Commando- The Complete World War II Action Collection Volume II

by Jack Badelaire

  “They are a painfully polite society,” Steiner replied. “I imagine they would do their best to oblige, and probably ask the same in return.”

  Werner shook his head. “When I die, I want to know it is coming.”

  Steiner turned and looked at his companion. “That’s morbid of you. Why would you say that?”

  “Sir, when it is my time,” Werner answered, “I want to know I am dying, but not without a fight. I want to look my killer in the eye and say ‘This may be my death, but I am taking you with me’.”

  Steiner pondered this for a moment with a smirk on his face. “That’s a rather Teutonic way to end it. Positively Wagnerian. I think der Führer would approve.”

  Werner looked his superior in the eye for a moment, then curled his lip in disgust. He then turned and spat into the dust at his feet.

  Steiner chuckled at Werner’s reaction. He himself had no love for Adolf Hitler, and he wasn’t a supporter of the Nazi party either, at least privately. Steiner knew Werner felt much the same way, as did a couple of the other surviving Brandenburgers. It was downright treasonous for a member of the Heer, never mind a soldier in an elite unit such as theirs, to publicly admit they did not subscribe to their ruler’s ideologies. However, Steiner was a man with a talent for discerning other people’s inclinations, and over the last two years, he’d come across a number of soldiers whose duty was directed towards the Fatherland, not der Führer.

  The faint droning of an airplane’s engine caught Steiner’s attention, and he shielded his eyes with his hand and looked up. Coming from the south, he saw the flyspeck of a plane approaching.

  “Does that sound like Hasek’s Storch to you?” Steiner asked.

  “Yes, sir. Should we prepare an anti-aircraft detail just in case?” Werner asked.

  Steiner shook his head. “It’s just one plane. If it’s the British, they’ll fly above our effective range anyway, so there’s no point.”

  Taking his eyes from the sky, Steiner surveyed the grim task they’d been undertaking since that morning. The Germans, with fewer dead, were finishing their burial detail first. Looking back at Kessler, completely hidden under the dirt now, his panzer had been the only destroyed tank on the German side to not catch fire. A single armour-piercing round had penetrated the turret, spraying Kessler and his gunner, loader, and radio operator with lethal spalling. The driver had survived the hit and climbed past the carnage and out of the turret. The man had spent the rest of the battle slumped against the rear of the panzer, weeping in anger and frustration. It was Kessler’s driver who worked the shovel to bury his commander now, fresh tears running down the man’s face. Although Kessler’s crew had only served together a few days, Steiner saw how deeply the older officer’s death affected his driver.

  Unfortunately for the rest of the burial detail, the other deaths hadn’t been anywhere near as neat as Kessler’s. Most of the dead panzer men had been badly burned, some beyond all recognition. It’d taken hours for most of the panzers to completely burn out, and in the worst cases, smoke and flames still flickered inside the scorched hulls. Steiner accepted that the crews of those wrecks would be little more than ash by the time their panzers were finished burning out.

  The same was true for the British and their tank crews, of course. Steiner had checked on their progress several times during the day, and each time he’d witnessed some fresh horror. The Crusader tank, it seemed, caught fire rather easily, and the fires within them were especially fierce. He’d also been shocked at the devastating hits caused by the eighty-eight on such lightly-armoured tanks. In several cases, the armour-piercing shot had penetrated both sides of the hull, and there were no survivors from any of the tanks killed by that fearsome weapon. If the German high command were smart, they’d find a way to mount such a lethal instrument in a panzer chassis. The resulting vehicle would be immense, but the firepower it’d carry would be insurmountable.

  The sound of an approaching automobile caused Steiner to turn around, and he saw Hasek approaching in his staff car. The plane had touched down mere moments ago, so Steiner presumed that whatever Hasek had seen, it was important.

  “I’ve found them,” Hasek said, as he pulled up next to Steiner and snapped the briefest of salutes.

  “Found who?” Steiner asked.

  “The remnant of the western flanking element, those desert trucks. I know where they went,” Hasek explained.

  Steiner nodded. He turned to Werner. “Keep an eye on things here, and when our men are finished, have them assist the British. Our boys won’t like it, but I want these bodies in the ground before sundown.”

  “Jawohl,” Werner said, and offered a salute.

  Steiner returned the gesture, then hopped into Hasek’s Kübelwagen. They were soon inside the airfield’s command tent, and Hasek rolled out a large-scale map of the surrounding desert. Most of the terrain features had been hand-drawn by the aviator himself. After a few moments’ work with a ruler and compass, Hasek tapped a finger against a penciled-in cut in the desert that appeared to be a ravine, several miles long.

  “They disappeared into this,” Hasek stated.

  “You are sure?” Steiner asked. “It cannot be easy to spot four small vehicles from such a height.”

  Hasek gave him a triumphal smile. “It is them all right. I could not see their trucks inside the ravine, not with how the shadows were angled this afternoon, but I was able to follow their tracks.”

  “You were able to spot four sets of tyre tracks from a mile above the ground?” Steiner asked dubiously.

  Hasek nodded. “One thread is hard to see at a distance, but many threads brought together make a rope. They weren’t obeying proper spacing discipline, and kept too close together. The pattern was easy to see whenever they hit sandy ground, and in the afternoon light, tyre tracks are easier to see, as the shadows make them stand out. Once I knew what to look for, tracking them was child’s play.”

  “And you’re sure they’re still in that ravine?” Steiner asked.

  “I circled the area, and found no evidence of their departure. I think they’ve holed up there for the day. Perhaps they have wounded who need tending, or repairs need to be made to one of their trucks. It is a nice place to hide, and if they’d been more careful getting there, I wouldn’t have seen them.”

  Steiner pondered the map for a moment. “What about the other element, the two who escaped from the ravine to the east?”

  When the panzers had been found hiding in the low ravine by the British eastern recce element, their armoured cars and two of the lead trucks had been destroyed. However, the smoke and wreckage had prevented the panzers from engaging the last two vehicles. Steiner’s men had made a sweep of a few kilometres around the airfield and had seen the tyre tracks leading out of the ravine and off into the east.

  Hasek’s lips drew into a thin line. “Unfortunately, I didn’t find them. It may be the crew kept their heads better, and paid more attention to where they drove, staying to harder ground where tracks would be harder to spot from the air.”

  Steiner shook his head. “It is a small matter. We’ve got the armoured cars and the panzers, as well as the base defences. Half a dozen trucks scattered around the desert are no threat to us.”

  “So, what is our next move?” Hasek asked.

  Steiner looked at his watch. “Two hours ago, I radioed in a report of the engagement to my superiors. They aren’t particularly concerned with the activities of such a small enemy force, but they want us to remain vigilant.”

  “Makes sense,” Hasek said. “As long as it isn’t a large armoured assault, I can imagine they aren’t too worried.”

  Steiner nodded. “However, I want to find out what the British were doing here. Once the burial detail is finished, I’m going to interrogate this Lieutenant Chalmers and learn what he knows.”

  Hasek raised an eyebrow. “Interrogate, you say?”

  “Don’t fret,” Steiner chuckled. “Whatever the reason for this attack
, I am certain they were not the lead element of some larger force, or we’d have seen them already, and you would have found some sign of their approach. No, I’m beginning to suspect this was something else, either a reconnaissance in force or some kind of diversion, and if that’s the case, I want to know what purpose it served.”

  “And if he doesn’t want to divulge the grand strategies of the British Eighth Army? Will one of your men beat it out of him?” Hasek asked.

  Steiner tutted at the other officer. “Come now, Oberleutnant. Do you think me so cruel? Such barbarities are the tools of the simple-minded. I prefer a more nuanced approach.”

  Hasek shrugged. “I care not what you do to the Tommies. My brother died in a Bf-109 over the Channel last year. I have no pity for them.”

  “Well, you are welcome to sit in on the interrogation, but I doubt there will be any bloodshed,” Steiner offered.

  “I’ve got to oversee maintenance to my plane, but please let me know what you learn,” Hasek replied. “I’ll be with my mechanic if you need me.”

  The two men saluted each other and Hasek departed. Steiner stood for a minute, looking down at the map in front of him. A half-dozen recce trucks scattered about the desert were no threat to them - or were they? The truck they’d destroyed off to the west had a 20mm cannon mounted on it, dangerous to the armoured cars, but certainly not the much better-armoured Panzer IIIs and IVs. One of the trucks wrecked to the east had a 37mm anti-tank gun, and while that would be more dangerous, it wasn’t a concern anymore. Steiner felt most of the heavy weapons carried by these Desert Group men were now out of the fight.

  A shudder ran through Steiner as he recalled the ambush set for his armoured cars three weeks ago by men driving similar Chevrolet trucks. He remembered the gunner in his Autoblinda, killed in a gruesome manner by an anti-tank round punching through the turret next to him. Steiner bore a fresh scar on his leg from where a fragment of armour slashed him after another round crippled the car, forcing him and the two remaining crew members to bail out.

  Steiner remembered glimpsing the portee-mounted anti-tank gun that fired on them, the truck it was mounted on exposing itself just enough to fire past the side of a low hill. The weapon was identical to that mounted on the truck they’d destroyed this morning. And as he thought about it, he realized the destroyed 20mm autocannon he’d seen was the same model of Italian weapon his Bersaglieri had fielded.

  In his mind’s eye, Steiner recalled the group of British prisoners he’d addressed that morning, and while most of the tank crewmen had sat there, slumped and dejected, with only Chalmers standing up and speaking for them, two men off to one side had stared at him, silent and unbowed. Steiner remembered one of the men, the larger of the two, had sat with his left arm towards Steiner, and the patch on his arm differed from that worn by the tankers.

  Steiner spun around and exited the tent. Outside, one of his Brandenburgers stood watch, a machine pistol across his chest.

  The sentry saluted Steiner. “Hauptmann?”

  “Go to the British burial detail,” Steiner ordered. “There are two prisoners I need brought to me. Each wears this badge on his uniform.”

  Kneeling, Steiner unsheathed his combat knife and drew a crude sketch of the Commando patch in the sand.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Airfield

  November 17th, 1530 Hours

  Nelson knew nothing good could come from being escorted back to the airfield for “questioning” by the German commanding officer. He and Herring walked several paces in front of their guard, and although the two Commandos had shared a sidelong glance at each other, they both knew now was not the time to try and make a move.

  Inside the command tent, the two Commandos were directed to sit in folding wooden camp chairs. Along with the soldier who’d escorted them, another soldier stood next to the German officer, cradling an MP-40. All three Germans bore completely neutral expressions. Once seated, Nelson and Herring were offered tin cups of water, and allowed to gather their thoughts for a moment.

  Finally, the German officer spoke.

  “I do not recall seeing either of you two gentlemen during the attack on the Bersaglieri outpost to the south of us, almost three weeks ago. However, there is no doubt now in my mind that you participated in that action. The autocannon mounted to your truck, it is a Breda, a Model 35, and we had two just like it for anti-aircraft defence. The night of the attack, a squad of Commandos infiltrated the base, and they captured one of our Bredas, and turned it on the Bersaglieri. I saw what it did from the top of the fortress wall, and I do not lie when I say it turned my guts to water. I had never seen men reduced to such horrid things in that manner before.”

  The German paused, as if waiting for Nelson or Herring to say something, but both men remained silent. After a moment, he began to speak again.

  “Although it wounds my professional pride to say this, I admire you men for defeating me and the men under my command that night. It was a very brave thing, sneaking through the dark such a distance, scaling the ridge, silencing the Italian sentries. That takes boldness, and discipline. Were you men Germans, I would be proud to serve with you.”

  Again the German paused, and both Nelson and Herring remained silent. Nelson wasn’t sure where the German was going with his monologue, but he was worried it was going to end with a machine pistol being put to use.

  “Unfortunately,” the German continued, “You are the enemy. You bested me once, but now the fortunes of war have turned against you. Your strike force is destroyed, its men killed, captured, or scattered. Whatever your intended mission was, you have failed to accomplish it.”

  Unable to bear the German’s ramblings any longer, Nelson cleared his throat.

  “Sorry mate,” he said, “but is there a bloody point to this speech?”

  The German’s face froze for a moment, before he let out a laugh and slapped his knee. “Excellent! You have great spirit. I admire that. Here you are, captured and many kilometres from nowhere, guns pointed at you, and the first words out of your mouth are insults.”

  Nelson shrugged. “Not much of an insult, really. If that’s what you’re looking for, I could have a few choice words about your mum’s fanny.”

  The German officer gave Nelson a smirk, but the guard next to him snarled and stepped forward, slapping Nelson across the face with a vicious backhand. Nelson’s head snapped back, and a thin line of blood trickled from his split lip.

  Recovering from the blow, Nelson grinned. “Speaking of mums, mine hit me harder’n that when I stole nips from her gin bottle.”

  Nelson’s assailant drew back his hand as if to strike again, but the officer waved him back. After a moment of glaring at his subordinate, the officer turned to Nelson.

  “I apologize for that. I do not condone beating an unarmed man, a prisoner in my care, and certainly not for anything other than a harmless comment.”

  Nelson shrugged. “Well, Fritz, ain’t you a gentleman. Blast us all to bits this morning, and now you beg pardon for a lady’s tickle on me chin.”

  The officer shook his head. “Killing is the unfortunate business of war, but that doesn’t mean its savagery is unlimited. I have won this day, but many of our comrades are dead. Although it pleases me to have defeated you, I wish there hadn’t been such loss of life on both sides of the battlefield.”

  “Well bless me heart,” Nelson muttered. “A bloody Nazi with a conscience.”

  The officer’s lips drew together in a thin line, and for a moment, Nelson wondered if he’d said one word too many. But after a moment, the officer glanced at the guard who’d brought them in, and then composed himself.

  “Six of your reconnaissance trucks escaped this morning,” he said. “Four fled to the west, and two escaped to the east. While we haven’t yet found the two trucks to the east, we do know where the others are hiding. I believe those are the men you tried to save with your actions this morning?”

  Nelson said nothing, although
he felt the blood drain from his features. The officer smiled.

  “A squadron of fast tanks, plus armoured cars and mechanized scouts, destroys an Italian supply depot in the southern desert. The next day, they try to destroy this airfield, despite losing all their supply vehicles. What I want to know is, why?”

  Nelson didn’t say anything, although he noticed Herring shift slightly next to him.

  “Sorry, guv. Can’t help you there,” Nelson answered. “Us, we’s just a couple of dumb riflemen, eh? We leave the decisions up to the quality, the officers. Off to fight and die for King and Country, that’s us!”

  The German gestured to the stripes on Nelson’s sleeve. “You’re a corporal. That’s not very far up the chain of command, but I know how non-commissioned officers are - you’ve got your own ways of finding out what’s going on, even when you’re supposed to be kept in the dark. I cannot imagine you don’t have at least a theory as to the nature of your mission.”

  “It’s like the corporal says,” Herring spoke up. “We go where we’re told, like a couple of good soldiers, eh? The less we know, the less we can tell the likes of you if we wind up in the bag. Looks like that was a smart decision.”

  The officer scratched his chin for a moment. “I am not sure I buy these pleas of ignorance. So, I will offer you a little incentive.” He clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace in front of Nelson and Herring. “We know where to find the men who escaped to the west. There can only be a handful, perhaps a dozen, certainly no threat to us now. However, until I know the nature of your assignment, I cannot be sure. If you can convince me those men pose no threat, that you are not the advance element of some larger force, I will be content to leave those men to their fate, out in the desert. Doubtless they are resourceful enough to make their way back to Egypt.

  “On the other hand, if you refuse to cooperate, I will have no choice but to hunt them down, and either capture or kill them, in order to maintain the security of this installation. I have three armoured cars and five panzers at my disposal. I don’t believe it will end well for your Commando brethren, no matter how brave or skillful they are. Now, what is your decision? Are you still going to maintain this fiction of ignorance?”