issued that steps were being taken to aid the latest victims of Nazi aggression. Customs barriers were raised and British and French mechanised columns began pouring across the frontier into Belgium.
Max, aware of the strategy being employed by the Germans, waited with his unit for events to sweep them into the war. It was like Poland all over again, but this time he was going into action against the French. The Allied armies were being drawn northwards and when they were extended a swift thrust would be launched against the French right flank and a second attack would cut through the left wing.
When they did go into action, travelling fast, pushing through the hole torn in the Allied line by the Panzers, Max felt his heart swell with joy. Buildings were blazing, having received the Blitzkrieg treatment which had worked so well in Poland.
He shot his first French soldier, who appeared from a doorway to run back along a shattered street, and a dark shadow seemed to lift from his mind. Drawing a swift breath as he advanced behind the leading section, he paused beside the figure of the Frenchman, who was not quite dead. The enemy’s eyes flickered open and he stared up at Max’s impassive face with wonder and surprise showing in his own dusty features. Then he slumped in the rubble, his blood trickling upon the broken pavement. Eckhardt sighed heavily, filled with a kind of relief. The last time an Eckhardt had fought on French soil had been more than twenty years before, in the terrible battles at Verdun.
Sergeant-Major Leun appeared at Eckhardt’s side, also holding a machine-pistol, and the burly NCO grinned as they ducked the machine-gun fire crackling overhead. Grenades were bursting with a hollow sound in the houses, and smoke and dust flew. Men who were standing up in the open were falling as deadly slivers of flying metal did their grim work. The ground was sticky with patches of blood.
‘This is what you’ve been waiting for, sir,’ Leun commented. ‘And it takes me back a long time. It’s twenty-two years since I last fought the French.’
‘Neither of us is supposed to be up front,’ Eckhardt retorted. ‘I used the excuse to check on the situation to come forward.’
‘That’s exactly what I’m doing,’ Leun replied, grinning. He fired a short burst and a French sniper fell out of an upper window. ‘I’ll report to you when I get back to headquarters, sir.’
Eckhardt nodded, his teeth clenched. He could see a French soldier climbing upon a roof and lifted his Bergmann. He fired a postman’s-knock burst and watched the man tumble out of sight with blood spreading rapidly over his chest and gushing from his mouth.
‘If my father could see me now,’ he said through his clenched teeth.
The fighting was ferocious and swift, the French already falling back under the force of treble hammerblows —tanks, artillery and bombers. The enemy were prepared for the old style of fighting — trench warfare — but this attack by dive bombers and artillery, followed swiftly by tremendous armoured thrusts, sent them reeling, unable to withstand the assault. No lessons had apparently been learned by the Allies from the events which had taken place in Poland months before.
The Panzers were ahead, the first wave blasting through all defences, and grenadiers followed closely, mopping up, taking on the enemy infantry, who were shell-shocked and confused. Machine-guns chattered nonstop, and in the distance Max could see French soldiers being cut down in great swathes. Meanwhile the dive bombers added their unearthly screeches to the horrific din. Blitzkrieg was in operation again and proving its worth.
The long hours, timeless in themselves, were marked only by events. But the advance was inexorable, despite the fact that hand-to-hand fighting was bitter and strenuous. Blood was spilled as though it were water, and men fought and died in streets and in the fields. But all the while the Germans kept pushing forward, and it seemed that nothing was going to stop them.
Eckhardt finally reported back to Major Dantine that the attack was going according to plan. Dantine, whose majority had come through the week before, looked at his maps. He nodded grimly, his harsh eyes noting the areas already under German domination and the rest of the terrain which had to be captured.
‘Nothing must be permitted to halt us or delay our timetable,’ he said harshly. ‘I plan to end this war as a colonel, but I won’t get promotion if my troops hold back. I want one hundred per cent effort from everyone, is that clear?’
‘Perfectly, sir, and I can assure you that you’re getting the best from everyone. The winter training has sharpened up the men. The French are no match for us.’
‘Neither were the Poles, and the British will find us just as tough. You can talk about the French, Eckhardt, but I won’t feel easy until we’ve had a crack at the British and tested ourselves against them. They are of a different mettle.’
Max knew nothing about the British except that they had throughout history fought and conquered great tracts of the world. But he was interested only in the French, and went forward again to check upon their advance. The three platoons were pushing forward steadily, mopping up in the wake of the tanks, and now, everywhere one looked, white flags of surrender were showing at windows and from rooftops.
The thunder of bombardment was nightmarish and the whole countryside shook. Eckhardt’s ears were filled with a strange whine and he kept swallowing in an attempt to get rid of it. He saw dead soldiers, both German and French, strewn along the streets and around various points where resistance had been attempted, and blood ran down the gutters like rain water. Some of the bodies had been horribly mutilated by explosions while others showed no apparent wounds. The dead were strangely inert, the wounded crying and screaming.
The day was hot, the sky was cloudless above the canopy of broiling smoke which arose from the tortured earth. Heat baked them as they went forward, and the armoured thrusts could not be blunted by the French, who died in their hundreds in the midst of a new type of hell which they could not begin to understand. But French artillery was in action and shells came screeching in to explode amongst the advancing Germans. Sections of men were torn apart and deposited amongst the rubble in bloody tatters. But the German grenadiers, after their strict training through the winter, pushed on almost oblivious to resistance. Aspects of this battle did not appear as realistic as some of their training had been.
Machine-guns chattered incessantly on either side. The French had to be winkled out of buildings, for the Panzers bypassed that kind of opposition, leaving it to the grenadiers. Eckhardt stayed up front, aware that Dantine wanted him to keep the Company on the offensive. They had objectives to take and nothing short of hell would stop them.
Then they came up against a stop line which proved to be organised and formed strong resistance. The fo
rward Company went into the attack straight into the mouths of enemy guns. They were met by a withering fire of several machine-guns and faded into the ground without trace, the dead careless in their final attitudes, some of the wounded moving uneasily. Sections were shot to hell, and shells burst heavily amongst the survivors, covering the entire area with a blanket of lethal high-explosive. But some of them got through, and when they were within range of the enemy positions they threw grenades and began to fight hand-to-hand.
Eckhardt watched his own Company moving in under the covering fire of their own machine-guns, and he followed behind the leading sections, intent upon carrying out Dantine’s orders that nothing was to stop them. He would chivvy the platoon commanders if any of them became stuck under fire, and held his Bergmann ready. But there was little chance of using the weapon until they got to close quarters.
He crawled forward beside Fritz Leun, and almost knelt upon the headless body of a grenadier sergeant from the initial wave of shock troops. Then he saw the trunk of a body, which was minus limbs and head but still covered with tatters of a greenish-coloured uniform. The attack was proving costly. But the second wave was running through the storm of bullets coming from the enemy strong point, and Eckhardt became aware that resistance was fading. He urged the platoon officers to press forward, and they trod upon the bodies of their fallen comrades, filled with the blind knowledge that they had to advance at any cost.
Eckhardt’s Company reached the enemy position and began hand-to-hand fighting, using rifle butts, bayonets, fists and boots, forcing a breach in the line, and others poured through, intent only upon maintaining impetus. They died trying to advance, and even the lightly wounded struggled to keep moving forward.
One of the platoon officers was in the open when mortar bombs fell around his group. He was hit in the stomach with shrapnel which ripped him open and spilled out his entrails. A second bomb burst close by and merciless slivers of steel sliced off his face and neatly removed his left leg above the knee. He fell dead, blood spurting from his ghastly wounds, and Eckhardt went forward to take command of the platoon, his eyes slitted, his teeth clenched as he urged them on.
