Heroes in Normandy

by Alan David

  ‘Let me know when you are ready to move,’ Dantine responded. ‘I’ll get some covering fire for you.’

  Eckhardt acknowledged, and resumed his observation of the front. His platoon commanders reported that they were hard-pressed but holding, although all requested more ammunition. Leun came into the command post at that moment and Eckhardt held up a hand as he turned instantly to round up his ammunition party.

  ‘We’re pulling back, Sergeant-Major,’ he called. ‘Don’t take any more ammunition forward.’

  ‘Pulling back!’ Leun sounded surprised. ‘I thought SS Division Vaterland never withdrew. The Führer gave us orders to fight to the last man and the last round.’ There was a hint of mockery in the harsh voice, and Eckhardt tightened his dry lips.

  ‘You’d try the patience of a saint, Leun,’ he rapped. ‘What do you want me to do, have you shot? I’ve just shot one of the newest recruits for running.’

  ‘Running?’ Leun shook his head. ‘What is Vaterland coming to?’ He sighed heavily. ‘We never ran from anything in our time. It just shows you what types we are getting for replacements now.’

  ‘I don’t blame him,’ Eckhardt responded wearily. ‘He was on fire. One of those new British weapons. But he had to be stopped.’ He broke off, still able to smell the stench of burned flesh, and wondered what else the Allies had in store for them.

  ‘I’ll go back to our secondary positions, sir,’ Leun said. ‘We have stocked them with ammunition but a few more grenades might come in handy.’

  Eckhardt nodded and the sergeant-major departed. It was in Eckhardt’s mind to call his father’s one-time friend back, but he refrained and Leun slipped away into the bombardment falling heavily across their positions. Eckhardt turned upon his HQ group.

  ‘Let’s get moving,’ he said sharply. ‘The sooner we get back the sooner we can hit the British when they come forward.’

  But the British maintained their attacks all through the afternoon and into early evening. Eckhardt saw signs of the enemy on his left flank and pulled Hoess’s platoon around slightly to face the new threat. But slowly the impetus of the fighting faded and his platoons could break contact. A terrific German barrage of shells and mortar bombs crashed down upon the British to cover their withdrawal, and Eckhardt remained at his post as the survivors of his Company moved back.

  When he followed, the British were beginning to probe forward again, and their shelling intensified. Eckhardt shook his head, his mind fully occupied with the events of the present day, but in the background of his mind was the awful thought of what the future might hold. They did not seem able to contain the Allies in their beach-head. No matter what sacrifices they made the British and Canadians were moving forward inexorably, and if they gained momentum it would take more than the German army to stop them.

  He fought down his thoughts as he went around the secondary positions, checking the platoons, but he was shocked to see how few men he had left. The others were stretched out around the positions they had defended so defiantly all day, and good German blood had been spilled in vain. They had given ground, although they exacted a high price for it. But Eckhardt knew the end was near.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Kurt Eckhardt ducked in his turret as a shell exploded almost beside their lumbering vehicle. Once again they were pushing forward to get to grips with the Allies, but the enemy shelling was intensifying all the time, proving that fresh supplies and equipment were getting ashore on the landing beaches. There was a dull sense of dread in the back of Kurt’s mind, although he continued doing his duty steadily. They were now in the first week of July, and it was incredible that only three short weeks had passed since the D-Day landings. This hell seemed to have been going on since the beginning of time.

  The war news was bad. It was difficult for a man to learn what was happening in the next field, let alone on another sector of the front. But they learned that the Americans had captured Cherbourg taking three thousand prisoners. Kurt peered around from his turret, wondering why the whole German army did not collapse. He did not think the war could last much longer, and now all he cared about was survival. All he had ever wanted to do was be on the farm at Dettfeld with his family, and now it seemed that his chances of seeing the place again were extremely remote.

  He jerked his attention back to his task as more shells were bursting and blast tugged at him as he ducked the cruel shards of shrapnel that clattered against their steel hull.

  Daylight was breaking as they moved to the foot of a long slope. The shattered trees on the crest were occupied by the British, who had thrown out the Germans the evening before after a hard day. Now the Germans were counter-attacking, and Kurt ordered Weilen to fire high explosive at the enemy positions on the crest. To his left and right were the other Panzers of the Troop, and he could hear the sound of the radio intermittently between the explosions raging all about them.

  Suddenly Niehaus’s panic-stricken voice was yelling over the intercom, shouting about Shermans, and Kurt looked around quickly. He saw four Shermans, and they were being followed by parties of enemy infantry. The Allies were trying to advance again. They did not let up for a moment.

  ‘Armour piercing, Hohner!’ Kurt rapped, and heard the clang of the breech. ‘Pick your target, Weilen!’ There was no real need to give the gunner orders if he could see the targets. Weilen had enough experience to handle his part of the battle.

  The tank jerked slightly as the 75mm fired, and the whip-like crack of the departing shell stung Kurt’s ears. He eased his goggles and wiped them quickly. His black tank suit was covered with dust, clinging to the folds of his clothes, and he could feel it grating between his teeth.

  The Shermans opened fire, and the crackle of a solid steel shot whistling past them made Kurt flinch. It had missed! He could only assume that the Allied gunner was over-tensed, for at that range they could almost throw the shells by hand! He blinked as their 75mm blasted again, and saw the Sherman nearest to them bursting into flames. Weilen made no mistakes, and soon three of the enemy tanks were burning.

  They continued up the slope. Leutnant Reinhalt was on Kurt’s right and slightly ahead. A high-explosive shell landed on Reinhalt’s tank and shook it but apparently did little damage, although Kurt could imagine what the noise must have done to the crew. Reinhalt’s gunner cut loose and the enemy gun emplacement on the crest flew to pieces under the hammer-blow.

  Suddenly Reinhalt’s tank erupted with a terrific explosion, and was completely obscured by smoke. It cleared quickly and Kurt was surprised to see that the Panzer looked undamaged. Then he saw that the near-side track was smashed and realized that the Mark IV had run over a mine. He saw Reinhalt falling out of the turret and rolling off the back of the tank. The Troop Commander did not move, and Kurt guessed that he was badly concussed. A few seconds later the rest of the crew baled out, two of them dragging a third, who appeared to be unconscious.

  The tank on Kurt’s left was hit by an armour-piercing shell and stopped dead. The tank commander flew out of the turret and hit the ground hard, but surprised Kurt by getting to his feet almost immediately. Two more figures baled out, but no one else appeared as flames began to lick out of the turret and opened hatches.

  Weilen was still firing at the enemy positions, and Kurt looked around to see where the enemy anti-tank fire was coming from. He ordered Schultze to head for some dead ground which would shield them, and just as they lurched into it an armour-piercing shell struck the rear corner of the vehicle, flinging Kurt out of the turret. He went headfirst down the side of the tank and hit the ground hard, hurriedly scrambling away from the churning tracks that threatened to catch him and tear him to pieces. The Panzer stopped and Hohner came out of the turret, ducking as a burst of machine-gun fire swept the vehicle. Bullets ricocheted about them, but Hohner was concerned only for Kurt and began to pull him upright. Kurt grabbed the man and dragged him down, for an enemy machine-gunner had spotted them and was doing his best to kill them. Th
ey lay flat while the Panzer lurched to a halt. Its 75mm swung slightly, steadied, and then the weapon fired. The enemy machine-gun disintegrated. Kurt pushed Hohner towards the vehicle. Hohner clambered aboard and disappeared into the turret, and Kurt, his ears singing, his senses whirling, followed quickly, dropping into the cover of the turret as a two-inch mortar bomb exploded against the glacis plate.

  Schultze was zig-zagging backwards into cover, for it seemed impossible to go forward. Weilen kept firing, the gun blasting, filling the interior of the tank with blustering noise. Smoke obscured Kurt’s view as he struggled upright and tried to resume command. There were more Shermans coming forward, firing rapidly, and Kurt breathed heavily with relief when they finally reached a ridge and slid in behind it in a hull-down position.

  Some of the Shermans were moving to left and right, approaching from the flanks, and Weilen fired whenever he was given the order. With three shots he put three Shermans out of action. Enemy shelling increased tremendously and the whole area was saturated with heavy-calibre shells. Kurt peered around, locating Reinhalt’s damaged tank, and saw that it was still in action although it had been immobilized. Its gun was hammering steadily.

  At that moment Reinhalt spoke over the radio, ordering Kurt to assume command of the Troop and continue the attack. The German infantry were waiting for support in order to advance. Kurt smiled wryly as he looked around for the Troop. From what little he could see he was the only member still in action. His body and soul rebelled against the order for he realized that this was a suicidal attack. But he could not disobey. He ordered Schultze to take them forward slightly. When he saw almost a dozen Sherman tanks lumbering towards him he resigned himself to the fate he had always fancied would overtake him.

  ‘Load armour-piercing,’ he ordered, his lips dry, his throat constricted. ‘Commence firing. Pick your own targets, Weilen.’

  The rest of his words were lost in the blast of the big gun, and he saw the nearest Sherman reel under the hammerblow of their shot then burst into flames. Hohner reloaded quickly and they did not have to change position.

  He kept his attention on the battle, his thoughts stilled, his mind entirely taken up with the action.

  German infantry were crouching in what cover they could find, unable to advance while the Shermans were in the open. Kurt gripped the edge of the turret. Four Shermans were already blazing from Weilen’s accurate fire, but the other enemy tanks were concentrating on his position and shells were screaming about them. Several hit the Mark IV, but they were still hull-down and fairly safe.

  Then Major Zimmermann’s voice came over the air and Kurt listened intently.

  ‘Keep firing, Kurt. Hold them where you are. I’m sending two more Troops to assist you. Well done.’

  Kurt’s lips twisted as he ducked. A high-explosive shell dropped almost beside the vehicle and he could hear shrapnel whirling about him. Something struck his helmet with a clang and he clenched his teeth. Machine-gun fire was raking them, the tracers striking their obdurate steel sides and flying off at a tangent in a fearsome firework display.

  The Shermans were pressing home their attack despite their losses, and some of them were beginning to work around Kurt’s flanks. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was enfiladed, but while they had ammunition left they would fight.

  Niehaus was using his machine-gun rapidly, and Kurt could see approaching British troops being cut down like new-mown hay. He risked a quick glance around and was relieved to see eight Panzers advancing to join him. The Troops Major Zimmermann had promised were on their way. Seven Shermans were blazing furiously in front of Kurt’s Panzer and his Mark IV had destroyed them all.

  Leutnant Reinhalt climbed on to the back of Kurt’s tank just as Hohner reported that they had exhausted their supply of armour-piercing.

  ‘Continue using high-explosive,’ Kurt ordered sharply. ‘Fire at their infantry. Our supporting Troops will take care of the Shermans.’

  ‘Sergeant-Major, get out of here now,’ Reinhalt shouted, and Kurt turned his head quickly, surprised by his superior’s arrival. He saw that Reinhalt was looking dazed and sick, but there was determination in the man’s expression. ‘You’ve done enough for today.’

  ‘We’ve still got some high-explosive left,’ Kurt replied. He looked up to scan the indistinct sky, for smoke was broiling furiously. There were ominous black dots above, but strangely enough this particular sector was not bothered by the Allied airforce.

  The next instant the two relieving Troops arrived. One of the Leutnants called in and ordered Kurt to attach himself to the Troop. Kurt reported that he was out of ammunition and received the order to withdraw and rearm. He gave the necessary order to Schultze and almost a dozen dismounted tank crews sprang upon the heavy vehicle as it backed away from its position. Schultze spun the Panzer and they began to withdraw quickly, making for the nearest cover. As they crashed under some trees the first of a long line of fighter-bombers zoomed low, attacking the two relieving Troops, and Kurt, glancing back, saw Panzer after Panzer being hit by heavy, accurate fire. Once again it seemed their luck had held.

  They camouflaged the tank, moving wearily, bemused by the battering they had sustained. There were many fresh scars upon the exterior, and Kurt looked them over, seeing that several shells had almost caught them crippling blows. His head ached and there was a nervous tremor in his left eyelid as he looked around for the supply trucks. He assumed that they would be pushed back into action again as fast as they could turn around.

  Leutnant Reinhalt looked as if he was about to collapse. He had lost several tanks since they had entered the battle here in Normandy and the strain was beginning to tell. He praised Kurt’s manner of handling the violent battle, then went off to make a report to Zimmermann, who had informed Kurt that he was withdrawing with a damaged turret. Meanwhile the rest of the Battalion’s surviving tanks were still ahead, blasting it out with the droves of Shermans that the Allies had flung into the battle.

  Kurt supervised the preparations that had to be made before they could return to action, and Schultze prepared a light meal for them from the rations they were carrying. They were exhausted, thirsty, and short-tempered. When the supply trucks appeared, moving cautiously close to cover, they shouted at the driver although he had done nothing wrong. When they had taken on a fresh supply of shells and machine-gun ammunition they waited for fuel to come forward, and meanwhile the heavy sounds of the battle continued unabated and smoke drifted thickly across the fields.

  ‘Did you ever see anything like that?’ Weilen demanded. ‘I was knocking out Shermans left, right and centre. If we hadn’t run short of armour-piercing I would have set up a Battalion record.’

  ‘Think yourself lucky that the Jabos weren’t flying over,’ Hohner snapped. His face was black from the breech blast of the 75mm, and his eyes blinked rapidly as he peered around. There were streaks in the dirt on his face where sweat had dribbled copiously, and Kurt, studying his crew, realized that the veterans were without hope but young Niehaus was elated by his participation in the battle.

  Kurt tried to relax. His head was throbbing, but his mind was animated, leaping along strange avenues of thought. Despite his inherent fear he had acted like a hero once again. He wondered why it was that when they were in a back area he could barely restrain his teeth from chattering because of his fear, but when they were in action he felt nothing at all, only a strange compulsion to keep hammering at the enemy while their ammunition lasted. He dared not think about the mathematics of action, for they were terrifying. His battalion had lost a great many tanks, and his own Troop had been almost completely wiped out. The two relieving Troops had come forward just as enemy fighter-bombers had appeared, and he recalled seeing almost half of them going up in smoke. He knew their life expectancy had shrunk a little more, the odds mounting drastically against them. At one time there had been a one-in-four chance of being knocked out and almost an equal chance of being killed when it happened. N
ow he did not know how to calculate their chances, and was afraid to consider the subject. Yet some men seemed to be able to go on. Others were not so lucky, coming into action on their first day and getting wiped out immediately. There had to be more to it than chance, he thought, and hoped that he and his crew were destined to survive this endless hell.

  ‘How are you feeling, Sergeant-Major?’ Schultze demanded, coming up to Kurt and putting a mug of coffee in his trembling hand.

  ‘Not too bad,’ Kurt replied. ‘You handled the Panzer well, Schultze. If you hadn’t headed for that dead ground when you did we’d all be out there now, scattered across the field like the rest of the Troop.’

  Schultze grinned. The chirpy little Berliner could not remain subdued for long. As soon as they were out of action he seemed to be able to shrug off his memories of the awful incidents and revert to his other self — that small, remote being that was the real man tucked away deep in the back of the mind in moments of extreme stress.

  ‘Trust me to look out for myself,’ Schultze retorted. ‘I only moved so quickly because I was scared. I’m not like some people I know, afraid of nothing.’

  ‘Who in hell do you know who isn’t scared in this?’ Kurt demanded angrily. He always had to fight down his own fear, and the knowledge that everyone was scared seemed to help him. He disliked the thought of someone being able to take it without flinching.

  ‘There’s only one man in this Battalion who isn’t scared under any conditions,’ Hohner put in, dropping down to rest at Kurt’s feet. ‘That’s you, Sergeant-Major. Me, I don’t see anything going on outside the tank when we’re in action so I don’t have anything to scare me, and Weilen keeps me busy, firing that damned gun the minute I’ve got it loaded. But you, stuck up there in the turret with your head and shoulders in the open most of the time, seeing everything that’s coming at us. Now that’s what I call bravery. You deserve a medal, if anyone does.’