‘I think the left engine overheated, Herr Oberleutnant,’ Hartmann advised, craning his neck to look at the commander in his elevated seat. Breathing hard, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
‘Start the other engine,’ Theunissen instructed.
‘Yes, Herr Oberleutnant.’
Transferring the crank handle to the other engine, Hartmann was soon able to get the engine on the right started, and it turned over reassuringly.
‘Heiber, try reversing the machine,’ directed Theunissen. ‘The one engine may be enough to get us free.’
Heiber didn’t say anything, merely doing as instructed. But that didn’t achieve anything, either.
With their one good engine shut down again, Theunissen sat deep in thought.
‘What shall we do, Herr Oberleutnant?’ Heiber inquired.
‘I don’t know, I don’t know!’ Theunissen came back. ‘Don’t rush me. I’m thinking. I’m thinking!’
‘With respect, Herr Oberleutnant,’ Eckhardt called calmly, ‘perhaps you should send a message back to Oberst Kessel and arrange for another of our panzers to be dispatched to tow us out of here.’
‘Ah, a good idea, Feldwebel Eckhardt,’ Theunissen said gratefully.
‘Yes, send one of my girls with the message,’ said Hess, looking towards the cage of pigeons.
‘I wouldn’t be trusting my fate to a bird,’ said Krank. ‘Send a runner, Herr Oberleutnant. Or two or three runners to make sure the message gets through. Mark my words, the birds will never get through. And Krank is always right.’
‘Don’t you go maligning my birds!’ Hess protested. ‘They’ll do the job. Besides, they deserve an opportunity to fly free.’
‘No,’ said Lieutenant Theunissen definitely. ‘I will go back.’
‘Several of the men should go too, Herr Oberleutnant,’ said Heiber, ‘in case you don’t get through with the message.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Theunissen responded. He removed his spectacles, the lenses misted over with the sweat from his face, and cleaned them with the cloth of his jacket. ‘The rest of you will have to stay here and make sure the enemy does not get its hands on this panzer.’
‘I wouldn’t be leaving the Maxims here for the Tommies to get their hands on, Herr Oberleutnant,’ said Eckhardt. ‘Take them with you. They are of no use to us in this hole in the ground.’
Theunissen nodded. ‘Very well. Machine-gunners, dismount your weapons. You will return to our lines with me. The rest of you, arm yourselves as best you can. Mephisto must not fall into enemy hands while I am organising another machine to tow it free.’
Pistols and stick grenades stored in lockers in the forward and rear compartments were now shared between the men who would remain with the tank, and detonators were inserted in the grenades. Richard handed the pistol back to Eckhardt and took possession of another Mauser automatic from a locker. He looked at the Mauser in his hands, with its square, ten-round magazine in front of the trigger, and then turned to Sergeant Eckhardt. ‘Are there any spare magazines, Feldwebel?’
Eckhardt shook his head.
‘So I have to defend this panzer with ten bullets?’ Richard queried with a worried frown.
Eckhardt made no reply.
‘Those of us remaining with the machine can’t stay inside,’ Heiber commented to Lieutenant Theunissen while he, too, armed himself.
‘Why not?’ said Theunissen, as he once more hung his spectacles over his nose and ears. ‘Why would you give up the protection of the armour?’
‘Our vision is too limited inside, Herr Oberleutnant,’ Heiber answered. ‘There are too many blind spots. Tommies would be able to creep up to the panzer and fire in through one of our gun ports.’
‘Or drop in a grenade,’ added Eckhardt.
‘It would be suicide to remain in here,’ said Krank, jamming stick grenades into his belt.
‘Heiber is right,’ Eckhardt went on. ‘It will be a safer proposition to defend Mephisto from outside.’
‘Very well, if that is your choice,’ said Theunissen. ‘Feldwebel Heiber, I will leave you in charge here.’
‘Yes, Herr Oberleutnant.’
‘The men who are to remain, go out first and cover the rest of us.’
Richard jammed the Mauser into his waistband along with two long-handled grenades. Pistol at the ready, he grabbed his grey undershirt from where he’d stuffed it with his tunic and led the way out through the forward hatch. Sergeant Eckhardt followed immediately behind. Scuttling to the nearest earthen bank, they took up positions around the western side of the crater, facing the nearby British, taking care not to show their heads above the crater’s lip and invite a fatal bullet. Mephisto’s machine-gunners then helped each other manhandle their heavy weapons out through the forward and rear hatches – with each Maxim weighing twenty-six kilograms. Once the guns had been removed from their permanent mounts inside the tank, they were useless. To be operated, they needed to again be mounted, inside a tank or on the sled-like cradle used by infantry machine-gunners.
Theunissen and Heiber were the last to emerge. Dropping to one knee in the middle of the crater, Theunissen took out his pistol and called to his crew. ‘As long as one of you is left alive, you will defend Mephisto from capture until I return, or die in the attempt. Have I made myself clear?’ In response, there were grim nods all around the crater. ‘Then, good luck to us all,’ the squat lieutenant added.
Keeping low, Theunissen ran to the eastern side of the crater, where he paused. The machine-gunners, cradling their heavy Maxims in their arms like babies, followed him. After taking a deep breath, the lieutenant crawled up the angled side of the crater, then pulled himself to his feet and, almost bent double, ran off at a stumbling gait, disappearing from the sight of the men he had left behind. Struggling under the weight of his gun, a machine-gunner followed suit, likewise clambering up the side of the crater and running towards the rear.
Richard, pulling on his shirt and buttoning it, watched the machine-gunners’ progress, expecting at any moment to hear the British open fire on them. Sure enough, when two machine-gunners, both naked to the waist, clambered up into the open, a Lewis gun and rifles started firing. Bullets began to whizz and whine by the pair and kick up dirt at their feet. Somehow, both men managed to escape unharmed. The next man up wasn’t so lucky. Hit in the leg, he tumbled to the ground, dropping his load. But as quickly as he went down, he picked up his Maxim and pulled himself to his feet. Limping, he ran on. The next two men both got clear without being harmed.
Only one machine-gunner remained. It was Wagner, who only weeks before had assured Richard that, in Mephisto, they were going to win the war and earn themselves an Iron Cross each. Wagner had apprehensively held back as his comrades scrambled from the crater. He was now the last to make a run for it. And now, too, the British close by were ready and waiting.
‘Get a move on, Wagner,’ called Sergeant Eckhardt. ‘Christmas will arrive if you wait much longer.’
‘I’m going, I’m going,’ Wagner returned with a quaver in his voice.
Cradling his machine gun, Wagner slowly crawled up the side of the crater on his stomach. He paused just below the lip, then up he rose. He had only taken a few paces before Lewis gun rounds ripped through the air. Wagner was dead before he hit the ground.
‘Langemeyer,’ Sergeant Eckhardt then said, looking at one of the machine-gun loaders in the crater. ‘You take Wagner’s place. Collect his weapon and follow the oberleutnant.’
With a look of terror on his face, Private Langemeyer turned questioningly to Papa Heiber.
‘Yes, Langemeyer, do as he says,’ said Heiber.
Langemeyer let out a little groan, then crossed to the far side of the crater. Taking a deep breath, he scuttled up the side, exposing himself. Bullets came his way but, in ducking to collect the Maxim gun that had fallen from Wagner’s grasp, Langemeyer avoided the lead that was intended for him. Carrying the gun, he made his escape.
Bri
tish shells began to fall nearby, and the crewmen who remained in the crater with Mephisto hugged the earth and drew their knees up into their stomachs to make themselves less of a target for flying shrapnel.
‘Feldwebel,’ Richard called to Papa Heiber, as the shells burst closer and closer to their hiding place, ‘do you think the English know that Mephisto is here and are trying to destroy it with their shelling?’
‘It is likely, youngster,’ Heiber replied gravely.
‘Are we safer out here or back inside the panzer?’ Private Krank asked no one in particular.
‘If they hit the fuel tank,’ said Sergeant Eckhardt, ‘you don’t want to be inside the panzer, Krank.’
‘Yes, it would be like Hades in there,’ said Hartmann. ‘You would fry, my friend.’
‘My girls!’ Private Hess exclaimed. ‘Those English swine are not going to get my girls!’ Ignoring the falling shells, he jumped up and ran back to Mephisto’s open rear hatch.
Moments later, Hess emerged, holding up the cage containing the tank’s carrier pigeons. Seemingly oblivious to the bombardment, he stood beside Mephisto and opened the small door to the cage.
‘Get down, you fool!’ Heiber called.
‘Yes, get down, Hess!’ said Corporal Hartmann. ‘Do you want to be killed?’
But Hess ignored them both. ‘Come along, my girls,’ he said to the pigeons. ‘Out you come.’ When the birds would not emerge, Hess reached in and took out the trio, one at a time. Kissing each pigeon, he then held it up and released it with a flourish of the arm. ‘Fly away, my pretty, to freedom.’
One by one, the grey birds fluttered up into the overcast sky. Just as the last took to the air, a shell landed on the edge of the crater close to Hess. Shrapnel scythed through the air and smoke billowed. When the smoke cleared, Hess was lying motionless beside Mephisto with his mouth open and eyes staring. The birdcage lay mangled beside him, the ragged corpse of the last pigeon close by. High above, the first two birds circled, then flew away towards the east.
Corporal Hartmann, moaning with pain, was rocking back and forth and clutching the back of his right leg. Metal fragments from the same shell that had killed Hess had ploughed into his thigh.
Papa Heiber made his way to the wounded Hartmann and surveyed the corporal’s wound. ‘You’ll live,’ he declared, ‘unlike that fool Hess.’
‘Is Hess dead?’ Hartmann asked through clenched teeth.
‘Quite dead, my friend,’ Heiber said, unbuttoning his tunic. He proceeded to tear strips from his undershirt to serve as bandages for Hartmann’s leg. ‘And then there were nine of us.’
‘In a hole in the ground in an orchard,’ said Richard, half to himself. He felt very uneasy about what might lie ahead and checked to make sure that his pistol’s magazine was full.
‘A hole in the ground that will become the grave of us all,’ said Krank downheartedly, looking at Hess’ still frame, then up to the eastern lip of the crater, where the soles of Wagner’s boots were clearly visible. ‘And Krank is always right.’
‘Heiber,’ called Eckhardt, ‘we’re too close to the machine. The English will continue to target it and we will fall victim to their shelling.’
‘What do you suggest, Eckhardt?’ Heiber responded as he bandaged Hartmann.
‘We withdraw to the next shell crater over there.’ Eckhardt nodded to the southeast. ‘We can still keep an eye on the panzer from there.’
‘Yes, let’s do that,’ Krank quickly agreed. ‘It’s too hot here for comfort, Feldwebel.’
Heiber thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘Very well. But no further than the next shell crater. We are under orders to defend Mephisto, and defend it we must.’
‘We will wait for a lull in this shelling, then relocate,’ said Eckhardt, as shells continued to fall close by. ‘Do you agree, Heiber?’
‘Yes, but we wait for nightfall,’ Heiber returned. ‘No point taking foolhardy risks.’
‘Nightfall?’ groaned Krank. ‘God in heaven, we will all be dead by then!’
‘Nightfall,’ Heiber repeated firmly.
Beside Bois l’Abbé, the Australian troops had eaten their evening meal of cold bully beef, dug from tins with their bayonets.
‘All we ever seem to do is march,’ complained Nash as he lay on the ground, looking up at the hazy sky. ‘When do we get a chance to fight?’
‘Soon enough,’ said Taz, sitting with a stub of pencil and a small notebook that he kept in his tunic’s left pocket.
‘What are you writing, Taz?’ Frankie asked.
‘A diary, of sorts.’
‘A little diary by the look of it,’ said Nash.
‘I didn’t know you were keeping a diary,’ said Frankie.
‘Only started it the other day.’
‘So what have you written for today?’
‘“Twenty-fourth of April: Saw tank battle. We won.”’
‘Not exactly riveting stuff, mate,’ Frankie remarked.
‘It’ll help me remember when I sit down to write a book about my experiences.’
‘You’re planning on writing a book?’ Frankie asked, surprised. ‘Mate, you’re only a kid. Who’d read it?’
Taz shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’
‘All right, you lot, listen up,’ barked Rait the Rat, arriving on the scene with Lieutenant Blair and Corporal Tom Hughes. They had just returned from a briefing by the company commander, which was attended by all the other platoon leaders and their deputies.
With section commanders Rait and Hughes standing by his side, Blair squatted down in the midst of his platoon. ‘Gather round, boys,’ said the American lieutenant.
‘What’s news, sir?’ asked Nash, getting up and joining the other men of the platoon as they congregated in a tight circle around their commander.
‘We’re to take part in a counterattack against Fritz,’ Lieutenant Blair began. ‘Tonight.’
‘About time!’ Nash declared.
Blair held his hand out to Rait. ‘Give me your bayonet, Corporal.’ Unsheathing the bayonet on his hip, Rait handed it to him. Using the bayonet, Blair sketched a rudimentary map on the ground. ‘This is Villers-Bretonneux,’ he said, ‘and this is us, here, at Bois l’Abbé. Tonight, the 15th Brigade will be going in north of the town, while the 13th advances south of the town.’ Blair drew two arrows to represent the two-pronged attack. ‘The objective is for us is to avoid Villers-Bretonneux and link up with the 15th on the other side of the town, cutting off the Germans. It’s a classic pincer movement, and it’ll save us a costly fight through the town, street by street.’
‘A blooming clever idea, if you ask me,’ Frankie remarked.
‘But no one is asking you, Pickles,’ Rait said, glaring Frankie’s way. ‘So pull your head in!’
‘Here in the south,’ Lieutenant Blair continued, ‘the 52nd Battalion will be going in on the right flank of the push, with a British battalion on our right and the 51st on our left. The 50th will be coming up on our heels, in support.’
‘Now you’re going to get some fighting,’ said Frankie, nudging Nash.
‘Can’t wait,’ said Nash, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
‘The 52nd’s objective,’ said Lieutenant Blair, ‘is to clear the Jerries from trenches they took from the Tommies this morning at a place called Monument Farm, while the Brits’ 7th Bedford Battalion clears out Monument Wood just to the south of the farm, on our right. Then we link up with the 15th Brigade around a mile east of the farm, cutting off Villers-Bretonneux. We won’t let anything or anyone stand in our way until we get to Monument.’ He jabbed the bayonet into the earth. ‘Here!’ Looking around at the faces circling him, he asked, ‘Any questions?’
‘What time will the attack begin, sir?’ Taz asked.
‘We’re still waiting for zero hour to be finalised. The brass want us to go in while it’s still light, but General Glasgow is adamant that we go in after dark.’
‘Too right!’ Frankie remarked. ‘We’d b
e sitting ducks in daylight.’
‘You got that right, Private,’ said Blair, coming to his feet. ‘And one other thing, boys, the word from the top is “no prisoners”.’
‘What does that mean, sir?’ Nash asked.
‘We won’t have the time or the capacity to handle any Germans who surrender,’ Blair replied matter-of-factly. ‘They’d only be a hindrance.’
‘So what will we do with them, sir?’ Taz inquired.
‘What do you think, Dutton?’ said Rait, a leering grin creasing his face.
‘Use your imagination, boys,’ said Lieutenant Blair, walking away.
‘And your bayonet,’ said Rait, stooping to retrieve his bayonet from the earth.
In the early evening, German tank commanders clustered in a dugout outside Marcelcave, studying a map pinned to the log wall. Colonel Kessel, using his walking stick, pointed at various locations on the map. ‘Here is Elfriede, stranded in a quarry,’ he said. ‘The damned fool of a driver should never have taken his panzer in there. And here is where Nixe was first abandoned.’
‘I understand from Leutnant Biltz, Herr Oberst,’ said Captain Greiff, who had walked all the way from Rosières to join his commanding officer in the dugout, ‘that Nixe had been successfully brought back to our lines.’
‘Yes, that is correct,’ Kessel replied, looking around the group. ‘And where is Biltz? Why isn’t he here?’
‘He went back out with Siegfried after refuelling,’ said Greiff. ‘He is a brave man, that Biltz.’
Kessel nodded. ‘Biltz should be an example to all you laggards.’
Biltz had won new respect from his comrades that morning, first in leading the destruction of four British Whippet tanks and driving the other three Whippets from the battlefield. He would also be credited by his superiors with knocking out Frank Mitchell’s Mark IV.
‘So Nixe has been secured, Herr Oberst?’ Lieutenant Theunissen queried.
‘Yes, the surviving members of Nixe’s crew returned to their panzer,’ Kessel confirmed. ‘The engines were still running. The infernal crew had not even bothered turning them off when they left it in such a hurry. They were able to reverse Nixe back to here –’ he tapped the map – ‘where they ran out of fuel. Tonight, once darkness falls, we will get more fuel to the machine. Which leaves Mephisto, here.’ Again he tapped the map, this time at a location marked ‘the Orchard’.
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