The Devil's Pact (2013)

by James Holland

  ‘Again, sir?’ said Peploe. ‘Don’t you think they deserve a rest?’

  ‘No favouritism here, Peploe,’ said Creer. ‘You’re always telling me A Company is our best, so it’s only right they should lead the attack. We want this position taken swiftly. B Company will be in support.’

  ‘Can I suggest we use a third company to offer fire support, sir?’ said Peploe. ‘We position riflemen and some MGs on the ridge.’

  Creer nodded. ‘Yes, all right. D Company. C Company can be in reserve. And you can lead the attack, Major. Need someone with experience up front.’

  Peploe glanced at Tanner. ‘Of course, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Good,’ said Creer. He clapped his hands together.

  ‘Hold on a moment, sir,’ said Tanner.

  Creer looked at him with a flash of irritation. What now?

  ‘What about sappers?’ said Tanner. ‘We’ll need the support of engineers to get through the wire and blow the pillboxes.’

  ‘I can put a call through to Brigade,’ suggested Peploe.

  ‘Yes, yes, you do that, Peploe,’ said Creer. ‘Anything else, Tanner?’

  ‘Are you happy for us to brief the plan of attack?’

  ‘A Company’s leading, isn’t it?’

  ‘Very well,’ said Tanner.

  ‘Inform the respective company commanders, please, Peploe, and Tanner, you work out a plan of attack with Peploe. Then I suggest you get some sleep.’

  They both saluted and left him.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jack,’ said Peploe, as soon as they were out of earshot. ‘It’s a bloody shower. I honestly don’t think he’s got the slightest idea what he’s doing. If he’s going to leave everything to us, I wish he’d do just that rather than dipping his oar in purely to prove he’s still in command.’

  ‘Trust me, John, he knows exactly what he’s doing. Trying to get rid of us, that’s what.’

  ‘No, he isn’t. He just knows A Company’s most likely to get the job done. You do the hard slog, Croaker gets the credit.’

  Tanner chuckled mirthlessly. ‘Croaker. Jesus. Whoever decided the battalion needed him wants his head examining.’

  ‘He’s vile, Jack. I honestly think I might have to ask for a transfer soon. Everything about him makes my blood boil. I’ve a mind to write to the brigadier, you know. Make an official complaint.’

  ‘What would you complain about? He’s done nothing that would get him the chop. It would look like sour grapes for not being given the battalion permanently. I can’t bear the man, but he’s canny, John. Always has been.’

  Peploe kicked at the ground. ‘You’re right, of course.’ He sighed. ‘Let’s get through tomorrow, and then see.’

  Tanner grunted. ‘If we get through tomorrow.’

  Nine p.m. At A Company Headquarters, Tanner and Peploe briefed for the attack. In a clear patch of ground just to the right of the road, near several gnarled olive trees, a ring of officers and platoon sergeants stood around the two men. A rough map had been scored into the ground.

  ‘This is to be a silent attack,’ said Peploe. ‘We’ll move off at oh three hundred hours, and be in position to launch the attack at oh four ten, at very first light. We’re expecting to have some sappers, who will blow holes in the wire, which, from the look of things, is no more than twenty yards in front of the pillboxes. We’ll have D Company and our own mortars dug in on the ridge. They’ll fire smoke bombs and mortars to start the attack. The infantry will then assault the pillboxes, using grenades, PIATs, MG and sub-machine-gun fire. D Company will also offer MG and rifle-fire support from the ridge. A Company will make the main assault, with B Company ready to follow through, but surprise is key, and we need to take those six pillboxes swiftly. Break the crust of the position, and the line should crumble.’ He turned to Tanner. ‘Captain?’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Tanner. ‘We’re expecting a tougher fight here, boys. The Eyeties we’ve been up against so far have been bloody useless coastal divisions, but this lot are the Napoli Division and supposedly better-quality troops. Nothing we can’t handle, but we can’t expect them to throw their hands in the air at the first rifle shot. Our objective is to make a breach in the enemy defences either side of the road to Sortino, then take the town,’ he said, ‘so it’s the three pillboxes either side of the road that we need to take out. Now, I know they might look like a tough nut, but remember this: the blokes holding them have nowhere to go. It’s a rigid defence and those blocks of concrete are also pretty restrictive in terms of what the men in them can see. It’s going to be barely light and all they’ve got are those narrow slits. We, on the other hand, will have adjusted to the light and will be able to see all around us. That’s a big advantage.’ He paused and looked at them all, then said, ‘These pillboxes have been built to be mutually supporting, so it’s important we smash ’em all at once. If so, in the smoke and confusion and firing, they won’t be able to help one another, and then they’ll be easy pickings.’ His voice, which normally held only a trace of his Wiltshire burr, was more accented now that he was speaking urgently. He crouched down, pointing to the pillboxes circled in the dirt with his sword bayonet. ‘I’ve called them Able, Baker, Charlie, Dog, Easy and Fox, from west to east. So for the initial assault, each platoon will be attacking two. The key two are Charlie and Dog, here,’ he said, pointing to the pillboxes next to the road, at either side of the hairpin, ‘but as I say, we need to hit them all together, at the same time. Everyone needs to aim at the loopholes – D Company’s Brens on the ridge, and those in the assault in A Company, all right? The more bullets you send through the loopholes, the less likely they’ll be able to fire back. And you lot in my company,’ he said, looking at McAllister, then Hepworth, ‘remember you can move and fire from whatever position you want, but those Eyeties can only do so from their slits in the pillboxes. Everyone clear so far?’

  Nods from the men around him.

  ‘So this is the plan,’ he continued. ‘Each platoon is to take two pillboxes, one section on each, with Platoon Headquarters and Three Section bypassing and taking care of any loose troops beyond. Those attacking the pillboxes will have sappers with them to lay charges. From the ridge here, mortars will be set up to the left of each pillbox. The attacking infantry need to keep wide on the right as they approach so we don’t get hit by our own mortars. Once you’re at the wire, and have blown a hole, the mortars will fire further beyond the pillboxes.’ He stood up now. ‘But listen, make sure you hit ’em strong, all right? No dithering, no hitting the deck and going to ground. We strike together and we strike hard, and this will be over in a flash.’ He eyed them again. ‘And one other thing. We go in with plenty of ammo and not much else. No spades, no packs. Stuff your haversacks with ammo and your belts with grenades. Fill your gas-mask bag with ammo and sling it across your shoulder so that it can rest on your back if you need to lie down, but so you can grab stuff from it easily when you need to. Field dressings in your pockets. I wouldn’t even take water bottles. Drink beforehand. All you want is your weapon and ammo, and for it to be easy to get to. And nothing that can chink together. Bayonet on your weapon, not flapping against your haversack.’ He allocated the platoons to the pillboxes they would be attacking. ‘Which section does what is up to you, as is the approach you take. You all know what you’ve got to do and how to do it.’

  Peploe stepped forward. ‘Make sure your weapons are clean, then try to get some rest,’ he said. ‘And good luck.’

  Monday, 12 July, around 3.45 a.m. Captain Niccolò Togliatti awoke with a start.

  ‘Sir! Sir!’ said Lieutenant Ranieri. ‘Wake up, sir!’

  ‘What is it?’ said Togliatti, sitting up immediately. He pulled off the cape that had been covering him and sat up on his camp bed. Inside the bunker it was dark, apart from the glow of the night sky through the loophole.

  ‘We think we’ve heard something, sir.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘From across the valley.’

 
‘All right,’ said Togliatti, getting up. He hurried out of the bunker into the cool night air. It was not yet light, but above the stars twinkled and the quarter-moon shone brightly. After a few moments, his eyes adjusted and he began to make out the dark shape of the valley, the pillboxes and the connecting trenches.

  He stepped out and moved towards the edge of the wire, Ranieri following him. The night seemed still.

  ‘It was from up there on the ridge,’ said Ranieri. ‘Just faint sounds.’

  ‘Sssh! Let me listen,’ Togliatti whispered.

  For a few moments there was silence, apart from the sounds of his own men. Someone was snoring gently nearby, another shuffling his kit in the slit trench.

  Togliatti cursed to himself. He could hear nothing above those noises.

  ‘It’s all quiet again now,’ whispered Ranieri, beside him.

  Togliatti moved further forward. All was still. Then he heard it: a small chink or scrape, followed by another. His heart began to thump. Was that a Tommy he’d heard? It was certainly a good time for an attack. Or was it just an enemy patrol? He paused, listened again, but heard nothing. Then another chink, faint, but unmistakable. He froze. That was no animal. That was the sound of men – soldiers.

  ‘What do you think, sir?’ asked Ranieri. ‘A patrol? Shall I send some men out?’

  Togliatti shook his head. His sixth sense told him there was more than a patrol out there. There was something about the stillness, and about the pattern of small noises, how spread out they seemed to be, that made him certain an attack was coming. Dear God. It was still dark, but soon they would be under fire. It was inevitable. It had been inevitable since the invasion two days before. Long days of waiting, knowing that soon the enemy would be upon them. He wondered whether he should fire a couple of flares up over the valley, but dismissed the idea: it would light up their own positions as well as any enemy. Bile filled his stomach and his mouth felt tight and dry. Togliatti swallowed hard.

  ‘Ranieri,’ he said, ‘wake the men. Get them up. Quick.’

  3.50 a.m. On the ridge above the valley, the men were ready. Mortars in place, D Company’s Bren gunners lying between scrub and rocks overlooking the enemy positions. Tanner had walked between his men, reminding them to attack hard, to keep moving, to keep firing. The sappers had not arrived – God only knew what had happened to them – but Sykes had enough dynamite: he always did. Inveigling his way into the quartermaster’s stores was one of Sykes’s many skills, as he liked to remind Tanner, and frankly, Tanner thought, thank God for that, or the attack would have been in trouble before it had even started.

  Sykes had given each of the assault sections a crash course in the use of American half-pound blocks of TNT. Detonators in the plastic, fuses crimped into the detonators, then lit, rush to the wire, place it, and everyone duck. Having recced the Italian defences, Sykes told them he reckoned each small block of explosive would clear a good twenty-yard gap in the wire.

  The men began to move forward, to their start positions on the valley floor before the mortars and Brens opened up. Thank God the old standard-issue hobnail boots had gone, the men now wearing the rubber-soled desert boots they had adopted in North Africa. But there was barely a breath of wind. That was not so good, as a breeze could hide noise. Even so, he was pleased about how quiet the men were. It was the benefit of having experience in the ranks. All attacks held risks, he knew that, but he preferred the silent infiltration, particularly when attacking up or down sloped ground where there was little chance of being silhouetted against the night sky. Of course, some of the enemy might hear them, but they would have no idea what numbers were out there or what levels of fire-power were about to be directed against them. The key was for his men to get as close as possible to the start position before the mortars opened up, or before the enemy opened fire. Before flares were shot into the air and lit the place up. Even then, though, there was enough cover in the valley – trees, shrubs, rocky walls – and long, dark shadows caused by any light from a flare. So far, though, the enemy had kept quiet.

  3.55 a.m. It was still dark, but the light from the stars and the moon was enough to see features and men and objects close by. Away to the east, the very first streaks of dawn lit the sky: a faint, lightening grey on the far horizon. Tanner smiled to himself. As far as the light was concerned, Peploe had judged it perfectly.

  He found Peploe beside him now. They had agreed to follow the assault platoons: two small sections, Fauvel leading one, Tanner the other, Peploe next to Phyllis with the radio set linked to Battalion HQ. Their task was to urge the men forward, with Sykes to go to the rescue of any assault section struggling to clear the wire. Tanner had attached his scope to his rifle and had his Beretta around his neck, his Enfield on his shoulder.

  ‘Ready?’ whispered Peploe.

  Tanner nodded.

  ‘I’ve just seen Ivo,’ said Peploe. ‘D Company are ready. If the enemy send up flares they’ll open fire early.’

  ‘Good,’ said Tanner. ‘Let’s get moving, then.’ He looked around at his men, who were standing waiting patiently for the order to move off. Sykes was beside him, and Brown, Trahair and Griffiths. He counted them all, then realized one was missing: Phyllis.

  ‘Where’s Phyllis?’ he hissed.

  ‘Here, sir,’ said Phyllis, suddenly appearing. He turned not to Tanner but to Peploe. ‘I’ve just had a message from Battalion HQ, sir,’ he said. ‘Artillery’s not ready. The colonel’s ordered us to wait.’

  ‘What?’ said Peploe, his voice incredulous.

  ‘Jesus!’ spat Tanner.

  ‘He says we’re to wait until he gives the order.’

  ‘How bloody long is that going to be?’ asked Peploe.

  Phyllis shrugged.

  ‘Well, get on the bloody radio, Siff, and ask,’ said Tanner.

  Phyllis squatted down with the radio set.

  Peploe stood over him, clutching his chin, but Tanner pulled him away. ‘This is madness,’ he said. ‘The men have already set off. If we wait they’ll be exposed in the open in half an hour.’ He looked at his watch. 0359. ‘D Company will be opening fire in eleven minutes. It’s too bloody late and we don’t need the artillery anyway.’

  ‘Ignore it, sir,’ said Sykes, beside him. ‘The lives of the lads come first.’

  Phyllis now rejoined them. ‘He just says stand by until further notice, sir.’

  Peploe took off his helmet, ran his hands through his hair, walked around in a circle, then said, ‘Sod it. We go in. I’ll tell him the order arrived too late. Phyllis, send a message back. Say, “Too late, men in position, D Coy about to fire. Arty not needed.”’

  Tanner gripped Peploe’s shoulder. ‘You’ve made the right decision, John.’

  ‘That man,’ hissed Peploe. ‘Maybe you were right. Maybe he is trying to get us killed.’ He put his helmet back on. ‘Now, let’s go.’

  4.08 a.m. They had silently followed a path away from the road that led below a low outcrop, then cut back down towards the valley, so as not to be silhouetted against the night sky as they dropped below the ridge. Now, just a couple of minutes later, they were near the valley floor. It was still dark – too dark to distinguish much – but from their position below the low cliff of the riverbed, Tanner could see the outline of two pillboxes against the ridge of the northern valley side. The assault sections were ahead, he hoped, in the shrub twenty yards in front; he still could not make out any men. He glanced around him. Sykes, then next to him Trahair and Phyllis.

  ‘Stick to me like glue, Siff,’ he told Phyllis. He wanted his radio man beside him at all times. Brown was there, too, and Griffiths, and further along, Peploe with Fauvel and five others from Company Headquarters. The rest had remained on the ridge, Left Out of Battle.

  Still no sign of life from the Italians. Perhaps, he thought, complete surprise would be achieved, after all. He lay there, rifle at his shoulder, thinking how still, how calm, how silent, it all seemed. The night air was heavy with t
he scent of wild flowers. He glanced at Sykes beside him and, in the pale light, saw his friend wink.

  Tanner looked down at his watch. Ten past four.

  Suddenly he heard a mortar whoosh into the sky, then the stutter of a machine-gun from one of the pillboxes and faint orange stabs of tracer arcing across the valley. A moment later several mortars exploded and in a split-second the dawn was alive to the din of battle.

  13

  Mortar shells crashed around the pillboxes, sending huge spumes of rock, grit and dust into the air, while the smoke bombs detonated and enveloped the Italian positions. Tanner was on his feet now, Sykes and Brown either side of him, following the assault sections as they emerged from their hiding positions and rushed towards the wire. Through the smoke, bullets and tracer hissed and fizzed. Tanner saw one man jerk and fall backwards, and two others drop to the ground.

  Running up behind them, he yanked them back to their feet.

  ‘Get up! Get up!’ he yelled. ‘Keep moving!’

  He hurried on, following McAllister, who led the assault section on pillbox Charlie, the first bunker on the hairpin. He saw McAllister run forward with the TNT, then scurry back. A few seconds later there was a further deafening explosion, then the men ran forward again, towards the smoke. Another man was hit – Who was that? Saundby? – but the wire had blown as planned. Half crouching, Tanner ran forward, ducking, weaving, scrambling through the gap in the wire. Through the swirling smoke, the pillbox suddenly reappeared, the muzzle flash of a machine-gun vivid through the haze. Bullets scythed above him, as McAllister and two others ran low towards the embrasure, ducking underneath. Tanner followed them, watched McAllister throw an anti-tank grenade through the port hole, then cover his ears. Shouts from within, then screams as the grenade exploded.

  Tanner’s ears rang shrilly, but he was conscious of Sykes beside him, and together they ran on, past the side of the pillbox to the rear. Startled Italians manned the slit trench that ran from the bunker. Tanner saw them instinctively try to bring their weapons to bear but both he and Sykes beside him opened fire, with Thompson and Beretta, and the men jerked backwards. Tanner ran along the top of the trench, which zigzagged up the valley side towards Baker and Able pillboxes. Baker lay above them, to their left, emerging through the rapidly thinning smoke. A machine-gun was still firing wildly and the assault section appeared to have ground to a halt, lying low in the scrub on the wrong side of the wire.