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This is a work of fiction.

Just One Shot: Blood Rage
Copyright 2011 – Stephen Redgwell

Prologue

By May 1940, things were not going well for the British and her allies in Europe.

In September 1939, the British Expeditionary Force or BEF, commanded by John Standish Surtees Prendergast Vereker (Lord Gort) was sent to France to help stop the Germans from invading Western Europe. The British massed on the French-Belgian border in anticipation of the arrival of the German army from the east. They worked for months preparing defensive positions and strategies to stop them, but were unsuccessful.

The British got their first taste of the German ‘Blitzkrieg’, or lightning war, when the Battle of France began in early May, 1940. Rapid, motorized troop movements, new weapons, the introduction of radios and other new technology into battle vehicles, combined with Luftwaffe air strikes was too much for the defenders to withstand.

As a result of the power of the German Army, the British, French and Belgians were pushed back to the English Channel. The infamous evacuation of Dunkirk (Operation Dynamo) began on 26 May and lasted until 4 June.

No one could stop the Germans from driving their enemy to the sea. The best they could hope for was an expedited retreat and repatriation to England. To help accomplish an orderly withdrawal, small groups of the BEF harassed the advancing Germans and gathered intelligence about the their command, equipment and numbers.

France would fall to the Germans by the end of June. Britain would face a direct attack on their island a month later with the start of the Battle of Britain in July. The Battle of Britain was an air war between the German Luftwaffe and the Royal Air Force.

This story is about the efforts of three scouts in May 1940, immediately before and during the withdrawal to Dunkirk. Two of these men would later be assigned to No 3 Commando, a new unit that was stood up in July 1940. It was the bravery of men like this that helped win World War Two.
---

The Brigadier’s Briefing

“Colonel Mitchell, I expect your people to offer considerable resistance to the German advance. Lord Gort held them at bay, but needs assistance. The British Expeditionary Force and the French cannot manage it alone. I fear that it is only a matter of time before the Germans break through and take France.”

Brigadier Clement was anyways the bearer of difficult news.

“We will not be able to stop their advance, despite what the politicians expect. Yours is a strategic placement. Some of the brigade will harass the Germans; others will scout. It’s unclear exactly which of the enemy commanders are involved. Your job is twofold: Buy some time for an orderly withdrawal. Gort hasn’t ordered it yet, but you can be assured it will happen. We’ll have to funnel our people out of France through Dunkirk.”

Clement leaned across the desk and said,

“You also need to gather as much intelligence as possible about their numbers, support, etc. You’re going to lose some people, Colonel.”

“When don’t we, sir? We’ll get what you want. What is the plan to get my men out of France?”

The Brigadier stared straight at Mitchell.

“There is none. You will have to arrange something with the Resistance. As it stands, the main body of the Expeditionary Force may have to move to the coast sometime soon. Several of your scouts will have to lag behind, and will be on their own.

Colonel, Lord Gort stands firmly between a rock and a hard place, as the Americans say. London is after him for results; Churchill is our new Prime Minister. The French commander, General Gamelin, has been replaced. Everyone expects that the BEF and the French can stop the Germans somehow. Lord Gort has managed to hold them off at Arras, but for how long? He sustained a lot of casualties and reinforcements are few. Do what you can. Pick your best scouts. We need that intelligence if we expect to gain a foot hold on the Continent again.”

The Scout Briefing

Sgt Major Blunt brought the three to attention and marched them into the colonel’s office.

“Stand them easy, Sgt Major. I’ll be conducting the briefing today. The Intelligence officer is away in London.”



Colonel Mitchell stood up and walked out from behind his desk. The assignment was nasty and many men would die, but the war was going badly and bold strokes were needed to turn things around. It would start with the delay of the German advance on the border. He looked at the three men and said,

“Your attention here, gentlemen.” The colonel motioned them over to a map opened on his desk.

“Very shortly, members of this battalion will begin harassing the Germans as they move toward France. From what we know, they have several thousand troops, supported by tanks and artillery.”

Mitchell traced the battle line with his finger and pointed towards France.

“Given its strategic importance, you can bet that the SS is around as well. The German units are all experienced and have been told to take this territory at all costs.”

The colonel turned to the senior scout, Sgt. Bradley Evens.

“Evens, I’ve got a nasty one for you. Your job is straightforward, but difficult. You have to find their main HQ.”

Colonel Mitchell pointed to the map and started moving his finger over the German held area.

“I want to know where it is, who’s there, and how well it’s defended. I want you to record the comings and goings of their messengers, and any senior officers, in order to determine exactly who we’re dealing with. You will have to contact the Resistance to get back home. There’s no expected evacuation route. Understood?”

“Yes sir.”

Col. Mitchell turned to the next scout in line.

“Fleet, I want you to determine their layout, around Maulde. I want to know where the Germans are located, northeast of there. I want numbers – artillery, tanks and troop concentrations. They must cross rivers and canals, so you can be sure that they have consolidated some of their assets to accomplish this. I want maps, drawings and raw numbers. Do not engage anyone unless your life is threatened. I need the counts. Questions?”

“Just one, sir,” Sgt Fleet pointed at the map, tapping his finger on several bridge and canal crossings. “Their guns and troops will gradually move closer. Most of the bridges have been destroyed. It will be thick with Jerrys for miles in both directions. Do you want information about any bridges that are no longer operable?”

The colonel nodded and looked directly at Sgt Fleet. “Yes. Some will be rebuilt. You three are to work out any of the small details – crossing points; rendezvous areas and times. Do what you do best, bang heads and formulate a plan.”

That left Cpl Landers. He waited patiently for the colonel to finish with the others, then turned to face the colonel.
---

Just One Shot: Blood Rage
Copyright 2011 – Stephen Redgwell


Two Canadian Scouts - WWII

The Scout Briefing – Continued

“Landers, your assignment is simple. You will do the same as Fleet, determine the layout. You will get me troop counts, concentrations, gun and tank locations and any command and control bunkers, but you will be south of Maulde. Fleet will be north.”

“Will do, sir.”

“I’m not finished. I also want you to use your talents and take out as many local commanders as you can. The Germans will be driving west into France. I want to take out some of their leadership. But listen, this must be done discretely. No noise and no clues. It would be best if it appeared as if the Germans themselves did the deed. Revenge, hate for officers, whatever…”

“My pleasure, sir.”

“I thought it would be.” The colonel walked over to the young Canadian, and stopped inches from his face. He stared directly into Lander’s eyes and spoke in a low, uncharacteristically sinister voice. “Listen to me; I cannot overemphasize how important it is that whatever you do is done quietly and as randomly as possible. Knives, poison, asphyxiation, whatever. No shooting. Don’t bugger this up! I do not want to hear that a British soldier was seen behind enemy lines! I will not tolerate any nonsense.”

Landers ignored the threat, politely correcting the colonel.

“I think you mean that you do not want to hear that a Canadian soldier was seen behind enemy lines, don’t you sir? Have no fear, I can be the model of subtlety. What about suicide? I thought their officers liked to shoot themselves when the Fuhrer was disappointed with their performance.”

Sgt Evens glared at Cpl Landers and shook his head. That was his way of telling the corporal not to push his luck. Colonel Mitchell scowled at the Canadian, reinforcing his order. “Suicide is fine, but you will do it quietly!”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s all, Landers.” The Canadian came to attention and stared straight forward. Colonel Mitchell noticed the grin on Lander’s face, but said nothing.

Mitchell thought the whole affair bizarre. Landers was good at what he did, but he did not care for the young man. He disliked the English, the Germans and officers of any kind. It was always best to leave him and the rest of the scouts to their own devices. As much as he disliked Landers, he produced results and that was the important thing.

Colonel Mitchell concluded the meeting.

“Gentlemen, I expect to hear from all of you no later than 1000 hrs, next Tuesday. You have seven days. No more. I want results. Dismissed.”
---

Scouts

Sgt Brad Evens could hardly contain himself and was the first to speak when they got outside.

“Steve, your mouth is gonna land you in hot water sooner than later! For [bleep] sake, you know the colonel doesn’t like you. Why do you insist on pissing him off at every turn?”

Landers just smiled and said he had to put up with men like Mitchell. He didn’t have to like them.

Sgt Evens changed the subject. “[bleep] me! There are only three of us moving around amongst thousands of Germans. How are we going to get in and find out what the colonel wants?”

No one said a word.

Half an hour later, the three men sat in front of a fire, discussing how they were going to accomplish their taskings. Evens was still upset. He disliked the colonel as much as Landers. He thought his orders were reckless and was angry that the dangerous jobs always fell on him. Stephen Landers was the first to speak up.

“For Christ sake Brad, Mitchell doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t have it in for you. In fact, he could care less if Sgt Bradley Evens lives or dies. One thing he does expect though is that you’ll do what he wants. He’s a company man for sure. Forfeit your life for King and country, says the old man. [bleep]’ British officers.”

Bob Fleet chimed in. “Don’t you mean, ‘[bleep]’ Canadian officers’? If you recall, Captain Chapman is responsible for our training. Seems to me, he’s from some place in Canada. Toronto, I think. He’s the one that makes the recommendations for staffing and jobs.”

Landers defended his countryman. “Hey, didn’t you volunteer for this scouting [bleep]? Chapman didn’t send you. You opened your mouth and got yourself sent away, long before he got assigned to the battalion. You should be grateful. He’s managed to keep your sorry English ass alive despite Mitchell’s attempts to end things early!”

The three talked, argued and plotted for the better part of two hours before they settled on a plan. Evens, the senior man and the one given the job of finding the German HQ, concluded the meeting with, “Get the [bleep] to bed! We leave at 0400 hrs tomorrow.”

That was the last night the three would spend together.
---

Just One Shot: Blood Rage - Pt 3
Copyright 2011 – Stephen Redgwell


Two CDN snipers - WWII. The fellow holding the rifle, a No 4T,
a Lee Enfield sniper rifle, is Sgt. Harold Marshall of the Calgary Highlanders.

Early next morning, the three men got ready to leave. If all went to plan, they would meet in a week and report to Colonel Mitchell. It was vital that they brief him on what they saw. The information was desperately needed .

Fleet and Landers were worried about their friend, Brad Evens. He got little time off and his assignments weighed heavily on his health. Long before yesterday’s briefing with Colonel Mitchell, the two saw cracks appearing in his mental armour. He needed time off, but the war wasn’t going to let that happen.

Both men understood how the pressure nagged at you. A scout usually worked alone. He needed to move quickly and quietly without others tagging along and messing up the works.

While all scouts were trained in bush craft, the best ones grew up on farms. They seemed to know instinctively what to do. Hunting and tracking skills seemed to come naturally to farm boys.

Landers and Fleet shared that common bond. Both were raised in the country, suspicious of city folks and authority figures. Neither realized it, but their rural roots made a good foundation for scout work. Bob Fleet came from Cornwall in southwestern England, where his family raised sheep and taunted London tourists. Landers grew up in Ontario, Canada and wrestled pigs and dairy cattle. Despite growing up in different places and wrangling different animals, they clicked from the first moment they met.

Brad Evens was also from Cornwall. He was born in a village called Redruth. His father was a baker, trying to feed six kids and make a living. Until Evens joined the army, he had never been more than ten miles away from home.

Sgt Evens spoke first.

“Well lads, I’m off to find the Jerry that’s responsible for this mess. When I find him, they’d best give me a medal! I’ll add it to the collection. The King must owe me two or three dozen of the [bleep]’ things by now!”

Fleet laughed and wished him luck. Landers said that the colonel always gave Evens the plum assignments. He also said that when they got back he expected free beer for a month.

Evens walked down the dirt road towards whatever awaited him. Fleet and Landers watched until he disappeared on the horizon. That was the last time they would see their friend.

Landers was first to say something. “Bob, maybe we can meet in the middle of Amiens when we’re done. It seems like the perfect spot.”

“Not with the Germans on holiday there, I’m not! Thanks just the same. After we’re done, we should meet up south of Amiens. We’ll have to find the Resistance to get home.”

“That’s alright with me, Bob. I was just joking about meeting in town. We’ll put off the rendezvous until after the war.”

Fleet looked at his friend and said, “The only thing that concerns me is getting east of Maulde. That whole area is thick with Jerrys. Once we pass the front line and are on their side, odds are better that we can move around undetected, despite these uniforms. They won’t expect to see us.”

Landers laughed and said, “No worries, Bob. You’re right. It’s busy at the front. Stealth will win the day. Besides, they’ll be too busy drinking all that French wine to be bothered with us.”
---

A scout travels light. Most carry a map, field book, binoculars, one or two knives, a small flashlight, matches or a lighter to start a fire and a rifle. Both Landers and Fleet used a specially designed small pack – a 10”x 3”x 6” canvas bag – with numerous inner and outer pockets to carry whatever was needed.

By his very nature, a scout has to be inventive and adapt to whatever situations he encounters. He acts alone, gathering intelligence and harassing the enemy when ordered to do so. He is a volunteer, selected for his character, physique, intelligence and education. He must have good eyesight, excellent hearing, be self-confident, and able to take the initiative. Some, like Stephen Landers, were also trained as snipers.

A scout must move around skillfully, making use of any sort of ground. He must instinctively know and employ any weapons at his disposal like rifles, handguns, bayonets or knives. That includes improvising, when the situation warrants. Rope, sticks, farm tools, burlap sacks and other things have been used by men on the job.

Every scout receives training on estimating distance, troop sizes and numbers. He must continually watch for movement, for any curious or unnatural objects and be able to keep them under observation once seen.

No scout can be effective without learning the three Cs – Cover, Concealment and Camouflage. They keep him safe and able to observe his surroundings silently.

When he has gathered the required information, he reports to the Intelligence Officer, who answers directly to the Commanding Officer.
---

Just One Shot: Blood Rage – Pt 4
Copyright 2011 – Stephen Redgwell



12 Miles Ain’t Far

Landers and Fleet headed northeast from camp, towards the crossing point. The first half of the trip was pretty relaxed; they talked about home, their favourite beers and living the life of leisure after the war was over.

“You know Steve, I vacationed in Germany once, before the war. I doubt that I’ll go back though. Too many [bleep] memories. I don’t hate the German people, but it will be hard to look any of them in the eye after all this. Adolf did a fine job of buggering up the country. I hope I live to see him hang!”

Landers missed Canada. “All I want to do is go home. Don’t take this the wrong way Bob, but I don’t like it here. I know it’s the war and all, but I’m fed up with His Majesty’s military travel plan. There’s a large city back home called Toronto, I despise it, but I’d rather be there.”

The two walked for another hour without saying anything. They had been on the move for about three hours when they heard a German speaking quietly in some trees less than 50 yards away.

The two men dropped silently to the ground behind a large tree. “What’s he saying, Steve?”

“It sounds like they are scouts. They are trying to decide which way to go. Do they turn back or go south and gather more information about the British troop on this side of the river.”

The two listened intently for another five minutes when Landers whispered,

“There are three of them. One man is heading south and the other two are going back to their lines. They plan to leave when it gets dark. Bob, they don’t know we’re here. Let’s take them out.”

The Germans talked for another few minutes and then the forest went quiet. Landers whispered that the scout going south would be leaving very shortly. Both pulled out their knives.

Fleet motioned with his finger and whispered, “He’s coming right toward us. Careful now!”

The German soldier didn’t know what hit him. Landers and Fleet were crouched behind the large tree waiting. Their target walked past them and Landers quickly jumped out, grabbing him from behind. He put his arm around the German’s mouth, drove a knife into his neck and pushed it sideways. Both fell to the ground, with the Canadian on top. Landers held the man’s head down. He knew he was dead, but drove his knife into the German’s neck a second time, forcing the blade forward. He waited for several minutes in case they were heard. Fleet turned his head and indicated that the Germans were talking again and laughing.

“Search him Steve, and then let’s hide the body.”

Landers went through the man’s pockets and a small leather bag he wore on his belt. He found the Wehrmacht version of a field book and a map. He placed both in his own pouch.

“They’ve been working this side of the river for at least a week. I saw his first entry. They crossed here six days ago. This guy has notes about our camp and approximate troop numbers. There’s a lot more. I’ll read it when we get on the other side.”

They pulled the body into some bushes and scraped earth around it.

“We’ve got to get the other two. We’re going to have to get closer for a look.”

Fleet looked at his watch. It was a little past 1600 hrs. He figured there was about two hours of light left before it would be too dark to do anything.

“Steve, they aren’t leaving until it gets dark. That means we have a couple of hours. What if we get close and start talking French? Get one or both of them to investigate and then we take them.”

Landers thought for a few seconds and answered, “It will work; the noise I mean. But they have to think that we’re a threat and not just a couple of dumb farmers. I hope one of them speaks French. I’ll say something like. ‘The mayor says there are German soldiers around. If we see one, report the sighting to him.’”

“Well, that’s fine Steve, but they have to hear us coming and not jump out right away trying to kill us. How are we going to manage that?”

“Simple. I’ll stay back about twenty yards or so and carry on a conversion with myself. That way, when they start to move, you’ll be close enough to stop one or both of them. Twenty yards isn’t too far. It will only take a few seconds for me to close on your position.”

“Yeah, but by then I may be dead.”

“Don’t worry, Bob, I’ll avenge your early departure.”

Landers smiled, put his equipment on the ground and continued,

“Those Germans are going to try and take us out with knives. You’ll want to stay still while I’m talking to myself. They will move toward the sound.”

Bob Fleet started piling his equipment under a bush. “And you telling me this doesn’t make it any easier. Has anyone ever said that you’re an [bleep]?”

“Good Lord, yes, but I’m an [bleep] with a plan. Now be a good boy and wait over there. And listen, try not to get yourself killed!”

Both men took up their positions and Landers began his ‘conversation’. He was Rene and Henri, two men who worked for the Resistance. ‘Rene’ spoke first. In a loud whisper he said,

“Shut up, Henri! There are Germans here somewhere. We have to find them.”

The German scouts heard Landers and quietly began moving toward the noise. Fleet and Landers knew where they were and listened carefully for the sounds of the men crawling along the ground. Their approach would take some time, but that worked in Fleet’s favour. Being low to the ground restricted the German’s hearing and limited their vision.

Now, Landers spoke as Henri. “But where are they? Are they near the bridge? I hate the Germans. Idiots! Why don’t they go home where they belong?”

“You know why, Henri. They are too stupid to go home. They want to die for that fool, Adolf!”

Fleet could hear one of the Germans. He was moving directly towards the waiting scout, so Fleet turned slowly to face the sound. The German would have to crawl past the tree that Fleet was crouched behind, and that was when he would strike.

Landers could faintly hear something moving in the area where Bob Fleet lay in wait, but nothing else. Nothing else, until a twig snapped barely five yards away. Landers turned toward the sound. His foe was well skilled. The German might have crawled right up to Landers undetected, had it not been for that stick of wood. That’s how things went in his job. To stop him, Landers whispered,

“Shhh, Henri. I think I hear something!”
---

To be continued...

Just One Shot: Blood Rage – Pt 5
Copyright 2011 – Stephen Redgwell



The German went silent. Landers turned and faced the spot where his target stopped. He was barely three yards away. Not quite close enough to pounce, but the temptation was there. Just a little closer, Fritz…

Fleet’s man was still moving, slowly closing the gap. He could see the foliage rustling as his German got closer. This was the worst part. Which man would jump first? How would the others react? Fleet could feel a bead of sweat running down his forehead and onto his nose.

Landers man started moving forward again after a minute. He was completely focused on the ground directly in front of him. Just a few seconds and a couple of feet more. In these situations, Landers never remembered what happened.

Now! He jumped, quickly driving his knife into the German’s neck. Later, he would only have a vague memory of the encounter.

Landers came out of his fog when he heard his friend thrashing on the ground nearby. He ran toward the noise, but his assistance was not needed. He watched Fleet pull his knife out of the German’s neck.

“What the hell took you so long, Steve? Let’s search these guys and get outta here!”

The two men quickly checked through their pockets and back tracked to find their gear. Bob handed over what he found to Landers.

“[bleep], we got lucky! These guys had our troop numbers, positions and weak points identified. If they had got back to their line, we would have taken a real pounding! Let’s get the hell out of here. We’ll leave the bodies for the French to find.”

Crossing the Canal – Even’s Private War

Evens was seven or eight miles north of Maulde, staring at a German staging point, north of what was called ‘B Canal’. The Germans held the higher ground on the other side. They knew that the British would try to save all the bridges they could, so the Wehrmacht General ordered his officers to stop the British advance at any cost.

“Slow them down as much as you can, colonel!” was the German general’s order. “They will try to save the bridge to get men and supplies across. You will NOT let this happen!

Sgt Brad Evens was the first of the three scouts to see the German troops in large numbers. He was near what was designated as ‘Canal Bridge No. 6’ on his map. He started counting the numbers of Germans and determining the equipment they brought. According to his briefing, British sappers had placed demolition charges there and erected barricades, in preparation for the Wehrmacht’s arrival.

Everything was recorded in his field book. Watching from the other side of the canal, Evens began tallying the number of Germans preparing to cross. As more men and equipment arrived, he knew that the number would be in the thousands by the time they were done. Once his count was finished, he would cross the canal and follow the German trail backward, toward their HQ.

Even’s orders were clear: Brief Colonel Mitchell upon his return, but that was not to be. The Germans had their own scouts and saw the British preparing to withdraw. The situation was about to turn ugly. Approximately one mile from the canal, the British were quickly packing to move. They had no one posted to watch north of the canal, or they would have seen the Germans arriving. Their inattention would be their undoing, and the Germans knew it. The Wehrmacht artillery 10.5 cm guns opened up. The Germans were a day ahead of schedule!

Evens wondered if the other two scouts were alright. He hadn’t seen either in almost a day. That thought quickly left him when the noise started!

The scene at the canal was controlled chaos. The British moved forward, trying to adopt a defensive position, but getting there was difficult. Most of the company was stuck in the trees, 300 yards from the water. There was no cover from there to the canal. Like no man’s land in World War One, moving forward was suicide. For the Germans, it was as close to tactically perfect as one could get.

It was easy for the Germans to determine where the British were hiding. They had to be just inside the tree line on the other side of the canal. The German commander ordered the artillery to be brought to bear along that line, and ordered tanks and heavy machine guns in as well.

The artillery barrage near to the canal caught the British by surprise. Initially, the Germans were firing at their original position, a mile away. That changed. Artillery, tank rounds and machine gun fire rained down on the tree line for almost three hours. The Wehrmacht’s automatic guns chattered non-stop. Hot steel spit across the water, slamming into anything that got in its way.

Some fool ordered half a dozen men forward to reconnoiter. They were killed twenty yards in front of the trees. The Germans were determined to destroy any resistance.

Almost a mile away on the British side, the forest grew right up to the canal. That would provide some cover. Colonel Mitchell got on the radio and ordered Major Johns to take two troops there and flank the Germans by crossing with rubber rafts. Johns was to return if opposition was too great. The colonel hoped that it was far enough away that the Germans wouldn’t notice. He was wrong.

Major Johns ordered two amphibious assaults. Captain Walsh led the first launch of forty-eight men. He had been with the battalion since it was formed. He got about a third of the way across before being killed.

Despite the constant, heavy fire, Johns was determined to get his people to the other side. Shortly thereafter, he ordered another attempt. He wanted to be a hero and that meant people had to die. Luckily for the men, Johns was shot ten feet from shore, leading the second wave. A random bullet to the head saved the eighty that were left. He was a stupid bastard, and bullets didn’t discriminate.
---

To be continued...

Just One Shot: Blood Rage – Conclusion
Copyright 2011 – Stephen Redgwell



Canadians back in England. Evacuated from Dieppe

The survivors paddled or waded back to the relative safety of dry ground. One man, Cpl Stan Bounty, had lost his beret and was bleeding badly from a large gash to the head. He was yelling at another NCO who was behind a rock several feet away.

“Ha, ha! His head burst like a [bleep]’ ripe melon! Serves him right. No [bleep]’ knighthood for you, Major!” Bounty pointed and laughed at John’s body, floating in the shallow water not far away. “Hey Scotty, your favourite officer just bought the farm! No chance for a Victoria Cross now!”

Cpl “Scotty” Scott answered the voice without moving. “[bleep] off, Stan. He might be dead, but another one just as stupid will take his place! In case you haven’t noticed, the Jerrys don’t want us to cross the canal. Do you think the colonel is getting the hint?”

Bounty laughed, and spit out some blood. “Not on a bet. He’ll have us tryin’ again, once he can find another officer keen on winnin’ a medal or suicidal enough to risk all for a promotion. How many have we lost?”

Scotty rolled onto his back, pulled a small notepad out of his breast pocket and stared at it for a moment. “Near as I can reckon, countin' this idiotic attempt, we’re down about sixty. Now that Major Johns has checked out, exceptin’ Colonel Mitchell, none of the senior officers is left. I’m not sure who we got left of the junior school. I seen Capt. Burke being dragged around by the Sgt Major a few hours ago...”

Several long bursts of 8mm raked across the ground between Bounty and Scott. Bounty yelled into the air,

“[bleep], they’ve figured out we’re here and have found the range. We gotta get away! We got to back back to the trees!

Scotty interrupted him, “Jesus Stan, look towards the bridge!”

About three hundred yards away, ten or twelve men were sprinting towards the bridge, attempting to cross. What was the point? Twelve men couldn’t hold it or attack the Germans on the other side.

It was going to be another slaughter. There was no cover. Only luck prevented them from being killed instantly by small arms fire. They were just out of range of the German mortars, but not the tanks. It would take a minute, but the machine guns or the Panzers would find their mark.

“They ran straight out of the trees, from up there! Christ, they’re some of our blokes that Major Johns brought here…” Bounty was upset.

“There’s nothing we can do, Stan. That crazy [bleep] must have ordered them to have a go at the bridge, but why?”

The twelve started their charge when the Germans opened up on the rubber boats. Poor bastards!

Bounty yelled to his friend, “If Major Johns figured to charge the bridge at the same time as the water assault, he was crazier than I thought. What the [bleep]’s the point of a dozen men charging the bridge?”

Scotty never got a chance to answer. As he turned to speak, all hell broke loose. Dozens of machine guns rattled and an entire tank squadron opened fire. The noise was frightening. Everyone could feel the blast waves buffeting the air and the ground rocked. It was as if every German had noticed the men moving towards the bridge.

But the worst was yet to come.
---

Sgt Evens was standing just inside the tree line, watching the charge. He had been observing Major Johns amphibious assault and the German reaction. Watching his comrades attempt to take the bridge angered him. It was insane! He stood up and screamed at the men, running full tilt towards their objective.

“Get back, you fools! Get back! The [bleep]’ bridge is rigged to explode!”

The gunfire and explosions drowned him out. Evens watched helplessly as they dashed toward oblivion.

Within seconds, the throaty sound of a huge explosion shook everything for a mile. The bridge disappeared, as did the poor bastards ordered forward. They were vaporized in an instant.

Sgt Evens was picked up and thrown through the air; his body pitched into the trees. He was slammed full force into a maple and dropped to the ground. He was covered in dirt and bleeding from multiple wounds to his body. Both legs and right arm were horribly mangled. He would lie there for an hour before being discovered.

Cpl Bounty made his way to the dying man and cradled him. He had known Sgt Evens for two years. Bounty could do nothing except talk softly to him about family and friends; they were waiting to see their father when he got home.

“You got a ticket home, mate! You got two kids, right? They’ll be overjoyed to see you.”

Evens coughed and tried to speak, but only gurgling sounds and dark bubbles of blood came out. Tears welled up in Bounty’s eyes as he continued to rock the man. The sergeant died in his arms soon after, joining a growing number of the battalion who gave their lives for a bridge that no one got to cross.

Bounty searched the sergeant’s body for anything that could be returned to his family. The last thing he did was remove Even’s blood soaked field book. It had all the information the scout had written down about German troop concentrations, equipment and more. Bounty tried thumbing through it, but the pages were stuck together and unreadable, so he tossed it on the ground.

When Cpl Bounty talked to Sgt Major Blunt after the battle, the only thing he could think to say was, “What a [bleep] up place this is…”

Thanks!

Thank you. Cheers.

Tale told like you had been there, good read.

That's nice of you to say, Dan. They were inspired during my time in service.

Vey good read - Thank you!!

Another good read. Be Well, Rustyzipper.

Thanks fellows. I appreciate it.

Very good. I really enjoyed it!

Good stuff, Steve.

Even though they are already in the public realm, you should compile all of these in a single volume and publish it.

God bless you for helping us realize just how raw things were.

Ted