Heronfield Page 2

  Maybe it would have been better for him if he had returned to England by sea with his grandmother.

  3

  The planes dived once more. Their engines screamed like lost souls from hell, and Tony tried to bury himself deeper in the leaf mould. The ground shook and heaved. The chatter of machine guns accompanied the roar of exploding bombs. At the end of the run, the three planes climbed high into the sky. Turning gracefully like three enormous birds of prey, they disappeared into the east. The air was still and quiet for an endless moment of time. Tony tentatively raised his head to look through the branches at the road beyond. For a moment he thought that his ears might have been injured in the raid, for no sound accompanied his vision of people pulling themselves slowly, incredulously, from the ditches and hedges and staring open-mouthed at the devastation. Then the sounds began. Anxious voices calling the names of lost friends and relatives; the moans and cries of the wounded; cries of anguished disbelief from those who found loved ones amongst the dead.

  Tony forced his way through the hedge and onto the road. His feet, guided by instinct rather than thought, led him unerringly to the little boy’s broken body. As he reached the pathetic remains, the child's mother found him, and fell to her knees in shocked silence. A young man, perhaps the boy’s father, laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, as they stared in dry-eyed horror at the child. Sensing that he could be of no use to them, Tony turned away. He looked around at the horrific scenes. There were a number of smoking craters where the bombs had fallen, ripping the road apart. The torn earth was surrounded by bodies, or parts of bodies; broken cases from which personal belongings were strewn; dead animals. Between the craters lay many people, injured or killed either by shrapnel from the exploding bombs or the deadly accurate machine-gun fire that accompanied them. Everywhere was red with the blood of the dead and dying.

  It was a scene of utter carnage. Tony felt sick. Fighting down the nausea, he forced his leaden feet to move, and approached the nearest body to see if he could be of any assistance. It was a woman, her ancient lined face which had seen so much life was streaked with blood and dirt, now peaceful and still in death. He moved on. A man twisted and broken by the force of the explosion which had lifted him and thrown him against a tree; a horse, still in the traces, its hooves pointing in the ugliness of death towards the sky. Then, to his left, Tony heard a baby cry. Spinning round on his heel he heard the cry again, muffled as though something covered it, a strange eerie sound amidst so much death and destruction. For a moment he could not see where the sound came from, was unsure whether he had heard aright, then he saw the edge of a shawl protruding from beneath a woman's body. Carefully he rolled her over, to find a tiny infant clasped tightly to her breast. Loosening the arms of the woman who had died shielding her daughter, he gently lifted the child and looked around, uncertain what to do next. A girl of fifteen, maybe sixteen years of age, gently touched his arm.

  "Parlez-vous francais, Monsieur?"

  Tony nodded, and the girl continued to speak in French.

  "The dead woman is my brother’s wife, he is at the Front with the army. I will care for my niece."

  Tony frowned, his eyes moving constantly between the baby and her dead mother.

  "Monsieur? The child?" The girl held out her arms, and what she was saying finally registered on Tony's traumatized mind. He gently handed the child to the girl, who turned and walked away without another word.

  "God go with you,” Tony whispered to the retreating back.

  The young Englishman did not know how long he spent on the road tearing cloth for bandages, binding wounds, comforting the dying, before he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and looked up into Briggs’ concerned features.

  "Come on Kemshall. We must be going now."

  "But what of these people?" Tony's tired gaze swept the scene of carnage. "There are many more who need help."

  Briggs nodded. "I know. But we must leave them to their own people. I’ve got to get back to my company." His voice was filled with compassion. "Stay if you wish."

  Tony looked around him, his face filled with pain and anguish at the death and destruction which had rained down upon them from the skies, then he shook his head. "No, you’re right. There’s not much I can do here. I'll come with you, and if I can get hold of a gun I'll pay the Germans back for this." He stood up and took a final long, hard look at the carnage around him. His voice was filled with anger and bitterness when he spoke. "I want to remember every detail of what those animals have done. Waging war on innocent refugees who can’t fight back. I’ll remember this and do all that I can to avenge these people."

  His face held an unfamiliar harshness and maturity as he turned and followed Briggs back through the hedge to where the remainder of their small party were waiting. They too had been doing what they could for the injured, each emergency medical kit was empty, and their grim faces told Tony that they all felt the same as he did. Briggs turned and led the small group of Englishmen silently on their way.

  They travelled in saturnine silence for two long hours before Briggs called a halt. A fire was hastily lit and water boiled to brew tea. As they sat, sipping the steaming liquid which revived their tired minds and bodies, the young lieutenant spoke to Tony.

  "Do you plan to join up when you get back, Kemshall?"

  Tony nodded. "Yes. And the name’s Tony. After what we have been through together today, formality seems so unimportant." His face was grim. "But yes, I intend to fight the Germans. The war seemed so clinical to me back in England, almost like a story from the books I read as a child, but to have seen what we have seen today fills me with anger and hatred. If we came across the Germans now I would fight them with you, Briggs, never mind the formality of joining up."

  "I'm James, Jim." Tony smiled and nodded in acknowledgement but said nothing as Briggs continued. "I was impressed by the way you handled yourself today. Never having been in action before, you must have found it frightening, yet you handled it like a veteran."

  Tony nodded. "I’m not ashamed to admit that I was scared, but my anger was greater." He finished his mug of tea and rose to his feet. "Shall we get moving, Jim? The sooner we join up with your company, the sooner I can begin fighting."

  They had not been on the move for long when they noticed a change in the movements of the refugees on the road. The exodus to the west slowed then stopped. People stood around in small groups talking and gesticulating wildly; many looked westwards along the road then back towards the east from whence they had come, all looked confused and unsure of the direction which they should take.

  Jim Briggs looked westwards, but could see nothing that might possibly be responsible for the confusion of the refugees.

  "Something must be happening." He turned towards the low stone wall which formed the border between the field they were crossing and the road. "You men wait here, and I'll see what I can find out."

  "Do you want me to come with you? You might need someone who can speak French."

  "That's all right Tony, I'll manage," Jim replied in perfect French, and Tony smiled as he watched the young officer vault the wall. Jim spoke for a time with an old man who gesticulated wildly first to the east and then to the west then, with a shrug which seemed to say 'so what do we do now?' he fell silent. Jim spent long moments gazing westwards, a frown of concentration furrowing his brow, then he turned to look over his shoulder to the east and distant Dunkirk. After a few moments he nodded, as though concluding an argument with himself and coming to a decision. Vaulting the wall once more, he made his way back to the small group of men waiting for him, and began to speak as soon as he reached them.

  "There’s a rumour that the Germans have reached a place called Noyelles."

  "An' where the bloody 'ell is that?"

  Jim smiled grimly. "That, Phillips, is on the coast to the west of us."

  "But I thought the enemy were coming down the coast from the east?" Tony frowned; he did not like the way things were turnin
g out.

  Jim nodded in answer to his comment. "That's right, but apparently they’ve swung round to the south of us and then pushed up to the coast at Noyelles."

  They were silent for a moment, each thinking the same as his companions, but not one of them daring to speak. At last Watson broke the silence.

  "That means that the whole British Expeditionary Force is surrounded."

  Jim nodded. "That’s assuming that the rumour is correct. I don't think we should rejoin the company with nothing but unsubstantiated rumours to report, so I intend that we go back westwards and find out what is really happening. Tony," he turned to the only civilian in their group as he spoke, "I suggest that you continue towards Dunkirk, and we'll meet up with you there."

  Tony shook his head. "No. I'm coming with you." He turned to look at the bewildered refugees as he spoke. "At least we have somewhere to aim for, but what about them? They left their homes to escape from the Germans only to find the enemy waiting for them down the road. Where do they go now?"

  Where indeed? Few people were now moving on the road. Some stood in silent bewilderment, many sat on their packs and cases, heads bowed in despair. Women wept as they thought of the long miles they had covered, all for nothing; children lay in the road too tired to do anything but sleep.

  Private Smith shook his head sadly. "The only thing we can do to help them is to push the Jerries back out of France." He turned to Jim. "Shall we get moving then, sir?"

  Jim nodded silently and led them back along the way they had come.

  They had been on the move for less than an hour the when they heard an ominous rumbling sound.

  "What's that?" Phillips looked puzzled. "Sounds a bit like a train, but I don't think it is though."

  Watson nodded. "I've heard that sound before. Tanks. Either they’re ours or that rumour’s true."

  Jim led them away from the road and into a small wood some fifty yards further on. As they crouched in the undergrowth the rumble became louder. The squeal of metal grating on the surface of the road accompanied the sound then, above the brow of the hill, the muzzle of a gun appeared. The long slender gun barrel was closely followed by the main body of the tank, and the few refugees left on the road fled before it. A moment of sick fear filled Tony, would the tanks attack helpless civilians as the planes had done? But no, the tanks continued along the road as though the refugees did not exist, the turret hatches were thrown back and the commanders rode with their heads and shoulders in the fresh air, to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the Panzer’s interior. The commanders paid little attention to their surroundings, and Tony realised that they must believe themselves to be invincible to be moving so swiftly through enemy territory, without fear of reprisals from either the French or the British. He counted twenty tanks as they breasted the hill and made their swift way eastwards. As the last one passed them, Jim turned tight-lipped towards his new comrade.

  "The bloody nerve of them.” He was angry, partly at the attitude of the Germans but also at his own helplessness. "By God, I wish we could do something."

  Tony nodded. "You’re right. We have to do something, not only to show them that we might not be as easily dismissed as they think, but also because now that they’ve passed us we are behind enemy lines. We’ve got to get past them to rejoin our own army."

  Phillips was obviously afraid at the thought of being cut off, and Watson laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  "Don't worry, lad. Those tanks are sticking to the road. We can bypass them through the fields."

  Jim nodded. "We'll get in front of them and then try to lay some kind of ambush. I know there are only four of us..."

  "Five," interrupted Tony. "I intend to fight as well."

  Jim perused him thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded. "...only five of us, but if we find the right place and plan the action correctly, we should be able to make an impact." He watched the tanks advancing swiftly along the road. "If we want to pass them we'd better get moving, or we'll never catch up with them."

  Tony felt a cold knot of fear in his stomach. It was one thing to say in the heat of the moment that he was willing to fight, but quite another to lie here concealed beneath a hedge, grenade in hand, awaiting his first participation in an action in which he might actually be killed. The small company had passed the tanks soon after midday, while the crews were stopped to eat. Phillips had wanted to attack them there while the crews were out in the open, but there had been no cover for the Englishmen and it would have been suicidal, so Jim led them on.

  Some two miles further along, the narrow road, now flanked by tall trees, took a sharp bend to the left, concealing the way ahead. Jim ordered two of the trees to be felled by grenades about thirty yards from the bend and the road was soon blocked by their leafy bulk. When the tanks came round the bend, they would have to stop either to move the trees or to find a way around them. That was when the Englishmen would attack. Each soldier lay concealed, a grenade in his hand and a rifle by his side. Tony still had no gun, but Jim gave him two grenades. 'Just treat them like cricket balls’ he said, 'aim for the tracks as though they’re wickets. That way I should hope that we could cripple at least a couple of them.' Tony now nervously licked his dry lips and waited, hoping fervently that he would not let his new friend down. He did not have long to wait.

  The heavy squeal of metal on tarmac soon reached them and, moments later, the first of the enemy tanks rounded the bend. Seeing the obstruction the vehicle halted, those following drawing up close behind. Three tanks were fully round the corner and the officers reviewed the scene. The leading commander leant down into the turret to consult his driver at the very moment that Jim leapt to his feet and threw the first grenade. It took the tank square on the front axle, and the resulting explosion rocked the vehicle dangerously but did not overturn it.

  Tony found himself leaping to his feet and throwing his grenade with the others. He could feel his heart thumping rapidly as adrenalin flooded his system, washing away the fear and replacing it with a strange exhilaration. He was doing something positive at last! He watched as the first of his grenades hit the second tank a little too high to do much damage, but his second throw was much more accurate and he saw the projectile fall on the tank tracks, shattering a couple of the links. The air above him was suddenly filled with smoke and shrapnel from the other grenades, and he dived for cover, the exhilaration of being part of the action now beginning to give way to a creeping fear as he found himself unarmed and unable to do more to inflict damage on the enemy. The British soldiers, hands free now that their grenades had been thrown, took up their rifles and began to fire at the commanders of the Panzers, who were retreating into the turrets which turned inexorably towards their attackers. The machine guns positioned on the front of the hulls began to chatter, bullets smashing violently through the hedge which concealed the five men.

  Rifles cracked to his right and left, and Tony fervently wished that he had one too and could do more than just lie there impotently watching as the skirmish unfolded. His mouth was dry, his hands shaking and his breath coming in ragged pants as he watched Jim beside him, firing rapidly and with great accuracy at the machine gun slits. His face was a mask of concentration, yet he still had time to speak.

  "All three have been damaged to some extent, and we can’t do anything more now that they have the lids on those things. It's time we were going." He rose to his knees as he spoke. "Come on lads, let's get out of here." His voice was loud enough for all of the party to hear. "Stay parallel to the hedge, and for God’s sake keep your heads down!"

  Watson led off, closely followed by Smith, then Tony and Jim with Phillips bringing up the rear. The machine guns still raked the hedges, shattering branches in the process, and Tony felt a large splinter embed itself in his cheek. With his head hunched low between his shoulders and blood trickling from his cheek he followed the man in front as quickly as he could. None of them saw the 75mm gun of the first tank being brought to bear, the fi
rst they knew of it was the report of the gun firing, then the ground in front of them rising up in a cloud of earth and debris. In front of him Tony saw Smith stumble and fall to his knees, and beyond him the sickening sight of Watson, a large bloody hole in the centre of his chest and sightless eyes staring at the sky. He stopped in his tracks, head spinning and bile rising in his throat. This was a man he knew, a man who had been vibrant and alive seconds before, now lifeless and still in a spreading pool of blood. Tony felt himself beginning to shake as his body reacted to the excitement, fear and horror of the previous few minutes, minutes in which he had experienced more than in many a year of his previous existence. He felt his knees beginning to weaken and crumble. He wanted to sit down and weep.

  "For God's sake keep moving, or we're all done for!" Jim's voice reached Tony as though from a great distance, yet it brought the civilian back to reality and he took a deep breath, ready to move on. "Pick up Watson's gun. I'll deal with Smith!"