The Battle Done

by Alan David

  Lloyd crawled forward. Smith fired a burst at some enemy figures on the right. A machine-gun on the tank rattled furiously, and cones of bullets whirled among the leading sections. Lloyd crawled right up to the tank, with Smith scurrying forward to give him covering fire, spotting enemy infantry at the rear of the tank and cutting at them with his bren. Newman shot the enemy tank commander out of his turret. Lloyd threw his grenade. It passed right over the tank and exploded on the further side.

  Smith swore and pushed the bren into Lloyd’s hands. He pulled a grenade from Lloyd’s pouch and leaped upon the tank. The Tiger’s gun fired again, and the muzzle flash almost blinded Smith. The tank shifted under the recoil of the gun. Smith pitched his bomb into the turret. He dropped quickly from the tank, and retrieved his bren as the grenade exploded hollowly. The Tiger did not fire again.

  Sergeant Rawlings leapt a ditch and found himself upon a trench filled with half-a-dozen Germans. He fired his sten down at them, shifting the muzzle to catch all of them with a long burst. The section with him came bursting through the hedge, shouting and screaming, and they pushed on through the flame-shot darkness. Everywhere were flickering lights and heaving explosions.

  Eddie called his section together. The bren group had wandered to the right. The ground was inclining again. Suddenly, there were figures ahead, running down to meet them, shouting and crying out in German. Smith’s bren opened rapid fire immediately. Eddie shouted for rapid fire, and the section opened up. But the enemy kept coming, dozens of them streaming down the slope to get to grips. Bullets splattered through the night.

  Bayonets were thrust forward as the enemy came in. The sound of small-arms faded in the face of shouting and cursing and the cries of wounded. Smith swung his bren in small arcs, firing short bursts that swept a line of the enemy off their feet like a row of skittles. But the enemy kept coming.

  Sergeant Rawlings came in from the right, leading Two Section, and they became embroiled in a swaying, howling mass that fought bloodily in the fiery half-light. The leading platoon of Baker Company came up out of the darkness and met the first of the enemy rushing by the hard-pressed Dog Company. Charlie Company moved in and swept by the battling groups and continued forward, meeting more of the enemy as they sought to keep the counter-attack rolling forward.

  Eddie stabbed a German in the neck. He moved forward quickly, rushing at the next enemy. Two Germans side by side appeared before him, and wilted like scythed weeds under a hammering burst from his sten. He lunged to the left and his bayonet ripped through the ribs of a passing enemy. A movement to his right brought his head jerking in that direction. He dropped his sten and pivoted swiftly, his hands moving to grasp the German bayonet lunging for his side. He changed feet quickly and parried the enemy point with a stiffened left hand. The point of the bayonet slid past his left thigh. He grabbed the German’s bent right arm, pulling him close, pinning the rifle between them. His left knee lifted sharply, and the German groaned as it struck him heavily in the belly.

  Eddie shifted his grip. His left hand moved up to the German’s neck, and with a quick pivoting half-turn, Eddie threw him heavily. He jumped with both feet into the German’s stomach. Then he hurled himself forward in a low dive as another enemy bayonet came at him. The bayonet missed him by inches. Eddie’s outstretched arms encircled the German’s legs, his shoulder thudding against the man’s knees. Eddie brought him down. He chopped the edge of his left palm against the right side of the German’s throat, and then crouched there beside his choking victim, his eyes wide and chest heaving, and the joy of killing flooding him.

  You killed my brother, he thought, but he’s still killing you. He taught me to fight like this.

  He got up then and looked around. There were fallen men everywhere, some groaning and writhing with the pain of their wounds. He saw little knots of figures here and there, struggling for life or death, and the night glowed redly. Eddie looked for his sten and retrieved it.

  ‘Three Section,’ he called. ‘Three Section, ‘D’ Company.’

  Men came to him then. He recognised Smith and the inseparable Lloyd and Newman. Lloyd came over. His left forearm was bare and bloody. He stood and leaned his weight upon Smith’s massive shoulder.

  ‘Hurt much, mate?’

  ‘In the arm,’ Lloyd replied. ‘It hurts like Hell.’

  ‘Better there than in the guts,’ said Newman. ‘Let’s have a look at it.’

  ‘I’ve put my field dressing on it, but it’s still bleeding a lot.’

  Eddie looked round. A line of figures was coming forward from the rear. They proved to be Able Company, and they passed over the little battlefield and vanished into the uneasy night, going over the crest and advancing into the German defences.

  ‘I wonder where the rest of the platoon is,’ said Newman, watching Smith rebandage Lloyd’s arm. ‘Hey, Dave, you’d better go and get your arm attended to properly at an Aid Post.’

  Away to the left a voice was calling for Dog Company men. It was the Company-Sergeant-Major. ‘Over here, ‘D’ Company,’ he was calling over and over again.

  ‘Come on, men,’ said Eddie. ‘Let’s get over there.’

  Figures converged from all directions. Eddie looked for his brother, but there was no deep concern in his heart. He was dry of all emotion. He saw one or two men of Two Section, and questioned them, and then he saw Arthur standing beside the sergeant-major. Only then did relief flit through him.

  ‘Get fell in in your platoons,’ ordered the sergeant-major. ‘Don’t bunch. Hurry it up, lads, the less we stand about the better. We’ve got to go forward and join Baker Company.’

  ‘Are we winning or losing?’ shouted Smith.

  ‘I don’t know about that. All I know is we’re going forward.’

  Someone cheered in the darkness. Sergeant Rawlings mustered Four Platoon and checked for casualties. Three riflemen and the section commander were missing from One Section. The bren group was gone from Two Section. Eddie reported two riflemen missing from Three Section.

  ‘Send Lloyd back for treatment,’ ordered Arthur. ‘I’ll report that we’ve got nine men missing.’

  Eddie nodded. He went along his section to where Dave stood with Smith and Newman. ‘Get along to the dressing station, Dave. Let them have a look at your arm.’

  ‘It’s all right, Eddie. Just hurts, that’s all. Doesn’t really bother me. It’s just a scratch. It doesn’t even hurt so much now.’

  ‘That’s an order, Dave. You can always come back. Look, over there are a couple of stretcher bearers. Go back with them and you won’t get lost in the darkness.’

  ‘Okay. Cheerio, mates.’ Lloyd went off. Eddie went back to the head of his section. The platoon began marching forward again, and presently they came up with the rest of the company. Three Platoon took the lead and the company went on in loose arrowhead formation. The sound of many machine-guns was crisp in the early morning.

  It was four a.m. The quiet hours. But not so quiet on this morning. Tiredness gripped all of the men. These hours of darkness, those which had passed and those yet to come before the dawn, were taking their toll of vitality and nervous strength.

  Dawn came slowly. The First Blankfolks huddled in hastily dug positions, and the enemy rained down heavy mortar fire upon them. It was courting death to stand above ground. Enemy tanks put in a brief appearance, but artillery fire drove them off. One was left burning on a ridge.

  Baker Company moved forward on the right to clear a wood. But they met with heavy machine-gun fire and were driven into the ground. Twice more they attempted the impossible, and left many of their men lying dead in the long grass when at last they called it off. An artillery concentration pounded the wood, causing many fires and much smoke. Again Baker Company went forward, and this time they managed to get a toe hold and hang on despite all the enemy’s attempts to dislodge them.

  Charlie Company moved to the right of the wood and tried to outflank the enemy. The spandaus started again, an
d both companies assaulted together, getting hopelessly entangled in the wood. The firing went on at very great strength.

  Dog Company was ordered to put a platoon into a village that lay in a valley to the left of the wood. Four Section was selected to go, and moved out of their positions and advanced across the rolling slope that led down to the jumble of semi-ruined buildings.

  ‘It’s another Glory job,’ said Smith, his hard eyes glaring wickedly, red-rimmed with fatigue, and his stubbly face was pale under the dirt that had accumulated through the hours of battle.

  ‘It must be,’ said Lloyd, holding his heavily bandaged left arm, ‘or they wouldn’t send us.’

  ‘In broad daylight, too.’ said Newman. ‘What about those bloody mortars that belted us earlier on? If they see us we’re goners out here in the open. I haven’t felt so naked since the day I was born.’

  The three sections deployed into arrowhead formation as they advanced, and the men were conscious of the glaring daylight, feeling more defenceless than ever as they moved further away from the Company positions.

  Sergeant Rawlings led Three Section. Eddie was on his right and five paces to the rear. Lieutenant Foster, who had taken over the platoon upon the death of Mister Gates, was leading Two Section, twenty-five yards ahead. They moved alertly, expecting trouble and ready for it. There were three hundred yards of open fields to cross, and as they advanced they felt as highlighted as flies on a mirror.

  ‘The village isn’t supposed to be occupied by the enemy,’ Arthur called to Eddie.

  ‘Then we can expect to find an armoured division there.’

  Eddie checked the magazine on his sten although he knew the weapon to be in perfect working order. They had covered half the distance to the village. Eddie’s eyes were constantly roving over the ground in front of him, picking spots for cover should they be assaulted at any time, automatically selecting a spot just ahead as they progressed.

  The first mortar bomb exploded ten yards behind the last section. There was an ear-stinging crash, the angry whine of flying metal and the push of the accompanying blast. Five more bombs came almost simultaneously, and the rear section vanished at a stroke. The platoon went to ground. There followed a timeless period when the world was a jarring, thundering eruption of tearing explosions and puffs of strong-fumed smoke. From a distance the puffs were pretty to watch, and looked harmless. To the platoon under fire they spelled the end of the world.

  Eddie lay beside Arthur. They had both selected the same piece of cover; a slight depression in the ground that was hardly noticeable to an untrained eye, but sufficient to afford cover from near misses.

  The heavier crash of British artillery sounded, seeking out the enemy mortars, and covering smoke was dropped in front of the pinned-down platoon. A radio message from Company Headquarters ordered the platoon to continue.

  ‘On your feet, men.’

  The survivors came to their feet. Now the village was blotted out by smoke, and the men began doubling forward, panting as they raced across the remaining fields. They reached the nearest house and searched it, finding it empty. There were a score of houses, and Sergeant Rawlings left Eddie and his bren group in the first house while he took the rest of the men to search the others.

  The village proved to be deserted, and the sergeant dispersed his men among the houses where they could cover the approaches from the enemy side. Most of the houses were roofless. None had escaped damage.

  A radio message was sent back to the company, and the reply was for the platoon to stay where it was. A Greyhound scout car came haring through the village, rocking and bumping through the rubble-strewn street, and as it passed Eddie he saw the commander giving him the thumbs-up sign. The little car rocketed out of the village and headed into the direction of the enemy.

  ‘Tanks coming,’ reported Smith. ‘Ours. Shermans.’

  ‘It’s nice to have ‘em in a spot like this,’ said Newman, getting up from the floor, where he had been resting. They peered from gaping windows.

  ‘Come and look over here,’ shouted Lloyd, who had been watching on the enemy side. Smith left his bren and went across.

  ‘Panzers,’ he said. ‘Hundreds of ‘em.’

  British shells began dropping at that moment, among the thirty or so enemy tanks that were coming forward over the valley floor. Eddie spotted dozens of groups of the enemy infantry coming behind the tanks. He switched his gaze to the Shermans. They were already firing, filling the air with smoke. The Tigers and Panthers replied, and even as Eddie watched, two of the Shermans brewed up. He estimated that the strength of the Shermans was twenty, and despite their inferiority to the German armoured vehicles the British tanks rolled forward.

  ‘Look at that devil go,’ cried Smith. He pointed at the little scout car which was speeding back to the British lines. ‘He didn’t have far to go to look for trouble.’

  ‘And now he’s found it he’s going to leave it for us,’ said Newman. He took some bren magazines from his small pack. ‘You’d better check the bren, Smudger. See all those Jerries behind the panzers?’

  ‘I see ‘em,’ the big bren gunner replied. ‘I told you this would be a suicide job.’

  ‘Well, we’re not alone,’ said Eddie, pointing through a window. ‘Here’s the rest of the company coming out in carriers.’

  They crowded forward to look, and were heartened by the sight. A tank battle was developing outside the village, and the Shermans were getting the worst of it. Big guns roared and blasted, and the ruined houses of the village shook, and unsafe walls teetered and rocked.

  Enemy troops were making for the village. Already the brens with Sergeant Rawlings were pecking at them. The carriers bringing the remainder of ‘13’ Company raced into the village, and their occupants leaped down and ran to cover and fire positions. Machine-guns began firing, and slowly the crackle of small-arms fire swelled to boost the noise of battle.

  Some of the Tigers pulled out of the battle with the Shermans and came trundling towards the village, followed by groups of enemy infantry. An anti-tank gun fired rapidly from the side of a tottering house, and a Tiger stopped and began smoking.

  The bren carriers were engaging the enemy infantry. Mortar bombs began falling on the village. A Sherman tank came rumbling into the village from the British end. intent upon ambushing the enemy armour. The little scout car came back like a fighting cock, its machine-gun rattling furiously. It bounced and jolted over the piled up debris in the street, with flame flickering from its guns.

  A Tiger blew up, depositing its turret many yards away, killing three enemy troops as they were running forward. The ground itself smouldered in places. The anti-tank gun stopped another Tiger. The first German infantry reached the outskirts of the village. A bren carrier darted out of a side street, running down a group of Germans, its steel tracks squashing the men like a boot coming down upon an ants’ nest.

  Smith was firing rapidly from a bedroom window. The bipod of his bren was folded under and the weapon rested upon the window sill. Newman was placing filled magazines close at hand.

  German soldiers were running along the street. Eddie watched them draw into range. He pressed the stud on his sten to repetition and sniped at the nearest of them. One, two, three of the enemy dropped out there in the open, one still writhing in agony. The Sherman nosed out of a side street and fired at a panzer passing at forty yards. The Tiger replied immediately, and scored a hit. A wisp of smoke curled up from the Sherman, which fired again. Eddie saw the strike of its shell against the enemy armour. The Tiger rocked. Its gun roared and flashed. The Sherman erupted like an incendiary bomb. The enemy tank backed away. Eddie cursed helplessly, and gritted his teeth. Then a piat fired point blank from a doorway and the Tiger stopped, one track useless. Its gun was swinging to deal with this new menace when the piat fired again. The turret of the tank burst into flames.

  Dozens of German infantry were bypassing the village, risking the battle being fought by the tanks. Five She
rmans were blazing. Two more friendly tanks were making off slowly from the scene. The anti-tank gun in the village had stopped four Tigers, and was still firing accurately and rapidly despite the attentions and near misses of another enemy armoured vehicle.

  British artillery was putting a heavy concentration across the enemy side of the village. It sent some of the enemy infantry to cover. Eddie wondered what the situation was. He wondered if this German attack had surprised Headquarters. While he thought idly he concentrated upon the stretch of street commanded by his view from the window. Seven enemy figures lay in that stretch. But others were now giving it a wide berth.

  A formation of rocket-firing Typhoons suddenly roared down into the smoke of the little battlefield. The battered, badly mauled Shermans were backing out of the uneven fight. Joy filled Eddie as he watched the Panzers receive a rocketing. The Tigers had no answer to air attack.

  The small-arms fire appeared to be slackening. The German infantry no longer attempted to come along the street. Smith had ceased firing on his side. Arthur Rawlings called for Eddie, who reloaded his sten and went down the stairs.

  ‘Get your section, Eddie. We’re going forward. I’ve just heard that the Yanks have broken through on their sector, and they are pushing two armoured divisions into Germany. H.Q. says they are meeting with no enemy opposition. Have you had any casualties?’

  ‘No. We didn’t see much action from here.’ Eddie turned to shout up the stairs. ‘Come on, Three Section, we’re winning the war. Let’s get on to German soil.’

  ‘You sound happy,’ Arthur observed as they walked out to the street.

  ‘I am a little,’ Eddie confessed. He looked up at the window from which he had fired upon the enemy, then looked along the street. He walked to the group of fallen enemy figures sprawled a few yards away. ‘I killed all these,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m happy because I killed them and could see them die. Every one I kill deadens a little piece of grief and hatred in my heart.’ He looked down at the nearest corpse. ‘I’m glad I have killed them, but I don’t feel anything really. There’s no lasting satisfaction. Wally’s gone, and that is that. I can’t really bring myself to hate, Arthur.