Liquidate Paris (15 page)

At this point, Little John blew a loud raspberry. Oberleutnant Lowe, by now thoroughly exasperated, turned on him in a temper, but before he could speak Gregor Martin had burst in from the road, and flung himself, mud and all, on to the sofa.

'Enemy troops,' he gasped. 'Several columns of 'em-- approaching the village----'

Lowe snatched up his field-glasses and rushed to the window.

'We must warn the Regiment... Where's Holzer? The fool's never around when you need him!'

'I know where he is,' said Little John, soothingly. 'I'll get him for you.'

He was back within five minutes--minus Holzer but carrying several bottles of calvados.

'Too late,' he said, mournfully. 'He's gone--so I brought the booze instead.'

Lowe made an impatient noise in the back of his throat and turned irritably to the Old Man.

'Feldwebel Beier, I'm leaving you in charge here. Hold the position at all costs. You two'--he turned to Barcelona and me--'you come with me. We've got to get a message through somehow.'

We followed him out of the house, up the main street and out across the open fields. The enemy troops were already attacking the village and we had to twist and turn beneath a constant shower of grenades and tracer bullets.

General Staff had set up its headquarters in a castle, and the first sight to meet our eyes was the ordnance officer sprawled in an elegant armchair drinking champagne. He greeted us cheerily enough.'

'Lieutenant Lowe, by all that's wonderful! You don't have any ice on you, by any chance? It's apparently impossible to get any in this place, the champers is almost red hot... Still, apart from that one not inconsiderable annoyance I find the spot reasonably tolerable. Have you seen the curtains? Exquisite, are they not? The French do have good taste, that I have always maintained.'

'To hell with that! ' snapped Lowe. 'Where's the C.O.?' Even as he spoke, Major Hinka came into the room, He was dressed in shirt and breeches and he also was nursing a bottle of champagne.

'Well, Lowe I What brings you here? Anything up?'

'And how!' Lowe pulled a crumpled map from his pocket and spread it out on a table. 'The enemy are approaching the village, sir. This is the position: we're here---the English are about there. They're attacking in force and I need more troops if I'm to hold them off.'

The ordnance officer finished off his bottle of champagne, selected another and began a lewd drinking song to go with it. Lowe threw him an irritable glance.

'Fat lot of good he'd be in an emergency!'

Major Hinka had set down his champagne bottle. He lit up a cigar and leaned thoughtfully over the map.

'All right. Lieutenant. No need to panic. Dig yourselves in just here, behind the hill, and hold the position. After all, what are a few English troops? Think yourself lucky they're not Russian bastards!'

He chuckled merrily and puffed out a thick cloud of cigar smoke. The ordnance officer swung his legs over the arm of his chair. I could see that Lowe was near to losing his temper, and I was in all sympathy with him. What, indeed, were a few English troops when you were safe and comfortable, shut up in a castle with a supply of champagne and fat cigars? Lowe drew himself up stiffly.

'I should still like at least one company of tanks brought up in support, sir. I consider it the least I could manage with.'

'My dear Lieutenant,' said Hinka, with heavy sarcasm, 'I accept that your wisdom and-experience are probably very much greater than my own--I only wish it were in my power to promote you on the spot to be in charge of the entire Regiment. I could then retire to Cologne, as I have long wished to do. Doubtless we should all be far better off. Unfortunately, it is not in my power and
we
must both bow to a superior authority and fulfil the roles that have been assigned to us. I suggest, therefore, that you confine yourself to the task of commanding the 5th Company and carry out the orders that are given to you. Leave me to do all the rest.'

Lowe raised a hand in sullen salute.

'Just as you say, sir.'

'All right, Lowe, all right, let's not be touchy about it! I daresay we're both a bit on edge. Trouble is, the tide's turning against us and there's not a damned thing we can do.'

'We still have the best army in the world!' said Lowe, swiftly.

'That I do not dispute. But what do they have to fight with? Bare fists and bows and arrows!' Major Hinka shook his head. 'It's a hell of a position to be in. The only damn thing that's still going great guns is the High Command of the Wehrmacht.'

There was a silence. Even the ordnance, officer seemed to have lost some of his joie de vivre. The Major sighed,

'Hold the position as long as you can, Lieutenant. At 21.15 we'll pull out of here and reform fifteen kilometres to the west.' He turned to the map and stabbed a finger on it. 'At this point here. I don't really see that we've any choice in the matter... At 22.30 you pull out in your turn. Leave a section behind to cover you, the best one you have.'

'That's Feldwebel Beier's section, sir.'

'I'll leave it to you. Make sure the bridge is out of action before you leave. If it falls into enemy hands intact there'll be hell to pay for someone.'

'Yes, sir.'

Lowe sounded depressed, and we guessed what he was thinking: the rest of the Company were to make their retreat at the expense of the Old Man's section. Major Hinka must also have read his thoughts. He rested a hand on Lowe's shoulder.

'No misplaced camaraderie, Lieutenant. You're not saving your own skin, remember, you're saving a regiment, a division, maybe even the whole sector. I know it's hard, but I don't need to tell you that we're at war, I think we've all realized that by now... You can't afford to worry about one single section, any more than I can afford to worry about one single company. It's the overall picture that matters.'

The ordnance officer suddenly burst into loud guffaws.

'You should he proud, Lieutenant! The whole of the Fatherland will fall about your neck in gratitude, even as the Fuhrer has promised.'

This time, Lowe was unable to contain himself. He walked across to the man and knocked the champagne bottle from his hand.

'One of these days I'm going to let Little John loose on you!' he said, threateningly.

'Just as you like, old boy, just as you like.'

Major Hinka intervened, checking his watch against Lowe's.

'Right... Well, good luck, Lieutenant. Remember that the future of the entire division is in your hands.'

As we left the Castle and passed beneath the windows of the room, I heard the ordnance officer's high-pitched voice raised in a bleat of protest and I naturally paused to listen, waving to Barcelona to shut up.

'It's a good company, the fifth. I wonder if they realize they're being thrown to the dogs?'

'You know,' remarked the Major, dryly, 'you are beginning to irritate me just a little. The constant cynicism----'

'I suppose it's a form of self-defence, sir. My family has already sacrificed fifteen of its sons and daughters for the Fatherland. I shall be the last to go. After me--' He paused. 'Simply and plainly, there aren't any more left after me. And I'm beginning to wonder what I should put on the family vault, an eagle or an iron cross... I've never been a particularly religious man, and I can't say I go too much on this "Gott mit uns" kick. It doesn't seem to me as if Gott----'

'Captain,' said Major Hinka,' I regret the necessity for interrupting you, but I have more important matters on my hands than arranging the details of your family burial place! Please excuse me.'

I shrugged my shoulders and ran off after the other two.

It was no news to me that we were being thrown to the dogs. We had all realized it right from the start, and, besides, we had been thrown to them often enough before and managed to survive.

A fine, cold Normandy rain had begun to fall long before we had dug ourselves in for the night behind the shelter of a hill. By the time darkness fell we were all soaked to the skin and thoroughly disgruntled. We could hear the unmistakable sounds of digging coming from the other side of the hill.

'Let the bastards come! ' roared Little John. 'I'm ready for 'em!' He fingered the M.G. with one hand and with the other gave me a jab in the ribs. 'Best get prepared, chum. They could come any time.'

I edged him irritably away from the M.G. It was my gun, I was in charge of it. Little John was merely responsible for the loading. I was the best machine-gunner in the company and there was nothing Little John could tell me that I didn't already know. I checked the loading mechanism and the firing mechanism, though I knew that both were in perfect working order because I'd already checked them three times within the space of half an hour. But machine-guns are pretty sensitive creatures, they need a lot of coddling if you're to get the best out of them.

The enemy came at us in full force at dawn. Porta had just brewed up some coffee--real coffee. I couldn't imagine where he had obtained it and I couldn't help recalling the girl Jacqueline and wondering if a little sleight of hand had been practised while he was there. At all events, real coffee it was and the scent was carried away on the breeze and must surely have set men's mouths watering many kilometres off. Little John always swore it was the lure of the coffee that brought the Scotsmen over the ridge towards us so promptly.

We watched them advancing, marvelling at their textbook precision. They ran for ten metres, dropped to the ground; jumped up with unnerving enthusiasm, ran another ten metres, fell to the ground again. They might almost have been on exercises. It was beautiful to behold, but completely idiotic in the present situation. Little John began loudly cheering them on, and Gregor nodded sagely as he positioned himself behind the heavy gun. . 'Recruits,' he said. 'They shouldn't give us too much trouble.'

'Never underestimate the enemy,' said Heide, who was given to that sort of remark. 'They wouldn't be such fools as to send a regiment of greenhorns at us. They'll have something nasty up their sleeves, don't you worry.'

With my right thumb I flipped back the safety catch and took a firm hold on the grip, at the same time setting my feet against a large rock. It was essential when you were using a 42: the recoil was so powerful that you could never keep your balance unless you were firmly wedged.

The Scots were about 200 metres off and were approaching the area that we had mined during the night. We waited, tensely. The air was soon alive with the shouts and groans of wounded men and the first wave fell back, disconcerted. It's unnerving, to say the least, when you find yourself on the edge of a minefield with half your companions lying broken and limbless all about you. The bloody fool officers could be heard yelling at the men to come on. Little John nudged me and jerked his head in the direction of one of them. He was racing towards our trenches, his kilt swirling about him. It was picturesque but foolish. The man was obviously one of those blind, unthinking heroes who throws away his own life because he's over-excited and out of control and provokes hundreds of other poor sheep into following him. I waited until he was about 150 metres off. My finger curved round the trigger. I made a move to fire--and abruptly found myself the victim of a sensation that I had known once or twice before. I seemed suddenly paralysed. I found myself trembling, sweating; I felt sick with fear, my finger refused to move. I knew that when I did fire, it would be short. Little John gave me a furious shove in the small of the back.

'Fire, you bastard!'

I fired. The shot fell short, just as I had known it would. It was only the first shot that affected me like that.

It had happened before, I never could understand why. The moment was over now and I was in full control once more. Lieutenant Lowe came storming up to me.

'What the hell are you playing at? Get a grip on yourself or you can expect a court-martial!'

They had crossed the minefield, the first of them were only a hundred metres away; Any moment now and the hand grenades would start coming over. My right eye, which had been more seriously affected than the left by the phosphorus grenade, began to play up, burning and aching and generally giving me hell. I pressed myself hard up against the machine-gun, concentrating on the hundreds of legs that were racing towards us. My muscles tensed. The gun began spitting out its hail of bullets almost of its own accord. Men fell like flies before it. The moment of weakness had passed, I was back in my stride, feeling myself to be an integral part of the machine-gun. Lowe passed behind me, giving me an approving pat on the shoulder.

Little John fed in belt after belt. The gun became brutally hot, my lungs were filled with acrid smoke. All fear had long since disappeared, I was carrying out a well-known, routine action and was scarcely aware of the general course of the battle. A light drizzle began to fall, but now it was welcome because refreshing.

The first assault was repulsed. I wondered if the idiots were not aware that to wipe out a nest of machine-guns you need artillery and not merely men with rifles and hand-grenades. They were more stubborn, more persistent than the Russians, these crazy Scotsmen, but we had an hour's respite before they came at us again.

'Why don't they send the bombers over?' demanded Little John.

'Search me,' I said. 'Perhaps they're out for the Victoria Cross? Want all the glory for themselves?'

'Who wants glory?' sneered Little John.

At H hour we began silently to withdraw, according to Major Hinka's instructions. It was fortunately during a lull, while the enemy were lying low and licking their wounds, and we took care that they should have no hint of our movements. The last thing we wanted was a horde of maddened Scotsmen pouring after us and catching us at a moment when we were particularly vulnerable and almost defenceless. An impatient group of engineers were waiting for us at the bridge.

'You the last?' demanded an Oberfeldwebel.

'As usual,' confirmed Little John.

The man nodded and turned back to his waiting engineers. The moment the bridge had blown they could make their escape and the hell with everyone else. They cared neither for what had gone before nor what would come after. We hid ourselves among the trees at the roadside and the Oberfeldwebel took one last look about him.