Let's Go For A Walk

WARNING: Mild profanity.

‘Okay, gentlemen, let’s go for a walk.’

Sgt Lewis stood in the doorway of what was once a barn. Three, wooden-slatted walls survived, as did the majority of the hay bales that were stored there, but the roof had gone and so had the gable end. The hay bales were now makeshift beds for the eighteen men of Alpha Troop. The most comfort they had experienced since landing in Normandy eight days earlier.

Our job was to blow up the bridge at Pont-l'Évêque, over the river Touques to slow the German retreat and allow the soldiers of 13^th Parachute Battalion to pick them off.

I knew this because I was their company commander, Lt Jack Brooks RE. Sgt Lewis knew it, because I had briefed him. The men were, so far, blissfully unaware. Although, as they groaned and stretched, rising from their pits, I suspected they knew this “walk” was not going to be a stroll in the park.

I was their company commander, but I let Sgt Lewis do the talking. Before the war I had been a journalist, Sgt Lewis was a seasoned campaigner, and he knew how to talk to the men.

‘Cum’on, ladies, shake a leg. Gather all your kit and get some scran. God knows when you’ll get a chance to eat again.’ He skidded two ten-man ration packs across the dirt and debris-encrusted floor, whilst I placed the two Norwegian flasks of tea beside them. The men pounced on them like a pack of Labradors. Everyone wanted the Coronation Chicken, no one wanted to be left with the Bully Beef or the Cheese Possessed (processed cheese).

‘Cam up.’

Spr Bell (Dinger), opened his tobacco tin and started to roll a cigarette.

‘And no lights!’ Sgt Lewis barked.

We were already deep behind enemy lines. That is the lot of the Royal Engineers, “first in, last out”. It was 22:30 Zulu and the sun had finally dipped below the horizon. This had to be a night op, it would have been suicide in daylight. As it was, the prospect of us all coming back alive was poor. I looked around at the men, stuffing tins of meat and tubes of Milk Condemned (condensed milk), into the pockets of their webbing. They all looked keen and eager, wide-eyed with the adrenaline rush of battle. I was leading some of these men to their deaths, I just didn’t know which ones, so I stared at them all, trying to lock away their images so I would not forget them.

I called Spr “Smudge” Smith over to me, he was our radio operator. ‘Your oppos’ are all carrying dets and mines, Sapper, but you have the most important piece of kit in this entire operation. You stay close to me, Smith, do you understand?’

‘Yes, Sir.’ He proudly hauled the heavy radio pack onto his shoulders. ‘Do you want me to test the comms, Sir?’

‘Yes please, Smith.’

Handing me one half of his headset, and holding the other half to his own ear, he switched on the radio and twisted the dial until a faint crackling sound rattled my eardrum. ‘Hello One, this is Holdfast. Radio check. Over.’

‘Hello Holdfast, this is One. Loud and clear. Out.’ The reply was instantaneous.

Well, at least the radio worked.  

The distant rapport of gunfire filtered through the woods behind the barn. We were not alone. I didn’t know who was firing at whom, but it didn’t really matter, there was a battle going on; men were getting killed; we had to go out there and face it; no more playing soldiers, now it was real.

‘Okay, lads, follow me,’ Sgt Lewis was now whispering. ‘Single file, hard targeting. Rear man, Ballantyne, you're covering our arses, so stay alert.’

A thumbs up from Cpl Ballantyne and we started to move out of the barn. Cpl Ballantyne was an odd chap. I went through basic training with him, and we’d become good friends. We had both been picked up as potential officer material. I went forward, but Ballantyne declined the offer. I don’t think you could define his character as brave in the sense of bravado, it was more the air he carried of unsupported confidence that he would be alright because he had God on his side. I’d never seen him without his bible in his hand.

The men were heavily laden with detonators, explosives, haystack mines, det cord and rifles. Not to mention all the ammunition that had to be carried too. Dinger Bell and Chalky White carried the Bren gun, it was a good job they were both built like Charles Atlas. We were on the outskirts of the village of Saint-Étienne-la-Thillaye, it was two kilometres to our target and we were crossing open ground.

I had already studied the map. If we headed southeast towards Reux, we would come to an area of woodland, which should help cover our advance. Then we could follow the road into Pont l'Évêque all the way to the bridge. It sounded simple.

We’d crossed the first field and reached the safety of a ditch. I held us here to allow everyone to get their breath back and allow their night vision to accrue. I could still hear the sounds of a fierce gun battle in the distance. I know it sounds uncharitable, and I knew good men were probably dying, but my thoughts were in this ditch. Whilst Gerry was being engaged elsewhere, maybe we might be lucky.

We weren’t! As I rose from my prone position to look over the rim of the ditch I felt the wind from a round pass my ear. Then I heard the crack of a rifle. I dived back into the dry ditch, but I knew, even before I hit the ground, that we’d been spotted. The sound of gunfire, not distant anymore, was now rattling along our position. They must have been close because I could smell the cordite in the air. The top of our meagre trench started dancing like a puddle in a thundershower, throwing mud, grass and stones into a hailstorm of shrapnel, bouncing off helmets and covering us with dirt. We were trapped.

I looked along our position and counted the heads. One man was missing!

‘One, armoured vehicle, on the road,’ Sgt Lewis shouted in my ear. ‘They could keep us pinned down here for hours. Can we call in the artillery?’

‘They're too far back, sergeant.’ I replied. ‘Besides, we’re only 50 metres from the road, no artillery is that accurate. Just keep your heads down and let me think.’

The firing had stopped, but I could still hear the thrum of the engine. I poked my head above the ridge. Rat-a-tat-tat. A round bounced off the top of my helmet sending me flying backwards. My back hit the ground and all the breath in my lungs burst out of my mouth. I was dazed and disoriented. I felt a trickle of something viscous running down into my left eye. I raised my head towards my hand and another volley of gunfire spattered the earth behind me. I felt a tug on my webbing and the next thing I knew, Dinger Bell was dragging me back into the ditch.

He gently removed my helmet and shined the bright, red light from his map torch into my face.

‘No purple heart for this one, I’m afraid, sir. It’s just a scratch. Still, it is a war wound, so you’ll have something to show your girlfriend when you get home. I bet she’s fed up of looking at your dick.’

I was just about to remonstrate with him when an almighty explosion shook the ground beneath us. The blast wave ripped my helmet from Spr Bell’s grasp, and it flew off into the field. I turned to go and retrieve it, but he held me back.

‘Keep your head down, sir. Sounds like they're bringing in the mortar.’

But this seemed unlikely. A mortar barrage usually consisted of more than one explosion, and now the area was eerily quiet. I sat up.

A huge plume of white smoke, looking like a ghost against the indigo backdrop of the night sky, loomed up in front of the trench. As I stared at it the cloud began to swirl and fracture, and the dark figure of a man appeared out of it. In an instant fifteen rifles and one Bren gun levelled towards the figure.

‘Don’t shoot!’ I cried. ‘It’s Cpl Ballantyne.’ I knew this because I could see the bible in his hand.

He jumped down into the ditch and everyone gathered around him, patting him on the back and trying to shake his hand.

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘“If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.” Matthew 5:38,’ replied the beaming corporal. ‘I slapped them on the right cheek with a Beehive mine and a hand grenade.’

‘I do believe you are holding your bible upside down, corporal.’

He swivelled the book through 180 degrees. ‘You know, sir, I do believe you are right.’

We both laughed.

‘Okay, gentlemen,’ boomed Sgt Lewis. ‘Shall we carry on with our walk?’