by Tony Roberts
Langer shook his head slowly and unclipped his mug from his belt. “Of course, you great hulking beast. Enjoy it while you can, you don’t know when your next one will be.”
Gus belched and patted his stomach. “So,” he resumed some story he had been telling the others. Felix and Steffan were agog but Teacher sat slightly apart, concentrating on spooning some edibles from a can. “Now where was I? Oh yes, the parson’s wife in the back of a lorry. Now there was I, a wide-eyed young innocent….”
“There’s a contradiction,” Langer said, pouring some of the apple brandy into his mug. “Don’t you want to hear what’s planned for tomorrow?”
“Not really, Carl. We drive to battle, we fight the French, we kill them or get killed. We follow idiotic orders. We win or lose. That’s all there is to it. I’m more interested in educating these two in the ways of the world. So, this woman….”
Langer put the bottle down and slumped alongside Teacher. “Totally uninterested in the war,” he said, grinning.
“Can you blame him?” Teacher said softly. “I want no part of this either, but I have little choice. What about you?”
“Oh, I’m a professional soldier. This is what I do. If it wasn’t here, then I’d be fighting elsewhere.”
“Finland?”
Langer shrugged. “They’ve lost that one, but I would have gone there if we weren’t fighting one, yes. Brave bastards, the Finns. Showed those Russkies that smaller armies can hold their own in the right conditions.”
“But there was no doubting the final outcome. Even then, you’d’ve gone to fight?”
Langer nodded. “I hate the communists, Teacher. You don’t know what they do. Slaughter their own for a political ideal. Hundreds of thousands. They destroy everything they can’t convert.”
“Some say National Socialism is the same,” Teacher said quietly, so that only Langer could hear.
“I tell you Teacher, if Hitler wasn’t here, the Soviets would roll Europe up all for themselves. France and Britain aren’t in any fit state to stand up to them. We’re Europe’s only decent hope at the moment.” Langer’s gaze went into the distance, to a place back in time in 1917 and 1918. He’d been there, when the revolution had come. For a short while he’d thought the new order would be a better form of government to the old Tsarist one, but his illusions had been shattered cruelly in the butchery and savagery of the civil war. The Gestapo may be bad, but the NKVD, or as they had been then, the Cheka, were far worse. Anyone not to their liking or who disagreed with them were cold-bloodedly shot there and then. The French Revolution had been bad – Langer hadn’t been there when it had happened but had spoken to many who had – but the Russian one was worse so many times over. Then there had been the Spanish Civil War with the communists once again seeking to impose their form of ‘freedom’ on an unwilling population. Either accept or die. Firing squads, mass graves. Long live the workers.
“So why are we here then if not fighting the communists? The French and British are hardly friends of the Russians.”
“No they are not,” Langer agreed, “but they’re no friends of Hitler either. I don’t know where all this is going to end, Teacher, but it won’t be soon. One day, someday soon, we’re going to turn on the Russians. I can’t see Hitler or Stalin accepting the other’s existence, can you?”
“Not really,” Teacher agreed. “Trouble is, are we ready for it? We’re not supposed to be ready for this one, are we? I’m surprised we’ve got this far, to be honest. I was expecting to get bogged down in some bloody slog.”
“Oh, that was the last war here. There weren’t tanks then.”
Teacher looked oddly at Langer. The way he’d said it, it was as if he’d been there and was remarking on a fact he’d seen for himself…….
Langer finished his drink and mumbled some excuse. He pushed away leaving Teacher thoughtfully looking at his back for a few moments. He was an odd one, that Langer. Not one anybody could put into a pigeonhole and label.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The regiment needed longer than expected to get back into combat readiness, and it wasn’t until the afternoon that they finally had the ammo and fuel to once more get going. By that time the attack on the French had ground into a crawl. The French were using every scrap of cover to frustrate the attacking columns of Germans.
The infantry went in to clear the villages but had encountered far more resistance than they’d reckoned on. Oberst Kuhn listened with increasing concern as the radio reports kept on coming in. His officers crowded round, each of them staring at the map on the wooden table under the cover of the camouflaged netting.
“Doesn’t sound good, does it?” Steffan said, peering across to the command post.
“They worry that their careful timetable is going to be spoiled,” Gus said, lounging horizontally on the grass, his head resting against the panzer’s track. “They like their timetables, officers. All that Prussian bullshit they’ve inherited. Everything covered by an order, every order to a precise timetable. They even shit by the numbers.”
Felix sniggered. “And screw, I bet.”
“Oh yes, that too. I knew this whore once who told me I’d better not be an officer as she was fed up with counting the number of plunges before orgasm. Eins, zwei, drei, vier, funf…jawohl!!”
Teacher shook his head in despair as Steffan and Felix guffawed. Langer sat on the panzer turret, studying in the distance the battle that was marked with white smoke and flashes of guns. The rumbling of the guns came to him clearly. War was like that – sometimes close up and noisy, frightening but adrenaline-fueled, then at other times calm, distant and almost hypnotic. No wonder poets wrote the things they did, like Owen and Sassoon.
“What’s it look like from up there, Carl?” Gus suddenly asked, squinting in the sunshine.
“A mess. They’re trying to get over that little river into the villages but there’s anti-tank, machine guns and God knows what else there. It’s a swine. Poor bastards are having a tough time.”
“They should have volunteered to sit in these tin cans,” Gus thumped the track. “No nasty bullet to puncture the good old body.”
“But no danger of going up in flames,” Teacher said soberly.
“You can always request a transfer to the schutzen you miserable shit,” Gus said.
“And then who’d shoot at those anti-tank guns for you? Someone’s got to look out for you, you great ape.”
“You’re just jealous, Teacher of my magnificent physique. Loosens the ladies panties every time, it does. They’ve got to be drunk before they think you’re that Greek god, what’s his name?”
“Adonis,” Langer said absently from above.
“Yeah, him. Shit, bet you’d have to get your hand drunk before you could have a personal job! Now with me, I don’t need that kind of relief as I’m always guaranteed a willing pussy or three in every place we stop. I tell you what,” Gus rolled over onto his front and stared at Teacher, “next convent we pass by I’ll drive into and I’m willing to bet you a week’s pay I can shag half a dozen nuns before you can get your old man out.”
Teacher chuckled. “War isn’t here so you can ravage your way across Europe, Beidemann. I don’t think Herr Hitler has a map on his chancellery wall with flags to denote each woman you’ve copulated with.”
“How do you know? What’s to say the phone isn’t ringing now on his desk? I can picture it, in fact…” he screwed his eyes up. “’Ja, Fuhrer here. Is that you, Goebbels?’ ‘Ja, Herr Fuhrer! I have another report of Gustav Beidemann successfully conquering a Belgian virgin in Liege!’ ‘Excellent, Goebbels, put it in Der Volkischer Beobachter at once! The good German people must know of the success of Beidemann’s offensive in the west! Seig heil!’
Felix and Steffan were crying with laughter, and Langer was grinning too. Teacher sighed with exasperation. “You’re impossible, you know.”
“Me? Not at all. As I say, you’re merely jealous of my prowess in the bedroom. Once we get
to Paris, the city will shake to my deflowering of France’s pretty maidens.”
The officers split from the command post, and Heidemann came striding over to the tanks loosely arranged in the trees. “Right, up, up! We’re going in now!”
“Oh, just when I was getting sleepy,” Gus moaned, but heaved himself up and yawned mightily. “Captain,” he stopped Heidemann as he passed the front of their tank. “Do you have a pillow I can sleep comfortably with?”
“I have a nice bed in a prison camp I could arrange for you, Beidemann,” the captain said shortly, glaring at the giant driver. “Or will you get into your panzer and drive over those perfidious French soldiers for me?”
“Ah, I shall crush perfidy for you, sir.”
“Excellent, you show good judgment, now get moving!” Heidemann moved off, grumbling.
Gus grinned, then looked at Teacher. “What does perfidious and perfidy mean, anyway?”
Teacher paused in the process of filling the bowl of his pipe with tobacco, considered the question for a moment, then replied. “Being a pain in the ass.”
“Oh. Then why didn’t he say?” He slid into his seat and clanged the hatch above him shut. His slit flipped open and he peered through it. Felix slid into his seat next to Gus, and Teacher and Steffan entered via the side hatches in the turret. Teacher’s feet thumped loudly on the metal skinned floor of the tank behind Gus and moments later Steffan’s did the same behind Felix.
Last of all Langer dropped into the canvas seat at the rear of the turret, right behind the gun. His eyes went to the periscope and the microphone was in his hand. His earphones crackled with life. The regiment was ready to roll!
“We’re to force the French back from the river,” Langer announced to his crew. “It’s a broad-fronted attack – command doesn’t think attacking in a neat column is a good idea, especially as there are plenty of anti-tank guns up ahead.”
“Balls to the wall, then,” Gus rumbled, and slammed the panzer into life.
“HE, Steffan, Teacher,” Langer said authoritatively. “We’re going to be hitting infantry and guns initially. I expect the enemy tanks to appear soon enough.”
The panzers burst from cover and roared down the slight incline towards the battle. Ahead, the German infantry were sending a hail of bullets into the two villages, nestled next to each other, across the narrow watercourse called the Petite Gette. Some of the schutzen were across but were pinned down by sustained fire from the houses.
Langer received new orders. “Gus, steer left, down that gully. Our group is to hit the river to the left of the villages. Go for it!”
Gus obediently swung the panzer down a dip that turned into a gully which ran at 45 degrees to the axis of the main attack. Ten panzers followed, all sending dirt, smoke and fumes into the air. Ahead the river wound, villages standing peacefully beyond in the distance, while smoke billowed from those to the right where the fighting was growing in its intensity.
“Anti-tank ahead,” Felix noted.
“See it,” Langer acknowledged. “Other side of the river, by that thick shrub. Got it, Teacher?”
“Yep. Steffan, load it up.”
The shell clanged into the breech and shut in. Teacher paused, then anticipating the rolling of the panzer as it neared the river’s floodplain, loosed off the shot. A fountain of earth erupted just before the crew, and the position was covered in the fall-out.
“Try again – fast!” Langer snapped, seeing the crew shake the dirt off themselves and begin to turn the evil barrel in their direction.
The second shot crashed into the ammunition behind the gun and a huge explosion rocked the air, sending up crates, earth, shrubs, sandbags, pieces of metal and flesh that rained down all round, and splashing into the river. The gun was shoved forward and remained there, impotent. The crew had been blown forward and were lying close to the river’s edge, not moving.
“Go!” Langer urged. Where they could cross was open to debate, but a road ran just to the left and Gus drove onto it, running parallel to the river. The other tanks followed suit, a long line of armor charging south-westwards. French troops opened up on them, sending machine gun bullets at them in a hail of metal, but it did no harm, not even to the four Panzer IIs amongst them.
The turret swung to the right and Steffan aimed his machine gun at the gun flashes. He sent a five second burst across the water into a clump of thick undergrowth. Two dark figures could be seen falling to the ground within it.
“Bridge ahead, manned with guns,” Gus announced.
“What guns?” Langer demanded, swinging his sight.
“Big ones,” Gus said laconically and veered off the road sharply. The panzer lurched as it cleared the road surface and rolled into the rainwater ditch to the side and then rose as it climbed a slight rise. A shot smashed past and exploded into a Panzer II, sending it into a bursting ball of flame.
“Get that bastard!” Langer roared.
The tank halted, swung to face the bridge, and then Teacher swung the turret so that the 37mm was aimed right at the French gun emplacements. The gunners were reloading frantically. Both guns had fired but one had missed. Now the panzers behind Langer were fanning out, adding their shots to the exchange. Shells exploded on the bridge and beyond it. Teacher’s went right into the right hand gun, smashing it to pieces.
Another tank took out the other and suddenly the way was open. Heidemann’s voice ordered four panzers to remain on the banks and cover those crossing. Gus took the lead, and plowed onto the bridge. Felix gritted his teeth and sent in a swathe of MG fire that sent up fountains of wood, dirt, brick and flesh from the French end. Behind Langer’s panzer came four others, then the disembarked infantry, rushing hard to help clear the positions from the end of the bridge.
Gus turned right once they got clear of the bridge, off the road, and ground the remains of the right hand gun position into the earth. Whether the French crew were still alive or not was irrelevant. The land rose from the river to a ridge about forty feet higher than the level of the bridge, the peak being about four hundred yards distant. The slope was dotted with fences and hedges, and a line of trees stood on the horizon.
French tanks appeared on the top of the ridge. “Trouble up ahead,” Langer noted. “They’re sending their heavy boys down to stop us.”
Teacher swung the turret. “They’re out of range.”
“And they’ll get ours first before they’re close enough for this piece to do any damage,” Langer added, tapping the gun before him. He clicked his microphone and reported the situation to Heidemann. “River crossed, small bridgehead seized. Enemy tanks closing in from the north, estimated ten Somuas and five Hotchkiss.”
Heidemann acknowledged. “Head west for the village of Jauche and hold until relieved.”
“Change in orders,” Langer said to Gus, “get us out of this place along the river to the next village.”
The infantry spread out, taking what cover they could, while the panzers swung left and roared along the river bank, their comrades on the other bank, racing one another for the distant village of Jauche. Artillery now opened up from the other bank, landing their shells amongst the advancing French tanks. The Somuas and Hotchkisses turned round and retreated.
Shots now came at the panzers racing along the banks of the Petit Gette. One tank shuddered and spun sideways, emitting smoke from its tracks. “I see it!” Teacher snapped, eyes fixed to the sights. “Slow down Gus, we’re bouncing round too much for me to get a proper shot off.”
“Make it quick, then,” Gus said, slowing, “I’m dying for a shit and the nearest place is in the village ahead.”
Teacher zeroed in on a tank turret protruding from a patch of scrub on the other side of the river. It was another Somua, painted in its brown and yellow camouflage. Teacher’s shot smashed into the turret from a hundred yards, leaving a neat puncture mark in the side. There came a dull thud and smoke began emitting through the hatches. “Got him!”
Gus
flung back the hatch and bailed out.
“What’s the hell’s happening?” Langer demanded.
“Gotta have a shit!” Gus bellowed, his helmet clamped on loosely, held there with one huge paw. He made for the nearest cover, a thick growth of hawthorn, and began unbuttoning his pants.
“I can’t watch,” Teacher said, cranking the wheel, swinging the turret to the left. Steffan and Felix looked at Langer in worry; they were a sitting duck.
“Look out for any trouble,” Langer said, his eyes back at the periscope. Damn that man!
Heidemann’s voice crackled into Langer’s ears. “What’s the problem, Langer? The other crews say you’ve stopped!”
“Technical issue, sir. It’ll be fixed shortly – Gus is working on it hard.”
“Anything the engineers can do to help?”
“Uh, no sir, it’s something we can fix. We’ll be on our way pretty soon.”
“Very well. The French have a number of armored vehicles in Jauche, according to initial reports. We need every panzer possible.”
Langer grimaced and looked along the river. The other panzers were weaving left and right, trading shots with enemy tanks unseen. He cursed. “Wish he’d hurry the hell up; what is he doing? Giving birth to the blasted thing?”
Felix doubled up and his laughter filled the tank.
“What? What’s so damned funny, Felix?”
Felix whooped, gasping for breath. He took a deep breath and pointed wordlessly to the thrashing undergrowth. “You-you should have seen it!”
“Come out with it, man!”
“Gus finished, got up, caught his pants in a thorn, overbalanced and fell straight on his shit! He’s covered in it…..” and Felix clutched his stomach and leaned forward, helpless with mirth.
Langer swung the periscope. The hawthorn was having a St.Vitus’ dance of a fit. Deep guttural sounds were coming from the other side. “For Chrissakes, Gus, get back in here now!” he yelled. “Stop mating with that shrub!”
“I’m covered in shit!” Gus screamed. “Bloody fucking bush!”
