“OK lads, time to head back to base,” said Captain Francome, putting the radio receiver down.
He and his crew were scouting, searching the eastern front for signs of approaching forces. Tension mounted rapidly when they were performing such suicidal duties, so the call to return was like a pressure release valve; especially when the scouting had revealed no enemy activity. It would be unlikely for the German armoured forces to waste time manoeuvring this far north when they had the allies on the run.
“Righto, Cap,” replied the driver, Lieutenant Emmanuel Underhill. “If we head over the next ridge, we can follow the rail line back to base.”
“Good. Carry on.” Francome was eager to join the main forces. Following the rail line would allow them to move faster. Their vehicle, a British Tetrarch tank, was a light armoured vehicle with a capable 12-cylinder engine. It was designed for speed, and had sacrificed armour to stay nimble. He and his crew, which also included a gunner, had been together for only a couple of months, but they were starting to function together as mechanically as the vehicle itself.
The vehicle was due to return to a small reconnaissance base at a train station north of the French town of Maubeuge. The Allies were putting up a big fight at Maubeuge to hold up the German advance. The train station had major rail lines that headed east but then bent around to the south. The concern of the Allied command was that the Germans would follow these rail lines north to surround Maubeuge.
“I guess they were right,” sighed the third crew member, Second Lieutenant Graham McGregory. “Naught pushing north, the Bosch are in a hurry to get to Paris so they’re heading in a straight line.”
Francome reached for his thermos full of hot tea as he replied, “it would have to…” His response was cut off by the tank lurching forward and down. It landed with a jolt on solid ground and the cockpit plunged into silence as the engine cut off.
“Blimey, Manny! Aren’t you watching where you’re going?” intoned McGregory.
“What the bloody hell happened, Manny?” called Francome.
“Sorry, Cap’n, I don’t know,” Underhill was perplexed. “I guess we’ve gone over a lip that I didn’t see. We were less than 20 yards from the rail bridge.”
“Damn it!” Francome knew it wouldn’t be just a simple reconnaissance mission. They never were. “Well, we’d better take a look.”
***********
“Track’s off,” muttered Underhill. As a tank driver, he was also an on-board engineer and had been chosen as a driver for his technical prowess. “Easy fix, but I think one of the axel’s a little bent.”
The tank had careened over a sheer drop. It was only 12 feet but enough to cause damage. They were travelling at full speed and landed in dense scrub beneath the rail bridge.
“What’s that mean, Manny?” asked McGregory.
“Just need time to remount it, but we’ll only be able to hobble along at about sixty per cent of our top speed, say around twenty two miles per hour.”
The Tetrarch was a squat tank with four distinct sets of track wheels. The turret sat high on the tank, but it was mounted with a 40mm gun that could shoot rounds very quickly. The sleek metal body sat stranded like a beached whale in the gully.
“I’ll have to radio our position to base,” said Francome. “Manny, get on with repairs. I don’t want to linger here, especially if we can’t move very fast.”
"Aye, Cap."
“Greggy, I need you to try and cover any tracks that are out in the open, and then get up on that bridge to keep a watch.”
“Sir!”
The two crew members jumped to action. It was Francome’s decisiveness in such situations that earned him the trust of his team. Deep anxiety was setting in on the tank commander – the atmosphere was tense and he knew they had to get going as soon as possible.
*************
“All done, Cap,” shouted Underhill.
McGregory heard him from the bridge and he felt relieved. He felt uneasy the longer they stayed still. He wandered back to the bank of the river and out of the corner of his eye caught something move in the distance. He stood and surveyed the terrain to the south of the bridge. His blood froze; there was no mistaking what he could see. Less than a mile from their position, trees in the valley were falling like domino. The trail of destruction was clearly heading their way. German armoured vehicles were coming and they meant to surround Maubeuge after all.
“Sir! Sir!” McGregory charged down the hill.
“Yes?” Francome had just pulled out his thermos to have the tea that had eluded him so far.
“Vehicles approaching from the south, heading right this way!” No sooner had the words left McGregory’s mouth than a loud boom echoed across the plains, startling birds from the fields into the air en mass.
“That’s Hummel fire,” said Francome without hesitation. “They’re about to begin another assault on Maubeuge.” The German Hummel was a menacing self-propelled gun that was used for artillery support. They would shell the city for a short while before the main forces attacked directly. Francome threw his thermos to Underhill and rushed up the bank, unstrapping his binoculars as he went. As he came to the top of the rise, he slowed and carefully peered over the top.
Underhill and McGregory waited for what seemed an age before Francome descended. The look on his face said more than the others needed to know.
“I couldn’t see how many,” Francome reported, “but there are Tigers coming, heading for this bridge.”
The name Tiger filled the crew with a sense of foreboding. Far superior to the allied tanks, the Tiger was fast and deadly. Dread and helplessness descended like fog. For the two young soldiers, Francome’s voice brought a touch of reality.
“Quick, hide under the Tetrarch!” Francome didn’t have much hope, but his words got Underhill and McGregory moving.
************
The dense scrub in which the Tetrarch sat, and the speed with which the Germans were rolling, kept the tank well hidden. The three man crew watched nervously as twenty Tigers sped across the rail bridge. The men started to emerge from under the vehicle as the last unit passed overhead. Suddenly it stopped and the crew from the Tetrarch went scrambling back underneath the hull and held their breaths. A German solider appeared from the turret of theTiger and jumped to the ground.
Another German soldier appeared from the tank and called to his comrade. In response, the first soldier patted the pistol on his belt. He walked slowly back toward the section of the bridge where they lay.
Only McGregory had a clear view of the soldier.
“He’s coming this way. Don’t move!” McGregory hissed to the others.
The soldier advanced cautiously, never taking his eyes from the general direction of the Tetrarch. As he came nearer, the tank obscured his view of the anxious crew.
It took every ounce of self-control to remain still when they heard the unmistakeable sound of boots on metal. Evidently the solider had lowered himself from the bridge onto the stranded tank. For what seemed an age, the solider remained atop the Tetrarch’s hull, until the voice of the second solider, still at the Tiger, broke the silent stand-off.
“Nein, hat es aufgegeben!” replied the soldier, and, to the relief of the crew, he climbed back onto the bridge and moved back to his own vehicle. The Tiger growled into motion and sped off.
The Tetrarch crew members waited before emerging from their hideout.
“What do we do now, Captain?” asked Underhill.
The silence that followed was punctuated by the booming of Hummel battery in the distance.
Dan Oliver (NZ)
copyright Dan Oliver 2013
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