One Last Cup (cont.) - by Dan Oliver

Here is the second part of Dan Oliver's short. Some writers live their story and Dan is no exception. A terrific piece to read even if this is not your genre. This story is based on actual events. I look forward to more from Dan. 



Captain Francome carefully thought through their scenario. They were alone and too far from the allied lines to help, or to be helped.

“The way I see it, we can both ditch the Tetrarch here and walk towards German lines in surrender…” the only response to that was a furrowing of McGregory’s brow.

“Or,” he continued, “charge those Tigers from behind and try taking out a few of them.”

It was Underhill who spoke up, “Cap, we won’t last one shot from those Tigers. Sure we could hit one or two in the rear by coming from behind, but we’re too crippled to have any real impact.”

“So we surrender then?” quizzed McGregory. Silence ensued.

“Okay. There is another option here,” said Francome.

“When Maubeuge gets overrun, our guys will be forced to retreat. But those Hummels will start bombarding their escape path,” Captain Francome paused to compose himself “We could win our guys the chance to fall back by going after those artillery and taking them out.”

“How many do you think they have there?” asked McGregory.

“It sounds like there are no more than half a dozen,” said Francome.

“There will be Jagd Panthers nearby for sure,” noted Underhill, staring blankly at the ground.

These tank destroyers were the snipers of the armoured vehicle world. It was common for the Germans to provide artillery protection with the likes of Jagd Panthers.

The idea was as good as a death warrant, but Francome knew he had their assent. A short time later they were back inside the hull of the wounded Tetrarch following the path of the Tigers back toward the location of their targets.

***

 “Enemy sighted captain.”

Francome moved to the periscope that McGregory was looking through. Six Hummels sat bunched together within 200 yards of each other. The Tetrarch idled behind some dense scrub at the top of a rise looking down on a small farm yard. The family had long since fled, but the remaining few buildings provided some cover for the artillery.

The crew of each Hummel were busy, two loaders and a gunner stood inside the vehicle working away furiously as their commanders issued their targets and trajectories. In all six cases the radio operator and driver stood outside of the vehicles.

“OK, we can do this,” began Francome. “Manny, push us at full speed behind and around the rest of this rise to come out in front of them close to that barn.”

“In front? They’ll blow us to bits!” protested Underhill.

“No, they won’t have time to react. Move us in behind them quickly. Greggy, you can have fifteen high penetration rounds. Two for each Hummel and three more for luck. Throw the rest out of the tank now to lighten us up.”

“Yes sir.”

“I’ll jump on the machine gun when we get closer and target the drivers so that they can’t mobilise. Greggy, aim for their engines, fuel tanks and ammunition racks. They’re all at the rear of the vehicle.”

The hull turned into a den of excitement. The delectable sight of the unguarded German guns sitting vulnerably in front of them boosted their confidence.

***

As they rounded the rise the first Hummel spotted them.  The gunner tried to turn the gun toward the Tetrarch but the Tetrarch had sped past the range of the gun before they could shoot. Without a turret the Hummel was particularly vulnerable from the rear, especially when the driver was absent.

Drawing alongside the first unit, McGregory had the gun trained to the right and ready to fire a broadside shot from thirty yards. At that range he couldn’t miss and the shell disappeared into the side of the Hummel. A split second later it erupted into a fountain of fire.

“Good one Greggy!” shouted Francome. Without a dedicated loader, McGregory had to both load and shoot. With adrenaline pumping through his veins he was working double time. Already he was training his sights on the second Hummel sitting next to a large barn thirty yards away.

McGregory released the round from fifty yards and the shell penetrated the thin armour, but high and close to the gun. The explosion was no less impressive and the gunner probably killed by the shot. He loaded again and sent a second shell into the crippled Hummel’s rear as they rounded it in search of a new target.

The third Hummel sat further back than the first two, between the barn and a brick farm house. Underhill turned right to go around the front of the barn. The driver of the third Hummel had been alert and in the short time available to him had started the engine and reversed out of the line of sight of the Tetrarch.

“Manny, swerve left and go through the barn,” yelled Francome. “We’ll come out the other side and catch him before he is able to turn toward us.”

No sooner was it said than done. The Tetrarch wobbled around to the left and charged through the wooden wall of the barn. Inside was empty except for a small pile of hay that the tank disturbed as it rumbled through the interior. They soon exited the further wall in the same rudimentary fashion, bits of straw and splinters of wood flying. They appeared out of the furthest corner and McGregory turned the turret slightly aft to line up his third target. The Hummel was trying to turn its frontal armour toward their gun but it was too slow. McGregory’s first shot hit low on the right flank of the artillery, dislodging a track, rendering the vehicle immovable. The crew knew only too well that they were doomed and quickly evacuated.

As McGregory lined up his next shot to finish off the third Hummel, five high ranking officers exited the farm house to investigate the commotion. Seeing them, Francome realised that here were the brains of the entire operation. The commander of the Maubeuge assault had based himself there. In an instant Francome popped the turret hatch and grabbed the mounted machine gun. Before any of the German officers could move he had unleashed dozens of rounds into them, rendering them all as inert as the three Hummels they had decommissioned already.

Francome threw back his head and laughed a victorious laugh. He swivelled to and fro firing at the dishevelled German troops who were too stunned by the attack of the Tetrarch to know what to do.

The Tetrarch rounded the farm house and McGregory loosed another round into the fuel tank of the fourth Hummel. The ruptured fuel tank caused the hull to catch fire and burn fiercely. Four out of six artillery lay completely destroyed. The fifth Hummel was on the other side of the farm house to the Tetrarch and the sixth on the further side of a second farm house. Any further thoughts toward pursuing the last two targets stopped as the screech of rending metal followed by a deafening explosion caused everyone’s ears to ring with deafness. The tank spun sharply to the right and stopped, hit by a shell.

Francome turned from his machine gun to see the low profile of a Jagd Panther trained on the Tetrarch from the wooded hills behind the farm. He dropped into the cockpit to see McGregory unconscious. The shell had hit the Tetrarch right under McGregory’s seat. Francome could see McGregory’s right leg was now a bloody pulp and a trickle of blood ran from his nose. He knew his dear friend and comrade was dead. But now timing was critical, the Jagd Panther would need twelve seconds to reload; they had to get out of direct sight.

“Move!” Francome shouted at Underhill.

Neither of them could hear anything except the ringing in their ears. Underhill gestured the track was blown off. They could manage another twenty feet before the track fell off completely, leaving them stranded.  

Francome tried to indicate that it would be enough to get the farm house between them and the tank destroyer. Underhill seemed to understand the flailing arms of his commander and pushed the tank forward slowly. The stone wall to the left of the Tetrarch exploded in a cloud of smoke as a second shot from the Jagd was thwarted by the last minute movement of the British vehicle.

The Tetrarch sat immobilised, parked up next to the stone farm house. Francome knew they had a minute at best and he threw himself into the role of loading the gun and hitting the remaining two targets. The turret rotated to the right and he lined up the Hummel. Both remaining units were dashing for cover now that help was at hand.

Francome was not the ace gunner that McGregory had been. His first shot hit the ground next to the moving Hummel, but was fortunate enough that the splash damage blew off a track. In quick succession he launched two more rounds to finish the fifth Hummel as the crew frantically abandoned their vehicle.

Turning toward the final Hummel Francome suddenly realised it had turned to fire at them. It would take a long time for the Hummel to aim but had no idea how much of a head start they had. He worked feverishly to load the gun. As he raised his head to take aim he heard the unmistakeable ‘Boom’ of the Hummel followed by an audible ‘Whoosh’ and a gust of air that rocked the doomed Tetrarch. Their shot had gone wide.

With a sigh he lined up the final Hummel and sent the last of the German bombardment detachment to the scrap heap with a direct hit to the ammunition rack. The exploding shell caused several shells within the Hummel to detonate, causing so much damage that only the tracks and chassis remained.

Six German Hummels lay in ruins at the hands of the battered Tetrarch. Their beleaguered allies in Maubeuge would have an unmolested path to retreat and so fight another day.

Francome rotated the turret back to the right. The Jagd Panther rounded the barn just as he had swung the gun in that direction. Acting on instinct the noble captain of the Tetrarch fired his round at the tank destroyer, only to see it ricochet off the thick, sloping frontal armour of the villainous foe. It was over. Their tiny gun couldn’t dent the German hunter at the eighty yard range they were at.

Francome ducked out of the turret and blocked his ears as the first of the Jagd Panther shots careened into the turret, mangling it and blocking their only escape in the process.

Captain Peter Francome and Lieutenant Emmanuel Underhill both knew they had about twelve seconds left.

“Cracking job, Lieutenant. Fancy one last cup of tea?” The thermos, dented and beaten, was brought forth.

“Yes please, Captain. I would be honoured.”

[Inspired by the heroic actions of tank commander Luigi Pascucci at the second battle of El Alamein]

Dan Oliver (NZ)

Dan contributes regularly to The Story Mint.