by John Harris
‘Well, she couldn’t turn off.’
Von Hoelcke shook his head and pointed grimly at a narrow gully, its entrance half-hidden in the undergrowth. It was less than half a metre wide and disappeared like a tunnel into the trees. ‘Wild boar,’ he said. ‘I come from East Prussia and I’ve seen those things before. She pushed the bike down it, hid it, and kept on going.’
‘Why, for God’s sake?’
Von Hoelcke lifted his eyes. ‘We’ll know before long,’ he said.
High above the Germans, Urquhart continued to watch. Apart from one spot where the road beneath him was obscured by a curve of the land, he could see the whole valley. Several times, Reinach eyed him, waiting for a signal, but Urquhart didn’t move, sitting behind a Bren, his back against a stump of tree, relaxed, almost as if he were resting after a morning’s work. Behind him, among a group of girls who had refused to be sent away, Ernestine Bona and Marie-Claude waited with Doctor Mouillet, sitting under a little shelter they’d made out of branches to keep the sun off the wounded. As he glanced round at them, Ernestine waved but she didn’t give her usual smile. Marie-Claude’s expression remained frozen. Then he saw Gaston Dring running through the trees. ‘Stephanie’s arrived,’ he said.
Urquhart nodded and turned to Reinach who was muttering alongside him to the radio operator. ‘Where are the Americans?’
‘Other side of St Seigneur. They’re bringing up artillery. They’ll make a hell of a mess.’
Urquhart stared down the slope towards Néry. There’d be other places in a mess before the day was out, he thought.
‘What about the Free French?’
‘Coming as fast as they can. They’re at Champagnole. That’s still three and a half hours away.’
Urquhart crossed himself. ‘God help us,’ he muttered.
Von Hoelcke’s tank stopped and the big gun barrel had begun to swing. The machine looked formidable with the bundles of camouflage netting for night bivouac strapped to its hull. Then changing gear with high-pitched whine, it lurched and moved on another few yards before stopping again.
‘The bloody plan was too complicated,’ Neville said uneasily. The buggers are suspicious.’
An armoured car, followed by a truckload of troops, moved forward and stopped alongside the tank. The tank’s hatch opened and a figure stuck its head out.
There was a mile-long drop back to Néry. It was hot in the tank and von Hoelcke was gulping at the warm afternoon air. They had already wasted far too much time getting away from this god-forsaken place, but at least the road ahead didn’t appear to be blocked, and he could see all the way to the crest and across open fields on the right where his tanks and guns could manoeuvre. ‘They must have decided this road couldn’t be held,’ he said.
As the tankman turned to speak to the man in the black uniform standing in the road, Urquhart’s eyes narrowed. The sun was hot on his back and he was sweating. Neville was staring through his binoculars.
‘That’s the SS man,’ he said. ‘The bastard who shot young Dréo.’
‘So what?’ Urquhart’s voice was harsh. ‘Are you thinking of challenging him to a duel?’ His hand sliced down. ‘Forget him! You know your bloody history. We don’t have man-to-man fights any longer. You made a good plan. Don’t spoil it by going at it half-cocked.’
Neville became silent. Not far away, crouching in the bushes at the edge of the chalk cliff, Théyras was gnawing at a piece of bread and sausage. Sergeant Dréo and his son were sitting on rocks beside the old mitrailleuse, their stiff legs stuck straight out in front of them, the old man’s face like wood beneath the steel helmet he’d brought back in 1918. Near them Lionel Dring crouched behind his anti-tank gun, his eyes narrow. Balmaceda sat beside him, clutching fresh ammunition to his chest. He looked ancient, and, with his toupee slipping again, even a little drunk.
The smell from the engines below wafted up to them, and Neville could hear the putter of diesels reverberating against the flat white face of the cliff. The leading tank had the number 375 painted on its turret in white, and it seemed to have been newly camouflaged in brown and green splodges. From where he sat, he could almost see into the hatch.
It was an ideal position for snipers and there were plenty of people lining the cliff who could shoot. But no one succumbed to the temptation.
Urquhart turned to him. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Get down there! The first two vehicles are to be allowed through.’
Neville began to move away, running in a crouch.
‘And, Neville!’
Neville stopped and turned. Urquhart’s face was hard.
‘No backing away! None of your bloody compassion! Every German dead today means one less of our people dead tomorrow!’
Neville nodded, but was still shocked by Urquhart’s coldblooded attitude.
Then Urquhart grinned and waved him away. ‘Here’s to a short war,’ he said.
By this time, the two tanks in the lead had moved a little higher up the slope. The road was steep, the surface worn smooth, and the tracks slipped. As the engines screamed, the first tank slid sideways on the camber of the road and tucked its nose into the bank. The officer climbed out. He’d abandoned his jacket and they could see the sweat on his face and darkening the back of his shirt and under his arms. He was peering towards the rear of the tank as though he was having trouble with the engine.
The driver also opened his hatch and climbed out. Then the officer began to shout something to the commander of the second tank who emerged on to his turret. He was in shorts and looked like a boy with his ash-blond hair. His head disappeared, but as his tank moved it too slid to the side of the road and ended up alongside the first tank.
Reinach was grinning. ‘We’ve got them,’ he said. ‘Dans le pot de chambre.’ He looked expectantly at Urquhart, who shook his head.
‘Wait!’
‘But we have them!’
Urquhart ignored the urgings, watching carefully as an armoured car began to edge past the tanks.
‘Wait,’ he said, his eyes glinting. ‘They’re going to try the soft-skinned vehicles. That makes it easier. And if the tanks want to move now, they’ll have to wait for the jam to clear and come at it with a rush. Tell the radio operator to let de Frager know.’
Reinach was puzzled by Urquhart’s intentions, and it was Marie-Claude who scrambled to her feet.
‘I’ll go!’
As she hurried off through the trees, a big troop carrier followed the armoured car in low gear past the stalled tanks, an exasperated officer standing in the road waving it on. Helmeted men clung to the tarpaulin frames shouting insults at the tankmen. They were festooned with ammunition belts, some of them with grenades round their necks. Every one of them held a machine-gun or a sub-machine-gun.
The carrier negotiated the jam with difficulty and slipped out of sight beneath the escarpment. Urquhart held his breath. Just in front below him he could see a lizard on a rock basking in the sun. Father Pol crouched among the bushes behind it, clutching a rifle, his spectacles down his nose, his shovel hat tilted forward; he was sweating in the sun.
‘Blessed be God,’ he was muttering. ‘Blessed be His holy name. Blessed be Jesus Christ, true God and true man.’ He looked up and saw Urquhart watching him. ‘Agony isn’t mitigated because others share it,’ he pointed out.
Urquhart nodded and crossed himself and Father Pol lifted his hand, two fingers raised in blessing. ‘Blessed be our venture today, my son. God grant that France will soon be free.’
Urquhart turned. Théyras caught his eye and, brushing his moustache with the back of his hand, made a gesture as though he were drinking from a bottle. Urquhart licked his lips. His heart was thumping but he was quite calm. He turned again and looked down the valley.
Negotiating the corner, the young lieutenant commanding the armoured car stared ahead. The road rose in a straight line in front of him to where it traversed the crest by way of a cutting. Beyond, it appeared to be unoccupied. There were mo
re trees up there, but they were set well back from the road and there seemed a chance. There were probably men with guns sitting among the rocks by the cutting, however, and he jerked his helmet down and tapped the driver.
‘Straight ahead,’ he said. ‘And fast. Ready?’
‘Ready, sir.’
The lieutenant stood up and waved to the driver of the lorry-load of troops behind. ‘If we can get to that cutting and hold it, we’re all safe!’ he yelled. ‘Let’s go!’
The driver let in his clutch and the armoured car jerked. The engine of the lorry behind roared, then the two of them headed up the hill. The cutting came closer and, expecting a blast of fire, the lieutenant drew his head down into his shoulders. Just in front there were patches of dirt and stones on the macadam and he suspected immediately that they concealed mines. But, by a miracle, they were past and nothing had happened. The road beyond was clear!
‘Radio,’ he snapped, and as he was handed the microphone, he shouted into it. ‘Eifel calling Schnee Elbert! Eifel calling Schnee Elbert!’
Von Hoelcke’s voice came back. ‘Schnee Elbert to Eifel. Go ahead.’
The lieutenant’s voice broke with his excitement. ‘We’re through!’ he yelled. ‘There’s nothing up here! Nothing at all!’
Rising from the turret, von Hoelcke shouted down to Frobinius waiting alongside.
‘The road’s clear,’ he said.
‘Typical of the French,’ Frobinius grinned. ‘They’ve only half done the job.’
He ran to his car as von Hoelcke waved his arms to the vehicles behind. He wanted them out of the way so that he and his tanks could reverse and take the hill at speed. The column edged backwards, the gaps between the vehicles closing until they were bumper to bumper, and the lurch rearwards travelled all the way down to Néry in another vast concertina movement like a caterpillar in reverse until it came to a stop on the outskirts of the village, where the jam in the street brought it to a halt.
As a little space was cleared, von Hoelcke’s tanks edged backwards, too, reversing from the bank and down the hill until the road flattened out a little. As they stopped again, von Hoelcke touched his driver’s shoulder with his foot.
‘Right, driver,’ he said. ‘Full speed ahead! And this time stop for nothing!’
The tank’s treads slipped and for a second it slithered sideways on the camber of the road; then it began to pick up speed. As the corner drew near, von Hoelcke held his breath, but the tank negotiated the turn flat out, clattering round and filling the valley with the noise of its engine as it began to climb. Beyond the cutting they could see the armoured car waiting with the troop carrier, the soldiers lining the side of the road, alert for any signs of trouble.
They were within a hundred yards of the ridge, approaching the dirt-patched stretch of road, the first of the lorries behind them level with the face of the escarpment and going at full speed, when von Hoelcke saw the tarmacadam patches in front of him erupt in a sheet of flame and the whole road lifted in a shower of dirt, stones and chunks of soil.
10
The young lieutenant in command of the armoured car was watching the cutting as instructed when he saw the surface of the road climbing out of the valley beyond it suddenly explode. The earth shook and, at the same moment, a great flare of flame gouted from the rocks on either side of the cutting, and boulders leapt into the air to crash down and form a solid barrier that effectively jammed the narrow opening in the ridge. More explosions followed and tons of earth slid after them. Between the lieutenant and the rest of the column there was now a high barricade of stones and soil, and beyond it a deep trench had been blown in the road, across which he knew neither he nor anyone else would ever get anything less manoeuvrable than a tank. He was in trouble.
‘For God’s sake,’ he screamed. ‘Open fire!’
‘What at?’ the machine-gunner alongside him yelled. At that moment they saw a streak of smoke heading towards them, and in their last second of life they heard a thump on the bonnet of the armoured car. The explosion flung it to the side of the road as a heap of twisted metal and molten glass, its crew hurled from it like rag dolls. Only one man survived and he lay trapped and screaming as the flames edged closer.
As the rest of the advance group ducked their heads to avoid the falling debris, a blast of fire from what seemed hundreds of weapons started from the trees and shrubs along the ridge, the bullets striking sparks from the road and the rocks where they crouched and whining off into the distance. Another bazooka rocket finished off the troop carrier and a corporal, trying heroically to drag a Spandau into position, was lashed by the fire before he could set it up. A second man running to his assistance was lifted off his feet by another burst, and when a third man was killed the sergeant sensibly called a halt and they lay with their heads down, scrabbling with fingers in the earth behind every scrap of cover they could find.
‘Leave it,’ the sergeant yelled. ‘Leave it!’
Then, as the fire from the ridge suddenly lessened, he realized it had changed direction and that the weapons were firing into the valley beyond the blocked cutting. As he became aware of the volume of sound from the other side of the ridge, his jaw dropped and he realized that, despite what had happened, he and what was left of his men were probably luckier than they knew.
The first shot into the valley was a shell from de Frager’s anti-tank gun positioned above the blocked cutting, and a puff of dust erupted in the meadow just beyond the first tank as it began to draw back from the shattered strip of road. Behind the tank, the following vehicles, also brought to a sudden stop, had crashed into each other all the way down the column, and up on the ridge the Frenchmen could hear the shouts and yells of fury and fear.
Then the anti-tank gun fired again and there was more dust.
‘For God’s sake,’ Urquhart snapped, as if he could be heard at the top of the hill, ‘Raise the bloody sights!’
As the tank began to back away, the Germans were already jumping in dozens from the lorries and scrambling behind them for shelter. Their automatic weapons started to chatter, but they had no idea where the shells had come from and their firing was wild and largely directed across the open fields on their right towards the line of trees lining the crest. There was a thump as de Frager got the tank at last, and a column of oily smoke lifted into the sky to drift away in the breeze. The explosion had torn off the port track and the tank had slewed round and started to bum. The driver, his clothes on fire, fell out on to the road and was dragged to shelter by a group of soldiers who were frantically covering him with coats to put out the flames. The second tank, also trying desperately to back away, crashed into a civilian car just behind that was full of infantrymen, crushing it so that the screams of the injured men were added to the din.
‘Get that gun firing!’ Von Hoelcke was standing by the side of his blazing tank, trying to direct the fire of the second tank. They’re up by the cutting! For God’s sake, bring that damned gun to bear!’
Urquhart was still watching with narrowed eyes. Apart from de Frager’s shells and the shooting of the Germans, still no one had fired. Reinach looked at him eagerly.
‘Wait!’ Urquhart was gesturing with the flat of his hand. ‘Wait!’
De Frager’s gun fired again and was answered immediately by the whiplash of high velocity shells, but even now the Germans had not managed to pinpoint de Frager’s gun. The rattle of Spandaus was answered by the ripple of Brens from the ridge, the sound pouring down the valley in waves. Spent bullets sent leaves drifting down, and from near the tank they could hear someone screaming orders. Then Urquhart nodded at last and pointed, and Lionel Dring’s gun banged. A lorry went up in flames as it tried to pull out and turn, so that its blazing shape blocked the road. As he fired again, a second lorry followed, and square-helmeted men ran for shelter, heads down, their equipment bobbing at their hips. A wounded soldier was dragged away, his bare head lolling back, his arm round another man’s neck.
Ducking
down the road to the second tank, whose commander was still uncertain of the direction of the firing and was busy demolishing the rocks near the cutting, von Hoelcke started pointing wildly to the escarpment on their left. As the Spandaus started to shred the trees, Urquhart heard someone yelp. Glancing round, he saw Yvon Guélis being dragged away, blood across his face and chest. Dr Mouillet bent over him and, in a fragment of time. Urquhart saw Ernestine’s jaw drop and Marie-Claude’s face bleak and white with shock.
Turning back towards the fight below him, he squatted behind his Bren his back still against the stump of tree. A German, his arm limp at his side, began to stumble back instinctively towards the shelter of Néry. Other men, trying to get away from the flying splinters of metal and stone, began to follow. Among them were the crew of von Hoelcke’s tank, shouting and gesticulating angrily. A few more men, less shaken by the shock of the attack, were underneath their vehicles, pointing towards de Frager’s position and the hill at the top of the meadow on the other side of the road, where it might be possible to circle round among the trees along the ridge to the cutting.
Frobinius was yelling to the commander of the second tank. ‘Off the road,’ he shouted. ‘Get up there! Get those bastards with the gun!’
The tank driver reversed his starboard track and the blunt nose swung. The gun was still pointing to the cutting, still firing as the tank lurched into the fence and edged off the road. In front of it, the land fell away into the shallow dip filled with undergrowth, brambles, nettles and bright green grass, and as the tank’s nose dropped, the gun seemed to whip as it dipped with it. Then, as the tank moved into the hollow, dragging the fence with it, its tracks began to throw up watery mud and. before its crew knew what had happened, its bogeys were hub deep in thick black slime. The commander’s head appeared.
As it jerked into reverse, Urquhart sat up. ‘Now,’ he said and. lifting a Very pistol, fired a signal cartridge across the valley. As the red light burst, he swung the Bren in front of him, lined up on the tank and pulled the trigger. The tank commander, his head up, instinctively watching the flare, slid out of sight inside the turret. Then, as Urquhart’s gun fired again, the whole escarpment above the road burst into flame.
