“Ja. With you in zwei minuten. Out.” He smiled to himself. Fluent in German already.
He checked in with the gun-group before running at a crouch further north, where, with the help of a Royal Engineer digger, they had prepared their defences. He stood by the trench alongside a bespectacled young officer, Leutnant Bieber, who was observing his men adding the last-minute touches to their defensive positions. Further along, he could just make out the rest of the German trenches. Strictly speaking, should Lieutenant Wesley-Jones, who he had come to respect, for an officer that is, be killed, this German officer would be in command. Over my dead body were his personal thoughts.
“Ah, Korporal. Danke. The… digger, sehr gut.”
“You’re welcome, mate… ah, sir.”
His radio crackled and he listened to the message, a hollow feeling in his stomach and it wasn’t from hunger. Radar had picked up the movement of vehicles indicating an attack on their position was likely.
“There’s movement out there, sir, I suggest you get your men under cover.”
“Yes, Korporal. My men have nearly finished.”
They heard the whine of the projectiles as they passed overhead, the detonations shaking the ground as they exploded. Corporal Carter instantly held his breath as another salvo landed fifty metres to their front. Carter peeled his helmet off, picked his respirator from its case and pulled it over his face, tightening the thin green elastic straps as he shouted at the top of his voice. “Gas. Gas. Gas.” He then dropped into the trench close by.
Bieber had thrown himself to the ground. Most of his men pressed their bodies as close to the bottom of their hole as possible.
“Get your fucking masks on!” he yelled at the shocked troops. “It might be fucking gas! Masks on… Jezt, now. Schnell.”
The Leutnant scrambled towards them on his hands and knees, seeking the protection of their defences. He suddenly collapsed as violent spasms racked his body. A bout of violent coughing ensued, the delicate membranes of his lungs stripped by the burning toxins that were now encroaching on his body. Another salvo rocked the area, the entire quarter to their south being bracketed by the blast of at least twenty 152mm rounds. Bieber was engulfed by a fit of coughing, his body desperate to clear the ever increasing flood of fluid and mucus that was slowly filling his lungs, drowning him. He thrashed about, panic setting in as blood rather than air passed out of his lungs, their facility to give him life-saving oxygen now eaten away.
Carter checked his mask and hood was secure, then climbed out of the trench, crawling over to the stricken soldier. The Leutnant continued to thrash about, arms flailing as Carter, and another German soldier who had joined him, tried to calm him down. The soldier was wide-eyed himself, stricken with fear as he saw the bulging eyes and red foam frothing from his officer’s mouth, yet relieved that he had been spared the misery he was now witnessing. Bieber’s face turned purple then blue as he fought for air. Small fluid-filled blisters formed on his face as the officer’s body gave one final shudder, the last movement before he evacuated his bowels.
Corporal Carter looked at the soldier who had come to assist him, mask-less and already starting to cough and show signs of the effects of the blister agent. The Soviets had chosen well. The blister gas would not kill all the soldiers. Many who were affected would survive, but be blinded, ill and needing urgent treatment; placing a drain on the already swamped British and German medical resources and the soldiers around them. He moved back to the trench, there was nothing else he could do. Man’s inhumanity to man was well known, but had not been witnessed first-hand by all. These young soldiers had been confronted by hell, and what they had witnessed frightened them. Some felt ashamed that they had, in the past, sneered at their NBC training, joking about it. Complaining about the itchy suits, the ridiculous over boots, the hot suffocating masks. Now they looked at the consequence of getting it wrong.
Chapter 28
Colour Sergeant Rose checked his watch again, and once more removed the magazine from his SLR rifle. Checking the rounds were secure and the magazine housing was clean, he clicked it back into place.
“It’s four in the morning and your SLR is still loaded, Colour.”
The sergeant laughed. “This bloody waiting is doing my head in. Why haven’t they attacked? Do you think they’re having problems near Gronau, sir? Maybe they’ve been diverted to provide support over there,” he said, pointing west in the direction of the fought-over riverside town.
Lieutenant Russell thought for a moment. “There’s a pretty heavy artillery barrage in the vicinity of the river. They’re certainly up to something. We have them penned in, but the OC says they’re pushing back hard. Anyway, there’s nothing to stop them coming west towards us. And, beyond that, we’re all that’s in their way.”
“That’s a sobering thought. It’ll be today then you reckon, sir?”
They heard a rustle behind them as one of the platoon brought them both a drink. Although the weather was mild, there was always something comforting about cupping a mug of tea in your hands; the sugary scent of hot, sweet tea. They were in the middle of a raging war, yet somehow, for a few moments, Dean felt quite relaxed. He and most of his men had got through one battle. There was no reason why they wouldn’t get through the next.
“One-One-Alpha, this is Zero-Alpha.”
The signaler passed the handset to his platoon commander.
“One-One-Alpha, go ahead. Over.”
“We have movement east of Gronau, and the airborne are getting restless west of Benstort. Over.”
“Roger that, sir. Do you have a direction? Over.”
“Negative. But I suspect they are heading in your direction.”
“Numbers? Over.”
“Estimate a battalion-minus. Call sign Zero-Bravo are in contact, Hemmendorf. Zero-Delta will try to support you. Over.”
“Roger that, sir.”
“Hang in there, Dean. We’ll get you some backup as soon as we are able. Out.”
Dean returned the handset to his signaler and placed his map on the earthen berm in front of him, using a shielded torch as the light was still dim. It was now four-ten.
“Looks like they are going to press ahead in between Benstort and Hemmendorf. Maybe they intend to use the road for a quick move.”
“I think you might be right, Colour. It’s a shame we don’t know how many BMDs they will have. Don’t suppose you remember your Soviet order of battle, do you?”
“Parachuting in… I reckon they will have at least a dozen. We are probably looking at a full battalion heading our way. We’re slightly outnumbered, sir.”
“I think you’re right, but maybe nearer twenty-plus BMDs. The RAF and the Rapiers took some of their transport aircraft out, but they seem to have been dropping a fair few.”
“Well, judging by the noise coming from Hemmendorf, the Green Jackets are definitely in contact.”
“They’re trying to expand the ground they hold. They had a bit of a battering from our Gunners yesterday.”
“Yes, but Gunners switching to the other side of the river gave the Sovs a breather.”
“Too many targets, too few assets.”
“At least the Jaeger unit will give them a small surprise when they come our way.”
“It’s lucky they came along, sir. We should have a company if not a battalion defending this piece of ground.”