Young Lions Roar (34 page)

“Crystal clear, sir,” the young officer replied sheepishly.

“Good.” Ulrich released von Mackensen and straightened out his ruffled tunic. “Then we’ll say no more of it. That will be all, Untersturmführer von Mackensen; carry
on.”

“Yes, sir.” Von Mackensen saluted and scurried away with his tail between his legs.

“It’s no good, sir. We can’t get through to the bridge,” the young corporal reported dejectedly.

Von Stein looked at the exhausted paratrooper. There were large black bags underneath his eyes and his face was covered in a mixture of soot, dirt, camouflage cream and blood.

“That’s not good enough, Rottenführer,” von Stein said angrily as he shook his head. “Tell Scharführer Mercer that he has to try again. My squad will provide
covering fire.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, sir.”

“What do you mean that won’t be possible, Rottenführer?” Von Stein demanded furiously. “Are you refusing to obey a direct order?”

“No, sir. Scharführer Mercer and his entire squad were wiped out in the last attack.”

Von Stein was momentarily lost for words. He suddenly noticed the Luger pistol that he was holding in his hand. Von Stein realised with a shock of horror that he was preparing to execute the
young corporal for refusing to carry out a direct order. He hadn’t even been aware that he had taken the weapon out of its holster. Von Stein subtly flicked the safety catch back on and
slipped the Luger back into its case. He hoped that the rottenführer had not noticed.

Von Stein turned around and looked at the tired and terrified faces of the young paratroopers who lay huddled together on either side of him, sheltering behind an abandoned bullet-riddled lorry.
He turned to the front and put his hand on the young corporal’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Rottenführer; stand the men down for the time being. Get something to eat and
drink. We’ll need to think of another way to capture the bridge.”

The corporal’s shoulders sunk with relief as he repeated the orders to his squad. They took cover behind a burnt out car and as soon as they sat down the young paratroopers fell onto an
exhausted sleep. Only the rottenführer remained awake, on guard in order to protect his men from attack.

He’s a good leader, von Stein thought to himself with a smile. He looks after his men.

“What’s going on here, Hauptsturmführer von Stein? Where are the rest of your men?”

Von Stein turned around and breathed out a massive sigh of relief.

“Sturmbannführer Schwarzenegger, sir! Talk about a sight for sore eyes! Am I glad to see you, sir!” He saluted, as the major did the same. At last, von Stein thought, he would
be able to pass on the buck of capturing the bridge to someone else.

“Where are the rest of your men, Captain?”

“This is all that I have left, sir,” von Stein answered matter of factly.

“A dozen men?”

“Yes, sir,” von Stein nodded. “I did have about twenty men in total, but the rest were killed attacking the bridge.” He pointed to the front. The one hundred metres
between the lorry and the northern end of the Auchterlonie Bridge was covered in a matt of bodies. “Is this all that you have, sir?”

Schwarzenegger turned around and glanced at the half a dozen dirty and dishevelled, worse-for-wear-looking paratroopers crouching behind him. He shrugged his shoulders in resignation. “At
one point I had managed to gather up a veritable army of about forty men - and then the airforce dropped a stick of bombs on me, and this is all that I have left.”

“Which airforce, sir?” Von Stein asked.

Schwarzenegger shrugged off the question. “Luftwaffe or RAF, what difference does it make? Their bombs killed my boys, and here we are.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why aren’t you attacking the bridge?” Schwarzenegger asked.

“We’ve tried, sir and I’ve lost half of my men in the attempt. The problem is that we don’t have any MG 42s, any flame throwers or any Bangalore torpedoes, sir,”
von Stein answered. “All we have are Schmessiers, rifles and hand grenades, sir. Every time that we’ve assaulted the enemy positions using a frontal attack the two pillboxes guarding
the north entrance to the bridge have cut us to pieces, sir. We have to think of another tactic, sir.”

“We don’t have time to think of another tactic, von Stein,” Schwarzenegger said icily. “You will just have to try again. You will have to attack the pillboxes again and
you must be prepared to lose the other half of your men in the attempt. My men will provide covering fire.” He pointed to his exhausted looking paratroopers.

Von Stein looked at his own paratroopers lying down beside him, who were listening intently to the exchange of words. They looked wide eyed with fear and horror at the thought of launching yet
another futile attack on the pillboxes. They looked like rabbits caught in the headlamps of a speeding car.

“But, sir! We’ve tried that!” Von Stein protested. “A frontal attack won’t work! We’ll be cut down before we’ve run a dozen metres!” He looked at
the faces of his frightened paratroopers. They were absolutely petrified. Von Stein looked into the young corporal’s eyes.

“Hauptsturmführer von Stein, I’m giving you a direct order: I am ordering you to assault those pillboxes at once!”

Von Stein shook his head. “I won’t do it, sir. It’s a suicide mission. You’ll be sending my men to their deaths. I may as well shoot them myself. We still have time to
think of another plan.”

“No we don’t, von Stein,” the major said with cruelly bared teeth that exposed his gums. “Time is a luxury that we simply can’t afford.” Schwarzenegger took
out his Luger, cocked it, flicked off the safety catch and pointed the pistol at von Stein’s head. “I won’t ask you again. I’m going to count to three and then I’m
going to blow your head off. One… two…”

The shot startled von Stein, who jumped out of his skin. He put his hands up to his face and searched for an entry and exit wound. I’m still alive, he thought to himself. He looked to his
side. Schwarzenegger lay on his back with a shocked and surprised expression on his face, with a single bullet hole in the centre of his forehead.

“Anyone else got any objections to us resting here whilst the Captain thinks of another way to capture the bridge that doesn’t involve getting us killed?”

All of the paratroopers, including the major’s, shook their heads in relief.

“Good. I didn’t think so.”

“Thank you, Rottenführer…?”

“Rottenführer Barbie, Karl Barbie, sir.”

“Well, thank you, Rottenführer Barbie, for saving my life,” von Stein said gratefully.

“Don’t mention it, sir,” Barbie answered graciously. “And thank you, sir for saving my life by not agreeing to carry out the mad Major’s crazy order. So we’re
quits now, sir. You owe me nothing. And anyway, I’ve always wondered what it would fell like to frag an officer, and now I know.”

Alan ran the four hundred yards as if he was competing at the Olympic Games. Every few feet he passed dead or dying militiamen who he avoided as if they had the plague, running
past them without slowing down, never mind stopping to help them. He remembered the last words that Captain Baldwin had said to A Company as they were about to cross the pontoon bridge: keep
running, and don’t stop for anything or anybody.

A salvo of half a dozen artillery rounds fell about one hundred yards in front of the running schoolboy. The middle two rounds landed slap bang in the middle of the pontoon bridge and exploded,
sending a shower of wooden planks and the parts and pieces of a platoon of Blackshirts fifty metres into the air. Alan hugged the deck and took cover behind the body of a dead Militiaman as the
debris fell back to earth.

“Come on, Mitchell!” a familiar voice shouted as a man grabbed him by the back of his webbing straps and dragged Alan onto his feet. “The artillery has found the range.
It’ll be only a matter of seconds before the Brits fire again! If you stay here, you’ll die!”

Alan kept close behind Major Mason as his CO ran towards the jagged end of the ripped up pontoon bridge. Mason jumped into the river without hesitating, and swam for the other side of the ruined
bridge. He climbed up onto the splintered decking and leaned down to haul Alan out of the water.

“Come on, Mitchell! I’ll race you to Berwick! You should be able to beat an old man like me!” Mason shouted. “Last man there is a rotten egg!” Alan followed his
teacher as Mason sprinted the last hundred yards at full speed.

When they reached the north bank of the Tweed they both collapsed in an exhausted heap. Alan looked up as he heard another salvo of artillery rounds flying through the sky. This time, four of
the six shells landed on the pontoon bridge and blew it to smithereens. The entire structure broke free of its moorings and started to drift out of control along with the current. There was a wail
of despair from the surviving militiamen as they realised that they were about to be swept out to the North Sea.

“You see, Mitchell?” Mason panted. “What did I tell you?”

“Thank you, sir,” Alan said as he finally recovered his breath.

“What for?” Mason asked with raised eyebrows.

“For saving my life, sir.”

Mason waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t mention it. I’m sure that you’d do the same for me.”

Don’t bet on it, Alan thought to himself.

“There it is, Alfredo. There’s Beattie Bridge,” Mendoza said as he lowered his binoculars and passed them over to his second-in-command. He looked at his
wristwatch. “One pm. We’re an hour late.”

“Better late than never, sir. And for a while back there at the river, I thought that it was more likely to be never.” Astray looked through the binoculars and then nodded his head.
“It’s about four hundred metres away. Shall I fire the signal gun and let the Germans know that we’re coming in, Colonel?”

“Yes, Alfredo.” Mendoza nodded his head. “How many men do we have left?”

Astray shrugged his shoulders. “About one hundred and twenty men roughly grouped into four platoons, sir.”

“Madre Dios!” Mendoza swore. “One hundred and twenty men out of five hundred? How the hell did that happen?”

“We lost over half of our men at the river, Colonel, and the rest since,” Astray answered.

Mendoza sighed in resignation. “All right. Alfredo, order the first two platoons to get over the bridge and take up defensive positions on the north side of the bridge and order the last
two platoons to take up defensive positions on the south side of the bridge. I’ll meet you at the German headquarters, which I presume will be on the north side of the bridge. Get moving as
soon as you see the flare’s signal. Understood?”

“Understood, Jefe!”

“Good!” Mendoza squeezed his friend on the shoulder. “I’ll see you on the other side of the bridge! Let’s go!”

Astray grinned like a naughty schoolboy, saluted, and ran off to convey the command to the waiting Legiónaries.

Ulrich breathed a massive sigh of relief as he saw the three green flares explode in the sky in quick succession.

“Untersturmführer, pass the word along to the troops to hold their fire. Our relief force has arrived.”

“Yes, sir.” Von Mackensen smiled as he saluted, and ran off to pass on the welcome news to the waiting paras.

Herold’s last words echoed through Ulrich’s head. Hold until relieved… hold until relieved. Well, he had completed his side of the mission. The question was: had everyone else
completed theirs?

“Obersturmbannführer Ulrich, I presume?” Mendoza said as he saluted the SS Colonel.

Ulrich clicked his heels together like a Prussian aristocrat and gave a slight bow. “At your service, Colonel Mendoza.” He returned the salute.

“What’s your sitrep, Obersturmbannführer?” Mendoza asked.

“We currently control both sides of the bridge and that’s about all, Colonel,” Ulrich answered grimly.

“No word from Auchterlonie Bridge or Robinson?”

Ulrich shook his head. “No, Colonel. I think that it’s safe to assume that the mission to capture them has failed. They are both very much still in enemy hands.”

“Strength?” Mendoza asked as he took a cigar out of his tunic breast pocket. He chuckled as he noticed Ulrich watching him with bemusement. “It’s an old tradition of
mine, Obersturmbannführer, which I began in Morocco: I always smoke a cigar after I successfully complete a mission. Would you like one, Obersturmbannführer? Finest Cuban?”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Ulrich said with a smile. “It’s very kind of you.” Ulrich accepted the cigar and sniffed it appreciatively. He cut off the end of both cigars
with his bayonet and shared a lit match with Mendoza. “I have about thirty paratroopers left organised into roughly four weak and under strength squads, with two squads on each side of the
river.”

“Madre Dios!” Mendoza exclaimed with wide eyes. “And I thought that we had suffered heavy losses. I have about one hundred and twenty Legiónaries left. I’ve
ordered them to dig in and reinforce your paras, Obersturmbannführer. If you’ll excuse me I’ll go and check that they’re in the correct positions.”

“Of course, Colonel. Please feel free to carry on. Make yourself at home. Mi casa su casa.”

“Ah! You speak Italian!” Mendoza said with a toothpaste advertisement smile.

Ulrich laughed. “Only enough to make a fool of myself with the ladies!”

Mendoza chuckled. “I presume that you know that my daughter, Aurora is a good friend of your girlfriend, Alice?”

“Yes, I did know that, Colonel. I haven’t spoken to Alice since I deployed up north a few days ago. I trust that Alice and Aurora are both well?”

Mendoza paused before he spoke. “Obersturmbannführer Ulrich, Aurora and Alice were both kidnapped.”

“What?” Ulrich spat out his cigar and his face turned as white as a sheet. He held onto the side of the bridge to steady himself.

“It’s all right. They’re both safe.” Mendoza put a reassuring hand on Ulrich’s arm. “Fortunately, they were rescued.” Mendoza watched Ulrich’s
reaction carefully. “You had no idea?”

“Absolutely none.” Ulrich’s eyes were wide with shock. “Nobody told me. What happened? Who rescued them?”