Sorry I'm late, a funny thing happened on the way to the Forum...
Sorry for the length, I just couldn't find a good way of breakin' it in half.
Nørresundby, Denmark
October 18, 1939
3:00 p.m.
An hour after the ending of the meeting at Army Headquarters, the first of Air Transport Command’s de Havilland Albatross’ began landing at the numerous small airfields that were scattered about the Royal Airborne Army’s area of operations. With a precision that would be envied by the finest of Swiss watch makers, almost simultaneous with the touching of the Albatross’ landing gear to the ground, the Army’s attached artillery brigades began their thundering bombardment of German positions on the far side of the Limfjord and the British Paras began their evacuation.
The primary concern of the retreating Paras was the evacuation of their wounded, followed by the remaining combatants among the Regiments. As was only logical, the Regiments furthest from the most likely focal point of any German spoiling attack, Nørresundby, would load up and depart first, leaving the King’s Airborne Rifles as the rear guard for the entire operation. While many would expect the exhausted Paras of that Regiment to wearily resent being left in position after bearing the brunt of the majority of attacks, the troops took their assignment as a sign of honour that they had been considered by General Browning as the best hope for saving as much of the Army as possible.
As more and more transports flew in under escort of RAF Whirlwinds, more and more Paras were able to embark upon their “freedom birds” and begin the long flight back to their home barracks back in the Midlands. As was expected, the thundering of the Royal Airborne Army’s artillery brigades had ceased within an hour of the landing of the first Albatross. After fifteen very quite minutes the Germans, who had been fully expecting the British Paras to conduct one of their infamous raids, realized that something was afoot, and after creeping from their shelters to gather their wits, and began earnestly attempting to cross the Limfjord.
Sprawled across the rubble of what had one time been a collection of flats, Major Malcolm Drake gazed down the street and cursed softly to himself. As if to underscore his feelings, the intermittent thunder of the artillery duel between the attacking Germans and the as of yet still hidden Danes of the Dronningens Livregiment* started again. Despite their best efforts, the tired and exhausted men of his battalion had been unable to prevent the Germans from successfully erecting a pontoon bridge across the Limfjord. Despite heavy casualties, the Germans forced their way across their bridge and established a toe hold in Nørresundby, one that the British were in no way capable of removing. Now, a few hours later, the end was in sight as the Paras had been pushed back to the northern most section of the Danish town. “O’Rourke, get into contact with Colonel Urquhart, find out what sort of time table we have to extract ourselves from what is left of lovely Nørresundby.”
Partially listening as his self-appointed assistant and the recently promoted to Sergeant Irishman began speaking into the wireless set that was lying on the ground between them, Drake glanced about at the remaining men he had with him. Funneling squads back to the rear to board the waiting transports, his battalion could now barely scrap together enough men to form a full strength company.
With the need to buy as much time as possible for the evacuation, Drake had chosen his position carefully. Just inside the northern edge of the city sat a small plaza dominated by a large fountain. Leading into this plaza were three roads from deeper in the city, including the main road that led north out of Nørresundby. Exiting the plaza there was only one road, the aforementioned main road that bisected the small Danish city. The plaza was surrounded on the northern, eastern and western sides by large homes and upscale tenements, while the southern side of the plaza had been a commercial district prior to the war coming to visit peaceful Nørresundby. Before the Germans had pushed the British Paras back into the city, the plaza had been viewed as a peaceful and beautiful place to visit and enjoy. Now, however, it was viewed as the perfect place to stop the German advance, at least long enough to allow the last British Para to evacuate Denmark.
In their hiding places amongst the rubble facing both the plaza and the roads leading into it, the remaining Paras waited for the approaching Germans, hoping that their defensive measures would block their enemies long enough to allow them the time to extract themselves from their positions, race the five miles to the north to board the last transports and return home to England, all without the Germans being following right behind. Each man had already come to grips that this could well be their last battle of this war, and intended to make it a battle that would go down in the annals of last stands.
And last stand it appeared to be for the attacking Germans consisted of well over five hundred men, to the British battalion’s reduced strength of one hundred. The Germans were also supported by twenty-five tanks and artillery from the far side of the Limfjord, while the Paras were forced to depend on one anti-tank gun with a limited number of rounds, three Vickers heavy machine guns, a dozen Bren guns and a score of PIATs*. Behind the first wave of Germans stood ready the rest of the German invasion force, now reinforced to a total of ten divisions. If not for the hand of Fate standing in to be of assistance to the badly outnumbered Paras, a last stand would take place this day.
Taking the headset off and handing it back to the actual wireless operator, O’Rourke pulled on Drake’s trouser leg to gain his attention. “The Colonel said we ‘ave tae ‘old on ah least thirty minutes, sir. The las’ o’ the transports 'tis inbound now.”
“Very well, O’Rourke. Pass the word to the lads,” Drake commanded with an air of calm detachment that belied his exhaustion. Inwardly he cursed at the delay, knowing that there was nothing the Colonel of his Regiment could due to increase the speed of the RAF Albatross’, and that another thirty minutes might well bring the full force of the German Army down upon the heads of his men. Pushing those thoughts aside, Drake checked yet one more time both the ammunition of his Lee-Enfield and then the three roadways leading into the plaza. The road leading in from the east had been blocked several days ago when several stray heavy artillery rounds fired by the Germans had crashed into the buildings lining the entry into the plaza, causing those building to collapse down into each other and across the road. Glancing to the west, Drake stared grimly and wondered again if that avenue of approach was as safe as thought. Sometime in the past before the war, a phrase Drake was already getting tired of hearing even when it was himself using it, the city fathers of Nørresundby had determined that the western road would only be open to the plaza for pedestrian traffic and had had concrete blocks three feet tall and wide placed every six feet across the roadway. The only way the Germans were going to come that way was by foot, and for just such an occasion Drake had one of his Vickers, two of his Brens and a full squad of his meager Paras tasked with preventing any person from making it past those concrete posts in any resemblance of health. No, he thought as he scowled at the last opening to the plaza, Jerry is going to come straight up that road and try his damnedest to crush us and I’m for damn sure going to make that as difficult as possible, if not impossible.
The mild and soft chatting that had been going on amongst the tired Paras came to a sudden halt when the faint sound of metallic clanking drifted through the air. Slamming the cartridge clip of his Sten into place with a loud clack, O’Rourke cast a raised eyebrow toward Drake and commented in his think Irish brogue, “Major, me darlin’, I be knowin’ that sound. D’ya think we be havin’ enough PIATs left to take on Jerry’s tanks?”
“Hell no,” Drake replied with an evil grin that caused the Paras nearby to chuckle softly. “That’s why I’m going to propose to Captain Cain that we send you out to toss rocks at them.”
“’Tis an evil and heartless man ye becoming, Major Drake, me darlin’,” O’Rourke answered dryly while motioning for the Paras nearby to spread out and get ready.
“Robby, my lad,” Drake spoke softly into the wireless mouth piece that he took from his operator. The metallic rumble of the approaching tanks drew louder as he paused. “Malcolm here. We have tanks approaching up the road. Be prepared.”
“Malcolm, we’re all set,” the voice of Captain Robert Cain resounded through the wireless, battlefield stress putting a stop to normal military formality. Cain was the battalion’s assistant commanding officer and had become a good friend of Drake’s since his assumption of command. In order to maximize the defensibility of the plaza, Drake had dispatched half of what was left of his battalion to the far side and placed Cain in charge, keeping in contact via wireless rather than shouting or runner. Calling from his command post, Cain’s calm voice spoke softly, “I have Ian Meikle, Sgt Llewellyn, and Private Clapton, ready with that 6-pounder we appropriated from Fifth Battalion. Rest assured, Malcolm, our reception is ready whenever you have need of it.”
“Glad to hear that,” Drake remarked dryly. “Were are you situated, Robby?”
“I’m almost directly across from your current position,” Cain replied. “D’you see the three houses leaning against each other? I’m just behind the chimney of the middle house. Meikle and the 6-pounder are in first floor great room below me.”
“Very good, Robby. I see you now,” Drake said softly as he peered through his binoculars. Glancing from the location of his hidden cannon to the entrance of the plaza and then across the whole plaza, Drake once more began to doubt the positioning of his men and pinning his entire defense to chance. The metallic rumble that signaled the approach of the German tanks grew louder and reached a crescendo with the appearance of three Panzers emerging into the plaza with their turrets covering the arc before them. The time for doubt was over and Drake felt himself move from worry about what might be and into the heightened sense of awareness that combat provides to its participants.
Keeping his eyes locked on the front tank Drake snapped his fingers in O’Rourke’s direction, and in turn the Irishman whistled toward two Paras that were crouching behind a pile of debris several yards from their position. As the third and final Panzer left the confines of the street and into the openness of the plaza the two Paras raced from their place of concealment and angled their run toward the lead tank, each man carrying a PIAT and a spare rocket for use. Frowning fiercely, Drake watched the two men and cast a prayer heavenward that the two men would not only be able to complete their portion of the plan but also survive in so doing.
Sliding to their knees about fifty feet from the leading tank the two Paras fired their PIATs toward the steel behemoth at the same time that the German tank began to open fire with it’s hull mounted machine gun. As with most military plans, Drake’s plan failed to survive contact with the enemy for instead of striking the lead tank, as the German machine gun bullets reached out to snuff their lives out, the Paras fired rockets glanced off the frontal armour of the Panzer and slammed into the masonry of the buildings behind the German tanks sending a rain of dust and masonry shards into the plaza. “Bloody hell,” Drake cursed softly. Reacting without conscious thought, the tired British officer rose to his feet and began sprinting toward his fallen men and their important PIATs still clutched in their bloody hands. Once out in the open, and when he no longer had a safe chance of returning to his cover without being surely gunned down, Drake only then realized the rashness of his reaction. Bugger me, he cursed to himself. What the hell am I about? Diving to the ground behind the still warm corpse that used to be Corporal Charles McGowan, Drake adjusted the dead man’s body to not only free the PIAT from under his body but also to offer Drake a touch more cover. Sorry, Charlie, but at this point, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of bringing a good looking corpse home to your parents.
As he began working on the PIAT Drake slowly realized that he was not alone and was startled to see O’Rourke mimicking his moves while huddled behind the other deceased Para, Private McDermott. He also realized that the air was alive with crackling bullets as the men of his battalion fired upon the German tanks in a vain effort to distract them from the threat that Drake and O’Rourke presented. “You silly Irish bugger, are you completely daft,” Drake cursed as he curled up behind McGowan’s corpse and loaded the PIAT while McGowan’s body twitched from the impact of more machine gun fire.
“I could be askin’ da same of ye, Major Drake, me darlin’,” the burly Irishman spat back as he finished loading the PIAT he had wrestled from McDermott’s death grip. “Mae dear Mother, God bless her soul, ‘tis be rollin’ in her grave at da sight of her beloved son actin’ so foolish! But, ‘tis much better dan bein’ here tossin’ dose rocks ye be metionin’ a tad earlier.”
Grinning almost foolishly at the Irishman’s words, Drake replied by pulling himself to his knees, raising the PIAT to his shoulder in one fluid motion and firing his rocket. His rocket was followed a split second later as O’Rourke followed suit. Both rockets struck true, Drake’s impacting right upon the tank driver’s view port while O’Rourke’s struck the turret and deflected into the engine deck of the idling Panzer. The resulting explosion knocked both men back to the ground and brought a momentary pause to the fighting that now included German infantry. As the German’s leapt from their burning tank to be cut down with accurate covering fire one of the Vickers machine guns, the two remaining Panzers halted their direction, pivoting upon their tracks to bring both the hull and turret mounted machine guns to bear upon the two men. Scrambling to his feet and beginning to dash for the relative safety of the fountain that stood in the center of the plaza, Drake cursed as the German tanks began to open fire. “Move your slow Irish ass, O’Rourke!”
“Movin’ I be doing, Major me darlin’,” O’Rourke growled through clenched teeth as the two men raced toward and dove into the empty fountain as a hail of machine gun bullets raced through the air and struck the ground about their feet.
From is position on the other side of the plaza and itching to assist his friend and commanding officer, Cain growled to the men about his position. “Stand fast, lads, stand fast. Those Panzers are not quite in the right position. Wait for it…”
Back in the fountain, O’Rourke and Drake cowered behind the stone wall that made up the fountain basin, their breath racing, as the wall reverberated under the withering hail of bullets being directed into them by the German tank crews. “Are ye ready, Major,” O’Rourke asked simply. “Jerry is sure to be turnin’ those tanks great big bloody guns upon us ‘ere soon, an’ I’d much rather not be sittin’ ‘ere when dey do!”
“As usual, O’Rourke, you are the master of the understatement,” Drake replied with a roll of his eyes. Taking a small mirror with a telescoping handle from his jacket pocket, Drake elevated the mirror above the wall spy the German tanks maneuvering themselves and somewhat incautiously approaching their position. “Perfect, O’Rourke, Jerry is playing his part to a tee!”
Cowering even lower in response to another burst of machine gun fire, O’Rourke rolled his eyes and replied flippantly, “Glad to be ‘earin’ that, Major, me darlin’. But little good be that fer us if those tanks open up wit those cannon!”
Amidst the rising detonation of small arms fire that announced that the Panzer’s supporting infantry were fully engaged by the rest of the Paras, O’Rourke pulled a grenade from his belt and in a quick motion pulled the pin and tossed the now live explosive over the fountain wall toward the tanks. Hoping for a lucky landing of the grenade, he was Irish after all and it could happen, yet not expecting to have that sort of luck, he looked at Drake and opened his mouth to express again his displeasure of still being in their situation. Resonating behind the blast of his grenade came a loud crack that could only come from a British 6-pounder followed by the louder clang of the shell coming into contact with a metallic target. Grinning at each other wolfishly as the 6-pounder fired a second round the two men risked their lives to glance over the wall and watched as that round pierced the left most tank’s thin rear deck armor and caused a secondary explosion that in a sheet of flame lifted the turret off the hull of the targeted tank before dropping it back down. Brazenly lifting their heads above the fountain wall and beginning to fire upon the German infantry, they watched as the remaining Panzer quickly shifted into reverse and accelerated backward in an attempt to exit the plaza and the tank death trap it had suddenly become.
As the German infantry now attempted to make an scrambling extraction of themselves from the path of the fleeing metal monster, they continued to come under fire from the hidden British Paras, their greater numbers being negated by the narrow bottleneck they were being forced to rush through, the accurate rifle and machine gun fire from the Para’s preplanned positions, and the loss of moral at seeing two of their supporting tanks being quickly destroyed and the third fleeing without regard for their safety. The results were not hard to understand and quite quickly the infantry began to follow the lead of their supporting Panzer and also began to turn and flee from the plaza. Eager to turn their withdrawal into a panicky rout, Drake stood up upon the top of the fountain wall, and taking careful aim, began firing at individual Germans with his Lee-Enfield and damaging the moral of the retreating Germans even more.
Sealing the doom of the German attack party, the Sgt. Llewellyn and his ad hoc crew fired the 6-pounder fired yet again, striking the track of the fleeing tank and bringing it to a halt in a plume of dust, as it spun to a rest nearly blocking the entire roadway leading into the plaza. Firing rapidly, the Para’s anti-tank gun struck again, sending a round toward the turret of the stranded panzer, and while the round failed to pierce the tank’s armour, it was able to damage the barrel of the panzer’s main gun. In a few short moments, the German attack came to bloody end with the loss of three tanks and dozens of infantryman that continued to be gunned down under the concentrated fire of the Paras three heavy machine guns, Brens, and individual small arms fire.
With the dispatching of the last German infantry man who had not been able to flee to the relative safety of the far said of the disabled panzer a calm silence descended upon the plaza, one that was only occasionally disrupted by the sound of distant artillery shelling. Paras, whom only moments before were intensely aware of only what could been seen through the tunnel vision that combat creates, slowly began to become aware of the carnage that littered the plaza about them. The cries of the wounded began to be heard, the sights of the dead and dying seeped in and the overwhelming smell of death wafted upon their senses.
Surveying the debris of war that now graced the plaza, Drake sighed heavily at the destruction wrought by his chosen profession but realized that if it were not for he and his men the tyranny that had become Nazi Germany would spread throughout the world. Glancing at his watch as he lowered is now empty rifle he shook his head as he realized that the entire attack had lasted less than ten minutes. Thank God it was only ten minutes, he thought a tad morosely. Looking about at the remains of the German attack and knowing that his men had the moral but not the material to resist yet another attack, Drake made a command decision. Taking the gift of the German withdrawal, he decided that it was time to no longer sit and wait for the inevitable. “Captain Cain, Lts. Meikle and Valentine, gather round, if you please,” Drake called out after sounding out with a shrill whistle that drew the attention of his exhausted Paras. “Sgts. O’Rourke and Llewellyn, have the wounded tended to and prepare me the butchers bill.”
Dropping down from the fountain wall, Drake pulled a small kit bag from the cargo pocket sewn on the side of his pants leg and placing it upon the fountain wall began to extract items from it as his remaining officers scrambled to reach him and his sergeants began detailing tasks to fulfill his orders. Pulling his water canteen out from his belt and pouring a portion into his cup, Drake pulled a sliver of shaving soap and his razor from his kit bag and, steeling his nerves to prevent his hands from shaking and revealing his stress level, began lathering his face for a shave, ignoring the incredulous looks of Meikle and Valentine who were just then arriving at the fountain. His face quickly lathered he wiped the lather from his hands as Cain arrived and shot him a look that clearly expressed his concern over his commanding officer’s mental well being Opening his straight razor and checking the blade, Drake advised his officers of the decision he had made. “We clearly cannot hold off another attack like that, gentlemen, and therefore I refuse to make the attempt. As soon as the men have been looked to I intend for us to pull out of Nørresundby and make for the airfield. Any questions?”
“Sir,” Lt. Valentine asked before his exhausted mind could stop him, something that Drake himself had fallen prey to several days ago, “why are you shaving?”
“We may been forced from the field of battle, Jamie, my lad,” Drake replied as he began scraping the razor across his face to remove a week's growth of beard, “but I’ll be damned if I leave the field looking anything other than a tired but proud British soldier. Any other questions?”
Stretching his shoulders to relieve some of the pain his exhausted body was suffering under, Cain looked as Drake finished and dried himself on his filthy, blood-stained Denison smock and asked simply, “Two, sir. May I borrow the use of your razor and do you have enough soap? I feel the need for a quick shave myself.”
* - Dronningens Livregiment - Queen's Life Regiment
* - PIAT, for Projector, Infantry, Anti Tank
Sorry for the length, I just couldn't find a good way of breakin' it in half.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE - Part Four
The Evacuation
Nørresundby, Denmark
October 18, 1939
3:00 p.m.
An hour after the ending of the meeting at Army Headquarters, the first of Air Transport Command’s de Havilland Albatross’ began landing at the numerous small airfields that were scattered about the Royal Airborne Army’s area of operations. With a precision that would be envied by the finest of Swiss watch makers, almost simultaneous with the touching of the Albatross’ landing gear to the ground, the Army’s attached artillery brigades began their thundering bombardment of German positions on the far side of the Limfjord and the British Paras began their evacuation.
The primary concern of the retreating Paras was the evacuation of their wounded, followed by the remaining combatants among the Regiments. As was only logical, the Regiments furthest from the most likely focal point of any German spoiling attack, Nørresundby, would load up and depart first, leaving the King’s Airborne Rifles as the rear guard for the entire operation. While many would expect the exhausted Paras of that Regiment to wearily resent being left in position after bearing the brunt of the majority of attacks, the troops took their assignment as a sign of honour that they had been considered by General Browning as the best hope for saving as much of the Army as possible.
As more and more transports flew in under escort of RAF Whirlwinds, more and more Paras were able to embark upon their “freedom birds” and begin the long flight back to their home barracks back in the Midlands. As was expected, the thundering of the Royal Airborne Army’s artillery brigades had ceased within an hour of the landing of the first Albatross. After fifteen very quite minutes the Germans, who had been fully expecting the British Paras to conduct one of their infamous raids, realized that something was afoot, and after creeping from their shelters to gather their wits, and began earnestly attempting to cross the Limfjord.
Sprawled across the rubble of what had one time been a collection of flats, Major Malcolm Drake gazed down the street and cursed softly to himself. As if to underscore his feelings, the intermittent thunder of the artillery duel between the attacking Germans and the as of yet still hidden Danes of the Dronningens Livregiment* started again. Despite their best efforts, the tired and exhausted men of his battalion had been unable to prevent the Germans from successfully erecting a pontoon bridge across the Limfjord. Despite heavy casualties, the Germans forced their way across their bridge and established a toe hold in Nørresundby, one that the British were in no way capable of removing. Now, a few hours later, the end was in sight as the Paras had been pushed back to the northern most section of the Danish town. “O’Rourke, get into contact with Colonel Urquhart, find out what sort of time table we have to extract ourselves from what is left of lovely Nørresundby.”
Partially listening as his self-appointed assistant and the recently promoted to Sergeant Irishman began speaking into the wireless set that was lying on the ground between them, Drake glanced about at the remaining men he had with him. Funneling squads back to the rear to board the waiting transports, his battalion could now barely scrap together enough men to form a full strength company.
With the need to buy as much time as possible for the evacuation, Drake had chosen his position carefully. Just inside the northern edge of the city sat a small plaza dominated by a large fountain. Leading into this plaza were three roads from deeper in the city, including the main road that led north out of Nørresundby. Exiting the plaza there was only one road, the aforementioned main road that bisected the small Danish city. The plaza was surrounded on the northern, eastern and western sides by large homes and upscale tenements, while the southern side of the plaza had been a commercial district prior to the war coming to visit peaceful Nørresundby. Before the Germans had pushed the British Paras back into the city, the plaza had been viewed as a peaceful and beautiful place to visit and enjoy. Now, however, it was viewed as the perfect place to stop the German advance, at least long enough to allow the last British Para to evacuate Denmark.
In their hiding places amongst the rubble facing both the plaza and the roads leading into it, the remaining Paras waited for the approaching Germans, hoping that their defensive measures would block their enemies long enough to allow them the time to extract themselves from their positions, race the five miles to the north to board the last transports and return home to England, all without the Germans being following right behind. Each man had already come to grips that this could well be their last battle of this war, and intended to make it a battle that would go down in the annals of last stands.
And last stand it appeared to be for the attacking Germans consisted of well over five hundred men, to the British battalion’s reduced strength of one hundred. The Germans were also supported by twenty-five tanks and artillery from the far side of the Limfjord, while the Paras were forced to depend on one anti-tank gun with a limited number of rounds, three Vickers heavy machine guns, a dozen Bren guns and a score of PIATs*. Behind the first wave of Germans stood ready the rest of the German invasion force, now reinforced to a total of ten divisions. If not for the hand of Fate standing in to be of assistance to the badly outnumbered Paras, a last stand would take place this day.
Taking the headset off and handing it back to the actual wireless operator, O’Rourke pulled on Drake’s trouser leg to gain his attention. “The Colonel said we ‘ave tae ‘old on ah least thirty minutes, sir. The las’ o’ the transports 'tis inbound now.”
“Very well, O’Rourke. Pass the word to the lads,” Drake commanded with an air of calm detachment that belied his exhaustion. Inwardly he cursed at the delay, knowing that there was nothing the Colonel of his Regiment could due to increase the speed of the RAF Albatross’, and that another thirty minutes might well bring the full force of the German Army down upon the heads of his men. Pushing those thoughts aside, Drake checked yet one more time both the ammunition of his Lee-Enfield and then the three roadways leading into the plaza. The road leading in from the east had been blocked several days ago when several stray heavy artillery rounds fired by the Germans had crashed into the buildings lining the entry into the plaza, causing those building to collapse down into each other and across the road. Glancing to the west, Drake stared grimly and wondered again if that avenue of approach was as safe as thought. Sometime in the past before the war, a phrase Drake was already getting tired of hearing even when it was himself using it, the city fathers of Nørresundby had determined that the western road would only be open to the plaza for pedestrian traffic and had had concrete blocks three feet tall and wide placed every six feet across the roadway. The only way the Germans were going to come that way was by foot, and for just such an occasion Drake had one of his Vickers, two of his Brens and a full squad of his meager Paras tasked with preventing any person from making it past those concrete posts in any resemblance of health. No, he thought as he scowled at the last opening to the plaza, Jerry is going to come straight up that road and try his damnedest to crush us and I’m for damn sure going to make that as difficult as possible, if not impossible.
The mild and soft chatting that had been going on amongst the tired Paras came to a sudden halt when the faint sound of metallic clanking drifted through the air. Slamming the cartridge clip of his Sten into place with a loud clack, O’Rourke cast a raised eyebrow toward Drake and commented in his think Irish brogue, “Major, me darlin’, I be knowin’ that sound. D’ya think we be havin’ enough PIATs left to take on Jerry’s tanks?”
“Hell no,” Drake replied with an evil grin that caused the Paras nearby to chuckle softly. “That’s why I’m going to propose to Captain Cain that we send you out to toss rocks at them.”
“’Tis an evil and heartless man ye becoming, Major Drake, me darlin’,” O’Rourke answered dryly while motioning for the Paras nearby to spread out and get ready.
“Robby, my lad,” Drake spoke softly into the wireless mouth piece that he took from his operator. The metallic rumble of the approaching tanks drew louder as he paused. “Malcolm here. We have tanks approaching up the road. Be prepared.”
“Malcolm, we’re all set,” the voice of Captain Robert Cain resounded through the wireless, battlefield stress putting a stop to normal military formality. Cain was the battalion’s assistant commanding officer and had become a good friend of Drake’s since his assumption of command. In order to maximize the defensibility of the plaza, Drake had dispatched half of what was left of his battalion to the far side and placed Cain in charge, keeping in contact via wireless rather than shouting or runner. Calling from his command post, Cain’s calm voice spoke softly, “I have Ian Meikle, Sgt Llewellyn, and Private Clapton, ready with that 6-pounder we appropriated from Fifth Battalion. Rest assured, Malcolm, our reception is ready whenever you have need of it.”
“Glad to hear that,” Drake remarked dryly. “Were are you situated, Robby?”
“I’m almost directly across from your current position,” Cain replied. “D’you see the three houses leaning against each other? I’m just behind the chimney of the middle house. Meikle and the 6-pounder are in first floor great room below me.”
“Very good, Robby. I see you now,” Drake said softly as he peered through his binoculars. Glancing from the location of his hidden cannon to the entrance of the plaza and then across the whole plaza, Drake once more began to doubt the positioning of his men and pinning his entire defense to chance. The metallic rumble that signaled the approach of the German tanks grew louder and reached a crescendo with the appearance of three Panzers emerging into the plaza with their turrets covering the arc before them. The time for doubt was over and Drake felt himself move from worry about what might be and into the heightened sense of awareness that combat provides to its participants.
Keeping his eyes locked on the front tank Drake snapped his fingers in O’Rourke’s direction, and in turn the Irishman whistled toward two Paras that were crouching behind a pile of debris several yards from their position. As the third and final Panzer left the confines of the street and into the openness of the plaza the two Paras raced from their place of concealment and angled their run toward the lead tank, each man carrying a PIAT and a spare rocket for use. Frowning fiercely, Drake watched the two men and cast a prayer heavenward that the two men would not only be able to complete their portion of the plan but also survive in so doing.
Sliding to their knees about fifty feet from the leading tank the two Paras fired their PIATs toward the steel behemoth at the same time that the German tank began to open fire with it’s hull mounted machine gun. As with most military plans, Drake’s plan failed to survive contact with the enemy for instead of striking the lead tank, as the German machine gun bullets reached out to snuff their lives out, the Paras fired rockets glanced off the frontal armour of the Panzer and slammed into the masonry of the buildings behind the German tanks sending a rain of dust and masonry shards into the plaza. “Bloody hell,” Drake cursed softly. Reacting without conscious thought, the tired British officer rose to his feet and began sprinting toward his fallen men and their important PIATs still clutched in their bloody hands. Once out in the open, and when he no longer had a safe chance of returning to his cover without being surely gunned down, Drake only then realized the rashness of his reaction. Bugger me, he cursed to himself. What the hell am I about? Diving to the ground behind the still warm corpse that used to be Corporal Charles McGowan, Drake adjusted the dead man’s body to not only free the PIAT from under his body but also to offer Drake a touch more cover. Sorry, Charlie, but at this point, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of bringing a good looking corpse home to your parents.
As he began working on the PIAT Drake slowly realized that he was not alone and was startled to see O’Rourke mimicking his moves while huddled behind the other deceased Para, Private McDermott. He also realized that the air was alive with crackling bullets as the men of his battalion fired upon the German tanks in a vain effort to distract them from the threat that Drake and O’Rourke presented. “You silly Irish bugger, are you completely daft,” Drake cursed as he curled up behind McGowan’s corpse and loaded the PIAT while McGowan’s body twitched from the impact of more machine gun fire.
“I could be askin’ da same of ye, Major Drake, me darlin’,” the burly Irishman spat back as he finished loading the PIAT he had wrestled from McDermott’s death grip. “Mae dear Mother, God bless her soul, ‘tis be rollin’ in her grave at da sight of her beloved son actin’ so foolish! But, ‘tis much better dan bein’ here tossin’ dose rocks ye be metionin’ a tad earlier.”
Grinning almost foolishly at the Irishman’s words, Drake replied by pulling himself to his knees, raising the PIAT to his shoulder in one fluid motion and firing his rocket. His rocket was followed a split second later as O’Rourke followed suit. Both rockets struck true, Drake’s impacting right upon the tank driver’s view port while O’Rourke’s struck the turret and deflected into the engine deck of the idling Panzer. The resulting explosion knocked both men back to the ground and brought a momentary pause to the fighting that now included German infantry. As the German’s leapt from their burning tank to be cut down with accurate covering fire one of the Vickers machine guns, the two remaining Panzers halted their direction, pivoting upon their tracks to bring both the hull and turret mounted machine guns to bear upon the two men. Scrambling to his feet and beginning to dash for the relative safety of the fountain that stood in the center of the plaza, Drake cursed as the German tanks began to open fire. “Move your slow Irish ass, O’Rourke!”
“Movin’ I be doing, Major me darlin’,” O’Rourke growled through clenched teeth as the two men raced toward and dove into the empty fountain as a hail of machine gun bullets raced through the air and struck the ground about their feet.
From is position on the other side of the plaza and itching to assist his friend and commanding officer, Cain growled to the men about his position. “Stand fast, lads, stand fast. Those Panzers are not quite in the right position. Wait for it…”
Back in the fountain, O’Rourke and Drake cowered behind the stone wall that made up the fountain basin, their breath racing, as the wall reverberated under the withering hail of bullets being directed into them by the German tank crews. “Are ye ready, Major,” O’Rourke asked simply. “Jerry is sure to be turnin’ those tanks great big bloody guns upon us ‘ere soon, an’ I’d much rather not be sittin’ ‘ere when dey do!”
“As usual, O’Rourke, you are the master of the understatement,” Drake replied with a roll of his eyes. Taking a small mirror with a telescoping handle from his jacket pocket, Drake elevated the mirror above the wall spy the German tanks maneuvering themselves and somewhat incautiously approaching their position. “Perfect, O’Rourke, Jerry is playing his part to a tee!”
Cowering even lower in response to another burst of machine gun fire, O’Rourke rolled his eyes and replied flippantly, “Glad to be ‘earin’ that, Major, me darlin’. But little good be that fer us if those tanks open up wit those cannon!”
Amidst the rising detonation of small arms fire that announced that the Panzer’s supporting infantry were fully engaged by the rest of the Paras, O’Rourke pulled a grenade from his belt and in a quick motion pulled the pin and tossed the now live explosive over the fountain wall toward the tanks. Hoping for a lucky landing of the grenade, he was Irish after all and it could happen, yet not expecting to have that sort of luck, he looked at Drake and opened his mouth to express again his displeasure of still being in their situation. Resonating behind the blast of his grenade came a loud crack that could only come from a British 6-pounder followed by the louder clang of the shell coming into contact with a metallic target. Grinning at each other wolfishly as the 6-pounder fired a second round the two men risked their lives to glance over the wall and watched as that round pierced the left most tank’s thin rear deck armor and caused a secondary explosion that in a sheet of flame lifted the turret off the hull of the targeted tank before dropping it back down. Brazenly lifting their heads above the fountain wall and beginning to fire upon the German infantry, they watched as the remaining Panzer quickly shifted into reverse and accelerated backward in an attempt to exit the plaza and the tank death trap it had suddenly become.
As the German infantry now attempted to make an scrambling extraction of themselves from the path of the fleeing metal monster, they continued to come under fire from the hidden British Paras, their greater numbers being negated by the narrow bottleneck they were being forced to rush through, the accurate rifle and machine gun fire from the Para’s preplanned positions, and the loss of moral at seeing two of their supporting tanks being quickly destroyed and the third fleeing without regard for their safety. The results were not hard to understand and quite quickly the infantry began to follow the lead of their supporting Panzer and also began to turn and flee from the plaza. Eager to turn their withdrawal into a panicky rout, Drake stood up upon the top of the fountain wall, and taking careful aim, began firing at individual Germans with his Lee-Enfield and damaging the moral of the retreating Germans even more.
Sealing the doom of the German attack party, the Sgt. Llewellyn and his ad hoc crew fired the 6-pounder fired yet again, striking the track of the fleeing tank and bringing it to a halt in a plume of dust, as it spun to a rest nearly blocking the entire roadway leading into the plaza. Firing rapidly, the Para’s anti-tank gun struck again, sending a round toward the turret of the stranded panzer, and while the round failed to pierce the tank’s armour, it was able to damage the barrel of the panzer’s main gun. In a few short moments, the German attack came to bloody end with the loss of three tanks and dozens of infantryman that continued to be gunned down under the concentrated fire of the Paras three heavy machine guns, Brens, and individual small arms fire.
With the dispatching of the last German infantry man who had not been able to flee to the relative safety of the far said of the disabled panzer a calm silence descended upon the plaza, one that was only occasionally disrupted by the sound of distant artillery shelling. Paras, whom only moments before were intensely aware of only what could been seen through the tunnel vision that combat creates, slowly began to become aware of the carnage that littered the plaza about them. The cries of the wounded began to be heard, the sights of the dead and dying seeped in and the overwhelming smell of death wafted upon their senses.
Surveying the debris of war that now graced the plaza, Drake sighed heavily at the destruction wrought by his chosen profession but realized that if it were not for he and his men the tyranny that had become Nazi Germany would spread throughout the world. Glancing at his watch as he lowered is now empty rifle he shook his head as he realized that the entire attack had lasted less than ten minutes. Thank God it was only ten minutes, he thought a tad morosely. Looking about at the remains of the German attack and knowing that his men had the moral but not the material to resist yet another attack, Drake made a command decision. Taking the gift of the German withdrawal, he decided that it was time to no longer sit and wait for the inevitable. “Captain Cain, Lts. Meikle and Valentine, gather round, if you please,” Drake called out after sounding out with a shrill whistle that drew the attention of his exhausted Paras. “Sgts. O’Rourke and Llewellyn, have the wounded tended to and prepare me the butchers bill.”
Dropping down from the fountain wall, Drake pulled a small kit bag from the cargo pocket sewn on the side of his pants leg and placing it upon the fountain wall began to extract items from it as his remaining officers scrambled to reach him and his sergeants began detailing tasks to fulfill his orders. Pulling his water canteen out from his belt and pouring a portion into his cup, Drake pulled a sliver of shaving soap and his razor from his kit bag and, steeling his nerves to prevent his hands from shaking and revealing his stress level, began lathering his face for a shave, ignoring the incredulous looks of Meikle and Valentine who were just then arriving at the fountain. His face quickly lathered he wiped the lather from his hands as Cain arrived and shot him a look that clearly expressed his concern over his commanding officer’s mental well being Opening his straight razor and checking the blade, Drake advised his officers of the decision he had made. “We clearly cannot hold off another attack like that, gentlemen, and therefore I refuse to make the attempt. As soon as the men have been looked to I intend for us to pull out of Nørresundby and make for the airfield. Any questions?”
“Sir,” Lt. Valentine asked before his exhausted mind could stop him, something that Drake himself had fallen prey to several days ago, “why are you shaving?”
“We may been forced from the field of battle, Jamie, my lad,” Drake replied as he began scraping the razor across his face to remove a week's growth of beard, “but I’ll be damned if I leave the field looking anything other than a tired but proud British soldier. Any other questions?”
Stretching his shoulders to relieve some of the pain his exhausted body was suffering under, Cain looked as Drake finished and dried himself on his filthy, blood-stained Denison smock and asked simply, “Two, sir. May I borrow the use of your razor and do you have enough soap? I feel the need for a quick shave myself.”
* - Dronningens Livregiment - Queen's Life Regiment
* - PIAT, for Projector, Infantry, Anti Tank