The Battle Done

by Alan David

  Sergeant Rawlings looked down at the dead section commander. ‘You’d better take over now, Eddie,’ he said. ‘I’ve just got orders for us to engage them from here while Two Platoon assaults on our right. Can you get your gun into action from here, Smudger?’

  ‘No, Arthur, I can’t see a thing from here. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll nip over to that crater and fire a few bursts.’

  ‘Good. Get hold of the section, Eddie, and let’s have some firepower. The Jerries are having things too much their own way.’

  Eddie moved off to the left while Smith ran to the crater he had baulked at before. Fire started pouring back at the enemy.

  The morning passed with no gains being made. Tanks were called up and had an immediate effect upon the enemy. The infantry began closing in at last, and overpowered the enemy strongpoints one by one. As night approached, the steady chatter of guns slackened and became intermittent. Enemy resistance faded. More quickly now the British advanced, and before full darkness came they had taken the station and dug in. Tired and dirty, they awaited the counter-attack. Nothing happened. In the morning the first patrols found the town deserted and still. The enemy had pulled out during the night.

  Chapter Thirteen

  EDDIE was promoted to full corporal and he took command of Three Section. Lloyd was promoted to acting unpaid lance-corporal and placed in command of the bren group. Eddie, Lloyd, Smith and Newman were the only members of the section who had landed on D-Day.

  Smith kept a close watch upon Eddie during the days that followed Wally’s death, but the new section commander showed little sign of grief. He was much quieter now, and rarely smiled, and at times it was obvious to the solicitous Smith that Eddie was preoccupied with his thoughts of the past. Smith saved Eddie’s life on more than one occasion in tight spots when the corporal had let his mind wander from the task in hand. But to all intents and purposes Eddie Rawlings had recovered from the sorrow that had gripped him at the death of his brother. It was only his eyes that at times belied his demeanour.

  ‘Those bloody hills don’t seem to be getting any closer,’ Smith remarked to Newman as he gazed across country from his weapon slit. This sector had settled down in the last three days, and patrols were the only movement between the armies. The Allies had gained all their objectives in their Big Push, and were consolidating and preparing for further offensive. Rumour was rife, and sometimes ridiculous. Life became almost pleasant, and the waiting in virtual inactivity restored vitality to the battle-weary troops.

  ‘We ought to be pushing on,’ said Lloyd. ‘We’re giving Jerry a chance to get set again. We’ll have all the trouble to get him moving before we can shove him back any further. We let ‘em stop in the right place, too, with all that high ground behind them. By the looks of it it’ll be another suicide job.’

  ‘You’ve turned into a great tactician, or is it strategist?, since they gave you a stripe, Dave.’ Smith grinned tolerantly. ‘What did you have for breakfast, mate, a manual on Advanced Handling and Fieldcraft? You’ll be trying for Military Intelligence next.’

  ‘He’s right, though,’ said Newman. ‘Just take a good look at the ground in front of us. It’ll be worse than anything yet. We shouldn’t have stopped this side of the hills. I’ll bet the Jerries are putting down mines and stringing out wire by the acre and the mile.’

  ‘Well, it’ll take one last big blow to do the trick,’ said Smith. ‘Perhaps this will be it.’

  ‘You’ve got some hopes.’ Newman sat down upon an ammunition box. ‘I wonder how many of us will be alive at the end of the war?’

  ‘If you think like that you’ll never live to see the end of the day,’ Smith replied. ‘This is a game of adapting your mind and accepting the rules.’

  ‘Like poor Eddie did when the sergeant was killed,’ said Newman. ‘He really thought a lot of Wally, didn’t he? He doesn’t care half as much for Arthur, and do you know he hasn’t written home since Wally died?’

  ‘He still feels it, although he doesn’t show it,’ said Smith. ‘But I’ll tell you what I think. I think Eddie will blow up one day. He’s bottled his grief inside him, and that isn’t good. It will come to the surface one day.’

  ‘I remember him during our training,’ said Lloyd. ‘Always talking about Wally, he was. Hardly mentioned Arthur. But you notice it, don’t you? It was Wally who died, not Arthur. That’s fate for you.’

  ‘Wally was a damn fine sergeant,’ said Smith, ‘and so’s his brother. Arthur’s only a little ‘un, but there’s none to beat him.’

  ‘All I can say,’ said Newman, ‘is I hope we’re moved from this sector before the next attack goes in. I don’t want to be in the first wave to hit the defences the Jerries must be piling up there.’

  ‘Someone’s got to do it.’ Smith grinned. ‘We’re the nearest, so the job’ll fall to us. We’re the Glory Boys, ain’t we? You know the old saying, "The Blankfolks marched to glory". That’s us. We’ll still be here after the Jerries have packed it in.’

  ‘When they pack it in! That’s all you hear. They say Jerry is finished. All I can say is, nobody’s told Jerry. He’s a bloody long way from being beaten.’ Newman stood up disgustedly and leaned beside Smith.

  ‘As we’ll find when the next attack goes in,’ said Lloyd. ‘We’re living in momentous times, Ben.’

  ‘Yes, here today and gone tomorrow,’ said Smith. ‘Give us that bit of newspaper, mate, I want to answer a call.’

  ‘Got a letter from home, Eddie?’ Sergeant Arthur Raw¬ings dropped into his brother’s slit trench. He scanned the countryside ahead before squatting down beside his brother.

  ‘Yes, here it is. Read it.’

  Eddie took the letter from his pocket and handed it over. He stood up as Arthur began to read. Eddie leaned on the parapet and gazed speculatively at the landscape. Here and there were hanging puffs of smoke to remind one of war, and occasional heavy detonations intimated that the artillery was maintaining alertness. There was not much movement in the forward area, for any concentration of troops drew heavy and accurate mortar fire and shelling from the enemy.

  The hills and wooded high ground before the Blankfolks were purpled and hazed by distance, silent and waiting, concealing the battered German forces which were even now licking their wounds and attempting to repair and replace shattered lines of supply and communication. A formation of high-tailed tank-busting aircraft roared suddenly overhead, their powerful engines pulsating in the air. Eddie watched them vanish over the hills. I wish we could advance as quickly as that, he thought. If we could, the war would be over by tomorrow.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Arthur getting up beside him. He took the letter silently and put it back into his pocket. He brushed damp earth from the sleeve of his battledress.

  ‘I see that father is a bit queer,’ said Arthur.

  ‘It’s the shock of Wally’s death affecting his heart,’ said Eddie, tightening his lips as he felt pain at the thought of the grief his family at home must be feeling. It didn’t finish with the death of a loved one. That’s where it began for everyone, except he who died.

  ‘They’re getting a lot of raids by those doodlebugs and rockets. Hitler thinks he can win the war with them. He calls ‘em victory weapons.’

  ‘He’s got some hope. We’re the ones he’s got to beat, not the civvies back home. You would have thought he’d learnt his lesson when he blitzed London.’

  ‘Hitler’s a maniac, there’s no doubt about that.’

  ‘I’d like to get my hands on him and the others who started the war.’ Eddie felt a little knot of fury tighten inside him. But what was the use, he thought. Wally was dead, and nothing could bring him back. Was that the attitude to take? Or should one reckon on revenge? He remembered passages from the Bible which he had so diligently read. An eye for an eye. That was it. He did feel easier when he was shooting Germans. It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t feel the loss of Wally so keenly. Grief was a real pain, an illness of
the mind that only time could lessen or heal.

  ‘I’m taking out a patrol tonight,’ said Arthur.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  Arthur shook his head. ‘I’m taking four men from Two Section. We’re going to have a look at the Jerry defences up there. I expect we’ll be on the move again soon.’

  ‘The sooner the better, and I’m not taking prisoners any more. There’s only one way to beat the Germans. That’s total war and no mercy.’

  ‘Killing prisoners won’t help. The war is finished anyway for a soldier who’s taken prisoner.’

  ‘It’s over permanently for a dead soldier. But I didn’t say I’d kill prisoners. I said I wouldn’t take any. There is a difference.’

  ‘Is that how you feel about Wally’s death?’

  ‘It is, and it’s getting stronger every day. It’s natural, isn’t it? He was my brother. Of course I’m upset.’

  ‘He wouldn’t want you to be like that, Eddie. The best thing to do is act how you think he’d like you to act.’

  ‘I think he’d be the same about me if I had died in his place. He’d have killed and gone on killing, and that’s the feeling I get sometimes. Don’t you feel that way about it?’

  ‘No. I do my duty, and that’s all. Getting in a frenzy could only cost you your life. It wouldn’t help Wally, and it wouldn’t help our folks at home. They’re the ones you’ve got to think about. Sitting at home day after day, being bombed, which is every bit as bad as our experience, and they’ve got the worry of us out here.’

  ‘I don’t see it like that, Arthur. You’re seven years older than me. Perhaps I shall see it your way when, if ever, I reach your age. Wally was your brother, so you can act the way you feel. I’ve got to live with myself, so I’ve got to act as I think fit.’

  ‘Just be careful, Eddie.’

  ‘I’m not planning on getting myself killed, Arthur.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll see you again before I go out tonight.’

  ‘Mind how you go.’

  Eddie sat down again in his trench. The warm rays of late afternoon sun heated the earth, but the grave was cold and eternal in the grip of death. Wally was cold now, wrapped in a shapeless army blanket, his flesh decaying. A month ago he had been alive, could feel pain and know pleasure. But whatever he had done or wherever he had gone, all paths led him eventually to the grave in France. There had been no escape.

  ‘And it’s the same for every one of us,’ he muttered half aloud. What was the use of fear. Emotion choked him. He stood up violently, clenching his hands. His brother was gone forever. He picked up his sten as he cursed the inactivity. Grief fluttered in his chest, stifling with its intenseness. He leaned against the back wall of the trench, although his every inclination was to do something or go somewhere. He felt that he wanted to run blindly, as far and as fast as he could until he was exhausted. Wild impulses surged through him, setting his teeth on edge and knotting the thought of revenge inside him. But it was all useless! Frustration burned in him, hot and choking. Helplessness gripped him.

  I’ll go mad, he thought, if this goes on much longer. He gazed at length over the vista before him. There was no movement out there. The fields were empty. I wish they would attack, he thought. But he knew that the enemy was not strong enough for that. Bitterness churned inside him. Bitterness inflamed him. So this was war; not the hot action, the brush with death, but the waiting and the futile thoughts.

  Smith came along a hedgerow. He looked down at his section commander. ‘May I come in?’ he asked lightly.

  ‘Yes. What’s the trouble?’ Eddie let the tension seep from him. He felt weak and utterly spent.

  ‘Nothing wrong, mate. Just a social call. How are you?’

  ‘Better off than my brother Wally!’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Smith said slowly. ‘You want to relax, Eddie.’

  ‘There are a lot of things I should do, Smudger. But it’s easier said than done. It’s all right to talk.’

  ‘You’re right, mate.’ Smith lapsed into silence. He began wishing he hadn’t come to see Eddie. It was much too early yet for his mate to return to normal. Only plenty of time could heal the sore wounds in a man’s heart. ‘It’s an easy patrol Arthur’s going out on tonight. He’s taking men from Two Section. They save us for the hard ones.’

  ‘Ben and Dave all right?’

  ‘They’re okay. Newman’s moaning as usual, so he’s happy. Dave’s a good boy. Next to me he’s the one I’d most want to see get promotion.’ Smith stretched and pressed both hands against his stomach. ‘I wonder what they’ll dish us up with tonight?’

  ‘To eat? I don’t worry about things like that.’

  ‘I wish I didn’t, but I’ve got a nervous stomach. Well, I’ll be seeing you.’ Smith jumped out of Eddie’s trench and made his way back to his own weapon pit.

  During the night there were heavy air raids upon the enemy defences in the hills. The darkness was riddled by flashes, and the ground trembled. The slit trenches of the British were quiet, but many eyes watched the raids, and the knowing ones nodded at each other.

  Just before dawn British troops and armour, fresh from the rear, moved forward. The Blankfolks stood in their trenches and watched the men and vehicles move into No-Man’s-Land. Artillery pounded the enemy approaches, ripping the new day with the crack and flash of violence. The Blankfolks felt relieved because they were unmoving on the ground, and the sounds of the battle ahead had no personal note.

  After dawn the First Blankfolks began moving forward. The companies strung out their platoons like the fingers of giant hands. The countryside was concealed under a pall of black smoke, shot through with red flames which were leaping malevolently as villages and houses burned. Artillery fire grew heavy but increased still more as the hours passed. German counter-fire came over irregularly, stopping movement in the affected areas until the hell of crashing explosives passed over. That day of battle for the Blankfolks consisted of moving forward cautiously or crouching fearfully in ditches and other cover while the leading troops battled it out with the enemy. For troops in support there is no pattern to battle, no sense of time or reality; just periods of lying amidst batches of exploding shells and the tense moments of going forward to support.

  In the afternoon the forward troops reached the first low slopes that were thrust out by nature as outposts for the line of high ground. Here the retreating enemy came into his own, with machine-guns placed cunningly in every fold of ground. Tanks and artillery made little impression, and did less to stop the lethal streams of bullets that cut into the ranks and files of advancing infantry. Progress slowed. The slopes became strewn with the untidy bodies of the dead. The urgent chatter of spandaus never ceased. There was no clear field of fire. Range was crippled by smoke, out of which streamed the unending cones of bullets.

  The forward troops moved in relentlessly, trying to close with their unseen enemy, trying to get to grips, to test his skill and gauge his strength, to find his weaknesses. All they found were flesh-seeking bullets that took a heavy toll and held the Allies from pouring across the frontier onto German soil; to final victory. The Germans meant to fight for every inch of foreign soil that remained to protect the borders of the Third Reich.

  At dusk the First Blankfolks moved forward under the flaring light of another barrage. They passed through the lines of their deadly tired comrades who had fought all day, and pushed on to make contact with the enemy. They met mortar bombs and bullets, and the stark light of flares gave cold brilliance to the battle. The sound of war had been with them for so long they did not heed it. Senses were numbed by the constant buffeting, and it was well that in each mind there was the ability to draw a veil of half-thought against the utter horror and fear.

  The night was unreal. The low slopes were death traps which were commanded by the vicious crack and thump of speeding bullets. Nerves were frayed by the uncertainty of night and shadow. Fatigue laid its gaunt fingers upon the fearful bodies of
the living, the fighting men.

  Four Platoon had been covered to a hedgerow bordering an enemy farm by heavy small-arms fire from Three Platoon. The section commanders led the way forward resolutely towards the group of flaming buildings which still resisted, despite extensive damage done by shells. All afternoon the advancing troops had observed this strong-point holding off British troops, and now they were there to take retribution from the fanatical defenders for all the dead left lying in the fields and upon the low slopes.

  Arthur Rawlings was with Two Section. Machine-gun fire from the farm was being directed at Three Platoon, the fire group, and the half-light was stitched with innumerable flecks of tracer, arcing and weaving in fantastic patterns of death.

  Four Platoon reached a jumping-off spot, and with signals flashing to the co-operating platoon covering them, the men rushed in for the long delayed kill. Almost immediately there was an answering fire from another enemy strongpoint lying further back, and One Section caught the full weight of the first volley and went to ground, dead or pinned down helplessly.

  Sergeant Rawlings threw a grenade into a barn, and the explosion set fire to wood already blasted and scorched by artillery fire. There were the cries of wounded, and shouts from men turned raving killers, as the attackers went in like blood-lusting madmen. There followed a timeless nightmare of bewildering flashes and dazing bursts of fury from exploding grenades. Enemy troops came out of the barn, screaming and reviling, shouting hatred and nonsense as they engaged in close combat.

  Eddie led his section at the farmhouse. A machine-gun fired at them from an upper window, but the enemy’s aim was high, and bullets snapped overhead through the night. Smith fired half a magazine into the window as he ran forward. The enemy gun stopped for a moment, then recommenced. A grenade thrown from the house exploded with shattering force in front of the closing section. The crack set their ears ringing. Someone fell screaming with the agony of a broken body. A British grenade exploded in a lower room. Flaring light and swirling smoke distorted vision.