by John Taylor
The section commander of both Cohen and Dawson, Captain Charles Homfray, was also caught up in the carnage: ‘The tank that I was in then also got a direct hit, it did not set on fire but made a big hole in the six pounder casing and German machine gun bullets ricocheted round the inside of the tank and two of the crew were wounded. As our tank was now useless I gave orders for it to reverse into a nearby sunken road, out of the sight of the field gun which was obviously firing over direct sights.’20
Even the tanks that escaped destruction were now running short of petrol. Second Lieutenant Bion described an extraordinary escape by one of his closest friends, Second Lieutenant Ernest Quainton in Ethel II: ‘His tank ran out of petrol in front of the German guns, and he lost four of his men from a direct hit. He was just in front of a sunk road, and by pouring whisky into the carburettor and throwing in his clutch the engine started, and he just toppled the tank into the road safe from direct fire! It sounds rather funny, but I wouldn’t have been in his place for any amount.’21 (However, Bion later fell out disastrously with Quainton and dismissed the story as ‘probably a fabrication’.)22
The 6th Bn Gordon Highlanders who were following now found themselves in a terrible quandary. They could see the ‘tank tragedy’23 unfolding before them, but could not tell whether the tanks had managed to crush the wire all the way through to Hindenburg Support, the German front-line trench. In the words of their report: ‘Owing to the formation of the enemy wire the officers commanding “B” and “D” Companies did not realise that the tanks had not got through, and continued the advance. On reaching the wire, however, it became apparent that all had been knocked out before penetrating it. The infantry came under a very intense machine-gun fire from [the] eastern edge of Flesquieres, and began to suffer casualties. (“B” Company lost 20 men and “D” Company 40 from this fire in a very few minutes).’24
The infantry gave what help they could to the tanks by picking off the German artillerymen with their Lewis guns across the barbed wire: ‘One corporal of “D” Company did particularly good work, pouring a hail of bullets on the battery while it was loading, and time and again flinging himself down under cover just before it fired. The battery was silenced and the gun-crews destroyed’.25 To their right, an officer from H Battalion whose tank had been hit by one of the same batteries crept forward through the long grass, taking a Lewis gun with which he ‘scattered the crew’.26 However, even with the field guns out of action, no more tanks were available to continue the advance and the infantry were forced to pull back. One small group managed to enter Hindenburg Support, but it was so shallow that they were pinned down by machine-gun fire from Flesquières. In this sector, the attack had ground to a halt before most of the men had got anywhere near the enemy trenches.
CHAPTER 30
Green Fields Beyond
We have mentioned that a small number of D Battalion’s tanks joined the attack on the eastern side of the village, and their fortunes were varied. Among them was D43 Delysia, still with the crew’s signed pin-up photo of the singer Alice Delysia beside the driver’s seat, but now commanded by Second Lieutenant Harold Dobinson. Unlike so many others, Delysia was spared destruction when it broke down on the German front line with a faulty magneto – the electrical device which fired the spark plugs. Private Jason Addy described the consequences: ‘Our tank got crippled and put out of action. Our officer now decided to wait until the shelling had ceased and the enemy had got well out of the way. After a while, and a drink of refreshing tea which we made, we began to look and see what had happened to our tank … After this, and borrowing parts from other tanks that had been worse hit than us, we got our own tank going again and took it back to Havrincourt Wood.’1
But most of the crews had more to contend with than breakdowns and boredom. D49 Dollar Princess had crossed the main Hindenburg Support line and was heading for the support trench in front of Flesquières when it became ditched and suffered a direct hit, near the spot where Second Lieutenant Wilfred Bion defied the enemy from the roof of his wrecked tank. Dollar Princess’s commander, Second Lieutenant John McNiven, escaped unhurt, though his section commander Captain Graeme Nixon, who was probably on board, was slightly wounded. It was a frustrating end to the battle for McNiven, who liked to grab life with both hands and whose favourite saying was: ‘If a little is good, a lot is better.’ He later recalled: ‘One of my men received a nasty wound in the upper thigh and groin. I poured an entire bottle of iodine into the wound, while the boy cursed me. Later I saw him in the field hospital and he said I had saved his life.’2 The destruction of Dollar Princess gives a vital clue to the whereabouts of Deborah, since they were both in the same section and the tanks were still operating together wherever possible.
As they went forward, Second Lieutenant Frank Heap and his crew must have glimpsed the devastation around them, the tanks engulfed in flames along the skyline to their right, and the crewmen struggling to drag themselves and their wounded comrades clear from the withering fire. They would have heard the machine-gun bullets that struck Deborah’s flanks like sledgehammer blows,3 leaving the pitted marks that can be seen there to this day. And somehow, in the midst of all this, Heap and his driver spotted the only way that would lead directly to their objective, an entrance they could slip through that would take them into the heart of the enemy’s stronghold, sheltered from the field guns that were exacting a dreadful toll from those who tried to pass the village on either side.
The route they had spotted took them along the road leading from Ribécourt into Flesquières, past the long brick wall over which Second Lieutenant Bion had directed his fire, and past the gap in the wall where the Germans had swarmed like angry hornets. It led straight into the centre of the village, which was still thick with enemy troops, though there were no field guns to worry about there, and the infantry had no weapons that were truly effective against tanks.
At some point, did Frank Heap pause to question the course he was about to take? Was he aware there were no other tanks or infantry following, and did he ask himself what they could hope to achieve by pressing on, alone and unsupported? Did he wonder how they – eight men and a monstrous machine – could hope to subdue the village single-handed, when so many other tanks had been destroyed or driven back?
Perhaps a more experienced commander might have decided it was pointless to proceed. For example, Captain Harold Head, who had commanded tanks on the Somme in 1916 and then at Arras and Passchendaele, and had just survived the bloodbath on the western side of Flesquières, later recalled his guiding principle: ‘I never took my tank in anywhere I couldn’t get it out of again.’4
But Frank Heap was determined to carry out his mission, and he and his crew would press on until they reached the Brown Line which marked their final objective, now less than half-a-mile ahead, and nothing on earth would stop them. There was no time for doubt, or any other emotion, as Deborah ground slowly forwards into the eye of the storm. Instead Frank must have concentrated on checking the map which marked the route to their final destination, and hammering messages to the gearsmen crouching in the noise and darkness behind, and wiping the sweat from his eyes to squint through the tiny peepholes in search of a flash of field-grey which would betray the presence of the enemy. The sensation was described by another soldier as he attacked in his armoured vehicle in a later conflict: ‘Your heart is banging away, your body does not feel like you own it. It’s like your whole life has been sharpened to a point, and that point is that one single minute. Everything that’s gone before is like nothing.’5
* * *
By 10 a.m., it was obvious to Major Fritz Hofmeister, commander of 84th Infantry Regiment, that the defence of Flesquières was hanging in the balance. His soldiers were struggling to hold onto their positions, while the artillery were locked in a fight to the death with the tanks that were threatening the village on both sides. His 1st and 2nd Battalions had clearly been overwhelmed in the front line, and the counter-attacks by unit
s of 27th Reserve Infantry Regiment had made no headway. The last of these forays had been led by Major Günther Stubenrauch, whose men were now trapped somewhere in front of the village, and Major Hofmeister was determined to send help.
The man he turned to was Leutnant S. Osenbrück, ordnance officer of his 3rd Battalion, who was ordered to muster everyone he could and launch a counter-attack down Havrincourt-Riegel (the communication trench known to the British as Cemetery Alley). As he set out on his mission, Osenbrück was lucky to bump into a company of 27th Reserve Infantry Regiment who were coming out of Flesquières. They were even luckier to bump into him, because they were about to run straight into two of D Battalion’s tanks near the crossroads west of the village. Osenbrück described what happened next:
‘Stop! Tanks! Go right, into the Pioneer Park!’ I’m already over there. Two officers from the other company introduce themselves. ‘No time – counter-attack in this direction! Spread out to the right. Further forward on the right! Get out of cover on the left!’
‘Herr Leutnant, it’s coming this way!’
‘Where? Open fire, men! Machine gun here! Let’s go, look lively!’
‘It’s jammed!’
‘Then take hand grenades. Now over the top, and cheer! You’ll be fine – I’ve only got a stick! Leutnant Brockers, take over the right flank, get them into the open. Leutnant Höfer, further forward with your platoon.’
Tacca-tacca-tacca-tack! The tank at the crossroads rattles away with its machine gun into the treetops. ‘Off we go, men, forward! Can’t you see he’s firing into the trees?’6
At this critical moment, Deborah suddenly appeared on the road behind them:
‘Herr Leutnant, a tank is driving through the village behind us.’
‘Just let it go, man. The artillery will knock it out for sure when it comes out the other side. We’re staying here whatever happens, and now it’s going forward. March, march! Hurrah!’
‘Herr Leutnant, the tank is moving even further ahead.’
‘For God’s sake, let it go! Forward march!’
Tacca-tacca-tacca-tack! Boom! Crash! A stink of phosphorus. The tank in the village is really letting us have it. Just keep calm. ‘Everyone stay down. The enemy must not come any further. Set up the machine guns in front of the sandheap. Leutnant Haufmann, you stay with the machine gun.’
Tack! Tack! Tacca-tacca-tacca-tack! Leutnant Haufmann is shot in the stomach. ‘Two volunteers, here!’ Leutnant Höfer gets hit in the stomach as well. ‘Leutnant Bielenberg, you take charge. This line must be held. I’m going for reinforcements!’7
In another account, Leutnant Osenbrück told how ‘a tank travelling through Flesquières fired at us vigorously during this counter-attack, which made it extremely difficult for me to hold back the frightened men’,8 while Leutnant Bielenberg described their efforts to calm down the soldiers who were gripped by a ‘tank panic’.9
* * *
Deborah was doing exactly what she was designed for, moving in behind the enemy to demoralize and destroy them. Her Lewis guns inflicted a number of casualties, probably including Leutnant Höfer who died soon afterwards from his stomach wound. The German counter-attack still went ahead and apparently succeeded in driving the attackers back – but not in reaching Major Stubenrauch, who was captured before getting anywhere near the survivors of 1st Battalion, 84th Infantry Regiment in Havrincourt. Their commander, Hauptmann Wilhelm Wille, saw Stubenrauch after they had both been taken prisoner: ‘I called to him, he shrugged his shoulders and said: “There was nothing to be done.”’10 Meanwhile the commander of 84th Regiment, the ‘giant’ Major Hofmeister, was fatally wounded by a tank and Major Erich Krebs, commander of 27th Reserve Infantry Regiment, took charge of the forces holding Flesquières.
Frank Heap estimated they expended a total of 4,000 rounds during the battle,11 and since a Lewis gun fired at least 500 rounds a minute, this means all five guns could have fired continuously for more than one-and-a-half minutes. This, in itself, shows they found no shortage of targets.
Following this clash, Deborah moved forward to the crossroads at the centre of Flesquières and swung slowly right onto the road leading out of the village towards Anneux and Cantaing – and towards the Brown Line. Only 250 yards later she reached the edge of the village, and for the first time Frank Heap had a heart-stopping glimpse of the fabled green fields beyond. Here Deborah halted in the lee of a battered farm building, and perhaps – as his family speculate – he climbed out to take a compass bearing and check they were on course. If so he was certainly fearless, since the village was still swarming with enemy soldiers and he could easily have been shot the moment he climbed out of his tank.
But as it turned out, the danger came from another direction altogether, and it was safer to be outside the tank than in.
* * *
Leutnant Osenbrück had promised his men that the artillery would destroy Deborah as she emerged from the village, and luckily for them a number of gun batteries were still standing by ready for action. Among them were men of 213th Field Artillery Regiment, who had been rushed into position in response to the prisoners’ revelations of an imminent attack. The details are sketchy, so it is impossible to be certain, but No. 9 Battery was near the road that Deborah took out of Flesquières towards Anneux. Leutnant Richter from this battery described what happened:
For some time the first infantrymen had been coming back through our position and told the worst horror stories. Eventually I succeeding in stopping a Feldwebelleutnant [i.e. warrant officer], who was slightly wounded in the head, as he passed through our position with five infantrymen and a machine gun with three boxes of ammunition. He took up a position with his men on a steep slope right behind the battery and supported us very effectively during the following period. The guns were dragged out of their pits to give better manoeuvrability. We ceased firing altogether …
Retiring infantrymen described the hordes of tanks, and shortly afterwards just such a monster appeared at the village exit of Flesquieres and was knocked out by me with the third shot at 275 metres. A column of flames showed a hit in the petrol tank. Two of our men ran over, and told on their return of the half-charred corpses of the tank crew. They also brought with them a rubber coat, in whose pocket we found an order for the attack. An NCO took it back to the divisional position, along with an urgent request for ammunition or limbers.12
One of the infantrymen who stood guard over the battery was Ersatz Reservist Schäfer of 27th Reserve Infantry Regiment: ‘We then had to pull back behind Flesquières to an artillery position. Under the command of Feldwebelleutnant Reinsch we there dragged the guns out of their pits; they had hit and put out of action a tank that emerged at the left (eastern) exit from Flesquières.’13
No. 8 Battery was also nearby, and Leutnant Neymeyr described a similar encounter, though his estimate of the time was improbably early: ‘Already at around 9 o’clock [i.e. 8 a.m. UK time] infantrymen and gunners came back from the front, half-an-hour later whole squads of field and foot artillerymen who had blown up their guns or let them fall into the hands of the enemy as the case may be. At the same time we caught sight of a tank at the eastern exit of Flesquieres and knocked it out with a few shots. We were badly under pressure, as we only had around twenty more shells which we now saved for the direst emergency.’14
Leutnant Möhring of 108th Pioneer Company also witnessed the final moments of a tank which may have been Deborah: ‘One tank drove through the village and came up the road towards Noyelles. It was rendered harmless by the battery (around 200 metres east of the village) with its third shot.’15
A few days later, Leutnant Osenbrück of 84th Infantry Regiment was discussing the battle with his men: ‘“Does anyone know what became of the tank that rolled behind us through Flesquières?” “Yes, Herr Leutnant! We took care of it. It got a broadside from a gun that was standing in a barn at the exit of the village. A 15cm [i.e. a howitzer, known to the British as a ‘5.9’]. Only a couple
of the gunners were still there – they aimed the gun, and we dragged the ammunition to it. We did a good job on them!”’16
* * *
Whichever battery it was that fired on Deborah, the effects were devastating. A volley of shells punched neat holes through the armour on the left side of the tank, but photographs taken a few months later show no visible damage to the right side17 – which means the catastrophic blasts that tore her apart, leaving the front a tangled mass of steel, were inflicted later on.
But the detonation of the shells inside the confined space, followed by the fire which engulfed the interior, meant there was no chance for the crewmen inside. The side door beneath the sponson had been pushed open, and Frank Heap must have been sickened by what he saw spilling out of it. But for now there was no time to take in the horror, and it was enough to know that four of his crewmen had been killed outright.
The official account indicates that Deborah opened fire on the field guns before they knocked her out, describing how Frank Heap ‘fought his tank with great gallantry and skill, leading the infantry on to five objectives. He proceeded through the village and engaged a battery of enemy field guns from which his tank received five direct hits, killing four of his crew.’18 Their achievement was also recorded in the battalion’s history: ‘Only one tank succeeded in going through the village, and this tank was knocked out at the eastern edge immediately it emerged from the shelter of the houses.’19
Captain Edward Glanville Smith’s version differed only in detail: ‘Tanks pushed on, but were unsupported and could do nothing. Lieut. [sic] Heap … courageously made his way to the far end of the village, but, on showing the nose of his tank beyond the last house, received two direct hits from a gun laid on to this spot and had four of his crew killed outright.’20