‘Hey, Colonel,’ said Lieutenant Blake, the tank platoon commander. ‘Geisler just picked up on the net that the Big Red One have taken Enna. D’you hear about that?’
‘Yeah,’ Wiseman replied. ‘You know, a while back, that town held out for thirty-one years against the Saracens and now our boys take it with barely a fight.’ He grinned.
‘Might not always be this easy, though,’ said Lieutenant Hartwell, the commander of the infantry.
‘Well,’ said Wiseman, ‘it’s certainly true that there’s a fair few spaghetti benders in those hills up ahead. The Assietta Division are supposedly dug in on Monte Cammarata and around. And they’ve got blocking positions along all our main lines of advance.’
‘You reckon they might just call it quits, though, sir?’ asked Blake. ‘I mean, what’s the point? They know they’re beat now, surely.’
‘Maybe,’ said Wiseman. ‘But that’s why we need to get our asses over to Villalba tomorrow. There’s a man there we need to see, just to make sure everything’s in order.’
‘Who?’ asked Blake.
Wiseman lit a cigarette, and smiled. ‘Someone who’s been helping us all along. A man of honour.’
2.10 a.m. Shells continued to hurtle over, blocks of iron and explosive, screaming as they flew across the sky. The Rangers were already at the edge of the open ground, lying along a grassy track at the edge of a wheat field. The wheat was ripe and tall, nearly five feet high, but at six foot, Tanner could see over the top and, from the lights of the explosions, to the curve of the railway embankment no more than three hundred yards ahead. Most of the shells, though, were falling behind, onto the lower lava slopes that rose off the plain. That was where the enemy’s guns were, but not where his forward positions were sited.
‘Bollocks,’ Tanner muttered beside Spiers. ‘Those forward positions are almost untouched. I bloody hate barrages. Just holds everything up, tells the enemy we’re coming and invariably hits the wrong target. We should be storming those positions now.’
‘Some are landing short, though.’
‘A few, but not many. Where are the bloody mortars? That’s what we want. I’d suggest moving out further into the corn, but I know the other company commanders would never agree to it.’
‘Especially after what happened to your lot the other day.’
‘That was different,’ muttered Tanner. He glanced at his watch. He wished he knew what defences the enemy had. A bit of wire up front, a few hastily sown mines. Schu-mines, most probably. He hadn’t mentioned that to the men because he knew that if he did they’d never reach that embankment. Speed was what counted, and to hell with any mines. They had to get through the field and get through it quickly. He had impressed it upon the company commanders and to the men. Repeatedly. ‘A moving target is a difficult target,’ he’d told them. Another worry was that if they went to ground in the cornfield, the Germans might decide to set it on fire, in which case either the men would be flushed out and mown down by MGs or they would burn.
‘We’ve got to run to that embankment, Tom,’ he said to Spiers. ‘Everyone knows that, don’t they?’
Spiers grinned. ‘They do.’
Tanner glanced to either side of them. Men crouched, waiting. He had a platoon from B Company on his right and one from C Company on his left. Along with Spiers, he had brought Chalkie White, his wireless operator, and Trahair, his batman, who had followed him from A Company. Also beside him were two sappers, Lieutenant Tummins and Private Selby. The engineers had been dispersed among the companies.
He hurried now along the front of the C Company men. ‘When the barrage lifts, run for it,’ he told them, above the din of the guns. ‘Make sure you keep up. And if you get disoriented, follow the North Star.’ He pointed up to the sky. ‘Head north and you can’t go wrong.’ He repeated this line again – and suddenly their mortars opened up, mortar shells landing with what appeared to be good accuracy around the embankment ahead.
0220. Ten more minutes. Ten more minutes of shells screaming, of mortars whining, of the ground shaking. ‘When the barrage lifts, run!’ he urged the men again, as he hurried down B Company’s line. ‘Keep heading north! Make sure you don’t lag behind. Follow the North Star!’
He saw Mallinson. ‘Men all ready?’ he asked.
‘I think so.’
‘They’ve got to keep up. If they stall, they’re in trouble. Got to keep ’em moving.’
Mallinson nodded. ‘I know. Good luck, Jack.’
Tanner hurried back towards Trahair and White, and found Spiers there too. He looked at his watch again. 0228. Any moment now. Another flurry of shells whooshed over, and then the mortars were dropping smoke bombs. The embankment up ahead disappeared in a fog of swirling smoke. Tanner felt his mouth go dry, quickly took a drink from his bottle and noticed his hands were shaking as he refastened the cap. Suddenly the barrage lifted and it was time to move.
He ran headlong into the corn, then veered off to push some C Company men forward.
‘Come on!’ he yelled. ‘Move! Move! Move!’ He saw Spiers doing the same and then through the smoke up ahead came the rapid brrrp of MG fire, harsh and grating like a saw, and arcs of tracer were spitting around them. Tanner ran, heard someone cry out and fall, heard bullets hissing and zipping above his head.
A glance around – Yes, there’s White and Trahair – and others making swathes through the corn. Mortar shells were still falling – then two flares fizzed into the air above them, began to drop and, with a crackle, burst, casting a glow of light over them. Men were loosing off rifles as enemy machine-gun fire criss-crossed the field in a series of bursts. Tracer sped towards them, and Tanner ducked, crouching. One, two, three. He rose again and sped forward. Was anyone still with him? Yes, good. Another burst of fire, Tanner crouched and ran, and heard more men falling. A hundred and fifty yards to go. Two, three, and up, and through the dispersing smoke, Tanner saw just three MGs, one at the apex of the bulge and two further round to the sides, each firing enfilades across each other. Take out one and there’ll be a gap and we’ll be through. Another glance around – Trahair and White still there, and Tummins and Selby – but shots were now coming from behind him on his right. ‘Come on,’ he muttered, ‘keep up.’ The noise was deafening, and Tanner’s ears were ringing sharply. His heart was hammering, as another arc of tracer pulsed towards them. He crouched again, heard bullets snap the tops off the corn, looked around, saw the men were still with him, then urged them on again.
Just fifty yards now, the embankment looming. He heard whooshes overhead above the racket of the machine-guns. Mortars. He kept half running, half crouching as a series of explosions fell behind him. Several men screamed. If you’d just keep up. Twenty yards or so to his right there was another explosion and a man yelled. Bollocks, a mine. The man was still howling as he pushed on through the corn. Another burst of MG fire, but it was behind him. Fixed lines – and I’m through. He was nearing the edge of the field and, now, through the corn, and in the fading light of the flares, he saw coils of wire – not much, but enough.
He looked behind and saw only Trahair and White with him. Where the bloody hell were the sappers? Damn it, damn it.
‘Stay here,’ he told Trahair and White, then ran back. Another blast and another scream. Now two men were shouting, yelling in fear and shock and pain. A whoosh, a fizz, a crackle and more flares burst, this time almost directly overhead. We need to get a move on. The mortars would soon be upon them. Hurrying through the corn, he found Tummins and Selby crouched among the stalks. To his left, more men had stopped. Jesus. Grabbing Selby, he said, ‘Get up, and cut that wire! Get up now unless you want to be cut to pieces by mortars!’ He grabbed Tummins, too, yanking him to his feet. ‘Move!’ He watched them scurry forward, then ran through the corn to where one of the men was still screaming. Another whoosh above him – mortars – and, moments later, they were landing, thirty yards behind. Something fizzed past him and he felt a sting on his shoulder. He stumbled,
then regained his footing. Nicked by shrapnel. The man was from C Company and had lost his foot. Several men were tending him, but around him the rest had gone to ground.
‘Get up!’ shouted Tanner. ‘Stay here and you’ll die. Move, and we’ll stop these bastards and kill them instead.’ He went over and grabbed a man by the shoulder, then another. ‘Come on, get up! Get up! Come on! Follow me!’ He looked around for a Bren gunner, saw a two-man team and, beckoning to them, said, ‘Here, come with me.’
Machine-gun fire burst out again, this time closer. They’ve changed their fixed lines of fire. Tanner hurried through the corn, the men behind him. From the light of the flares, he found Trahair and White, then saw that Tummins and Selby were lying on the ground, cutting the wire. Good.
‘Once you’ve cut that wire,’ he told Tummins, crouching beside him, ‘we’ll come through, then you make another breach.’ Tummins nodded. One of the MGs was just thirty yards away, the muzzle flash clearly visible on the top of the embankment. The machine-gun was firing short bursts on a line roughly south-west. He can’t have seen us. More mortar shells exploded behind. Where was everyone? Had they kept up?
Suddenly Spiers was beside him, as Tanner unslung his rifle. He could just see the top of the gunner’s head. Just, but enough. Above, the flare was floating downwards, the light fading again. Got to be quick. Tanner drew the rifle into his shoulder, peered through the sight, and fixed on the top of the machine-gunner’s head. The German moved. Changing barrel? But then he reappeared, letting rip with another burst. One, two, three, four. The firing stopped. Tanner breathed in, held his breath and squeezed the trigger. He felt the butt jerk into his shoulder but saw the man slump out of sight.
‘Now!’ he shouted, slung his rifle back on his shoulder and ran forward, towards the embankment, feeling in his haversack for two grenades. He pulled the pin of the first as he ran. Then, at the edge of the embankment, he hurled it, pulled the pin of the second, waited an instant and lobbed that over too. Spiers and the others were beside him, panting, gasping, fumbling with the pins of their grenades. Explosions on the far side, the screams of men. Grenades hurtling through the air, more explosions, and then they were up, Tanner urging the Bren gunner forward. Onto the railway, the gravel crunching underfoot, indistinct shapes of men, a burst from his Beretta, several enemy falling. The Bren opened up with a three-second burst of fire and now more men were beside him. Tanner paused, saw two dead German machine-gunners and picked up the Spandau lying beside them, with a tin of ammunition.
Someone was beside him – Trahair? He gave him the box of ammunition, slung the Spandau across his shoulders then ran on, down the far side of the embankment. Men were calling out, bullets fizzing through the air, but the Germans knew their positions were being overrun. Tanner saw a mortar team thirty yards back, fired one-handed with his Beretta, and ran forward, firing again. Away to the left, the second MG was still firing forward, but then turned and fired a burst towards them. The tracer arced across the inside bowl of the embankment, but the bullets were high. Tanner ran forward, dropped the Spandau, unslung his rifle again, squatted down, and aimed. It was hard to see – the flares had died out – but as the machine-gunner fired again, Tanner saw the muzzle flash, adjusted his aim, squeezed the trigger, and fired, once, twice, then a third time in quick succession. He ran forward again, hugging the embankment, conscious of men beside and behind him. The air was heavy with smoke and the stench of cordite. More men were clambering over the embankment now. Tanner yelled to them, and suddenly two more flares were whooshing into the sky, fired from the citrus groves on the low slopes above them. A hiss, a crackle, and green light burst over them, casting the ground in an eerie glow. Several mortar teams were hastily clambering up the slopes, scampering into the dense citrus groves, but from the sound of it, a combination of grenades and bullets was taking a toll.
Tanner followed, calling to his men. ‘Here!’ he shouted, above the din. ‘Here! To me!’
Shots were being fired from the slopes above. A man fell nearby. Then a burst of a sub-machine gun and rifle shots rang out. A number of Rangers answered, firing up to the slopes above.
‘Come on!’ shouted Tanner, scrambling onto the rising ground. He paused and looked back. Men, like dark ants, were scurrying across the open land behind the embankment. Dead and wounded lay strewn on the ground. Beyond, behind the embankment, mortar shells were still exploding. Away to the left and right, machine-guns were still chattering, barking their rapid fire, tracer pulsing across the night, and mortar shells bursting. Theirs, Tanner realized, was the only breakthrough.
There was cover now, here in these groves, and Tanner paused. Where the hell was everyone?
‘Rangers!’ he shouted. Then, more quietly, ‘Who’s here? Who’s with me?’
‘I am, sir,’ said Trahair.
‘Good man. Chalkie? Where are you?’
‘Here.’ A voice a few yards away.
Two more flares shot up into the air fired from the slopes above them.
Good. They might expose those down by the railway and in the cornfield, but the groves would provide all the cover they needed from the magnesium brightness when it burst.
‘Where the hell is everyone?’ growled Tanner, as the green flare burst. As the scene was lit again, Tanner saw Spiers a few yards away, then Lieutenant Goodridge, a platoon commander from C Company. There were, Tanner guessed, around forty or fifty men.
Mortars were falling once more, exploding fifty yards in front of them, while enemy machine-guns further along the railway embankment to either side continued to spit bullets towards the open ground of the cornfields.
‘What do we do now, sir?’ asked Goodridge.
‘We work along these slopes and take out those MGs from behind,’ said Tanner. ‘But we need more men. Where the hell are the rest?’
‘A number went to ground when Merryweather lost his foot, sir,’ said Goodridge.
‘We need to get moving, sir,’ said Spiers.
‘Too damn right.’ He turned to White. ‘All right, Chalkie. Send a signal to Battalion HQ. Tell them to get onto the other companies and have them head for the centre of the bulge in the railway embankment. The wire has been cut and we’re through. Tell them to send up A Company if necessary.’
‘Right, sir,’ said White, putting on his headset.
‘Have we got the C Company wireless operator here?’ asked Tanner. He looked around at the men, their faces green in the light of the flare, eyes shadowed by the rims of their steel helmets. ‘Goodridge? Do you know?’
‘He was with Major Ferguson, sir.’
‘Why don’t I go back down, sir,’ said Spiers, ‘and see if I can’t get some more men?’
‘All right,’ agreed Tanner.
‘I’ll take a few lads with me.’
‘Good idea.’
Spiers picked four, then hurried back down the slopes to the railway embankment.
‘Rangers!’ yelled Spiers, from the embankment. Mortars were still being fired onto the cornfield. ‘Rangers!’
Tanner watched him and his men scamper over the railway line and disappear. Then he glanced across to the east, where the Green Howards still appeared to be under heavy attack. It wasn’t far. Half a mile, perhaps a little more. ‘How are we doing for ammo?’ he asked.
‘Could do with some more,’ said Goodridge, ‘but I’ve still got a couple of grenades and a few magazines.’
Tanner saw that another of the men was squatting down, resting on a Bren. ‘Well done, Tom,’ he said. ‘How many spare mags have we got?’
Most had one or two.
‘And, Kernow,’ he said to Trahair, ‘have you still got that Jerry ammo tin?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. This is what we do. We’ll stay this height on the slopes here and see if we can’t cut in behind the enemy. Sounds like the Green Howards are still having a difficult time, so let’s see if we can’t help them. With a bit of luck, reinforcements will arrive and we
can win this battle. We’ll leave a section here with a Bren to hold this position, though. If we hear a counterattack developing, we’ll hurry back. And if the RSM returns with more men, send ’em round. All right?’ He turned to White. ‘Have you got anything for me, Chalkie?’
‘I’ve sent the message, sir, and it’s been received and understood.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Right then, iggery. Let’s get a bloody shift on.’
At the battalion CP, Creer stood behind the signals section. Two tables had been set up and two men with radio sets before them sat at each. Messages were coming in regularly, from Brigade and from the companies in action. On one side of the barn, and at one of the tables, one signaller received the message, while the other wrote it down in pencil on the message pad. At the other table, the second pair were sending back signals in return. Next to Creer stood Lieutenant Sowerby, the regimental signals officer, and his number two, Sergeant Davenport.
‘A message in from Major Tanner,’ called one of the signallers, holding up a piece of paper.
Sowerby was about to take it when Creer stepped forward and took it instead. ‘Let me see it,’ he said. He read the message, then cursed to himself.
‘What is it, sir?’ asked Sowerby.
Creer shot him a glance. ‘Tanner’s got across the railway with a small number of men and wants reinforcements.’
‘We can tell D Company and the rest of B Company to go through the gap, sir,’ said Sowerby.
‘But the attacks by the Green Howards and Yorks and Lancs have stalled. We don’t want our men getting isolated.’ Creer hovered by the wireless operators. ‘Find out where B Company is.’
From the battle up ahead, the night air was still alive to the sound of small arms and mortars. Creer bit his nails. Tanner isolated was exactly what he wanted. Isolated, cut off, and taken prisoner. Or, even better, killed. But how to do that with Fauvel and Sowerby hovering about? Play for time.
‘What about D Company?’ he asked, after a minute or two. ‘Any news?’
‘Major Macdonald’s wounded, sir. The situation is confused and the wireless operator isn’t sure where all the platoons are.’
The Devil's Pact (2013) Page 25
