Heroes Without Honour

by Alan David

  They were on a collision course with the French, but, with their superior speed, the French Troop Commander took his vehicles into a fold in the ground and went into a hull-down position. Kurt clenched his teeth until his jaws ached. Beads of sweat trickled down his brow and ran into his eyes. The French commander must be well versed in tactics, he thought, and knew this was going to be a tough test. Only the guns of the French tanks showed, while the Mark IVs were in plain view. It would be almost impossible for the Panzers to knock out the S-35s in that position, and they themselves were in the open.

  Reinhalt ordered them to deploy as the French tanks opened fire with their 47mms. Two of the Panzers immediately swung to try and outflank the enemy position, but Kurt went straight in, the situation demanding that he did so. There was cold fear in his stomach as he watched through his periscope. He saw a dip in the ground ahead and knew they had to reach it before the French brought their guns to bear. He gave instructions in a tight voice, not showing his fear.

  The French selected one of the other tanks in the Troop as their first target, and Kurt saw armour-piercing shells streaking towards Corporal Braun’s Mark IV. Three shells found the target and Kurt winced at the terrible explosion which erupted. The turret of Braun’s tank was ripped off as if made of cardboard and sent hurtling through the air, the vehicle itself immediately enveloped by ferocious flames. In a matter of seconds it was a blazing hulk, and none of the crew escaped.

  The Panzers opened fire, and a Stuka came screeching earthwards, having been called in to help. Bombs whistled down and the ground shook. One of the French tanks received a direct hit and vanished in a pall of flame-shot smoke, its ammunition exploding intermittently, but the others were already swivelling their turrets, training their guns upon a new target.

  ‘Fire!’ Kurt rapped. ‘For God’s sake open up at them, Weilen! Give them something to think about.’

  The 75mm blasted immediately, but the hull-down position of the French tanks made them almost impossible to hit, and Kurt saw no visible effects of the shot.

  ‘Fire HE,’ Kurt rapped as they lurched into the dip in the ground. ‘Halt. Stay in cover. The others are working around the flanks. But fire HE. It might distract them.’

  The 75mm fired again, and Kurt saw a fountain of earth spring up in front of the enemy tanks. He was breathing shallowly through his mouth. Out of a corner of his eye he saw another Mark IV closing in from the right, and when it opened fire its heavy 75mm shell struck the turret of the nearest French tank, which exploded and was instantly engulfed by fire. Kurt gulped. They had the heavier guns, and the 75mms were powerful enough to destroy the French. He felt some of his fright receding, and studied the situation anew.

  ‘Stay where you are, Sergeant,’ Reinhalt said over the wireless. ‘Keep firing HE. The others will draw their fire from the flanks, then we’ll move in. But don’t expose yourself until their attention is occupied elsewhere.’

  Kurt acknowledged, aware that the French tanks could not maintain fast action for their turrets contained only one man, the commander, who had several different duties to perform. But the S-35s themselves had features which were well in advance of the general run-of-tank designs, making them formidable opponents.

  Kurt ordered his gunner to fire, and they raked the enemy position. Hot splinters of metal burst over one of the S-35s, but little damage was effected. The tanks returned fire, and Kurt’s Panzer shook violently as a solid shot smacked against the turret but was deflected. His ears rang and he felt the air being sucked out of his lungs. Gasping for breath, he watched the battle developing. This was exactly what his worst fears had predicted, and there was no way he could hope to survive this hellish nightmare.

  Tanks from another troop were moving in upon the position of the remaining three French tanks, and Kurt, watching intently, checked that Hohner had armour-piercing in the breech of the 75. They waited until the French found their position untenable, and, as soon as the S-35s began to move out, Kurt ordered his gunner to fire.

  The Mark IV shook and acrid fumes filled the turret. Hohner jerked open the breech and the shell casing rattled into the well, crashing upon the metal floor. Kurt watched for the strike of the shot, aware that Schultze was taking them out of the dip which had concealed them, and they were going forward in formation with Leutnant Reinhalt.

  ‘Missed!’ Schultze shouted, driving the tank furiously. ‘You bloody idiot, Weilen! Are you blind? He’s as big as a haystack. I could spit on him from here.’

  White and grey smoke was drifting across the battlefield and the enemy tanks tried to withdraw into it. Kurt clenched his teeth, his eyes to the periscope. The Mark IV trembled violently as something hit the hull but did not penetrate.

  ‘Fire!’ he snapped. ‘Hit him, Weilen, for God’s sake, or he’ll get away.’

  The gunner squeezed his hand around the firing lever, and Kurt watched the nearest enemy tank with his breathing restrained. The turret was again filled with fumes, and his eyes began to water. He stared at the target and saw a huge violet flash erupt around the vehicle, followed by leaping, voracious flames.

  ‘You got him!’ Kurt heaved a long sigh. Reinhalt was firing at the other S-35, and the third was being engaged from its left flank. There were immediate hits registered on all three vehicles, and soon they were all blazing furiously, giving off thick black smoke.

  Kurt peered around. They had dropped behind the advance to deal with the enemy armoured vehicles, and there was heavy fighting going on around the village. He could see streams of their own troops moving in, and the French were making a hasty withdrawal on the far side, where German shells were falling in great numbers. Reinhalt called them up, assembled the troop, and they went forward again.

  As they advanced, Kurt looked wearily at the burning French S-35s. The fortunes of war, he thought grimly. If the gods had not been on their side it could have been Panzers burning there instead of the French.

  They crossed the battlefield, and he was appalled, despite having seen action in Poland, by the sight of so many dead men lying around. German and French troops were sprawled inextricably together, piled here and there where machine-guns had caught them, and the Panzers rolled forward in a straight line, like prehistoric monsters, churning over bodies, smashing vehicles, and crashing through hedges. Nothing could stand in their path, and they rattled through the village, their machine-guns chattering angrily at the retreating Frenchmen.

  But Kurt was concerned about enemy tanks. Apart from the S-35, the French also had the Char B Tank, which was heavier than the German Mark IV and carried a 75mm gun. If they met up with any of those then life would become even more unpleasant.

  The advance continued, sweeping all resistance aside, and Kurt could hardly believe their good fortune as they made speedy progress through a rising forest of bursting shells. But the French artillery could not harm them unless they scored a direct hit, and they continued to push forward, a juggernaut rolling over all resistance, a metal wave of hell encroaching upon the final bastions of freedom in Europe.

  They crushed those French troops who tried to make a stand, and unmercifully hammered all strong points which tried to oppose them. They seemed invincible as they rushed through the bright May sunlight. Opposition crumbled quickly, and the Führer’s predictions seemed to be coming true. No one could stand up to Blitzkrieg.

  They rolled through villages which had been cleared of the enemy, and most were deserted and silent, with houses burning furiously where resistance had been stamped out. There were a few French people on the streets, watching incuriously, probably badly shocked by the turn of events, but there was no organised line to oppose them, and they hammered forward, covering kilometre after kilometre, pausing only to shoot up any who dared to make a stand. The German troops in their trucks and half-tracks sat stolidly in their seats as they followed to crush their bitterest enemy.

  Kurt’s troop dropped back to refuel and rearm, and he sighed with relief as he slumped to
the grass for a rest while waiting for supplies to come up. The heavy sounds of war ahead were ominous, but his mind had settled in that state of unreality which always seemed to grip him in action. He thought remotely of Anna, and was aware that she lived in a totally different world. At that moment he would have given his right arm to be with her.

  Reinhalt came across and Kurt arose and stiffened into attention, but the Leutnant motioned for him to stand at ease.

  ‘That was a good fight back there,’ his superior said. ‘You did well, Sergeant, and I’m pleased. But we’ll have to work even more closely together in future. Captain Zimmermann is going to sort out the tactics to be used when we are confronted by enemy tanks. Just charging straight in seems to be wrong. We could lose a lot of material that way. I think we shall have to split up in future, and some of us will draw enemy fire while others get around the flanks. We may try using the V formation in reverse. But more of that later. Make sure your men get something to eat, because when we go back in we’ll be pushing on until we’ve really caused a split between the British and the French.’

  ‘We haven’t seen any British yet,’ Kurt observed. ‘What about their Matildas, sir? I’ve heard that our shells won’t touch them.’

  ‘We’ll find out more about that when we do meet up with them,’ came the confident reply. ‘You know what they look like?’

  ‘I’ve studied the silhouettes until I can pick them out in the dark,’ Kurt retorted, and Reinhalt smiled.

  ‘Good work,’ he said. ‘And you’ve got a smart gunner in Weilen. He did some fine work in that engagement.’

  Kurt saluted as Reinhalt walked away. The crews of the troop were relaxing now, glad to be out of the fiery hell of the tanks, and all hatches were open to permit the acrid fumes to blow away.

  ‘What about this war then?’ Schultze demanded. ‘We’re giving them hell. I was told that we couldn’t beat the French. But it seems nobody told the French to stand and fight. They don’t like the way we play, eh?’

  Kurt smiled, although his face was set in harsh lines. He saw that Vogel was looking thoughtful, and transferred his full attention to their radio operator.

  ‘What’s on your mind?’ he demanded.

  ‘Nothing, Sergeant,’ came the terse reply. ‘I don’t like war, but we have to make the best of it, I suppose.’

  ‘Only an idiot would say he liked it,’ Hohner cut in. ‘But we have to fight. If we didn’t teach the French a lesson they would be all over us in another year or two.’

  ‘You’ve been listening to too much propaganda,’ Weilen replied, shaking his head.

  ‘The war is going all right,’ Schultze commented. ‘I see quite a lot of it from my front seat, remember, and I’m telling you that the French have had it. They are not going to stop us. Have you seen the way their soldiers throw away their rifles and run? That’s not an army but a mob, and a mob can’t stand up to our tactics. This lot will be over in a matter of weeks, like the Führer said.’

  ‘We haven’t come across the British yet,’ Kurt said slowly. ‘After we’ve faced them I’ll tell you what I think.’

  They ate and rested, and were then ordered back into their Panzers to go forward again. It was early afternoon, and Kurt, checking his watch, was surprised at the time. They moved off, found a good road, and travelled at a fast pace. When they reached the fighting zone they discovered that the French were still retreating, but Reinhalt came over the air to report that they were now aiming for the point where the British and French armies met. They were to hit the French and force them back, then turn the British flank.

  Kurt tensed as they heard the sounds of war coming closer. Soon they came under shellfire, and he kept low in the turret. They were going right up front to take over the point, and he could feel his insides knotting up again. The French were running, and all he could do was hope that the British would act similarly when they came under pressure.

  But Kurt’s troop was not leading the Company, and he followed orders to put the Panzer in a hull-down position behind a ridge. He could just see over the ridge and down a long slope into a valley, and the opposite slope was heavily wooded. The moment he saw the scene he disliked it. Those trees could easily conceal enemy tanks or anti-tank guns. They were put on watch, and he lifted his field glasses to his eyes to follow the advance of two tanks which crossed the ridge to the right and began to move into the valley to check it out. All around them shells were exploding, but the valley itself seemed remote from the war, and there was no sign of activity anywhere.

  Reinhalt asked permission to take another tank and also go across the valley to take a closer look at the wooded area, and he sounded excited by the prospect. Kurt waited in a fever of anxiety, afraid that Captain Zimmermann would agree and designate his Panzer to accompany Reinhalt. But Zimmermann ordered them to remain where they were, and Kurt let his pent-up breath escape in a long inaudible sigh.

  The two advancing tanks were joined by a half-track loaded with grenadiers, and the three vehicles moved at a fast pace down the slope until they reached the lowest part of the valley. There was a stream trickling through the valley which proved no obstacle, and the armoured vehicles negotiated it easily. When they began the uphill climb to the tree line, Kurt held his breath, certain that something was going to happen. The next instant there was a whole series of explosions from the trees and the two tanks were hit simultaneously. One burst into flames with ominous black smoke soaring skywards and the other halted and began to emit white smoke. The half-track turned and began to race back, but the guns hidden in the trees continued to fire, and they were deadly accurate. The second shot hit the half-track, smashing it to pieces and throwing the dozen or so grenadiers into the air. Kurt watched them falling back to the ground; bits of bodies, heads, arms and legs, and it was difficult to accept that they were men and not just inanimate dolls.

  ‘What kind of guns are they using, for Christ’s sake?’ Schultze demanded from his driving seat. ‘Look at those two Panzers burning. God Almighty! They must be using artillery weapons firing over open sights.’

  ‘They are British 25-pounders,’ Leutnant Reinhalt reported. ‘We’ve found the Tommies. Now we’re going to see some real action.’

  ‘It looks as if the Tommies found us,’ Schultze muttered.

  Kurt swallowed the lump which rose in his throat. Twenty-five pound shells were no joke! He realised that they could not cross the valley and waited for orders to come which would set them on a detour. But Captain Zimmermann came over the air, warning them to remain where they were. They sat tight, waiting, and a few minutes later the drone of aeroplanes sounded. Stukas arrived and peeled off to hurtle down at the tree line. Their bombs exploded right on target, covering the whole area with thick smoke, and columns of dust arose all along the valley. Kurt, using his glasses, could see British equipment being destroyed as camouflage netting was ripped aside by the explosions.

  Then came the order for the Panzers to advance, and with the trees still being bombed and shelled, they nosed over the crest and started down the slope.

  Kurt felt as if their tank had been blown up to twice its normal size. The Stukas were doing a fine job, and one of them actually flew overhead waggling his wings. But the distant tree line, although blotted out by bursting explosives, was still a danger area, and Kurt cringed in his turret as they continued to push forward. He could imagine defiant British gunners crouching in cover and waiting for their enemies to draw within range.

  Leutnant Reinhalt was edging ahead, eager to get into action, and his 75mm began to blast, putting HE shells in amongst the trees. Schultze was not slow either, and maintained position in the troop formation. Kurt felt like crawling down out of the turret and crouching in the well of the tank. He knew they were making the wrong move, but there was no one he could confide in. He breathed heavily as he watched through his glasses, and the uneven ground caused him to be flung around inside the turret.

  The next instant armour-piercing shel
ls were streaking towards them, and Reinhalt’s tank rocked under an impact. There was the thunderous crash of metal against metal, and the Troop Commander’s vehicle clewed around like a stricken monster, with thick, choking white smoke erupting from the turret.

  Kurt stared in horror, and saw Reinhalt leap out of the turret, his black-clad figure showing up against the white smoke, and then the tankman was gone over the side, followed by another quickly moving figure. The second figure had barely disappeared from view when the Mark IV exploded in a terrific sheet of flame. Kurt flinched as pieces of burning metal went flying in all directions. His mind seemed to fall in upon itself, and his thoughts were confused.

  Another tank shuddered as it lost a track. It began to turn in a circle, like a fly with one wing pulled off. Then a salvo of big shells came screaming across the valley, and in an instant the whole point of the German armoured column was turned into a fiery death-laden trap. Tanks burst into flames and men were burned to death before they could leap to safety.

  Weilen was automatically bringing the 75mm into action, with plenty of targets to fire at. Kurt watched as the battle was joined. There could be no turning back for the Panzers, and he sensed that they would all be picked off before they reached the tree line and safety. He saw another tank explode, and its commander came tumbling out of his turret with his clothes afire, rolling on the ground in an attempt to douse the burning. But his efforts were in vain, and the last Kurt saw of him he was running around in circles, the flames growing fiercer. He gulped, his training holding his protesting nerves in check, and he knew that other tanks would be pushing forward on either flank, out of sight of the valley, and they would swing in to come up behind the British gunners.