by Alan David
Eddie had felt lonely all day, with only the thought of his dead brother to buoy him. His mind was not completely upon this attack. Part of him was lost in the limbo of self-pity. His actions were instinctive, there was no con¬scious thought guiding him, and only his good training enabled him to do the right thing at the right time. Everything seemed detached. It was as if he was perched on a star and could see everything dispassionately. It was like watching a war film from the balcony of a cinema and identifying oneself with a character in it, but with the difference of all the discomfort and experience of battle being real instead of simulated. No film could convey these scenes as realistically.
The farmhouse was a fury of hell. It was burning in places, the hungry flames getting stronger with each fleeting moment. Eddie kicked open the front door and rushed inside, leaping to one side. Stairs led to rooms overhead, and a German was standing on the third stair up. Eddie fired a short burst and the enemy tumbled down. A bullet screamed past Eddie. A German at the far end of the room had fired a rifle. Eddie fired again. He moved away from the bottom of the stairs, and a bullet came snarling down. Smith came in, his bren rapping out sharply, and the light-machine-gunner went up the stairs two at a time, his weapon jerking and firing as he went.
The section followed quickly, their faces limned redly by fire, their features grim and hardset. Their eyes were over bright, sharpened by fear and the uplift of battle.
Eddie’s boots clattered on the stone floor. Red tracers flew past him from the darkness of a long passage. He felt the wind of passing death as he threw himself headlong, his gun coming into the ready position. Fear could not disturb him. He was beyond fear, untouched by nerves. His sten rattled furiously. Behind him came the sharp sound of a Lee Enfield, and bullet cracked very close over him. He tightened his lips. Some fool was firing closer than the enemy. At the back of his mind he could hear the short bursts of his section’s bren, clearing the upper rooms.
‘Taus,’ Smith was shouting. ‘Ilande hoche, you swine!’
A door opened and slammed quickly at the end of the corridor, and Eddie sprang to his feet and ran forward, his fingers feeling for a grenade. He cannoned into the door, pushed it open and threw his grenade into the kitchen. He dropped flat, then sprang up and rushed into the kitchen on the heels of the explosion. He stumbled over a body sprawled upon the floor. The back door was open, and a draught was fanning a mass of flames that engulfed two walls.
A rifleman — Moore, he thought — followed him, and he told the man to remain and guard the rear. Eddie went back to the bottom of the stairs, and for the first time it seemed that the fast pace of sustained action was running down. There was no shooting now in the farmhouse, but heavy feet trooped overhead.
‘Lloyd,’ he shouted. ‘Smith.’
‘All clear up here, Corp,’ a voice replied. ‘We’ve got two prisoners.’
‘Bring them down.’
Newman came down the stairs, and behind him came two scared looking Germans. Smith followed them, the long barrel of his bren poking into the back of the second one.
‘Lloyd, leave a couple of men up there for a moment.’
‘It’s pretty bad up there,’ Lloyd replied from the top of the stairs. ‘All the rooms are burning.’
‘Come down then. We’d better get out. The kitchen’s on fire, too. Smudger, go through the back. Moore is in the kitchen. Keep a watch out there. Lloyd, you and Newman go with him. Have you searched the prisoners?’
‘Yes.’ Smith’s teeth glinted. ‘I got a watch off one of them.’
‘Hold them here for a moment, one of you. Lloyd, quickly now and get your bren group out at the back. We’ve got to get moving. I’ll contact the platoon.’
Eddie went out through the front way. For a moment he stood in the shelter of a wall and looked around. Men were running here and there. The barn was burning furiously. Some motionless figures were dotted about in the open. Eddie recognised Major Taylor-Ray, the Company Commander, coming forward.
‘Cleared the house, Corporal?’
‘Yes, sir. We’ve got two prisoners.’
‘Any casualties?’
‘One, I believe, sir.’ Eddie remembered the enemy grenade and the screams as they had rushed the house. The major studied the burning house. ‘We can’t hold that, it is too far gone. I’m afraid Jerry might start mortaring any moment. Take your section on for a hundred yards, Corporal, and get them digging in. This is as far as we go tonight. Another battalion is coming through us.’
Eddie went back into the house. It was filled with smoke, and the air was hot and stifling. Stokes was guarding the prisoners. ‘Take them outside and hand them over to someone,’ he ordered. ‘Then come back to us. We’re going on a bit to get away from the house. Then we’re digging in.’
Stokes ushered out his prisoners. Eddie called to the rest of his men and they left the house by the fiery back way. ‘Fall in and get moving. We’re going forward.’
They were glad to get out of the house, with its burning timbers and fearful creaking noises. Other sections of the company had already gone on, and Eddie led his men in single file behind them. The first German mortar bomb landed on the roof of the house, throwing slates to a great distance. The men began to run to get clear of the house and the fire.
Sergeant Rawlings was standing in the shadow of a hedge. ‘Eddie?’ he called, and Eddie replied as he came up at the head of the section. ‘Good. I was waiting for you. Follow me. The platoon is over on the right. We’re digging in. Did you have any casualties?’
‘One. Temple. A grenade got him, I think. As we rushed the house. I don’t know how he is.’
‘The stretcher bearers will get him. Bring your section over here.’
They went into the thickening darkness. Ahead were the raucous sounds of battle, and there was another farmhouse burning, an island of flame in the surrounding night. The ground was shuddering under their feet. Bombs screamed down to end their short flight in blast and death for those destined to die.
The First Blankfolks dug in along hedges while other troops went forward, but the sounds of battle did not recede as the night passed away. The Germans were well dug in and fanatical. They were guarding the borders of their Fatherland, and they would die before yielding an inch of ground. As yet the attack had fallen only upon the outposts of the enemy line; isolated farmhouses that had been heavily fortified and machine-gun nests dotted in odd places among the hedges. The main German defences lay in the hills and the higher ground. Only now, after one day’s bitter fighting, were the assault troops approaching the enemy’s main line. It presented a formidable barrier to troops yearning to set foot as conquerors upon German soil. The Blankfolks rested and waited. Meanwhile, the battle went on with unabated fury.
Chapter Fourteen
SHERMAN tanks were moving forward at dawn, to press the attack. Enemy mortars blasted the ground and prohibited the movement of infantry. Men crouched in their shallow holes while the world about them rocked as the artillery slugged it out. The nearest ridge was two thousand yards away, and it was covered by a pall of smoke. British troops attempted to close in for an assault, but the mortars and eighty-eights broke up all attempts to concentrate. There was a steady stream of casualties moving rearwards.
The First Blankfolks moved forward at midday and sheltered in a wood to wait for the forward troops to push on. Their move was spotted by the enemy, and they endured an afternoon of ceaseless shelling. They could see nothing of the battalion they were supporting, and had no idea of the situation or progress of the attack, which continued without let-up through its second day. At dusk food was brought up and, as the shelling eased, the many dead and wounded were removed. Shortly after dark the battalion began to move forward.
Another night of Hell, thought Eddie. He had actually slept during the afternoon, but his mind was dulled by the never-ending noise and tension of battle. He led his section forward, following the man ahead much closer than normal because of the darkne
ss; and still the shells crashed down and the mortars continued with their deadly harassing fire. This was fast becoming the frightful pattern of war.
To the rifleman plodding along in the darkness, following the man in front, frightened and often bemused by the shock and noise of battle, it seemed impossible that his officers could know exactly what had been planned, that there could be a plan at all. He gave no thought at all to the fact that ‘B’ Company must take Point ‘A’ by a certain time, that ‘A’ Company should pass through their position to attack simultaneously with ‘13’ Company going in on the right, that another battalion coming up from behind would leap-frog their positions and strike the enemy before he had time to recover. All the private soldier knew was apparent confusion, fear and fighting. His view of the war, or even a battle, was narrow and personal. He did not want to know the whys and wherefores. He was concerned only with survival.
The sections moved over broken country, following a track that wound between two hills and petered out in a dense wood. Smith fell into a vacated enemy pit, and his bren accidentally fired a short burst. Newman approached the hole in dread, and bent over it anxiously, with Lloyd behind.
‘Are you hurt, Smudger? Have you shot yourself?’
‘No, mate,’ came the outraged reply. ‘What do you think — I carry my weapon with the muzzle in my mouth?’
They reached a road and turned left to follow it, now passing the dark forms of many huddled men, who sat sprawling by the roadside and in the shelter of the hedges and ditches. These men had pressed the attack all day, facing tremendous and accurate fire, and they were exhausted. They barely looked up at the passing Blankfolks. Many of them were asleep.
The Blankfolks moved on silently. You’ve had your go, thought Smith. Now it’s our turn again. He swore softly because it was another night attack. Would this never end? It seemed that they had already spent a lifetime in battle, and they were not yet upon German soil. Smith shook his head slowly. How could anyone hope to survive the months to come?
A barrage crashed down ahead. The thunderous explosions set ears protesting. They were ordered to take cover. The man-made storm was directed at the enemy defences. Minutes flashed by. Intermittent flashes outlined the waiting troops, each flash imprinting black and white pictures of horror upon the minds of the men destined to live through that hell.
Somewhere a whistle was blowing long blasts that were carried away by the sound of bursting shells. Arthur Rawlings moved along the line of his platoon, warning the men to be ready to move. A ripple ran along the scattered ranks.
‘Come on, Newman, rattle your hocks,’ said Smith.
‘Someone’s seen the light. Don’t leave any mags. behind.’
‘I’d like to leave myself behind for a change.’ Newman groped in the darkness for his rifle. ‘I’m sick to death of this game.’
‘Who isn’t? Never mind, mate, you’ll be one of the first to go on leave. I’ve heard a buzz, and it comes from the top, Boy.’
‘The only place they’re likely to send us is to the Far East.’ Lloyd checked the mag on his sten. ‘How’d you like that, Newman?’
The sections ahead were getting up and moving forward, and the barrage showed no signs of slackening. The passage of shells overhead was never-ending.
They were stumbling forward again. This was strange ground. The sound of small-arms rattling nearby indicated that the actual fighting was very close ahead. Word came back that another battalion had just gone in, and that it would be their turn next. The harsh clatter of machine-guns was very brisk in the night. Time was wasted as they waited around.
‘This is a funny attack,’ said Smith.
‘You can say that again,’ said Lloyd. ‘We’d have been a lot better off if they’d left us where we were this afternoon. At least we’d have got some sleep in.’
‘They’ll decide in a minute that they don’t want us after all.’ Smith grinned in the darkness. He was hoping that Newman would bite. But Newman remained silent. ‘Hallo! Someone’s awake at the front. Here we go again.’
The ground inclined underfoot. Visibility was fairly good in the fields, although there was a lot of smoke from the fiercely burning strongpoints. Machine-guns stuttered untiringly, and always sounded very close. The sections pushed on, mainly silent. They appeared to be crossing a vast sloping plain. There was no sense of fear. The only feeling was one of tiredness and the desire to rest.
Suddenly, the world erupted. An enemy barrage crashed down upon the advancing battalions. The crest above them, screened until now by smoke and darkness, was now a-flicker with points of flaring light.
‘There are tanks up there,’ shouted Smith, and his voice was buffeted and cast away by the exploding shells. The sections fell into cover. Orders were shouted around in turmoil. Groups of men, whole sections, vanished under the pounding. The small-arms fire swelled until it clamoured against the sound of the shelling for mastery. Tracer bullets criss-crossed in their thousands. Death screamed through the night in many violent forms. Fear was vibrant, a living thing in a man’s mind…
An hour passed. There were the awful cries of the wounded as a background for the explosive bellowing of the guns. The long incline was being systematically strafed by the enemy. The British attack was blunted on the slope. The attackers were dazed by the fury and the never ending noise. They could only lie, helpless and unthinking, until the storm passed over, or killed them.
Then the shelling eased, and the section commanders sought to regain control of their scattered men. They began to move forward like automatons, although the timetable of the attack was so seriously delayed that it might be impossible to get it into operation again.
There were many gaps in the ranks. Five battalions had set out to smash the German line in a complicated battle plan. Now control was damaged, and communications with the rear were shaky. The shelling increased again. There was indecision in the British lines, and the confusion spread as more shells crashed down.
British gunners were at work further back, sweating as they served their guns, firing through the programme as if they were training at home on the ranges.
Let’s get to grips, prayed Smith. He had his face pressed against the ground. His bren lay forgotten by his side. His eyes were closed against the bewildering lights and the tracers that streamed so effectively through the night. ‘God, what a bloody fine place to spend the night,’ he shouted to himself. ‘We ought to get out of here.’
The forward troops of the British were in contact with the enemy, but mortaring had paralysed all movement. The whole world vibrated to the barrages, and the men crouched and waited.
I knew this would be slaughter, thought Eddie. He was lying in a ditch with his section spaced out to left and right. Somewhere a man lay screaming, and near bursts blotted out the terrible cries, but they continued with sustained agony after each crash. Eddie felt a dull pain in every limb, and his eyes and head and teeth ached intolerably. He flinched instinctively at each close shell burst. No wonder some men went mad under bombardment, he thought.
Machine-guns were crackling again, swelling loudly as the barrage diminished. The attack began again, the troops rushing forward, getting closer to the enemy, running the gauntlet of shells and bullets. The Blankfolks were called upon. They got up and went forward at a shambling run through the night that was a nightmare, uncertain of their destination, afraid of the shelling and the flying death that was invisible in the horror-filled night.
Men were missing from the sections; left lying as and when their fate had decreed. There seemed to be no order to this movement forward, and could there be control by those at the rear who planned this battle and watched its development?
The incline was steeper now, and the small-arms fire sounded very near. Dog Company was leading the battalion, and its sections emerged from the barrage and reached the crest and the enemy trenches. But here were no enemy. Here were the remnants of the British battalion which had assaulted this crest. The sha
dowy ground was littered with broken and dead bodies.
The reverse slope was a-flicker with tracer. Further forward the middle distance boasted of a dozen fires caused by British shells, and to the advancing troops it seemed as if all the low ground in front of them was a playground of Hell.
It was easier going down the reverse slope. Eddie led his section past a blazing Tiger tank. A German tank-man lay half out of the turret, his clothes burning. Other members of the crew were sprawled near the stricken monster. There were sounds of British tanks moving forward.
Now there were enemy tracers whisking overhead. The machine-guns rattled soullessly. Burning buildings showed ahead. The sections fanned out and doubled forward. Enemy tanks were rumbling about. German infantry were falling back. The tanks were firing point-blank at the British. Leaping figures gave deceptive shadows to the running figures.
The dark bulk of a building suddenly flickered streams of tracer from several windows. Bullets threshed the ground among the advancing sections, or crackled past them on their short fiery course through the night.
Four Platoon was in extended line. Brens were firing bursts of covering fire. But the spandaus were too accurate, and the British went to ground. Men crawled forward and grenades crashed sharply, and the men regained their feet and ran blindly forward. The pace was quickening. The attack was gaining momentum at last, and just behind the leading battalion, which was the First Blankfolks, the enemy was laying another murderous barrage.
Smith plunged through a hedge, firing at sudden movement as Germans showed their presence. A great mush-rooming flash illuminated a Tiger tank only fifty yards away. A shell from the armoured vehicle screamed away over Smith’s head. Smith threw himself down. Just my bloody luck, he thought. I’ve got a ruddy great tank all to myself. Newman and Lloyd dropped to cover beside him. The tank fired again, its flashing gun hurling high-powered death into the hedges.
