by Right
Dawson lay prone, wrapped the Mauser’s sling around his left arm and braced his elbows well apart, to provide the most stable rest possible for the rifle. He knew the weapon was already loaded – every time he’d picked it up he’d checked that – so he just slipped off the safety catch, aimed the muzzle towards the field and started looking for a target.
But before he could fire, Sykes’s rifle cracked over to his left, and a German soldier about 150 yards away suddenly crumpled to the ground and lay still. One down, but that still left about eleven to go. And the remaining soldiers weren’t going to be easy targets. When Sykes fired his weapon, all the other soldiers had dived for what cover there was, confirming Dawson’s belief they were front-line troops. As he looked up the field, he saw immediately that none of them were still in sight.
But that didn’t mean they were safe, because he’d watched one of them dive behind a low section of the hedge. Dawson could even see a part of the man’s grey uniform through the foliage. That was enough for him. He sighted the Mauser where he guessed the soldier had to be hiding, and squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked sharply against his shoulder. And beside the hedge, an indistinct figure rose up for an instant, then tumbled backwards to lie on the ground.
Then Dawson saw a slight movement on the Panzer and guessed exactly what was about to happen. He pulled back the Mauser and turned around, into a sitting position with his back to the massive trunk of the oak tree.
Immediately, the cannon on the tank fired, the high-explosive shell screaming into the wood and detonating against something solid. It wasn’t an aimed shot, because Dawson knew he and Sykes were invisible to the Germans – the thick undergrowth ensured that – but just intended to make them keep their heads down while the soldiers advanced closer towards them.
And to reinforce that uncompromising message, the gunner in the Panzer then opened up with the twin turret-mounted MG 34 machine-guns. Dawson stayed exactly where he was as a stream of 7.92-millimetre bullets ripped and tore at the vegetation around him, and thudded into the oak tree. Then the gunner swung his weapon, traversing to the west, towards Sykes’s position. He just hoped the major had been quick enough – and mobile enough – to get himself behind a tree before the bullets reached him.
The noise of the firing was thunderous, and the German gunner knew his stuff, because he then swung the weapon back in the opposite direction, back towards Dawson, raking the edge of the wood with a lethal fusillade of bullets. Again Dawson cringed, but the moment the man’s point of aim shifted, he again dived to the ground and brought the Mauser to bear.
As he’d guessed, as soon as the gunner had opened up, the German soldiers had broken out of cover and started heading across the field again, moving tactically, in short, weaving runs from one dip in the field to another. The problem they had was that there weren’t that many places they could hide in the field, which was largely open, studded here and there with stunted bushes and with just a few hollows and dips big enough to conceal a man.
Despite the continuous machine-gun fire, Dawson took careful aim at one of the closest of the approaching soldiers, and was about to fire when a sudden thought struck him. The noise of the twin machine-guns was probably loud enough to drown out the sound of a single shot from the Mauser, but if he killed one of the leading soldiers, the Germans would know at least one of their enemy was still shooting back.
He shifted his point of aim, picking a German right at the back of the approaching patrol, waited until the man reached one of the bushes, and then fired. The bullet slammed into the German’s body and tossed him backwards, his weapon dropping to the ground. But none of the other soldiers reacted in any way, so Dawson knew they hadn’t heard his shot.
He flattened himself behind the tree once again as the machine-guns in the Panzer sent another fusillade of bullets in his general direction, then turned back to the field, looking for another target.
The soldiers were still advancing, apparently unaware that another of their number had been killed or seriously wounded. Dawson picked out another soldier, again right at the rear of the group, took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. Again the Mauser kicked against his shoulder, but at that instant the German soldier moved, and the bullet took him in the arm, not the chest. Even from his hidden position in the wood, and even over the sound of the machine-gun fire, Dawson could hear the man’s sudden howl of agony.
Immediately one of the enemy soldiers shouted an order, and the Germans scattered, diving for whatever cover they could find. And then what had worried Dawson from the start happened. One of the Germans, maybe the patrol leader, obviously realized just how exposed they were advancing down the field towards the wood, and that the Panzer offered them an absolutely impregnable bullet-proof shield.
Dawson heard a shouted order. The remaining soldiers jumped up out of the positions where they’d gone to ground and started running towards the back of the tank.
Dawson aimed quickly, picking out one of the running men, and fired. His bullet missed the soldier he was aiming at, but another Jerry ran behind the man just as he fired, and the bullet sent him tumbling, to lie writhing in agony on the ground. A lucky shot.
But, as he reloaded, the last of the German soldiers skidded out of sight behind the Panzer, and Dawson knew that now they really were in trouble. He’d accounted for four of the enemy soldiers, three probably killed and one wounded and out of commission. He knew Sykes had got one as well, hopefully two or three, so between them they’d reduced the enemy’s strength by about a half, if they’d counted right and the patrol had consisted of about twelve soldiers to begin with. But that still left roughly half a dozen German soldiers facing them, and the Panzer III, about which they could do nothing.
And now Dawson could hear the engine note of the tank changing as it started moving forward, heading slowly down the field towards the wood, the German soldiers invisible somewhere behind its lumbering grey bulk.
The German plan was as obvious as it was inevitable. The tank would rumble on across the field until it reached the edge of the wood. As soon as it was close enough, the German soldiers sheltering behind it would split on both directions, charging into the wood to hunt down him and Sykes. If they were really lucky, they might manage to take out one or two of them each, but that was the best they could hope for. And then the remaining enemy soldiers would kill them. It was as simple as that.
Dawson knew they were as good as dead.
Chapter 41
12 May 1940
Franco-Belgian border region
The Panzer rumbled on, the main gun remaining silent without a target to engage. But the twin coaxial machine-guns kept up a steady barrage into the wood, the turret traversing left and right as the tank approached the line of trees.
For the first time since he’d arrived in Belgium, Dawson felt completely helpless. He couldn’t even see any of the German soldiers behind the tank, far less shoot at them, and loosing off a round from his Mauser at the Panzer would be completely futile – he doubted if the crew would even hear the impact. What he and Sykes needed was some kind of anti-tank weapon. That, or a miracle.
Miracles seemed to be in short supply, but Dawson suddenly realized that they did actually have an anti-tank weapon. Or, to be exact, something that might function as one. The upper half of the German demolition charge was, he was quite certain, packed with plastic explosive, and he even had the detonator that screwed into the top of it.
What he couldn’t work out for a few seconds was how the hell he’d be able to get it into position, because if it was going to work, the charge would have to be virtually touching the Panzer, and preferably its underside, where the armour plating was thinnest.
Then inspiration came. Dawson backed away from the oak tree, checking where the machine-gun was aiming, and then ran back through the woods, trying to ensure he kept as many tree trunks between him and the Panzer as possible. In a few seconds he reached the battered Fiat Topolino, pulled open the do
or and grabbed the top half of the demolition charge. He pulled it out, then reached back inside for the detonator. Slipping that into his battledress pocket, he shouldered his Mauser again, picked up the charge and stumbled – the charge was heavy, cumbersome and awkward to carry – back towards the edge of the wood.
He stopped, panting, beside a big tree and checked the lie of the land. The Panzer driver hadn’t got that many options. He needed to get the nose of the tank through some of the undergrowth to give the soldiers following behind the best possible chance of entering the wood without being shot, and the trees were growing so close together that there were only a couple of places where he could achieve that.
The tank was now under fifty yards away, still advancing slowly to allow the German soldiers to keep up and keep hidden behind it, and the driver was obviously aiming for a spot between two large trees about fifteen feet apart, a short distance over to Dawson’s left.
He stepped out from behind the tree and struggled over towards the gap. As he did so, the machine-gun opened up again and started spraying the wood directly in front of him, firing blind. There was only one thing Dawson could do.
He dived full-length on the ground, with his head pointing directly towards the weapon, and pushed the demolition charge in front of him as well, hoping as he did so that he’d been right about the stability of the plastic explosive he’d guessed was inside it.
Bullets ripped through the undergrowth in front of him, and a couple hit the demolition charge, striking the heavy object with solid thumps that pushed the charge a couple of inches back along the ground towards Dawson’s head. But it didn’t detonate.
Another bullet clipped the edge of his right boot, driving a red-hot furrow through the skin on the outside of his ankle. Dawson grunted in pain but didn’t move.
Then the gunner shifted his aim slightly, the stream of bullets tracking over to his left. Dawson stood up, wincing as he put weight on his right leg, and limped forward again. He stopped to check on the position of the Panzer. It was now heading straight for him. He nodded to himself, knelt down and started burrowing through the undergrowth towards the edge of the wood, directly into the path of the twenty-five-ton vehicle, dragging the demolition charge along.
He crawled right to the edge of the layer of undergrowth, thrusting his body forwards. He checked on the position of the Panzer again, to make sure it was still heading directly towards him. Then he stopped moving, took the detonator out of his pocket and carefully screwed it into the top of the charge.
Then he looked ahead again, estimating the size of the gap under the tank. It looked to him as if the underside of the Panzer would just clear the top of the detonator.
‘Bugger,’ he muttered, and looked around. But the ground was level, and there was no way he could raise the weapon any higher.
But there was one thing that might work. Dawson took a length of cord from his battledress – one of several non-standard bits of kit he’d found useful in the past – and tied the end of it around the top of the detonator. Then he made yet another check, a final check, on the position of the Panzer, and backed out of the undergrowth, unrolling the ball of cord as he did so.
He retreated in a straight line. For his plan to work, he had to be able to see the moment the body of the tank moved over the demolition charge. Then the cord ran out. Dawson muttered in irritation: he was in an open area and the instant the tank nosed into the wood he’d be visible to the crew, and especially to the gunner. He picked up a stone and placed it over the end of the length of cord to anchor it. He retreated further, behind a tree, and leant his Mauser up against it. He wouldn’t need the rifle for the next few minutes, and carrying the weapon would only encumber him.
Dawson checked that he could still see the demolition charge. The dull-grey hemisphere – or whatever the correct name was for that particular shape – was clearly visible in the undergrowth. As was the Panzer III, now only a matter of a few feet from the edge of the wood, still moving slowly straight towards him.
‘Come on, you bastard,’ Dawson muttered, checking he could still see the end of the cord, in the clearing just in front of him.
The tank continued forward until its tracks were just brushing the edge of the undergrowth that marked the limit of the wood. And then it stopped, maybe six feet clear of the demolition charge.
‘No, no,’ Dawson said, staring at the sight in anguish. ‘Come on, damn it. Keep coming.’
He checked behind the Panzer, wondering if the German soldiers were now making their move. But there was no sign of them. Presumably they were waiting for the tank’s gunner to clear the area before they moved in to mop up everything.
The Panzer’s turret swung left and right, as the gunner apparently looked for a target. And his only option, Dawson realized in that instant, was to give him one. He grabbed the Mauser, stepped out from behind the tree and fired a shot directly at the tank, not bothering to aim. The bullet slammed into the armour plating below the turret, and immediately the twin machine-guns swung round to point at him.
Dawson ducked back behind the tree as the firing started, bullets ripping the bark from the trunk behind him. Then it stopped, the German gunner recognizing that his target was safe until he moved again.
Dawson risked a quick glance around the trunk of the tree. The Panzer driver was inching the tank forward, perhaps trying to give the gunner a better angle to shoot from.
But whatever the reason, it was enough. The hull of the tank had just moved directly over the demolition charge.
Dawson dropped the Mauser, lurched around the side of the tree and dived for the end of the cord. His fingers closed around it and he gave a sharp tug, then ran back to the tree he’d been using for shelter, just as the machine-guns opened up again. He crouched down and clasped his hands firmly over his ears, pressing as hard as he could.
The detonator, from what he could remember of the scene they’d witnessed at Eben Emael, had about a ten-second fuse, and Dawson silently counted down the numbers in his head. He reached zero, but absolutely nothing happened. For another couple of seconds he did nothing, then glanced around the tree trunk.
And as he did so, a colossal explosion ripped the air apart. Even with his hands over his ears, Dawson was deafened. The effect on the Panzer was nothing short of catastrophic, despite most of the energy from the charge being directed downwards – that was, after all, the purpose of a shaped charge. The turret blew off the tank, rising upwards a couple of feet before its massive weight forced it to crash back onto the body of the Panzer again. For a moment, it almost looked as if it had miraculously reattached itself, but then it slowly toppled sideways off the top of the tank, to land on its side with a crash beside it, before toppling over, upside down.
A column of flame shot out of the turret ring, the location on the top of the vehicle where the turret had been attached, but no sound came from within the wrecked vehicle. Dawson guessed that the explosion would have killed the entire crew instantly. The fire grew in intensity, the flames leaping higher, and Dawson guessed there’d be explosions following quickly once the flames started cooking the ammunition.
But that still left the German soldiers who’d been behind the tank. He and Sykes weren’t out of the woods yet, in either sense of the expression.
Dawson grabbed his Mauser and ran through the trees over to his right, trying to widen the angle so that he could get a shot at the enemy soldiers.
He heard a single rifle shot from somewhere to his left and guessed that Sykes had survived the blast and was doing his bit to eliminate the threat.
Dawson reached the edge of the wood, stopped beside a tree and peered around it, raising his Mauser. But after a few moments he lowered the weapon. It looked as if the blast from the demolition charge had been funnelled under the tank and had killed the soldiers following the Panzer, because six unmoving shapes lay sprawled behind the burning vehicle.
Which begged the question: what had Sykes been firing at?
<
br /> But that could wait for a few moments. Dawson strode across the field to the bodies, just to make sure.
He’d seen his fair share of death, both since the start of the war and in his previous life as a demolition specialist, but none of that prepared him for what he saw in that field. The Germans had almost literally been ripped apart by the blast, eviscerated, limbs torn off, their exposed skin flayed off. The only consolation was that at least it would have been a quick death. None of them would have suffered.
Dawson shook his head and walked back into the wood to find Sykes.
Chapter 42
12 May 1940
France
‘Well, you buggered that up good and proper, didn’t you?’ Sykes said, when Dawson reached him. ‘We’ve risked life and limb to get that German demolition charge back to our lines, and now you’ve gone and blown it up.’
Dawson shook his head. ‘Nope. That was just a big lump of plastic explosive fitted with a detonator. The important bit is the section that fits under the plastic, and that’s still in the back of the Fiat.’
Sykes smiled. ‘I know. I was just making a joke. That was bloody good work, Dawson. I was sure that Panzer would do for us. Now it’s just a pile of scrap metal. A burning pile of scrap metal, actually. Did you check the soldiers who were behind it?’
Dawson nodded. ‘All dead. Blown to pieces by the explosion, in fact. So who were you shooting at?’
‘I think you must have only winged one of them earlier, because I saw him coming down the hill just after you blew up the tank. He was still carrying his rifle, and I reckoned that showed hostile intent, so I shot him.’