Assault on Abbeville

by Jack Badelaire

  “Do you think you can hit a man at this range?” Gorski asked Lambert.

  The Belgian peered along the rifle’s open sights. “Someone standing still, yes. A moving target? Unlikely. I would be able to put a few bullets in the engine cowls of those 109s, but at this range, the 6.5 millimeter bullet isn’t going to do much harm to an aircraft.”

  “Do you think you could kill Kohl from here?” Gorski asked.

  Lambert thought for a moment. “It is possible, but without a telescopic sight, picking him out would be difficult. You would have to spot him for me, and guide my shots in. We would get one, maybe two, before the men scattered.”

  Gorski mulled the notion over for a minute. “So, it will have to be up close, then. And not here, either. Any closer, and we’re too exposed, without an easy means of escape.”

  “Not easy to confirm a kill at this distance, either,” Lambert added. “I might graze a rib or clip his thigh. We see him drop, think he’s dead, but he’s back in the air in a week. Meanwhile, we’ve got every German in the region hunting for us.”

  “Agreed. Machine pistols or handguns, or maybe explosives. And we’ll have to do it in town, not at the aerodrome.”

  Lambert was silent for a minute. “Have you thought about what the woman said last night, about reprisals?”

  “We have our orders. Kohl is a direct threat to the strategic bombing campaign. We kill him, we are saving dozens, maybe hundreds of airmen. And helping ensure the raids are more successful, as well.”

  “I am not suggesting we don’t carry it out,” Lambert said quickly. “But I fear she is correct. If the Germans suspect partisan involvement in the killing, they will likely take their vengeance out against innocents.”

  Gorski didn’t answer, he just indicated that they should wiggle back out of their observation post. The two men maneuvered themselves out of cover and down the back side of the hill they occupied, crawling for some distance before they were well into cover. There, they got to their feet and began the journey back towards the barn.

  The truth of the matter was, Gorski knew the Germans would commit reprisals against the civilians of Abbeville. No matter if the Revenants made it known somehow that they were from Britain, and not a local resistance cell, the Germans would never believe something like this was the work of Commandos or paratroopers, not after Berger’s involvement. And, fighting in civilian clothes, anyone who saw one of the Revenants would assume they were local partisans anyhow.

  For the hundredth time since their arrival in France, Gorski cursed Berger’s collusion with the Germans. His act of betrayal put the Germans on guard hours after landfall, and although Gorski and his men had been warned that something about Berger’s behavior of late had seemed odd, Gorski had hoped the man’s actions had only been those of a nervous amateur. Fear can be excused, especially among partisans. They were neither trained to control their fear, nor given any form of protection under the articles of war if taken prisoner.

  But there was a difference between fear and betrayal, one that he was counting on with the other resistance members. Gorski did not care that they were afraid - that was to be expected - he only cared that they did what they were told, and feared capture by the Germans more than whatever the Revenants asked them to do in the next few days. They were able to move around town in ways the Revenants could not, and if nothing else, they were another set of eyes, another pair of hands holding a rifle. They were not what he’d hoped for in a resistance cell, but of course, wars were not fought with what you hoped to have, but what you had already.

  It was the middle of the afternoon when Gorski and Lambert neared the road they needed to cross in order to reach the barn. Lambert was in the lead, and suddenly, the Belgian motioned to Gorski, signalling that there was enemy movement ahead. Both men went to ground, waiting for a full minute before slowly making their way along the ground, belly-crawling until they were able to peek out through the tall grass and see across the road.

  Parked between them and the barn were several German military vehicles, as well as a Renault sedan, similar to the one used by the gendarmes who’d attempted to arrest them the day before. Two flatbed trucks with German military markings were pulled off to the side of the road, as well as a German-marked Panhard armored car. Beyond the vehicles, the two men saw German soldiers coming and going from the barn, as well as moving around outside the building.

  “Do you see any of the others?” Gorski asked, peering through his binoculars.

  “No, and these Germans aren’t acting as I would expect if they’d found our people,” Lambert answered. “They have the look of frustrated men.”

  Gorski let out a relieved sigh. “We must assume the others saw the column pulling off the road and escaped. The question is, are they here as part of a systematic search for us and Berger, or did one of our new friends give us away?”

  The two hid along the other side of the road for another few minutes, before an officer shouted orders to his men, and the infantry began to come together and board their transports. Gorski watched as the Panhard car started its engine, and with the commander standing upright in its turret hatch, the vehicle swung around, making a turn in the road that brought it only a couple of meters from Gorski and Lambert, before it drove away and led the rest of the vehicles back towards Abbeville.

  “Do we have anything that can take it out?” Lambert asked.

  Gorski thought for a moment. When the Black Brigade had reformed in France after its fighting retreat out of Poland in ‘39, they’d mingled with French armored cavalry units, and Gorski had been able to get inside a Panhard. The armored car boasted a Hotchkiss 25mm anti-tank gun, and a co-axial machine gun, and its frontal armor was two centimeters thick in places. All in all, a vastly superior design compared to the armored cars Gorski had commanded during the battle for Poland.

  “If we can get charges against its lower hull, or placed against the engine grill on top of the rear chassis, we’d be able to knock it out,” he said at last. “Or, maybe we could get a grenade into the turret hatch if it was open. Otherwise, no, it is essentially impervious to our small arms.”

  “Then let us pray we never face it in open battle,” Lambert muttered. “Now, what about the others?”

  “We wait, at least an hour,” Gorski replied. “If they’re here, they’ll stay hidden until we return. If they had to flee the area entirely, they won’t return until dark.”

  Time passed, and the sun continued to sink towards the treetops. Just as Gorski and Lambert were about to cross the road and make for the barn, a lone figure on a bicycle appeared, coming from the direction of town. Gorski raised his binoculars to his eyes and focused on the figure, who resolved into Ethan.

  “It’s the husband,” he told Lambert.

  They waited until Ethan pulled off next to the barn and began to walk his bicycle around behind the building before crossing the road and approaching from the other side.

  “Hello?” they heard Ethan call out softly inside the barn. “Where are you?”

  “Here,” Gorski answered him. “What’s happened? The Germans were here an hour ago. They didn’t find anyone, but we two were elsewhere when they arrived.”

  Ethan stepped outside and saw them, but before he could say anything, there was a soft rustling noise close by. Gorski turned, bringing up the MP-38, but he checked himself with the lean, wiry figure of Verhoeven crawled out from under a nearby bush.

  “It was fortunate timing,” Verhoeven said, as Johansen and Dumond also emerged from hiding. “We brought our weapons and kit with us when we went to go looking for water. Just as we were about to return, we heard the Germans, and we fell back as far as we could and still keep them observed. They stayed for perhaps twenty minutes before leaving, obviously discouraged.”

  “Did it look like they expected to find us here when they arrived?” Lambert asked.

  Dumond nodded, and made an encircling motion with his arms. “They swept around the barn, a squad alon
g each flank, with their armored car covering from the front. They were looking for us, that was for sure.”

  “That is what I came to tell you,” Ethan said, his voice still breathless from his bike ride. “The Germans, they have Paquet. He’s been captured.”

  TWELVE

  “What happened?” Gorski asked.

  Ethan shook his head. “I don’t know the details, but one of the businessmen whose shop is across the street from Paquet’s saw the gendarmes and a German go into Paquet’s shop, and they brought him out a minute later in manacles. I did a little careful asking around and learned that they took him to the gendarmerie headquarters.”

  “How long ago was this?” Gorski demanded.

  “A few hours,” Ethan replied.

  The Revenants looked at each other. Dumond snarled a curse. Johansen eyed Ethan warily.

  “How can we trust this one?” the Norwegian asked.

  “We don’t trust anyone,” Gorski answered. “But right now, we have to have a small measure of faith.” He turned back to Ethan. “Do you think you were followed?”

  Ethan shook his head. “I don’t know. Helene has left the house, she is making her way now to a place, a special place, where we have taken a picnic now and then. No one knows we would be there.”

  Gorski thought for a moment, his mind racing. He dug out his map of the region and showed it to Ethan.

  “Show me where it is on the map,” he asked.

  Ethan pointed to a place not too far from where he and Lambert had passed on their way to and from the aerodrome.

  “She’s brought blankets, food, and water. We can stay there maybe...two days.”

  “Good,” Gorski told him. “Go there now. We can find you when we are done.”

  “Where are you going?” Ethan asked. “You must come with us.”

  Gorski shook his head. “We have no choice. We have to go after Paquet, and either rescue him, or silence him. He’s already given us up - that was his way to buy time. If the two of you have not been taken already, he is probably holding out, trying to give you time to escape by selling us to the Germans.”

  “My God,” Ethan breathed. “It is all coming apart.”

  “The more important thing,” Gorski said, “is to find out if he has told the authorities why we are here. If they know we’ve come to eliminate Kohl, then the Germans will make sure he doesn’t come within a dozen kilometers of Abbeville. We’ll lose our only window.”

  Ethan’s expression grew horrified. “Surely you can’t expect to carry out this insanity now, after this? They will learn everything!”

  “They will in time, yes. Which is why we must act quickly, before Paquet breaks. Now,” Gorski turned over his regional map, to reveal a more detailed map of Abbeville, “please confirm the location of the gendarmerie building.”

  Ten minutes later, the Revenants were on their way back to Abbeville. Dumond was in the cab, driving the truck, while the others sat in the flatbed, weapons in hand.

  “We might be delivering ourselves into the hands of the authorities,” Verhoeven said, as they approached the outskirts of Abbeville.

  “Do you see any other way?” Gorski said. “We have to get to Paquet before he talks.”

  “And if he has already talked?” Verhoeven asked.

  “Then we have to know that as well,” Gorski replied. “We need to know where we stand here. If the Germans know Kohl is the target, they’ll keep him away from here, maybe even use a decoy to draw us out. Then, we fall back, head for the coast, make contact with England and get out of here.”

  Verhoeven nodded. “I don’t doubt that this is the only way, my friend,” he smiled. “I just wanted to make sure you had thought everything through.”

  Gorski smiled back. “Believe me, I haven’t thought everything through. And it is not my intention to risk our lives idly, but this is why we are here.”

  Verhoeven smiled, then drew his Browning .32 automatic from its shoulder holster. From his musette bag, the Dutchman took a metal cylinder, some fifteen centimeters long, and screwed it to the end of his pistol.

  “How long will that model last?” Gorski asked.

  “The armorer said it would be good for fifty, perhaps sixty shots,” Verhoeven replied. “After that, the baffles are too clogged to work properly.”

  “If you need to take that many, we are already too far into trouble for it to make any difference,” Gorski said, grinning.

  Dumond thumped on the window between the flatbed and the cab. “There is a roadblock.”

  Gorski peered through the glass. The Germans had parked a truck across the road leading into Abbeville, and there were three men - two German soldiers, one French gendarme - standing nearby. The Germans both carried MP-38s, while the gendarme had a rifle slung over his shoulder.

  “What do we do?” Dumond asked.

  “Speed over silence,” Gorski told him. “But silence where possible. Wait for Verhoeven to make the first move, and be ready.”

  Dumond nodded, then downshifted the transmission as they approached the roadblock. The two Germans stood on either side of the road, their MP-38s slung at the ready position, but they were not training the weapons on the truck. The gendarme stepped forward, adjusting his cap as he did so.

  “Show me your papers, please,” he told Dumond. “And we’ll need to search your vehicle. There are criminals on the loose.”

  “But of course,” Dumond replied, giving the man a great, white-toothed smile. “Be my guest.”

  Gorski peeked out through the window, watching as Dumond bent low, retrieving the vehicle’s papers from underneath the seat. A nod to Verhoeven, and the Dutchman crept to the rear of the cargo bed, suppressed pistol at the ready. The gendarme motioned for the Germans to proceed, and one of them moved around to the passenger side of the truck, while the other walked around towards the tailgate.

  It was time to act. Gorski turned and lifted one of the captured Mauser rifles, fitted with its bayonet. He used the tip of the bayonet to push aside the canvas cover near the front of the truck. Through the narrow opening, he saw the German, only an arm’s length away, open the passenger-side door of the truck. Gorski turned the rifle sideways, took a deep breath, and then with a grunt of effort, thrust the bayonet into the German’s side. The point caught a rib, but Gorski had the rifle by its receiver and the base of the buttstock, and he put his weight behind it. The bayonet blade shifted and sank in, driving deep, pushing the German against the open door and holding him in place for a moment. The German’s eyes bulged and his mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water.

  At the same time, Dumond reached through the driver’s side window and caught the gendarme by the leather strap running diagonally across his chest to his belt. Pulling the man forward against the door, Dumond swung his fist against the man’s face, the gleam of brass knuckles adorning his fingers. There was an audible crunch of bone as his fist smashed home, and Dumond hit the senseless gendarme twice more before pushing him away, the officer’s face a bloody mask. The gendarme fell backwards and hit the ground as if poll-axed.

  The second German had it the easiest, lifting the canvas cover at the truck’s tailgate just as Gorski’s bayonet was striking home. The only thing the German saw was Verhoeven’s pale face and the dark muzzle of a suppressed automatic, which spat twice in rapid succession. Both bullets struck the German in the head, one exiting through the back of the skull and the lower rim of the helmet. The German fell, twitched, and died.

  Gorski ripped free the bayonet and plunged it in again, driving it through the the sagging German’s neck. “Move, move!” he shouted to his men.

  The four men jumped out of the cargo bed. Verhoeven ran to the truck blocking the road, climbed into the cab, and started the engine. Lambert caught the dead German at the tailgate by the boots and dragged him off the road and into some grass, then slung the man’s MP-38. Johansen did the same with the bayoneted German, while Gorski dragged away the unconscious Frenchman. He t
hought about killing the man for a moment, but a pang of guilt ran through him, and he left the gendarme alive. The man had taken a beating that would disfigure him for life, and that should allay any suspicions on the part of the Germans.

  “Do we take the uniforms?” Verhoeven asked. “They might come in useful.”

  Gorski cursed. “Dammit, they would, but we have no time. Weapons and ammunition only.” He pulled the MAB Model D .32 automatic from the gendarme’s holster, along with a spare magazine, and pushed them into his pocket. He also found a set of keys clipped to the man’s belt, and he took those as well, feeling they would come in handy.

  The engine of the blocking truck growled to life, and Lambert shifted it into gear, then pulled it off of the road. Dumond slapped his big hand against the side of the cab door.

  “Let’s go, my friends!” Dumond barked.

  The four Revenants piled back into the cargo bed of the truck, and Dumond ground the transmission gears, putting the truck into motion again. “Where next?” he asked Gorski through the cab window.

  “Three blocks, then a right. Two short blocks, a left, and there will be an alley, I think. That is where we want to go.”

  Dumond shrugged. “If you say so.”

  Although late in the afternoon, the sunset was still several hours away, and people were going about their business, although there weren’t as many on the street as Gorski would have imagined. But, in an occupied city, no one went anywhere unless they had business they must attend to, and some version of the events of the last 36 hours must have become public by now, so the citizens of Abbeville were even less inclined to be out on the street, where they may be the subject of impromptu questioning.

  “How long do you think we have before someone notices the roadblock?” Lambert asked Gorski.

  “I am sure someone noticed it as it happened,” Gorski said. “There were enough windows looking out on our direction. The question is, how long will it take for a concerned citizen to pass word to the authorities? They have no love for the Germans, but no one wants to be accused of withholding information. With luck, we have a few minutes before someone decides we’ve had enough of a head start and their conscience is clear.”