Devil's Guard- The Complete Series Box Set

by Eric Meyer

  He handed me a scrap of paper with a local address written on it. It was a brothel in the Ba Vi District, a good place to hide out, and also to get information on French troop movements. I knew that some of our legionnaires were occasional visitors to that brothel.

  I thanked Dubois. He’d done a good job. The prisoner would be handed over now to our intelligence people, who would perhaps extract more information from him. Some of our interrogators were good and not too fussy about human rights and Geneva conventions. Others were sticklers for the rules, and unlikely to get even the time of day from an enemy prisoner. Then I headed for Joffre.

  “The thing is, Sir, I believe this brothel in Ba Vi District is almost certainly a Viet Minh operation. It’s a perfect cover, and they’ll have the police bribed so as to keep away. They have somewhere they can lay low, get information from our troops through the whores, and probably they’ll have arms stashed there as well. I would suggest a full scale operation, clear the place out and finish off any Viets who are hiding out there.”

  Joffre eyed me sceptically. “And release these two girlfriends at the same time, I suppose?”

  “Colonel,” I replied. “One of the two is certainly a traitor, giving away information to the Viets. So yes, we’ll get them out, but one of them has a lot of questions to answer. The other is undoubtedly innocent.”

  He thought for a moment.

  “Show me on the map, Sergeant.”

  We went over to the large-scale map on his office wall, showing Hanoi and the surrounding districts. Ba Vi was about eight kilometres outside the town, and reached by a French made road that guaranteed plenty of trade for the brothel.

  “Very well, I’ll agree to it, but we don’t know what we’re getting into, Sergeant Hoffman. I’m sending the whole company, so call Captain Leforge, we’ll need to get him briefed.”

  As I walked out of the office to find Leforge, he added.

  “You’d better pass on my order to get the company prepared for action, and I want them ready to go by two o’clock. We’ll stage the raid for the early hours of the morning.”

  By one, the company was assembled in full battle order on the main parade ground. We were deployed between five trucks, with Leforge and myself in a command jeep, an American made Willys. The two of us went along the line of vehicles, making last minute checks. Colonel Joffre was standing by our jeep when we finished, and he shook hands with both of us.

  “Good luck, my friends. In the last couple of hours, we’ve been rechecking intelligence reports, and it seems that the information you got from the prisoner was the last part of a jigsaw. The brothel at Ba Vi is, without doubt, a Viet Minh operation. Your brief is to destroy it utterly, and with as many of the Viets as possible. Keep a lookout for any of our men, they may be inside,” he smiled.

  “As for the two women, we need them alive, one is possibly innocent, the other certainly guilty. We need to know which is which, and interrogate the guilty one.” We both nodded our acknowledgment, boarded the jeep and departed, with the heavily laden lorries following. We drove towards the outskirts of the city, turned onto the Ba Vi road, and then ran headlong into a roadblock.

  Bullets began smashing into the vehicles, and there was the chatter of a heavy machine gun. The road was blocked with logs that had been dragged all the way across the road, preventing the passage of anything larger than a bicycle. Leforge was shouting orders.

  “Abandon the vehicles. Take cover in the trees! Get the machine guns working, and start giving covering fire!”

  We leapt out of the jeep and rolled into the side of the road, away from the muzzle flashes of the ambushers’ guns. The troops in the other vehicles did the same, and inside of a minute, our veteran legionnaires had started returning fire. The MG42s belched out their torrent of death with the familiar sound of tearing cloth, caused by the high rate of fire. The troops poured in more fire from their submachine guns and rifles, so that the enemy fire was quickly overwhelmed by our own fusillade. Although their machine gun was still firing, making movement difficult for us without being cut down by the spray of bullets. Leforge lay next to me, firing his MP40 in short bursts, and he twisted around to speak to me.

  “Sergeant, we need to take out that machine gun. Any suggestions? Can you do anything?”

  “Yes, Captain, I’ll get on to it.”

  I crawled over to where Petrov and several of our troopers were huddled and firing aimed bursts at the areas where the enemy muzzle flashes gave away their positions.

  “Nikolai, the machine gun. Can you make up a charge to throw at it? A grenade won’t be enough to penetrate their cover.”

  “Sure, I’ve got something that should do the trick.”

  He foraged in his backpack and came out with a charge the size of a house brick.

  “This should do it. The timer is set for five seconds. Just flick the switch here,” he pointed at the trigger. “Then throw it and run. Who’s going to deliver this little present?”

  “I’ll do it, Jurgen, give it to me.” It was Vogelmann.

  “Quite honestly, I’ve had enough tonight. The bastards kidnapped my girlfriend, now this. It’s time to hit them back.”

  Vogelmann had something of a reputation as a thrower. In the 1936 Olympics, basketball had been added for the first time. Although mostly the exclusive preserve of the Americans and Canadians, many children in Nazi Germany were sufficiently impressed to practice hard for the time when it became a national sport. The war had stopped any chance of that, but not before Vogelmann had become a formidable competitor. I didn’t doubt his ability to throw accurately.

  He took the charge and crawled away. I ordered the men to increase their rate of fire to cover him, and I crawled back to Leforge.

  “Any moment now,” I told him.

  Vogelmann stood up in a position almost on top of the Viet machine gun. He threw the charge, but as he did so, the brilliant flash of a grenade burst lit up the scene. A dozen Viets must have seen him clearly, and they quickly switched aim. With a sick feeling, I saw his body jerk as round after round from the enemy guns smashed into him, and the whole scene lit by a further grenade flash and the muzzle flashes of the gunfire. He was flung to the ground, a broken, lifeless, bloody ruin where seconds before he had been one of the finest NCOs in the Legion.

  He was one of the bravest and most successful officers of the Waffen-SS Das Reich Division, with service in Russia, Italy and France. It had all ended for him here, in the damp, steaming jungles of Indochina whilst we were on a mission to attack a whorehouse. But it was no time for sentiment, and his courageous attack had silenced the Viet machine gun, leaving their ambush strategy in tatters. Captain Leforge blew his whistle, and the company rose as one man, charging the enemy positions and firing on the run.

  I ran towards the most recent muzzle flash I had seen and went into the jungle. I immediately came upon a huddle of Viets, four of them, crouched behind their rifles and firing into my men. I emptied my MP40 into them, saw them all fall and never to rise again, changed clips and ran on.

  All along the Viet position, our troopers were doing the same thing, a high speed rush into the enemy, submachine guns, rifles and pistols blazing their message of death. I overran another position, taking out two more Viets. All around me, I could hear the cries of agony as men were ripped to shreds by the high intensity of gunfire. The Viets stood no chance.

  By our quick action, and Vogelmann’s bravery, we had turned the tables, and had turned a possible defeat into victory. As the guns fell silent, we began taking a roll call of our men. It took nearly twenty minutes to get the final tally, during which sporadic shots rang out as Viet wounded were despatched. I was talking to Captain Leforge when a man rose up in front of us and took aim with his rifle. Both Leforge and I cut him down instantly with pistol and submachine gun fire. A legionnaire came up to us.

  “I have the numbers for you, Sir. We lost six dead.”

  Leforge was quiet for a moment. It was a heavy
tally, yet inevitable in this war of phantoms and shadows when a straightforward manoeuvre could turn instantly into a vicious firefight, costing the lives of countless numbers of our men.

  “Thank you, Private. What about the enemy?”

  “We killed sixty-seven of them, Sir. Some got away, but probably no more than five of them, looking at the cartridge cases and other signs around where they were positioned.”

  “Very well.”

  He looked at me.

  “Any ideas, Jurgen? They seemed to know we were coming, so how the hell did they manage it?”

  Since I saw the roadblock, I’d thought of nothing else. I thought I had the answer.

  “I think that the whole thing was a set up, I’m sorry, Captain. I suspect the Viet we caught with the hand grenade outside the bar, was meant to be caught and ‘forced’ to give information, sending us down this road. We just fell into it.”

  “And the brothel? You think it wasn’t a Viet operation?”

  “I suspect it was, Captain, but I very much doubt it is now. Even if they’d wiped us all out, once our people knew about it, they would have pulled out. No, they’ve moved somewhere else.”

  “Agreed, but how do we find out where that somewhere else is?”

  “We need to talk to the prisoner again, Sir. At least, Corporal Dubois needs to talk to him. A very serious talk, I would suggest.”

  “But the prisoner has been handed over to our intelligence people, and there is no way they would hand a valuable prisoner back,” Leforge mused.

  “In that case, we’d better retrieve him. Might I suggest a jailbreak?”

  “It may come to that, Jurgen,” he smiled.

  “We’ll head back to barracks. It’s time to hit them where it hurts. We’ll get that prisoner out, never fear. You can tell your Corporal Dubois that the gloves are off. I want to know where the Viets are hiding out, and this time, we’ll wipe the evil bastards off of the face of the earth!”

  I smiled at the deadly intensity with which Leforge said those words. In truth, he’d been badly shocked, one moment dashing to raid a Viet Minh stronghold, and the next returning to barracks with six of his men dead.

  One of the trucks was unroadworthy, so we distributed the men and equipment amongst the remaining vehicles. Petrov set booby-trapped charges to take out a few more of the enemy when they tried to strip it. Then we boarded and left for the road back. It was a sombre journey, knowing that in the back of one of the lorries there were the bodies of six of our comrades, but it did serve to give us the determination to finish off this particular nest of Viet Minh vipers, once and for all.

  We drove in silence, finally entering the barracks gate around three thirty. It was a sobering thought that less than two hours ago, we had charged out with such optimism and enthusiasm. Joffre was waiting for us just inside the gate, alerted by the heavy firing which they’d heard clearly in the barracks. Leforge ordered the driver to stop, and he got out and spoke to the Colonel. I went over to join them in time to hear Joffre speaking.

  “I’m sorry, Captain, but I cannot order the release into your custody of that prisoner. It is outside of my jurisdiction.”

  “Colonel, excuse me,” I said, interrupting.

  “If you would just agree to turn a blind eye, we’ll take care of the rest of it ourselves.”

  He looked at me.

  “I couldn’t agree to the use of violence against our own men, Sergeant.”

  “Absolutely not, Sir.”

  “So how will you manage it, then?”

  “I was thinking that the Viets might try and stage a rescue, Colonel. No violence, and there will only be one sentry on duty at the cell block at this time of night. Threaten him to hand over the keys, take out the prisoner and perhaps leave the sentry tied up.”

  “I’ll agree, on condition that your weapons are not loaded. Captain, I would want your word on that.”

  “This is Sergeant Hoffmann’s operation, Sir, but I will give you that assurance. No guns to be loaded,” Leforge replied.

  “In that case, there’s nothing more to be said. Goodnight, gentlemen.”

  “Good night, Sir.”

  We exchanged salutes, and Joffre went off to his quarters.

  “You’d better get on with it, Sergeant,” Leforge said. “It’ll be light soon, and you need to be in and out before then.”

  “Yes, Sir. I’ll let you know when we have the prisoner.”

  I left him and went to find the men, who were unloading equipment from the lorries.

  “I want von Kessler, Dubois and Laurent to report to me in the company office,” I told Friedrich Bauer.

  “Send them to me on the double. Don’t unload any more from the lorries. We might be going out again tonight.”

  He smiled. “What’s going on, Jurgen?”

  “I’ll tell you later, Friedrich. I have a mission to plan. Get those men to me now.”

  I went over to the office, found the key to the storeroom and rummaged around in there for items of Viet clothing. I heard the legionnaires enter the office and called out to them.

  “You three, come in here and get dressed.”

  They came into the storeroom and stopped, open-mouthed.

  “Jurgen,” von Kessler said, “what the hell is going on?”

  “You three are going to rescue the Viet prisoner,” I told him, “disguised as Viet Minh.”

  He smiled understanding.

  “I like the sound of that. You two, let’s get dressed.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we were creeping along the outside wall of the cell block. The plan went without a hitch. I waited outside to cover them, while Dubois, looking like a Viet Minh guerrilla, threatened the guard and made him lay down his rifle. They took his key, unlocked Trinh’s cell and came out with the prisoner. They tied and gagged the guard and put him in the cell, locking him in. Then we left with Trinh. In the dark, he didn’t realise that his rescuers were not Viet Minh. As we left the cell block, he smiled his relief, but his face fell as he caught sight of me.

  “Good evening, Comrade Trinh. I’m sorry about the inconvenience, but we haven’t yet joined the communists.”

  “What do you want?” he asked, nervously.

  “Just a chat, my friend, just a little chat.”

  He looked around in panic as he recognised Dubois and opened his mouth to scream. The Algerian corporal clamped his hand over the man’s mouth and punched hard on the side of his head. He went down like a sack of potatoes.

  “You haven’t injured him, Dubois? We need to interrogate him soon,” I said.

  “Just a tap, Sergeant. He’ll be back with us in a few minutes,” he smiled. “I’ve done this a few times, and I know exactly how hard to hit.”

  Ten minutes later, Trinh was in the company office, tied to a chair, and his mouth firmly gagged.

  “Comrade Trinh,” I said to him quietly. “Your ambush failed, you know, but I lost six men.”

  I saw the smile in his eyes. It was almost enough for me to want to kill him there and then. But we needed him alive.

  The torture was not pretty, nor was the sight of Dubois so obviously enjoying the horrific pain that he forced the prisoner to suffer. Within a quarter of an hour, Trinh was a bloody mass of pain and blood, parts of his body literally shredded, and even his eyelids had been cut away. But he told us what we wanted to know.

  Twenty minutes later, we were mounted in the lorries, most of them still bearing the scars, dents and bullet holes of their recent action, heading out to the Viet hideout. It was located in the Dong Anh district, a rural area. The Viets had taken over a Buddhist temple and used it as their headquarters. The monks had been killed, and the temple now staffed by their own people masquerading as Buddhist priests. Trinh told us that the main headquarters was in a series of tunnels built underneath the eastern side of the temple, and approached through a hidden trapdoor underneath a particularly ornate statue of Buddha.

  I decided to take him with us. He couldn�
�t be left for our intelligence people to find out what we’d done to him. He was a brave man, training to be a commissar in the new Indochina, and he’d almost died before he gave out the information. But the violence was necessary. We had to have the information. We roared out of the barrack gates; this time confident that we had a real, live target to hit.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER TEN

  This time we were taking no chances. Leforge led the way as before in his Willys jeep. We’d replaced the destroyed truck and were back to our compliment of five vehicles, each with twenty men and equipment. The US built Willys was fitted with a Browning .30 calibre medium machine gun, and the gunner hung on grimly to the mount as the jeep swerved around the corners. I rode in the lead truck, alongside the driver and machine gunner. Our trucks, American-made two and a half tonners, known as the ‘deuce and a half’, had a hatch over the cab with its own machine gun mount. We had mounted our MG42s, so we packed a great deal of firepower. The rear canvases were rolled halfway up so that ten men could observe each side for any signs of the enemy. If we ran into an ambush this time, we intended to meet it head on with French firepower. Or German firepower, as von Kessler jokingly reminded me on occasions.

  It was true, as much of our ordnance was former Wehrmacht equipment that was confiscated when Germany surrendered in May 1945. Along with the MG42s, we carried MP40 and MP38 submachine guns as well as KAR 98 rifles. Some of our Foreign Legion units even used the Kubelwagen jeeps, a variant of the Volkswagen car, but they were not as popular as the Willys, being only two-wheel drive and less reliable than their American counterpart.

  The journey to Dong Anh took us twenty-five minutes. We had already pre-planned our arrival; essentially, drive up, shoot everything that moved, and then begin to look around. It was a simple plan, but one we had used effectively many times before. The problem with this kind of war was that there was no way of knowing who was on the enemy side. A simple shopkeeper could suddenly become a Viet Minh fighter, reporting military movements to their commanders. They could pick up a rifle or submachine gun and start blazing away at our troops. The next minute, they were an ‘innocent non-combatant’, difficult to spot and almost impossible to eradicate.