by Alan David
‘You’re talking nonsense,’ Kurt retorted. ‘I’m petrified every time we go into action. If I never had to climb into that tank again I’d be the happiest man in the world.’
‘That’s just the point,’ Schultze said, grinning. ‘You’re scared like the rest of us, but it doesn’t stop you doing all the right things at the right time. I know we all do our duty, but you’ve got that little bit extra, sir, and it shows. They should make you the Troop Commander instead of Reinhalt. In fact I think you should have been an officer.’
‘No thanks!’ Kurt spoke decisively. ‘I’ve got enough on my shoulders worrying about this crew without having the added responsibility of other tanks as well. Don’t start talking things up. Just settle down and get some rest while you can. There’s no telling when we’re going to be pushed forward again.’
Niehaus was still inside the Mark IV, listening to the radio, and he popped his head up out of his hatch and called excitedly.
‘Our people are withdrawing. The Battalion is coming back. They can’t take any more. We’ve lost almost half our Panzers. The Allies are moving in more armour and there’s increased air activity.’
‘That’s what’s spoiling the war for us,’ Hohner reflected gloomily. ‘Those damned fighter-bombers! They pack too much power for us. Look at the way we slaughter those Shermans when we get them on level terms. The Allies haven’t got a tank that’s half as good as ours. God knows what our Panthers and Tigers are doing to them. I wish we had one of those newer types. I’d feel a lot safer. Some of them are armoured almost as well as battleships.’
Kurt smiled and shook his head. ‘No matter how much armour you stick on us, the enemy will always bring out a gun that will be guaranteed to stop us.’
Niehaus climbed out of the tank and came to join them, his grimy face taut. But he was settling down well and had none of the fatalism of the rest of the crew. He had not seen enough action yet to have his mental resilience eroded. He was still optimistic, and Kurt, studying the young face, realized that here was the future of Germany, waiting to be slaughtered.
‘When are all our reserves coming up so we can throw the Allies back into the sea?’ Niehaus demanded. ‘Every day we go forward we can see that the enemy has more and more supplies. We’re wasting time. If we were going to beat them we should have done it by now.’
‘Listen to him,’ Schultze marvelled, winking at Kurt. ‘He hasn’t been in action more than half a dozen times and already he’s thinking like a general.’
‘He’s thinking better than most of our generals,’ Hohner rapped. ‘The Ɉunge talks a lot of sense. We can see the enemy’s build-up, and it’s going to take us longer to throw them back now than it would have done a week ago. Why don’t we see the reserves we hear so much about? Why are there whole armies in the back areas who haven’t fired a shot in anger while we’re being pulverized daily? That’s what I’d like to know.’
‘It’s not for us to know what the generals have in mind,’ Kurt retorted. He squinted his eyes as he peered into the sky. He could see several ominous black dots diving and wheeling, and the raucous sounds of battle raged in the distance. ‘All we have to do is go out and fight. The generals look at their maps, decide that it would be nice to push back an enemy salient, and we get sent in to do the dirty work. If those generals had to come and do the fighting themselves they wouldn’t be so keen to make their plans.’
‘Is that really what you think, Sergeant-Major?’ The voice came from behind them, and Kurt looked around quickly to see Leutnant Reinhalt approaching, having overheard his remark. The Leutnant looked as if he were on the point of collapse, but his eyes were glinting in his grimy face. ‘You’d better learn to keep your thoughts to yourself. We have a new Troop Commander replacing Leutnant Toepsch — a Leutnant Messner, and from what Major Zimmermann tells me, Messner is a Party member and very keen. If he overhears such a remark as I just caught then you could be facing a firing squad, Eckhardt. Learn to keep your mouths shut, all of you. This crew is the most experienced one in the Troop.’ Reinhalt paused and smiled grimly. ‘At the moment it’s almost the only one in the Troop. I don’t want to lose you to a firing squad. Action takes you all too quickly as it is. So use your sense. Keep your mouths shut and your eyes open.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ Kurt replied, getting to his feet. ‘We were just trying to unwind, and it’s in the nature of a man to grumble about those who don’t seem to have as dangerous a job as ours. All those headquarters people who never go into the sharp end! We didn’t mean anything by what was said.’
‘I know that, and I understand,’ Reinhalt said wearily. ‘But Leutnant-bloody-Messner won’t make any allowance for the fact that you’ve all survived more than five years of war. He’ll think none of you has done his duty properly because you haven’t already died for the Führer.’
There was a short silence and they looked at one another. It was obvious that Reinhalt was at breaking point, and his eyes were over-bright as he drew a deep breath and faced Kurt.
‘The orders are that you remain here until told to move. I’m going back to pick up another Panzer. There are some reserves at HQ: vehicles reclaimed from the battlefield and repainted. I lost two of my crew this afternoon, but the pool at Battalion HQ is growing larger day by day. Before long we shall all be without Panzers, and then they’ll turn us into infantry and stick us in the front line. Sergeant-Major, you’re in command of this Troop while I’m away. Yours is the only tank that’s fully operational so don’t expect to be sent anywhere. Get as much rest as you can, for I have it from the Major that what we’ve seen and done so far is as nothing compared with what’s coming.’
‘You can rely on me, sir,’ Eckhardt said with sympathy in his tone. He liked Leutnant Reinhalt, who had been their Troop Commander since the opening days of the war. Reinhalt never pushed them too hard and was an understanding man. He was not an ardent Nazi, and respected his troops.
‘I’ll be back soon,’ Reinhalt said, turning away. He walked a few unsteady paces then halted, turning to face Eckhardt again. ‘I forgot to mention it, Sergeant-Major, but I have recommended you for a decoration for the way you handled your Panzer in action, and Major Zimmermann endorses it. You and your crew displayed great coolness in facing overwhelming odds, and your entire crew will have their bravery recognized.’
There was silence until Reinhalt had moved out of earshot, and then Schultze laughed heartily.
‘They can keep their bloody tin!’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Instead they could give us free passes to the Divisional brothel! I’d settle for a couple of days in a rear area with one of those whores the officers have got back there.’
‘You’ve got a one-track mind,’ Hohner commented acidly. ‘But, for once, I agree with you. If we ever get back out of action for a rest you and me will have ourselves a fine old time, eh, Schultze?’
‘Leave it to Daddy Schultze,’ came the quick reply. ‘I’ve always looked after you, haven’t I? Well just you wait until we do get back. I’ll see to it that you all have the greatest time of your lives.’
Kurt sat down and leaned back closing his eyes, listening to their subdued voices. He wished they could get away from the front if only for a few days. Death and destruction flew around the battlefield in so many guises. Sitting back and thinking about it only made the whole thing seem worse, and Kurt massaged his throbbing temples as he considered Leutnant Reinhalt’s departing words. It was going to get a whole lot worse! Kurt didn’t think that could be possible. But he had been wrong before, and he had a sinking feeling that probably the Leutnant was right.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Max Eckhardt lost all track of the days as July ran its fiery course. SS Vaterland fought night and day in their sector, holding the British and Canadian troops who tried to get through to Caen. They fought tenaciously, counter-attacking whenever they were pushed back, and trying to advance only to be stopped by terrific artillery-fire, which was accurate and devastating. Allied p
ressure mounted steadily and it was obvious to anyone of Eckhardt’s experience that the Germans could not throw the invasion forces back into the sea.
The Allied build-up was tremendous, and no matter how ferociously the Germans fought there was no possibility of a breakthrough to the beaches. In fact the opposite happened, and the first intimation the Germans had was a gigantic aerial bombardment intended to soften up their defences. Two thousand Allied aircraft were used to blast a gap in the German front line and pulverize German reserves stationed farther back.
At dawn the aircraft came lounging across the sky, almost leisurely, indifferent to the anti-aircraft fire that was directed at them. The ground began to shake as bombs burst, and the Germans sought shelter. There were no individual explosions, only a continuous rumble which lasted for three-quarters of an hour, and Eckhardt, occasionally risking a glance from his dugout, never saw less than fifty enemy planes overhead at any time. The noise was deafening. He could see bombs leaving the planes and drifting earthwards in shoals. The very air seemed excited, tremoring with each fresh blast, and the shock waves poured back and forth like a tidal race. Whole defensive positions vanished under the exploding bombs, and great craters pitted the landscape. Dust and smoke drifted thickly, obscuring sight, and when the heavy bombers departed lighter aircraft attacked immediately, dropping smaller bombs to avoid cratering. The front-line defences suffered appalling damage, and when the Allied spearheads came forward to attack, following a creeping barrage fired by artillery, they met little resistance from the dazed and bewildered Germans.
The advance was checked during mid-morning when the British leading formations moved beyond the range of their own artillery. They had created a salient about three miles deep in one of the most strongly held parts of the German line, but the massive air raid had failed to destroy vital German strong-points on the flanks of the salient, and these came to life and shot up the densely packed British columns as they edged forward to the front.
Eckhardt’s Company was holding a ridge on the eastern flank of the British attack, and they poured a withering fire into the massed enemy troops. It was obvious now that the British intended out-flanking Caen from the east while the Canadians moved in on their right. The battlefield was covered with a pall of black smoke. Men were falling in batches, and the casualty rate increased as more and more troops came into action.
From their vantage point, Eckhardt’s Company could see an ocean of fire in the plain below, and whenever there was a temporary lull in the heavy fire the distant tapping of small arms could be heard. But the Allies had their problems, for there were only six bridges across the river and canal. Much-needed reserves were moving forward at a snail’s pace, and some elements destined to advance swiftly failed to get into the battle at all during the first day.
At the front the leading tanks of the offensive were met by a battery of German tanks and anti-tank guns. These had escaped destruction in the great air raid, having been kept far enough back to avoid the danger areas. Now they were deployed against the Sherman and Cromwell tanks. The Germans exploited all available cover, using small hamlets as strong points. Their Tiger tanks, mounting 88mm guns, were able to knock out the Allied armoured vehicles at ranges up to two thousand yards while the Shermans and Cromwells, lightly armoured and carrying low-velocity guns, could do little damage against the thick armour of the Tigers. Only rocket-firing Typhoons could easily penetrate the Tiger’s armour, and these aircraft appeared regularly to give close support to the harassed British ground forces.
The main British thrust was intended to bypass Caen and aim for Falaise; the infantry would follow, mopping up and broadening the salient with the support of several hundred tanks.
There was a rumour going the rounds that Rommel had been wounded, and Eckhardt tried to learn the truth about their commander. It transpired that Rommel had been shot by a fighter plane and was seriously injured. No one could travel the roads with impunity, and Eckhardt cursed the enemy’s air superiority again.
By the end of the first day the Allies had lost about two hundred tanks and suffered fifteen hundred casualties, but the British 2nd Army had carved a gap in the German defences and penetrated east and south of Caen: the way seemed open for the Allies to push on to Falaise.
But the Germans resisted stubbornly and, when Eckhardt attended an Orders Group at Battalion Headquarters, he discovered that Colonel Dantine was not unduly worried.
‘We’ve been expecting an attack such as this,’ Dantine explained. ‘We’ve known all along that the British would launch the major offensive here. The Americans are pinned down in the bocage and cannot make progress. It is the British whom we have to worry about, but if they continue their offensive along the lines it was conducted today then we have nothing much to fear. I give them another two days before they run out of momentum.’
Dantine’s words proved to be prophetic, for on the third day the British offensive ended. The Germans had been temporarily stunned and overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the attack, but they recovered quickly. Putting prearranged plans into operation, they built up a powerful screen of tanks and antitank guns. Having control of the ridge which runs both sides of the Caen-Falaise road, they successfully resisted any break-through. The weather had aided them: low cloud had prevented the heavy air support usually enjoyed by the Allies.
A terrific thunderstorm finally ended the British effort, turning the churned earth into a morass, although fierce fighting continued south of Caen. But large-scale movement was out of the question.
Eckhardt, overlooking the battlefield, saw a scene of utter desolation. There were hundreds of bomb craters, all now filled with rainwater. Trees had been uprooted and roads were impassable. There were hundreds of bodies everywhere, crumpled motionless in death, some torn in half by shell-fire, others crushed by tanks. Many armoured vehicles had been destroyed. There were reports at HQ that the British had lost over four hundred Shermans in the three days of the battle. A terrible stench of death emanated from the fields and the plain, and the scene reminded Eckhardt of his father’s description of the Great War.
No matter what the Allies tried, he thought, they found strong German resistance, and the war was not over yet by any means. There was still a lot of hard fighting ahead.
Eckhardt was relieved when replacements began to arrive to swell his thinning ranks to something approaching their establishment. But he soon discovered that the new troops were not trained to SS Vaterland standards. Days passed while they fought defensively, beating off probing attacks, and reinforcements arrived to plug the holes in the line caused by the latest British offensive. It was expected that the British would renew their attack as soon as they had regrouped, and German armoured units moved in to be ready to repel the invaders. The American front was weakened as a consequence, and those reserves pushed in against the British soon became embroiled in the constant fighting: the Germans were falling for the Allied plan. They knew that they had, at all costs, to hold the British and Canadians, in spite of losing valuable tanks and men.
The men in the trenches were living like animals. They had been fighting ceaselessly with no hope of relief. There were not enough reserves to enable them to be taken out of the line and rested. They saw the daily growth of the Allied war machine and felt the full effects of its weight when the Allies attacked. But they were stoical in their defence, inured to the horrific conditions and unmindful of their grim surroundings. This eternal fighting was second nature to them now.
Sergeant-Major Leun in particular was saddened by the youths who reported for duty as replacements. Some of them had difficulty in carrying all their equipment and weapons, but they were German soldiers, and he reminded them of the fact in a harsh tone which concealed his real feelings. He was sick of the war and of the Nazis. The war was lost and he knew it. He had given up hope when they failed to capture Stalingrad, and ever since those grim days he had been awaiting the inevitable end. But it was one thing to think in such term
s and quite another to refer to it. The SS men were nearly all Nazis, fanatics who had sworn undying loyalty to the Führer, and Leun knew he had to keep up the pretence of being as fervent as ever. But now he regretted the days of the Thirties, when he had marched with the Brownshirts and helped to beat up Jews and others who resisted Hitler. Now he wished that he had made a stand with those martyrs who had shed blood to prevent Hitler gaining power. But it was too late. The die was cast and they were all marching along the road to oblivion.
He cursed his ammunition party when they slackened in their arduous task of keeping the platoons well-supplied with ammunition. They had difficulty in crossing the shell-cratered ground, which was muddy now, and most of their work was done at night when it was impossible to see clearly. They crawled over the dead as they made their eternal rounds, and the bombing and shelling continued day and night.
Eckhardt looked critically at Leun as he approached the ammunition party near Company HQ. Leun looked exhausted and was gasping for breath. Eckhardt returned Leun’s salute and halted to study the man’s features. The only man he ever completely respected had been his father, and Leun and his father had been close friends. But the ties with the past were becoming weaker in Eckhardt’s mind as he watched his ideals being shattered by the turning fates of the war.
‘Are you ill, Leun?’ he demanded.
‘No, sir, just tired. I’m a lot older than most of these men.’ Leun forced a smile. He had seen action in the Great War, had been Eckhardt’s father’s servant in the trenches, and he knew that this was a young man’s war. But he could not complain. If he did they would probably send him off to the Russian front, and he had no desire to face the Ivans again.
‘You’re doing a great job,’ Eckhardt said. ‘I’ll recommend you for a decoration for your devotion to duty. No other man could have maintained supplies as you have done.’