‘Jock! Is that you?’ Lathbury arrived from the other end, his section in tow. Behind them followed a smaller party led by a Para leaning on a stick. Meanwhile a third group was approaching along the riverbank. ‘Jock, thank goodness. I’ve got Johnny here, he’s hurt.’
‘No, he’s not.’ Frost limped up. ‘Hello, Jock. It’s nothing. Twisted my blasted knee landing, that’s all. Hello, Theo. Well done grabbing the bridge. I say, is that Bill Yeldham coming there?’
Paras were converging from all directions, homing on the bridge like pigeons to a loft. As they assembled, an extraordinary battlefield conference got under way featuring Gerald Lathbury, head of 1st Parachute Brigade, all three of his battalion commanders, Pearson, Frost and Yeldham, and a gaggle of bemused onlookers.
‘Well, hello, chaps,’ Lathbury began. ‘Good of you all to drop in!’
Chuckles of mirth. ‘Wouldn’t want to miss your birthday, sir,’ Yeldham said.
‘Is it? Good heavens, so it is!’
‘Happy birthday sir, many happy returns, congratulations, top of the morning.’
‘How kind, I’d buy you all a drink but forgot my wallet.’
‘Typical Scotsman.’
‘Soon as we get home, that’s a promise. Right, Johnny, what have you got?’
‘About a hundred or so men,’ Frost replied. ‘Some mortar, and Vickers, a few PIATs. Lonsdale’s setting up firing positions; we should be able to cover the southern end as planned.’
‘Good. Who’s Lonsdale?’
‘New A Company commander.’
‘Right. Bill?’
‘Similar sir, more chaps yet to arrive. Heavy stuff’s still missing but we’ll do our damnedest to hold off anything coming from town.’
‘And that’s where they’ll come from. Jock?’
‘About half the battalion accounted for. Light weapons a-plenty, plus a few heavies. Not enough, but we’ll hold this bridge, don’t you worry.’
‘I won’t.’ Lathbury checked his watch. ‘Daylight’s in two hours. Jerry won’t attack in force before then.’
‘Any word from 8th Army?’ Yeldham said.
‘Nothing. But we’re told leading elements should get here by noon, so hopefully we won’t have to hold out longer than that. In the meantime I’ll set up HQ at the southern end behind those pillboxes. Keep me informed as best you can. Use runners for liaison until the radios turn up. Any questions?’
‘What about the charges?’
‘No sign of the RE boys, I take it.’
‘No, but if we can get underneath we might at least cut—’
A hum, a whistle, then a monstrous explosion right in the centre of the bridge. Debris flew, the whole structure shuddered, clouds of smoke and dust rose and spread out like fog.
‘Looks like we’ve been spotted.’
Lathbury coughed dust. ‘Was that the charges?’
‘No, sir.’ Hodge stepped forward. ‘It was an 88. Half a mile south over there.’
Frost straightened. ‘I’ll take care of him! Permission to rejoin Battalion, sir.’
‘Yes, yes, off you go, all of you. And good luck!’
At that the four came to attention, saluted, and hurried off, conference closed.
‘Right.’ Lathbury rubbed his hands. ‘The rest of you come with me.’
‘Sir,’ Hunter queried. ‘The charges?’
‘Oh, yes, almost forgot...’
*
A bomb-disposal company, 25BD, was aboard the Dakotas carrying the Royal Engineers, but nobody knew if they’d even made it to Sicily, let alone the drop zone. Prudence dictated the task wait until they arrive, or at least until daylight, but Lathbury feared the enemy might blow the bridge any time. Thus it was a somewhat reluctant D Section that followed Theo on to the bridge, there to gather in brooding silence around the hole punched in the roadway by the 88 shell. Through it they could see the boxes of explosives, secured beneath by steel cables. Cutting them off was not an option, not without cable-cutters or wire saws. The only other choice was to disable the charges somehow, in the dark, and under increasing threat of enemy fire. A brief discussion ensued, while tracer arced overhead and occasional bullets pinged off girders. In the end it was decided that by equipping a man with torch and penknife, and dangling him through the hole, like fishing through ice, he might sever enough electrical wires to neutralize the charges. Rope was duly found, the smallest man selected, and carefully lowered from view. Half an hour later they hauled him back up.
‘Any luck?’
‘God knows. Like spaghetti down there. I cut what I could.’
Theo retired to Brigade HQ, which was located behind a captured pillbox on the south side of the river, and settled down to wait for the dawn. After a while he fell asleep.
He was woken by the characteristic rattle of MG42 machine guns. Though subliminally aware of shooting through the night, this new and unwelcome sound shook him swiftly awake. Brigadier Lathbury confirmed it.
‘Armoured Fallschirmjäger,’ he murmured, pointing. ‘Battalion strength, arrived before dawn.
‘Paratroops? But what are they doing here?’
‘Good question. Nobody mentioned them at the briefings. But here they are, and well dug in on their side of the river, heavily armed with mortar and MG42s. 2nd Battalion are taking a pasting.’
Theo squinted, and could just make out myriad smoke puffs indicating their positions. Fallschirmjäger: theirs must have been the unusually patterned parachutes he’d seen last night. Skilled, aggressive and highly trained, just like their own paratroops, there had been rumours of them in Tunisia, but to his knowledge this was the first head-on confrontation. And as the morning wore on, it was a confrontation the British were losing. With only about a third of their planned force present, no artillery and few heavy weapons to support them, and with enemy reinforcements pouring in by the hour, the situation was soon becoming desperate. 2nd Battalion was forced back to avoid destruction, while at the bridge Pearson’s 1st Battalion had to abandon the northern end just to hold on to the south. Furious gunfire from the Catania direction indicated 3rd Battalion was also under pressure. On the credit side a few anti-tank weapons arrived, together with some mortar and machine guns; the Royal Engineers made it to the scene, and also 16th Field Ambulance. Setting up shop south of the bridge, their services were quickly in demand. Vere Hodge managed to locate a container of field radios and was busily trying to get them working; meanwhile Theo, his D Section disbanded, found himself running errands for Lathbury, relaying messages between unit commanders, and shepherding the hundreds of Italian soldiers milling about the scene like lost tourists.
‘What the hell are they doing!’ Lathbury scowled. ‘Apart from getting in the way.’
‘Trying to surrender, sir, it seems. And asking when they’re going to be fed.’
‘I’ll give them something to bloody chew on!’ They ducked as a mortar shell burst. ‘Christ, that one was close. Listen, we’ve got to get them out the way, so send them back to the road and tell them to wait there. 8th Army can deal with them when they get here. If they get here.’
But by late afternoon there was still no sign of 8th Army, and the Paras were losing the bridge. Following another ferocious assault by Fallschirmjäger backed by MG42 and artillery fire, Lathbury could see Pearson was overwhelmed.
‘He won’t like it, but tell him to pull back,’ he instructed Theo. ‘They can have the blasted bridge for now, but I won’t lose the whole brigade.’
Holding his helmet to his head, Theo leaped from behind the pillbox and ran down the slope. Pearson’s HQ was in a ditch by the bridge. As he ran, bullets smacked into the earth around him, a shell tore overhead, then he heard a crash behind and turned to see Lathbury’s pillbox enveloped in smoke. Figures were emerging from it through the dust. He hesitated and then ran back.
‘It’s all right!’ Lathbury staggered out, his face white with dust, his battledress torn and bloody. ‘It’s all right, keep going.’
‘Sir, let me fetch help.’
‘No! Just get Pearson back. Get him back off the bloody bridge, for God’s sake.’
By nightfall the scene was largely quiet but for sporadic shots and the bursting of star shells. Drifting smoke from countless fires further obscured movement, allowing both sides to reposition. What remained of 1st Parachute Brigade withdrew to the high ground held by 2nd Battalion; while this was happening Theo was sent to recce the bridge. Crouching among the reeds he could see it was markedly more battle-scarred, with girders dented and smoke-blackened, and the cratered roadway littered with rubble, but it was still intact and looked serviceable. To one side, 16th Field Ambulance stood defiant, now overrun by the enemy but still treating casualties. Then, as he was watching the Fallschirmjäger units repositioning about its northern approach, he suddenly glimpsed shadows moving beneath.
‘Sappers repairing the charges, one assumes,’ Lathbury said.
‘Rather looks like it, sir.’
‘And we can’t allow that. Monty needs that bridge. If he ever gets here.’
‘The Fallschirmjäger seem to have pulled back for the night too.’
‘To rest and regroup, lucky bastards.’ Lathbury passed a hand over his face. Thirty-seven, tall and gaunt, he had suffered bad lacerations to his legs from the pillbox explosion. The medics treating him insisted he needed surgery, but he refused to relinquish command even for an hour. In any case his battalion commanders were in little better state to take over. Frost’s injured knee was now so swollen he couldn’t walk on it. Pearson, unknown to himself, was fighting malaria as well as German paratroops, and Yeldham was nowhere to be found, cut off somewhere near Catania with the remnants of 3rd Battalion.
At dawn the barrage started in earnest. Trapped atop the high ground south of the river, there was little the battered brigade could do but dig in, hold on, and wait for the inevitable ground attack to begin. But it never did, the German paratroops evidently wary of advancing on their British counterparts, knowing the Roten Teufel never gave ground without a bloody fight. So the barrage just went on and on, with artillery shells assailing them like Vulcan hammers, giant thunderbolts that blasted the earth to dust, vaporized rock and punched huge smoking craters in the ground as though with a giant fist. And fires were started, upwind in the tinder-dry grass, sending walls of fire and thick choking smoke upon the crouching men, forcing them ever rearward. Finally the dive-bombers came, screaming Stukas, falling like hawks from on high to unleash their bombs and machine guns. And watching it all, looming in and out of the drifting smoke as though circling the scene, the giant steaming cone of Mount Etna looked on like a malevolent god.
‘We can’t take much more of this, Johnny!’ Lathbury shouted. Frost nodded wearily. It was the afternoon, they were slumped in the command post, little more than a dug-out in the hillside. Outside the brigade was burrowed like rats into what little cover it could find, while the mind-numbing pounding continued all round. Pinned down, exposed, with no relief in sight and nowhere to go, complete destruction of the brigade now loomed. Or surrender.
‘It’s the shelling,’ Frost replied. ‘If we don’t move it’ll destroy us completely.’
‘What do you propose?’
‘There’s a lot of smoke. We could fall back under cover of it to the road, try and hold on there for Monty.’
Give up their position, in other words. Surrender the bridge entirely. Admit defeat. Lathbury nodded. ‘It may come to that.’
Theo appeared, scrambling breathlessly into the dug-out. Hodge followed, brandishing a radio.
‘Sir, Vere has news.’
‘8th Army.’ Lathbury sat up. ‘Hodge, tell me you’ve got them!’
‘Er, well, no, sir. I’ve got the Newfoundland.’
‘The what?’
‘The Newfoundland. She’s three miles offshore.’
Another shell crashed in; earth and stones fell; acrid smoke filled the dug-out.
‘Hodge,’ Lathbury spluttered, ‘are you talking about a bloody ship?’
‘Yes, sir. A big one too, a cruiser. She’s got 6-inch guns. Nine of them, absolute whoppers!’
‘And?’
‘Would you like me to ask her to shell the enemy?’
Lathbury and Frost exchanged glances. ‘Yes, we bloody would!’
The effect was immediate and spectacular. Theo led Hodge to his observation post overlooking the bridge. From there, Hodge, map in hand, read coordinates over the radio and within minutes terrifying tearing shrieks split the air, followed by thunderous explosions erupting among the enemy positions. Vast gouts of rock and earth flew skywards, equipment too, vehicles, artillery, men, tossed through the air like toys. An entire 88 crew plus gun and carriage blasted to fragments before their eyes. Quickly the enemy barrage faltered; five minutes more and they could see men and guns falling hurriedly back. Hodge kept talking on the radio, reporting the movements, fine-tuning the range; Theo watched, awed by the speed of the turnaround, and the power of the naval shells. ‘Keep going,’ he encouraged Hodge, ‘keep going, it’s working!’
He steadied his glasses, watching in amazement. Then a different sound caught his ear, between the shriek and thunder of explosion. Heavy motors. Coming up the coast road. ‘Stay here, Vere.’
‘Are you going?’
‘8th Army’s coming.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, and I must tell the brigadier.’
‘Shall I keep going with Newfoundland?’
‘Yes, you’re doing fine work.’ He scrambled up. ‘Probably saved the brigade.’
*
Later that afternoon, safely back in their former positions above the approach road, fed, watered and with their many injured being tended, 1st Para was able to watch while their relief force assaulted the bridge. An entire armoured brigade had arrived, spearheading 8th Army’s advance, and from it a battalion of Durham Light Infantry was chosen to do the honours, backed by tanks, mobile artillery, engineers, and 25BD to disarm the charges. As they prepared, Theo was sent to invite their brigadier to join Lathbury, Frost and Pearson at the observation point.
‘Ah, good afternoon, Brigadier, good of you to drop in.’
‘Delighted. Sorry we were held up rather.’
‘Not to worry.’
Pleasantries were exchanged, cigarettes swapped, a little gentle leg-pulling indulged. Then binoculars were collectively raised as the attack got under way.
Everyone went ominously quiet. Theo watched through his German glasses with growing disbelief as the Durhams, like in a Great War advance of old, plodded doggedly towards the river, slowly, fully upright and in broad view of everyone including the enemy. Yes, there were tanks with them, two battered Shermans, and some light artillery pieces were calmly setting up behind, but the men themselves were hopelessly exposed, and making no effort to conceal themselves, or even hurry a little.
‘What are they doing?’ Frost murmured at his side.
No answer came. Until the Durhams were within fifty yards of the bridge, when suddenly the Fallschirmjäger opened up, furiously hosing machine-gun bullets into them from a dozen positions at once. Men fell as though cut down by scythe, others scattered in panic, confused shouts and deathly screams were heard, and the Shermans’ guns barked, but with no target to aim at their shots struck nothing, and the Germans replied with anti-tank weapons of their own. Theo saw a Sherman explode into flames, while the second desperately turned to retreat; elsewhere a detachment of sappers scampered towards the bridge to disarm the charges, but not a single man made it. An officer charged forward gesturing heroically, only to be cut down by a hail of bullets. Moments more and the attack was foundering, with men turning back in terror and shock, some still falling as they fled the onslaught, others dragging stricken comrades with them.
Then it was over. Silence fell down on the river as the Germans paused to reload, and also on the vantage point as the spectators looked at the scene. Below, smoke drifted over a vista
of blood and desecration; bodies lay everywhere, some still moving, many not. One body, bloody legs gone, was hauling itself stubbornly forward, leaving a darkly stained track behind. No one dared approach it to help. Then it too slumped, while a guttural cheer of derision rose from the northern bank.
The Durham’s brigadier cleared his throat. ‘Well, that didn’t go too badly…’
The Paras could only gape.
‘… for a first go, that is, you know. A probing feint.’
Pearson was beside himself. ‘What!’
‘Yes. We’ll have another stab at it in an hour or so.’
‘But not like that, for God’s sake!’
‘Jock,’ Lathbury murmured. ‘Steady on.’ Then he stepped forward. ‘What Colonel Pearson is saying, Brigadier, is that perhaps there’s another way.’
‘Really? How so?’
*
Quietly. At night. By stealing across the river and seizing the bridge by coup de main. Pearson laid out the plan, and even volunteered to lead it, using a mixed force of Durhams, sappers and Paras. ‘We’ve already found crossing points above and below the bridge.’ He gestured at the map. ‘Two forces cross and seize the northern end; a third takes the southern. Silent order. Surprise is everything.’
‘What about Jerry?’ the brigadier asked.
‘Jerry pulls back after dark: our observers already spotted that. In any case we learned in Tunisia he hates fighting at night. He’ll wait till morning when he can call in artillery support. By then we’ll have reinforced our position and it’ll be too late.’
‘Fine.’ Lathbury tapped the map. ‘Who do you want with you?’
‘I’ll lead A Force; we’ll cross downstream, here. Hunter can lead B Force to take and hold the southern end. And I want him to lead C Force across upstream.’
Heads turned. ‘Trickey?’ Lathbury looked surprised. ‘He’s only an acting lieutenant, you know.’
‘That’s as may be.’ Pearson winked at Theo. ‘But he knows the crossing point – he’s already crossed it. Plus he’s already taken the bridge once!’
Hodge’s hand shot up. ‘Permission to accompany him, sir!’
Freefall Page 18
