‘I say, what’s—’
‘Down!’
A deafening crash. Mortars, exploding all round, flinging earth and stone high in the air, closely followed by a spattering noise as machine-gun bullets struck rock. In seconds the scene was transformed from order to chaos, with blinding flashes, thunderous explosions and choking smoke filling the air. Theo lay prone, one arm over the padre while the mortars crashed and bullets pecked the ground all round. A minute passed, two; the bombardment went on, the ground shuddering beneath him, the explosions deafening in his ears, the debris showering his body. He kept his arm over the padre, who recoiled with shock at each blast. Then a pause came and he risked a glance, saw smoke, and men moving, and casualties falling, one writhing from a bullet, another with bloody chest gaping, a third cut down as he ran. Faint shouts rose above the din; he glimpsed Charteris, on his feet and gesturing towards an outcrop. He hauled the padre up and forced him into a run; others too were running, bent low, hands on helmets, some dragging wounded, others pausing to shoot back.
A minute later HQ Company was in partial cover behind boulders. Several men had been wounded, and the medics were already at work scurrying between them. More casualties lay in the open, some unmoving. The company’s own mortars were shooting back, furiously lobbing shells at the unseen enemy, while everyone let fly with rifles and Stens. But rifles and Stens were useless at this range, Theo knew, even if they could see anything to shoot at. What they needed was heavy weapons, and a better position, or the Germans would bombard them to pieces like the Highland Division in France. The starter before the main course. We should move, he fretted, fumbling his binoculars, we should find better cover and move. Smoke obscured much of his view, but B Company was visible in meagre cover away to his left, while A Company was spreading itself along a ditch halfway down. Of C Company he could see nothing. Far to the right, perhaps a mile away, the ground rose to a craggy hill. He trained his glasses down again and saw shelling was coming from the railway station now as well as the airfield. Then he saw something else, movement, and with a shock he glimpsed familiar dark shapes creeping from the town.
‘Tanks! Lieutenant Charteris! Tanks inbound!’
Charteris appeared. ‘My God, you’re right. And Colonel Frost can’t see them, he’s too low.’
‘We should warn him.’
Another shell crashed in and they both ducked. ‘Signals! Anything on the net?’
‘Still trying, sir!’
‘For God’s sake!’
‘Sir.’ Theo struggled for calm. ‘C Company’s down there.’
‘I know that! But with no radio what can we do?’
‘Send a runner. Warn Colonel Frost. He can recall them. Before it’s too late.’
‘But we’re under bombardment!’
‘Then I’ll be fast.’
‘No, wait...’
But Theo was already unbuckling his webbing. Another salvo exploded, and another, the barrage intensifying as the Germans found range. Charteris squinted through the glasses. ‘Christ, there’s infantry too, scores of them. It’s a whole armoured column.’
Theo unslung his rifle and helmet. ‘Sir, I must go. Now.’
‘No!’ Charteris stared through the glasses. ‘All right, yes! Tell Frost this: enemy armour advancing in force towards station from town, infantry in heavy support.’
‘Right.’
‘And for God’s sake be quick!’
He ran, arms flailing, legs pumping, sprinting headlong down the slope of loose shale and tussocked scrub. Mortars burst, bullets zipped, choking smoke stung his eyes and lungs; soon he was gasping, breathless and disoriented. He kept going until he felt the ground levelling beneath his feet. Through the smoke he glimpsed running men, motionless bodies, a section manning a Vickers, then the rest of A Company, hastily digging in along their ditch.
‘Tanks!’ he yelled without stopping. ‘Got to find the colonel!’
‘Down and left!’ someone replied.
He jinked left, ran on, stumbled and recovered; a clump of trees appeared, then a track leading to a fence, then a water tower and suddenly he was at the airfield. The fence led him left again; he came to a wrecked car, a pile of empty fuel drums, a hut, and more crouching Paras.
‘Blimey, who are you?’
‘Trickey, HQ Company. You?’
‘Recce party, B Company.’
‘Where’s C Company?’
‘Fuck knows. Halfway to Tunis probably.’
‘Where’s Colonel Frost?’
‘Trying to stop them.’
He pushed on, legs numb now, lungs gasping for air, skirting the airfield in the direction of the station. The smoke cleared. Soon he came to rail tracks and began following them, using bushes to one side for cover. He slowed, moving more cautiously; gunfire was sporadic behind him now, though mortars thumped on. Ahead he could make out new sounds: the crack of grenades, the stutter of alien machine guns, and something else, distantly familiar – the grinding squeal of tank tracks.
‘Get down, you bloody idiot!’ A hissed shout from the bushes. ‘In here, quick!’
He ducked under bushes and found himself amid more squatting Paras. At their head was an officer he recognized: Major Teichman, battalion second-in-command.
‘Who the blazes are you?’
‘Trickey. Runner from HQ Company. Lieutenant Charteris sent me to warn—’
‘There’s a tank, yes we know.’
‘Not just one sir, several, with heavy infantry support.’
‘Christ. 10th Panzer. Looks like we found them.’
‘Or they us,’ someone muttered.
‘Back!’ Running feet from the railway. ‘Everybody back. NOW!’
Colonel Frost appeared, followed by his protection section, two of them supporting a man with a bloody leg.
‘Armour,’ Frost gasped, ‘coming our way. Everyone back to the ridge. Right now.’
‘What about C Company?’
‘They’re holding them off.’
Teichman gaped. ‘Alone?’
‘It’ll buy us time.’
‘But we can’t just leave them. Let me stay.’
‘No. Ross is handling it. They’re to rejoin us when they can.’
‘But—’
‘Philip, I’ve ordered them to rejoin us.’
*
An hour later three of 2nd Battalion’s four companies were back on the rise overlooking Oudna airfield. It offered poor cover but did afford a view, and as the day wore on, while they were digging in on the unyielding ground, hacking at it with bayonets and piling rocks around them, they were able to witness the steady encroachment of the enemy. Shelling continued, sometimes intense, sometimes sporadic, indiscriminately lethal, but then the sniping began and Paras began falling from bullets. One moment a man was busy digging, the next he was dead on the ground. Casualties rose steadily, the cries of the injured mingling with the barrage, while a distant crackle of grenades and small arms signalled C Company’s struggle for survival.
Even as his battalion was savaged around him, Frost strove to save it, never resting, always moving despite the risk, visiting the injured, repositioning his forces, checking dwindling food and ammunition supplies, roving from position to position offering advice and encouragement.
‘All set here, Corporal?’
‘Yes, sir. We’re using our jumping smocks for camouflage, see?’
‘Good thinking, you’re barely visible at all. Need anything?’
‘Sausage and chips wouldn’t go amiss.’
‘See what I can do. Meanwhile don’t go shooting that rifle unless you have to.’
Their situation was desperate and he knew it. Outnumbered, outgunned, weakly positioned, one determined assault by the enemy and they’d be wiped out. But the afternoon crawled by and no assault came, and at dusk the miracle happened and the barrage withered to silence. Once sure the lull was lasting, he sent out messages calling his company commanders together.
‘Wh
at’s going on?’ they asked, their voices hoarse in the sudden calm.
‘Knocking off for Schnapps and sandwiches?’
‘Maybe they’re giving up.’
‘You wish! They’re just getting started.’
‘What do you think, sir?’
‘My guess is they’re rearming,’ Frost told them. ‘And repositioning, moving infantry up, distributing food and ammo, redeploying, getting everything ready.’
‘For what?’
‘An all-out attack. Most likely at dawn. Which means we’ve got to be long gone before then.’
‘Gone where?’
The hill, Charteris explained to HQ Company later, pointing to the hill Theo spotted earlier in the day. Its name was Sidi Bou, he said, and Frost’s plan was to evacuate the whole battalion there under cover of darkness, take up defensive positions and hold out until relieved.
‘And how long’s that likely to be?’ the padre asked.
‘1st Army knows we’re here. And they said they were coming. So they will. Won’t they?’
‘Not if present performance is anything to go by.’
‘No, well, we don’t have much choice frankly.’
‘That hill looks bloody steep,’ someone else said.
‘Which is why the colonel chose it,’ Charteris insisted doggedly. ‘He says we don’t have the strength to attack the enemy head on, but we can easily hold out there. He says it’s unassailable.’
‘But what about the casualties?’ a medic asked. ‘They’ll never make it.’
Theo watched as Charteris struggled. Just twenty-one, with Bruneval his sole experience of war, he was learning leadership the hard way.
‘I know,’ Charteris sighed. ‘We’re taking the walking wounded with us, but the seriously injured, and the dead, we’re leaving behind, together with a contingent of orderlies. There’s no other choice.’
The hunting horn sounded a muffled withdrawal at midnight. Heavy rain added extra hazard to their departure, but also helped mask their movements, and three hours later, bedraggled, weary, and down in strength by over a third, 2nd Battalion was digging in on Sidi Bou’s steep slopes. The remainder of the night passed in rain-drenched misery. Even Frost was beaten, sinking into gloomy torpor, back to back with Teichman in a waterlogged furrow. This is not what Paras are for, he kept telling himself, not what we do. He’d told his superiors too, repeatedly, at HQ; we carry no protective clothing, he’d said, no tents or blankets or waterproof capes, just light weapons and minimal rations. That’s our modus operandi, he’d said, our whole raison d’être. We drop in, do the job, then we leave. ‘How marvellous,’ they said, and took no notice.
Theo spent the night wedged in a crevice on the hill’s flank. Draping his smock over his head, he could protect himself from the worst of the weather, but was still soaked to the bone. He was too cold for sleep, so allowed himself food: army biscuit supplemented with a mix of nuts, dates and honey he’d bought at the market. Shutting his mind to discomfort as his great-grandfather had taught him, he passed the rain-drenched hours of darkness practising his Arabic, trying not to reflect on the day’s setbacks, and dreaming dozily of the quilted warmth of his grandmother Ellie’s bed in Bolzano. A while before dawn, he awoke from reverie to hear Charteris calling his name.
‘Theo? Ah, there you are, been looking for you.’
‘Sir?’
‘C Company’s back. Lieutenant Spender brought them in twenty minutes ago.’
‘Thank heavens. What about Major Ross?’
‘With the medics, injured in the arm. They’ve suffered terrible losses, but they’re back now and that’s the thing. Colonel Frost has them guarding the rear of the hill, so now we’re all together again. Thought you’d be glad to know.’
‘I am. Thank you, sir.’
‘Call me Euan.’
‘Euan. Um, would you like some nut mix? It’s a bit sticky.’
They munched in silence. Then:
‘I mean, you were on Operation Colossus, weren’t you, Theo?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Biting, of course.’
‘And Ambassador.’
‘What was Ambassador?
‘A bit of a muddle actually. It didn’t go well.’
‘Oh. And you saw action in France, Dunkirk and so on, isn’t that right?’
‘I... Yes.’
‘My God, then I should be calling you sir.’
‘I’ve never felt, you know, like an officer.’
‘Me neither.’
‘Although I am an acting officer cadet. In theory.’
‘Really? How come?’
‘It’s rather a long story.’
‘Oh.’ Charteris turned his head to the sky. ‘Rain’s stopping.’
‘That’s good. It’ll start warming up soon too.’
‘Yes. Do you think 1st Army will come today?’
‘Hopefully.’
‘Yes. Only the thing is, I have a rather bad feeling.’
Theo stopped in mid-chew. ‘What?’
‘Even though Battalion’s back together, and we’re in a strong defensive position, and the weather’s getting better, and 1st Army is coming. I just do. Stupid, isn’t it?’
*
By mid-morning the clouds had cleared, the sun was bright and the temperature climbing. The enemy, having let slip its quarry during the night, was now actively reacquiring it, albeit at a cautious pace. Recce parties initially, they arrived at the base of Sidi Bou, sniffed about like dogs at a post, then left. Eventually one troop ventured on to a lower slope and began a tentative climb, whereupon it was sent scurrying by a fusillade of grenades, rocks and verbal abuse from the Paras. Knowing the Germans would now return in strength, Frost deployed the battalion to cover all approaches, with A and B Companies on the front and flanks, and HQ and the remains of C Company protecting the rear. This direction overlooked a wide plain to the south from where, it was hoped, advance elements of 1st Army would appear. With the enemy steadily assembling below, anxious eyes kept close watch on this sector, and sure enough, around eleven o’clock, triumphant shouts were raised when a dust cloud appeared in the distance. At the same time the battalion radio finally crackled to life and Frost was hastily summoned to receive a message. Maybe, the Paras dared believe, the nightmare was coming to an end.
But they were cruelly mistaken. As the dust cloud neared, it wasn’t 1st Army that materialized from it, but mechanized enemy reinforcements, including self-propelled guns, tanks and artillery. And Frost’s radio message – the only one he received in the entire mission – was to inform him that 1st Army’s advance had been called off. The nearest ‘friendlies’, it went on, were at a town called Medjez, which may or may not be in American hands. Rereading the message in disbelief, Frost picked up his map. Medjez was over thirty miles away. It might as well be three hundred.
‘What’s the word, Johnny?’ Teichman asked.
‘That we’re on our own,’ Frost replied stonily.
Half an hour later the barrage began.
Surviving it was a lottery. Well dug in, with rocks and boulders for protection, the odds were reasonable, except for a direct hit which no one could survive. But the intensity and ferocity of the bombardment was unlike anything previously encountered. Artillery, tanks, mortars and heavy machine guns poured shells on to the hill’s slopes. The noise was a thunderous hell, the smoke and din all-enveloping, such that normal thought or action was impossible. Solid trunks of dirt and rock erupted outwards like trees, their limbs hanging starkly until subsiding to dust. Where one sank, ten more sprouted, until the whole hill was like a forest in motion. Within it men cowered in their holes like trapped rats. Movement was suicide, shooting back pointless, all anyone could do was grit their teeth and pray. Helmet tightly strapped, fists gripping his rifle and binoculars, Theo hunched deeper into his crevice and watched the horror unfold. An entire Vickers section was blasted to fragments before his eyes, men flung through the air like dolls, others vanishing in
to red smoke. And the secondary effects of exploding rock: a man with his arm severed as if by axe, another with a stone shard protruding from his back, a third staggering, holding his face which had been sliced from his head. Wincing at a nearer blast he felt a tug at his sleeve, and saw a rent appear in his smock. At his feet lay the lump of red-hot shrapnel, while not ten yards away gaped a steaming hole where the mortar had exploded. It was the worst barrage he’d ever experienced. His orders, like everyone’s, were to lie low and wait, but waiting, and watching, and not flinching, and not throwing his weapon aside and fleeing, was diabolical torture. Too diabolical for some, he saw, as a man nearby leaped up and ran, only to be felled by a blast.
Then it ended, thunderous hell faltering to an eerie silence. For a minute nobody moved, too stunned to react, yet alone think or speak. Then as the smoke cleared, heads began appearing from foxholes, voices sounded in ringing ears, cigarettes were lit and cramped limbs stretched, while medics hurried to aid the injured. Soon machine guns and mortars were setting up, with shouts and whistles echoing round the hill as everyone made ready. The shelling was to soften them up, Colonel Frost had said. When it finished the main assault would begin, and that was when they would hit back. Theo trained his binoculars, searching for signs. His position was on the rear of the hill, immediately above C Company’s. Minutes ticked by, nothing happened, but then he saw movement, and a lone figure labouring up towards them. It was Major Ross, C Company’s CO, with his arm in a bloody sling.
‘Hello, Trickey,’ Ross panted. ‘Nice to see you’re still with us.’
‘You too, sir. But, um, you’re injured.’
‘It’s nothing.’ Ross glanced at his arm. ‘Listen, run and fetch Colonel Frost, would you? I’ve got a Jerry wants to parley.’
Frost was at his command post atop the hill. He and Major Teichman exchanged glances at the news, before following him down.
‘Interesting development, John,’ Frost said to Ross. ‘Who is it?’
‘Some artillery commander. A captain, name of Hecht. Says he’s from 10th Panzer. Strolled up to our position waving a white handkerchief.’
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