Hellfire (2011)

by James Holland

  ‘Talking of which,’ said Peploe, ‘we’re supposed to be at the start line at nine p.m., so we’d better be getting ready.’

  ‘Feeling a bit clearer now, Phyllis?’ asked Vaughan.

  ‘Yes, thank you, sir.’

  ‘Excellent. Well, good luck.’ He made to leave, but then stopped. ‘This operation tonight,’ he said. ‘It’s a key one. If we can take and hold those positions, it’ll give us crucial ground and help us achieve the break-out we need. If 7th Motor Brigade can take and consolidate those features, and secure the Kidney Ridge, I can’t see there being any way back for Rommel. We’ll have him all but on the run.’

  The men looked at him in silence. Then Hepworth said, ‘No pressure then, sir.’

  ‘You can handle it, Hepworth. Good luck, chaps.’

  Around midnight, A Company were leading the rest of the battalion out to the ground south of Kidney Ridge. In the lead carrier, Peploe now stopped, jumped out and ran to Tanner, who had earlier collected his truck and brought it forward to the head of the column.

  ‘Do you think this is it?’ Peploe muttered.

  The moon was now up and although there was still some smoke and haze, it did seem as though they were in a two-hundred-yard-wide shallow bowl. ‘It can’t be Snipe, can it?’ said Tanner.

  ‘No, they’re to the north of us, I’m sure.’

  ‘Well, even if it isn’t Grouse, it looks like as good a position as we can hope for, don’t you think?’

  Peploe breathed in deeply. ‘All right.’

  Tanner watched him return to his carrier. If they were in the wrong place, it would be in keeping with the way the operation was going so far. The truth was, they had not been given much time to get themselves organized and in formation. During the period of retraining, D Company had been redesignated X Company and given sixteen six-pounders. These guns had been left behind during their stint with the Minefield Task Force and had had to be brought up from Brigade HQ, near their original start positions, along with their portees and ammunition. A number of the trucks – Tanner’s included – had also had to be collected, as had the larger supply trucks of the rear link. Then the battalion had had to form up, but already precious time had been lost and by the time all their guns and trucks had arrived, and the detachment of sixteen sappers and a battery of six-pounders had found them, it was getting dark.

  The colonel had allocated two columns, led by A Company on the left with two platoons of X Company, and C Company on the right, with two six-pounder platoons. Behind them were Battalion Headquarters, plus a troop of 240th Battery with four six-pounders, and B Company – the battalion reserve – with the remainder of 240th Battery.

  If it had been getting dark as they had begun forming up, it was completely so by the time they had managed it. The moon was not yet up and, with no forward lights on the vehicles, it had been difficult to find the start of the Moon track, which, after three days of battle, looked very different from how it had on the opening night. Now, the sand had been driven over countless times, furrows of fine powder dug along its length. Fuel cans and battle detritus littered either side. To make matters worse, the enemy had been shelling – not heavily, but enough to stir up more dust and smoke. Only occasional flares or the flashes of guns gave them any illumination at all. Eventually they had made it to the start of Moon track, not by 2100, as had been agreed, but nearly two hours later.

  The plan had been to leave B Company and the supply trucks at the start line until Grouse had been found and secured. Then the signal would be given for them to move up too, but the two lead columns of carriers, trucks, jeeps, gun portees and walking rifle platoons had got under way shortly after eleven, by which time the moon was casting a faint light over the desert. A barrage had been laid on to cover their advance, and to begin with all went well. But as they reached the end of the minefield, they began to struggle in the increasingly rutted ground. Two portees had driven into each other and could go no further. That had held them up for ten minutes, and a further fifteen minutes had been wasted when Colonel Vigar’s jeep, hurrying forward to lead the column towards their objective, had driven straight into an old enemy slit trench and had had to be pulled out by a carrier. The colonel, shaken by this humiliation, had handed leadership of the column back to Peploe. On they had pressed, Tanner increasingly uncertain as to whether they were even remotely close to where they should be. He had been looking at his compass but it was the distance that was so hard to judge. Some enemy troops had opened fire with rifles and machine-guns, tracer suddenly spitting across the open desert. They had replied with heavy Bren gunfire, and a number of troops had been seen running away, dark figures melting into the night, just as renewed enemy shelling opened up. Fortunately, it was inaccurate and dropping over their heads so they had moved on.

  And now, at long last, they were at Grouse. Or were they?

  As Peploe clambered back into his carrier, Vigar’s jeep struggled forward and pulled up alongside. Seeing this, Tanner nimbly stepped down and hurried over to join them.

  ‘Is this it?’ asked Vigar.

  ‘We think so, sir,’ said Peploe. ‘There’s part of me worrying that we’re driving into the middle of an enemy strongpoint, but this is certainly a hollow like the description of Grouse and I’m pretty sure it’s on the right bearing.’

  ‘Sod it,’ said Vigar. ‘That’s good enough for me.’

  ‘Sure, sir?’

  ‘Absolutely. Tanner, you take your truck and the carriers and reconnoitre forward. Peploe, you can help me consolidate and allot company sectors. We need to get ourselves into position as soon as poss. Now send up those Very lights and let’s get a bloody move on. We’ve wasted enough time fannying about this evening as it is.’

  Tanner led the six carriers across the bowl in a south-westerly direction. The moon was high, the smoke and haze thinning. Enemy troops, in twos and threes, stood up and, arms aloft, surrendered. On each occasion, the carriers stopped, stripped the men of weapons, then bundled them into the back of the vehicles. They were all German.

  ‘Not exactly heavily defended, this sector, is it?’ said Sykes.

  ‘Not so far, Stan,’ said Tanner.

  ‘Sir?’ said Phyllis. ‘Why aren’t these Jerries putting up a fight?’

  ‘Why do you think, Siff?’ Tanner replied.

  ‘I dunno, sir.’

  ‘If you were sitting in a slit trench with your mate and you saw half a dozen fully armed Bren carriers coming towards you, how would you rate your chances of survival?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Phyllis. ‘I see your point, sir.’

  They had gone about a thousand yards or so when they met some entanglements of wire.

  ‘A minefield, sir?’ asked Brown.

  ‘Doubt it,’ said Tanner. He led them south a short way until they found a gap. ‘Come on,’ he said to Brown, ‘let’s go through. It’ll be all right.’

  A few hundred yards further on they saw a huddle of men and trucks and, quickly telling the carriers to fan out, Tanner ordered a warning shot to be fired above their heads. Immediately the men put up their arms.

  ‘Blimey, sir,’ said Sykes, ‘if only it was always this easy. Must be a hundred here at least.’

  ‘At least,’ said Tanner, ‘plus a few trucks. What do you think? Jerry sappers?’

  ‘Probably. We should send one of the carriers back to get some help. We can’t manage this lot ourselves.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  Having done so, Tanner sped up and down the huddle of Germans shouting, ‘Hände hoch! Hände hoch!’ but as they were circling around the back of them, Sykes said, ‘I don’t want to worry you, sir, but I can see a bloody great panzer leaguer up ahead.’

  Tanner now saw them too: a few hundred yards to the south-west, the unmistakable hulks and gun barrels of tanks silhouetted in the moonlight.

  ‘Ah,’ said Tanner, and at that moment, they heard shouts and orders. Several tanks roared into life. ‘Time to pull back, I think, Browner.’


  A tank shot rang out, ripping apart the night, and was closely followed by a second and a third. Suddenly, one of the German sappers’ trucks was hit, and burst into flames. Now the desert was alight. Bren guns from the carriers pounded and then tank and Spandau fire were cutting across the open desert. The men caught in the middle began to shout and cry out, but many were cut to ribbons, scythed down by their own side.

  ‘Pull back! Pull back!’ Tanner ordered, as the panzers continued firing, more accurately now that the carriers were silhouetted in the light of the burning truck. One of the carriers was hit – whose? – the dying men lit up briefly as the fuel tanks exploded, arms outstretched before they were engulfed by flames.

  As they scurried back, hurrying towards the gap in the wire, Tanner remembered what Tanja had said: How many people have been killed who did not deserve to be killed? A whole load more now, he thought.

  First light began to glimmer across the desert at about six a.m., and the Riflemen could finally see the lie of the land. A Company Headquarters had found a patch of scrub on the western edge of the hollow. Tanner and the rest of the carriers had made it back to Grouse a few hours earlier, the panzers not following. B Company and the soft-skins had arrived soon after, although some of the six-pounders from 240th Battery had apparently lost their way because now Tanner could count only twenty-one of their anti-tank guns arranged around the bowl. That was five short.

  In the hollow, which was barely eight feet lower than the surrounding desert, stood the carriers, portees and other remaining vehicles. The ground was sandy, littered with thick, brittle vetch and salt-bush, providing decent cover for the men and guns that were now positioned around the southern, northern and mainly western edge of the oval bowl. Wooden boxes of ammunition were now stacked ready behind each gun.

  A good position, Tanner thought, but as he brought his binoculars to his eyes, he saw just how far they had pushed into enemy territory. The leaguer they had run into the previous evening was closer than he had realized – about eight hundred yards to the south-west – and Italian. But a thousand yards to the north there was an even larger leaguer of German panzers, nearly all Mark IIIs and IVs. If they were at Grouse, where they were supposed to be, he reckoned Snipe should be a mile or so to the north-east.

  Beside him, Peploe was also looking through his binoculars. ‘I’m developing a rather unpleasant sensation of nausea,’ he said. ‘We seem to have inadvertently put ourselves bang in the middle of Rommel’s panzers.’

  ‘What have we done, sir?’ said Hepworth. ‘We’re never going to get out of this one!’

  ‘Course we will,’ said Tanner, hoping he sounded more reassuring than he felt. Yes, the position was good, but there was a limit to how long twenty-one guns could hold out against more than two hundred panzers.

  Sykes, having brewed them all tea, came over to the lip of the bowl alongside Peploe and Tanner. ‘If only we had a few more six-pounders,’ he said. ‘We all know how to use the bloody things, but most of us are going to be doing little more than taking cover for much of the time. I just hope the OP arrives. Otherwise we’re up the creek.’

  ‘Hold on,’ said Peploe, still glued to his binoculars. ‘They’re on the move.’

  Engines were now starting up, belches of exhaust fumes clear even from where they were lying at the edge of the bowl. In minutes, the entire Italian leaguer was heading north. Moments later, the six-pounders opened fire, the guns rocking back with the recoil.

  ‘Good shot!’ said Peploe, as one of the tanks was hit and began burning. Then another was hit and another. The Italians were firing back now, shells hurtling towards their position. One of the six-pounders was hit, the crew flung backwards, and another became stuck in the sand because of the violence of the recoil, but the rest kept firing. A shell landed just in front of A Company’s position, kicking up a shower of sand and grit. Tanner ducked, felt the patter of sand on his helmet and down his back, but then he felt for his scope and fixed it to his rifle.

  The six-pounders continued firing, more Italian tanks losing tracks. Several were now burning ferociously, thick smoke pitching and rolling into the sky. Smoke from their own guns was wafting over the hollow, cordite sharp against the back of their throats. Firing could also be heard to the north – Snipe? Now Tanner saw that the northern leaguer of panzers was on the move too, turning south-westwards and across their position.

  ‘What the hell are they doing?’ he said aloud. ‘Can’t they see they’re walking straight into our line of fire?’

  ‘It’s bloody marvellous, though, isn’t it?’ grinned Sykes. ‘I mean, how many times have we watched our own armour get crucified by well-positioned Jerry anti-tank guns?’

  ‘I think they might have clocked us now, Stan,’ said Peploe, and a split second later, a flurry of tank shells exploded on the eastern edge of the bowl. Still the gunners kept firing and after more than an hour, Tanner counted sixteen panzers hit.

  ‘I just wish they’d get a bit closer,’ he said to Peploe. ‘The range is too great at the moment for the rifle.’

  Suddenly a shell hurtled over from behind them, exploding just forward of their position. Another burst to their left.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ shouted Tanner. He could see them now – Shermans cresting a ridge a couple of thousand yards to the east, behind them.

  ‘That’s all we bloody need!’ shouted Peploe. ‘Jack, go and find out from the colonel what the hell is going on, will you?’

  Tanner sprinted across the bowl to Vigar’s command post, set up near the middle of the western lip of the bowl.

  Vigar was yelling into a wireless set. ‘Get those bloody idiots to stop firing at us!’ he shouted. ‘Yes – now!’ He passed back the mouthpiece and kicked the ground in frustration as tank shells from both sides rained down around their position. One of the carriers was hit and began to burn.

  ‘What do you want, Tanner?’ Vigar snapped, seeing him.

  ‘Shall I drive over and get them to stop, sir?’

  Vigar thought a moment. ‘Yes, all right. Think you can make it?’

  ‘With a bit of luck, sir.’ He sprinted to his truck, clambered into the driver’s seat, started it up and carefully drove out of the hollow – only for a shell to land some twenty yards ahead of him. Cursing, he drove on through the fountain of sand, weaving his way across the open desert towards the Shermans. A rattle of small arms opened up, then stopped, and several more shells landed nearby, but by keeping moving, and zigzagging back and forth, he soon reached the southern formation of Shermans, who had now stopped firing as he frantically waved one arm above his head.

  Spotting the pennant of the command tank, he pulled up alongside.

  ‘Where have you come from?’ the major shouted down.

  ‘That hollow two thousand yards ahead,’ he yelled back. ‘We’re the Yorks Rangers – an anti-tank gun position. Stop bloody well shelling us, will you, sir?’

  ‘Cripes!’ said the major. ‘Awfully sorry. We thought you were Huns.’

  ‘Well, we’re bloody well not! Can you get on your net, sir, and tell everyone to stop? Those Jerry and Eyetie tanks need your shells, not us.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said the major. ‘I’m so sorry. Apologies to all your chaps.’

  Tanner put the truck into gear and sped off again. As he neared the Grouse position, he could see that, ahead, the German panzers that had been moving from the northern leaguer were now forming up hull-down behind a slight ridge some thousand yards away. The six-pounders were still firing furiously as he hurried back into the centre of the bowl, jumped out and sprinted back to the colonel.

  ‘They promised to stop, sir,’ he told Vigar.

  ‘Seems to have done the trick too,’ said the colonel. ‘Good work, Tanner.’

  He ran back to A Company Headquarters, where Peploe said, ‘Well done, Jack. Looks like our armour’s moving up.’

  Tanner glanced back and saw the Shermans rolling forward, clouds of dust in thei
r wake. Loud cheering made him turn towards the enemy. Around twenty-five long-barrelled 75mm Mark IV panzers were now hull-down on the ridge, and what seemed to be half a dozen 88mm anti-tank guns, but, despite the Germans’ good position and the range, the six-pounders hit two panzers in quick succession.

  The Shermans were now reaching the open ground between Grouse and Snipe to the north and the enemy guns turned their attention to them. Smoke shells were fired and Tanner watched with fascination as the German panzers fired smoke canisters at the Shermans, most of which fell within twenty yards of their target, and acted as a marker for the 88s. Round after round slammed towards them, the fearsome velocity of the guns making light work of the British tanks.

  Poor bastards, thought Tanner. In minutes, seven Shermans were alight, crewmen trying frantically to leap clear, some already on fire. Soon after, the British tanks began to withdraw.

  ‘Looks like we’re going to be on our own again,’ said Peploe.

  ‘What we need,’ said Tanner, ‘is an artillery OP who knows what the hell he’s doing. We’ve got our binoculars, but it’s not quite the same thing. If we had a gunner down here directing our field guns further back, we could hammer those panzers.’

  ‘And where’s the RAF?’ said Sykes. ‘I know they’ve been hard at it, but we really could do with ’em now.’

  ‘Let me go and talk to Vigar,’ said Peploe.

  It was now after nine a.m. and, for a brief while, there was a slight lull. Smoke lingered in the base of the bowl and hung in threads over the desert. To their immediate north, and away on the ridge ahead, columns of smoke continued to billow into the sky. The smell of gunpowder, smoke, burning oil and rubber hung heavy on the air. Tanner’s mouth was as dry as chalk, but there was no time to brew any tea. Petrol-flavoured warm water would have to suffice. Tanner drank greedily, then took off his sweater and battle blouse; it had been cold in the night but was warm enough now. The guns continued to boom. Another six-pounder had become stuck and was hurriedly towed out by the portee and repositioned. Only three of the guns had been knocked out or damaged – small losses, considering the ferocity of the past two hours. Empty shell cases littered the ground.