War of the Damned (Relic Hunters)

by Martin Ferguson

  Thompson and Wilson keep watch as I lead the others into the pillbox. The beach is chaos. Landing craft, tanks, and carrier transports burn, and bodies lay strewn across the sand. The waves are crimson with blood.

  Artillery and mortar fire continue to rain down, striking more men.

  ‘Welcome back to France,’ Smithy says to me. ‘Is it like you remember?’

  ‘Worse,’ replies Jenkinson.

  ‘C’mon,’ I say. ‘Those shells are coming from our gun battery at Morris.’

  We quickly dismantle the still smoking German machine guns before we hear the shrieking whistle from our captain, summoning us outside.

  ‘F Company!’ Captain Grayburn yells, revolver in hand. ‘Exit here! F Company on me!’

  I make a quick head count of my lads as we hurry over, pleased to see they are all accounted for. Astonishingly, none of them have been harmed. As we regroup with the other sections and platoons, a lot of the men are pale and shaken. I wonder if I look the same.

  ‘You did good, lad,’ I say to Myhill, who is breathing heavily and fighting back tears.

  He doesn’t meet my gaze but mutters a thank you.

  For many it is the first time they have faced death and seen friends cut down. Some cry and some say prayers whilst others simply don’t know where to look or what to think. One lad utterly breaks down, desperately trying to wipe away the blood on his jacket before his corporal quietens him.

  ‘Right, lads, so far so good,’ Captain Grayburn says, trying to stay positive for the sake of his men. ‘This is only half the job. Now we move on Morris and its gun battery. B Company will assault from the north and we will support from the east. We move in five minutes. Check your weapons and ammunition. Anybody short of either, take what you need from the beach. Platoon leaders, I need a head count.’

  A few of the company risk returning to the beach, Lieutenant Long with them, looking for weapons or anybody unaccounted for. F Company had numbered two hundred men before leaving England but looking at the men around me, I guess we are short of around thirty. Those thirty men may never leave this beach. I cannot bring myself to look back again. Overhead, a flight of American B-17 Flying Fortress bombers thunders on towards targets inland before a salvo of cannon fire echoes from a little over a mile away.

  ‘That’s likely the guns at Morris,’ Captain Grayburn announces. ‘F Company form on me. I want First Platoon to the left, Third Platoon on the right and Second Platoon straight up the centre. Move out.’

  We march quickly, keeping watch for any patrols or counter attacks to retake the beach. Apart from a dozen men retreating from a shelled-out pillbox, we see nothing until the gun battery is in sight. We take positions to the east near a burnt out barn, and once we are ready, a runner is sent to Major McCaffrey of B Company. A message is returned and spread along the line. We are just waiting on the engineers to blow clear the barriers of barbed wire with explosives.

  ‘Stay ready, lads,’ Lieutenant Long commands. ‘As soon as the wire blows, the Bren crews will lay down fire and the assault teams will advance.’

  I check my rifle again. I reloaded it after taking the pillbox on the beach, but I don’t want to take any chances. The rest of my section does the same, either copying me or just by force of habit drilled in by our training.

  ‘Corporal?’ Myhill calls to me as he looks down the scope of his modified rifle. ‘You seeing this?’

  White flags rise from the four gun battery before we have even fired a shot. I cannot quite believe it but the German gunners slowly rise up with hands high in the air.

  ‘Stay focussed,’ I tell my lads, not taking any risks. This might be a trick or a diversion.

  To our surprise, it isn’t. When the outer and inner lines of barbed wire are cleared, we advance into the gun emplacements. The concrete defences have been torn apart by the earlier bombardments and there are scores of dead Germans in every direction.

  ‘The navy and air force sure pounded this place,’ Wilson says in astonishment.

  ‘Look at the state of Jerry,’ Thompson says, peering at our prisoners.

  ‘Sorry looking bunch, aren’t they!’ Lathbury adds.

  The prisoners look like hell. Filthy, dazed, and utterly shocked with many wounded and even more dead.

  ‘They look like regular guys,’ Smithy utters quietly.

  ‘Did you expect demons?’ I joke, trying to reassure the lad. ‘Devils with horns, spitting flames?’

  He’s right though; this is my first time seeing German soldiers up close, and apart from the uniforms, they look no different to us.

  ‘Bloody Nazis deserve all they get,’ spits Wilson.

  ‘How many prisoners?’ Captain Grayburn asks, my lads falling silent with the officer near.

  ‘At last count there were sixty-seven, Sir,’ I reply. ‘A platoon of B Company are keeping them under guard.’

  ‘Good, because the rest of F and B Company are needed elsewhere,’ he says.

  ‘More business already, Sir?’ Lieutenant Long asks.

  ‘We’ve received a runner from A Company,’ the captain explains. ‘They’ve met heavy resistance at the Hillman fortress from an entire German Grenadier Regiment. Captain Ryley’s been killed.’

  ‘Who’s leading A Company now?’ Lieutenant Long asks.

  ‘Unknown, but Lieutenant Tooley’s been badly wounded, too and they’ve taken heavy casualties under intense machine gun fire.’

  ‘Get ready to move lads,’ I instruct my section.

  ‘F Company!’ Captain Grayburn shouts out. ‘Form up and prepare to move!’

  ‘Thought we were done for the day,’ Wilson moans.

  ‘You should know better than that,’ I say, loud enough for the rest of my lads to hear. ‘A soldier’s day is never done, especially for the First Suffolk.’

  We form and march south with the rest of the company and most of B Company. We bypass minefields, avoiding areas marked with boards displaying skull and crossbones with the warning Achtung Minen. Despite the winding route, it doesn’t take us long before we see the fighting at Hillman in the distance. Smoke rises from the bunkers as three Sherman tanks of the Royal Hussars fire on the imposing defences. Their shells leave little impact, bouncing clear off the thick concrete. Machine guns fire out from the bunkers and we see a company of our Suffolk men fall back with many wounded amongst them.

  ‘Hey, Cooper!’ Corporal Marcus Phillips of A Company yells to me as my section fall in and wait for orders to the rear of the tanks.

  ‘You made it then,’ Phillips greets as his head is bandaged by Doc Baird. I’ve worked a few times with Philips in the past years of manoeuvres and training in Britain. He’s strict with his men but enjoys a drink of whiskey – far too much for his own good. Blood trickles from the wound on his head and his face is deathly pale.

  ‘Just about. What happened to you?’

  ‘A ricochet,’ he replies. ‘Jerry are bed in and not moving without a fight. Captain Ryley’s dead.’

  ‘Yeah, we heard,’ I reply. ‘What we facing?’

  ‘Well, you can see the bunkers from here,’ he says as Doc Baird continues his work. ‘Before you even get close to them, there’s barbed wire and mines everywhere. That’s why the tanks aren’t getting any closer. We’ve lost two of the DD Shermans already to those bloody mines.’

  I turn to see the burning hulks of the thirty-ton amphibious Sherman tanks. The DD Shermans are outfitted to survive the waters of the landing, but they can do nothing against the mines protecting the fortress.

  ‘Minesweepers?’ I ask.

  ‘Still clearing the beach,’ he replies. ‘Captain Ryley led a platoon of us to the north trying to flank the German positions. We succeeded and got into the trenches that connect the bunkers...’

  ‘And?’ I ask when Philips stops speaking.

  ‘It was a nightmare,’ he stammers. ‘We lost a few guys, including the captain, with double that wounded. Even when we tried to retreat they kept firing.’


  ‘Rest up,’ I tell him. ‘You’ll need your strength if we’re going to have another crack at it.’

  He smiles weakly, before Doc Baird moans at him for not keeping still.

  ‘Second Platoon!’ Lieutenant Long summons us. We hurry to him, keeping our heads down as sporadic machine gun fire bursts from the bunkers.

  ‘Right, there’s no easy way to say this,’ the lieutenant begins, ‘but we’re going in to take the bunkers on the eastern flank of the fortress. Take those and then we can advance into the rest of Hillman. We will follow the tanks as far as they can go into the minefields and they will deploy a barrage of smoke rounds to give us cover. We aim for the trenches connecting the bunkers. From there we have access to the bunkers themselves.’

  One of the men from third section asks, ‘Enemy strength?’

  ‘At least a hundred, maybe two from A Company’s reckoning,’ he says. ‘They’re dug in and not going to move easily. The rest of the forces coming in off the beach cannot advance further inland without this place under our control.’

  ‘And there’s no way the air force can help out?’ another man asks.

  ‘They’ve tried for weeks, hence why we’re here,’ the lieutenant explains. ‘They had about as much luck as the tanks have.’

  ‘Guess they don’t call it a fortress for nothing,’ Jenkinson mutters.

  ‘Navy and air force failed so they send in the infantry,’ Woods moans.

  ‘That’s because they know we’ll get the job done,’ Lathbury says.

  ‘Advancing order?’ I ask.

  ‘Bren gunners lay down a base of fire whilst the assault teams make for the trenches,’ he says. ‘It’s just like we planned for the battery at Morris.’

  ‘Except no white flags,’ Smithy of my section jokes.

  ‘Not likely,’ I reply for the lieutenant.

  ‘Fire and manoeuvre, men,’ Lieutenant Long says. ‘We’re going to hit them hard and hit them fast. I don’t want the invasion held up because of us. Move out.’

  With the rest of F Company and B Company we circle round to the west of the fortress and take cover in nearby orchards, waiting for the Sherman tanks to get into position and open fire with the smoke rounds. Packs are abandoned with the deep down knowledge we are likely to die. We carry only weapons, ammo, and grenades. There are a great series of explosions in front of us as the engineers blow the barbed wire. Now we just wait for the order to be given.

  ‘They know we’re coming, don’t they?’ Smithy says, fears wracking the lad.

  ‘They’re the ones who should be afraid,’ I say, loud enough so all my section can hear. ‘We’re the First Suffolk, after all.’

  ‘Best in the army,’ Lathbury adds, just as the Sherman tanks open fire, creating a smokescreen directly in front of the bunkers to cover our advance.

  ‘Here comes the bleeding whistle,’ Wilson moans, and a second later, Captain Grayburn’s whistle sounds.

  ‘Forward!’ commands the captain. His order is repeated by lieutenants and corporals throughout the company, including me.

  The Bren light machine guns of B and F Company open fire on the eastern defences of the fortress in an impressive display of firepower. As one, the rest of the men of both companies rise up and advance behind the Sherman tanks. Despite the smoke cover, machine guns open fire from the bunkers, tearing towards us and ricocheting off the hulls of the tanks. Shells from the mortars and the Shermans begin to rain down on the German defences and the Germans fire back in response.

  The tank to our right goes up in flames and the men behind it reel from the heat. Mines explode around us as our tank closes in on the trenches, but when it suddenly stops we break cover and charge forwards.

  ‘Go! Go!’ I yell. ‘Don’t stop!’

  Bullets hiss past us but the men are still with me as we enter the smoke screen. We reach the barbed wire amongst the smoke, finding the nearest gap large enough.

  ‘C’mon, c’mon!’ Lathbury yells at the lads in front of him.

  ‘Keep going,’ I repeat to myself. ‘Keep going. Keep going.’

  The smoke clears and I see the trenches ahead. As we close in on the final yards, I see a helmet rise. I take quick aim and pull the trigger twice, missing but forcing the German to duck down.

  ‘More of them!’ Lathbury shouts, and I see a dozen men filling the trench and setting up machine guns.

  ‘Don’t stop!’ I yell, sprinting the last yards between the barricades and leaping over the sandbags.

  Everything becomes a blur. Standing on top of the trench, I see five German soldiers. Without thinking or aiming, I pull the trigger of my rifle. The nearest German raises his gun towards me, but before he can pull the trigger his head jerks back, hit by the bullet of a marksman from some distance. Thanks, Myhill. Jenkinson and Thompson are with me, but already the Jerry defenders are being reinforced. I drop down into the trench as my rifle clicks empty, throwing a grenade to cover us as I reload.

  ‘Push forward!’ I yell, Lathbury, Smithy, and Wilson joining us as we advance down the trench. ‘Don’t give them a chance to regroup!’

  The Germans aren’t giving up their position without a fight; their stick-grenades spin through the air towards us. We take what cover we can, Smithy and Thompson throwing two of the German grenades back the way they came, but another lands out of reach.

  ‘Take cover!’ Lathbury yells, but it’s too late as Jenkinson is caught in the blast.

  ‘Medic!’ Smithy yells, but I know none are nearby. I drag Jenkinson into cover and see he is still alive. His eyes are wide open and full of terror.

  ‘You’re all right,’ I say as I quickly inspect his wounds through his torn uniform. He has cuts to his face and a couple of deep wounds to his chest and side, but nothing too serious.

  ‘You’re going to be fine,’ I reassure him. ‘Keep your head down and keep pressure on your chest and side. We’ll get a medic to you when we can. Smithy, get over here and bandage him up with your aid kit.’

  ‘Thanks, Corporal,’ Jenkinson says shakily.

  I reload my rifle and peer at the bunker ahead. Dozens of defenders are trying to set up a machine gun at the entrance to the bunker, readying it to aim straight down the trench at us. I won’t let us be caught in the same nightmare that overwhelmed A Company and claimed Captain Ryley’s life.

  ‘Lathbury, Wilson, you’re with me,’ I instruct, readying a grenade of my own. ‘Thompson, Smithy, throw grenades when I give the order. Count to two before throwing them and then follow the rest of us.’

  ‘And me, Corporal?’ the wounded Jenkinson asks.

  ‘You stay put. Ready?’ I ask the others.

  ‘We’re with you, boss,’ Smithy says. The rest of the lads nod in agreement.

  ‘On the count of three. One, two…’ I throw my grenade before shouting three and running down the trench.

  My grenade explodes and two more grenades fly over our heads and explode directly ahead of us. The Germans not caught in the blasts dive for cover. I sprint through before the dust settles, firing my rifle repeatedly as the defenders begin to reorganise. One of them charges me, barging me into the concrete wall and hitting me hard across the jaw, knocking the helmet from my head. His eyes are wide with madness. He screams at me in German as he tries to wrestle the rifle out of my hands. I twist free, ramming the bayonet into his stomach.

  As my attacker falls to the ground, I see that my lads have dealt with the rest of the bunker’s defenders.

  ‘You were hit,’ I say to Wilson, seeing his arm is punctured by a bullet, the uniform turning red around the hole.

  ‘Just a graze,’ he mutters, still looking down on the dead German at his feet.

  ‘Get it cleaned and bandaged up,’ I tell him.

  I finally get a chance to look around the bunker and note the ammunition, equipment, and general stores.

  ‘They were prepared for a long siege,’ I say.

  ‘Didn’t expect the First Suffolk though, did th
ey?’ Thompson says, still catching his breath. ‘They even had a telephone in here.’

  ‘To communicate with the rest of the fortress and the other bunkers,’ I reply.

  ‘Myhill’s coming,’ Smithy says, looking out the view point of the bunker. ‘Woods and McClair are with him.’

  ‘First platoon have taken the next bunker to the west,’ Lathbury says. ‘Lieutenant Long is leading them this way.’

  ‘Good,’ I reply, reloading my rifle. ‘We’ll need them. Check your ammunition lads. Day’s not over yet.’

  ‘We going again?’ Wilson asks.

  ‘For the rest of the fortress,’ I reply. All around us, the battle is still raging. Hillman has not yet fallen, but it will.

  31

  ADAM—Aboard the 2am train to Hamburg, Germany

  Emma, Matt, and I are the only passengers thanks to the stupidly early time of morning. The cargo train has two carriages for passengers, but the three of us are the only occupants. I’d been trying to sleep but rest refused to come easily. I’m too worried about what’s happening to Dave, and what we will find at the Riese.

  Around 3 a.m., my mobile goes off. I guess it is my mother or Duncan calling, but I can’t imagine why either of them would call in the middle of the night.

  ‘Hello,’ I say quietly. Emma is asleep further down the carriage and Matt has ventured further up the train to check on our equipment in the cargo hold.

  ‘Adam?’ A familiar voice I did not expect. It’s Mrs Bowen, Duncan’s mother.

  ‘Yes, hi, Mrs Bowen.’

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you this late.’

  ‘Or early,’ I reply, still a little shocked that my friend’s mother is calling me. ‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t sleeping anyway.’

  ‘I was hoping my wayward son might be with you,’ she replies. ‘He’s not come home and I am really starting to worry.’

  ‘I’m sorry but he’s not with me,’ I say, looking around the quiet train in the middle of Germany.

  ‘You’re not covering for him?’ she asks.

  ‘Not this time,’ I reply. ‘If I hear from him, I’ll tell him to call you.’