by Right
A couple of minutes later, Dawson heard the motorcycle engine starting up, and shortly after that the combination drew to a stop beside them. Between them, Dawson and the Belgian soldier lifted Sykes out of the sidecar and got him upright. The major leant against the side of the vehicle, catching his breath after the exertion, and clearly still in considerable pain.
‘What are those?’ the Belgian asked, pointing at the two rounded grey lumps that comprised the German demolition charge.
‘Those,’ Sykes said, ‘are the reason we need to see your most senior officer. That’s a new kind of explosive charge the Germans used to destroy Fort Eben Emael.’
The Belgian’s face fell. ‘We heard about that, but none of us believe it was true. Eben Emael is impregnable.’
Sykes shook his head. ‘It isn’t, I’m afraid.’
‘The Germans captured it? We heard they used gas.’
‘We saw no evidence of that. When we got away, Eben Emael was still in Belgian hands. The German troops used charges like these to destroy most of the fort’s weapons, so the garrison was almost helpless and was being held prisoner inside the building. I don’t know if they’ve surrendered yet or not, but it’s really only a matter of time.’
‘Sir,’ Dawson said urgently, ‘we need to move. We’re stuck out here in no man’s land, and the Jerries could send another patrol out after us any time.’
‘You’re right,’ Sykes said. ‘Let’s get going.’
Dawson plucked out the two parts of the demolition charge from the battered sidecar of the combination they’d ridden all the way from Liège, and carefully placed them on the floor of the other sidecar. Then he helped Sykes get inside that vehicle and settled him as comfortably as he could.
With the Belgian sergeant and his companion walking in front of them, and the other four soldiers bringing up the rear to cover their back, Dawson started the motorcycle’s engine. He rode the combination slowly towards the far end of the track, where, in the shadows cast by the trees, he could now clearly see other Belgian troops watching and waiting.
When they passed beneath the canopy, Dawson saw that there were about a couple of dozen Belgian troops positioned there, presumably to guard that end of the track, and all armed with Mauser carbines.
‘Where is your officer?’ Sykes asked.
‘He is not here,’ the sergeant replied. ‘I am in charge of these men. We are to stop any German approach along this track’ – that confirmed Dawson’s guess – ‘but our main forces are behind us, closer to the main road between Liège and Namur. That is where we expect the main German attack. There you will find our officers.’
‘My corporal here made a note of those German forces we could see. That could be valuable intelligence for the defence of this line.’
‘One of my men will go with you,’ the sergeant said, ‘to make sure you have no trouble with our sentries or patrols.’
He issued an order, and one of his men stepped forward and climbed onto the motorcycle behind Dawson.
‘Go straight up this track,’ the sergeant said, pointing west, ‘for half a kilometre, then go left at the fork. The main camp is few hundred metres beyond that.’
‘Thanks for that,’ Dawson said, and opened the throttle, easing the combination into motion.
They passed nobody until they reached the fork in the track, where a handful of troops were standing. The Belgian soldier sitting behind Dawson gestured for him to slow down and stop while he explained what they were doing. Then they rode on, and in a couple of minutes reached a large open area, where trucks of various sorts were parked, and men were milling about. There was an immediate sense of urgency, and of fear.
The German bombing had stopped, at least for the moment, but the effects of the prolonged attack were visible everywhere. The ground was studded with craters, and several of the vehicles had clearly been hit by bombs and were now smouldering wrecks. Two medical tents had been set up, with prominent red crosses displayed on their roofs, and from one of them came the sound of prolonged and agonized screaming. There had obviously been human casualties of the bombing as well.
The ground beyond was fairly level, and in the distance Dawson could see a handful of small artillery pieces, their muzzles pointing east, towards the German lines, their gun crews standing by, presumably just waiting for the order to fire. For a moment, he wondered why they weren’t firing already, but then guessed that they still had no idea where the German forces were located. The attacks on the Belgian positions had been from the air, using bombers, not tanks or field guns. Well, hopefully the information he had in his pocket would help with that, though from what he could see the Belgian forces were totally outnumbered and outgunned by the massed German troops waiting only a couple of miles away.
The Belgian soldier tapped Dawson on the shoulder and gestured to an open-fronted tent a short distance ahead of them. A number of Belgian officers were visible, some standing inside it, and several others talking together close to the tent.
Dawson pulled the combination to a stop and switched off the engine. He shook hands with the Belgian soldier, who nodded at him and then wandered off. Dawson climbed off the motorcycle combination and walked over to the tent.
The officers standing outside it had stopped talking and were staring at him, presumably wondering exactly what a British army corporal, wearing a filthy, tattered and bloodstained uniform, was doing in the middle of their camp. For a fleeting second, Dawson wondered that as well.
Then he stepped up to the closest group of officers, threw up a sketchy salute and asked a simple question.
‘Do any of you officers speak English?’
Three or four of the men nodded, and one stepped forward.
‘I speak English, yes. Who are you, and why are you driving a German motorcycle combination?’
That was the second time they’d been asked that question, and Dawson was in no mood to explain right then.
‘My name’s Dawson,’ he said, ‘and I’m a corporal in the British army’s Royal Engineers. I need to speak to the most senior officer here.’
The Belgian smiled slightly, then shook his head. ‘With all that’s going on here, I doubt very much if our commanding officer will be interested in talking to you. What did you want to say to him?’
Behind the Belgian, Dawson could see smiles forming on the faces of the other officers, who were standing there listening.
‘Two things,’ Dawson said crisply. ‘First, we’ve worked our way through the German lines all the way from Liège. I’ve made a note of the disposition of the enemy forces that are facing you on the ground over there.’ He pointed over towards the east.
The smiles had vanished from the faces of the other officers.
‘Have you indeed?’ the officer in front of Dawson said, his manner now completely different. ‘In that case, I think our commanding officer might well be interested in talking to you. And what was the second thing?’
Dawson pointed backwards, towards the sidecar. ‘The major has a favour to ask, but I’ll let him explain it himself. He’s been shot through the leg, by the way, and he can’t walk, so you’ll need to get your CO out here to speak to him.’
The officer nodded. ‘Just wait here,’ he instructed, and vanished into the tent behind him.
He was back less than a minute later, followed by an older man with grey hair and very different rank badges on his epaulettes. Dawson was unfamiliar with the Belgian insignia, but guessed the officer was probably at least a colonel. The senior officer nodded to Dawson, who gestured towards the motorcycle combination and led the way over to the vehicle.
When they reached it, Sykes saluted as best he could, which was awkward from a sitting position, and introduced himself to the senior officer in French.
The Belgian officer returned the major’s salute, but replied to him in English.
‘English is easier for us all, I think,’ he said. ‘I’m Colonel Lefèvre, and this officer is Major Herbellin. We’r
e both officers in the Belgian First Chasseurs Ardennais.’ Then he turned to Dawson. ‘I gather you have a note of the German force dispositions in this area?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir.’ Dawson reached into his battledress pocket and pulled out the pages of notes he’d made. Like Dawson himself, the bits of paper were grubby and torn, but the information he’d recorded was clear enough.
For the next few minutes, Dawson explained where he’d walked when he’d been looking for a way to cross the Belgian lines, and exactly where he’d seen the German forces. Major Herbellin stood right beside him, making copious notes as the corporal described what he’d seen.
‘You’re sure about this?’ Lefèvre asked, his face troubled. ‘We weren’t expecting this level of German armour to have reached here so quickly. We had mined all the bridges over the Albert Canal and the Meuse River, and stationed troops there to trigger the explosions as soon as we knew the Germans were definitely launching an invasion. That was intended to delay the movement of German heavy vehicles. We know that at least some of the bridges were destroyed. Unfortunately, we also know that in some cases the attacks were so sudden that our troops were overwhelmed before they could execute their orders.’
He turned back to Dawson. ‘You didn’t count any of them twice, nothing like that?’ he asked.
The corporal shook his head firmly. ‘Definitely not, sir. Those are the vehicles and approximate troop numbers that I saw.’
Colonel Lefèvre shook his head. ‘This is not good news,’ he said. ‘One of our main lines of defence followed the natural barrier of the Meuse River through Liège to Maastricht, but the speed and power of the German advance took us by surprise and we had to abandon those positions much sooner than we had anticipated. As part of our retreat from Liège and the Albert Canal area we blocked and mined most of the main roads. It sounds as if the German engineers must have repaired the damage much more quickly than we expected. Our air force has been trying to destroy some of the bridges we were forced to abandon, but I can only assume those operations weren’t that successful either. If what you say is correct, Corporal Dawson, and I’m not doubting what you saw, then I doubt if we can hold them off here for very long. But we’ll do what we can.’ He turned to Major Herbellin. ‘Fetch a map,’ he ordered.
For the next few minutes, Herbellin and Dawson attempted to work out exactly where the corporal had been, the tracks he’d followed and the fields he’d surveyed when he’d been looking for a route across towards Namur. Then they plotted the German positions on the map, to the best of Dawson’s recollection.
‘You’re certain about this, Corporal?’ Lefèvre asked again.
‘About the numbers and disposition, sir, yes. I’m a bit woolly about some of the locations, because I didn’t have a map with me at the time, but I’m reasonably sure I’ve got most of them pretty much right.’
‘Good enough,’ Lefèvre said. ‘Herbellin, work out the coordinates for all these positions and pass the information on to the gun crews. Then order them to fire at will. Let’s see if we can slow down the German advance, or at least give them a taste of their own medicine.’
Major Herbellin saluted, took the map and walked away briskly.
‘Have any of the French and British reinforcements arrived yet?’ Sykes asked.
Colonel Lefèvre nodded. ‘The Twelfth French Infantry Division has already arrived at Namur to reinforce our troops – that’s the Sixth Corps’ Fifth Infantry Division and the Second Chasseurs Ardennais – in that part of the KW Line, what you British call the Dyle Line. We’re much further to the east, and the French Prioux Cavalry Corps is already in position here. They’ve formed a screening line between Hannut to the north and Huy, down to the south. That line brackets the Liège to Namur main road, which we expect the German forces will most probably use for their advance westwards. The intention is for the French armour – the Prioux Corps is a tank regiment, and it’s equipped with Hotchkiss, Renault and Panhard tanks and armoured cars – to delay the enemy advance until further reinforcements are able to arrive in the area. Personally, I’m still not convinced that force disposition is right, though the figures your corporal supplied about the enemy forces do worry me.’
‘What do you mean, sir?’
‘The French planners still seem to believe that the Ardennes Forest and their Maginot Line will be enough to prevent any enemy invasion into that part of northern France, so they’re leaving the Ardennes virtually undefended and moving most of their troops all the way up to Zeeland, on the Dutch coast. So the only forces covering the Ardennes are the reservists of the French Second and Ninth Armies. I’m not sure that’s a good decision. In view of what’s happened already, I don’t think the Maginot Line will stop the Germans. And while the Ardennes Forest might be a problem for tanks to get through, their infantry forces could traverse it very quickly. But my guess is that the main thrust of the attack will in the area between here and the north of Namur, through the central part of the country, and our defences are fairly thin there. The French First Army is due to arrive at Hannut sometime tomorrow to protect the Gembloux Gap.’
‘So some of the French have arrived already, and others are on their way here. What about the British forces?’ Sykes asked.
‘We understand that your Third Infantry Division will reach Leuven no later than tonight.’
‘Leuven?’
Colonel Lefèvre gestured to another officer, who quickly brought out a map of Belgium and the surrounding countries. ‘We’re just here, to the south-west of Dreye,’ the colonel said, pointing at the map, ‘Hannut is here, to the north-west and Leuven is about fifty kilometres – that’s roughly thirty miles – to the north-west of Hannut, and just east of Brussels. That line’ – his finger traced a path from Antwerp in the north all the way down through Namur to Givet, south of the French border – ‘is our second line of defence against the Germans. The northern part, down to Wavre here, is the KW Line, and from there we’ve built a continuous anti-tank barrier, all the way south across the Gembloux Gap to the PFN, the Position Fortifiée de Namur. Our first line of defence was our eastern border, and we had hoped to hold the Germans there, at least for a while, because of the heavy fortifications we’d built since the last war.’
‘You mean Eben Emael and the other forts?’ Sykes said.
‘Exactly. Did you hear that the garrison of Fort Eben Emael has surrendered?’ the colonel asked.
Sykes nodded. ‘I didn’t know they’d surrendered, but we knew the Germans had beaten the fort’s defences. We were there,’ he added. ‘We actually watched the assault.’
The major explained what he and Dawson had seen after the first glider landed on the roof of the fort in the early hours of the previous morning.
‘And that, Colonel,’ Sykes finished, ‘is the real reason we’re here, and why we need your help.’ He pointed down, between his legs, into the sidecar. ‘This is one of the demolition charges the Germans used to destroy the cupolas at Fort Eben Emael. Dawson and I managed to steal it from the roof of the fort. It appears to be a completely new kind of explosive, and we believe it’s essential to have it examined by experts back in Britain to find out how it works.’
Colonel Lefèvre peered at the two solid grey lumps with interest. ‘That’s probably a good idea,’ he said, ‘but I’m not sure how I can help you do that.’
‘We had a staff car,’ Sykes explained, ‘but we were cornered by the Germans back in Liège and we had to abandon it there. Since then, we’ve been using one of these motorcycle combinations to get around. This is the second one we’ve borrowed from the Germans, actually. The trouble is, I’m not very mobile because of this bullet wound in my thigh and I can’t get comfortable in this thing, especially because I’m sharing it with the two parts of this demolition charge. Is there any chance we could take one of your staff cars or even a small truck to get us and this weapon to the British lines? I’m not happy at the idea of driving around behind the front line in a German vehi
cle, just in case some soldier thinks we’re part of the enemy forces and shoots us down.’
The Belgian officer nodded. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said. ‘The trouble is that most of the vehicles we have here are heavy lorries, and the transport situation is so critical – we might be ordered to pull back at any moment or move to a different location as the situation changes – that I can’t afford to let you have one of those. That’s simply because we’ll need all of them to carry our troops and equipment. Give me a few minutes and I’ll check exactly what we have available.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘In the meantime, get your wounds dressed and treated over there.’ The colonel pointed towards the nearest of the two dressing stations.
Dawson helped Sykes out of the sidecar and half-carried him across to the tent. Fifteen minutes later, the major had new dressings on both his head and leg wounds, and the two men made the same journey in reverse, back to the motorcycle combination.
‘And at least now we can relax a bit,’ Dawson said, as Sykes settled himself back in the sidecar: it was as comfortable a place for him to sit as anywhere else. ‘We’re finally on the right side of the lines, and that means we should be able to get some decent food and drink inside us and get our heads down for a few hours.’
‘I hope so, Dawson, because I’m hurting, knackered, hungry and thirsty.’
‘Let me see what I can do.’
Dawson stood up and walked over to the open-fronted tent. One of the junior officers swung round to look at him as he approached.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked, in English.
‘Just a question, sir. We’ve been on the road all day with nothing to eat or drink. Any chance of a bevvy or some scoff?’
The officer looked uncomprehendingly at him. Dawson belatedly realized that although many Belgians spoke English, army slang would be incomprehensible to them.
‘Sorry, sir,’ he said, and quickly amended his previous question. ‘I mean, could we get some food and drink somewhere?’