Right and Glory

by Right

  ‘Just as well the Frogs have got us to help them, then.’

  Sykes laughed shortly. ‘I wish I could believe that,’ he said. ‘We’re not exactly the best-equipped fighting unit in the world at the moment. I have a horrible feeling the Germans are going to push us out of France and Belgium, probably very quickly. The only thing that’ll stop Adolf and his booted hordes from tramping through London within the year will be the English Channel. That narrow stretch of salt water is a barrier even the Germans are going to find very hard to cross. Right now I think that’s about the best defence Britain’s got.’

  Dawson came to a T-junction, stopped the Fiat and glanced both ways. They’d reached another lane, a little wider than the one they’d followed down the hill, but still fairly narrow and lacking a decent hard surface.

  Sykes followed the corporal’s glances, looked at the map, which apparently provided little inspiration for him, and then up at the sun. Finally he muttered: ‘This road junction isn’t marked on the map, so you’d better turn right, I suppose. That’s more or less west, I think. And keep your eyes open for a signpost or anything that’ll tell us where the hell we are. We need to get to Rocroi.’

  Dawson turned the wheel and headed off along the lane, the sound of the battle now starting to diminish behind them. There were a number of side turnings off the lane, but they all looked narrow and possibly only went to isolated dwellings or perhaps even groups of fields. Dawson ignored them.

  The lane curved sharply to the right, and then started to climb gently – a slope the little Fiat was able to cope with. Even so, Dawson had to coax every bit of power out of the engine to keep them moving.

  ‘That’s the top of the hill coming up now,’ Sykes said, pointing ahead. ‘It should be easier after that.’

  The major was referring to the gradient, and in that respect he was absolutely right. The Fiat would have made much quicker, and much easier, progress travelling downhill. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen – at least, not in the direction the car was heading.

  As Dawson nursed the Topolino to the crest of the hill, he suddenly hit the brakes and slammed the car into reverse. He wrenched the steering wheel hard over and drove the Fiat backwards into the hedge that bordered the lane, then span the wheel in the opposite direction to drive the car back the way they’d just come.

  And the reason for his violent action was that just over the brow of the hill, no more than fifty yards away, sat another Panzer III, completely blocking the lane. Behind the tank, at least a dozen German soldiers stood, all heavily armed.

  The only reason the Fiat wasn’t already scrap metal was that the Panzer’s turret and main weapons were pointing in the opposite direction. Dawson’s actions had got the Topolino out of sight before the turret could be swung round to point at it. But they had been seen by the Germans, Dawson was sure of that, both by the soldiers and the tank crew – the movement of the turret confirmed that.

  They may have got away from one scrap between the French and the invading Germans, but now it looked as if Dawson and Sykes were going to have to fight their own private battle, heavily outnumbered and ludicrously outgunned.

  Chapter 39

  12 May 1940

  Franco-Belgian border region

  ‘Fuck it,’ Dawson muttered. ‘What the hell do we do now?’

  He was driving the Fiat back down the hill they’d just climbed, trying to put some distance between themselves and the Panzer. But he knew they couldn’t keep on going in that direction, because that would take them back into the thick of the fighting between the invading Germans and the French Second Army reservists, who by now might well be in full retreat.

  ‘We get off this road,’ Sykes ordered, checking behind them for any sign of the Panzer or the German soldiers. ‘Take any right turn that looks well used. And be quick. That tank’s right behind us.’

  Sykes was right. The sudden appearance of a massive dark grey shape in the Fiat’s rear-view mirror caused Dawson to twitch. The Panzer had just appeared at the crest of the hill. They could expect a shot from its cannon – or a burst from the twin forward-facing machine-guns – any second.

  He saw the entrance to a narrow track about ten yards ahead of them, hit the brakes and turned the wheel. The back wheels of the Fiat hopped across the uneven surface as the car skidded sideways, Dawson fighting the turn all the way. The moment the front of the Fiat lined up with the entrance to the track, he floored the accelerator. The back of the Topolino hopped as he fed all the limited power of the engine to the rear wheels, driving the Fiat forwards.

  The instant the little car left the track, there was a thunderous crack from behind as the Panzer’s gunner fired a round from the 1.5 inch cannon, and there was a heavy explosion from the left of the car as the high-explosive shell hit something solid and detonated.

  ‘That was too fucking close – again,’ Dawson muttered as the car shot down the track. He was fighting for control, trying to keep the vehicle moving as quickly as he could and at the same time avoiding the worst of the potholes and other obstacles.

  The cannon fired again, the gunner shooting blind, guessing at where his target might be. Luckily for Dawson and Sykes, he didn’t guess very well, the cannon shell missing the car completely, though Dawson had no idea whether it went in front of them or behind.

  ‘If we’re still on this straight section when that Panzer reaches the end of this lane, we’re buggered,’ Sykes said. ‘He’ll see us and at that range he won’t be able to miss.’

  ‘I know, I know. As soon as I see anywhere we can go...’

  An open gate loomed up on their right-hand side and Dawson turned the Fiat towards it, aiming for the centre of the opening. He over-cooked it slightly and the left rear wing of the car crashed into the gatepost. Dawson hit the brakes and stopped the vehicle immediately – the Fiat was their only way out of the mess they’d found themselves in, and if they blew a tyre, that was it because, thanks to the earlier shot from the other tank, they had no spare wheel. Stopping to check on the damage, with a Panzer III only a few dozen yards behind, wasn’t Dawson’s idea of good timing, but he had absolutely no option.

  Dawson leapt out and ran round to the back of the little car. The wing had been split by the impact and bent inwards, and two jagged edges of the ripped steel were pressing on the tyre. There was already a gouge in the rubber of the sidewall, and Dawson knew that if they’d driven on for even a few more yards, the steel would have carved its way through the tyre and blown it.

  The remedy was simple. He reached down, grabbed the edge of the twisted wing in both hands and pulled it away from the tyre. The torn edge of the thin steel was razor-sharp and the metal cut into his hands, but Dawson ignored the pain, because already he could hear the noise of the Panzer’s engine as the tank accelerated down the track towards them, crushing undergrowth and hedges as it approached.

  He shifted one section of the ruined wing, then grabbed the other part of it and repeated the treatment, again feeling the steel cut into his palms and fingers as he did so. He quickly checked what he’d done, making sure that nothing else could touch the precious rubber of the tyre, then ran back to the driver’s seat.

  ‘Quickly, man,’ Sykes muttered, as the corporal sat down.

  Dawson slammed the gear lever into first and the Fiat lurched across the field. No crops had been planted, which was a blessing, and the surface was just rough, grass-covered ground, mainly level, but with a slight down-slope at the far end, where the illusory safety of another wood beckoned, perhaps a hundred yards away. The Topolino lurched and bounced across the uneven ground as Dawson wound the speed up as much as he dared.

  ‘If we can just make it into the trees,’ he said, ‘at least the gunner in that fucking tank won’t be able to see us.’

  ‘You drive, Dawson. I’ll pray,’ Sykes replied, his whole attention focused on the field behind them, and the gate they’d driven through. He was clutching the Schmeisser machine-pistol in his
hands, though against the armour plate of the Panzer it would be a completely ineffective weapon.

  ‘Where is it?’ Dawson asked. The Fiat was bouncing about so much that the rear-view mirror was useless, just showing a blurred kaleidoscope of images.

  ‘I can’t see it yet,’ Sykes said. ‘Wait. Yes, there it is, just about to turn into this field. We’ve got maybe ten seconds before he’s through the gate and able to fire. And he’ll have a clear shot at us.’

  ‘Why is it,’ Dawson asked, ‘every time we see a bloody tank it starts chasing us and shooting?’

  ‘Two reasons, I suppose,’ Sykes replied, still staring backwards across the field. ‘First, we’re probably the only enemy motorized vehicle they’ve seen and this car’s a nice soft target. No armour, and no big gun we can use to shoot back at them.’

  ‘And the second reason?’ The bouncing of the car intensified as Dawson struggled to coax every last bit of power out of the tiny engine. The wood loomed ahead of them, but still about twenty-five yards away. It was going to be close.

  ‘Probably the oldest motive in the world,’ Sykes replied. ‘Revenge. The German forces use radio far more than we do. All their tanks are fitted with sets. By now, every German tank commander in the area is going to know that two men in a Fiat Topolino on Belgian army plates were responsible for the loss of a Panzer III and the death or at least the serious wounding of its commander. And they aren’t going to like that one little bit.’

  ‘What – you mean it’s personal?’

  ‘Maybe. I don’t know. Now stop talking and get us out of sight. That gunner will fire at any –’

  But Sykes’s words were drowned out by a shattering explosion of noise. The Fiat lurched sideways as a cannon shell slammed into it, and both men felt the massive concussion as the projectile passed right between them and out through the window opening on Dawson’s side of the car. Yet again, the metal of the rear section of the Topolino had proved too thin to trigger the high-explosive warhead, which detonated somewhere over to the left of the wood. There were now three shell holes in the back of the tiny car.

  For an instant, Dawson lost control of the vehicle, letting go of the steering wheel and clapping both hands to his ears as the shockwave hit him.

  He shouted something to Sykes, but the major just shook his head – both men were still deafened by what had just occurred, and neither could hear the other, or any other sound, for that matter.

  The Fiat lurched to the left. Dawson grabbed the wheel again and aimed the vehicle at the trees. But this wood was very different to the previous ones they’d driven through. For some reason there was heavy undergrowth all around it, and between the trees right in front of them. There were no gaps Dawson could see.

  But he realized he didn’t have any option. If they stayed in the open, the next shell from the Panzer’s cannon would either hit them or some part of the car solid enough to trigger the explosive – the German gunner clearly already had their range. In either case, they’d be dead. The wood offered them their only possible chance of survival. So Dawson took it.

  He picked two of the trees that seemed to be fairly widely separated, and aimed straight at the undergrowth between them.

  ‘Hang on,’ he yelled at the top of his voice, though he still had no idea if Sykes could hear him or not.

  But the major visibly braced himself as the Fiat turned. Even if he hadn’t heard Dawson’s warning, the corporal’s intentions were abundantly clear.

  Still travelling at about twenty miles an hour, the front of the Topolino smashed into a patch of heavy undergrowth that was nearly as tall as the car itself. The front wheels bounced into the air and then crashed down again, flattening bushes and shrubs as the Fiat ploughed forward. More bushes loomed ahead, and Dawson kept his foot down on the accelerator pedal, trying to keep the speed up because the one thing he daren’t do was get stuck among the bushes: that would seal their death warrant just as surely as a shell from the Panzer.

  They passed between the two trees, the Fiat rocking and bouncing. There was another explosion, this one from the trunk of the tree on their right, as the gunner in the Panzer fired another round. Fragments of the shell rattled and bounced off the metal at the back of the car, but none of it penetrated – at least the steel was thick enough to prevent that.

  Then they were through the bushes and shrubs. Dawson instantly shifted his size-twelve boot from the accelerator to the brake pedal and mashed it down hard, because there were three trees right in front of the car, and no way the Fiat was going to be able to drive between any of them – the gaps were just too narrow.

  The Fiat’s tyres slid over the loose and uneven surface. Dawson realized immediately he wasn’t going to be able to stop.

  Sykes braced his arms against the dashboard. ‘Dawson!’ he shouted.

  ‘I know, I know.’

  Dawson wrenched the steering wheel over to the right. The Fiat changed direction violently, the right-hand-side wheels actually leaving the ground, and the vehicle threatening to roll over. He span the wheel anti-clockwise, forcing the Topolino straight. The car crashed down onto all four wheels again, the suspension squealing, banging and protesting. Then the left side of the car slammed into the trunk of one the trees. Metal screamed and tore, the car bouncing off the tree before finally sliding to a noisy halt. They were safe, for a few minutes at least, but the Fiat wasn’t going anywhere soon.

  ‘Have you actually got a driving licence, Dawson?’ Sykes demanded somewhat icily as the corporal switched off the engine.

  Dawson grinned at him. ‘Now you come to mention it, sir, no I haven’t. When we first met, you asked me if I could drive, which I can, after a fashion. You never actually asked me about a licence.’

  ‘My mistake, obviously.’

  Dawson grinned again, and kicked the door open because it had jammed shut. Instead of opening, it just fell sideways to the ground, both the hinges smashed. He climbed out of the car to inspect the torn and twisted metal on its left hand side, then ran across to the edge of the wood.

  What he saw wasn’t encouraging. The Panzer had stopped about a hundred yards away, more or less in the middle of the open field, the crew apparently waiting for something. And it didn’t take much guesswork to deduce exactly what the tank commander was expecting to happen. Some distance behind the Panzer, at the top of the hill, grey shadows started to materialize as the German troops they’d spotted on the road came into view and began advancing towards him.

  Dawson guessed that the tank commander was going to order the soldiers to enter the wood – the Panzer was obviously far too big to manoeuvre between the trees – to flush out the Fiat. Then the tank’s gunner would be able to take his time in blowing them to hell. He counted at least a dozen soldiers in total, all of them, as far as he could tell, carrying Mauser carbines. Even ignoring the Panzer – which was difficult enough to do as it sat, engine rumbling and the turret occasionally traversing left and right as the gunner looked for a target – in the middle of the field, he and Sykes were outnumbered about six to one by the soldiers.

  Dawson had no idea what to do about them – or about the Panzer.

  Chapter 40

  12 May 1940

  Franco-Belgian border region

  Dawson heard a rustling behind him and immediately swung round, raising the Mauser. Major Sykes loomed up out of the gloom, still walking with difficulty, but he was walking, and carrying the other Mauser carbine.

  ‘It’s me,’ Sykes said. ‘What’s the situation? And don’t just tell me we’re fucked. I already know that.’

  ‘We’re fucked, sir. The Panzer’s sitting out there waiting for us to show ourselves so it can blow us to buggery. There are about a dozen Jerry front-line troops heading our way, to drive us out of the wood. And that car isn’t going to move for a while. I’ll have to try to straighten out some of the damage before we can use it.’

  Sykes looked across the field at the waiting Panzer, then at the German soldiers
who were slowly approaching, moving quickly from one piece of cover to the next, and then waiting for their comrades to catch up.

  ‘We do have one advantage,’ the major said thoughtfully, after a moment.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘We’re hidden in this wood. They’re out there in the open. We can see them, but they can’t see us, otherwise they’d already be shooting.’

  ‘Yes, but if we start firing at them, that Panzer will open up with its cannon or machine-guns and we’re done for.’

  ‘Not necessarily. These trees will stop anything they can fire at us. What we have to do is separate – which means you walking away from here because I can’t move much further – and find a bloody great thick tree trunk to hide behind, and then we try and shoot down as many of those Jerries as we can. If we can take out three or four of them, maybe the others will push off.’

  ‘Yes, but ...’ Dawson started, then lapsed into silence.

  ‘If you’ve got any better ideas, I’d like to hear them,’ Sykes said.

  Dawson shook his head. ‘No, I haven’t. Right, I’ll go that way,’ he said, pointing to the east. ‘What about a signal to start firing?’

  ‘I don’t think it’ll make any difference, do you? I’ll give you a couple of minutes, then I’ll start, so don’t go too far.’

  ‘What about that bloody Panzer?’

  ‘Their gunner can’t see us either, otherwise we’d already be dead, so forget about it. Just concentrate on the soldiers. This is our only chance of getting out of here.’

  ‘Right,’ Dawson said again, somewhat uncertainly. Then he nodded and strode away, vanishing from sight almost immediately in the heavy undergrowth.

  He walked for about fifty yards, stopping every few steps to check that the approaching enemy soldiers were still in view, then ducked down beside a massive old oak that looked as if it would stop absolutely anything. There was a bush growing beside the tree which provided even more cover, but there was a clear space under its lowest branches, maybe a foot high, which would allow him a clear view of the field – the field that was about to become a killing ground.