War of the Damned (Relic Hunters)

by Martin Ferguson

  ‘Bet he won’t be making that mistake again,’ I say.

  ‘Shame he wasn’t a Tiger hunter like our captain,’ Myhill boasts.

  ‘Damn right. Captain Grayburn did us proud, lads,’ Lathbury says.

  ‘What happened with Captain Brown then?’ McClair asks.

  ‘He comes back with a PIAT crew and blows the tank to kingdom come,’ Thompson says. ‘Captain Brown said it served Jerry right for scaring him half to death.’

  A messenger interrupts us with a shout of, ‘Letters from home,’ before handing them out.

  ‘About time,’ Lathbury says, tearing into his own envelope.

  Our attention is brought upwards as dozens of four-engine Lancaster bombers soar overhead.

  ‘Reckon they’re heading for Caen again?’ Myhill asks.

  ‘Maybe,’ I reply.

  Five days ago we, along with most of the battalion, filled the upper floors of the chateau and watched as over four hundred bombers dropped thousands of bombs on Caen. We cheered, knowing the bombs would help the poor sods of our army who were still trying to liberate the town. The Lancaster bombers filled the sky and their payload threw up a huge pall of dust and smoke that rose over the town and obscured everything from view. One of the padres said that the cloud swallowed up and protected the town from further harm. It was a sight I will never forget, along with many other horrors and miracles of this war.

  ‘No…’ I hear Lathbury utter, his voice distant and broken, unlike I have ever heard before from him.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask but he doesn’t answer. ‘Bob?’

  ‘My brother…’ he says, tears in his eyes. ‘My brother, Edward. He was with the Eighth Army in Italy. ‘He’s dead! Killed in combat!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Bob,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘He deserved better,’ Lathbury says. ‘He should’ve never been there.’

  ‘None of us should be here,’ I agree, ‘but here we are, all of us. Do you need some time?’

  ‘No,’ he quickly replies. ‘No, I’ll be fine. Besides, the only brothers I have left are right here, you ugly lot, and I’m not about to abandon you any time soon.’

  ‘Here, here,’ Jenkinson says.

  ‘Well said,’ adds Myhill, the rest echoing their agreement.

  ‘Corporal Cooper,’ I hear Captain Grayburn call out to me. ‘It’s time.’

  ‘You going to be all right?’ I ask Lathbury.

  He nods, folding up the letter and fastening it away in his uniform. He takes a deep breath and wipes tears from his eyes before turning back to me and the men.

  We lead the section out of the chateau and join the rest of the battalion in ranks across what remains of the gardens. We stand at attention, the battered survivors of the First Suffolk, all of us waiting, including the officers.

  Reverend Hugh Woodall steps before us all and we remain silent for him. He commands a lot of respect from the regiment. During the bitter fighting for the chateau, he personally saw to it that none of our dead were left behind. Despite the shelling and gunfire, he led the collection and burial of our lost. None of us would ever say, or hear, a bad word against the reverend.

  ‘We are gathered today to pay our respects to our lost,’ Revered Woodall states. ‘We honour those brave souls who gave their lives in the pursuit of ridding the world of tyranny. We honour them, and let us never forget the sacrifices they made. They will never be forgotten.’

  The reverend begins to read the names of the battalion’s dead, near two hundred lost just taking the chateau. Among the named are Lieutenant Darren Long, Private George Wilson, and Private Stanley Woods. I look over to Lathbury. He is looking down at his feet and he is crying. Once the last of the names are read, a trumpeter plays The Last Post followed by Reveille. The battalion remains silent throughout.

  ‘They will never be forgotten,’ I say to myself.

  3rd August 1944

  Dear Andy,

  I have not heard from you for so long that I am beside myself with worry. I listen to the radio every night and pray to God you are unharmed.

  Every day, we receive more wounded at the hospital. Smithy sends his regards, though he feels tremendous guilt that he was sent back to England and will be unable to return to you. His rehabilitation continues, but he has a long way to go. In truth, I’m not sure he will regain full mobility.

  Though there are fewer German bombers over London these days, the air raid sirens still sound. Doodlebugs, V1 rocket bombs, as the radio named them. The strangest thing is, we don’t fear them when we hear the engine, but when it stops, we know the rocket will fall. The hospital has nearly been hit a few times, but still it stands tall and unmarked.

  I await any news from you and will continue to listen to the radio every day and pray for you every night until you are once again with me, dear husband.

  Be careful over there, Andy, please. I want you home. I want a future for us, a family, and everything that comes with it. Without you none of that can happen so you had better be careful over there.

  I love you with all my heart and miss you every day,

  Maggie

  P.S. I have seen your mother a few times since you landed in France. She worries for you just as much as I do. Both of us cannot wait until the day you return to us.

  29th August 1944

  My Dearest Maggie,

  I am so sorry I’ve not been able to write to you sooner. I cannot begin to describe all that has happened these past few months. For ten weeks we fought continuously and I must admit I was struggling with sheer exhaustion, as were most of the lads. The losses of Wilson, Woods, Smithy, and even Lieutenant Long have all taken their toll.

  We’ve finally been pulled from the front lines. Hot showers and decent food have been extremely welcome.

  We’ve received replacements too; a pair of privates by the names of Richard Stone and Colin Jacobs. They’re young and nervy, as I’m sure I was in the beginning, so it’s up to me and the rest of the lads to bring them up to scratch.

  I heard about the doodlebugs from lads in another regiment. Their lot captured one of the launch sites and said about the tremendous noise the rockets made taking off. I can imagine the dread you feel when you hear them heading for you is far worse. Hopefully, the rest of the launch sites will fall soon. Despite all that happens around me you are ever in my thoughts and I still fear for you.

  The French people have been nothing but good to us. For four years they have lived under German occupation and it is clear that they are glad to see the back of them. At every village we free we are given food and wine and offered even more by some of the women. I, of course, pass up on their offers, with only eyes for you, but some of the lads have been tempted. In all honesty, I haven’t seen one girl on my travels who compares to you.

  My focus, as always, is staying safe and getting myself back to you as quickly as possible. I love you and want to come back to you, please always remember that. I want to return and share a home with you. I want a family with you. I certainly hope that time is not far off.

  I long for when we are united again. It is the one thought that keeps me going. I miss the warmth of your skin, the sound of your laughter, and that perfect smile of yours.

  I miss you and love you with all my heart,

  Andy

  39

  CORPORAL ANDREW COOPER—Operation market garden, Were, Holland. 21ST September 1944

  ‘Thank you, thank you,’ cry the people of Weert. Tears of joy stream down their faces. They hug and kiss us, giving us food and drink. The welcome bestowed on us by the city is astonishing. I urge my men on through the congested streets but it is slow moving for the battalion. Many of us want to stay, and I cannot blame them.

  Captain Grayburn and the other senior officers are speaking with leaders of the Dutch resistance; their members have helped us greatly, providing details of enemy troop movements and bringing out captured Germans they found hiding in the city. Those they don’t execute are hand
ed over to us, whilst any collaborators are treated harshly; the men shot and the women branded as traitors.

  ‘Keep your section moving, Corporal,’ Lieutenant Radley calls to me as he looks nervously towards the windows of the houses above us.

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ I yell back to our new lieutenant.

  The Market Garden offensive began four days ago with a tremendous airborne assault. Hundreds of planes and gliders carried paratroopers to their targets. The plan is to capture the bridges and hold them until the tanks and infantry of Thirty Corps can advance and secure them, cutting through the German lines in preparation for the invasion of Germany. We haven’t heard much of what is happening at the bridges but were told that if successful, the war will be over by Christmas.

  For us in the 3rd Infantry Division, our task is to secure the right flank of Thirty Corps as they advance and link up with the airborne units. We were told to expect only light resistance, mostly old men and boys but already, we have learned those reports are false. We’ve already met parts of Panzer and Grenadier Regiments. Thankfully, the Germans had already retreated from Weert before we arrived, offering us some respite.

  We re-group once we are through the crowds and immediately prepare to move out as other units arrive to secure the area. I notice a few of the lads quickly hiding bottles of wine and brandy in their packs but don’t stop them. They know not to get drunk on duty, and I might want to share a drink with them when the time comes.

  Leaving the outskirts of Weert, the roads are filled with wrecked and destroyed German vehicles and tanks. Some still burn with bodies inside.

  ‘Air Force sure pounded them,’ Lathbury says.

  ‘Air supremacy,’ Lieutenant Radley boasts. ‘That’ll soon get rid of Jerry.’

  ‘I’d stay wary, Sir,’ I advise. ‘From the looks of it, this only happened a few hours ago. The Germans can’t be far from here.’

  ‘I do not need reminding of caution in the field, Corporal Hooper,’ he chastises me.

  ‘It’s Cooper, Sir,’ I reply, drawing a grin from Lathbury and a chuckle from Myhill.

  The lieutenant doesn’t say anything else, quickening his pace and marching ahead of us.

  ‘Can you believe he’s our age?’ Lathbury asks me quietly.

  ‘He just needs time,’ I try to reassure him.

  In all honesty, I have my own doubts. Ever since he arrived, Lieutenant Radley has acted as if he knows everything there is to know about war, despite never having been in a battle. Time will tell if he is a good leader or not.

  ‘Keep watch, lads,’ I tell my section. Jacobs and Stone both look nervous, especially Jacobs. McClair has tried to look out for the lad as his new assistant gunner, but even I can see he has kept Jacobs at a distance. The loss of Woods still deeply affects him.

  Ahead, we see the town of Neveltsom, but we smell it in the air first; blood and death. Much of the town is still burning.

  ‘Air Force wouldn’t do that, would they?’ Jenkinson asks.

  ‘Not a chance,’ Lathbury replies.

  ‘Myhill, what do you see?’ I ask our marksman, relying as always on his keen eyes.

  ‘Nothing,’ he replies with uncertainty. ‘No Germans or civilians. Nothing.’

  We enter the town with A Company on our right flank and B Company on our left. Nobody makes a sound. The streets are full of dismembered bodies. No one has been spared. Stone vomits from the sight, and he’s not the only one.

  ‘How could anyone do this?’ Myhill asks.

  ‘Evil Jerry bastards,’ McClair utters.

  ‘I don’t think this was them,’ Captain Grayburn replies. ‘A normal soldier couldn’t commit such atrocities.’

  ‘Look,’ Lathbury says, pointing to a single German soldier slumped against a wall, the brickwork stained with his blood.

  We inspect the body, seeing that the soldier was shot a dozen times at close range.

  ‘Firing squad,’ I say. ‘This was an execution.’

  ‘Why would they shoot one of their own?’ Jenkinson asks.

  ‘In their view, cowardice,’ I suggest. ‘Maybe this poor soul wouldn’t be a part of the slaughter.’

  ‘Totenkopf,’ Jacobs says nervously as he reads the insignia on the uniform. The words are beneath a skull and flames emblem.

  ‘You speak German, don’t you, Jacobs?’ I ask. ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘SS Panzer Division Totenkopf,’ he replies. ‘Death’s Head Division.’

  ‘They did this,’ I say, looking to the burning ruins of the town and the massacred people. The SS, the Nazi extremist regiments of the German army. We have heard stories of their atrocities, the killing of prisoners and the extermination camps massacring thousands of innocent people. Part of me hadn’t quite believed it until now.

  ‘We’ve got a survivor!’ Thompson calls out as he helps an elderly woman.

  She’s barely breathing, her face and chest covered in wounds.

  ‘Private Stone, go and get Doc Baird,’ Captain Grayburn orders as he reaches us.

  ‘Does she know where Jerry went?’ Lieutenant Radley mutters.

  ‘She’s barely alive, Sir,’ I reply, trying not to show my annoyance at the officer’s question.

  ‘She’s trying to say something,’ Myhill says.

  We listen closely, hearing her whisper just a few words.

  ‘Rennen…het komt reus…riese…riese…’

  The woman passes just as Doc Baird reaches us, her eyes fixed on the body of the executed German soldier.

  ‘What did she say?’ I ask Jacobs.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he replies, ‘but it sounded like…’

  ‘Run,’ Captain Grayburn says as the ground beneath us begins to tremble. ‘The giant comes.’

  The world around us erupts with shells and machine gun fire. A blast throws me across the street and I land among the embers of a burning building. My ears ring and my vision is blurred as I struggle to get up. Yelling and cries of agony fill the air. The burning town was a trap. Tanks advance towards us; Panzers, Panthers, and Tigers. Dozens of German infantry follow. They are wearing the skull and flames of the Totenkopf Death’s Head Division on their shoulders. Thompson and then Stone are torn down in a hail of bullets. Lieutenant Radley screams in terror and tries to surrender before a German bayonet silences him.

  I try to rise up and stand. I need to help my men but my body won’t move. Captain Grayburn runs towards me, shouting, but I can’t hear him. My head spins, darkness claiming me as I see a tall, imposing German soldier grab hold of the dying Lieutenant Radley and crush his skull with his bare hands. The last thing I hear is the lieutenant’s screams.

  40

  ADAM—In The Darkness surrounded by demons, Germany

  We continue into the tunnel, following the train tracks farther into the mountain. The Winterbourne soldiers advance with raised weapons, fingers fixed on the triggers. They open fire into the darkness at any sound, hitting nothing but rock and cavern wall. Follia and Professor Veitnar keep our group silent, listening intently for any sign of the returning creatures and the lost Winterbourne operatives. Bishop leads from the front, intent on rescuing his partner in crime.

  Farther into the tunnel, there are more bodies. Animals this time; insects, deer, and wolves, all enlarged and deformed. Bones twisted and ill-shapen. Professor Veitnar is fascinated by the discoveries, though the rest of us are sickened.

  ‘Remind you of anything?’ Dave asks, looking to an enlarged wolf.

  ‘Makov,’ I reply back, wishing Dave had not brought those memories to surface.

  The mining tunnel gives way to flat concrete, giving the surroundings a more orderly and structured appearance. The entrance to this section is flanked by empty bunkers and pillboxes housing; evidence they were once occupied. Uniforms, rations, weapons, and ammunition are still here, although there are no signs of the soldiers. The Nazi swastika is on all of it, as is the skull and flames of the SS Division Totenkopf: the Death’s Head Division.
/>   ‘Must’ve taken some hard grafting to build all this down here,’ Follia says as we continue and pass more of the fortifications.

  ‘Prisoners of war and Jewish labour built this,’ Cecylia says with fury in her eyes. ‘They built it and then they executed them.’

  All fear is gone from her, leaving only determination.

  We continue, ever on the lookout. Occasionally, Bishop calls out for Leon and is hushed each time by Professor Veitnar but the brute does not care, calling out again for the lost Australian.

  ‘Leon!’ Bishop calls out. ‘Where are you, you fool?’

  ‘Hush now,’ Professor Veitnar repeats, earning another glare of anger from the American.

  ‘Leon!’ Bishop repeats.

  ‘No, stop!’ Dave says, holding up his hands and listening intently.

  ‘I’ve had it with…’ Bishop begins to rant before Follia stops him.

  ‘Wait,’ she says. ‘Listen. Do you hear that?’

  ‘It’s running water,’ I say. Dread creeps up my spine.

  We slow as, ahead of us, the concrete corridor opens up into a cavern that stretches as far as we can see.

  ‘Here, boss,’ one of the soldiers says. ‘Looks like a power generator in decent condition. There might be some juice still in it. We might be able to get some lights working.’

  ‘Do it,’ Follia says.

  The Winterbourne operative works the controls for a few moments until his efforts are rewarded by a deep moaning of machinery. The noise builds until light bulbs throughout the cavern begin to glow. A few of the bulbs explode in a shower of sparks, but enough remain to dimly light the space. To the left of us is a vast expanse of water where mountain rivers converge.

  ‘We will search the area,’ Follia says, leading three of her command farther into the cavern.