War of the Damned (Relic Hunters)

by Martin Ferguson

  You asked how I felt going back into combat. There was never a question of whether I would go back. I couldn’t just stand by while others march off to war, not after what I saw in France. I would not be able to stand the shame of it. We all have a role to play in stopping this evil tyranny. On the way here I met a Private Clifton from F Company. He was terrified of going back after Dunkirk. I spoke with him for over an hour, but my words weren’t needed. He was going to fight alongside us, despite the fear that gripped him. We have to, for our future and everyone else’s.

  Maggie, darling, please don’t worry about me. I lead decent lads who will look out for me, just like I’ll look out for them. Jerry couldn’t finish me off before, and they won’t do it this time either. Besides, it’s because of Jerry that I met you in that hospital, so we should be thanking them!

  If the worst happens then everything I have is yours. Please do right by my mother; she’s been a good to me in difficult circumstances. They had us write our legal wills this morning, so everything is taken care of.

  Anyway, I must finish on a more cheerful topic. I know that our wedding day was far from perfect. The imminent invasion and General Eisenhower’s sudden inspection put a bit of a rush on things, but I hope you know that to me, our wedding was perfect. The three days we spent together afterwards were the best of my life. I consider myself the luckiest man in the world to be able to call you my wife.

  Know you are ever in my thoughts, and I long for the day I return to you.

  I miss you and love you with all my heart,

  Andy

  28

  CORPORAL ANDREW COOPER—HMS Dragon. 5TH June 1944

  I grip hard to the side of the ship as the waves rock it. My stomach lurches but I manage to keep its contents down, unlike many of the lads around me. Our time at sea has been tortuous, but I know it is nothing compared to what waits for us when the invasion begins. It is hard to believe the time has finally come. This has to be the biggest fleet the world has ever seen, all destined for the same stretch of coastline.

  ‘Can’t the navy make this boat any steadier?’ Woods moans.

  ‘Don’t you be giving the navy a hard time,’ Wilson says. ‘It’s thanks to them the British Army survived Dunkirk – me, Jenkinson, and the corporal included.’

  ‘So did the RAF,’ McClair says.

  ‘You what?’ Lathbury replies.

  ‘Our flyboys saved the country, too,’ McClair says. ‘They saved us in the summer of 1940, and stopped Hitler’s plans to invade.’

  ‘You’re just saying that because your brother was one of the pilots,’ Smithy teases.

  ‘Damn proud I am, too,’ McClair grins.

  ‘You’re right, lads,’ I say loud enough to get the attention of all the section. ‘The Navy saved us at Dunkirk and the RAF at the Battle of Britain. Our armies have been fighting in Africa and Italy. Now it’s our turn again, and the First Suffolk are going back into battle.’

  The lads give a low cheer at that and then again as mugs of tea are handed round to us.

  ‘So where we heading then, Corporal?’ Myhill asks.

  ‘The Caribbean,’ Smithy jokes. ‘Sun, sand, cocktails, and beautiful women! That’s the life for me!’

  ‘You wish,’ I reply back.

  ‘I do, actually.’ He grins before his smile disappears and he hurries to the side of the ship to vomit. We’ve been on-board for days now, waiting out storms before the fleet moved out. Smithy has thrown up almost every hour.

  ‘I bloody hate this ship. Where are we going?’ Woods asks.

  ‘France,’ I state. ‘Our target is Normandy, and in particular the Queen White area of Sword Beach.’

  I unfold a map and show them our positions and the locations of our targets.

  ‘We are the first wave,’ I explain. ‘The first men of the British army to return to France.’

  ‘The tip of the sword!’ Thompson says proudly.

  The men give a little cheer, nervous excitement getting the better of them.

  ‘Upon landing, we will take the beach and then head inland towards two targets; Hillman and Morris. Both targets are in the vicinity of the Colleville Sur Orne village. Hillman is a fortress, a bunker complex and command post with a network of trenches and pillboxes, but it’s Morris that is our target. Morris is a four gun battery housed in concrete encasements. B and F companies will capture or destroy that battery whilst A and D companies will advance on the Hillman fortress. C and E companies will take the village. Any questions so far?’

  ‘Expected enemy strength?’ Lathbury asks. I was dreading that question.

  ‘Unknown,’ I reply. I can tell by the looks on their faces they don’t like my answer.

  ‘Can’t the RAF take out the gun battery?’ Thompson asks.

  ‘They’ve tried but the concrete encasements are too dense,’ I tell them.

  ‘So it’s our job to do what they can’t.’ Woods sighs.

  ‘If in doubt, send in the infantry,’ Wilson jeers.

  ‘Get used to it,’ I advise, knowing Wilson is right.

  ‘Tank support?’ Myhill asks.

  ‘As soon as they can get off the beach,’ I explain. ‘Orders are we don’t wait for support. Timing is essential. The beaches will only be secure when we have taken that gun battery and the fortress. We are currently travelling with the biggest fleet ever assembled in history. We shall also have the greatest naval bombardment ever seen to clear the way before we assault the beaches. The navy and the air force will drop untold payloads on targets all across the coast.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to be Jerry,’ McClair says, looking out to the fleet around us.

  I can’t agree more. Around us are thousands of cruisers, destroyers, troop transports, and mine-sweepers. Come midnight, hundreds of transport planes and gliders will fly over our heads and drop paratroopers throughout Normandy to begin the invasion. Everything rests on the coming day, ‘the day of days’ as Eisenhower called it.

  ‘Remember your training,’ I tell my section. ‘Stay together and stick close to Lance Corporal Lathbury and me. We fight together, and we survive together.’

  I look to each of them in turn and they look straight back at me, each of them fighting their own personal battle with their fear and dread.

  ‘I can’t think of a more woeful, despicable, and badly disciplined unit in the whole of the British Army,’ I joke, trying to ease the tension, ‘but I guess I’m stuck with you.’

  They all laugh at that, blaming each other and wagging fingers at who is to blame until Lathbury silences them.

  ‘How long until it begins?’ he asks.

  ‘We attack at dawn. There won’t be any going back now. We must not fail.’

  29

  DAVE—Far from home

  ‘Wakey wakey, husband,’ Jenny’s voice calls to me. For a moment, I think I am home, in bed with Jenny beside me. Then I come to my senses. My head is pounding and everything around me is trembling.

  ‘Wakey wakey,’ Jenny’s voice calls to me again. When I fully wake, I realise her voice is coming through a headset. As my eyes open, I am shocked to see I am on board a helicopter; a German EC 155 by the looks of it. I try to move but my hands and legs are chained to the floor of the aircraft.

  ‘Where are we?’ I ask.

  ‘Still in Germany,’ replies Jenny, sitting opposite me. Next to her is Jack Bishop, who is rummaging through a medical kit, and Leon Bransby who is fast asleep. Other than us, there is just the pilot.

  ‘Why drag me along, Jenny?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s Follia now,’ she replies with that same old mischievous grin I remember all too well. ‘That’s what they call me. It means ‘madness’.’

  ‘Jenny,’ I repeat, unwilling to use her other name, ‘why?’

  ‘I wasn’t about to leave you behind to get caught.’ She laughs. ‘You should be thanking me. How’s the head?’ she asks.

  ‘Hurts,’ I mutter.

  ‘Good,’ Bishop says proudly. �
��I’d have done worse if your woman had let me.’

  ‘Call me his woman again and I will remove your manhood,’ Jenny tells the brute, with an open switchblade in her hands. She reaches into the medical kit and throws me an ice pack.

  ‘This is a police model, isn’t it?’ I ask of the helicopter, as I place the icepack to the large and painful bump on my head.

  ‘How else do you think we were able to get in and out of the museum,’ Jenny says proudly. There are police uniforms, helmets, and equipment piled into a crate; perfect disguises.

  ‘We escorted you out as a captured thief,’ Jenny explains. ‘Pretty accurate, wouldn’t you say, what with your work at the British Museum?’

  ‘Why all this? And, why did you leave me – leave us? I haven’t heard from you in over three years.’

  ‘Because it’s fun,’ she says, twirling the switchblade in her fingers.

  ‘Jennifer, tell me the truth,’ I demand.

  ‘Uh oh, now I’m in trouble,’ she says with her inane smile faltering but not disappearing. ‘You wouldn’t understand. The days with you are days I no longer care to remember, nor do I need to. I go where I want and I do what I want, just like the old days when we first met.’

  ‘Now you’re a no good mercenary for hire,’ I reply with disdain. ‘Why did you leave our daughter? She was only a baby. She needed a mother.’

  Jenny rolls her eyes. We both know that Jenny was never really made for motherhood. ‘Is she well?’ she asks, finally showing some authentic emotion at last.

  ‘She misses her mother,’ I reply. ‘She asks about you every day, where you are and when you’ll be coming home.’

  ‘And your answer?’

  ‘I can’t answer. How can I?’

  Jenny doesn’t reply, but downs a handful of pills from a bottle.

  ‘Still taking your painkillers?’ I ask with scorn.

  ‘Everybody has their escape.’ She chuckles.

  ‘I see that,’ I reply, seeing Bishop next to her injecting something.

  ‘Steroids and adrenaline,’ he replies. ‘Helps me keep my edge and dull the pain in my eyes. Your friends are to blame for that.’

  ‘Those injections will kill you one day,’ Jenny says before reaching over and kissing him hard.

  ‘One day, but not today,’ Bishop replies as they part.

  ‘Well, I hope the pilot isn’t a druggie like the rest of you,’ I say, earning Bishop’s fist across my jaw.

  ‘I could have helped you,’ I say to Jenny once I recover from the blow.

  ‘It’s too late for me, lover,’ she replies. ‘Besides, my employers are helping me plenty already.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘You’ll see soon enough.’ Bishop chuckles.

  ‘First, we need to reunite you with your friends,’ Jenny says with a manic smile on her lips. ‘I’m afraid it won’t be a happy reunion – far from it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask, pulling at my restraints. ‘What are you going to do? Don’t you dare…’

  I feel a small pricking sensation in my neck and turn just in time to see Leon pull free an empty needle.

  ‘Don’t forget I still owe you a bullet,’ Leon mutters, but his words are already distorted, as is my vision.

  ‘Goodnight, husband,’ Jenny says as my world turns to darkness.

  30

  CORPORAL ANDREW COOPER—Normandy, France. D-Day, 6TH June 1944

  The bombardment begins at 03:00. Only Wilson is sleeping; the rest of us unable to shake the fear and dread of what would happen this day. Wilson quickly wakes once the bombardment begins. No one could sleep through hundreds of ships unleashing thousands of shells at the Normandy coastline. Overhead, the air forces of Britain and the US fill the sky.

  The men eat a breakfast of bacon and eggs, all eyes fixed on the coastline ahead, knowing it could well be their last meal.

  At 07:00 it is our turn to join the assault. Officers, including Captain Grayburn and Lieutenant Long, give words of encouragement, and reverends and padres lead us in prayers and give blessings as we pass.

  The men are silent as our section climbs down the cargo nets to waiting landing craft. Lieutenant Long’s voice is shouting at any man delaying us. Once in the landing craft, we realise how choppy the waves are, and how high the winds. The men are thrown about the moment they set foot on board.

  Once every man of the thirty is accounted for, the coxswain gives the signal and we set off for the Normandy coast. The naval bombardment has ceased but two Spitfires with the black and white stripes on their wings soar nearby. There is no sign of enemy fighters, but I can already hear the explosions of artillery ahead of us on the beaches.

  ‘One minute!’ the coxswain calls out.

  ‘Good luck, lads, and may God keep watch over you all,’ Lieutenant Long shouts over the roar of the waves.

  ‘Good luck, Andy,’ Lathbury says to me, shaking my hand. His hand trembles with fear but his face shows no sign of it.

  ‘You too, Bob,’ I reply. ‘See you on the beach.’

  ‘Thirty seconds!’ shouts the coxswain.

  ‘Keep your heads down and keep moving!’ I tell my section. ‘Keep your weapons clear of the sand and water! Do not stop! You stop, you die!’

  We duck down as a blast erupts to the left of us, smoke and flames pouring out of a nearby landing craft. Men try to jump over the sides but most are already aflame.

  ‘Ready!’ the coxswain calls out as the landing craft lurches to a stop. ‘Ramp down!’

  ‘Go! Go! Go!’ Lieutenant Long, myself, and all the other corporals yell as the ramp thunders down into the water.

  The first man onto the ramp is cut down by machine gun fire, as is the next man. His blood splatters us all. The lad in front of me backs away in terror, but I push him forwards and on towards the ramp.

  ‘I don’t want to die!’ he cries.

  ‘You will if you stay here!’ I scream at him, pushing him on.

  ‘Keep going, lads!’ Lieutenant Long shouts. The lieutenant clears the ramp with a couple of men. A blast erupts. Sand and water fly in all directions, but as it clears, I see the lieutenant recover unharmed. I push on, trying not to dwell on the unmoving men.

  ‘Forward Second Platoon!’ he cries out.

  ‘Move! Move!’ I yell at everyone around me still on the landing craft. ‘Get on to that beach!’

  With Jenkinson and Myhill with me, I clear the ramp and drop down into the water. We wade forward through the surf, bullets splashing in the water around us. Men fall in all directions. Finally, we reach the flat beach. Ahead are tank traps and crosses of steel known as hedgehogs, every one of them surrounded by cowering men. They take cover behind whatever they can, hiding as bullets and shells hurtle towards anything moving on the beach. Prayers are being uttered and they mix with screams of terror and cries of the dying.

  The stench of explosives and burning metal fills the air. A light armoured transport carrier bursts into flame as it hits a mine. The crew are dead in an instant. More soldiers fall. Medics are cut down as they try to treat the wounded. A Sherman tank struggles past the obstacles. It is hit three times by artillery until the turret is torn off. Mortars erupt ahead and behind us and shrapnel cuts men down in all directions. There is only one place to go, forward.

  ‘Keep going!’ I yell at the men around me. ‘We can’t stay here! Push forward! First Section on me!’

  The man ahead of me is hit but still breathing. I grab hold of his jacket and drag him over the sand.

  ‘C’mon, fella!’ I tell him. ‘Nearly there!’

  ‘Thanks…’ he calls out to me before two more bullets strike him. I can’t do anything for him as he breathes his last breath, and I have to abandon him.

  Jenkinson and Myhill are still with me, as are Smithy, McClair, and Woods. Smithy fires his rifle blindly towards the enemy but I stop him.

  ‘Don’t waste your ammo!’ I warn him. ‘Save it for when you can make it count!’

&nbs
p; Ahead, the sand rises into a gradual slope, which other platoons and companies are already climbing. Engineers work on clearing our way of barbed wire with explosives and wire-cutters. Pillboxes and trenches, occupied by the Germans, are already falling but plenty still have troops and they are opening fire on our infantry.

  ‘McClair, Woods, Smithy, lay down fire on that pillbox,’ I order, signalling towards the nearest concrete guard post.

  ‘Jenkinson, Myhill, you’re with me,’ I instruct them. The rest of the section is still making their way up the beach. ‘One grenade each.’

  McClair and Woods quickly move into position, taking cover behind a small ridge and setting up the Bren light machine gun. Within seconds, they, along with Smithy, begin firing on the pillbox, keeping those inside busy. The rest of us flank the pillbox to its right, crawling across the sand of the beach and getting as close as we can.

  ‘Now,’ I yell once the Bren’s thirty-round magazine is spent.

  I go first, running as fast as I can with Jenkinson and Myhill right behind me. Their grenades are already in hand and the pins pulled. I get as near as I dare before throwing my grenade towards a firing hole of the pillbox concrete wall. I dive for cover as Jenkinson and Myhill throw theirs. There’s a strange sense of satisfaction when we hear them detonate but we don’t have any time to stop. As we scramble towards the rear of the concrete defence, Lathbury, Wilson, and Thompson join us. The German pillbox defenders try to flee and see us too late. Before they can raise their weapons, we fire, cutting them down by instinct. Once they’re down, we all stop firing, except for Thompson, who pulls the trigger of his rifle again and again as he screams in anger.

  ‘That’s enough!’ I tell him, knocking his rifle away. Tears are running down his cheeks and his hands are trembling hard.

  ‘Sorry, Corporal,’ he says, looking away in shame.