Right and Glory

by Right

  ‘What? Irrigation or something?’

  ‘Nothing so mundane. Unless I’m mistaken, we must have already crossed the border. We’re in France now, and that has to be one of the defences the French have put in place. They obviously haven’t just relied on the barrier of the Ardennes Forest. That’s an anti-tank ditch, and it’s big enough to stop that Panzer.’

  Dawson looked in both directions at the open ditch which extended all the way across the ground in front of them.

  ‘Yeah,’ he agreed, ‘it’s big enough to stop that Panzer. The trouble is, it’ll stop us just the same. We’re buggered. We’re trapped on the wrong side.’

  Chapter 35

  12 May 1940

  Franco-Belgian border region

  Dawson braked the Fiat to a halt and looked around. The anti-tank ditch was a straight uncompromising line that stretched across the whole width of the open field. Some sections of it were edged with steel posts and laced with coils of barbed wire on the French side, work that had clearly not been completed before hostilities commenced, because the area directly in front of them hadn’t been wired. Grey coils of wire lay piled in heaps on the far side of the ditch, ready to be installed.

  ‘There’s no fucking way round that bastard, that’s for sure,’ Dawson said.

  Sykes looked back the way they’d come, but the Panzer was out of sight on the opposite side of the hill, and hopefully now at least a mile or so behind them. But both men knew the tank was coming. Once it crested the brow of the hill, they would have nowhere to run, and certainly nowhere to hide.

  ‘Look, Dawson,’ Sykes said, his voice oddly muted. ‘We’ve had a bloody good run. Been lucky to get this far, but there’s no way out of this. I can’t run anywhere, but you’ve got time to cross that ditch and get away. Just help me out of the car so I can stand up and surrender, then go. If you can take one half of that demolition charge, that would be a bonus. But right here is where it ends for us.’

  Dawson glanced at him pensively for a moment, then shook his head firmly.

  ‘No fucking chance. We’re in this together, win or lose.’

  ‘I can make it an order, Dawson.’

  ‘And you know where you can stuff your bloody orders, too, Major. We’re not dead yet.’

  Dawson looked around, hoping for inspiration.

  Apart from the anti-tank ditch, the only structure anywhere near them was a wooden agricultural building, something like a large shed, that had probably been used for storing farm machinery, ploughs and the like, or equipment.

  Dawson slid the gear lever into first and swung the wheel towards the building. One end of it was open, and it appeared to be completely empty.

  ‘That’ll do,’ he said.

  Sykes looked at him as if he was mad. ‘What do you mean, “That’ll do”?’ he demanded. ‘We can’t hide in there. The moment the German troops appear it’ll be the first place they look.’

  ‘Hiding wasn’t what I had in mind,’ Dawson said, ‘now just hang on.’

  He steered the Fiat towards the end of the building and accelerated. The battered front end of the little car struck the wooden corner pillar a glancing blow and ripped it completely out of the ground, carrying it forwards about a dozen yards. The wooden planks making up the side and back walls of the shed tumbled to the ground behind the car.

  Dawson climbed out, walked around to the front of the vehicle to inspect the damage. Coolant was dripping steadily from a puncture in the radiator, but otherwise the Topolino seemed undamaged mechanically, just very battered.

  He nodded in satisfaction and ran back to the remains of the shed. Dawson picked up one of the wooden planks and staggered across to the edge of the anti-tank ditch, carrying it in both hands.

  He knew a bit about the design of anti-tank structures – he’d done a course early in his time in the Royal Engineers. Basically, they comprised ditches, ramps and steel barriers and, of the three types, ditches were the easiest and cheapest to build, which was probably why the French had created this one. The trick was to make the ditch wide enough that a tank’s treads couldn’t reach the far side before it toppled into it, but still so narrow that no tank could drive down one side of it, across the base and then up the other side, which meant the sides had to be as near vertical as possible, and it had to be quite deep.

  Dawson paused on the edge of the anti-tank ditch and looked down. The French engineers hadn’t done too bad a job of it. The ditch was about six feet deep, scattered pools of water dotting the base, and with sheer sides, but still quite narrow. That was what Dawson had hoped.

  He placed the plank vertically in front of him, rested the base firmly on the ground and then let it topple forwards, his heart in his mouth. If the other end fell straight down into the ditch, they were screwed. But it didn’t. The far end of the plank hit the edge of the ditch, bounced up a couple of times, then settled, straight and level, bridging the gap from one side to the other.

  ‘Bloody brilliant,’ Dawson muttered, and ran back to the ruined farm building.

  ‘I can’t walk across that,’ Sykes called out, as the corporal passed the Fiat

  ‘Don’t worry. You won’t have to.’

  Dawson picked up another plank, carried it over to the ditch and manoeuvred it into position directly alongside the first. Then he took a look at the front of the Fiat, grabbed a third plank of wood and hauled that over to the ditch as well.

  But he didn’t lower that one across the top of the ditch. Instead, he ran back to the Fiat and drove it to the edge of the ditch, lining up the left front wheel with the first two planks he’d positioned there. Then he dropped the other plank across the ditch in line with the right front wheel of the car.

  ‘You have got to be bloody joking,’ Sykes said, as he realized what Dawson was intending to do. ‘There’s no possible way those planks will take the weight of this car.’

  Dawson paused for an instant and looked at him. ‘It’s a light car,’ he said. ‘You said that yourself. I think it’s worth a try. I’ll get you, and the demolition charge, out of the car before I drive it across. Then I’m the one taking the risk. And if I crash, you can still surrender.’

  Before Sykes could reply, Dawson ran back, grabbed a fourth plank and positioned that across the ditch beside the third one he’d laid.

  He opened the driver’s door of the Fiat, and hauled out one of the two halves of the German demolition charge, grunting with the effort. He placed it carefully on the ground, right at the edge of the ditch to one side of the two runs of planks, then pulled out the second half as well and placed it beside the first. Removing those would significantly reduce the laden weight of the Fiat.

  ‘Right, sir,’ he said, running around the car to the passenger side and opening the door.

  But Sykes shook his head decisively. ‘You said it, Dawson. We’re in this together. Succeed or fail, I’m staying right here.’

  For an instant, Dawson just stared at the major, then nodded. ‘Your choice,’ he muttered, and got back into the driver’s seat.

  He started the car and backed it away from the edge of the ditch. He checked that he was lined up precisely with the rudimentary bridge he’d constructed, then engaged first gear and pressed down on the accelerator pedal. The Fiat trundled forwards, Dawson ensuring he kept the car heading directly towards the planks.

  The front wheels hit the edges of the wooden boards, pressing them down into the earth, and an instant later the Fiat was supported only by the planks. They dipped alarmingly as the full weight of the car settled onto them, bending deeply, the ends moving across the edge of the ditch. But they held as Dawson kept up the pressure on the accelerator, and kept the car moving.

  They’d almost reached the far side of the ditch when there was a loud crack. The back of the car lurched sideways, and then the Fiat crashed down onto its chassis. The rear wheels span uselessly, suspended over empty space. They’d almost made it, but now they were stuck fast.

  Chapter 36 />
  12 May 1940

  Franco-Belgian border region

  ‘Fuck,’ Dawson said. He slipped the gear lever into neutral, opened his door – the Topolino’s doors were hinged at the rear – and stepped out to see what had happened.

  One of the planks had broken, and when the rear wheel of the Fiat broke through the wood, the opposite wheel had obviously slipped off the opposite planks, forcing them sideways and sending them tumbling down to the bottom of the ditch. The rear wheels of the car were only a matter of inches from the southern edge of the ditch.

  Dawson clocked that in an instant, and then looked back across to the other side, towards Belgian territory. Well over to his right, in the far distance, perhaps three-quarters of a mile away, he could see the first of the German soldiers starting to emerge from the woods. Very soon, he and Sykes would be within range of their Mauser carbines. The Panzer was still hidden from view, on the other side of the hill, but he knew it could appear at any second. And then they’d be a sitting target.

  He looked back at the car, its engine still running, and made a decision. He wrenched open the passenger door and looked down at Sykes.

  ‘You have to get behind the wheel,’ he said. ‘You drive and I’ll push it from the back. We might just get it out.’

  Sykes nodded and levered himself clumsily out of his seat. ‘I can manage,’ he said. ‘You do your stuff.’

  Dawson ran back to the rear of the Fiat and looked at it. There was only one way this was going to work. He jumped down into the ditch, his boots splashing in one of the puddles, and turned back towards the car.

  ‘Put it in gear,’ he yelled.

  ‘I’m doing it now,’ Sykes responded.

  In the anti-tank ditch, Dawson waited until the rear wheels started turning, then stepped underneath the back of the trapped car and reached up to grab the back axle. He braced himself and pushed upwards with all his strength. The car barely moved. Light car it may have been, but the weight was brutal.

  He simply wasn’t strong enough to lift it. He needed some kind of a lever, and a fulcrum, otherwise it was never going to work.

  He grabbed one of the planks, stepped back under the rear of the car and rammed the end of it under the axle, near the central differential, and moved to the end of the plank. When he lifted this time, the plank moved upwards and the rear of the car also moved up. The rear wheels were now almost touching the wall of the ditch, still spinning as Sykes kept his foot resting on the accelerator pedal.

  Dawson repositioned the plank, and again stepped back to repeat the process. The spinning rear wheels grazed the edge of the ditch, driving a spray of earth and mud downwards. He lifted the plank still higher. One wheel gripped the earth and stopped rotating. The other wheel was still spinning uselessly. Dawson’s arms were now fully extended, but it still wasn’t enough. He lowered the plank, took a couple of steps forwards and lifted again. He’d lost some leverage, but if he could fully extend his arms, that might just be enough.

  Grunting with the incredible strain, Dawson pushed upwards, watching the wheels of the Fiat, willing the little car’s tyres to grip the soil and move the Topolino forward. Again, one wheel gripped while the other span. Dawson took a deep breath and pushed upwards with every bit of strength he possessed. The plank bent with the strain, but the car moved an inch or two further forward. And then, with a sudden lurch, both the Fiat’s rear tyres gripped the ground and, with a suddenness that was almost shocking, it vanished from Dawson’s view.

  He dropped the plank, grabbed the edge of the ditch and pulled himself up so he could see what had happened. He had no idea whether or not Major Sykes could actually drive. If the vehicle careered out of sight and out of control, he didn’t know what he’d do.

  But he needn’t have worried – about that, at any rate. The Fiat had stopped a few yards away. As Dawson looked, Sykes clambered out of the driver’s seat and made his way around to the other side of the vehicle. When he and Sykes had first met, the major had told him about motoring holidays he’d enjoyed on the Continent. Obviously he could drive.

  ‘Bloody good,’ Dawson muttered, then stepped across to the northern side of the ditch, reached up and seized one part of the demolition charge. As he lifted it down, he heard a distant shot and guessed the German soldiers had now approached within rifle-range. That shot was followed by a volley of others. They had to get going as quickly as possible.

  He carried the charge across to the other side, then repeated the operation with the second part. From above him, he heard half a dozen shots from the Fiat as Sykes started returning fire with one of their Mausers.

  Getting out of the ditch didn’t prove that difficult. Dawson simply leant one of the planks against the side and walked up it, then immediately dropped to the ground as he came into view of the approaching Germans.

  He grabbed one part of the charge and ran over to the car, dodging and weaving from side to side, then ran back to collect the other half, heedless of the bullets now whizzing all around him. Several rounds hit the rear of the Fiat, either driving straight through the little car or ricocheting if they hit anything solid, like the spare wheel, but none hit either man or anything vital on the car. Others ploughed into the ground close beside the vehicle.

  Dawson stowed the demolition charge in the back of the battered little Fiat. Sykes was now leaning out of the passenger-side window – he’d obviously changed seats – and was twisted into an uncomfortable position so he could fire the Mauser back towards the enemy. He couldn’t aim very accurately because he had nothing to lean the weapon on to provide a stable platform, but he kept up a decent rate of fire towards the Jerries.

  Dawson jumped into the driver’s seat, slammed the gear lever into first and lifted the clutch. The car shot forward, aided by the slight down-slope, and began to increase speed. Two other bullets hit the car at that moment, both passing directly between the two men and spearing through the windscreen, crazing the glass.

  ‘Fuck,’ Dawson muttered. ‘They’re getting too bloody close for my liking.’

  ‘Yes, but we’re moving now, and we’re pretty much at the Mauser’s maximum range already.’

  The firing continued from the German infantry, but the Fiat was moving further and further out of range, and was also now a moving target, and no more shots came anywhere near them.

  ‘Tank!’ Sykes yelled suddenly, as the Fiat bounced over a patch of uneven ground.

  The Panzer III had just reappeared over the brow of the hill about 500 yards behind them, the massive steel hull an ominous black shape on the horizon. The barrel of its main gun swung to the left as the gunner started searching for a target.

  Dawson immediately turned the Fiat’s steering wheel to the left, already starting to take evasive action, waiting for the first shot from the 1.5 inch cannon, then switched direction to the right. The only problems was that weaving around meant he had to go a lot more slowly than if he was driving in a straight line. There was a stand of trees a couple of hundred yards in front of them, over reasonably hard and level ground that had a slight down-slope. If they could just reach those, they’d be safe, at least for a while.

  There was nothing Sykes could do to help him. Everything depended on how good the German gunner was at guessing Dawson’s next change of direction.

  ‘He’s fired!’ Sykes yelled, seeing the unmistakable puff of smoke from the barrel of the cannon. The Panzer was now perhaps 600 yards away, but they were still well within the effective range of its cannon.

  An instant later, the shell landed about seventy yards away from the Fiat, and over to their right. A cloud of earth exploded into the air as the high-explosive charge in the shell detonated.

  ‘He’ll be reloading,’ Sykes said. ‘Now go straight, as fast as you can. I’ll tell you when to turn.’

  Dawson straightened up and pressed down hard on the accelerator pedal, then eased up slightly. The rough ground didn’t really allow him to go flat out, or he risked losing contr
ol of the car. But he went as fast as he could, the Fiat bouncing and lurching from side to side as he powered it across the field.

  ‘Now start weaving,’ Sykes ordered, after a few more seconds.

  Dawson braked to slow down the car slightly, then turned right, before jinking left. Then right again, his movements erratic and, he hoped, completely unpredictable.

  Sykes saw another puff of smoke from the tank’s cannon, and again shouted a warning.

  Dawson immediately reversed the turn he was taking and sent the car skittering in the opposite direction. The shell ploughed into the ground behind them, less than twenty yards away. Shrapnel, stones and earth flew from the crater and rattled against the back of the Topolino. The German gunner had their range.

  Chapter 37

  12 May 1940

  Franco-Belgian border region

  ‘He’s getting bloody close,’ Dawson said, as he again aimed the car straight down the slope towards the woods in front.

  ‘Yes, but we haven’t got far to go.’

  They were now so close to the line of trees Dawson was able to pick a spot wide enough for him to drive the car under cover, but he’d have to slow right down to do so, simply because he had no idea what was waiting for them inside the wood. Tree trunks didn’t bend or give, and the last thing he wanted to do was drive the Fiat into some massive oak or some other solid tree that would write off both them and the car. That would be a really stupid way to die.

  ‘Start weaving!’ Sykes yelled again.

  Once more Dawson slowed the car and then turned the wheel, to the left this time, flipping a mental coin as he did so.

  ‘He hasn’t fired yet, as far as I can see, but he must have reloaded by now,’ Sykes said.

  Dawson swung the car over to the right. A cannon shell ripped past the door of the Fiat and punched a hole through the thin metal of the right front wing, before smashing into a tree at the edge of the wood.

  ‘Fuck this,’ Dawson said. ‘That German’s too bloody good at this.’ He swung the wheel to aim for the gap he’d already selected between a couple of trees, and drove straight at it.