Dunkirk

by James Holland

  ‘I can’t fire,’ he mumbled. ‘I can’t get my hand up to fire.’

  ‘You’re all right, mate,’ said Spears. ‘We’ll get you sorted.’ He turned to the others. ‘But you need to tell us how to fire this thing.’

  ‘Is it still working?’ asked Drummond.

  ‘I reckon so,’ said McLaren. ‘Iron is a bit stronger than flesh and bones. Everything looks to be in order.’

  ‘Well,’ said Spears, ‘there’s one way to find out.’

  Hawke peered round the edge of the gun shield. One of the larger German panzers was just ahead, and firing towards the A Company positions. A little further away to the left he could hear several more panzers – the boom of the cannon and the staccato chatter of the machine gun different from the light machine guns the infantry seemed to use. He was getting used to the varying sounds different weapons made. The tanks were out of sight, because just away to their left the ramparts dropped a short way and curved round towards the east end of the town. But he was sure the panzers were close.

  ‘What can you see, Johnny?’ asked McLaren, as Hebden and Drummond pulled the two dead men clear.

  ‘A Jerry tank a hundred and fifty yards dead in front,’ he said, ‘but there are at least a couple more behind him out of sight to our left.’

  ‘Let’s sort this beggar out first, then,’ said Spears. ‘Hopefully we might be able to catch the others too when they appear.’ He looked around and Hawke followed his gaze. There was rubble and debris everywhere, and a large number of empty brass shell casings, but there were still a few wooden boxes of ammunition. That was something.

  ‘Why isn’t that Jerry tank firing at us any more?’ said Drummond.

  ‘He thinks he’s taken this gun out. And your field of vision isn’t great in a tank, is it? So let’s clobber him before he cottons on. Jaldi, lads, iggery, as we used to say in India.’

  They moved the wounded gunner carefully, Hebden apologizing as the man cried out in pain.

  ‘Bandage him up, will you, Bert?’ said Spears, ‘but we need him close by.’ He felt in the side pocket of his battle blouse and pulled out his hip flask. ‘And give him some of this.’

  Squatting beside Spears, Hawke looked at the two-pounder. Ahead the tank was still firing, and so stationary, but any moment it might move on. They needed to knock it out quickly, before it was too late, but they were riflemen, not gunners, and to fire without taking proper aim risked revealing their position. He breathed in heavily. At every turn, it seemed, the odds were stacked against them. But there were small wheels beside the breech, which, he guessed, enabled the barrel to traverse up and down and even left and right. To the left, in the gun shield, was the sight. Spears was peering through it.

  ‘How is he, Bert?’ demanded Spears. ‘We need to fire this lad quickly.’

  ‘The range is close,’ rasped the wounded man, ‘so look through the site and aim just below the turret.’

  Spears did so. ‘Got it,’ he said, ‘perfect shot.’

  ‘Good,’ said the man. ‘I had him in my sights before we were hit. The breech is already closed ready. All you need to do is fire. But move your head clear of the sights. The recoil could take your eye out.’

  ‘How?’ said Spears. ‘How do I fire?’

  The man started to cough. Hawke saw the expression of exasperation on Spears’s face – an anxiety he felt himself. ‘Come on, come on,’ he muttered to himself.

  The wounded man recovered. ‘To the right of the breech is the operating lever. Can you see it?’

  Spears put his hand on the small metal rod. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Pull it towards you. But again, make sure you’re clear of the breech. The recoil is twenty inches.’

  Spears looked through the sights again, then turning to Hawke said, ‘All right, you’d better pull the operating lever.’

  ‘When, Sarge?’ said Hawke, gripping the cold metal with his left hand.

  In front of them, the tank was firing again, then revved its engines.

  ‘Now!’ said Spears.

  Hawke pulled the lever, the gun fired with a resounding crack and the breech flew backwards, but Hawke was watching ahead of him. To his utter amazement, the two-pound shell smacked in between the turret and the hull precisely where they had been aiming. But although sparks flew off the metal there was no explosion.

  ‘Quick!’ gurgled the wounded man, ‘load another shell!’

  The panzer was motionless for a moment, then opened fire again with its machine gun, tracer bullets pouring towards A Company lines.

  ‘Pull down the cocking handle!’ spluttered the gunner, straining to sit up with his one good arm. ‘The empty casing will flip out and then you can shove in another.’

  Spears found the cocking handle, pushed it down and out came the brass casing. McLaren hastily handed him another, Spears rammed it in and closed the vertical sliding block over the breech, then peered through the sights once more.

  ‘Quick, Sarge, he’s moving!’ called out Hawke.

  Against the left-hand side of the breech was a shoulder pad. Pushing against it, Spears now traversed the barrel slightly across, then said, ‘Fire!’

  Again, Hawke pulled the lever, and this time the shell shot out of the gun and hit the panzer in the wheels near its front. Immediately, the nearside tracks sprang loose, unravelling like the crack of a whip, the forward wheels jammed, and after rolling backwards a few yards the tank ground to a halt.

  ‘Good shooting, lads!’ croaked the gunner.

  ‘And now we can hit the beggar at leisure,’ said Spears. He looked at Hawke and grinned. ‘Reckon I could get the hang of this.’

  Hawke now pulled back the cocking handle, and McLaren was ready with another shell.

  ‘Sarge, look!’ said Hawke. On the top of the tank, the turret was now opening and first one and then another of the crew frantically clambered out and leaped over the side.

  ‘Well, shoot them someone!’ said Spears. ‘Come on, Bert, Sid, where are you?’

  A third German began climbing out and then suddenly there was a volley of Bren and rifle fire and all three fell, the first two sprawling on to the ground, the third dropping back inside the turret.

  ‘Killing tank crews is the infantry’s job,’ said the gunner. ‘You’re too busy on the gun to start firing rifles.’ He fell backwards with a gasp. ‘Good riddance to them. They killed my mates.’

  Spears looked around. ‘Right – Sid, you’re the loader. Charlie, you keep a good lookout and have your rifle ready. Bert, keep an eye out too and with Charlie get this poor bloke clear and out of the way. Johnny, you’re on breech opening and firing. Got it?’

  Hawke nodded, aware that it was the first time Spears had used his Christian name since he joined the battalion. He smiled to himself, but then he heard the sound of approaching tanks. Tensing, he opened the cocking handle and McLaren rammed in another shell.

  ‘All right, boys,’ said Spears. ‘Get ready. Let’s try to do this quickly. Load, aim, fire. Load, aim, fire.’

  The sound of the approaching tanks got nearer and nearer. Hawke glanced across at Spears, squinting through the sights. His heart was hammering again, and his mouth was as dry as chalk, but although he was desperate for a drink of water he did not dare reach for his bottle. A clatter of Bren fire from A Company made him glance forward, and then suddenly there it was, a machine-gun-firing German tank, lurching round the corner, just thirty yards away. Spears pushed hard against the shoulder pad, then cursed.

  ‘Damn it! He’s not in shot!’

  ‘Quick, Sarge, do something!’ called out Drummond.

  Hawke was watching the tank as it continued to rumble forward.

  ‘Come on, come on!’ muttered Spears. There was more firing from the direction of A Company. Hawke heard the hollow thwack of a mortar firing and moments later saw a column of earth erupt just ten yards from the tank.


  ‘Come on!’ urged Spears. ‘Just a few more yards!’

  ‘Sarge, he’s spotted us!’ called out Hawke, now watching the turret of the panzer turning towards them.

  ‘Just a few more yards!’ called out Spears. The tank opened fire, orange flashes spurting from its twin-mounted guns. Bullets hissed over their heads, pinging and zipping off the brickwork behind them. Hawke crouched behind the shield, ducking his head, but then Spears shouted, ‘Fire!’

  Fumbling for the lever, Hawke grabbed it and yanked, the gun blasting out its shell as the breech lurched backwards.

  Hawke heard the crash and looked up to see a large gash ripped out of the front of the turret. German voices were shouting and smoke had begun to gush from the hole.

  ‘We got him!’ yelled McLaren.

  ‘Could hardly miss at that range,’ said Spears. ‘Just getting the beggar into the sights that was the problem.’

  The Germans were still shouting and then suddenly machine-gun ammunition started firing manically from inside, the bullets pinging madly as they ricocheted around the inside of the tank. The shouting stopped. More smoke gushed from the tank and away to their right they heard the men of A Company cheering.

  ‘Two down,’ said Spears, ‘and one to go.’

  23

  THE LAST ASSAULT

  None of them spoke for a moment, as they tried to listen. Another burst of Bren fire rang out, but then the men held their fire. The battle still raged elsewhere, somewhere to the north of the town, but Hawke could hear another tank squeaking nearby.

  ‘He’s coming, Sarge,’ he said.

  ‘I know. And at least we’ve got a dead panzer right in front of us barring our way.’

  He was right, and Hawke felt his spirits lift. This third enemy tank would have to go past the knocked-out panzer in front of them and then turn. Hopefully, it would give them a chance to fire off a round or two as it emerged into their line of sight.

  ‘Where is he?’ said Spears, then stood up, and clambering over the makeshift sangar in front of the gun he scampered forward towards the knocked-out tank in front of them. A burst of enemy MG fire sputtered, bullets rattling against the tank. Spears dived on to the ground, but then they saw him crawl forward again, until he had reached the tank.

  ‘I’ve got to admit it,’ said Hebden, ‘he’s a brave fellow, our sarge.’

  ‘Or mad,’ said Drummond. ‘Flipping heck, what’s he thinking?’

  Hawke watched Spears as he lay there, peering from between the two tracks of the German tank. He knew Tom Spears was not mad. The previous summer, when he’d first met his oldest sister’s new man, it had not once occurred to him that Tom might be anything other than a brave and fearless soldier. Nothing he had seen in the past few days had given him any reason to doubt that his initial assumption had been right.

  After a minute or so, Spears began inching clear of the tank, then sped back. Another burst of machine-gun fire followed, but it was once again wide of its mark, and he jumped back over the mound of rubble unscathed.

  ‘Blimey, Sarge,’ said McLaren. ‘You had us going there. I hope it was worth it.’

  ‘It was,’ said Spears.

  ‘What did you see?’ asked Hawke.

  ‘It’s a Jerry panzer with a cannon – one of the bigger ones. Infantry are trying to move up. Our boys have got them pinned down at the moment, but they’re working their way beneath the ramparts away to our left – the trees there are giving them some cover. If I was them, I’d be trying to clear this gun position and then I think their infantry will try to infiltrate round here and up the alleyway. It was a good job we knocked out the other two, or else they’d already be here.’

  ‘How come they haven’t been spotted already?’

  Spears shrugged. ‘There must be a blind spot on C Company’s front. Maybe they were distracted by that Jerry tank breaking through. I don’t know, but there are more trees around there and there’s a greater drop below the ramparts.’ He pushed his helmet back. ‘Charlie,’ he said looking at Drummond, ‘I want you to run back to the platoon. Get the lieutenant and get Fletch and Chalkie with their Bren – and as many mags as they can get their hands on.’

  Drummond nodded. ‘What if I can’t find Mr Farrish, Sarge?’

  ‘Just get Fletch and Chalkie anyway. Now get going. I want you back right away.’

  As Drummond hurried off, Spears turned to the others. ‘The tank is about two hundred yards off at the moment, but it could fire at us between the panzer in front of us and the rampart walls. So we’re going to cut that option out.’

  ‘How?’ said Hawke.

  ‘We’re going to move the two-pounder back down the alley. That way the panzer will have to come round this dead tank before it can get a clear shot at us. We’ll be ready and we can hit it in the tracks and disable it.’

  ‘What if we don’t?’ said McLaren.

  ‘Then we’ll be in trouble. But we’ve got to knock it out, boys. We knock it out and then we nobble their infantry. Do that, and we can stop their assault in its tracks. If we don’t, Jerry’s going to get into the town. And then …’ He let the sentence trail. Hawke breathed in deeply. They all knew what that would mean. The battle would be lost.

  Having hastily cleared away the debris of spent shells and bits of rubble, they discovered the two-pounder was quite easy to move. With McLaren and Hebden pulling on the trail, and Hawke and Spears pushing behind the shield, they were able to shift it quite easily, pulling it back ten yards within the narrow confines of the alleyway. No sooner had they finished than a breathless Drummond reappeared with White and Fletcher and the Bren gun.

  ‘I didn’t see the lieutenant, I’m afraid,’ Drummond said. ‘He’s still forward.’

  ‘No matter,’ said Spears. ‘How many mags have you got?’

  ‘Six each,’ said Fletcher.

  ‘We didn’t realize it was you lot knocking out those tanks,’ grinned White. ‘Good on you, lads.’

  ‘Now that you’re here,’ said Spears, ‘do you want the good news or the bad news?’

  ‘I don’t like the sound of this,’ said White.

  Fletcher sighed and rubbed his brow, his grin gone. ‘Go on then, Sarge. Let’s have the bad news.’

  ‘I want you two to run over to that dead tank, lie underneath and set up your Bren.’

  ‘And the good?’ asked White.

  ‘When you’re there, you’ll see a nice lot of juicy Jerries round this corner. Once we’ve got the next tank that’s coming, give ’em hell.’

  ‘If we don’t get killed getting there,’ said Fletcher.

  ‘You won’t. There’s still a bit of smoke coming from the tank and if you’re quick they won’t be able to reach quickly enough. The tank will give you plenty of cover.’

  ‘The things you make us do, Sarge,’ groaned White. ‘When do we move?’

  ‘Now. That panzer’s getting close.’

  White and Fletcher did as they were ordered. Clambering over the old gun position, they crouched down low then sped across the open thirty yards. Spears was right: a gentle breeze had wafted the smoke their way, giving them some extra cover. This time, no enemy responded. Diving down by the tank, White looked back and raised his thumb towards them.

  ‘Told them it’d be a piece of cake,’ said Spears.

  Hawke glanced across at the sergeant. The frown had gone, his face free of the obvious anxiety of earlier. He found Spears’s newfound confidence was raising his own spirits. The dull weight in his stomach had left him and a different sensation, almost one of exhilaration, was sweeping over him. He could hear the tank, close now, but quickly took a glug from his water bottle, the water soothing his parched mouth and throat. Come on, then, he thought, let’s see you.

  The rumbling and squeaking increased and then they heard the tank stop and a moment later a shot rang out. The shell was high, crashing into the wall to the righ
t of the alleyway, but then it fired again and this time blasted the sangar where they had been just a few minutes before. Then it revved and rumbled forward.

  Spears was crouched by the sights, the gun loaded and ready. Hawke placed his fingers on the lever, waiting, waiting …

  The tank crept into view, inching forward, first one wheel then another. It was just fifty yards away. Hawke could see White and Fletcher shift position anxiously. Come on, Sarge, he thought. There was the barrel, and then the turret. Come on, come on.

  ‘Fire!’ said Spears.

  The gun rocked, the breech flung back and the shell whooshed across the open ground, over White’s and Fletcher’s heads and smashed into the panzer’s side. The track whipped free, two wheels spun into the air and the tank shuddered to a halt.

  At the same time, Hawke had yanked down the cocking lever, the spent casing spat free and McLaren rammed home another shell. But now the turret was traversing, the barrel swinging steadily towards them. Hawke shot a glance at Spears, who was frantically elevating the gun. He caught Hawke’s eye, then peered through the sight and shouted, ‘Fire!’ A spurt of orange spat from the panzer’s cannon barrel at the same moment as their two-pounder blasted out a second shell. Hawke ducked instinctively as the enemy shell whooshed over their heads and exploded a short distance behind them, but already their own charge had hit the tank’s turret, ripping open another hole in the ironwork.

  ‘Quick!’ shouted Spears. ‘Another shot!’

  Again, Hawke yanked down on the cocking lever, McLaren thrust in a further shell and without further adjustment Spears gave the order to fire. The shot smashed into the turret again, knocking it clear. A moment later, there was a boom and the tank erupted into flames, thick black smoke billowing out and rolling back towards the town. Now the Bren opened fire, White giving a series of short, sharp bursts. Then, once Fletcher had whipped off one magazine and slotted in another, White gave one long continuous burst, firing in a wide arc, so that Hawke could see his shoulders and helmet shuddering with the rapid recoil of the gun. Another magazine was taken out and replaced, and White continued firing, and now mortars and small-arms were ringing out from A Company’s lines, a sharp, deafening fusillade that sang of the Rangers’ defiance and a spirit that, so far, had proved unbreakable.