Hearts of Stone

by Scarrow, Simon

  Outnumbered the enemy might well be, but they held the high ground and had the mountain troops caught in a crossfire. He could hear Dietrich and the others clearly now, shouting at his men to return fire and suppress the enemy. Orders that were far more easily learned in training than obeyed in combat, Peter reflected bitterly. He holstered his pistol and continued along the latrine trench until he came to the end and lay catching his breath. The end of the trench had partially collapsed and Peter raised his head cautiously until he could glimpse the top of the cliff. A moment later a thin puff of smoke marked the position of one of the snipers. He continued to watch until he heard a few more shots and decided that there were only a handful of men up there.

  Dietrich’s second machine-gun section joined the fight and the bursts of the Spandaus dominated the exchange of fire in the valley.

  ‘Conserve your ammo!’ Dietrich’s voice cried out. ‘Fire only if you can see ’em!’

  Peter heard the order relayed by the non-commissioned officers as he prepared to move again. He knew that this time would be far more dangerous as the sniper who had narrowly missed him earlier would have seen him enter the latrine trench and would be waiting for him to emerge. But there was no helping it, Peter realised. He could not stay in the trench for the rest of the firefight. He was an officer and even though he did not belong to this unit he still had an obligation to set an example to the men of lesser rank. Even so, he could do something to improve his chances.

  Drawing a breath he cupped his hands to his mouth. ‘Hauptmann Dietrich! Sir!’

  A rattle of fire drowned out his cry and he waited for a lull before calling out again.

  ‘Muller? That you?’

  ‘Yes, sir!’

  ‘Where are you man?’

  ‘Latrine trench, close to the main shed.’

  Another burst from one of the Spandaus interrupted the exchange briefly before Dietrich called out again.

  ‘I’m in amongst some boulders in front of the shed. Can you get to me?’

  Peter hesitated a moment before he cleared his throat. ‘Yes, sir. But there are snipers on top of the cliff.’

  ‘I’ve seen ’em.’

  ‘One of them has me pinned down, sir. Could you order some covering fire?’

  ‘Right . . . Move when I say. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He heard Dietrich shouting to the men around him and a moment later a fusillade of rifle and automatic fire spattered the rocks and trees along the top of the cliff, the tracer shells lighting up the cliff face in lurid flashes.

  ‘Now, Muller!’

  Peter scrambled up, out of the trench, and ran hunched towards the front of the shed. He could see Dietrich rise up slightly to beckon to him and he pumped his legs harder, sprinting for the cover of the boulders. In the last ten paces the snipers on top of the ridge opened fire, despite the intense covering fire of the moutain troops. At least one of them had a sub-machine gun and spouts of earth leaped up in a line running past Peter’s side and he lurched away to stop his enemy tracking the shots on to him. Then he stumbled a few paces short of the rocks and made another two steps before he crashed on to the ground, the air driven from his lungs. Winded, he struggled to rise and then he felt hands roughly grasp him under the arms and haul him up. He saw Dietrich scowling.

  ‘Clumsy fuck! Let’s go.’

  The officer dragged him on and they scurried the final few paces towards shelter. As he threw himself down, Peter heard the whipcrack of a passing round and the soft thud of its impact, then a snatched exhaled grunt. He heard Dietrich hit the ground beside him and felt the weight of his body slam into his side. Swallowing, Peter raised his head and smiled ruefully.

  ‘We made it. Sir . . .’

  Dietrich was gasping for breath and his body began to shake.

  ‘Sir?’ Peter pushed the other man away and rose up on his elbows. He looked down on the back of the mountain officer’s tunic and saw the small hole ripped through the cloth and the blood seeping around it.

  ‘The Hauptmann’s hit!’ he shouted, rising to his knees and pulling Dietrich further into the jumble of boulders and rocks as a shot ricocheted nearby. A soldier appeared ahead of him and grabbed Dietrich’s other arm and between them they dragged him out of the line of fire. A Feldwebel – sergeant – scurried over and laid his machine pistol down so that he could turn the officer over. Dietrich’s head lolled to the side and his eyes rose into his skull as he let out a low moan and frothy blood sprayed from his lips. Peter could see a ragged hole in his chest, just above his medal ribbons and the Iron Cross on his left breast pocket. Blood was pulsing from the wound and the sergeant immediately pressed his hand on it and applied pressure.

  ‘Medic! Over here!’ he bellowed.

  Peter leaned back against a rock still struggling for breath as the Feldwebel anxiously tended to his officer. Dietrich convulsed, his back arching as a horrible gurgling groan tore from his bloodied lips.

  ‘Help me!’ the Feldwebel instructed. ‘Sir. Help me!’

  Peter stirred and knelt over the opposite side of the body. ‘What do I do?’

  ‘Keep the pressure on the wound.’

  Peter reached forward and the other man took his hand and thrust it into the hot mess over the exit wound. Gritting his teeth, Peter pushed down firmly while the Feldwebel turned to look for the medic, who was darting from cover to cover towards them, the red cross on his helmet offering no protection from the andartes firing from the hillside. He dropped to his knees beside Dietrich’s head and instantly assessed the type of wound and reached into his dressing bag.

  ‘Get his jacket and shirt open,’ he instructed and the Feldwebel fumbled with the buttons, tearing the material back. Peter lifted his hands briefly as the bloodied shirt came apart and exposed the gaping hole in the chest. The medic pressed the dressing against the exit wound and nodded to Peter to resume his pressure. Dietrich suddenly tried to sit up, neck muscles straining like cords.

  ‘Hold him!’

  All three thrust the injured officer down and held him on the ground until the spasm passed and his body went limp.

  ‘Shit . . .’ The medic pressed his stained fingers against Dietrich’s throat for an instant and then gently lifted the Hauptmann’s eyelids and saw that the pupils did not react. He slumped back with an angry grunt. ‘He’s fucked . . . You can take your hands off, Leutnant.’

  The Feldwebel swore softly and picked up his machine pistol again before he turned to Peter. He was a short, stocky man with a broad jaw below his broken nose. ‘What are your orders, sir?’

  ‘My orders?’ Peter blinked.

  ‘You’re the surviving officer on the spot. That puts you in command.’

  ‘What about Steiner?’

  ‘Haven’t seen him since the firing started. Beside, he’s an SS flunkie. We need a proper army officer in charge, sir.’

  ‘Right . . .’ Peter cleared his head and looked round. ‘What’s the situation with the rest of the company, as far as you can tell, Feldwebel . . . ?’

  ‘Feldwebel Kramer, sir.’

  ‘Kramer.’ Peter nodded. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Most of the men were in the area around the shed when the firing started. Some of us took cover here, the rest went to ground. I’ve got one Spandau team trying to keep the bastards’ heads down on that hill. The other team’s watching the crest of the ridge. Trouble is, the other side’s got us in a crossfire.’

  ‘What about our casualties?’ Peter turned to the medic.

  ‘Besides the Hauptmann, there’s four dead and another five wounded.’

  Peter took a deep, quick breath. ‘We can’t stay here. They’ll pick us off until night falls. We have to make a move on them.’

  Kramer nodded and turned to scan the ground around their position. ‘There’s a raised bank.’ He pointed to a series of heaps of overgrown spoil from the dig. ‘We can work our way towards the olive trees, sir. If we can get two squads over there we can work ou
r way up the slope and fire on their flank. Provided the snipers don’t get us.’

  Peter nodded. ‘The Spandau can keep up a continuous fire on the snipers. Best tell them to conserve their ammo until we’re ready to move.’

  Kramer raised an eyebrow. ‘We?’

  ‘I’ll lead the attack. You’ll come with me. Anything happens to me then you take command. I assume the wound badge and the guide badge on your chest aren’t just there for appearances’ sake.’

  Kramer grinned, revealing a gap in teeth. ‘Too right, sir.’

  ‘Good.’ Peter nodded. ‘Get two squads here and tell the machine gunners and those that are staying here that they’re to give us all the covering fire they can when I give the word to go.’

  Kramer saluted and crept away amongst the rocks to gather his men and issue Peter’s instructions to those remaining behind. Peter realised that he would need a better weapon than his pistol and saw Dietrich’s machine pistol lying on the grass a short distance from his body. He unfastened the webbing belt from the dead man and shuffled in to it before he took up his weapon, checking it quickly to make sure that it had not been damaged when it had been dropped. The MP38 seemed fine and its weight and dark metallic gleam felt comforting in Peter’s hand. He slipped the sling over his neck and waited for Kramer to return. The firing slackened as both sides began to conserve their ammunition and save it for targets they could see clearly. It took less than ten minutes for Kramer to return with the men he had chosen for the task. One man had already been wounded and blood flowed from a deep gash on his cheek. The sun had dipped far beyond the rim of the hillside to the west and an orange hue burned along its crest. Peter explained his orders quickly and made sure the men understood him. They looked hardened and capable and he sensed that they would not let him down. They would not need any final words of encouragement.

  ‘Ready?’ He glanced round and they nodded.

  ‘Then let’s go, Kramer.’

  The Feldwebel called out, ‘Covering fire!’

  The Spandau teams opened up and brilliant streaks of tracer leaped towards the heights on either side. The other men remaining in the outcrop added their fire and the air filled with the deafening roar and concussion of small-arms.

  ‘Go!’ Peter yelled and burst from cover and sprinted across the open ground towards the line of spoil heaps. Kramer and the others sprang after him. It took only a moment before the first of the enemy spotted them and adjusted their aim and bullets whipped past and smacked into the ground. Gritting his teeth and snatching breaths, Peter raced towards the piles of earth and rocks and tumbled into cover before he scrambled on all fours, making for the trees ahead. The others followed him. All except one man who tripped and was rising to his feet when he was struck in the side and spun round before crumpling amid the tufts of grass.

  ‘Leave him!’ Kramer bellowed. ‘Keep going!’

  Peter led them on, keeping low beside the line of spoil heaps, acutely conscious that while they would be sheltered from the men on the hillside they would still be in view of the snipers on the cliff. Sure enough, he heard the sharp crack of a rifle but did not see the fall of the shot and increased his pace. Ahead, there was a short stretch of ground before the trees and he paused to let his men catch up. Glancing back, he saw Kramer and the others breathing hard, grim-looking and ready to exact their revenge on the Greeks who had ambushed them. A bullet struck the piled earth just above Peter’s head and he flinched.

  ‘Best not stick around, sir.’ Kramer grinned.

  Bunching his leg muscles, Peter launched himself towards the trees. He had not gone more than five metres before several of the enemy opened fire. They had seen the direction he and the two squads had taken and anticipated their next move. Soil burst from the ground under the impact of bullets and Peter heard the dull whack of a shot striking one of his men but did not look back as he ran on. Then he was in amongst the trees and rushed forward another ten paces before stopping in their shadows and throwing himself to the ground, gasping. The others went down on either side of him, with Kramer staying on one knee as he hunched low. A final few bullets tore through the trees overhead, smashing small branches and showering them with twigs and leaves before the enemy turned their fire back on the men sheltering by the dig.

  Peter cleared his throat and called out, ‘All here?’

  Kramer glanced round. ‘Two men down, sir.’

  Fourteen of them left then, Peter reflected. Barely enough for what he had in mind. But that could not be helped.

  ‘Feldwebel, take the first section with you to the edge of the forest and give harassing fire. Only go forward when I begin my attack. Clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Good luck.’

  Peter nodded his thanks and then Kramer waved his men forward through the low trees, at an angle as they climbed the slope. Peter waited a moment and then beckoned to the rest to follow him. He unslung his machine pistol and cocked the weapon. There might well be a few of the enemy lying hidden under the trees to cover the ambushers’ flank. Even if that were not the case they would be aware that the Germans were moving up to counter-attack. Peter hoped that Kramer and his squad would draw their attention while his party made for the high ground dominating the hillside. The gloom beneath the boughs of the trees made the shadows seem dark and threatening and Peter had to prevent himself imagining the presence of enemies lying in wait to shoot him down. They could see the trees thinning ahead of them when the sound of firing intensified away to their left as Kramer’s section made their presence known. Peter pushed himself on, increasing his pace, until he emerged from the trees. The slope became steeper ahead of them, strewn with large rocks and stunted shrubs and pines. More than adequate concealment for his needs. He paused as his men caught up and then ordered them to follow him, keeping as low as they could to avoid being seen. Even in the failing light, the enemy on top of the cliff might pick them out as they made for the ridge.

  They clambered on, breathing hard from the exertion of the climb and the strain of battle. Peter kept scanning the ground ahead, looking for any sign of the enemy, but nothing moved on the slope in front of them, only the fleeting motion of birds darting low as they hunted for insects. It took nearly ten minutes of increasingly hard climbing before the ground began to level out close to the ridge and Peter halted the men before they became silhouetted against the skyline.

  ‘We go along the edge here, and work our way round their line. No one is to fire until I give the order. Let’s move!’

  Keeping hunched low they picked their way through the boulders in an extended line, the loose items on their webbing clinking and softly thudding as their sturdy boots ground over the stony soil. With the gunfight still raging away below and to the left there was no chance of the sounds of their approach giving them away and Peter kept the pace up. They had gone three hundred paces along the top of the hillside when he saw the first of the enemy clearly: two men lying on top of a flat rock, firing down at the mountain troops by the dig. The machine-gun crews were husbanding what was left of their ammunition and only an occasional burst was aimed along the slope. Even so a tracer round glanced off a rock lower down the slope and angled up, flaring a short distance over the heads of Peter and his men, causing them to stop and duck briefly before he waved them on.

  A short distance further on and he could see more of the andartes dotting the slope, some hard to pick out in their dark clothes. He stopped the squad and assigned them their targets as they spread out over fifty metres.

  ‘Shoot first, cut down as many as you can, then use grenades. That’ll distract them while Kramer’s squad move in.’

  Peter waited impatiently as his men moved into place and took aim. Then, glancing to both sides to ensure that they were ready, he raised his machine pistol and sighted it on a man crouching behind a rock nearly a hundred metres down the slope. He closed his left eye, took a breath and let it out gradually as he gently squeezed the trigger. The folding stock bucked into his shoulder as
the gun shook and spat fire and then he released the trigger and saw that he had narrowly missed the Greek, who now spun round, looking up the slope. Peter fired again and the man tumbled into the undergrowth beside the rock. On either side the other men opened fire and Peter glimpsed more of the enemy being cut down along the hillside. He allowed them a few more seconds before he cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed, ‘Grenades!’

  He lowered his gun and took one of the charges attached to a long wooden handle and unscrewed the base. A short length of cord fell out and Peter tugged it firmly and then swung his arm back and threw the grenade down the slope in a shallow arc towards where he had seen his man disappear. There was a bright flash and puff of smoke and then the boom of the explosion reached his ears. More explosions burst along the slope on either side. Away to the left he saw a German soldier break cover from the treeline and rush forwards and the others followed, going to ground and opening fire while their comrades leap-frogged past them to the next firing position.

  The attack from both flank and rear had surprised the enemy and now Peter could see others bursting from cover and scurrying along the slope to escape being caught in the Germans’ trap. His men turned their attention on the fugitives and shot down two more.