Jackson looked up as the sounds of shooting and explosions from the north redoubled. At a guess, the thousands of infantrymen who had been trapped in Colchester and were turning the city into an impregnable fortress had launched their offensive, stabbing a knife into the German back. The enemy would be wise to order their forces to fall back before they were burned between two fires, but they didn’t seem aware of their danger; they fought and held the remains of the town as tenaciously as Jackson himself had held a similar town.
Inch by bloody inch, the town was cleared of the Germans, leaving nothing behind. The armoured divisions moved on towards the German lines, but the main roads had been blocked and mined. He saw a tank skid to a halt as a mine detonated under its treads, ruining the track. The other tanks headed off the road, around the tank, and continued to advance. He keyed his radio and called in the result, expecting engineers to come forward while the infantry cleared the area of German forces and continued the advance on Colchester.
They advanced, slowly, towards Colchester. He could see the city in the distance, a place he had never visited before and knew almost nothing about save only for the fact that the Germans had surrounded it and the British defenders had refused to allow them to take the city. The fighting was still being waged in the distance, but for the moment, Jackson and his men were caught in a peaceful lull which faded as a German aircraft raced overhead, launching a series of rockets at an advancing British unit. Jackson picked himself off the ground and barked, ordering the men to advance again. They were on the verge of hitting the lines around Colchester and hammering the Germans right where it hurt. The fighting raged on as they encountered a German defence line, one very well dug in and prepared… and then it just broke.
Jackson blinked in confusion. “What the hell?”
Sergeant Wilt understood and said as a long flagpole was extended with a tattered and singed British flag hanging from the staff. “They just got hit from the rear. That’s a British officer.”
The man facing them as the soldiers approached, warily was definitely wearing a British uniform… and was surrounded by other British soldiers, who were securing the handful of German prisoners. The Germans looked battered and scared. Just for a moment, Jackson saw how young most of them were and almost felt sorry for them. Their crimes, however, demanded nothing but the most serious punishment. He watched dispassionately as they were marched away.
“Major Massingbird,” the newcomer said. Rather than saluting, he held out a hand. Jackson gripped it in surprise. “Colchester Home Guard. Welcome to Colchester.”
Jackson laughed out loud.
“Thank you,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Near Colchester, England
Despite himself, Oberst Frank-Michael Baeck was beginning to understand how the British must have felt back during the early days of the invasion. They hadn’t known just what was going on, they hadn’t realised where the real threat lay… and because of that, they hadn’t been able to shove the Germans back into the sea before it was far too late.
Now, there were four major assaults going on, two from the south and two from the west, backed up by a massive aerial offensive and an insurgency campaign behind the lines. The Germans had thought that their rear was fairly secure but the British were showing them just how inadequate their imagination was and it wouldn’t be long before Colchester’s besiegers were completely annihilated or captured.
And Rommel was standing there, thinking. Baeck wanted to scream at him, in the desperate hope that Rommel’s genius could get them back out of their hole and back to a position of mastery. The British insurgents hadn’t managed to cut all of the telephone lines to the HQ, either the ones they’d commandeered or the new ones they’d laid to improve their secure communications, and reports kept coming in but Rommel did nothing.
“Field Marshal,” Baeck said finally. “What are your orders?”
Rommel’s eyes were elsewhere. Perhaps he was contemplating the complete collapse of his career along with the lodgement. The forces out along the defence line were hopelessly small for the task of blocking every British attack. “They promised that we would have all the resupply…”
His head snapped up suddenly. “I want you to order a general retreat from the Colchester Line and the other outer defence lines,” he ordered. “We’ll fall back on Ipswich and use the defences there to buy time.”
Baeck didn’t want to say it, but there was no choice. Falling back on Ipswich would allow the Wehrmacht to create a smaller defensive line that could be more easily defended once they concentrated their forces.
More reports came in. British aircraft had broken through the Luftwaffe’s perimeter and had strafed a company of German soldiers on the ground. “We cannot leave our forces strung out to be destroyed piecemeal. Order Das Reich to move forward and cover the withdrawal back to Ipswich. That British assault force is likely to be the most important to foil.”
Baeck nodded and said, “Jawohl, I shall issue the orders at once.”
In the distance, the noise of shellfire grew louder. “Field Marshal, should we not prepare our own retreat to Ipswich?”
“I suppose,” Rommel said, his mind clearly heading elsewhere. “Send everyone who isn’t essential to Ipswich now, and we’ll follow them if the British bring this place under direct threat.”
* * *
Obergruppenführer Dolphus Taenberger cursed as he finally received his orders. It had taken nearly a fortnight to reorganise Das Reich into something the Waffen-SS could be proud of and now he was being ordered to stand his ground and prevent the British from sealing up a neat little trap for the German forces. He’d listened to the reports and read between the line. The British had punched a massive hole in the German defence line and were well on their way to encircling the German forces before they could escape. Whatever shine Rommel tried to put on it, it was defeat, and the best Das Reich could do was prevent the retreat from turning into a complete rout.
“Advance,” he barked, and the massive force rumbled into motion. Das Reich, like all of the redesigned Waffen-SS forces, was almost a small army in its own right. It was a combination of an oversized Panzer Division, an infantry division and a small artillery section. They were supposed to have the best equipment and its own private air force, but with the war situation having taken such a turn, they were forced to improvise more than Taenberger would have liked.
They were already weaker than he cared to be, and some of his men hadn’t trained with the remainder of Das Reich in fact, were little more than glorified thugs and bullyboys. They might have worn the same uniform as Taenberger himself, but they would never have qualified for the Waffen-SS. Their only reason for existing was to keep subject populations down. The only men lower than them were the extermination squads.
He raised his binoculars as he peered into the distance. The British assault was fading, judging from the declining number of explosions in the distance, but he was experienced enough to know what that meant. The British advancing forces were so close to the German forces that the British guns were holding their fire, in fear of accidentally slaughtering their own forces. The British may have beaten 7th Panzer, but Das Reich was a whole different kettle of fish.
A red-hot pain tore through his shoulder, and he gasped in pain, just as the infantry unleashed a hail of shots into a small tree. An Englishman tumbled out of the tree, breaking his neck as he hit the ground. The infantry dismounted and attacked, discovering several more armed British civilians trying to hide. Taenberger allowed one of the medical corps-men to bandage his wound, commenting on how the Gruppenfuhrer should go to the rear with such a wound, but he glared the corps-man into silence. There were tales of SS men who had fought on despite the most punishing wounds, and he wasn’t going to leave his men just because he’d been shot.
The infantry held up the British civilians for his attention. Taenberger dismissed any thought of them being a stay-
behind unit at once; their tactical thinking had been appalling. They should have been able to kill him from a much longer range with that weapon; the Waffen-SS didn’t think highly of many British weapons, but the Haig Sniper Rifle was definitely respected. There were four of them in all, three of them young men and one young women, all trembling in fear.
Taenberger didn’t bother to mince words. “Where do you come from?”
“Down there,” one of the men said, trying to put a protective arm around the girl. His captor smacked him on the head; Taenberger nodded in approval. Judging from their appearance, they were brother and sister, rather than lovers. “Sir, I…”
“Shut up,” Taenberger commanded. He glanced around at the tree. “Hang them, quickly.”
He ignored their pleading screams, as the infantry strung them up quickly and efficiently. The pain in his shoulder was making it hard for him to think straight. The SS rules of engagement were very clear. A village that harboured insurgents was to be destroyed to discourage the others. Rommel wouldn’t be happy, but judging by the progress of the war, Rommel would likely be removed from command soon. He summoned his orderly, ordered a map, and examined it quickly. they should just have enough time.
Das Reich left the four bodies dangling in the breeze and advanced against the town. The civilian population was trying to keep their heads down, but it didn’t save them, not when the infantrymen broke into houses and arrested everyone over the age of ten. There was some desperate fighting, but without any real weapons, it could only have one outcome. Das Reich had carried out similar tactics in Russia; by now, despite the Aryan appearance of the villagers, they were hardened to their task.
“Burn them,” Taenberger ordered, as his men finished herding the adults into the church. The flame-thrower unit set the church ablaze as Taenberger remembered mocking the assignment. Now, he had a lopsided grin on his face as the church became an inferno. The SS had destroyed churches in Russia and it pleased Taenberger to watch as the small building burned, taking its entire congregation with it. The flames would probably spread further, perhaps burning down the village and the children, but Taenberger no longer cared. The pain in his shoulder was throbbing.
He barked orders and Das Reich commenced moving again, spreading out and trying to avoid possible mines. They encountered soldiers and almost opened fire before they realised that they were Germans, fleeing the battlefield, heading back to the lines around Ipswich. Taenberger felt growing rage and hatred in his breast, seriously considering just opening fire and ridding the Reich of such weak stock, but that would just be wasteful. The handful of vehicles that passed Das Reich were commandeered and added to the defence line; the remaining soldiers were allowed to pass unless they wanted to stay. It wouldn’t be long before the British forces arrived… and by then, Taenberger wanted to be ready. He would have preferred to advance, but conserving resources was the order of the day…
Behind them, the church collapsed in on itself in a fiery geyser of destruction.
* * *
Flying Officer Bentley saw the tanks on the ground as his Tempest headed north and took a moment to identify them as British. He waggled his wings as he flew onwards. It always made the tankers happy to know that they had air support, particularly since the Germans had introduced the world to the concept of aircraft serving as tank-busters. The soldiers on the ground could take heart in knowing that he was going to deal out some of the same hell to their enemies as their enemies had been dealing out to them.
The scene below was completely chaotic. The Germans appeared to be in headlong retreat towards Ipswich, but how long would it be before they regrouped and counter-attacked? The Germans were masters at counter-attacking against enemy forces that punched too far forward , but Monty was careful to ensure that his rear area was secure before pushing forward. His forces would also have to take care when advancing. The Germans would have pulled out all the stops to try and delay them, including mines and an entire series of ingenious booby traps. Bentley peered down at the ground, taking care to avoid any German aircraft that might be prowling around, when he saw the smoke plume rising up into the sky.
Odd, he thought. The flames were rising up from a village, one that seemed to be deserted. The fires were spreading out of control and, judging from some of the marks surrounding the village, the Germans had passed through recently.
He ground his teeth as he followed the tracks, finally locating the German force, digging into a perfect blocking position, one that would allow them to hold up the advancing 2nd Armoured Division for hours. He keyed his radio and made a call, sending an update to the gunners which would be moving forward with the other elements of the army, before selecting his rocket pods and racing down to hit the Germans before they could react. They knew he was in the area. He raced towards them, taking aim, and launched the first spread of rockets as he passed over the Panzers. The first rocket blew apart a Panzer as he raced overhead, the others scored their own hits and then he was up again, racing to avoid the handful of shots from the anti-aircraft gunners.
Take that, he thought, as the Tempest clawed for air. He’d made a Zone Call, summoning every gun within range to devote all of its fire to hammering the German position, and as he watched, the first shells began landing around the German force. The advancing British infantry and tanks would have a much easier time of it. Bentley smiled to himself and checked his weapons before flipping the Tempest around and searching for new targets. There would be hundreds more out there needing his attention.
* * *
The German position held out for nearly an hour before the combination of shellfire and the advancing infantry finally cleared them out. Jackson watched from his vantage point as Sergeant Wilt led the offensive right into the heart of the German position, either securing or finishing off injured Germans. Jackson followed him as soon as most of the Germans had been removed. The Germans had been planning a real surprise, with several dozen Panzers and various other vehicles in position to launch an ambush, but that hope had come to an end with their discovery and the massive bombardment called in on their heads.
Serves you right, Jackson thought, as he peered down at one of the bodies. There was no mistaking the black uniform and silver insignia that each man wore; the lightning bolts and sideways ‘Z’ were very familiar. The officer he was looking at had a bandage on his shoulder and an explosion had taken off a good part of his face. From the rank insignia, Jackson was sure this was his opposite number. This man had clearly been in command of the SS force
Jackson could speak and read German — it was a requirement these days for any senior army post — and the Germans looked to have been Das Reich. They had a bad reputation from the Russian front as being as fanatical and unpleasant as any other German unit, matched only by the awed respect some of the survivors had exhibited when they had talked about its sheer prowess at fighting. If they had remained unnoticed long enough for the British forces to stick their head into the noose, who knew what would have happened?
“Move the prisoners to the rear and let’s move on,” Jackson said. Monty’s follow-up units would be clearing out the remaining Germans as they advanced towards Ipswich, but organised German activity now was limited. A series of brutal and local counter-attacks had exploded in the British face, some of them throwing back oncoming British troops for hours.
He paused to watch as a line of tanks rumbled past, some of their crewmen waving to the infantry as they paused to catch their breath and have a cigarette. The tankers looked as battered as everyone else, but just being on the offensive was enough of a thrill to keep them going, far from the dark days when they had fallen back and fallen back again. Jackson knew that the war wouldn’t end when Felixstowe was liberated, but perhaps the Germans would see reason and not continue the war, or maybe even overthrow Hitler and…
It was an hour later when they discovered the village.
It hadn’t been on the list of primary locations to secure, it was something
for them to do while Monty consolidated his gains and prepared for the final advance. Jackson and his tired infantrymen had walked along the road, noticing that the SS Panzer Division had come down it from all the damage its passage had done to the road, and finally reached the burning village. The flames were dying down now. The church was barely recognisable as such, but the remains of scores of bodies were easy to recognise, as were the handful of surviving children in the village. The Germans had just left them there to die.
He heard the noise of some of his soldiers being sick and cursed the Germans under his breath. They had thought they understood war and the effects of war.
Jackson stared into the distance, towards Ipswich, and vowed revenge.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Felixstowe, England
The small body of SS men looked nervous as they walked down the road. Their swagger, their normal ‘we’re the masters around here and don’t even think of questioning us’ attitude, their confidence in themselves… all of it was gone. They were armed with weapons that the British civilians didn’t have — hell, most of the British civilians didn’t have any weapons at all — but somehow they looked as if they expected to be kicked at any moment. Their leader, a fish-faced man holding his rifle in a white-knuckled grip, was a known rapist. He’d raped a girl last night, only to be arrested by the police and released instantly. The policemen had all been taken into one of the German detention camps the same night, just in case. The Germans were losing their grip over the country.
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