The Battle Done

by Alan David

  ‘I’d rather see you this way than watch you kill yourself on revenge, Eddie.’

  ‘I’m empty. I should hate. I want to. I’ve been trying to force myself to hate. But it doesn’t come. I keep putting it off, telling myself that it will come soon, and then I’ll really go to town on the Germans. But it doesn’t come. Arthur, I feel that I should hate more than I do. Wally was my brother. God, I should kill and kill to get even!’

  ‘You’ll get over it in time, Eddie. Come along now. Let’s get moving.’

  They walked along the street, passing a fiercely burning Tiger. There were dozens of German casualties dotting the approaches to the village, and it was surprising that only a short time ago there had been a strong German attack in progress. Now there were only British troops moving forward across the valley. The battle had been short but decisive. Beyond the ridge ahead there were still sounds of battle as friendly aircraft dived upon the retiring enemy armour.

  Smoke was billowing up violently from a dozen stricken spots. The smell of burning was strong in the stiff breeze. The sections moved forward to the next ridge, covering another mile and passing another hour of war. Smith, after three days’ continuous fighting, found it in himself to sing a few notes of song, which happened to be the favourite of the late Sergeant Wally Rawlings.

  Eddie heard Smith’s voice, and it was like a knife twisting in his breast. His lips quivered, and he gave a little smile that was half sad and half nostalgic. Poor Wally! I wish you could be dead only until the end of the war. It doesn’t seem possible that I shall never see you again as long as I live. If I do survive this war the years will roll by and it’ll be ten, twenty, thirty, forty years since you died, and every decade will find me a little older and wiser, but just as sorrowful because you died young. I only hope that I shall see and do enough in the time to come to make up for the years denied to you.

  As the sections went forward into the dying afternoon the distant sound of machine-guns echoed across the desolate fields. The men slouched as they marched, but their spirits were good, their morale high. They were beating the German soldier in the field, and they were winning the war by every terrible battle. They counted not the cost, but paid the price without complaint, using their lives, the sturdy blood of their country, as payment.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘SO this is Germany,’ said Smith. He stood with Lloyd and Newman upon the crest of a slope and looked down at wooded country and saw dotted farm buildings, and a shining river that wound like a silver snake through the middle distance. It mattered not to his imagination that many of the farms were ruined and laid to waste by artillery fire. He saw only the overall picture, which fired his romantic mind.

  Newman studied the view with embittered eyes. ‘If this is Germany then it is too bloody good for the Germans,’ he said forcefully. He was thinking of the sleepless nights and the days of fear, the weariness and strain they had known since D-Day and the never-to-be-forgotten beaches. Now this was their first day upon German soil. The tide had turned all right. The Yanks were belting into Southern Germany. It was go, go, go. Now let the Germans suffer for all the misery they had caused in five short years. The bastards! The dirty, arrogant, cringing bastards!

  Eddie came from Platoon H.Q. ‘What the devil are you all standing around like tourists for? I suppose you do know that enemy observers can see you from miles away. You’re skylined, too.’

  ‘Aw, there aren’t any Jerries within ten miles.’ Smith stood the butt of his bren on the ground and leaned his weight upon the muzzle. ‘What a lovely day. Sun’s shining, the sky’s blue, and everything in the garden is lovely. It doesn’t look as if there is a war on anywhere.’

  ‘We’ll soon find out,’ said Eddie. ‘See that farm over there? We’re going to occupy it.’

  ‘What, with no artillery support?’ Smith was mocking. ‘I am a regular soldier, and I know what I’m entitled to. I want air cover, and tanks.’

  ‘Single file,’ said Eddie. ‘Bren group last. Come on, rifle group, get moving.’

  The section went forward and moved down the slope. To the right the other two sections of the platoon were moving forward. There was a feeling of peace in the warm sunlight. The end was in sight now that they were upon German soil. The knowledge heartened them. All the slogging from the beaches, the casualties, hadn’t been in vain after all. It was obvious now that the Germans were beaten. It was all over bar the shouting.

  Sergeant Rawlings angled across the slope from the other sections of the platoon. He was panting when he reached Eddie’s side. ‘I’ll come with you, Eddie. Lieutenant Foster is taking command of the other two sections, and he’s making for those cross-roads. We’re to stay at the farm until further orders.’

  Eddie glanced sideways at Arthur’s brown face. He smiled fleetingly. In the past day or two he had been feeling much closer to Arthur. It was as if a bond had been forged between them. I’ve got you, Arthur, he thought, and because you’ve been near me I haven’t felt the full effect of Wally’s death. Dear God, I haven’t. Poor old Arthur! I never had much time for you while Wally was around. I’ve been selfish, too. Wally was your brother. You knew him better than I. You served with him for years. But you’ve never shown the grief you must have felt. Tears came to Eddie’s eyes and he blinked furiously. Warmth for Arthur filled him.

  ‘Do you know, Arthur, this is the first time since Wally died that I feel really lighthearted? I feel I’ve stepped from under a cloud. I’ve got a queer feeling, too. It’s as if I’m waiting for something to happen. I’ve got a feeling like you get waiting at the dentist’s.’

  Arthur studied Eddie’s face with a sidelong glance. He’s aged a lot since I first saw him in uniform back in England, the sergeant thought. But that was to be expected. War was a melting pot, and reshaped a man almost overnight.

  ‘Do you think it’s a presentiment?’ he asked.

  Eddie shook his head.

  ‘Well, try to keep out of trouble today, Eddie. Look, I’ll lead the section and you go back with the bren group. See if you can keep Newman happy. We’re not expecting trouble from anyone at the farm. A patrol reported early this morning that the place was deserted.’

  ‘All right.’

  Eddie stepped aside and waited for the section to pass. He moved forward again when Smith had drawn level. ‘What’s the matter, mate?’

  ‘Nothing, Smudger. How are things?’

  ‘All right. What about taking my name for leave? It’s about time I got some.’

  ‘They want to finish the war first. Then you’ll get some.’

  ‘Finish the war! That’s all you hear. You mark my words, and I’m no poet. The war will still be here after some of us have gone.’ Smith swung the bren from his shoulder and carried it at the trail. He shaded his eyes as he gazed into the sunshine. Sweat was beading his forehead. ‘Are you staying in the army when this lot is over?’

  ‘I expect so. If I live.’ Eddie stared across the fields at the farmhouse which was their objective. ‘The day war finishes I’ll sign on for five years.’

  ‘And I’ll stay with you. We’re only young once.’ Smith grinned. ‘We’ve got to travel and broaden our minds, to fit ourselves for the great task of living as civilians in the bright new world carved from oppression and hell by the dead heroes of this war. I’ll stay on with you.’ He turned and looked at Newman, five yards to the rear. ‘What about you, Ben?’

  ‘What’s that?’ Newman asked, sourly.

  ‘What about stopping in the army when the war’s over? Me and Eddie are.’

  ‘I’ve got to.’ Newman shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of resignation. ‘I promised I’d sign on for seven years when I joined up last year, remember?’

  ‘Good. What about you, Dave?’

  Lloyd, bringing up the rear, came forward slightly. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Are you going to stay in the army with us three after the war?’

  ‘Ha! I should live so long!’ Lloyd smiled, h
is teeth glinting in his fair-skinned face.

  ‘Well, I did promise myself I wouldn’t join a Christmas club after this little lot. But mates should stick together, I reckon. It’ll cost you all the beer I can drink the night war finishes, though.’

  ‘It’s a deal,’ said Smith.

  ‘Why don’t you wait until the war is over before you make plans?’ said Newman. ‘This peaceful afternoon is just a flash in the pan. Just because we’re in Germany you blokes get the idea that the war is as good as finished. You’ve got some hopes!’

  Sergeant Rawlings led the way through a small copse that covered the corner of a high hedged field. The ground rapidly levelled from a slope. The men became more cautious. They had seen no sign of the enemy, but they were now out of sight of the company positions back there on the crest. They fell silent as they alerted themselves subconsciously.

  A terrific crack, and a closely-bursting shell put the section down upon their faces. Earth pattered down, and shrapnel whined through the air.

  ‘Eighty-eight,’ said Smith. ‘Quick, into that ditch over there.’

  They got up and ran the few yards to the ditch. There was another explosion. A plume of smoke shot up only yards away. They listened to the echoes. slowly dying.

  ‘They’re sniping at us,’ said Smith. ‘The dirty swine!’

  ‘Has anyone been hurt?’ Eddie raised himself and peered out of the ditch. He was relieved to see that all of the section had got to cover.

  ‘It’ll be just our luck to walk into a battalion of Jerries at that farm,’ said Smith.

  ‘What a nasty mind you’ve got,’ said Lloyd.

  ‘Hang on here and don’t show yourselves,’ Eddie commanded. ‘I’ll see what Arthur’s going to do.’ He crawled along the ditch, asking each man as he passed if he were all right. They were all keeping low in the ditch. Arthur Rawlings was using his field glasses, searching for the enemy gun.

  ‘It’s down there near the farm somewhere,’ he said.

  Eddie looked at the farm. The buildings were about four hundred yards away. A slight haze of smoke from a thicket to the right of the farm buildings caught his eye, and he pointed it out to his brother. Arthur raised his glasses.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said after a pause. ‘I can see some movement in there, and the faint outline of a gun.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  Arthur slid into the bottom of the ditch and pulled a map from his pocket. Eddie moved round to study it with him.

  ‘Good job Mister Foster gave me this.’ Arthur spread it over his knees. ‘Look, there’s the farm. Now, this is the spot where the gun is.’ He worked out a six-figure map reference, then unslung the small radio he carried. Eddie peered out of the ditch to watch for enemy movement. Arthur joined him after a moment.

  ‘I’ve reported the position to Foster. He says stay put until he’s passed a fire order to the three-inch mortars.’

  They waited in silence, watching the empty fields. Shortly they heard the hollow cough of the mortars behind the ridge which had been their start line. Seconds later a bomb burst a few feet in front of the suspected gun position. The next one dropped to the right. The third bomb landed right in the thicket, and so did the next five.

  Someone was talking over the radio, and presently the sergeant got out of the ditch and the section followed. They went on. Eddie walked behind his brother. They were fully alert now. The sergeant turned and looked back along the section.

  ‘Keep well spaced out,’ he called. ‘That gun may open fire again at any time.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Eddie, take the rifle group and drop back twenty-five yards. Tell the bren group to come up with me.’

  Eddie stepped aside and halted the rifle group. ‘Keep your distance,’ he warned. ‘Bren group, come forward and follow the sergeant.’

  Smith, Newman and Lloyd came past. Smith was carrying the light machine-gun as if it were a rifle. He winked at the motionless Eddie as he passed.

  ‘I’ll take the farm for you. Don’t forget, I want a big medal.’

  Eddie nodded. ‘Mind how you go, Smudger.’

  When the last man of the bren group was twenty-five yards ahead Eddie led the rifle group forward. They were following a sparse hedge, walking beside a ditch that was half-filled with water. The farm was now only three hundred yards away. Over to the right, and partially obscured by smoke, was the thicket which concealed the enemy gun. Eddie looked to the right and to the rear. He was satisfied that the other sections were still coming forward. Further back the rest of the company was advancing.

  Arthur attracted his attention. Eddie doubled forward.

  ‘I’ve just got another order from Foster,’ said the sergeant. ‘You keep going along this hedge with the rifle group. I’m going out into the middle of the field with the bren group. Be ready to go to earth. That farm is too quiet for my liking. There are sure to be more Jerries about than that one gun crew. I’ll go straight down the centre of the fields to the farmhouse. I’ll make my first stop at the low wall that runs across the field down there in front of the farm.’

  ‘It’s rather open out there,’ Eddie protested. ‘You can get to that wall easily enough by following this hedge.’

  ‘Orders are orders,’ smiled Arthur. ‘Ours is not to reason why, you know.’ He turned to the bren group and grinned. ‘Come on, you heroes,’ he said.

  ‘Be careful,’ Eddie called out.

  ‘And you,’ his brother replied.

  Eddie watched them angle out into the field, the little sergeant leading, with his sten tucked under his arm. Eddie directed his eyes at the farm again. He shivered. There seemed something ominous in its silence and desolation. The place looked like it had been deserted for years. He led the rifle group forward, and their feet swished through the long green grass that grew on the sides of the ditch.

  A long tearing burst from a spandau dispelled the brooding silence with heart-leaping suddenness. A string of echoes fled across the still countryside. Eddie flung himself flat instinctively, his sten coming into a firing position. His eyes were attracted to a movement at the low wall, a bout twenty yards into the field from the ditch, and about fifty yards ahead. He fired a short burst at what appeared to be a hole in the three foot high wall. Dust spurted up as his bullets ricocheted off tortured stone.

  Then he realised that the enemy gun hadn’t fired at his rifle group, and his eyes went immediately to the bren group lying out there in the open. Forty yards to his right four motionless figures were sprawled out in the grass. Horror flooded him. Arthur! Smith! Lloyd! Newman!

  The spandau fired again, a long, murderous, arrogant burst, and a sudden storm beat at the ground near Eddie. He rolled sideways down the bank of the ditch. A tight feeling in his chest boxed up his emotions.

  ‘Rifle group,’ he shouted. ‘Ten rounds rapid, at the hole in that wall in front. . .fire!’

  The crackling volley sounded puny after the spandau’s fire. Dust flew up about the wall. Eddie left his section to it and jumped up and sprinted along the sloping bank of the ditch. He could see the long barrel of the spandau now, and the white blur of a face behind it. The face withdrew even as he looked, for six rifles were firing rapidly at the hole.

  Eddie ran twenty yards. He pulled a grenade out of his left hand pouch. He never took his eyes from that protruding barrel. He pulled the pin from the grenade as he ran, holding the bomb in his left hand. His sten he held in his right hand like a pistol. A bren in one of the sections on the right began hammering, and ricochets started buzzing off the wall near the enemy position and rebounded perilously close to him.

  Another bren joined in, and red tracer sped at the wall. Eddie swung his arm and hurled the bomb. He cursed when he saw it would fall short. It bounced along the ground like a tennis ball, and finally came to rest against the wall some two yards to the left of the hole. Eddie dropped to the ground, only a few yards from the wall.

  The grenade exploded shatteringly. The base plug sang discordant
ly as it whirled away overhead. Eddie came to his feet with a rush and charged the wall. If Arthur were dead! he thought over and over again. He did not notice that his own section and the two brens had ceased firing because he was in their direct line of fire. There was a movement on the far side of the wall.

  The spandau barrel began swinging in Eddie’s direction. He laughed, and something inside him gave way. They were too late. The gun wouldn’t bear on him in time. He hurdled the wall as the spandau fired futilely. Eddie landed heavily. He sprawled, and twisted viciously to face the enemy, who were two Germans in a slit trench dug behind the hole in the wall.

  The nearer of the two in the trench turned a pale, frightened face towards Eddie. Eddie fired a long burst that thrust both Germans into the bottom of their trench. The barrel of the spandau tilted skywards.

  Eddie rolled and dropped into the trench. He landed atop the bleeding corpses, trampling them into the earth. He looked to left and right, searching for more enemy gun posts along the wall. The field was empty. The echoes of the action died away, but still clung to his consciousness. He faced the farmhouse. Everywhere was silent and still.

  In the back of his mind was the awful thought that his brother and the others of the bren group had been killed. He dared not look through the hole in the wall. He thought of Wally. Oh, God, not Arthur, too! He forced himself to turn around and look through the hole. A few moments ago the enemy had guarded the approaches through this hole, and had fired at the bren group. Eddie peered across the flat field. Several sections were advancing again, but Eddie spared them only a fleeting glance. His gaze leaped to the little group fifty yards away, which comprised his bren group.

  Relief surged through him. They were all upon their feet. But no, someone was lying on the ground, and the tall figure of Smith was bent over him. Who was it? The question flashed frenziedly through his mind. The other two standing there were Newman and Lloyd. It was Arthur Rawlings lying prone in the rich green grass.