by Right
He checked the front of the car for obvious damage. One of the mounting points for the bumper had been ripped off, and both front wings were badly dented. Dawson pulled the bumper upwards and out. Metal groaned and tore, but the other mount remained obstinately attached to the front of the chassis. He repeated the treatment and the third time he heaved at the bumper the mounting point tore free. He tossed the steel to one side, then kicked and tugged at the wings until he’d pulled the metal clear of the front wheels and tyres.
Then he started the car and reversed cautiously out of the open space and over the wooden fence he’d demolished. He got the Fiat back onto the street, gave a wave to the soldiers he’d talked to, then headed off, this time to the south, still looking for a road they could take that would allow them to track over to the west.
After a few minutes, he spotted a battered wooden signpost leaning drunkenly against a hedge on the right-hand side of the road. Most of the writing on it was illegible, but Dawson could just make out one of the words carved into its horizontal arm: the name was ‘Azebois’.
‘That’ll do us. Turn right here, Dawson,’ Sykes ordered, and the corporal dutifully steered the Fiat down the narrow lane.
The lane wound on, the surface alternating between hard-packed earth and stones, and poor quality Belgian pavé. But it was almost deserted, so at least they didn’t have to contend with either crowds of refugees or soldiers and military vehicles.
After about fifteen minutes they rolled into another village, which Sykes guessed was probably Azebois, though there was a total lack of any road signs or anything else to confirm his suspicion. Perhaps because they were now some miles from the front line, and actually to the west of Charleroi itself, there was more activity in the village. A few people were standing outside their houses, and looked with expectant curiosity at the battered little Fiat as it bumped and rattled its way down the main street.
‘This lot haven’t evacuated yet,’ Dawson observed. ‘Maybe they think they’re still safe here.’
‘Well, they’re not safe, here or anywhere else in Belgium, but they aren’t our problem,’ Sykes replied. ‘Just keep on going – keep heading south. You probably won’t see any other road signs, but we’re looking for Motte or Roux, or even Charleroi itself, at a pinch.’
Dawson steered the Fiat through the village and out of the southern end of the small settlement. And Sykes had been right. He didn’t see any road signs, but from the position of the sun in the sky – it was another beautiful day – he knew they were still heading in roughly the right direction. And there were no turnings or junctions on the road anyway, so they really had no choice.
For some distance the road followed the path of a railway line which was also running north-south, but they saw no sign of any trains on it. In fact, apart from the curious civilian spectators they’d seen in Azebois, or whatever the village had been called, there seemed little activity of any sort in the area, which was slightly surprising.
They didn’t pass through either Motte or Roux, as far as Dawson could tell, but within a short time they entered the north-western outskirts of Charleroi, which was the scene of far more activity, both military and civilian. Again, there were hundreds, or more probably thousands, of refugees streaming west through the city’s streets, the sheer mass of slow-moving humanity making progress towards the east virtually impossible – not that Dawson and Sykes wanted to go that way. They wanted to head south-west but that, too, proved to be something they couldn’t do. Troops, both sitting in the backs of trucks and as loose columns of marching men, were blocking the roads as they made their way towards the front line. Dawson tried to take two or three roads that Sykes believed were heading in the right direction, but each time they were turned back by Belgian police officers and army patrols charged with keeping the main thoroughfares clear for the essential troop movements.
‘This is hopeless,’ Sykes said, as they again found themselves forced back towards the south.
‘We can’t argue with them, though, sir,’ Dawson said. ‘What they’re doing is more important than us getting this demolition charge back to Blighty. Getting reinforcements up to the front is vital. If they can’t stop the Jerry advance, whether or not we know how that device works probably won’t matter. We’ll all be wearing jackboots and shouting “Heil Hitler” within the year.’
As if to reinforce Dawson’s statement, at that moment they both heard the sound of either bombing or artillery fire somewhere in the distance, over to the east.
Sykes nodded, but didn’t look up from his map. ‘I know, and I think we’re wasting our time even trying to find a road that’s open. OK, change of plan. Just keep going straight. It looks like there’s a decent road running almost due south out of Charleroi that’ll take us down to the French border.’
‘How far’s that, sir?’
Sykes used his fingers and the scale at the side of the map to estimate the distance involved. ‘It’s about thirty miles,’ he replied, ‘maybe thirty-five. But not far. That’ll bring us into France not far from Charleville-Mézières in the Champagne-Ardenne region. Once we’re across the border, we can head west over to the Channel ports or track a bit further south towards Amiens and Abbeville. One of the big Allied command centres was still there, the last I heard.’
‘That should work, as long as the Jerries haven’t beaten us to it,’ Dawson said. ‘That Belgie colonel reckoned Adolf’s troops might try to hack their way through the Ardennes Forest, didn’t he?’
Sykes nodded. ‘Yes, but unless the Germans can also get their tanks through there – which I think is doubtful, simply because of the terrain – then even the French should be able to hold them.’
‘Well, let’s hope so.’
Dawson switched his attention back to the road, because even going due south through Charleroi wasn’t easy. Most of the junctions were clogged with people – either refugees or troops – and frequently they had to wait several minutes before a small gap opened up and Dawson could steer the Topolino over the junction and continue heading south. Although the distance from one side of the city to the other was small, perhaps only about a mile or so, it was still over an hour before they finally cleared the southern outskirts of Charleroi and Dawson was able to get the little Fiat out of first gear and actually make some real, albeit still fairly slow, progress. Even this road was busy, but it was nothing like as congested as the city itself had been, and in a few minutes they were approaching another village, this one almost straddling the main road. Sykes thought this one was probably a place called Tarcienne.
After that, the traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian, diminished considerably, and they didn’t drive through any other villages or towns for some time. About an hour after leaving Tarcienne, they crossed a railway line and then a river in quick succession, and then drove through the village of Frasnes, where there was another spur of the railway.
‘That’s good,’ Sykes said, as they cleared the edge of the built-up area, which had been about as quiet as all the other small settlements they’d passed through. ‘We’re approaching the border area now. It’s probably only about ten miles away.’
The road was still heading more or less south as they drove into Couvin, a slightly bigger village.
‘According to the map, this is about the last place of any size that we’ll go through before we reach the border,’ Sykes said.
The terrain had changed as well. The area around Charleroi had been mainly level and open, but for the last few miles they’d been driving through countryside that was becoming more hilly the further south they went and increasingly heavily forested.
‘I suppose this is the Ardennes Forest we’re coming up to,’ Dawson suggested, gesturing to the land that lay in front of them as they reached the southern end of Couvin. Already the road was starting to slope upwards, and he had to change down a gear to keep the little Fiat moving up the hill.
Sykes nodded. ‘Yes. Well, a part of it, anyway.’ He pointed
ahead of them, through the Fiat’s windscreen. ‘You can see that the land is rising in front of us. If this map is right, we’ll reach the French border before we get to the top of those hills, and then keep climbing for another mile or so to reach the highest point. Then it’ll be downhill all the way. We won’t have much choice over which road we take because there aren’t many there, but once we’ve driven down out of the hills on the French side it’ll be a lot easier.’
‘Not a lot of activity here, is there?’ Dawson asked. ‘We’ve not seen any Belgian troops for a few miles, or any civilians.’
‘That’s not surprising because we’re a long way from the threat area. I imagine most of the civilians will already have left here for the west of the country, and the Belgian forces will be massing behind the Dyle Line, preparing to face the German attacks that they know will be coming from the east. There’d be no point in stationing Belgian troops anywhere down here, this far south, but once we cross the border we’ll probably meet some French soldiers. If Colonel Lefèvre was right, they’ll probably only be reservists from the Second Army, hoping to stop any German troops who make it through the Ardennes Forest.’
‘Well,’ Dawson said, a smile on his face, ‘as long as we don’t get shot by any of the Frogs once we cross the border, at least we’ll be safe from the Germans.’
Then he suddenly cursed under his breath and slammed on the brakes. The Fiat came to a rapid stop as both gravity and the rudimentary brakes worked in tandem to slow down the little car.
‘What is it?’ Sykes demanded.
Dawson pointed to the front, then swung the Fiat around in a tight circle to point back down the hill, back the way they’d come. ‘Troops,’ he said. ‘There’s a bunch of soldiers up there in the trees, maybe eighty yards ahead of us. And from the shape of their helmets they’re fucking Jerries.’
Dawson steered the Topolino down the hill, the speed picking up quickly. But as he rounded another bend in the road he hit the brakes hard again. The car slewed sideways, skidding to a halt with the rear wheels right at the edge of the road.
Just appearing from a forest track on their right hand side, perhaps a hundred yards in front of them, was the unmistakable shape of a Panzer IV, the turret with its stubby, short-barrelled cannon already swinging around to point towards the Fiat.
Chapter 33
12 May 1940
Eastern Belgium
Dawson again swung the Fiat’s wheel hard over to the left, slammed the gear lever into first and floored the accelerator pedal. The little car lurched into motion and started heading slowly back up the hill again.
Somehow, they’d driven right into the path of the enemy forces. They were trapped between two groups of Germans. But the immediate danger was the tank.
There was an echoing crack behind them, and a shell from the Panzer IV screamed past them and exploded against the trunk of a big tree about fifty yards away, the seventy-five-millimetre high-explosive armour-piercing round blasting a hole in the side of the trunk, red-hot shards of metal flying everywhere.
‘What’s the reload time for that bastard?’ Dawson asked, wrenching the Fiat’s gear lever into second.
‘Fucked if I know. It’s got a forward-mounted machine-gun as well. So just keep moving. Get us around that corner and out of sight.’
Sykes turned round in his seat to stare out of the car’s back window. The Panzer had turned up the hill and was starting to follow them. He could hear the rattling and clattering of the steel caterpillar tracks on the hard surface of the road. Then the muzzle of the cannon moved again as the German gunner prepared to fire a second round.
‘Swerve!’ the major ordered.
Dawson wrenched the steering wheel – to the right this time – forcing the Fiat close to the side of the road, aiming for the apex of the corner, which would get them out of sight of the crew of the Panzer as quickly as possible.
Again the German weapon fired, just as the Topolino rounded the bend.
There was a thump from the back of the Fiat, and the car lurched sideways. Immediately afterwards the shell exploded in the trees on the other side of the road.
‘What the hell happened?’ Dawson demanded.
‘I’ve no idea. Is the car still driveable?’
Dawson checked the steering, touched the brakes and then pressed down hard on the accelerator pedal again.
‘Everything seems to be working,’ he said.
‘Good,’ Sykes said briskly. ‘Those troops you saw were on the left hand side of the road, weren’t they?’
Dawson nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘That Panzer came out of the woods to the east as well. Maybe we’ve run into the advance guard of a German armoured patrol. We have to get off this road, so take any track you can see on the right.’
‘And if we’ve run into the middle of a patrol and they’re all over this hillside?’
‘Then we’re buggered, Dawson.’
There seemed to be no sensible answer to that.
A gap in the trees appeared on their right. Dawson braked sharply, swung the wheel to aim the car straight at it and accelerated. Undergrowth brushed and scraped down both sides of the car as he weaved his way between the thick trunks of the trees.
‘At least that bloody Panzer won’t be able to follow us through this lot.’
‘Don’t talk, Dawson. Just drive,’ Sykes said, still looking behind them.
‘More troops,’ Dawson said, pointing to their left.
Sykes turned back immediately. About 100 yards away, through the trees, a handful of grey-clad shapes moved indistinctly.
‘Keep going,’ the major said, unnecessarily. ‘They’ll never get a clear shot at us through these trees.’
As if to reinforce what he was saying, several dozen yards behind them, at the edge of the forest, the front end of the Panzer appeared, and moments later the crew fired another round towards them. But the shell exploded against a tree well behind the Fiat.
Dawson weaved the Fiat around the trunks of the trees, and for the first time since they’d been given the car by the Belgian colonel, he was grateful it was so small. A normal-sized staff car wouldn’t have been able to get through the forest, and they’d probably both be dead by now. Even so, the lack of power was a problem on the loose surface, and Dawson was having to keep going down the slope, just to keep the vehicle moving.
A ragged volley of rifle shots sounded from over to their left, up the hill, as the German infantry soldiers opened fire on them. Most of the bullets missed – by how much, the two British soldiers had no idea – but one smashed into the rear of the Fiat somewhere. Whatever part of the vehicle had been hit, the car was still moving, and that was all they cared about.
Sitting in the passenger seat of the bouncing and lurching vehicle, Sykes was switching his attention between watching out for other German soldiers and trying to see where the nearest road was that they could use to make their escape. As they’d already found out, the map wasn’t very detailed.
‘Just keep going,’ the major said. ‘As far as I can see, the only road anywhere near here is the one we were on.’
‘I don’t know how long I can manage to do that,’ Dawson said, his voice shaking as the Fiat was bounced around. ‘Sooner or later we’re going to find ourselves hemmed in by trees growing too close together for us to drive between, or down in a valley somewhere.’
‘We’ll tackle that when we come to it,’ Sykes said.
Another handful of shots rang out from their left, but none of the bullets came anywhere near them. They were now too far away and were probably barely even visible through the trees, which acted as a natural barrier between them and the enemy troops. No more rounds were fired at them by the Panzer, so they were obviously out of sight of the tank crew, or at least not in a direct line of sight for the gunner. With the thickening forest behind them, firing the main gun again would have been a waste of ammunition.
After another couple of minutes, Dawson pulled the Fiat
to a halt and turned off the engine. Over to their right, the slope descended down towards their right, but the trees were much closer together and he worried they wouldn’t be able to get the car between them if they went that way. In front of them, the trees were widely separated, but the ground was mainly level and in some parts there was even a slight slope upwards.
He glanced at Sykes, but as he did so the major shook his head.
‘I’m sorry, Dawson. I really am lost. This map is completely useless once you leave the main roads. It’s not even very good when you’re actually on the road. I do know we’re near the French border, but probably still in Belgium. I think we’re heading more or less west, but I wouldn’t even want to put any money on that.’
Dawson nodded, opened the door of the Topolino and climbed out.
‘Where are you going?’ Sykes asked.
‘To check for any damage to the car, and see if there are any Jerries in sight.’
He was back in less than a minute, and leant down beside the car to talk to the major. ‘We were bloody lucky with that Jerry Panzer, because that second shell they fired did hit us. It was another armour-piercing job. It caught the top of the spare wheel and must have gone straight through the tyre because there’s a fucking great hole in it. If it had hit the metal of the wheel, the high explosive would probably have cooked off, and we’d just be a big red stain on the road back there.’
Sykes grunted. ‘What about that rifle round?’
‘That’s not a problem. The bullet hit the car about two feet behind our seats and went straight through and out the other side. I’ve looked around, but I can’t see any sign of the Jerries. We know there’s at least one tank somewhere behind us. It’s still on the road because I can hear its tracks clattering on the hard surface. But we’ve driven far enough into the forest to get well away from the German soldiers.’
‘They’re probably going to stay on the road, or near it, so the tanks and supply trucks – I know we didn’t see any of them, but they’ll definitely be out there somewhere – will have a decent surface to drive along,’ Sykes mused. ‘So Colonel Lefèvre was right. We know the French have only lightly defended the area to the south of the Ardennes Forest, because they’re relying on this terrain to keep the Germans out. So that’s where Adolf has decided to try to push his way through into France itself.’