The 18th of June, 1944 - D + 12, Bloody Sunday

A-20s hitting a rail yard in France

"Bloody Hell, Sarn't Fitzhugh, did ya ever see such a thing?" Corporal Willis Seckington watched as the twin-engined bombers disappeared into the distance, heading back to England, he supposed.

"Sure I have Will, back during the Blitz, of course the bombers all had great big swastikas on their tails and were trying to kill us. Then I saw those planes which just passed overhead in Africa as well, Bostons I think we call 'em. Yanks call 'em something else." Sergeant James Fitzhugh said as he replaced his beret with a helmet. He expected that they'd be in the thick of it any moment now. Sure enough, there was the wee Lowland Scot, Corporal Billy Wallace himself, coming down the track with his mates.

"Why do the Yanks give them different names, Sarn't?" Will asked.

"What, oh, I dunno, do I look like a bleeding American?" Fitzhugh had answered his loader a little more gruffly than he should have. But wee Billy looked a bit worried.

The Scotsman stopped next to the Sherman VC, bent over to catch his breath, then looked up at Fitzhugh, "The Huns are coming, and they've got Tigers, great big furniture van-looking things with guns bigger'n yours!"

"We did toast a halftrack with a PIAT^¹, there was another that ran off."

"No infantry? Very well, they'll be coming in blind."

Wallace looked back down the track which entered the hedgerow after it crossed an open field. An open field which he and his squaddies had just crossed as if they were being pursued by the bean-nighe² herself. Which in a sense they had been, he'd never seen tanks that big. Too young for Dunkirk, he'd only been in the Army since 1943. He couldn't believe how shaken he was.

"Right then laddie, run along, our gun is a match for any Jerry panzer. Get back to the crossroads and hold there. It's time to fight..."

Panzerkampfwagen VI Ausf. E "Tiger" of schwerer Panzerabteilung 503³
(Bundesarchiv)

"Fire the beast up Krebs! Let's go defend Caen!"

With those words the men of Tiger 224 clambered aboard. Each was in position as Horst Krebs turned over the engine in the Tiger. The big Maybach V-12 roared to life and was soon purring like a cat. Horst wondered absentmindedly if real tigers could purr, probably not he decided.

The tank commander, Stabsfeldwebel Gerhard Lindner, looked back at his platoon leader, Oberleutnant Wilhelm Altendorf who gave him the sign to take the point. As the big tank started to roll forward, two SS-Panzergrenadiere 251s⁴ passed him to his right. Arrogant SS bastards, he grumbled to himself. Well, good for him, bad for them. If there were any Tommy anti-tank guns ahead, they'd find them first. A 251 wouldn't survive a hit from even a small gun, whereas his Tiger would shrug it off. Might scratch the paint though.

A few kilometers ahead, one of those 251s passed to the rear, loaded with wounded. Around a bend there was the other 251, on the verge and burning furiously.

"Button up boys, there's danger in the air!"

As he peered through his vision blocks he could see English infantry ahead, they loosed a few rounds in his direction, then began to pull back.

"Help them along Georg," he commanded the tank's bow machine gunner.

At least three of the Englishmen weren't quick enough and they went down hard. The others ran like the devil was upon them. Which in a sense, he was. Lindner had received a letter from his mother in Düsseldorf that very morning. The English terror bombers had visited the city again last week. His childhood home was gone, while his parents were still alive, his little dog Schatzi had been killed. Lindner was in a killing mood.

(Source)

Fitzhugh was watching the clearing carefully, he saw them emerge from the treeline. Yes, bloody Tigers indeed. The one in the lead was using the terrain nicely, he was only getting glimpses of the top of the Jerry's turret, but the one behind, wasn't nearly as cautious.

"Gunner, target tank, at 11 o'clock, range 750 yards. Engage."

His gunner had the round out before Fitzhugh had gotten to the second syllable of 'engage.' In an instant loader Will Seckington had another round loaded, he shouted, "APCBC loaded!"

Fitzhugh saw, after the dust kicked up by his cannon settled, that the first Tiger had taken a solid hit to the turret ring. Thank God there was a breeze today. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, the ammunition in the enemy tank cooked off. The explosion sent the Tiger's turret (and three of its crew) at least 30 feet in the air. Fitzhugh still couldn't see that lead Tiger. Hopefully one of the "lambs" would deal with him.

"Shift left, target tank..."

The big 17-pdr barked before he could get the rest of the command out. The Tiger behind the burning one slewed to its right and came to an abrupt stop. He rather wished for a bow gunner at the moment as he watched three of the Tiger's crew bail out as their vehicle began to smoke.

"Right then! Time to bugger off, put her in reverse Tommy, we need to move!" Lance Corporal Thomas Ginns had them backing briskly down the track in the nick of time. An 88 mm tank round flew over their turret and slammed into a tree behind them. The Germans were finally reacting.

(Source)

Out of the four tanks in the platoon, two were left, his and Kurt Schneider's. Lindner was now the platoon leader. He was amazed that the Tommies hadn't fired at him. While Horst was very good at using terrain, he was sure some of the turret was visible from time to time, he could see across the field, I wonder what the...

An armor piercing round spanged off the mantlet of the Tiger's 8.8 cm gun. Lots of noise inside, lots of sparks outside. Though his ears were ringing, they were still alive. Whatever had killed two of their tanks hadn't killed them. Yet.

"Gunner, Sherman at 675 yards, sector..."

"Got him!"

"Feuer!"

The enemy tank showed a glowing hole where the round had penetrated the front glacis. Moments later, the crew began to bail out. Bow machine gunner Georg Hansel left at least two Tommies hanging out of their hatches, they had been slow.

Fitzhugh saw Levinson's crew climbing from their hatches, at least two didn't make it. From the scarf around his neck, completely non-regulation, he knew that his friend since North Africa, Sergeant Scott Levinson was dead. There was no mistaking that silly bright green silk scarf he always wore.

"Keeps me neck from chafing boyo! You should get one!" He remembered Scotty saying a few days before the landing. His wife had sent him a new one "just for this occasion," Scotty had laughed.

As he watched, the Germans were apparently withdrawing. Probably only a single platoon and wee Billy had killed a lot of their infantry, scaring off the rest.

No doubt the Jerries would be back.

Much as he'd like to have a few drinks that night, he had letters to write. Letters to the families of the chaps who wouldn't be going home.

"Sod war, sod it all." he yelled at the sky.

"Too right Sarn't, too right. We're all with ya there." Will patted Fitzhugh on the knee. He'd seen Scotty's tank get hit, Scotty's loader was a mate of his, knew him from school. They'd joined up the same day. He wondered if his pal was still alive.

As the sun set, Fitzhugh had a random thought, he had studied history for a term at school before the war, today was the anniversary of the Battle of Waterloo, June 18th. Huh, that had been a Sunday as well. He remembered the quote the Headmaster loved -

Nothing except a battle lost can be half so melancholy as a battle won.

Now he understood what the great Wellington had meant.




¹ PIAT - Projector, Infantry, Anti Tank, a stubby looking thing which you can see here.
²The bean-nighe (Scots Gaelic for "washerwoman") is a female spirit in Scottish folklore, regarded as an omen of death and a messenger from the Otherworld. Similar to the Irish banshee.
³Panzerkampfwagen - armored fighting vehicle. Aus. E - Model E, schwere Panzerabteilung - heavy tank battalion (Abteilung is sometimes translated as "detachment)
⁴ Panzergrenadiere - Armored infantrymen, typically road to battle in halftracks. In this case the German SdKfz 251