by Alan David
Captain Dantine summoned Eckhardt to Company HQ and demanded to know why they were not advancing swiftly. It was useless trying to explain that each heap of rubble was a strong point. Dantine was aware of the facts but wanted results.
‘Get your men moving, Leutnant,’ he commanded. ‘If that street is not in our hands within the hour I shall personally visit your platoon and select a number of men at random to be executed.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Eckhardt went back to his platoon position. The bombing and shelling had been called off now, but grenades were exploding and small-arms fire rattled incessantly. The Poles were returning shot for shot and the battle was intensive. The harder the Germans pushed the more densely compact became the Polish defenders, and Eckhardt knew they were in for a murderous climax to the campaign.
He had barely run half a dozen steps across the street to get to his platoon when a bullet struck his machine pistol, almost jerking the weapon out of his hand. He zigzagged, aware that he had become the target of a sniper, and Sergeant Meyer, who was covering his approach, turned his rifle upon the enemy position. Eckhardt made it to the sergeant’s side and flung himself down into cover behind a devastated Polish anti-aircraft gun, which was little more than a heap of twisted metal. Bullets splattered against it, and Eckhardt eased his helmet and wiped sweat from his forehead.
‘We’ve got to take this street within the hour, Sergeant,’ he told Meyer, and they looked into each other’s eyes. Eckhardt glanced ahead without showing himself to enemy fire. He could see four of his platoon stretched out lifeless in the rubble-strewn street, and he gritted his teeth, cursing the Poles for such stubborn resistance. They were beaten but would not admit it.
‘We’ve been trying to eliminate their snipers, sir,’ Meyer said harshly. ‘It’s impossible to advance when a man gets his head blown off just by raising up to take a look at what’s going on.’
‘I have an idea.’ Eckhardt did not want Dantine to visit the platoon. The men were fighting to the best of their ability and he knew it. He had lost too many men in action to want executions to thin his ranks still further. ‘Get some covering fire on that area over there and I’ll take a section in against the first house. We’ll blow an entrance through the side wall of the building instead of going in through the front door, and once we’ve captured that house we’ll use grenades against the inner walls to get into the next house. That way we shan’t be exposing ourselves to enemy fire covering the street.’
‘That’s a good idea, Herr Leutnant!’ Meyer turned quickly to run to the left, hurling himself into a shattered doorway where the platoon HQ was located. A hail of machine-gun fire tore splinters from the doorway around him, but Meyer was untouched. He turned and waved a hand to Eckhardt, who crouched and peered around for the stronger points of resistance.
Eckhardt was smothered in brick dust, and could feel it crunching between his teeth. He eased his helmet and lifted his machine-pistol, spotting movement on a roof opposite. Taking quick aim, he triggered several shots, and was gratified to see a Polish sniper go sliding off the roof, taking a number of slates with him. He ducked as another sniper fired at him, and something struck his helmet with a resounding clang.
Meyer was giving orders, and moments later one of the sections appeared from cover and started running across to the nearest house. Polish fire was directed at them and one man uttered a hoarse scream and fell to the ground, rolling over and over, his helmet clattering away, while a gush of thick red blood issued from his gaping mouth. Eckhardt fired again, catching two Poles who were manning a machine-gun at an upstairs window. He saw the other sections of his platoon begin to put out covering fire and clenched his teeth as he prepared to move.
Getting to his feet, he ran swiftly across the lethal open space and hurled himself down beside the wall where his assault section was waiting stolidly. His men looked at him with dull eyes peering from exhausted faces. They had fought themselves almost to a standstill, but the worst of the fighting was still before them. Eckhardt quickly outlined his plans, and saw some animation in a few faces. Corporal Steine nodded and began to bind the heads of several grenades around a single complete stick grenade. Then they moved into better cover and the grenades were detonated against the wall.
When the smoke cleared away there was a hole in the wall just large enough for a man to squeeze through, and Corporal Steine was the first to move, rushing forward with rifle held ready. He disappeared through the smoke, entered the house, and Eckhardt followed immediately, urging the men to join him. They took the building with little resistance from the surprised defenders, and more grenades were used in a bedroom to blast through to the next house in the terrace.
After that they began to make better progress, although heavy fire was brought to bear against them from the row of houses opposite. Eckhardt sent a message to Meyer to report to Captain Dantine and get another section operating in similar fashion on the other side of the street. Minutes later the enemy fire coming at them slackened off, and Eckhardt was relieved as they went to work clearing the row of houses. Before the hour was up the whole street was in their hands.
The Company moved up, intent upon pushing forward. Dantine was pleased but not satisfied, and he came forward to speak with Eckhardt, his dark eyes gleaming ferociously.
‘See what you can do when you’re really pushed from behind?’ he demanded. ‘But that was a good idea of yours, Leutnant. I will mention it in my report of this day’s fighting. Let us continue using your method. It is proving very successful, and we must break the spirit of these Poles.’
Sergeant Meyer took the next section forward, and when the house clearing started Eckhardt lay beside his machine-gun squad which was covering the street. From time to time they engaged targets, and could check the progress being made by their house clearing squads from the signals being made from the shattered windows. As soon as a house was cleared a piece of cloth was waved from a window.
Other sections were sneaking forward, using the same technique, and they advanced at a faster rate. Eckhardt felt his impatience fading. At last they were having some effect.
He saw stretcher-bearers removing their casualties, and his blue eyes clouded over for a moment as he considered the price they were having to pay. But the war was necessary. Germany needed living room and this was the only way to get it.
When they moved forward he accompanied the machine-gun squad into a bedroom, and the weapon was set up at the window to cover a long stretch of street. There seemed to be a momentary lull in the fighting, and Eckhardt took the opportunity to peer from the window at the raging skyline of the stricken capital. Smoke billowed everywhere and fires were raging unchecked. Then a terrific explosion shook the house and plaster fell from the crumbling ceiling. The door of the room was blown off its hinges and carried towards the window by the blast. It struck the machine-gunner and knocked him out of the window. His cry of shock echoed as Eckhardt picked himself up from the floor. Smoke and dust filled the room and the ominous sound of wood burning came to Eckhardt’s ears.
It had been a mortar bomb, he decided, and went to check his squad. The machine-gun had been overturned and the Number Two was trying to set it up again. Neither of them risked a look out of the window to see what had happened to the gunner.
Eckhardt stood back from the window and tried to spot targets across the street. It was obvious that their gun position had been noted, and he decided that they would have to move out. He saw a hand appear at a window of the house opposite and wave a handkerchief, signalling that the house had been cleared. A machine-gun fired a long burst and brick dust flew. Then more mortar bombs came bursting in a vicious pattern and shrapnel hurtled through the windows. Eckhardt motioned for the gunner to follow him, and departed with his Bergmann held ready.
Sergeant Meyer was bleeding from small cuts on his face, but he saluted and grinned at Eckhardt, reporting that the house clearing was going better than anticipated. Captain Dantine came into view, dodging fr
om cover to cover, his tight uniform dusty, his helmet concealing the fanatical glare of his dark eyes. Eckhardt waited in cover until his superior arrived and did not salute for it was too dangerous to move.
‘We’re going to have the Panzers up to blast them out,’ Dantine said. ‘Keep your men under cover and co-operate closely. But don’t let the tanks go too far forward or we shall lose them.’
The fighting continued, and Eckhardt sweated in the heat of the battle. This kind of fighting did not appeal to him. He preferred to be in the open where he could see his enemies and fight man to man.
But the Poles were determined to force their aggressors to pay a high price for the capture of their beloved city, and there was no easy way of overrunning them. The streets were swept by machine-gun fire, and snipers ruled from upper windows and roofs. Shells whined overhead, destroying whole buildings, mangling the men who crouched inside them — Polish and German — and Stukas dived on certain areas of the city, inflicting many casualties.
Some assault engineers arrived with flamethrowers, and Eckhardt watched them going into action with their fearsome weapons. Houses began to burn fiercely and oily smoke poured into the sky. But the flamethrowers had the desired effect. The Poles could not combat them and had to withdraw, although some stayed in their positions and fought to the bitter end.
Everywhere there was death and destruction. The afternoon was dark, the sky fiery and filled with smoke which concealed the sunlight and brought early gloom. Rubble littered what had once been orderly streets, and bodies lay in the gutters, which ran with blood. The Poles were fighting a losing battle. They were accustomed to the rolling plains which stretched limitlessly outside the city, but the Germans were trained in close combat, and mustered their forces for even more powerful attacks. The fighting was murderous, with no quarter given on either side.
At night the tension was overwhelming. They crouched in the ruins they had captured and watched the shadows that were made all the more deceptive by the uncertain light of many raging fires. Occasional shots rang out, testifying to the presence of snipers, and machine-gun fire sounded intermittently as some machine-gunner let his nerves get the better of his trigger finger.
The platoon machine-guns were sited in cellars, pointing through ground-floor windows to cover the street, and the sections were spread out in a narrow perimeter, determined to hold on to their gains of the day.
A patrol went out to check and probe and, shortly afterwards, grenades blasted and a fire fight started, with machine-guns hammering frantically. Minutes later the violence subsided and the night became still again.
Eckhardt attended an Orders Group and found Dantine ensconced in a big gloomy cellar, with only the light from lanterns to dispel the darkness. The Captain was in high spirits, and congratulated Eckhardt and the others for their determined attacks of the day.
‘All over the city the fighting is the same,’ Dantine reported, ‘but no unit has made as many gains as our battalion. Colonel Spaten is well pleased with this Company, and you, Leutnant Eckhardt, can take the credit for the way we have enhanced our reputation. But the Poles cannot hold out for much longer and in a few days, whether we have captured the city or not, we are going to be withdrawn in order to prepare for special duties. What we have to do is vitally important. I will hold a briefing as soon as I get more information myself. But be ready to pull out, and be prepared to serve our cause in whatever capacity is demanded. We are going to have to rethink our whole attitude towards duty. You have all proved yourselves in battle, but this fighting is only a part of what is expected. There are other enemies who are just as ruthless and dangerous, and they will have to be taken care of.’
‘Does that mean we shall fight the Russians, sir?’ demanded one of the other platoon officers.
‘All I can say now is that we must always carry out our orders, even if we do not approve of our actions,’ Dantine said. ‘We are part of a great country which is trying to assert itself in a hostile world. Our difficulties are immense. But we have dead comrades to avenge and families to protect, our own lives to defend against people who lie when they say they are fighting in the name of right and justice.
‘There are those who think we are wrong in striking first. But who, in his right senses, will wait for a mad dog to attack when he has the chance to get in the first blow? We are walking along a dangerous road, gentlemen, using new ideas to gain what should be ours, and if we all do our duty then we shall succeed. But in succeeding we shall bring upon ourselves the hatred and loathing of those on whom we steal a march. Their jealousy will cause them to brand us what we are not, and they will heap lies upon us and curse us for doing what is right for Germany. We are all part of this great enterprise whether or not we like it, and, having sworn the sacred oath, we must steel ourselves to do what is necessary.
‘After this you will watch your men carefully, and any who seem to be lacking the iron soul which our cause demands must be weeded out. Bear in mind that great efforts will soon be demanded of us, and we are surrounded by hatred and death. We can only survive if our discipline is strong enough to support us in our actions. Your duty lies in forging a weapon which will cut down all the enemies of the Führer, and the steel for that weapon will be found in the flesh and blood of you and your men. We must be prepared to die for our victory if death will gain it.’
When they were dismissed, Eckhardt thoughtfully made his way back to his platoon position. He could not grasp what Captain Dantine had been driving at and realised that he would have to wait for more information before getting a picture of their future. It was obvious that the war with Poland was reaching its climax. It would soon end, and what would follow was still a secret in the minds of the Führer and the High Command. But whatever the Führer asked would be done. That much was apparent.
Sergeant Meyer reported that a Polish machine-gun was causing some trouble to the platoon, firing from the shadows across the street, and all attempts to put it out of action had failed. They had suffered two dead and three wounded. Eckhardt ducked and peered into the night when the enemy gun opened up, firing no more than a dozen rounds before cutting out, and he heard someone to the left scream in agony.
‘I’ll take Corporal Steine with me,’ Eckhardt said. ‘Fetch him, Sergeant.’
He began to check his equipment as Meyer departed, ensuring that straps were tight and buckles properly fastened, and he removed his helmet, for its silhouette was unmistakable. He moved deliberately, without fear, but adrenalin was flowing through his chest.
When Corporal Steine arrived he quickly agreed to accompany Eckhardt, who left Meyer in command of the platoon. The corporal checked his grenades and Eckhardt motioned for him to leave his rifle behind.
‘I’ll cover you,’ he said. ‘Be prepared to obey me instantly and without question or we’ll never see daylight again.’
‘Jawohl, Herr Leutnant,’ Steine replied, handing his rifle to Meyer.
‘Pass on the word to the rest of the platoon that we are going out, Sergeant,’ Eckhardt continued, ‘and don’t shoot us when we return.’
Meyer started to protest, offering to go in Eckhardt’s place, and they were interrupted by another burst of fire from the Polish machine-gun. As it stopped firing, Eckhardt touched Steine’s arm and they slid forward into the shadows of the ruined houses ahead of them.
Eckhardt crawled, moving an inch at a time, careful not to strike his Bergmann against the ground. Steine followed him very closely, moving when he did, as if the same brain controlled their movements. As soon as they were clear of their own positions they felt totally isolated, cut off from all other human contact, and a sense of loneliness came over Eckhardt. They reached the overturned wreck of a civilian car which lay in the centre of the wide street, and Eckhardt knew exactly where they were and where they had to go.
‘As flat as you can,’ he whispered in Steine’s ear, ‘and be as quiet as a mouse. No talking beyond this point. When you think you are close enough
to get that machine-gun with a grenade just warn me and I’ll cover you. But we’ll have to lie low afterwards because this whole area will go up in flames.’
Steine nodded, his eyes glinting in the gloom. Eckhardt eased forward, feeling bits of rubble digging into his body as he moved. The machine-gun opened fire again, and the stream of bullets were interlaced with tracer which seemed to curve eerily before striking crumbling walls. There was no reply from the Germans, and Eckhardt could guess that Meyer was prowling along the platoon positions, threatening with death anyone who might be tempted to return fire.
The shooting gave Eckhardt a fix upon the gun, but he was keenly aware that Polish eyes would be straining to pierce the darkness, and any sudden movement on his part would be rewarded with a killing burst of fire. He inched forward until he reached the dubious shelter of a mound of rubble which sprawled partly into the street from the building opposite, and the enemy gun was to their left.
Time seemed to lose all meaning, and Eckhardt could not judge how long he had been crawling. But, whenever he stopped, Steine drew level with him, looking intently into his face for signals. They were both sweating, as much from tension as from their exertions, and then they reached the lip of a shell crater, which Eckhardt recalled seeing during the hours of daylight. A wounded Polish soldier had lain crying in anguish in the crater all day, unable to move by himself and cut off from his comrades by the ready guns of the Germans. There was no sound now from this unnatural hollow, and Eckhardt eased forward three inches in order to peer into the hole.
He froze when his slitted eyes made out the figure of an enemy soldier lying motionless inside. Reaching out a hand he touched Steine’s head to stop him, and then drew his dagger and held it close to his body to prevent it gleaming and attracting attention.
Eckhardt almost stopped breathing. He could feel his pulses racing, and prepared to slip over the lip of the crater to drop upon the figure. It had to be the wounded Pole, and he was probably dead by now he thought remotely, his eyes narrowed to pierce the darkness.