Heroes in Normandy

by Alan David

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Eckhardt nodded. Praise from Colonel Dantine was praise indeed. The Battalion Commander was a man of action, of unswerving loyalty to the Führer, and an order to capture an objective was tantamount to receiving the last wish of a dying father. It had to be obeyed no matter the cost.

  Neither of them ducked when an aircraft roared overhead, weapons hammering, and a bomb exploded only fifty yards away, throwing several men into the air, the vortex of the explosion tearing their bodies to pieces. Smoke and dust swirled around them.

  ‘I’d better be getting back to my Company, sir,’ Eckhardt said when the echoes of the explosion had died away. ‘I’ll keep the head of the column moving.’

  Dantine nodded, fingering the Knight’s Cross suspended from his neck. He had received the award for his services to the Führer at Stalingrad.

  ‘I’ll be in touch with you, Captain,’ he said. ‘But you must keep the Battalion moving. By nightfall we should be clear of this forward area. Then we can expect some peace. The men deserve a rest, and I fancy that whatever we are ordered to do in future, the rest will be a short one.’

  Eckhardt saluted and departed, followed by his escort. Several times they threw themselves down as enemy aircraft roared over them. Bombs were exploding, and in the distance behind them, artillery-fire was heavy and sullen. Eckhardt was thoughtful. He could picture his map of Italy, and wondered where they would be sent next to stem the inexorable advances of the Allies.

  He knew the war was going terribly wrong for Germany, although he could not admit that even to Leun. They had started out in the beginning with the highest ideals, determined to carve a place for Germany in Europe. But somewhere along the way they had lost their aims, and it seemed now that they were fighting for survival. News from the Russian front was not good, and there was always talk of the Allies opening a Second Front in France. But no matter where the enemies of the Reich struck next they would find determined German troops ready to fight to the last drop of blood to thwart them.

  When he reached his Company again, Eckhardt found them still moving forward towards their rendezvous, and the air attacks seemed to be lessening. They were moving out of the forward area. But mortar bombs suddenly began to blast the ground about them, and he peered into the distance, aware that more partisans were coming into action against them. His eyes glinted as he took in the situation, and already the four platoon commanders were beginning to lead their men out in a counter-attack. Machine-guns were stitching the hillsides, sending tracers flying in all directions, and the ranks of uniformed troops moved outwards to attack the Italians skulking among the rocks and hastily prepared defensive positions.

  Sergeant-Major Leun was at Company HQ when Eckhardt reached it, and he nodded and grinned as Eckhardt flopped down at his side.

  ‘This is the pattern we’ve got to expect from now on,’ Leun shouted above the noise of exploding mortar bombs. ‘Any word from the Colonel about where we’re going, sir?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Eckhardt shook his head, his eyes narrowed as he studied the surrounding high ground. They were following the low ground and were at a disadvantage. The partisans had everything in their favour, including the Allied airforce. He saw a three-inch mortar bomb explode in the midst of a section of Reinfeld’s platoon and shatter the small figures. More than one mortar was in action, and Eckhardt cursed silently. This was a hell of a way to fight a war!

  ‘If we are going to leave Italy, as the rumours suggest, I’m wondering if we’ll get the opportunity to see your brother Kurt before pulling out. He’s still in hospital in Rome and making a good recovery. It was partisans who got him, after all the times he’s been in action in that Panzer of his!’ Leun shook his head. ‘It doesn’t seem right does it, sir? Fighting through all the big battles only to get hit by partisans on your way back from leave.’

  ‘Kurt is all right,’ Eckhardt responded. ‘He’s out of action now, and he wasn’t hurt badly.’

  ‘A couple of broken ribs, that’s all. Pity it wasn’t enough to send him home.’ Leun ducked as a bomb struck the ground only a few yards in front of them, and they lay still while rocks and splinters flew through the air in a lethal hail. Smoke drifted across them. The sickly smell of high explosive was strong in their nostrils.

  ‘Don’t worry about Kurt,’ Eckhardt commanded. ‘Concentrate on this situation. Kurt is out of it now, and we have to get through to the rendezvous. Move up there with Reinfeld’s platoon, Leun, and put some stiffening into them. They’re running up that slope like a bunch of old women. The Colonel will play hell with us if we don’t wipe out those partisans. Get to it, and report to me when you’ve cleared the route ahead.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Leun smiled and slid away, machine-pistol in his big, capable hands, and he hurried among the rocks, making for the leading platoon.

  Eckhardt watched with narrowed eyes, his mind flitting over a dozen different subjects while he tried to concentrate upon the task in hand. There seemed to be thirty to forty partisans, but they could cause trouble out of all proportion to their numbers, and never stayed to fight it out when resistance grew strong. They were like shadows of death, striking without warning, inflicting some casualties before vanishing like ghosts into the hostile terrain. They held up the retreating columns, causing them to bunch, and then the Allied airforce came over to destroy everything in view. It was a vicious circle, and Eckhardt could see the grim pattern of it. He did not like it, but there was nothing he could do except push on, following orders blindly. Meanwhile guns chattered out their song of death and men died among the rocks miles behind the front line. It all seemed so pointless, but this was the harvest that the Germans had sown so cruelly at the outset of the war and they were grimly reaping what they had sown.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sergeant-Major Kurt Eckhardt lay back in his hospital bed in Rome and tried to relax. The partisan bullet in his chest, which broke two ribs, had taken him out of action and given him a respite when he needed it. His chest was heavily bandaged, but he was in no pain now and expected daily to be told he was fit for action once more. They didn’t give a soldier much time to recover from wounds these days. If a man was able to walk and hold a gun then he was ready for duty.

  But his face was pale, his features showing the ravages of his harrowing experiences. He thought of the last big battle in which he had fought, when his Panzer was smashed and his gunner wounded. Weilen was in the same hospital and had to return to their unit within the next day or so, although he was not keen to return to the hell they had known. In the same action their radio operator, Erich Vogel, had been killed by mortar-fire after they baled out of their tank, and Vogel had been a particularly close friend. The crew had been together almost five years, and they had fought through Poland and in Russia without casualties. Then, in one battle, two of them had been hit.

  Kurt sighed heavily as he reflected upon the past. He dared not consider the future. News from the front farther south was not encouraging. Cassino had fallen to the Allies and the Gustav Line was breached. The Allies were trying to break out of the Anzio beach-head to link up with the Fifth and Eighth Armies moving towards Rome, and it looked as if the war in Italy was about to run down. Everywhere the German armies fought they were facing defeat, and, to Kurt’s mind, it was pointless fighting on. They were only throwing away good German lives and wasting precious blood. Nothing could stop the Russian steam-roller in the East, and when the Allies opened the Second Front in France the end would soon come upon them.

  He had received some letters from his home, a farm near Dettfeld, just south of Hamburg; it was not particularly encouraging, although his wife, two children and Aunt Gretel were all right. That was a blessing in itself, for the bombing of German cities was reaching a peak. No one knew just how many people were being killed, but the men at the front were receiving letters filled with the names of those who perished. It was bad enough fighting a losing battle, but the knowledge that families back home were being murdered
by the terrible bombing undermined the courage and steadfastness of even the most loyal German soldier.

  When he was visited by his Company Commander, Major Zimmermann, Kurt was relieved. Zimmermann, a tall, spare man with a bushy moustache and worried brown eyes, shook hands and sat down on the foot of Kurt’s bed.

  ‘How are you feeling now, Kurt?’ he demanded. ‘I’ve been worried about you.’ He sighed as he removed his hat and tried to relax. He came from the same area in Germany as Kurt, and had been a schoolmaster before the war. He had married Kurt’s Aunt Gretel.

  ‘I’m all right now, sir,’ Kurt replied. ‘It’s just a matter of waiting for the ribs to knit together. But I fancy that I’ll soon be discharged. How is it at the front?’

  ‘We’ve been pulled out of the line at the beach-head,’ Zimmermann said slowly. He looked tired and tense. His eyes were restless and his hands shook intermittently. Kurt read all the signs and was concerned. ‘I don’t know what they intend doing with us now,’ he continued. ‘We have lost almost all our tanks. There are the usual rumours, you know, but the most persistent one is that we are to be sent right out of Italy.’

  ‘Why would they pull us back that far?’ Kurt mused. ‘Is it just our unit or the whole army?’

  ‘Just a few units. I think we are going back to Germany to be refitted with the new Panzers everyone is talking about. It’s about time we got them. We’ve waited long enough.’

  Kurt thought of the terrors of climbing into a tank and going forward against the enemy. It was a nightmare from which he had never been able to free his mind. It took a special kind of courage to wage war from inside an armoured fighting vehicle, and Kurt knew that he was not suited to it. Yet he had endured more than four years of it, although just before he was wounded he had almost reached breaking point. Some of his crew were the same, and he knew they all needed a long rest. Men were not machines and they had to be rested. But even some of the machines had cracked under the demands that had been made of them. But the knowledge that struck cold fear through Kurt was the fact that the whole situation could only get worse.

  ‘I’ve seen Weilen, my gunner, while I’ve been here, Major,’ he said. ‘He was hit in the chest by a piece of shrapnel. He should be coming back to the unit in a couple of days. But if you are pulling out of Italy I don’t want to stay here. I’ll be taken off your strength completely, and they’ll probably put me back into action with another unit. I’d rather fight with my comrades, sir. Do you think you could get me back to the Battalion? I’m well enough to do light duties. That would ensure my travelling with you where ever you go.’

  ‘That’s a thought,’ Zimmermann concurred. ‘Are you fit enough to do light duties? We could give you some clerical work to handle. I’d like to take you with us, Kurt.’

  ‘That’s what I’d like,’ Kurt agreed. ‘Would you have a word with the doctor? They’re keen enough to push men out of here. Most of them leave before they are fully recovered.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do. But you’re still in bed. Can you get up?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’m only resting because there is nothing else to do. But I can’t go on lying around here thinking about the war. It’s hell to be involved, but a lot worse sitting around just thinking about it. I’d like nothing better than to know that I don’t have to climb into another tank. But I don’t want to be left behind if the Regiment is being pulled out.’

  ‘I’ll see the doctor before I leave.’ Zimmermann opened his breast pocket and produced two letters. ‘These came for you, Kurt. One is from Anna, the other from Aunt Gretel. I assume that you have written and told them you have been wounded.’

  ‘No I haven’t. I told them I’d been involved in an accident. I didn’t want to alarm them.’

  ‘I see.’ Zimmermann’s eyes closed for a moment. When he opened them he looked as if he was having difficulty keeping his nerves under control. Kurt studied the older man’s face, recalling the last time Zimmermann had been home on leave. He could see all the signs of a crack-up and was perturbed. But everyone was up against the wall and the casualty rate was tremendous. ‘I wrote saying that you had been wounded. It was my duty as your Company Commander to do so. But they will understand, Kurt. There are no illusions left about this war now. Everyone is involved, and we are all in equal danger. There aren’t many of our old comrades left. Those who set out with us into Poland in ‘39. Most of them are dead.’

  Kurt fought down the impulse to talk about the war. Fear was vibrant in his mind, and his nights were disturbed by bad dreams and memories. He could only marvel at the way they all found new strength when it seemed that they were on the brink of disaster: somehow they managed to keep going when all their instincts told them to turn and flee.

  ‘How much longer can we keep going, sir?’ Kurt demanded. ‘Why don’t we sue for peace? Surely no one believes that we can still win!’

  Zimmermann cast a quick glance around then shook his head. ‘Don’t talk like that, Kurt. I know a hospital is one of the places you can expect a man to have fears, but you’d be in trouble if anyone overheard you.’

  Kurt nodded. He sat up in the bed, feeling a slight twinge of pain in his right side. But he was well enough to get up and sit on the opposite side of the bed.

  ‘This place is hell on the nerves,’ he said, and Zimmermann nodded. ‘Try to get me released, please.’

  ‘I’ll go and have a word with the doctor.’ Zimmermann arose from the bed and walked to the door. He left his cap behind, and Kurt gazed at it while he waited. The peacefulness of Rome grated his nerves after active service. He shook his head, wondering if he would ever see his home and family again.

  Weilen entered the ward, dressed in his uniform. The tank gunner grinned. He was an optimist from Hanover, and had almost recovered from the shrapnel wound in his chest. He sat down on the foot of Kurt’s bed, his eyes gleaming. He still had some shrapnel in his left leg from a wound received in Russia the year before.

  ‘I’ve just seen Major Zimmermann,’ he said. ‘I’m going back to the unit with him. I’m due to be discharged tomorrow anyway. He’s going to take me back in his transport. I’ve got to get my kit together, but I want to say goodbye to you. I don’t think you’ll be able to leave for another week, Sergeant-Major.’

  ‘The Major is going to try and get me out of here now,’ Kurt retorted.

  ‘Are you crazy? Stay here as long as you can. You’ve got broken ribs. They can’t force you back to the front until they’ve had plenty of time to heal.’

  ‘The Regiment is moving, probably right out of Italy,’ Kurt said. ‘I don’t want to be left behind then posted to another Regiment. I want to be with my comrades, with what’s left of my own Panzer crew.’

  Weilen’s face changed expression slightly and he heaved a long sigh. ‘Yes, I know how you feel,’ he admitted. ‘But we’re going to find it hard with Vogel no longer on the radio. It’s a hard thing to say, but he’s better off dead after losing his family in the Hamburg bombing. He was cracking up, and they would probably have shot him if he failed in his duty. We both know he was a brave man, but they would have shot him anyway.’

  Kurt nodded. ‘This is a hell of a war, Hans. We’ve come so far together. But it can’t last much longer. Everyone must know we can’t win! Why don’t we sue for peace?’

  Weilen glanced around in much the same way that Major Zimmermann had, and he cautioned silence in a harsh undertone. For God’s sake! They’ll shoot both of us if you’re overheard. Don’t talk like that, Sergeant-Major. We’re only simple soldiers and it’s not for us to wonder why these things happen.’

  Kurt smiled grimly. ‘We’re going to die anyway, Hans. You don’t think our luck can hold out much longer, do you? Once I thought nothing could hurt us: we all seemed to have charmed lives in our crews. But you’ve been wounded twice, I was almost killed, and poor Vogel was blown up. I don’t think we have any chances left now. The mark is upon us.’

  ‘Christ! I’ve got to get b
ack into a tank with you, Sergeant-Major. Don’t talk like that! It’s asking for trouble. We’ve both seen men go that way. When they talk like that they seem to attract trouble. It’s this place! It’s enough to give anyone the creeps. I hope the Major can get you out of here. The Regiment is out of the line. It should be quiet. Maybe they’ll ship us back to Germany to be re-equipped with those new tanks. Then we’d probably get some home leave.’

  Kurt smiled, shaking his head. ‘I don’t think I want to go home until this is all over. It’d be too much of a strain. I wouldn’t have the strength to leave my family again if I saw them now.’

  ‘It’s the wound.’ Weilen shook his head, his face showing alarm. ‘Hospitals have the same effect on me. I’m feeling unsettled at the moment. But you must keep your mouth shut, sir! For God’s sake! You don’t want them dragging you out of here and sticking you up against a wall, hein? It has happened. Only yesterday they took away three men who were suspected of malingering and spreading defeatism. They make no allowances for the fact that a wounded man’s morale gets low. We have all got to be supermen!’

  Major Zimmermann returned and Weilen stood up.

  ‘No. Please sit down, Weilen,’ the Major said. ‘You’d better get your kit together. You’re leaving with me.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ll do that now, sir.’ Weilen left.

  Zimmermann looked at Kurt. ‘The doctor says you can be discharged in the morning. You’ll be able to handle light duties. I’ll have you put on clerical work. In reality that means you’ll be able to sit around Battalion HQ recuperating. Then if we do pull out you’ll go with us.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Kurt nodded, although there were shadows in his eyes. ‘I’m not looking forward to it, but I’d rather be with friends.’

  ‘Perhaps this whole sorry mess will soon be over,’ Zimmermann mused. ‘Anyway, you’ll need to know our position. We’re well behind the lines, and I have a feeling we shan’t be there very long.’